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heytheredelulu · 10 months ago

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Hey i hope you’re doing well i have an idea for a one shot and was wondering if you could write it.

So basically Bucky hears the reader talking to Natasha or anyone that she thinks she’s too heavy for any partner and that she has given up on dating for a while because of that, and of course Bucky hearing that he starts lifting heavy stuff such as weights, machines or even Steve😭 around the reader to show her he can easily lift her weight as well because he has feelings for her and you can add or change whatever you like and make it smutty idk whatever you think is right i trust your skills.

Hi! I’m doing good, how are you?

This request? Uh, YES. 🙌🏻

I love this idea!

I wrote this fully intending on Steve being like, “She ain’t lookin’, Buck. Lift me.” and then changed my mind and rewrote it when it took on a life of its own. 😂

I live and breathe smut so I definitely threw that in there in the form of Bucky needing to blow off some steam when he thinks about the reader. 😉

Anyway, thank you for the request and I hope it’s what you were looking for!

💋Sj

Bucky Barnes x Plus!Size Reader

18+

Word Count: 2.9k

CW: Male masturbation while fantasizing about oral (f receiving) and sex

“Bullshit.”

Bucky’s ears perk up as he passes the garage and hears Natasha fussing at someone in a string of curses, but it’s your voice that has him peering around the concrete wall with interest.

“I ain’t lyin’ Nat.”

You’re bent over the open hood of an old hot rod, your ass accentuated by the denim jeans hugging your curves. You blindly reach out towards the red headed assassin wiggling your fingers at her that are blackened with grease. Natasha rolls her eyes, pushing off the wall and picking up a socket wrench that she holds just barely in your reach. You let out a sigh, standing upright and snatching it from her.

“Look.” You tell her pointedly, blowing a loose piece of hair back from your face with a huff from your pouty lips. “It’s been months. I’m sufferin’, I am, really. But I’m just over it, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.” She replies, leaning her hip against the side of the car, watching you with a skeptical frown. “If you’re suffering, just come out with me. We can hit up that rooftop bar downtown. Have a couple drinks, dance a bit, pick up some hot strangers and scratch that itch. Come on.”

Scratch that itch?

A muscle jumps in Bucky’s jaw at Nat’s comment and he can feel his jealousy simmering low in his gut.

He’s been pining after you damn near since you’d arrived at the compound. The sweet little engineer Tony brought on to help take on his workload was only supposed to stick around and help out for a few months but when the team expressed their disappointment in you leaving and Tony realized despite his astronomically sized ego that he could get twice as much done with your help, giving him the opportunity for more free time with his family- you were brought on full time.

“I can scratch my own itches, thanks.”

Your curt reply to Nat brought Bucky’s attention back to the conversation he was eavesdropping on while the implication caught the attention of his cock, his jeans suddenly feeling tighter as he continued to listen.

“You’re crazy. You need to get laid.”

“Nat.” You warn and turn your back to her to grab a hand towel.

“Come on.” She pleaded, crossing her arms. “You’ve been so wound up. Nothing loosens you up better than a big, thick-“

Nat’s cut off by the hand towel being tossed in her direction and she catches it with a chuckle.

“I don’t understand why you’re so hung up on this.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so afraid to get laid.” She counters.

“I’m not afraid.” You protest, raking a hand through your hair. “I’m just- I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

Nat’s expression softens as she hangs the hand towel over the open hood. “Try?” She asks. “We’re friends, you know you can talk to me.”

Bucky watches you shift uncomfortably and for a moment he feels guilty for listening in, as it’s clear you’re debating on confiding in Natasha and it feels wrong to eavesdrop on something so private. But as soon as you let out that defeated sigh and begin to explain yourself, he’s so goddamn grateful that this was the conversation he had a chance to overhear.

“Men just don’t know how to handle me.” You admit, leaning back over the car and pretending to inspect something to avoid eye contact with Natasha but she isn’t having any of it, bending down to hold your gaze. “How so?”

“They just-“ You huff out a breath of annoyance, bracing your palms on the front of the car and standing upright. “I’m curvy, yeah? And I want a man that’s gonna pick me up, toss me around, hold me up and fuck me on a wall or somethin’ but the last couple guys I went home with they’re so.. boring. Missionary. Doggy. Like for once, would it be too much to ask for a dude to want to, I dunno, have me sit on their face? I swear, it’s like they’re afraid. I ain’t ashamed of my body, I like the way I look but shit, Nat. It really fucks with a girls head to feel like she’s too heavy or something to really be satisfied.”

Natasha’s moving closer to you, beginning to say something about ‘weak men with noodle arms’ but Bucky can’t hear it over the steady thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears.

He can’t believe that your experiences have been so lousy that you won’t even entertain the idea of going out with Nat if she was wanting to pick up guys. Honestly, he’s relieved by that, since the idea of you hooking up with anyone has the knuckles of his flesh hand bleached white with how hard he’s clenching his fist. He flexes his fingers, trying to relax his hand as he feels a wave of embarrassment wash over him. How could he be angry or even jealous when he’s been too shy to make a move?

C’mon Barnes, grow a pair.

She wants strong? You can show her strong.

He sucks in a breath, steeling his nerves before rounding the corner and strolling into the garage with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Hey Nat.” He says with a friendly nod before slowly swinging his gaze over to you. “Doll.” He drawls. “What are you ladies up to this morning?” Your cheeks heat under the warmth of his cerulean eyes roaming over your body and you fumble the socket wrench, earning a lopsided grin from the handsome brunette. “Just- just workin’ on my project.” You stammer, bending down to pick up the tool. Damn, one flash of this man’s pearly whites is all it takes for you to lose control of your fine motor skills? Maybe you do need that itch scratched more than you’ve let on to your best friend and she can tell too, her brow lifting as she watches the scene unfolding.

“Mustang?” He asks, planting his hands on his hips. His eyes follow you as you bend over and reach for the socket wrench that’s just out of your reach underneath the car. When you stretch, your baggy t-shirt rises up your midriff, giving him a glimpse of that cute little pooch tucked into the dark-wash denim jeans that are deliciously hugging your hips and thighs.

He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “1960’s?” He asks, leaning down behind you. God, what he’d do to bring his palm down hard on your perfect, round ass and watch the flesh redden with each swat of his hand.

“‘62.” You grunt, your fingertips brushing the tool that’s just barely out of reach. Bucky shrugs off his leather jacket and tosses it lazily over the workbench before stepping in even closer to you. “Here, lemme get that for you, doll.” He murmurs, his vibranium hand settling on the underside of the Mustang. Before you can eke out a reply, he’s lifting the vehicle off the garage floor like a goddamn carjack with enough ease that it makes the 3500 pound car seem as if it were cut from styrofoam. You’re frozen in place on your hands and knees from the show of brawn so it’s Natasha that crouches down and quickly grabs up the socket wrench before you snap out of your trance and scramble to your feet.

Nat presses the tool firmly into your palm while giving you a look that screamed, ‘do not fuck this up’ and saunters backwards admist the low groan of your car being set back down on its tires. “I gotta meet Steve for a briefing.” She tells you, which you know is a damn lie- but you nod nonetheless and stutter out a, “Y-yeah, yeah. Catch you later.” She gives you a little wave and jogs off, her red waves bouncing in stride. When you turn back around, Bucky is leaning against the car with his arms crossed, his biceps testing the integrity of his black tshirt.

Goddamn, that’s some quality fabric.

His gaze is locked on you, making you sweat a little under the intense stare so you awkwardly begin picking up the rest of your tools and putting them back in their rightful place at your workbench. A strong arm comes into view in your periphery as Bucky plucks up his jacket and you nearly lose your breath at the scent of cedarwood and leather. He slings the coat over his right shoulder, holding it with his flesh hand, his vibranium hand reaching up to rake through his cropped hair. “Finished so soon?” He asks. “You ain’t gotta quit workin’ just ‘cause I stopped by.”

“Oh, no. No, I-“ You swallow thickly at the way the corner of his mouth twitches up into a smirk. “I actually was just getting to a stopping point.” You tell him, absentmindedly pulling your hair up into a ponytail. With your neck exposed, he wets his bottom lip at the thought of dragging his teeth across the skin and that little glimpse of his tongue flicking out has you struggling to focus anywhere but his mouth. “Got somewhere you gotta be?” He asks, his voice low and gruff.

Fuck, this man is sex on legs. On two thick, strong legs.

You nod quickly. “Yeah, I got a meeting with Tony about a new project.” You explain, though it comes out an octave higher than usual. He quirks a brow. “Yeah? You got a new project?”

“Yep. Yeah. I better get going.” You teeter on your heel, ready to flee.

Chicken shit.

“Hey, wait. Hold on.” He says gently, reaching to grab your wrist and setting your skin ablaze with the touch. You glance over your shoulder at him. “Hm?”

“What’re you doin’ tonight, doll?”

“What am I..?”

Holy fucking shit. Is he gonna-

No, no way. This is Bucky fuckin’ Barnes. You two are friends. He’s your friend. Your insanely hot friend that you’ve definitely had some filthy, sinful thoughts about, but he’s never led you to believe that he’s ever thought of you as more than a friend.

Or has he? I mean, you’ve caught his eyes lingering on you on a few occasions but that doesn’t mean-

“Lemme take you to dinner.”

Oh. Oh.

It takes you a few seconds to realize that you’re staring at him like an idiot with your mouth agape before you click your jaw shut and nod. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, alright.” You manage.

A slow grin spreads across his face. “Yeah? I’ll pick you up at 6?” He asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets as tries to reign in his eagerness.

“That sounds- that sounds great.”

“Great.” He repeats, toeing the ground with his boot before taking a step backwards towards the open garage door. He sweeps his eyes over you one last time. “It’s a date, then.” And he ducks out of the garage back toward the compound.

You said yes.

He slips into his bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him and he falls back onto his bed, letting out a breath of disbelief. He’s taking you out. He finally fucking asked.

Laying in silence for several minutes he replays the interaction over in his mind like he typically did after he was around you. He had a tendency to over analyze your body language, your expressions, hang on to your every word like it kept him afloat in his sea of anxiety; though sometimes, most times, he let himself drown. He drowned in the worry that maybe he was imaging the way your voice caught around him. The way you tensed when he got close.

But you said yes.

You wouldn’t have said yes if he was just imagining it, right?

He lets out a huff, scrubbing a hand down his face as your words to Nat echo through his head like a shout in a cavern.

“Like for once, would it be too much to ask for a dude to want to, I dunno, have me sit on their face?”

And there’s his cock again, straining against his jeans just from the thought.

He groans softly, flicking the button open and unzipping his fly to give himself some relief from the pressure as he stares at the ceiling, watching the fan spin round and round and..

It takes all of the self control he can muster not to reach into his boxers so his hands fist in the sheets in restraint.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked his fist to the thought of you. Hell, it wouldn’t be the 2nd, 5th or even 10th time he’d done it.

He lets his eyes slip closed, imagining your plush thighs straddling his head as you smother him with your pretty, wet cunt. His aching cock twitching with need from neglect as he focuses all of his attention on delving his tongue into your tight, warm, hole.. closing his lips around that swollen button that makes you writhe in pleasure.. your puffy pussy lips grinding against his face as you use him to chase your release .. your sweet, sweet slick coating his chin and-

Fuck it.

He shifts his weight on the mattress, tugging his jeans down enough for his erection to spring free, spitting in his flesh hand and slowly stroking himself. He groans, squeezing the crown of his cock, a bead of pearly precum gathering at his slit that he rubs roughly with his thumb. Bucky can imagine you on top of him, your pouty lips parting with a soft gasp as you sink down onto him, maybe even a hiss or shit- a whimper from the stretch when he splits you open. He knows he’s thicker than most men, a side effect of the serum- everything about him is bigger, thicker, better. Fuck those other men who couldn’t satisfy you. Fuck them. He strokes himself faster, the thought of you bouncing on his cock making his toes curl. Your tits, those big beautiful tits, swinging, slapping together with every thrust.

He’d reach up and pinch one of your pebbled nipples, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers, cupping the other with his hand to give it equal attention. It’d be heavy in his palm, he just knows it. Heavy, warm and filling his whole fucking hand. He imagines yanking you forward and burying his face in those perfect breasts before trailing sloppy, open mouthed kisses up through the valley of them. He’d trace the tip of his nose across the swell and sink his teeth into the supple flesh, soothing the sting with a lave of his tongue, making you collapse forward against him as you cry out in pleasure. He could fuck up into you deeper at that angle, feel the tip of his cock kiss your cervix over and over until you see stars and lose your rhythm as your orgasm tears through you.

Yeah, he’d make you come so hard you’re limp on top of him and he’d reach behind you, grabbing a handful of your plump, round ass and taking control, moving you up and down the length of him at a frenzied pace until he-

His fantasy fades as his climax crests and he grunts, thick ropes of come spilling over his fist and onto his pubic bone.

He lies still and silent, his heartbeat a metronome in his ear, keeping time of the minutes that stretch on while he steadies his ragged breathing. With a sigh he sits up, looking down at the mess in his lap as his euphoria dissipates and the shame starts to creep in.

He’s certain of two things in that moment-

One, he needs a goddamn shower and two, this will be the last time he fantasizes about fucking you.

Pulling himself to his feet, he glances over at the clock.

14:17.

He smiles to himself, crossing the threshold into the bathroom and twisting the shower on. His flesh hand tests the water, the warm spray cleaning the sticky release from between his fingers before he steps in, letting the water cascade over him.

Less than four hours. He thinks to himself.

In less than four hours he’ll be sitting across from you in a dimly lit restaurant, watching your eyes sparkle in the candlelight as he prompts you about your favorite things just so he can see the way you light up when you talk about your passions. He smiles to himself at the image of your hands gesturing wildly as you talk, the sound of your infectious laugh and the way your breasts bounce when it bubbles up from your chest.

He begins to stiffen again at the thought.

Goddamnit, his cock just won’t quit, will it?

He turns the knob, the water quickly growing ice cold and he grits his teeth at the temperature change, cursing the serum for making his refractory period so short. He’s grateful for it in the proper circumstance, but when he’s alone it’s a fuckin’ nuisance.

Bucky’s eyes slip shut, focusing in on the feeling of the frigid water splashing against the top of his head and rolling down the taut muscle of his back. Eventually the ache ebbs and he cranks the temperature back up, reaching for his shampoo. The cedarwood fragrance clings to the steam, filling his nostrils as he massages it into his scalp. Tipping his head back under the steady stream, he sighs contentedly.

Tonight’s the night he finally gets his girl.

#bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfiction #ask request #ask response

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gravitycavity · 1 year ago

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Sunshine (Pomni x Ragatha) Chapter 1 - Put On a Happy Face

[Click here to read from the beginning on AO3!]

Cover art by @blukiar

“You’re supposed to $%#&ing smile, Pomni!” Zooble's hoarse scream reverberated throughout the big top. “Are you stupid?! We can’t finish the new intro if you aren’t @#$%ing smiling!”

“Leave. Me. Alone!” Pomni, denied the catharsis of slinging her sailor’s mouth, expressed her disdain with her middle fingers instead. She only ended up seething harder, however, when a pair of other-dimensional censor bars appeared to obscure the rude gestures.

“Oh! So that’s how you want to play it, Puffball?” Zooble narrowed her eyes, limping toward the jester with as much aggression as their awkwardly-constructed body would allow — which, for the record, wasn’t very much.

Ragatha had seen enough. “Relax!” She raised her voice, swooping vigilantly between the bickering belligerents. “Both of you!”

Gangle, moping off to the side, sniveled pitifully. In all the commotion, her comedy mask had been shattered. For the second time. This morning. “Guys…! Please, just stop fighting…”

Jax crossed his legs, reclining smartly against Kinger’s impenetrable pillow fort. “Can it, crybaby. This is the best entertainment we’ve had in years!” He flicked a piece of popcorn into the air and caught it in his mouth. Meanwhile, a vibrating Kinger poked his eyes out from between two pillows, saying nothing and everything at the same time.

Ragatha’s good-natured attempts to keep the peace were all for naught. She flinched out of the way of Zooble’s punch — but before the strike could connect, a floating boxing bell materialized out of nowhere, piercing the air with a shrill shriek.

“Now, now! There’s no need for that!” Caine’s wagging finger appeared beside the bell, followed shortly after by the rest of the entity. He lifted his tophat, and a cheesing Bubble gingerly drifted out.

“Naughty, naughty~” Bubble chomped his teeth.

Caine snapped his fingers, and an unseen force pushed Pomni and Zooble apart. “The Amazing Digital Circus — copyright 1996 C&A Incorporated, all rights reserved — is a magical, marvelous CD-Romp for all ages! Zany shenanigans and cartoon mischief I can abide, but outright violence? Strictly out of the question!”

With a grunt, Zooble spiked their arm against the floor. “What are we supposed to do, then!? We’re on take fifty-seven of your dumb@%$ theme song because poor little Pomni thinks she’s the main character of the universe!”

Pomni responded to that, but whatever she said, it was profane enough to be scrubbed out entirely.

“Yes, well…” Caine crossed his arms, steeped in careful thought. The last hour-and-a-half of unusable footage played back through his mismatched eyeballs in a matter of seconds. “It’s nothing we can’t fix in post.”

Zooble swiped their discarded arm off the ground and crammed it back into its empty socket. “Great. Then you can edit me in, too.” They stormed off, reciprocating Pomni’s earlier gesture. “Eat $@#%, sad sack.”

Jax sighed. “Aw, shucks. Right when things were getting good…”

“Uh…!” Caine skipped a beat. He swiveled toward the five circus members still gathered beneath the big top. “Well, then!” he elbowed his soap bubble companion, “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us, Bubble! As for the rest of you, consider yourselves off the hook for the rest of the day — my treat! Take some personal time, get some sleep, and try your darndest not to dwell on the soul-crushing scale of eternity!”

“I have no soul!” Bubble turned upside-down. “So I don’t mind it one bit!”

“You and me both, old pal!” Caine’s laugh sounded forced and unnatural.

There was a pause. Gangle glanced around, then meekly raised her ribbony hand. “But what about—”

“Go on, now! I won’t take no for an answer!” the ringmaster stabbed the air with his cane, “I want you all in tip-top condition for tomorrow’s wacky adventure!”

🎪 🎪 🎪

It wasn’t long before everyone had gone their separate ways. Jax had slinked off to the digital carnival to terrorize the NPCs, Gangle had left a trail of teardrops all the way to the digital lake, and Kinger, as per usual, had just disappeared without anyone really noticing.

At last, Pomni was alone again. She curled her tear-stained face inward and filled her chest with three shaky breaths. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. Hands tightened into trembling fists, she threw her head toward the sky and let loose a long, ear-shattering shriek.

Why was this happening to her? What did she ever do to deserve this!? She was a person — a human being, for God’s sake — not some stupid, one-dimensional children’s character. How dare anyone expect her to just grin and bear it? She didn’t owe anything to anyone — not even one second of feigned emotion. As far as she was concerned, the moment she forced that goofy smile onto her face would be the moment she surrendered, and she would never, ever, in a million years—

“I’m always here if you need to talk. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

Pomni flinched, wrenching away from the sudden voice. After the emotional hell she’d gone through during her first day, unexpected noises didn’t exactly put her at ease — nor did anything else in this deranged digital purgatory, for that matter.

“Ah! Sorry!” Ragatha covered her mouth. “I didn’t spook you too bad, did I?”

“You did, actually! Wh-What’s wrong with you?” Pomni gathered herself quickly. She didn’t dare to even look in the direction of the person who had just watched her childish tantrum. The moment she found her footing again, she stormed off like her very life depended on it. “Don’t just sneak up on people like that!”

Silently relenting, Ragatha stepped aside to let Pomni pass. She watched the pouting jester jingle and jangle with every step, stomping with boundless confidence in the completely wrong direction.

“Uh…” Ragatha tilted her head. “Pomni? Do you remember the way to your room?”

“Ugh! What do you care?” Pomni doubled her pace. “Mind your own business!”

Ragatha smirked. “Alright, I guess I’ll just head back to my room, then. Which, for the record…” She pointed behind herself, “…is that way.”

Pomni stared vacantly as Ragatha sauntered off. The doll had read her like a book. Locking herself in her room for days on end meant she still had no clue how to get around the tent — if she wanted to get back to her regularly-scheduled self-pity anytime soon, she would have to swallow whatever was left of her pride.

Pomni grumbled under her breath, fast-walking to catch up. “Hey! W-Wait!”

🎪 🎪 🎪

There was no ambient noise to dampen the tension; the dormitory hall’s plush carpet absorbed the sound of Pomni and Ragatha’s footsteps. Ragatha led, hands tucked politely below her waist, while Pomni trailed behind.

The complete, unbroken silence wasn’t exactly the most comfortable thing in the world, but it was preferable to whatever inane smalltalk would have filled it. That’s how Pomni saw things, at least.

In the time it had taken to walk here, she had managed to cool off a bit — and the unwavering quiet gave her plenty of mental space to reflect on the last few minutes.

She wasn’t sorry. Pomni didn’t care if Zooble hated her — she could hate them right back. Breaking bread with Jax was pointless; that creep preferred to provoke. Gangle was friendly, but to interact with her was to walk on eggshells, and Pomni lacked the patience. And Kinger? Was Kinger.

Arms crossed, Pomni looked up from her big, dumb clown shoes. Her gaze settled on the doll in front of her. Pomni despised everything about this place — but now that she was going through her laundry list of grievances, she had to admit: she had nothing on the redhead.

…What was her name? Ragatha…? She was by far the most mature of the circus’s captives. She was kind. Predictable. An island of calm in a stormy sea.

Pomni’s harsh features softened. Ragatha was the only character who had shown her the slightest shred of compassion since she’d arrived here. The realization weighed down her stomach with more than a few pangs of guilt. Ragatha, of all people, certainly wasn’t a deserving outlet for her angst.

Oh, no — nice going, you idiot. Ragatha was the one thing about this place keeping you anywhere close to sanity, and you’ve already repelled her by acting like a petulant child. She probably hates you now. You know that, right? Actually, it’s not ‘probably’. It’s ‘definitely’. That’s why she isn’t talking. That’s why this is so awkward. That’s why —

“So…what’s under your cap?”

Pomni stumbled. Had the wall not been there to grab onto, she absolutely would have fallen flat on her face.

Stabilizing herself, Pomni gawked up at Ragatha as if the doll had just beamed down from another planet. What’s under her cap? Did she hear that right? It was such an odd, out-of-the-blue question — but at least it had yanked her out of her head.

“I’m sorry?”

Ragatha bent down to Pomni’s eye level. “Your cap.” She said gently, resisting the urge to prod one of the little bells dangling from either end. “It comes off, doesn’t it?”

Pomni blinked. She hadn’t really given it any thought. In fact, until Ragatha had brought it up, she had forgotten that her ridiculous new form came with a hat at all. Doing nothing but hiding under the covers and sobbing for days on end had that effect.

With much bigger problems weighing on her mind, Pomni didn’t really care to check — but something about Ragatha’s expectant gaze possessed her anyway. Very carefully, she hooked her fingers beneath the golden rim. She felt a small amount of resistance as she pushed up, almost as if the headpiece were attached to her body through some kind of magnetic force.

With a just a little effort, though, it popped right off.

“…Huh.” Pomni held the striped cap in her hands. “Look at that.”

“Oh, goodness!” Ragatha tried and failed to suppress a squeal. She paid no mind to her question’s answer, too distracted by the worst hat hair anyone had ever seen. It was certainly a look; a chaotic mess of tangles, knots, and flyaways did as it pleased atop the jester’s capless crown.

“Hey! What gives?!” Pomni ducked her cap back onto her head. A few extra clumps of hair stuck out from underneath. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’m so sorry! Your hair is just…” Ragatha giggled. “Well, it’s a bit messy at the moment. But I like it!”

Pomni leered. “…Liar.”

“I’m not making fun of you! Honest!” Ragatha crossed her hands over her heart. “I love your hair, Pomni. It’s…”

“It’s what?!”

“It’s so cute!”

Pomni’s eyes grew two sizes. That was…not the answer she expected to hear. She didn’t know what to say — just that her face felt a lot warmer than before.

“Obviously, you could use a comb…or three. But who cares about that?” Ragatha’s hand drifted through her own thick, yarn-like locks. “You really lucked out, you know. I’d trade your hair for mine in a heartbeat.”

Despite everything, the smallest of half-smiles lit Pomni’s face.

“I, um…” Pomni took a deep breath. And then two more. Her whole body slumped closer to the floor. Try as she might to keep her personal pity party alive, Ragatha’s radiant energy made her forget her troubles, if only for a moment.

“…Why are you being so nice? And to me, of all people?”

Ragatha just shrugged. “Do I have a reason not to be?”

Pomni gripped her other arm, gaze flicking down the corridor. Her smile faded in the silence.

“Well, um, anyway…” Ragatha glanced at the door behind her — Pomni’s awkwardness was infectious. “You have your room key, right?”

Pomni’s heart skipped at the thought of having lost it, but eased at the feeling of cold metal in her pocket. She nodded.

Gently, Ragatha took the cartoonish key from Pomni’s hand. With a turn and a click, the way to the jester’s room was open.

Ragatha held the door, smiling warmly. “You look like you could use some space. Go enjoy some quality alone time, okay, new stuff?”

“O-Okay.” Pomni didn’t hesitate to do just that — until she did. “Um…” She peeked behind a door half-open. After the longest pause, a simple, stammered “thanks” was all she could manage to get out.

Her door clicked shut. And audibly locked.

My Ko-fi - Tips are very much appreciated! :)

[Next Chapter]

#pomni x ragatha #pomnitha #ragapom #jesterdoll #buttonblossom #ragatha x pomni #pomatha #tadc #tadc pomni #ragatha #the amazing digital circus #tadc sunshine #tadc fanfiction #sapphic #lesbian

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lifeofalegacy · 4 months ago

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Life of a Legacy Chapter 4

“See? I’m fine.” Grian huffed as he met back up with Scar and Mumbo in the ER’s lobby.

Rolling his eyes, “Your wing is almost completely wrapped in gauze,” Mumbo pointed out. “And if I’m not mistaken, there’s some pretty heavy bandages peeking out from under your sweater.”

Ok. So maybe Grian was oversimplifying a little bit. “Well, I don’t have a concussion.” That’s not to say the nurse who was treating him hadn’t taken one look and gone to put on a layer of gloves to treat all his wounds. Or how she had desperately tried to make sure Grian was ok as she had to practically pour antiseptic onto his wing. That hadn’t been fun.

“You said you weren’t anywhere near the fire when it happened? How fast was this bike going?”

Scar crossed his arms. “Well, if that’s where the bar is then I’m thoroughly disappointed. Grian, you should have told someone earlier! Hell, you should have been here last night to get all of this treated. Most people from the fire only had minor injuries! You’re one of the worst cases I’ve seen, and you weren’t even there!” Another failure on Scar’s part, just add it to the list. He wasn’t able to save everyone alone, he wasn’t even able to save his friend. Some hero he was.

“I was told I will be fine.” Besides when they had to pop his arm back into its socket, and the nurse had nearly demanded he get an x-ray to see if anything was broken. Listen, he loved his friends, but they could truly be overbearing at times. Especially during times when all Grian wanted to do was curl up in his bed and sleep for days. “A few days' rest, no heavy lifting, maybe a few weeks for new feathers, but I will be ok. No cracked ribs, no head injuries, just some nasty scrapes and bruises.”

“If you say so mate.” Mumbo matched Scar’s frustration. “Still, please tell someone next time? We’re here for you.”

Last night had been a wreck, with Jimmy’s sobs still echoing in his head. He was older, more responsible. Grian didn’t have time to tell people. And ironically, he couldn’t tell them now.

“Ok...”

“Grian.” Mumbo placed his hand on the other’s shoulder, the one wrapped in less bandages. “Promise me.” His gaze stared straight through Grian’s soul, as if he were draining it.

“Jeez! Fine, I promise.” He shook off his friend, and tried to ignore the creeping guilt. Forcing his mind off of it, Grian began to look around the lobby. “Where’s Jimmy?”

His brother had been surprisingly cooperative when they told him Vex had sent a car to drive them to the hospital. Apparently Gem had rattled some sense into his brain during their phone call, and Jimmy revealed he’s avoided the EMTs the day before. He knew that girl was smart.

When Jimmy had asked about why Grian needed to go to the ER, the elder had been… cagey at first. Until Scar shot him a look that rattled the windows in his brain and he spewed out his story about being hit by the bike. In retrospect, it was a pretty good story. Believable, but not too common that any of them would know what the injuries looked like off the top of their heads.

However, Grian had been under the assumption that Jimmy had been cleared by the paramedics on scene, so finding out his brother could also be hurt shot him through the heart. On the other hand, Jimmy finding out his brother was suffering and had to sleep on the floor made the other feel like absolute trash. Mumbo had just muttered something about apples not falling far, but guided them to the car just the same.

“I think he’s fine. Got out wayyy before you did.” Mumbo said. “He went across the way to the store to pick up some lunch. Scar offered to go with him, but he said he needed some time alone.”

“You being hurt really messed with him.” Scar muttered guiltily.

Shaking his head, Grian led the two out of the ER on a quest to go track down his brother. There were like, four stores Jimmy could have gone into.

With a sigh, Grian pulled out his phone and shook his head. “Why is it always hospitals that have no service?” He turned to his friends. “Any clue which one he went in?”

Both Scar and Mumbo cringed and shook their heads. “No clue mate. He didn’t seem in the mood for small chat when he got out.”

“I don’t think The Market Place sells food?” Scar guessed. “It’s more like an… herbal medicine store?”

Grian looked between the remaining options, “Let’s start at Hen’s Grocers.”

The store was chilly compared to the bright sunny day outside, and Grian took a look around, but how was he really to know? Jimmy ran off often, and had been for years. The brothers were much the same, preferring to avoid the problems rather than outright face them. So if Jimmy was running, then there was a problem.

“Any ideas on how to find him?” Mambo asked. “Because–”

“Energy drink section.” Grian blurted out loud enough that even he startled. Scar looked over at him in bewilderment. “He, uh, goes there a lot…” No he didn’t? Why would he know that? Why would he say that?

“You good there Grian?” Scar asked, raising an eyebrow.

He felt fine. “Yes…”

Before the group could make their way to wherever Jimmy might be, Jimmy emerged from the aisle, carrying an energy drink and a boxed sandwich. He was worrying his lip, and glancing around every few seconds as if checking for someone. That was not good.

“Jimmy!’ Grian called out, and he saw his brother visibly relax at the sound of his voice.

After quickly running his items through check-out, Jimmy hurried over to them, meeting his brother with a tense smile. “Hey.”

“Hey, why’d you run off like that? I thought you’d wait in the lobby, is everything ok?” Now he was looking around for whatever had Jimmy paranoid, his feathers fluffing against his will. Mumbo noticed immediately, coming around Jimmy’s other side to protect him. He glanced around.

Jimmy’s eyes were red, and his cheeks swollen from rubbing at them. He shook his head and leaned closer to Grian. “The nurse I saw, he, figured out about…” His wings twitched. “So, it’s just paranoia.”

Placing his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder, the other muttered words of comfort. “You’re going to be fine, it’s just one person, and he can’t say anything.”

Behind Jimmy, Mumbo’s eyes widened, but he stayed silent, instead taking a step closer to the younger avian.

“I just want to go home, Grian.”

“Let’s go then.”

---

Scar had been at this for hours, ignoring the growing amount of emails his computer pinged with every minute. But at this point, how could he not?

It was fascinating, the way she moved. He suspected the cameras weren’t truly doing her any justice. The air seemingly under her control, and not the other way around. Xelqua’s movements were light, gentle, yet rumbled with the power of a thousand suns when she turned it on her enemies. She was everything a hero had needed to be, wrapped up in one tiny powerful flutter.

Even though Cub had encouraged Scar to look into his predecessor a long time ago, the newer hero had never truly felt it necessary. The way the two fought were like night and day, and on top of that, Scar found himself firmly planted on the ground. Unlike Xelqua, he didn’t truly rely on his powers for combat. Sure, the whole walking, running, and jumping bit was a nice perk he got to use for a few hours at a time before his body felt like it was shutting down, but it wasn’t exactly the same. But boy was he regretting not knowing about her now.

Even if the two were nothing alike, she was fascinating. Everything about her had an other-worldly quality, from the way she fought to the weapon she used. It shone like its own light source, and amplified her voice to the point she herself became the weapon. Most of the footage that remained of her had faded into obscurity over the years she was missing, but now that she had miraculously returned from the dead, people were posting her all over the internet. Her takedown of the Zombie King, saving the people in Flight 346 from total annihilation, volunteering at the lost kid’s home for the holidays, it was all resurfacing. Everyone was buzzing about Xelqua. He’s seen her up close, and it was incredible.

Scar leaned back in his chair, and looked out the glass wall of his office into Vex Co. Everyone out there needed a protector. Xelqua seemed to agree.

Were they really that different? Scar would love a chance to know.

Yet, in the days since the Town Hall incident, no one had seen hide nor hair of her. Once again, it was as if she had vanished into thin air. Scar had been doing his best, not only to cover everything, stopping muggings and busting convenience store robberies, but also to keep an eye out for her.

To say he wasn’t worried when she showed up to the scene of the fire with already scratched up legs would be a blatant lie. And when she fell, not jumped, but fell from that balcony with Grian’s brother, Scar’s heart had caught in his throat. Sure, he was no expert in avian flight, but she shouldn’t have hit the ground that hard. The way she skidded, purposefully landing under Jimmy so he wouldn’t touch the pavement was heroic, but largely stupid.

Up close, Xelqua wasn’t anything like she was in the videos, and Scar wanted to know why.

When the office was closing up, nearly everyone gone, a few lamps on here and there, Scar finally built up enough courage to talk to Cub about his thoughts.

“Maybe she was just out of practice,” He tried, not really paying attention to his friend’s swirling doubts and conspiracies, instead scrolling through something on his phone. “Or she hit her head when some of the rubble fell. It’s not like we could see into the building.”

“I know, I’ve thought about all of that.” Scar replied tightly as the elevator let them out onto the ground floor. As the pair stepped into the cold night air, Scar already felt himself searching around for Xelqua. “But I saw her up close. I watched the way she spiraled, and how she took off. It was nothing like in the videos.”

“So you’re finally taking my advice then? Learning how to be a proper hero?” Cub smirked, finally looking over at the other. When that didn’t get the lighthearted response he was expecting from the other, a frown slipped onto his face, and he shoved his phone into his pocket. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and I feel like you’re not serious enough.” Shaking his head, he refused to look over at his mentor. “Everyone thought she died Cub. I read all the theories, watched the videos about her last battle. But suddenly, out of nowhere, and exactly when we needed her, she reappeared? It’s strange.”

Cub had to choose his next words carefully, he knew that. When Scar got his mind set on something, it was nearly impossible to sway him, no matter the cost. He placed a hand on the other’s arm, stopping them. “It’s very strange. I’m not arguing with you about any of this, but I’m also not entirely sure what you’re getting at.”

Scar wasn’t either. He’d been thinking about Xelqua all day, thousands of questions circling his mind, but they hadn’t condensed into anything really important. Where was she? Probably living her life in the city away from the spotlight. How did her microphone work? Magic, like anything else in this world.

“There hasn’t been a single avian with flight in this city within the past 25 years. Did you know that?” He’d learned that during his deep drive spiral after lunch today.

Cub and Scar had worked together for years. Scar had practically been hand picked from the group of interns he worked with during his grad school days. The older had helped him along his path to greatness, even recognizing the struggles Scar went through on a daily basis. Many a night had been spent going over grueling paperwork and admitting secrets before Cub had truly decided Scar was the one he wanted in charge. Further, those secrets had culminated in the creation of Scar’s super alter ego, his boss encouraging the other even during the first few rough patrols. Without Cub, Scar would be neither the CEO of Vex Co, or Hot Guy. Put simply, they knew each other very well.

“I know you haven’t been sleeping,” Cub said coldly. “Even if I’m not your “guy in the chair” for a night, I do still get all the notifications from your suit.”

“In all honesty, I thought I turned that off.”

“Every night Scar. For hours you are out there. When you started this, you promised me that you would never let it get this bad. That you could balance this!” Rage filled the usually stoic man’s voice.

“I’m– I’m fine.”

“Fine? You think I haven’t seen the way you wince when no one’s watching, or how for the first time in years you’ve been exclusively using your powered wheels feature on your chair? I know, I know your curiosity is something I cannot truly stop, but you need to cut back. Your body cannot take the strain you are putting it under, and your magic is going to give out one of these days.” Taking a few steps from his friend, Cub planted his face into his hands. “Please Scar. I love that you want to help people, and right now Xelqua is at the top of your list, but for her sake, and the sake of everyone else, take a step back. If she wants to be found, she’ll be found.”

He was right. Scar knew Cub was right, but that didn’t mean he liked to admit it. Not only had he been pushing his body and powers to the extreme these few night, the metal nanites swirling around in his bone marrow and blood stream keen on following any command he gave them, but he really was pushing the amount of rest he needed before any document he signed could be dismissed under the clause of insanity. Mumbo had been trying his best, offering Scar more coffee than a regular-sized person could have, and Grian had tried to take over some of the meetings once he returned to office. Their pity was something Scar hated, but he truly cherished their loyalty.

And they would understand him if they knew.

“Tomorrow night, I’ll rest.” He said, staring Cub down. “But please Cub, one more night. I know I’ve got enough left in me for one last search. If I can’t find her tonight, then I’ll stop looking.”

The other hated not getting exactly what he wanted, but in terms of how Scar compromised, this was a generous offer. So, Cub had no other choice. “Fine. But I’m on mic, and you have to listen to me if I deem something too dangerous for you to do in this state.”

“Deal.”

---

Grian was never particularly good at “taking it easy.” He just wasn’t wired for it, always needing a project to work on, or someone to talk to so his thoughts wouldn’t get too loud. So, to be cooped up (ha) in his apartment, forbidden from anything kind of strenuous action was truly nightmarish. He’d already reorganized his socks three times, and his ties twice, brushed poor Maui more than appreciated, pruned his bonsai tree to the point where he was worried he may have killed it, and scrubbed his kitchen so many times with so many different chemicals he was sure he made mustard gas in there somewhere. If he asked Mumbo or Scar to come over, he knew they’d come running. Even Impulse, or Joel, or even Bdubs would all be there for him, but he couldn’t. That would be admitting weakness.

These past few days were tortuous. His friends were all clingy, which he loved at first, because that meant they were safe with him. But that quickly turned suffocating. Except Jimmy. He could never be suffocated by his little brother.

Jimmy had finally returned back to his apartment the day before, complaining about needing to do his own laundry in his own washer, which, fair enough. He had also had plans for tonight that Grian knew he didn’t want to bother his big brother with, so he retreated.

That left Grian alone. With his thoughts. Great.

Shaking his head, Grian tried to focus back in on whatever stupid gameshow cable had on tonight, and found a sheep staring back at him. Wow. The Game Network was really scraping the bottom of the barrel for ideas now, weren’t they? He really didn’t like the way that sheep was looking at him.

He let out a long suffering groan. What else was there to do? Any more cleaning and his skin would fall off, any more organizing and his clothes might disintegrate, and if he just sat there then he would explode.

“Groceries!” Grain exclaimed to no one, startling poor Maui off the couch. “...Sorry.”

He could just go buy his groceries, and maybe even pick up some new bandages for his wings. The ones from the hospital were scratchy and started to pick at Grian’s new feather growth.

The sky was a brilliant orange by the time Grian made his way outside, and he stopped to marvel at it for a second. Clouds crawled by at a snail’s pace, and he could see the way the last of the sun rays caught the little water droplets. It seemed quiet, pleasant.

He could be up there.

Shaking himself, he continued on his way to the store, trying to ignore the buzzing feeling in the back of his head that had settled after the fire and not faded since.

The doctors hadn’t found anything wrong.

Street lights clicked on as he walked, and highschoolers around him began their daily walks home from the library or whatever small coffee shops they chose to study at. He remembered picking Jimmy up many times from the library when he had stayed too late. His little brother had always been afraid of the dark.

But that darkness paid him no mind as mindless chatter filtered through Grian’s ears, and he picked up a piece of gossip or two that would have made him gasp if he knew the person. Walks like this usually helped him clear his mind after a busy day of putting out Scar’s fires, or listening to another one of Mumbo’s four hour lectures on the benefits of potato based proteins, whatever that meant. Besides, it wasn’t like he would be completely alone out here, the city had a hero to protect it.

Tilly’s, the local grocery store, was always a bit more expensive than Grian preferred on a daily basis, but it was close, and he did like their local selection of produce and sweets. Even Netty had a small section for her cookies in the corner of the bakery section, specially restocked every morning.

It was a treat to fully shop there, one that Grian decided he had earned after that week. Besides, if he finished his shopping for the week here, then he could spend the next day asleep, which sounded quite pleasant.

He’d been at it for a few minutes, now stuck on picking which kind of apple he wanted to bring home when a familiar voice sounded behind him.

“Hey man! Funny seeing you here.” The accent itself was enough to tell Grian exactly who was talking, and the pure swagger the man spoke with only confirmed it.

“Hi Ren.” Grian turned cautiously, apples still in hand. “How are you doing?”

He was wearing his teal-tinted glasses again, but had switched out the formal suit for a red hoodie and a pair of sweats. Interestingly, he also wore a beanie that pinned his ears down, leaving no trace of who Grian knew the man was.

“Fine! Busy though. Doc and I have been working our butts off alongside legal to get our end of the deal finalized.” Pulling out a list that was much too long, Ren grinned up at the other, canines on display. “I’m actually really glad you all accepted it, having that old building was just making me sad. We used to use it for research, but after the extension to headquarters, it’s just been sitting empty. Part of me was worried we’d sell to a developer that would turn it into… apartments.” His eyes glazed over in pure terror for a second, and Grian found himself letting out a laugh against his will.

“We don’t need any more of those now, do we? Roads can barely support traffic as it is.” Grian bagged up his apples. He waffled for a second, sighing and turning towards the other man, wings drooping. “By the way, I’m sorry for any of the weird vibes you were getting from me during the meeting. I really am happy that we are developing Mumbo’s plans after years of working on them, I just wish Scar would have brought me into the loop earlier. I am totally cool with it now though.”

“Glad to hear it. Not like I helped your fears or anything, I was a bit too intense, I will admit. Just got excited to see another hybrid so high up.” That crooked smile was contagious, and even if Grian was still weary of the man, he was warming up quick. “Speaking of, are you ok?” Ren cringed, and gestured behind Grian, “Sorry if it’s personal, just, your wings weren’t that beat up last time I saw you.”

Ah. Of course. Grian had hoped no one would mention his injuries, maybe just making their own fatal assumptions, but he was never that lucky.

“A bike…” Might as well stick with his story, “took a corner too fast, and I was around it. Skid me nearly 3 meters down the pavement.”

Ren sucked in a pitying breath. “Beezus man! That’s awful.”

“No, no. I should have been paying more attention, but the fire was happening, and my brother worked at Town Hall, so I just was completely out of it.” Maybe some details should be kept under wraps, but if they were working with Ren, then Scar or Mumbo might accidentally let something slip, and he didn’t want to make anything awkward.

Ren’s face morphed into horror. “Is he ok?”

“He’s fine, in fact, I think everyone in Town Hall escaped with minimal injuries for what it was.” Grian hadn’t actually said it out loud, nor let himself feel the pride he should after realizing just what he did. Everyone was ok in the end. He let himself smile, just a little. “The nurse actually said I was one of the worst cases they got relating to accidents from the fire.”

Ren let out a whistle. “Well, that is impressive. Xelqua and Hot Guy really did an amazing job, and I’m glad your brother’s doing well.”

“Me too.” Looking down at Ren’s cart, he let out a surprise laugh. Ren raised an eyebrow at him. “Woah, are you preparing for a party or something? That’s a lot of… meat.” He trailed off as he thought about what he was saying for more than a second.

With a bitter grin that showed off all his sharp, sharp teeth, Ren spoke. “Nah, the full moon’s coming up, you know what that means.” He scratched at his ears from over his beanie.

“Sorry, dude.” Really, he should have realized it sooner. “Curse features suck.”

“You’re telling me. It’s actually why I’m shopping up here. Most of the stores in South Herotopia are already banning Canids from shopping there for the week, even though the full moon is in two days. I’ve got quite a few sick and old neighbors that can’t make the trip up here themselves, so I volunteered. Got to make sure they’ll have food, you dig?”

A pit formed in Grian’s stomach. He’d heard about Dog Hybrids before, but was never close enough with one to have a conversation like this. Ren… didn’t seem like some of the more horrid stories he’d heard, about how Canids turned into flesh-seaking beasts when the moon rose full. But then again, no one was truly themselves after the Reckoning, were they?

“Stores still do that?” Grian asked quietly. “After all these years?”

Ren scoffed. “Not just to us, there’s more than a few who are trying to ban cat and monster hybrids as well. It’s insane.”

“It really is.” Grian had it rough, he really did. Living with two broken wings attached to him, lugging them around day in and out. But in the grand scheme of things, he was lucky. Lucky in a way he preferred not to think about when the news pushed another piece on hybrid attacks. It was never an avian’s whose mugshot they showed.

“Ah, sorry to bring the mood down, and interrupt your shopping.” Ren’s voice was still casual and light, but Grian could tell he was just putting it on for show.

Grian scoffed. “You didn’t ruin anything. I just hope these next few days treat you well. It’s really admirable what you’re doing for your neighbors.”

Ren paused for a moment, and a tiny, real smile graced his face. “Thanks, I think I needed to hear that.” He hummed for a second before pulling out his phone. “Listen, I know you all agreed to buy the building off of us, ‘site unseen,’ but if you want to see some of our old projects before we clear everything out, just give me a call. Can I put my number in your phone?”

“Would Doc really be ok with that?” Grian handed his phone over to the other, watching him tap at the screen. “I’ve heard he’s kinda private about the work Perimeter does.”

Ren paused his typing and bit his cheek before shrugging. He looked at Grian with an expression the other couldn’t fully place. “Doc… doesn’t need to know. He’s a great scientist and engineer and everything, but he takes our work a little too seriously sometimes. I miss being able to talk about what I’m doing, and besides, this is a lot of our old projects, we haven’t touched them in like, two years. If you want, you can invite the Big Guy and your boss too. I like meeting new hybrids.”

“Mumbo and Scar? Oh, Mumbo isn’t a hybrid–”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I know, he’s just massive, but I think he’d love to see where his big development is going. He’s been waiting for years for it to get put through. And I don’t know how accessible your building is, but Scar’s a vex, so I think you two would actually get along really well.”

“...I thought Cub was a vex?”

Grian hadn’t been paying attention that much when Scar took over, so he had no clue about the selection process. He liked to think that Cub wouldn’t base leadership just off of species, but then again, what did he really know about the man? Either way, Scar was absolutely the right choice.

“They both are. Vex Co and all of that.” Grian took Ren’s phone from him and began to press in his number. His smile slipped a little as he made an important decision. “Listen, I know we don’t really know each other that well, but if you end up needing anything from the Central stores and can’t make it up here, feel free to reach out. I’m right on the red line bus, so it wouldn’t be a bother to me. It really sucks what’s happening down there.”

Ren’s beanie shifted as his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Thank dude. That’s really generous.” And there was that bright look again, the one that Grian had assumed was his default.

“Of course.” Sticking out the phone to the other, Ren took it and began to place it in the tote bag in the cart. Unfortunately, it didn’t quite make it…

And Grian was practically already moving before it fell, grabbing it tightly. Both froze.

With a low whistle, Ren took it back. “Woah! Nice reflexes! Thanks.”

“Of course.” Strange.

The two parted ways pretty quickly after that, Grian finishing up his shopping pretty easily besides the struggle of finding non-itchy bandages in the medical section. Luckily, the painkillers we had been taking were doing their job, and his dislocated arm was already feeling better after a few days of taking it easy. So, as night settled over the city, he hoisted his grocery bags up onto his shoulders, and walked home.

—

“This is not what we agreed to Scar.”

The moon had long since rose over Herotopia, and Scar sat atop one of the tallest buildings, just scanning the darkness. He was tired, and sore, and felt his magic already flickering, causing him to stumble across some of the rooftops. But he didn’t care.

“You’ve been out there for hours, already stopped 3 muggings and returned a lost kid to their parents.” Cub’s voice voice through his headset. “Come back.”

Cub wouldn’t understand. That buzzing sensation Scar felt every time he put his mind to something, that wouldn’t fade until he got it or crashed out. He’d tried to explain it to his mentor many times before, but he didn’t understand.

The two of them were close, but could never be the same.

“Just a bit longer.” He muttered.

He ignored the cutting words Cub returned to him, admonishing him for not caring. But Scar did care.

Hermitopia didn’t have a protector. Not really. The police were… there, kinda, and private security details easily ran most of corporate protection, but it wasn’t enough. No one was there for the people. Muggings ran rampant, murders even worse. It didn’t use to be like this. But it was all Scar knew. The terror, the fear, the descent of society into a world that didn’t trust each other, and the consequences that came with that.

So, instead of lamenting and weeping, Scar decided to do something about it. He wasn’t nearly as impressive as the last hero, but he was decent enough with a bow, and had the know-how to build technology that generally improved his physical characteristics.

Overall, he’d been doing really well at it. Most of the population liked him, and he’d saved a lot of lives over the past few years. Not all of them, sure, and those would forever haunt him, but those he could save returned home to their families and friends, and that was something to be proud of. Town Hall had been the first time in a long time that he felt truly powerless to save people.

The last time had been Grian’s sister.

Maybe Cub was right. It was late, and he was tired, and his mind was starting to wander to places he didn’t like to think about.

“Are you listening to me?”

Scar let out a long-suffering sigh. “What do you think?”

“Jesus…” Scar could hear the way Cub shook his head. “Scar. You told me a few hours. It’s been more than that, on top of the fact you’ve been out every night for who knows how long. Please.”

That buzzing feeling turning to crackles. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

In the distance, a flash of pink swooped between the buildings, and Scar leapt to his feet. He lifted his glasses, trying to see it again.

“I know you can’t, but this is hurting you.”

Come on, let me see you again. Be real.

“Please…” Scar muttered to himself, taking out a zipline arrow and slotting it onto his bow. He was ready, he was right.

“Scar?”

There.

A flash of pink, and Scar knew he had to act.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Cub.” With that, Scar took out his earpiece, muffled angry yells getting shoved into his pocket. He knew Cub would forgive him.

But for now, there was a bird he had to find.

—

It was late. Really late. But for some reason, no matter how hard he tossed and turned and tried to make himself comfortable, Grian couldn’t sleep. Ever since the fire, it was like there was this buzzing energy in the back of his head that he couldn’t get to go away. When Jimmy was there, he was able to focus on that enough to get at least a few hours a night, but not anymore.

He’d tried all the normal sleep aids. A nice cup of tea, warm milk, melatonin, he even put on an old dvd of ocean sounds to try and drown out his feelings. None of it worked. So, after another hour of staring blankly at the ceiling, Grian made the tough decision to kick the blankets off, and get out of bed.

No good decision will ever be made after 9pm. Grian knew that, after all, Pearl had practically pounded it into his head after she found out what he did in high school.

But no good decision was going to come from stewing in his misery at all hours of the night either. Passing by Maui’s bed at the end of his, Grian made his way out into the living room. Large windows framing a perfectly clear night sky over a dark city met his gaze, and he paused for a second to really take it all in.

It wasn’t often that Grian got to truly appreciate how beautiful the city was when everything was still. Most of the time he was forced to deal with it’s people, it’s bus delays, it’s litter and it’s prejudice. But in the silence, it was almost like he could see what it once was. How people used to get along, how arguments breaking out on the street were few and far apart. He’d never been alive for that, born less than a year after the curse took effect, but he could imagine.

In the distance, some buildings had lit their roofs pink in honor of town hall and the fire, many more now publicly raising funds to try and rebuild the monumental building. But in the dark, lit only by a mostly-full moon, Grian could pretend those lights were flying.

Subconsciously, his wings spread out, fluttering a bit in the imaginary wind. The feathers were ugly, brown and scruffy, like a swan’s might have been if it got stuck in its baby stage forever. The ugly duckling truly was a haunting story. And sure, he had managed to grow a nice looking secondary here or there, but his primaries just never came in right. Some tried to, but they bent and broke easily, leading to a lot of pain and bloodied bedsheets in the night. Now, if Grian ever saw one trying, he’d just pluck it before the disappointment turned painful again.

It wasn’t like that a few days ago.

Grian knew he couldn’t dwell on what he did, taking such a precious heirloom and using it so recklessly had almost cost him his ability to use his arm. Not to mention the growing anxiety and confusion he knew the city was feeling due to his actions. Everything he did that day was stupid, and dangerous, and he should never even touch that damned thing again–

But you flew.

“And I saved Jimmy.” Muttering to himself, gods, Grian was losing it, wasn’t he? The lack of sleep toying with his brain, pushing him towards desires he’d never even toy with in the day time.

That heirloom cost him his family, nearly cost him everything. But it was also the only thing that saved his brother.

It was nice to fly.

Moving before he could psych himself out, Grian pulled open the drawer he had haphazardly shoved the microphone in during his rush to get to Jimmy. Its crystals were still covered in ash and dust, their shine barely coming through in the moonlight.

Overall, it was something incredibly gaudy, and flashy, and everything Grian wasn’t. But it was perfect for its previous owners, people who just wanted their voices heard, who weren’t afraid to show off and do ridiculous stunts to get noticed. A woman who do anything to protect her family, and a girl who would do anything to keep her mother’s memory alive.

“I’m not actually going to do anything with it,” Grian muttered as he put on his shoes and quietly made his way up the staircase to the roof. As expected, it was completely empty, with a cool breeze blowing through the night. “It’s just nice to pretend.”

Pretend what, exactly?

That wasn’t a question Grian wanted to answer, especially not at 2am. But deep down, he knew.

He was jealous. Jimmy could fly, and Pearl was able to at least glide. They hadn’t been hit with the curse as badly as he had, their feathers looking properly developed, feeling resistance when the wind blew against them. Sure, maybe his jealousy was a bit selfish. Flying did mean that Jimmy would have to live his life in terror about anyone ever finding out, fearing that someone would overhear and snatch him off the street.

Jimmy was never truly interested in flying, but at least he had that option. Grian didn’t.

But for a few minutes, he did. His feathers had caught the wind, and he glided like it was the most natural thing in the world for him.

The damned bandages were itching again. With a groan of frustration, Grain stuck out his wings to carefully peel them off. All of the open wounds had scabbed over, and even if his back was a bit sore here and there, he was doing exponentially better than after the fire. Trying to ignore how some feathers caught in the adhesive and ripped out with a hiss, Grian forced himself to open them fully.

The breeze easily blew through them, shifting the fluff every which way, something he had no control over. Avains were supposed to guide the wind with their feathers, bending it to their will to cut through the air. That bitterness bubbled up again.

In his hand, the microphone glowed lightly, scattering its pink across Grian’s sleep shirt and onto the roof. Grian thought it lucky that no one would be out this late to see the strange way the sparkles amplified the light more and more with each passing second.

What?

But the time Grian realized the microphone was hot, it was too late to let go. His body physically wouldn’t listen to him as the heat spread up his arm, burning his shot nerves. This time, he managed to keep in the scream as it hit his chest and neck. Without the adrenaline or panic from the days before, he could feel the way his bones popped and shifted beneath his skin, and how his wings were pulled apart and put back together roughly, feather by unnatural feather. His head ached something fierce, and his eyes were overcome by not the pink he knew, but a toxic looking purple.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the light and heat faded, and Grian settled into this unfamiliar body once more. Unlike last time, this had been an accident, and his brain wasn’t twitching with instincts he couldn’t fully comprehend.

Opening his eyes, the moonlight let him look upon himself with a mix of horror and anticipation. These clothes were not his, and that was terrifying in a completely different way. To be unknowingly changed in all ways, to the point not even his pajamas remained.

With a deep breath, Grian spread out his unfamiliar wings, and felt the resistance from the wind. If he shed a few tears in that moment, no one would know. The pink feathers that surrounded him were correct, unlike his own useless brown. Angling them up, he was pulled to his feet by the air.

“Why did I do this?” Grian shook his head, staring out at the city horizon through tears. It was tortuous, knowing this is what he could have been if he wasn’t born wrong. Sure, escaping reality was fun for a few moments, but only hurt more once it all came crashing back down.

A particularly hard gust of wind hit him, and Grian found himself stumbling along the roof, speeding dangerously close to the edge. His heart sped up at just the thought of being here. Just a little spike of adrenaline.

Transforming back would suck. Grian knew it sucked from personal experience. So… why not get something he wanted out of this first?

His legs shook as he looked over the edge of his apartment building. Bracing himself, he climbed up onto the ledge, trying to ignore the way his body desperately wanted him back on solid ground. That wasn’t him right now. He didn’t have to worry about falling.

And wasn’t that a fantastic thought?

Maybe the way he stepped off into the air was a little too cocky. He was missing some feathers after all, and the soreness in his entire body hadn’t faded yet. But when the pain of his feather’s catching air passed, Grian couldn’t help but feel ecstatic. He was actually doing it! Sure, he had to remind himself to flap his wings, and maybe it was more of a slow downward glide than true flying, but there he was.

Any terror about being seen was stomped down by the way he cut between the buildings, feeling the air rush past him. His eyes were watering at the unfamiliar sensation, but he couldn’t care less. Steadying himself, Grian willed a large flap, and he began to ascend. A childish giggle escaped his mouth.

Continuing his little journey, he weaved around some of the tallest buildings in the city in a figure eight, just getting the hang of turning. In his enchantment, Grian hadn’t noticed the blur of teal and orange that lurked atop, watching him closely. He even got the courage to point himself downward, letting his body catch some real speed before gently pulling back up in a large arch. Below him, the last buses of the night were finishing their routes, late night shifts changing hands, and night owls finally finding some peace and quiet in the world.

It was truly everything he’d dreamed of.

But as the night got later, and that initial rush of excitement began to wear off (though Grian suspected it would never truly go away), he began to look for somewhere to land. At that point he had no clue where he was, and his muscles were starting to ache. If he wanted to go home easily, he’d have to figure out the best direction to beeline in.

Spotting a mid-level building a little bit ahead, Grian figured he would be able to get his bearings and catch a break. Unfortunately, he still wasn’t 100% on the landings.

Doing his best to circle slowly down, an unlucky gust of wind knocked him off course at the last minute, and Grian found himself stumbling to keep his footing before promptly landing on his ass. At least he almost landed on his feet that time.

Brushing the dust off his clothes, he made his way over to the edge, swung his legs over the side of the building and pulled out his phone. Clicking open to the map app, he tried his best to orient which way he was looking. There was a pretty big intersection in front of him, and he knew he was still somewhere within the centre part of the city.

Behind him, a man landed silently, years of practice under his belt. He watched the other with curious, prying eyes. Finally, a voice rang out across the rooftop.

“Hello?”

Grian shot to his feet, whirling around in terror. His hand went to the mic on his belt before realizing he had no clue how to actually use it.

“Woah! Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Hot Guy.

The hero had come onto the scene a few years ago, wearing surprisingly little for the type of work he got up to. Tinted glasses framed his face, obscuring any chance at figuring out who he was. Not that Grian really cared. After all, he did good work. The news gave him a segment during the end of every week, covering the publicly reported stats of how many muggings, break in, and other crimes the man had handled. And it was a lot.

So sure, he trusted the man. As Grian.

But he wasn’t Grian right now. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure who he was in general, and having a prying hero wasn’t going to help anything. So, while working with him the other day was nice, he wasn’t looking for anything more than that. Grian took a shaking step towards the edge.

“Wait! Please.” Hot Guy sounded almost desperate, and took a shaking step towards the other. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

What.

“What?” Grian actually said that out loud, pausing his retreat. Actually, no! How the hell did this guy know where he was? “How did you find me?”

The hero immediately slumped, looking a bit sheepish. “I’ve been keeping an eye out for these past few partols, hoping I’d run into you. I managed to catch a glimpse of you around the Iver Tower…”

“So you followed me?” That was… freaky. Grian hadn’t had any clue anyone was watching him. Sure, there was the risk that someone might glance something quick out one of their windows, but to know he was stalked?

“Yes…” In every interview Hot Guy did, he was confident, well spoken, and not this shaking mess trembling before Grian. “I’ve been going out every night to see if I could see you. My partner told me to just let it go, that you were fine–” “Your partner is right.” Whatever he had to say to get out of this conversation as quickly as possible.

“--But I say how hard you hit the ground.” Hot Guy finished. “Your feathers were everywhere, and you left a streak of blood across the asphalt. Now, I’m no expert, but I do have some experience getting roughed up, and having a full-grown man use me as a toboggan would do some pretty heavy damage.”

Oh. Yeah, maybe Grian chose to forget that Hot Guy and nearly the rest of the city had seen how he completely failed that landing when dragging Jimmy to safety. So what? It wasn’t that strange of a way to land, and he’d been able to pull himself to his feet afterward. Sue him if it wasn’t the perfect, graceful fluttering steps of the old days.

When he didn’t get a response, Hot Guy laughed, nervously. “I just, are you okay?”

His wings twitched nervously, and Grian felt the way his bare skin hit the air. “I’m… healing. Uh, nothing I haven’t handled before.” Because he wasn’t supposed to be him.

Even in the dark, Grian could see the prying look in Hot Guy’s eyes, raking him up and down, as if searching for something. He could see the awkwardness drying up the longer he stared at the other, coming to his own conclusions. Grian didn’t want to hear them.

“Well, if that’s all, I’m going to go.” Backing up, his heels dangled off the edge of the building. Sure, it was show off-y, but Hot Guy actually thought he was a hero.

Speaking of, the hero shook himself. “No, please–”

“Sorry babe, you’re out of questions for the night. Thanks for your concern.” With that, Grian let himself drop.

He had no clue how to properly right himself from this position, and after stepping realized he was much too close to the ground. Oops. In trying to look cool, he made himself look like the most foolish baby bird stepping out of the nest for the first time. FInally, and just in the nick of time, his wings caught the air, and he went from perpendicular to parallel. With that, he shot one last look towards the building he’d stepped from, and saw Hot Guy had rushed to the edge, watching him. Great.

What was less great was that he now had to get home without the hero following him, and Grian heavily suspected he might. On top of that, while he had mostly managed to figure out where he was, he still wasn’t entirely sure how that got him back home.

No good decisions are made after 9pm. Even if they’re fun in the moment.

This time, Grian flew near the rooflines of each building he passed, making sure no one in them could risk seeing him. The whole time, he kept his head on a swivel, checking to make sure that blue and orange clad man was nowhere to be found. By the time Grian spotted his apartment building, he was fairly sure he was alone. Unless Hot Guy could turn invisible, and then he was doomed.

Speaking of doom, Grian cringed at the thought of having to make another landing, but knew he had a better chance at succeeding this time. So, trying the spiral technique again, he managed to avoid any rude gusts, and felt his feet hit the roof. Sure, he had to jog a bit to keep from falling, but he stayed upright! Absolute win!

In the horizon, the very, very beginnings of morning was peaking above the horizon, and Grian knew the rest of his day was about to be miserable. Not like Scar would punish him if he called out though–

No. There was too much to do.

Taking the microphone in hand, Grian braced for the explosion to tear through his body. That heat began to creep, and maybe he was just tired, or getting used to it, but it didn’t quite burn as much. Then came the shifting of his entire skeletal structure, and oh. There it was.

Panting as he laid on the rooftop, Grian tried his best to grab onto the memories he’d just made. The good ones at least.

“This can’t happen again.” He muttered to himself.

Grian was always good at lying. Especially to himself.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5

#grian #goodtimeswithscar #avian grian #superhero au #life series smp #hermitblr #hermitcraft #minecraft smp

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rjalker · 1 month ago

Text

public domain robots / cyborgs

Image descriptions being written before reading any of them so might not be 100% accurate.

"https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/29446/pg29446-images.html

[ID: A black and white illustration of a robot kneeling, face upturned in grief as they lower a man into a grave. The sky above is dark and filled with stars. Around them are barren hills of grass. The robot's head is bullet shaped, with inset triangle eyes with round small bulbs for eyes. The torso is in three smooth sections with joints between, and the limbs are thin but sturdy looking bars with joints on the elbows knees and ankles. The hands each have five fully segmented fingers. End ID.]

"https://archive.org/details/Fantastic_Universe_v08n06_1957-12/page/n1/mode/2up"

[ID: The cover for Fantastic Universe Science Fiction from December 1957. It is brightly painted, showing a red robot sitting in a desert, painting the scenery in front of it, a ruined stone wall, with statues of a man in a space suit, and a woman in a dress holding up a star. The Robot has a seemingly solid, T shaped torso, with a cylinder for the hips. The limbs are thin, with large round joints. End ID.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/31611

[ID: A black and white illustration showing a robot standing with their arms crossed over their chest, while a human lifts a fist seeming angry. The robot has a bullet shaped head with a single, horizontal bar for an eye with a glowing pupil in the center. The neck is slightly wider than the head, as though it can retract like a turtle. The torso is covered in a downward pointing triangular plate split in two sections, with small antenne on the shoulders. The hands are lobster claws on thin arms, with sliding joints on the elbows, and round ball sockets on the shoulders and hips. The hips are a tall oval shape. More robots of the same type are visible in the background performing various tasks: sitting against a wall with a broom, standing over a vat, and walking. This is followed by another illustration of two robots of the same type marching with a large banner held above them reading, "Robots of the world unite!". End ID.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/29204

[ID: A painted magazine cover for Fantastic Universe Science Fiction, showing two metal robots with very thin limbs on round joints and solid, simple torsos sitting on a stone bench at a bus stop in a crumbled city. One holds a bowler hat in one hand with a briefcase. The other has flowers around the head. The sky is yellow, and what appears to be a spherical flying saucer with rings like a planet floats further down the road.

The stories within are listed as: Substitute God, by John Brunner. Arm of the Law, by Harry Harrison. Ka the Appalling, by L Sprague de Camp. The Amazing Mrs Mimms, by David C. Knight.

End ID.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65200

[ID: A black and white illustration of a quadrupedal robot, likely a cat, standing on the bed of a terrified man, getting reading to bite. The robot has a spherical head with bear-trap like metal jaws, thin claws for feet, a thin, segmented tail, and a mostly solid torso, with some flexible plating toward the middle center. End Id.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/31364

[ID: Two robots, one taller and one shorter, appearing like a parent and child, standing in what looks like a junkyard on an alien planet. The older robot has one hand on the younger one's shoulder, pointing up at the sky as though telling a story. They have mostly solid, oval shaped bodies with round ball joints, and tapering limbs. Their faces have round sections for eyes and noses, with what look like plates that move up and down for their mouths. End ID.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32327

[ID: Three black and white illustrations of what seems to be a very shiny or reflective robot. They have mostly solid, humanoid proportions, with what seems like felxible plating for limbs. First they are walking towards the camera while humans behind them look on in surprise. Then they are sitting on a porch with someone, and are hitting a person who had approached with a gun with eye lazers, stunning what looks like a whole camera crew who is fliming from what looks like the back of a car. Finally the robot is turning its head to the side to regard a frightened looking man in an army uniform. End Id.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/69210

[ID: A black and white illustration showing a robot sitting up from a lab table, where a human in a lab coat is gesturing in mid conversation, both of them seeming happy. A cloud above them shows a man and a woman in an embrace and about to kiss. The robot's body and limbs are mostly solid, with flexible plates at the joints, with one flexible section in the very center of the torso. The head is a rounded square with ears, nose, and round eyes, and a mouth that seems to smile. End Id.] End ID.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32079

[ID: A black and white illustration of a robot whose lower body has a single large tire that it wheels on, with a large barrel shaped body, and thickly-jointed rods for arms that end in four pincer-like claws. The head is round, and has an indented oval slot in the front where round eyes peer out, like a motorcycle helmet. The front of the torso has two large handles protruding, and what look like vents. The robot's torso and head are covered in small round windows or lights. In the background, several humans are running away from the robot, which looks towards the camera with one arm raised slighty. There is an artist's signature of "E M S H" at the bottom. End ID.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64473

[ID: A black and white illustration of a robot facing off with a giant, cat-like alien with large ears like a bat, which seems to be crouching in a cave, or under some sort of covering, with what look like sparks flying away from its claws as though scraping against metal. The robot is very solid and has thick humanoid proportions, with their back to the camera. A spooky looking bat flies in the sky, and the robot stands under a tree without leaves.; End ID.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63821

[ID: A black and white illustration showing three or four robots in the foreground, mostly with their back to the camera, facing off with a human man and woman in space suits. The robots are mostly in shadow, but have large connected antenne on their heads, square grills for mouths, and round protruding eyes. They all appear to be on an alien planet, near a crashed spaceship. The robots clutch makeshift weapons: a large wrench, an axe, and what looks like a jackhammer. End ID.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50827

[ID: A black and white illustration showing a human man in a spacesuit looking down at a shorter robot in front of him, with his hands on one of its shoulders. The robot has its back to the camera, with a spherical head, flexible plates for a neck, and a tapering oval for a body, with many limbs: four arms, and twelve feet, each attached to the main body with a large sphere, then smaller spheres for the joints. The arms end in small square pincers, the feet in shapes like wine corks. End ID.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66042

[ID: Two illustrations, the first a colored painting. It is the cover for The Weapon from Eternity by Dwight V. Swain, and shows a giant-sized bright red robot that has ripped a spaceship in half, and is firing a thin ray from its forehead to two humans in torn clothes who shelter behind a rock. The robot has a bullet shaped head with a rounded spike on top, and what looks like a cowl that circles around the lower face and spikes up to form a nose. The upper torso is rounded, then thin in the abdomen, and forms flared hips connected to long, solid legs that bend only backwards at the knee like a human leg. The hands seem to be of five, fully articulated fingers each. The second illustration is in black and white, and shows a human who has been captured by what seem to be other humans wearing helmets to mimic the giant robot, leading their captive into a city or hall lined with either giant statues, or more giant robots. End ID.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66351

[ID: A colorful painting for the cover of "Slaves to the Metal Horde" by Milton Lesser, showing a human man in rags hanging dead from the branch of a tree, and a woman below, also in rags, cowering away from a giant metal robot that has grabbed her wrist. The robot has multi-jointed legs that end in claws, with a very tall, bullet shaped body with flexible plates in the lower half, a single long antenna on top, and what look like four small bulbs for eyes circling the head to look in all directions. Behind them all a line of more robots marches away from a burning city. End ID.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61540

[ID: Two black and white illustrations showing a robot with a square head, first wearing a chef's hat and at a table preparing food. The robot has multiple thin limbs, each with a different tool on the end. One is a knife, one is a long, extendable fork, one has what looks like a large spoon at the end, and the other is mostly hidden. The robot seems to have a hose going from a box on its torso to where their mouth would be. The second image shows the same robot seeming to be getting repairs, with a human in overalls and a cap sitting with it under a flexible lamp, attaching a drill hand to the robot's arm. End ID.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/59558

[ID: A black and white illustration showing five robots that seem to be doinga performance inside a crowded bar. One robot is doing a handstand, another seems to be singing with one arm thrown in the air, two are crouching with the last seeming to have jumped off their backs only to hit its head on the ceiling. They all have human-like proportions on the limbs, and appear like mannequins, with a texture that does not seem shiny. They are surrounded by humans who stare, including an old man in the foreground who seems quietly amuseed. End Id.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66259

[ID: A black and white illustration cut into two sections by the page break, showing a very shiny robot standing over a collapsed human in coveralls, while two more humans cower in the background. The robot's upper torso is solid, with flexible plates in the abdomen and solid hips. The arms and legs are very thin rods with small rounded joints, and the hands seem to end in five articulated claws. The head is a rounded square with flexible plating for the neck. The robot is staring off past the camera as though surprised by something off screen. In one hand it seems to be holding some strange alien creature with a sphere body, and many thin tentacles ending in hands. End ID.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51362

[ID: A detailed black and white illustration showing two men in a sitting room, with the camera positioned directly behind the shoulder of one, who is smoking a cigarette and looking across to a robot who sits on the floor in front of the other man, who holds a teacup and looks down at the robot as though the robot is speaking. The robot appears to be, or be in a spherical car with three wheels, and a clear dome windshield. The robot is holding a spoon and small cup, and is either drinking, or dispensing tea or coffee into it through a nozzel on the front of the smaller dome-like head. The arms are very intricate with multiple moving parts, and thin fingers. End ID.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66733

[ID: A mostly black and white illustration with a red stripe in the background, showing a man in a suit with a decorative cane looking thoughtfully up at a giant robot twice his height. The robot's limbs are very thin, but with a larger round chest, and a barrel shaped head with a point on top. End Id.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65128

[ID: A black and white illustration showing a robot with drooping features of an old man, wearing glasses and a bowler hat, carrying books and wearing a suit. Behind him is a seeming human, about to swing a large metal tool to kill him. End ID.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63813

[ID: A black and white illustration of a man in ragged clothing with his back to the camera, standing in front of and seeming to confront a giant robot, one arm lifted as though telling it to stop. The robot has a completely solid body that has three wheels in the front, and very thin segmented tentacle arms that end in two pincers. The head is a dome on top with a single large round light for an eye. In the background, another robot of the same type looks at the one in the foreground. End ID.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62043

[ID: A black and white illustration showing a robot facing off against two very round aliens that seem to be covered in scales, with thin limbs and lizard-like crests on their heads, one of whom is attacking a woman who looks angry. The robot has one alien thrown over its shoulder and is reaching out to grab the neck of the other. The robot has their back to the camera, but appears mostly solid, with human like proportions, and flexible plates for the limbs. End ID.]

"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43936

bonus cyborg:

[ID: A black and white illustration of the Tin Woodman from The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Posed against a green background at the start of Chapter 5: The Rescue of The Tin Woodman. The Tin Woodman is a cyborg with his whole body made of tin: He has a barrel shaped torso with a row of buttons going up the center, and small round joints on his shoulder, ankles, wrists, hips, knees, and ankles, with oval shaped feet that are flat on the bottom, and five simple fingers on each hand. His jaw swings up and down, he has a pointed tube for a nose, and wears a funnel on his head like a hat. He is posed with his hands over his heart as he gazes off into the distance with a dreamy smile. End Id.]

#robots #pulp scifi #vintage scifi #science fiction #masterpost #robot masterpost #public domain #public domain species #public domain characters #public domain art #public domain robots #long post #very long post #cyborgs #Tin Woodman

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abhainnwhump · 1 year ago

Text

IMYM Chapter 34:

A Darker Lie: Dream

(Content warnings: Torture, child torture, brainwashing, starvation. victim blaming, religious themes)

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They fell . . . and fell . . . and fell.

Wind and time slowed. They were stagnant, yet moving. The gray castle and dark green forest faded to blocks of color. Were they closer to the window or to the ground? Where were they even? Dream couldn't recall this.

Dream and Cross clung to each other. Cross’s arms wrapped around his back and gripped his shoulders. The guardian was so tired and nauseous from the fight, he welcomed it. Dream shifted his weight so he was the one facing the ground. “Cross, if this is the last time I get to tell you, I love you. And I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. And I know how hard it was to return to a place that traumatized-”

“Shut up, you worry too much.” Cross silenced him with a kiss. “Error is going to pick us up and if for some reason he doesn’t, at least I got to throw it in Nightmare’s face one more time. And you know what? I don’t care if it’s cliche, I love you too.”

Dream laughed. The ground was only another hundred feet away. Dread and panic filled Dream’s mind. Where was Core? They were supposed to be here. The area began to shift. The castle and trees faded into a glitching void. Cross’s voice began to falter. His body faded away piece by piece. Dream suffocated. He kicked his legs and struggled to swim to the light right above him. He was so close, yet the darkness pulled him deeper, deeper until-

Dream snapped awake.

He panted and looked around, first to his aching wrists. Two heavy Anti-Magic chains rested on his wrists. Dream lifted the chains to his face and looked around. The amount of negativity pressing against him felt like a weighted blanket, only far less pleasant.

Blue woke up in the cell across from them. His head bled from a wound. Dream tried to remember what happened. The wedding, Nightmare transformed into his real self, he lied, Blue struggled to help him . . . then everything went dark. He failed his mission, he should have been outraged. Yet . . . Dream felt nothing.

“Dream?” The knight asked, snapping Dream from his worried thoughts. “Are you okay? Nightmare hit you hard.”

Dream stared expressionless at the ground with a glazed look in his eye lights. Less than a year ago, those same eye lights were big, bright, and full of optimism. But now they were tiny pin-pricks and almost gray. His voice was just as monotone. “I’m fine. I have a few bruises, but it’s fine. You . . . you stopped fighting, I saw you and Dust and Horror beat you. Are you okay?”

Blue sighed. “Yeah, they didn’t beat me as much as catch me off guard. I’ve seen worse.”

Dream looked around the other cells. Epic lay unconscious, so did Core Frisk. Their arm bled a grayish crimson. Error began to stir. He groaned as he sat up. He blinked his tired eye lights, which shot open as soon as he recognized the dungeon.

“No . . . no . . . NOT THIS HELL AGAIN!” Error screamed and his fingers dug into the bar. He crashed almost immediately. A reboot bar appeared over his head as he panted, his eye sockets blurred, and Epic woke up.

“What the heck . . . bruh, where am I?” Epic shook his head and set a hand on the bloody wound on his chest. “Oh, right. Ribbon.”

Dream dragged himself to the other side of the cage. “Epic, have you seen Cross? Where is he? What have they done to him?”

Epic shrugged. “Sorry, bruh. I don’t know. I was helping him fight Killer and Ribbon and then Ribbon snuck up on me.” His hand lifted from the wound, now stained with purple blood.

Core Frisk lay in the final cell, rubbing their eyes. They seemed the least injured, though that didn’t mean they had none. Tears littered their sleeves and bruises and scrapes covered their arms. From the way they struggled to sit up, their back was in agony.

Dream tried to sense Cross’s aura. It stung their soul, the castle was so negative it made the chapel feel like a carnival. Dream could barely breathe in the stuffy cell. Yet, despite the worry buried deep in their soul . . . most of them didn’t care. Did it even matter anymore? He caught the pattern of whenever he had something worth living for, Nightmare took it away. It put less pressure on his soul.

So when they heard Cross’s screams from a room down the hall, Dream toughened up and looked away. He knew what would happen now. Cross would come back mutilated, brainwashed, mind-controlled, or as a pile of ashes. Then Nightmare would taunt him for a reaction. Dream refused to give him one. He closed his eye sockets and pretended he was somewhere else, drowning out the noise. Eventually, they stopped. It was abrupt, not a slow transition. Dream couldn’t sense if he was dead or not.

Epic looked in the direction of the screams. A wave of guilt passed through him. “So, bruh . . . what do you think they’re doing to him?”

Error finished his reboot and panted. “I don’t know, drawing on his arms with knives? They were never consistent on what action led to what punishment. I thought talking back meant I would get slapped in the face, but no. The next time, it was poison!” Error’s body flared up.

“Error! Stop! You’re going to crash again. You’re not alone this time.” Blue smiled at him and offered a glitchy hand through the bars. He looked around at them and stood up. “Nobody panic, I’m sure we’re going to get out of here. We can’t save Ink, but we can save ourselves and get revenge! Dream, help me out! You’re the one good at pep talks!”

Dream didn’t respond, staring blankly at the floor instead. He traced his finger along the floor, creating an ash drawing of the Tree of Feelings. They drew a mini Nightmare and a mini Dream smiling and holding hands beside it. His hand lingered on the tree itself before he scribbled it out. It felt like his soul floated outside his body, or he was in a strange dream.

“Dream, what’s going on?” Core Frisk asked. “Don’t keep it bottled up. Is your soul alright?”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about me.” Dream sighed. “Cross may be dead. We need to be prepared for that. We all are going to die here.”

“That’s . . . that’s the opposite of what I was looking for.” Blue sighed, sitting back down against his cage.

No one spoke unless it was to calm someone down. Dream kept his mouth close. Eventually, Killer walked in with Cross in his arms. He cradled him close to his chest, which didn’t sit well with Dream. But the most important thing was that Cross’s lower jaw was completely gone. Unlike the rest of them, he did receive light bandaging. Killer opened the cage beside Blue and threw Cross inside. Before he closed the cage, he kissed him on the cheek, running a hand down his chest. Dream screamed and pounded the wall beside his bars.

“Bruh, let go of him!” Epic screamed, reaching through the bars. He tried to find the weak point on his Anti-Magic cuffs and shatter them.

“Nah, I don’t feel like it. And what are you going to do, beat me with another dog toy?” Killer grinned with sadistic satisfaction. “A rubber chicken is a stupid weapon.” He looked up at Dream. “I thought you try to fight a little for him? I mean, if you don’t want him anymore . . .”

Dream curled up in the corner, closing his eyes. He would’ve argued, but more footsteps entered the room. They listened to the click of heels and the squelching of tendrils as he entered the room. Dream peeked. Nightmare carried Ribbon in his arms, using a tendril to pet his head. Dream glared, jealousy building in their heart. They risked their lives, they were captured, and others died to save him. Ribbon didn’t even try to help them in exchange, Nightmare just spoiled him, the only reason he survived. Ribbon took Ink away. If Dream couldn’t stop Nightmare, and he couldn’t save Ink, he would murder Ribbon. He was as much of a zombie as those victim of the Code Purples. Dream’s gray soul burned, something that made everyone else’s positivity drop.

Was this . . . what hate felt like? Had he fallen that low? For a moment, it scared him.

Nightmare walked around the prisoners, keeping his grip tight around Ribbon. Ribbon smiled when he saw Error. The latter scowled at him. Nightmare stopped at the end of the room, locking eye lights with Dream. He seemed to enjoy how empty and hollow his gaze was.

“Well, well, this is convenient. If you would take my advice, I would suggest pacing yourselves. Don’t send all your soldiers to attack in separate areas. The greatest armies in history never survived with that technique.” Nightmare leaned against the wall. Ribbon started to doze off.

“If you’re going to kill us, do it already! I’m not sitting through another one of your sick fantasies! We get it, you got us.” Error’s sharp nails scratched the bar.

Nightmare sighed. “Don’t swear in my face, you out of everyone here should know that. And no, I’m not going to kill you, not right away. You crashed my wedding, killed my guards, ruined the reception, and almost drowned my wife. Cross, congrats. You made everything worse for your friends.”

Cross didn’t respond, he was still unconscious. But he was also still intimidating without his lower jaw. Nightmare shook his head. “I haven’t decided your fates yet, but I can assure you Error has his fate sealed.” Nightmare chuckled at watching Error fall into a panic.

“Most of you need training. We’ll start with simple obedience and change plans depending on what I want from each of you. Again, except for you, Error.” Nightmare looked down at Dream and crouched down.

Core Frisk stood up, putting pressure on their wound. “Nightmare, do you realize what you did? Without the balance of the guardians, the multiverse will crumble. If there is no one controlling the balance of AUs, then creativity will remain stagnant. If you’re the only emotional guardian, no one will be able to feel positive emotions again. Emotions will become worthless. And if I’m not protecting the Omega Timeline, the hub of the multiverse will be destroy-”

“I’ve considered all that, and I simply don’t care.” Nightmare flicked a tendril at Core’s feet to trip them. They let out a cry as they fell, irritating Error. Dream sighed, but didn’t waste his energy fighting for them. Nightmare noticed his lack of energy. “Well, well, I expected you to be fighting harder, brother. Your soul and aura are . . . very weak. I assume the negativity isn’t good for you.”

Dream looked up. He kept a blank expression, but this time because he refused to give him satisfaction. He kept his gaze on Ribbon. The doll that stole his friend’s body looked scared and clung to Nightmare. His pink eyes were shiner than usual, appearing to glow. “I’m fine, I can live with the negativity. I’m just tired and recovering from battle.”

“Mm, if you say so.” Nightmare turned around and began to walk out of the dungeon, though he paused. “Sleep well, you are all going to have a long day of training tomorrow. And I need to feed my little Ribbon.” Nightmare disappeared into the darkness and left.

The sound of dirty water plunking against the ground was too loud. If the torture or starvation wasn’t enough to kill someone, then infection would have to do it. At least, that was what Dream believed. Cross finally woke up. He tried to talk, but found out he had no jaw. He touched the edge of it, eye sockets going wide. He turned and looked at Dream, trying to ask if he was okay with his gaze alone.

“Cookie dough, I’m so sorry about your jaw. I should’ve been there. Does it hurt?” Cross nodded at Dream’s question. Dream realized they would have to feed him with a tube, a liquid diet. They could poison him at any time.

Frowning, Core stood up. Unlike Dream, they weren’t going to give up, especially with the Omega Timeline at stake. They tapped their foot against the floor as their mind thought of a plan. Epic stood up too, staring at Cross’s missing jaw. “Can you talk at all, bruh? Are you okay? And uh . . . I’m sorry I didn’t watch my guard. If I did, you would have your whole skull.

Cross responded the only way he could, a weak grunt. He touched the bars of the cage and punched them. His knuckles turned bloody, but he didn’t seem to care. Neither did Dream, frankly. He couldn’t make himself care.

It seemed like it would be a long time before they escaped.

==============================================================================

“Ow, ow! BRUH! STOP!” Epic screamed as Horror hovered a chainsaw above his arms. His jacket was removed so it was just his t-shirt and exposed arms. Against their will, Dream, Blue, Epic, Core, and Error watched. Cross was the only one without a gag. Epic screamed as Horror dug the chainsaw into him. It wasn’t enough to cut his bones, but it was enough to leave bloody gashes across his body.

Killer laughed so hard that he clutched his ribs. Dust’s expression was difficult to read under the dim light and dark hood. Epic kept screaming, turning into a pant as Horror backed away with the chainsaw. He laughed his slow deep laugh. Epic tried to sit up, but he collapsed down. His arms couldn’t hold his weight. His eyes had dark bags, a mix of stress and exhaustion most likely. No one had been sleeping well.

“Alright, we’re done for now. Trying to attack me is a pretty bad idea, agree?” Killer flicked Epic on the nasal bone. He turned to the others. “Show’s over everyone. Lesson of the day is that you don’t ever try to pickpocket knives and use them as lock picks. Knives suck as lockpicks anyways. Now say ‘Yes Killer’ so I know you actually listened.”

Killer pulled Epic by the turtleneck. He coughed from being choked. Epic yanked his leg, but Horror slashed his ax through it to keep it still. Epic let out a hoarse scream, more of a cough since he used up his voice. He sighed, going limp. “Ugh, yes Killer.”

“See? Now was that so hard? Get over here, all of ya.” Killer and Horror wrapped them in their telekinesis and threw them into their cells. Blue and Cross crawled over to Epic, who was curled up and moaning with pain. The blood from his wounds spread across the floor. Dream touched the whip marks covering his back. He worried if they would scar, they were deep enough to do so. Dream’s vision flashed with the weapons striking him every day. Killer and Horror left.

“Stay strong, Epic. You . . . you tried.” Core buried their face in their hands. Their aura burned with frustration.

It didn’t take long before different footsteps came down the stairs. Dream prayed for no more torture and was almost relieved to see Ribbon instead. The good part about him is that he was never physically violent. Ribbon wore a white dress today, this one with a fluffy covering over his shoulders. He carried a matching purse. They remembered from the hospital how the porcelain made him always cold. Dream almost felt bad, but he reminded himself not to. He was the reason Cross had no jaw. He killed Ink. Ink would hate Ribbon, right?

Ribbon dashed for Error’s cage right away, smiling as he set his hands on his bars. “Hi! Error, I missed you! Why did you leave me? I brought you something to help out! I made it.” He opened his bag and pulled out a dark blue blanket with white stars. "Nighty says I shouldn't be too attached to you. Not only did you leave me, but he has-"

"I know, I know, plans for me." Error stared at the blanket. He sighed and took Ribbon’s gift. His exasperated tone made it sound like he had rehearsed it multiple times. “Thanks. I left because your husband is a monster, Ink. He's torturing us and you don't care!"

"Stop calling me that!" Ribbon let out a low cry, suddenly defensive. "I do care! But the pain is important, believe me! You have to learn to be good first, and then the fun stuff happens! That's how I was taught. I just want a new friend. That's why I'm here. I don't torture anyone, promise!"

Ribbon looked among the cages. His mechanical doll eyes dashed around the cages. His porcelain limbs made slight mechanical sounds as he walked. This couldn't have been right. Nightmare would want something more.

A long silence entered the room and everyone's eyes bore into the living doll. His emotions were part of the reason the torture was so merciless. Yet, someone spoke up.

“Ribbon, do you want a friend? I’ll be your friend. Come here.” Blue said, not taking his eye lights off the others. Ribbon looked curious and sat in front of Blue’s cell. He pet Ribbon on the head, letting him lean into his hand. Ribbon beamed as his smile widened. Dream frowned with betrayal. He couldn’t believe Blue let Ribbon manipulate him that easily.

“I’ll try to be a good friend this time, I promise! I’ll do everything I can! Here, do you need help? You must've did something wrong because your arms look like they hurt. I can fix it!" Ribbon shuffled through his purse until he found a key and unlocked Blue's cell. He sat on his knees in front of Blue, smiling at him. He pulled out a roll of bandages from his handbag and began wrapping Blue up. The latter’s smile was hesitant, but he accepted the care.

“Blue? What the hell are you doing? Don’t be his friend! You're going to be a bigger target for Nightmare!” Error whisper-shouted from his cell.

“Shh,” Blue put his free hand up to his mouth in a quiet gesture, “trust me. I got this. I think he needs some love."

Days, maybe weeks passed, and Blue became the lucky one, making Dream jealous. He assumed Cross, Epic, and Error felt the same. Ribbon brought him some extra food and warmer, clean clothes. However, Blue shared the food if he had any, which Dream was grateful for. He was still tortured like the rest of them, just lesser so, and he always received medical care. In exchange, Blue pet Ribbon and talked with him.

"Don't make Ribbon cry. Whatever you do, don't remind him of Ink, call him a bad friend, hurt him, or call out Nightmare. If Nightmare senses he's upset, we're all screwed." Error reminded them over and over.

"I won't make him cry! This isn't all his fault, he needs help. I'm going to win his trust and then help us. Then I can help him back." Blue didn't seem so sure of himself, especially at the bit about calling out Nightmare. He stayed determined.

Later, Blue wore a sweater Ribbon sewed for him. Dream leaned against the wall, staring bitterly at them. Error lay on the floor, tapping his fingers against the floor with a snarl.

“I can’t wait until you finish your training! Nightmare says you need to be done first, then you can come upstairs and I can show you my room! It’s pink, and pretty, and I can show you my stuffed animal collection!” Ribbon rolled onto his back and let Blue scratch under his chin.

Blue’s aura turned nervous as he let Ribbon cuddle by his chest. “I . . . don’t know. I’d like my own room and you’re really sweet, but I can’t leave my friends. Sorry.”

Ribbon frowned. He seemed confused but then lit up again. “That’s okay, Blueberry! You just haven’t learned how good it is here yet! I can show you more tricks if you need it. Nightmare’s going to be here to help Dream and I can ask him for something to help you!’

“Wait, pardon?” Dream looked up from his cell. Ribbon leaned his head onto Blue, who nervously held him. “What is Nightmare going to do to me? Tell me.”

"I- I don’t know. He didn’t tell me very much. He said it’s going to make you feel again and help your progress!" Ribbon turned to Dream and smiled. Dream frowned. Ink's smile was always more confident and fun. They stayed quiet though, remembering the cost of commenting on it."

A while later, after Blue cuddled Ribbon, Nightmare came down to the dungeon. His fingers glinted with magic. He seemed displeased with how Blue held Ribbon, but once he noticed it wasn't romantic, he relaxed. Ribbon stood up when he reached the cells and kissed him on his cheekbone. Nightmare's tendrils shook with joy. Ribbon pulled his string to speak.

“Hi, darling! They're doing better than yesterday! Do you know any spells that can teach Blue to be good faster? He needs help learning and I don't know how well punishments are working . . ." Ribbon gave Blue a wink.

“Something to speed up the process? Hm . . .” Nightmare’s tendrils touched Blue’s glitching cheek, making him jerk back. He hummed. “I believe I have a potion that can help make him docile. I finally have enough power for more complicated potions. Don’t worry, Blue. It won’t hurt you at all. You’ll make my baby doll so happy, that’s all that matters.”

Blue shook his head. “Wait, that’s not what I meant! Nightmare, you’re not changing me anymore! Ink- I mean, Ribbon, help me!”

“I am! Can you do it? Please? Pretty please? It’s going to be okay. It’s a good thing!” Ribbon pleaded with Blue. Dream wasn’t sure why Nightmare allowed this, Ribbon to be so close with someone else. His aura wasn’t happy, but he had a sinister smile plastered across his face.

“Ribbon, no!” Blue tried to push him off. Ribbon clung to him tighter. Nightmare’s tendril shot out and smacked him across the face. Blue bit back a groan of pain.

“I’d advise against that. Keep my little wife happy, that’s all you have to do to receive more care. It’s not hard.” Nightmare turned around to Dream’s cage. “Moving on, we need to have a talk, Dream. Your rotting soul is boring me. This place is killing you from the inside out. Now, I wouldn’t mind this if say, you were becoming more obedient because of it, but that’s not the case. Look at you, you didn’t even react to when I hit Swap. You’re so . . . hollow. The present might not be able to sway you, but I’m sure the past will.”

It was true, Dream only possessed a light glare, but that didn’t stop him from moving back. Nightmare’s tendrils wrapped around each of his limbs, pinning him against the wall. His skull slammed against the wall, making his head ring. Nightmare approached him with washed-out teal magic. It burned the closer he got. Cross tried to kick his bars down to reach him, but the chains and lack of jaw kept him from completing much. He did appreciate the effort.

“Have a fun trip down memory lane, Dream. Maybe this will snap some life into you. You’re rather boring when you’re depressed.” Nightmare touched the sides of his head. Dream’s eye sockets reopened on their own. The entire socket was glowing gold.

The guardian found himself in a foggy, vivid void of muddy gold. Dream has never been inside a mind before, but he expected it to be more . . . bright. He couldn’t see very far with the thick mist. It smelt of apples, peaches, and something else Dream couldn’t identify. Crumpled-up papers littered the ground, scattered with no pattern. Dream picked one up between his fingers and unfolded it. It was a self-portrait of himself done in gold pastel. Frantic scribbles blocked his eye sockets out and the word COWARD surrendered it.

Gulping, Dream dropped the paper and was about to take another one when he caught a strange sound. It was almost a giggle. He could’ve sworn the shadows moved behind a pain bottle. The silhouette of a skeleton . . .

“Something is wrong. Very wrong . . .” Dream muttered to himself. They coughed in the gas, finally realizing what it was. Ammonia is usually the sign of a mind rotting, or a spell. They doubled over and squeezed their eyes shut. Dream removed his cape and wrapped it around his nose and mouth. The stench still affected him, but nowhere as much as it once was. It would have been worse if he had lungs.

Dream decided to chase after the skeleton, it was important, and he knew it. He ran after the stranger, listening for any footsteps or movement. He even listened for giggling or voices. After his Candytale experience, he knew what to expect from Nightmare. He would do anything to enter his head.

He thought he heard the sound of a growl, but he turned around and faced an open portal instead, swirling with gold.

Dream touched the portal and air blew past him, sending him to a flashback. The memory was from his perspective; it was one of his memories, back when he was eleven years old. He kneeled on the grass in his blue outfit, dirty from playing in the mud. He made a flower crown with some flowers he found. The gold cape had a massive rip through the back, but his face had a massive smile. Dream sighed, he used to be so happy and naive. Even a year ago, he was so much happier. He would have done anything to go back to that and fix that path. Wait, was this the Tree of Feelings?

Someone wrapped their hand around little Dream’s wrist, making him jump. It was an old rat monster in a dark brown robe, one of the village elders. His claws dug into him, intentional or not. “Dream, we need your help. The High Elder is very sick. We need one of the gold apples to help him. You are the only person who can give a cure. His life is in your hands, and so will his blood if you don’t help. The village will crumble without a leader.”

No, oh stars no. Dream knew what was going to happen.

“Oh no, that’s horrible, sir! Excuse me, I’ll go grab an apple!” Dream stood up and left the flower crown behind. He ran over to the Tree of Feelings and picked out the shiniest gold apple on the tree. He was always too generous in giving those away. For a strange reason, Nightmare was nowhere to be seen. The current Dream knew why, he was beaten in another part of the village. The child didn’t know that, nor did he know how the village was going to treat him. Little Dream smiled as he skipped back to the elder with a golden apple.

The two walked through the village. As they traversed the quaint buildings and stores, several people talked to Dream. Talked was a generous word, it was more like they demanded things from them.

“Dream, can you harvest my crops?”

“Dream, my son is sick, can you help him?”

“Dream, can you reorganize the shop tomorrow morning?”

The little Dream looked nervous and waved to them. “I’m sorry, I’m busy right now, but I can help later! I can do it all!” Dream ran after the elder, holding the golden apple close. At the end of the village, there was a church. It was the largest building in the town and made of gray stones with a dark red roof. A dark gold bell glinted outside.

Dream walked inside the church with the elder. It was warm on the inside, thanks to the sun shining through the windows. The memory was so old that the details and walls were blurred. The designs on the windows, the texture on the benches, it was gone. Dream and Nightmare never officially attended the church. However, Nightmare found a secret passage one day to spy on the services. Despite his hate for the villagers, he was fascinated that they could become kind for a morning. Dream climbed up the stairs with the elder, leading to the room where the chief slept.

The High Elder was a very old human with leathery skin and a look that always seemed stern. Dream would never admit it, but the High Elder scared him. His face was pale and his breathing was ragged.

Dream straightened out his clothing before stepping over. He held the apple out to the villager, glowing with magic. The High Elder reached a bony hand out to take the apple.

“Dream . . . thank you for your service. If only that demon was as pure and good as you. You will be a great leader with proper instruction and those apples.” The other elder lay a hand on his shoulder.

“Nightmare isn’t a demon, he’s just shy. He’s a good person! Believe me-!” Dream jumped and looked out the window as a crack of lightning shot throughout the church. Dark clouds covered the sky. Dream dashed to the window and to his horror, the storm surrounded the Tree of Feelings. A crowd of villagers began to surround the tree. The current Dream looked away, but the younger Dream gasped. He almost dropped the apple as it glowed brighter. He pulled it away from the elders. “Nightmare! Oh no, he might be in trouble!”

The Guardian of Positivity tried to run, but he was held back by the elder grabbing his wrist again. Dream struggled to get away, breaking the rules he always followed, and dashed out of the church. He ran through the village, listening to screams of people dying. Someone fell backward with a bloody wound through his chest. Screaming, Dream tripped as he climbed up the mountain.

Dream hated this part. Little Dream regained his composure and pushed through the crowd. Nightmare screamed in pain as tendrils crawled out of his missing eye and broken back. Lightning cracked from the sky. The memory blurred, turning into messy pleads and cries. “Nightmare, please listen to me! Stop!”

The sludge monster that was once his beloved twin stared down at him. He threw his crown off his head. It clattered across the ground and bodies. Nightmare choked him with his tendrils. "Aw, what's the matter? They deserved this. Aren't you happy for me?"

Nightmare cast a spell and launched it at Dream, turning his limbs into stiff and cold stone. As the gray of the stone overtook his vision, the image turned white, signifying the memory was over. Dream stared in silence, closing his eyes and looking away. He didn’t understand why Nightmare wanted him to see this, especially now.

“I . . . I was a child, I didn’t know any better.” He finally said, tears springing in his eye sockets. “What did you want me to do? I could barely fend for myself, I couldn’t help you. It’s been five hundred years, accept it!”

The void didn’t fade, nor did the portal in front of him. Dream pinched himself in hopes of snapping out of the dream. It failed to work, but they remembered something Core taught them. They were learning spells like this once, before the mayhem occurred. Taking a deep breath, Dream waved their hand in a circle and tapped the black screen that appeared. They messed with the code and words without breaking concentration. Once the settings were to their liking, they clicked a white button, only to be met with bright red letters.

ACCESS RESTRICTED.

They rewrote some of the code.

ACCESS RESTRICTED.

“Oh, sweet monarch.” Dream cursed. He stepped away from the portal and adjusted his cape. His breathing hastened. What if this trap was meant to keep him here forever? It wasn’t.

An arrow shot Dream in the back of the head. Dream screamed and jumped back. Their right hand shot up to the injury, only to find nothing. The arrow faded into smoke. The dark figure in the distance dashed off.

“Wait! Come back! Talk to me!” Dream chased after the shadow. He couldn’t sense their aura. He pushed aside smoke and air to reach the person. He gritted his teeth and chased the silhouette. It turned around to him with a cold gray eye. The skeleton raised his hand in the air and summoned a portal for Dream to fall into. He couldn’t stop himself inside and entered a new memory.

Unlike the first memory, this one was more recent. It was from last year. Dream wanted to close his eye sockets, but he couldn’t look away. It was in a small AU called Twistfate. Ink joined him on his journey as they traversed the small AU. The sky was a strange blueish purple.

The two Star Sanses examined the strange purple weeping willows. It was the natural color of the trees, yes, but something was off. A deep purple and black covered the ground, trees, and even tainted the water. Ink poked the liquid from his paintbrush, trying to figure out what the strange liquid was.

“The heck . . . I thought Nightmare’s goop only lasted until he left an AU.” Ink exclaimed, poking at the sludge on the ground.

“It should. I don’t understand why it’s lasting longer.” Dream held gold magic over the dark spots. The emotions clashed and began to melt away. Or at least, they should’ve. The liquid lingered, only fizzing at Dream’s touch.

Ink stood straighter and glanced around. He flipped Broomie. “Something’s off. Nightmare changed the script or something. Come on, Dreamboat! We can figure out what’s going on here!”

Dream stood up, rubbing his arm. It hurt to see Ink as himself again. Curious and concerned, but determined and grinning. Ink and Dream followed the black sludge through the grass and darkness. Ink pushed through a heavy vine and cringed at the wet texture.

“Seriously? Why did the Creator of this AU have to make it a swamp? Ugh, sometimes these are pretty, but other times they’re a pain. There was this one AU that I can’t remember the name of, and it had these original bug creatures. They looked like tiny red butterflies, but they bit like mosquitos. My arms were burning and blistering for a week!”

“Oh, I remember that.” Dream laughed. He was used to listening to Ink’s rambles and he liked his passion. “Maybe it isn’t their fault and rather Nightmare’s.”

“Nah, the Creator designed the AU like this before he got here. I’ve been here before. is magic is making it twenty times w orse. Hopefully, the story is still going to plan because if it isn’t? We’re in trouble.” Ink leaped over a pile of black sludge. It smelt like a mix of apples and rot. It was as bad as the ammonia inside his mind.

Dream stopped and raised his hand. He sensed a disturbance and paused, trying to identify what it was. They found an arch and wandered into this AU’s version of the ruins, leaving the swamp behind. It was gray, dusty, yet also quite polished. The pillars holding up the place shimmered light silver. Dream pulled his hood up to hide his face. Ink tapped his chin and frowned as if he was judging the design.

“There.” Dream pointed at the still-spreading malice. Ink narrowed his eye sockets at it. He summoned a line of paint and attempted to paint over the black stains. It lingered for a moment before the malice absorbed it. Ink launched stronger paint and covered it up. Dream frowned, he had to figure it out. He prepared his healing magic in case someone needed help.

“Oh come on, Nightmare. What’s the point of any of this?” Ink huffed. “What would Nightmare’s thought process be? This AU has awesome character designs and story, but it’s not very popular. The island is a lot smaller. Why this out of all places?”

“That’s what we need to find out. We’ll make this place positive again. Dream’s head shot up at the sense of strong negativity. He looked at the house of Toriel, nestled into the wall. It was only noticeable due to the door and windows. But that only added to the quaint and cozy appeal.

Dream sensed three auras inside the building. One of them was a Toriel, but he couldn’t tell the other souls. Ink pressed his face and hand against the window. Dream knocked on the door. No one responded. He rang the doorbell, which made a pleasant ding sound. Ink stepped back from the window and adjusted his scarf to be presentable. Dream wished Blue was here. He would like to be on this mission. He decided to help with a construction project in the Omega Timeline.

Twistfate’s Toriel peeked out the door. She sighed at the recognition of the Star Sanses. “Oh, hello dears. Hello Ink. Is this about the strange sludge?”

Ink nodded. He blinked and question marks replaced his eye lights. “Yeah. Is everything alright here?”

She shook her head and let them inside. The inside smelt like fresh butterscotch and spice. A fire kept the inside warm. “No, Asriel is sick. He and Chara went on an adventure yesterday in Marshdin. They always do this. But Asriel came back . . . the poor child. He complained about a headache and feeling miserable. I assume he had allergies to some of the plants, but it kept getting worse. His soul is aching, please help him." Toriel stopped at a small bedroom and opened the door. There, a goat child lay in bed with a soaked rag on his forehead. Chara, a child in a white and green stripped sweater, held their paw.

Dream peered over at Asriel, shivering in bed. The small goat turned to look at him, blinking with confusion. His mouth leaked black liquid and his eyes matched. Looking back, Dream realized it was rather tame compared to the other cases. Especially the Birdtale ones. Dream crouched down and Ink tapped his foot against the ground. His left eye light flashed into an exclamation point. “Oh . . . that's not supposed to happen in this code. Hey little guy, hanging in there?"

Asriel looked up at Ink and coughed. He gave a weak smile with his raspy voice. "Yeah, I'm okay! It hurts a bit, but I can take it!" Their coughing got worse before they vomited black liquid. The negativity spiked.

"Stand back, I can fix this." Dream recast the healing spell he had planned before. He set it on top of Asriel's soul and began to cleanse it. Ink strikes up a conversation with the child that Dream didn't pay attention to. It kept him calm and the extra positivity from the laughs made it easier. This was when his magic was still simple to use and didn't drain him each time.

The black malice healed from Asriel's soul and purified into positivity. It glowed a faint gold from his touch and soon enough, he was better. Dream smiled. "There, does that feel better?"

Asriel sat up, rubbing his cheeks and noticing the lack of liquid. "A lot! It doesn't hurt anymore, how did you do that?"

"Many years of practice, young one." Dream said.

Toriel hugged her son, making Dream smile. Mother-son bonding always made him emotional. "Thank you for saving him. Dears, please let me give you some butterscotch cinnamon pie as a thank you. It's freshly baked."

Dream chuckled. "Oh, no thank you. It's a good offer, but we're just doing our jobs. Helping improve someone's day is a reward enoug-"

"Dream, shush. Of course we'll take some pie! Thanks a lot!" Ink responded. He winked at Dream and grabbed his hand. "You have to learn how to accept gifts. It's okay, the entire multiverse isn't going explode because of some pie."

"I guess you're right, sorry." Shaking his head with a smile, Dream shut the door and he and Ink left Asriel. The memory glitched. Rather than one memory like before, it flipped between several. Each was a new case, similar to Asriel. Black liquid entering a monster, a bit of positivity helped to cleanse it, and then they'd clear the AU. The problem was simple to handle, even if they didn't know why it happened. It wasn't until after Birdtale did the illness become more serious and violent. Then it flashed to the fateful night, the one were they all drank hot chocolate after ice skating. Knowing context, Dream understood why Ink fidgeted now. He knew why he kept checking the clock and left without a word.

Dream watched Ink run through a portal, never to return. Like before, the image faded to white. Dream stepped back, guilt eating at him. The second memory wasn’t as hard to watch, but it still made him hurt. He could've done more. They sighed and the air dropped colder.

“Exactly. Imagine an alternate multiverse where you caught this in the early stages. None of this would ever have happened and you would all be alive..” A voice muttered behind him. Dream flipped around before a hand wrapped around his neck and threw him down. Dream reacted as quickly and kicked them back. The other skeleton tripped and fell on his face, clutching his skull.

It took them a moment to process the skeleton and they stepped back. “I remember you . . . you were that alternate me that Nightmare made me hallucinate. What are you doing in my head?"

The darker Dream stood up and shook off his cape. “I am you, it shouldn't be that surprising I live in your head. Nightmare's magic just helped me talk to you. Your choices prove you're still as ignorant as the last time we talked."

"I am not ignorant! I've gone through hell over the last year! I'm trying my best!" Dream gritted his teeth. It could've been the ammonia or his untreated emotions, but his anger flared.

"You fell for the simplest trick in the book. You know Nightmare is dead, you watched him die. Even a mortal would know he lied." The dark reflection walked around Dream. Dream scowled and ran to attack, but he shoved them down. "If you didn't fall for his trick, you could've won the fight. Blue wouldn't be distracted trying to save you, Cross would still have his jaw, and Ink . . . well, he was always a lost cause. You gave in to your own selfish wants and that mistake doomed the multiverse."

"Selfish? SELFISH? I have done nothing but help others my whole life! I've sacrificed so much to give others joy. I lost count of every time I almost lost my life!"

"True. However, you're still focused on the idea you can bring Nightmare back and feed your savior complex. You want to save him so you can feel accomplished. Same with Ink. But Ribbon hasn't even taken a moment to consider that you want to help him." Dark Dream gestured with his hand. “Do you understand my point? It was never worth all the stress, pain, and pressure. That's what I've been trying to tell you since the beginning. Nightmare has a point, it's easier to be the predator than the prey."

Dream considered it. It wasn't true, he wanted Nightmare to be happy first. They couldn't change their lifestyle, not now. "Everyone expects too much of me, I can't change."

"You have to. You're even starting to look like me." They stomped onto the ground and a mirror came up. They held Dream's face up to it. Sure enough, both of their eye lights matched in shades of gray. Both eye sockets were darkened with heavy bags, and they were both angry. But how did he lose his eye? Dream didn't ask, he feared the answer. If this was the path Dream ended up on, he wouldn't mind anymore. Anything . . . he'd take anything to make the pain and stress stop.

"I believe you figured it out. We're going to talk again soon and finally get a break. We're going to be free, it'll be okay." His voice turned soft for a brief moment, but then he pressed a foot against Dream's back and shoved him into the ground. The flat ripped apart like old cloth beneath him.

Dream smashed through the floor. The stress and panic woke him and he balled his fists. His soul beat frantically in his chest. Cross, Epic, Core, and Blue shot up at the sudden movement. Dream grabbed their skull and held themself as they began to shake. They wanted to pass out for the stress, but dreaming was not in their interest.

“Dream,” Blue spoke with caution to keep from startling him, “are you okay? What did you see? We tried to wake you up but nothing was working. You were burning up.”

Dream cracked a weak smile, mostly for his sake. He wasn't too amused. “This isn’t the time for jokes.”

“No, your clothes are literally steaming.” Blue corrected. Dream looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, a trail of steam drifted off his cape and into the air. His circuit also smelt vaguely of smoke. “You would’ve died if you were in that curse for another minute.”

“How long was I in there for?”

“Around three minutes,” Epic said.

Dream rubbed his skull. Only three minutes? It couldn’t have been, it was so long, it felt at least like three hours. Could . . . no, they couldn’t be lying to him. Or could they? Dream didn’t know anymore.

Epic looked between Blue, Cross, Core, and Dream. It was only until then did Dream realize Error was missing. He couldn’t sense his aura anywhere. “Where’s Error?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” Blue said, staring down the hallway. His aura was nervous. “While you were cursed, Nightmare came in here with Dust and Ribbon and took him. They dragged him off to the room over there and we haven’t see him since. This was about . . . twenty minutes ago. Error’s not even screaming. I hope he’s okay. Can you sense him?”

Dream focused and tried to find his aura. Cross looked like he wanted to speak. He groaned and slammed one arm into his forehead. Dream wished he knew what he tried to say. He didn’t like how miserable he looked, all of them. Blue drowned in guilt, Core stopped speaking entirely, Epic lost the sparkle in his eye.

“I-” Dream grit his teeth as they kept using their powers. It was too much. He needed to clear his head before thinking too much. It wasn’t the restraints. He knew since he felt Nightmare’s malice and Ribbon’s infectious joy. He thought about what the dark version of him said. A little longer and everything would be okay. He wanted it over as soon as possible.

“I can’t sense Error anymore."

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evanthenerd83 · 7 months ago

Text

"Cemetery Birth"

It was with a heavy heart that Mr. Smyth and Mr. Coleridge did the unthinkable.

Rumors had abounded about town. A low, hushed thing passing from one bar patron to the next handmaiden.

Nobody knew who had started the whole sordid affair. Who first claimed to have found trails near Hodge’s Hill, where good folk laid their own for that eternal rest. Thin lines dragged into soil.

These coiled. Only a certain thing could have made them. Albert Shale, gray of a man, and known for his ability to tell one scaled beasty from another, was called down by Constable Watson. A split glance told him what exactly came.

Many serpents hid amongst grass and beneath rocks. Their spawn wiggled up when these were lifted, innocently, unknowingly, by humanity’s. As intemperate as the Devil himself. Lashing out with forked tongue and fangs dripping, dripping, dripping. Most didn’t survive longer than a night.

Caskets frequently fell to invasion. Albert swung ale, breathed it, and regaled those of a certain persuasion with tales of rattles echoing from inside midnight-dark tombs. Loud enough to unsettle. A dull scraping against wood far below mourning feet. Snakes could find their way into well anywhere, if it was dark, warm, and secret. Even those reserved for the dead.

And the thought that one could’ve gotten near, let alone inside, her casket brought a stab of horror through both Smyth and Coleridge.

So hence they climbed that bulbous hill in the night. Snow alighted on their jackets and hats, the spade of Smyth’s shovel growing heavy, pregnant. Each man wished to be somewhere other than out there.

And yet.

An intrusion upon her personage. Violation of sleep. Of the body. Though shut up about it, Coleridge remembered a dream, recurring and vivid.

It woke him with sweats and gasping, held clenched in fear’s grip.

An image of eye sockets once crystal blue, filled with light; so much light. But now, but now, only dark, so dark, and hollow; except for the brown length dropping out of that dark, that empty hole, forked tongue licking at the air.

Oh, how he screamed. And the black eyes were no longer there, those fangs no longer upon him.

No longer in him.

Inside.

Neither man spoke so much as a whisper.

To do so would have given shape to their grief, shared as it may’ve been, despite opposing subjects. For Smyth, it was the thought of undoing all his hard work.

Sixty years of age. Eyebrows tight together. He’d served the town ever faithfully and professionally.

Coleridge however suffered personal grief for her. Dear poor Elizabeth, beloved wife and daughter. Fair-skinned Elizabeth. Blue-eyed Elizabeth.

The only child of a local industry haranguer whose lycanthropic claws dug ever deep.

She had fallen ill at winter’s arrival, descending into harsh fits of coughing; her lips consistently blotched with crimson, no matter how much he dabbed. And oh, he dabbed that handkerchief many times.

Leeches proved no less disastrous upon their application. Convulsions quickly followed. Each passing hour would bring a furtive glance towards her gourd-swollen belly. His thoughts parted between the fate of his wife and that of their child.

Nothing to be done about Mother Nature’s will, of course. A maid found her, pale-eyed, wide-eyed, the morning after. Doc relayed what he knew and slack-jawed Coleridge could only listen. At least she hadn’t suffered much.

Her father made all of the necessary arrangements. Carson built the coffin most expediently, using his best wooden planks. Smyth began to provide the manpower. And a day later, they would drop them, bury, leave. Mother and Fetus.

They finally came upon them.

The gates to Hodge’s Hill were large, wrought from iron. On windy days, one could hear creaking and sputtering.

Smyth fished out his key, rusted over, then inserted it. They proceeded through. Jaws of headstones and crosses and a few mausoleums greeted the men.

But in silence. Minutes passed before they finally reached it, her grave. At the sober insistence of her father, Elizabeth had been buried near her dearly departed mother. Where this double plot was happened to be near the northern pinch of the town cemetery, below a giant tree with withering white bark, last leaves having fallen from heaven.

Memories returned. Smyth hefted his shovel, now too heavy, barely liftable. Its blade dully reflected moonlight partially obscured by clouds. Coleridge stood close. He watched as this man, hunching over on account of an aching spine, stabbed into soil, lifted its now gore-stained end, then once again plunged down.

A younger man would’ve done so quicker.

Yet such work definitely lacks the mark of experience. His bones and muscles are not trained.

He doesn’t know how deep one must pierce. Only after serving for as long as Smyth, whose preoccupation was respected by folk, regarded as valuable labor, can someone simply tell. Six feet requires hardness.

From somewhere a wolf howled. Soon more joined in. Coleridge did not know, or care, for them. All he could remember was the godforsaken terror of feeling, deep within his own heart, that some divine promise had been cut.

Perhaps his nightmare carried with it truth. Prophecy. Something was in fact inside the coffin. Spawn of Satan. The slithering form, fanged.

Smyth dug himself into a hole, heaving assuredly.

This went on. Until Coleridge could no longer see his head from where he stood.

Dirt piled up. Clanging iron on rock grew less and less audible. The howling madness would wan, before dying altogether.

A lull in work. “Eh, Mister? Care to join meh?” He heard these and quickly went forward, mind unraveling at that thought. It would be there. When they opened her, their casket, something’d slither out from between gaping jaws or underneath the hem of her skirt or—

Fear potent as any herb or Scotch.

A knowledge that pales one’s face, chills the blood. Makes the grieving do the unthinkable.

He looked down into the now opened maw of the grave. Smyth stared up, knelt over wood nailed shut and once abandoned to worms. His boots were sufficiently dirtied.

Despite the ever gnawing cold, a sweat pin-pricked his forehead. Repetition never prevents the standard effect on human bodies. Age itself could prove rather dangerous. Hearts can tense and seize up, their beating frozen.

Quickly realizing what had just passed between them, Coleridge coughed. “Go on, do it.”

Whatever glint presently within Smyth’s eyes flickered. But this only lasted for what might’ve been seconds on God’s clock. Then the old man smiled, nodding.

Smyth dug around the pocket of his green overcoat, retrieving a hammer.

Coleridge suddenly couldn’t breathe. He swallowed the thing responsible, leaden weight in his throat; the fear.

Simply seeing the hammer’s upturned claws made their purpose solid. To think that he’d be supervising… Ghosts of the mind had exerted such power, however vivid. Many nights brought forth phantasmagoric shades, demons and abominations that Nature shirked.

For God’s sake, he’d always suffered from these deviled spirits before. Eliza herself was always finding him in the throes of possession. Their influence could be exorcised by a strong shoulder-shaking. Why would he think last night’s edition was any different?

Coleridge scoffed at his vulnerability to such frank persuasions. The possibility of breaking away, rescinding his frenzied plea to Smyth, rose up. Just let it go and offer an apology. Blame their excursion on grief. Delusions.

And yet…

… And yet…

… He had to know.

Even if it meant defying life’s most immutable of laws— the finality of burial— he needed to be sure. Only seeing for himself would prove that it was a nightmare.

Coleridge said not a word. He watched as Smyth bent low over the lid, close enough so his nose grazed its wood, and positioned. One by one went the nails that guarded what lay inside.

Who was lying inside.

Smyth handed him his tool, its purpose now fulfilled. Coleridge took it in a mechanical fashion and promptly forgot.

The laborer shuffled to a different position so that he could tinker. Off came the lid, though not lifted. Instead it was slid aside slowly.

Flesh greeted them; paler now without the warmth of life. Eyes shrouded by gray gazed out towards destinations unknown. Unknowable. Both of her hands were still by her waist.

Coleridge didn’t notice his tears. It struck him, his wife’s beauty, so potent even after passing. They had buried her in the gown she’d worn during their small, enclosed ceremony. Shoulders laid bare and cleavage teased by the low cut of its collar. And still present, a bump indicating—

“Aye,” Smyth sighed. “Pity it was. Her passin’, I be meaning.”

He examined her face. One hand brushed against bundled curls and a cheek.

Some hidden part of Coleridge roared with lover’s passion. Such a man should not have been touching this woman. His woman.

His lips parted, order nearly tipping over tongue, but then—

Impossible.

Abominably!

Her bump bulged outward, skin gone loose. There were things inside it that pressed up against.

A great many things. Slender shapes swimming within. Horror blossomed outwards from the center of his chest, and his heart lurched—

Blood trickled down one leg. Not the hot and bright fluid of life, no. Such color would change after the moment of death. The darkened sludge ran in rivers!

Smyth took a sharp breath, stumbling back onto both hands. He resembled some befuddled crab more than a human. His eyes went wide. His lips were sputtering for words that did not come. Neither man screamed.

The bulge subsided for only a small merciful moment.

And then…

… Coleridge saw the river turn darker, thicker. Her skirt was disturbed by similar movements and pitchings as before.

Something slid out from between her parted legs. A head. Oh yes, a head breached into the new world, smaller than Coleridge had been expecting.

Less globe-like. More of an arrow-pointed shape. The mouth fell open and he waited, somewhat dumb, for the baying cry to spill forth. But what came was… Was…

… Forked tongue.

Pair of fangs.

Coleridge laughed.

He knew.

Oh, he’d known.

Been knowing for hours and hours.

Satisfaction of being right met the horror, like a birth all its own.

Smyth breathed in, finally catching onto that scream.

With a hiss, the child came slithering even further, and soon would its siblings.

#evanthenerd83's storytime #creative writing #original writing #creepy stories #short story #November 2024 #gothic #weird fiction

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encrucijada · 7 months ago

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oc kiss week, prompt: night echo/romeo (you have my eyes)

We didn’t hang out on roofs anymore, it felt a little incriminating. Like someone would spy us from the sidewalk and go it was them! saw them on top of that old warehouse! so it was definitely them who killed Cordelia Scott! then everyone would know. My mother would have both a husband and a daughter in prison. So, we made do with the backs of warehouses instead. On the strip of concrete between the graffitied walls and the waterfront of the canal.

Shining down on us were emergency lights from over metal doors. The neon signs of bars from across the water.

I leaned an axe against the warehouse. Romeo had a crowbar hooked to his belt loop by the tips of its iron teeth. It felt like enough protection, the masks were so mighty after all. We should be fine if we kept them on.

“Got some new dreams last night,” I said, rummaging through my pockets for the lighter. “Didn’t bring any though, they’re all still under my bed. Gotta powder them but Ma’s been hanging around more, so we might need to move it to the school bathroom again.”

Romeo didn’t respond. I tugged on his sleeve.

“Hey, you with me?”

“Should we keep selling those?” he asked, coyote mask turning its snout to me, his very human eyes behind the sockets.

“You’re gonna tell Mona she can’t have some glitter before a game anymore?” I leaned against the warehouse.

“We look suspicious,” he said.

“We’ve been doing this before Cordelia—” My mouth twisted behind the snout of my mask. “There’s no correlation, they can’t accuse us of her murder for selling dreams in pills.”

Romeo sighed, his breath misting from underneath the coyote’s face. “Guess not.”

I found the lighter, struck it three times and then it lit. Romeo lifted the cigarette I had given him, the one we were going to share, and brought it to the fire. He handed it to me without taking a single hit himself. I pushed the cat’s face up just enough to leave my mouth bare, though I closed my eyes for good measure. Romeo grabbed my wrist to take a drag, he also closed his eyes, exhaled the smoke. I moved the cigarette out of the way and tugged on him again. He came close with a little groan, as if he was still a little crossed at me. I made a quiet sound in response and then kissed him, he kissed me.

“We have this under control,” I whispered. “We look so not suspicious at all.”

“I don’t,” he said, “you do, Leather Jacket.” Then kissed me again.

#goddd this is such a good aesthetic i still want to do something with it #it's just keep staring to the left but Still. it's different enough that they can't be in the same universe #ockiss22 #pia.docx #( ship ) rocho #oc kiss week

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vi-sigoth · 2 years ago

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There are a handful of exercises that I FUCKING hate, mostly because I think they’re harmful and/or they don’t do anything/there’s better exercises out there that target that specific muscle group better. Curious to hear other people’s thoughts because if YouTube and Instagram are anything to go by, this is a hotly debated topic.

Mine are:

One Arm Shoulder Press with T-Bar: I feel like there’s better ways to target your shoulders, and it makes my arms crunchy, like I can feel my arm grinding around in its socket.

45 Degree Leg Press: I know this one will be unpopular, but I just really, really hate this machine. It puts a weird pressure on my lower back, and I have absolutely nothing to back this up with, but I feel like a lot of machines were designed with a male body and male center of gravity in mind (which makes sense, obviously, the majority of gym-goers are male) and this machine is probably not great for women. Just my feeling. About 80% of my workout uses barbells/ez bars/dumbbells anyway, but when I want a leg press I use the regular one where you sit upright.

Most HIIT: I know this is also going to be very controversial, but I found HIIT to be a massive waste of time and pretty useless in terms of building muscle, gaining strength, and losing weight. I also didn’t really build up a ton of cardio endurance when I did it, (compared to simply running for an extended period of time on a treadmill or using a Stairmaster) and I did it for a good year and half before I quit entirely and just started lifting 4-5 times a week and running on the treadmill 2-3 times a week. Obviously, it depends on what kind of athlete you are and what your goals are. If you run cross country and want to do some non-running type cardio, with low weights, sure. But for me, not useful and not helpful.

Butterfly-Pull Up: Not a real pull up and looks retarded. I said what I said.

Squat to Overhead Press: Retarded and dangerous. Sure, it gets your heart beating and works legs, core, and arms, but you could also just have dedicated leg, core, and arm days that will work all of those body parts more efficiently and not risk snapping your spine in half.

Behind the Neck Lat Pulldown: Does absolutely nothing that the regular lat pull-down can’t do imo.

Squatting and Deadlifting with a Smith Machine: Again, might be controversial, but I felt like my back hurt terribly every time I tried to deadlift with a Smith machine, because I couldn’t quite maintain proper form. I feel like I made way better, healthier, faster progress when I just simply started unassisted squatting and deadlifting with lower weight and really focused on getting my form correct—then I added heavier weight. I think a lot of beginners feel intimidated by squats and deadlifts, but in my experience the Smith machine hampered my process rather than helped it.

Tricep Cable Push-Down with Rope: I think the metal V-bar is better for this. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Front Squat: No particular reason other than I just don’t like them and would rather do other quad-targeting exercises.

Bulgarian Split-Squats: Excellent exercise. One of the best leg exercises out there. I do them every week. And when I do them I am so brave about it and I don’t even complain once 👿.

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zombified-queer · 2 years ago

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manager + owner + “you deserved that.”

On the third time around, the Owner breaks out of the void. The Manager raises a brow but doesn’t lift a finger to help. She doesn’t move at all, unblinking and unbreathing.

The Owner opens his mouth to plead but the Manager narrows her eyes.

“You deserved that.”

And then a hand on the Owner’s skull guides his face into the surface of the polish front desk. Bone splinters. Flesh splits. He can taste and smell blood in his destroyed sinuses and dripping down the back of his throat.

It’s the seventh time and the Owner manages to be quicker. More clever. Buy a minute more before—

“You deserved that,” the Manager informs him, just as stiff as her starched uniform.

“But why?”

She sighs deeply. “Do you really have to ask that?”

This time, when the Owner finds his face broken against the edge of the desk, he racks his spilled brains for anything that might answer that question.

“You deserved that.”

The Owner doesn’t use the void to cross the lobby. Too afraid of what lurks inside it and how it might pull him back to that nowhere place. So he walks. Walks the angry steps of a man not used to being told he deserves punishment.

“You’re enjoying this,” he accuses the Manager. “Relishing in my death every time we do this.”

The Manager smiles, just a little. “You deserve this too.”

This time, death isn’t the desk. It’s the sharp hit of a hammer. Sledge, if he had to guess. His orbital socket is shattered, eye dangling uselessly. He drips blood onto the marble floor and smiles knowing the Lobby Boy will have to mop it all up.

And then the hammer strikes again.

“You did deserve that,” the Manager folds her arms on her front desk and leans in, grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

“Do I?” the Owner shouts back. “Or is this all some sick game? You’re enjoying this. And I can’t imagine your pathetic Lobby Boy is complaining about watching me die over and over. I just don’t understand what I’ve done wrong.”

“The door’s right there,” the Manager nods at the front door. “You can try running.”

“But what have I done to displease the Hotel?”

“Oh, dove,” the Hotel says in his ear, “you haven’t displeased me at all.”

And then she shattered his skull against the Manager’s front desk again.

“You deserved that, y’know?” The Hotel’s alone at the bar. The wound in her skull oozes old clots of blood. “Just a little something before I forgive you.”

The Owner swallows. “But—”

The Hotel raises a hand to silence him. The Owner finds he has no mouth. But he will not scream.

“Look, dove, we’ve had our disagreements. Our ups and downs.” She swirls the glass in front of her, something iridescent and thick. “Mostly downs, but still.”

The Owner breathes through his nose, waiting for his turn to speak.

The Hotel knocks back her drink. “So consider this a little olive branch. From me to you, dove. Getting all that anger out so we can start over. What d’you say?”

The Owner licks his lips. “Will I remember this?”

The Hotel herself laughs.

#the hotel fanfiction #i love fucking with the owner so much you have no idea #that's it buddy you're going in the timeloop

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tianjinwellmadescaffold · 4 years ago

Video

youtube

Concrete Precasting Lifting Socket with Cross Bar - Cast In Lifting Anch...

#concrete #precast #lifting socket #concrete slabs #contractor #anchor #concrete anchor #concrete construction #construction #precasting #formwork #shuttering #build a bear #lifting anchor #scaffold #scaffolding #wellmade scaffold #lifting socket with cross bars

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strangermarvelss · 3 years ago

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professor munson’s guide to passing the class- e.m (pt 2)

Pairing: Professor!Eddie Munson x Student!AFAB!Female!Reader

Summary: with the revealation of who your professor is, things start to become difficult

Warnings: angsty, annoyed!reader, mean!eddie, mentions of sex, suggestive language, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, cursing

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: part 2 of my new series is here! i hope you all enjoyed the first part because i’m just gonna keep writing this series hehe, i have a lot planned out for it :) enjoy! -sava

Slamming your apartment door closed, you let out an aggravated grunt, stomping towards your bedroom. Because of your sour mood, you didn’t care if you received a noise complaint from your downstairs neighbors, wanting to deal with those consequences after you got your anger out. You toss your backpack on the floor and flop onto your bed, grasping at your pillow and burying your face in it before you let out a muffled scream.

Nadia peaks her head out from her bedroom door before tiptoeing her way over to your room, knocking on the wooden door. You turn to see her face giving you a half smile, walking in and sitting on your bed next to you. She brings her hand to your back and rubs it gently, her delicate touch barely soothing you.

“What happened?” She asks.

“My asshole professor, that’s what happened. It’s only been two weeks since the beginning of the semester and he won’t stop belittling me during discussions and giving me a hard time when I ask questions during the lecture. And to top it all off,” you pause, reaching down at your backpack and gripping your first graded assignment. “He gave me a fucking C minus on the paper I worked my ass off on!”

“That dickhead,” she agrees, continuing to rub your back when you flop back onto the bed. “Do you know why he’s being so cruel?” Is he this way with other students?”

“No, not at all! It’s just me, but…there may be a tiny reason that he’s acting this way towards me,” you say. Turning your head towards her, you see her eyebrows lifted, curious and silently telling you to go on. You sit up from your place, crossing your legs as you face your body towards her, taking a deep breath. “Okay, what I’m about to tell you is very serious and cannot leave this room, got it?”

“Yeah, I understand.”

“I’m so serious. You need to promise me you won’t repeat this because-“

“I promise! Just tell me already.”

“…I slept with him.”

Her eyes bulge out of the sockets, wider than you’ve ever seen them go when telling her shocking news. Her mouth is agape, jaw nearly to the floor as she brings her hand up to cover it. You bite your lip, scratching the back of your neck as the nervousness of her reaction begins to settle in.

“When did this happen?” She exclaims, removing her mouth and grabbing hold of you hands.

“The night before the semester started. I had no idea who he was when we met at the bar. He just sat down next to me, we started talking, then we started flirting, and then, well…”

“Yeah, I think I know what happened next. So he didn’t say anything to you about being a fucking professor at our university before he put his dick in you?” She questions.

“No! We didn’t really talk about that. We just talked about music and other stuff, but now thinking back on it, it makes sense that he teaches music since he is so fucking passionate about it,” you explain. “The way I found out was when I went to class the next day. He turned around and it felt like my entire body went cold because of what we did the night before.

She moves and hand up to your shoulder, sending a sympathetic look your way. You let out a sigh, the memory of what he said to you after the first day of class ringing in your ear and turning your angry mood into a sad one.

"Are you going to sleep with him again? Or is he being all pissy because you shut him down?"

"That's the thing! He was the one to cut things off between us. The morning after before I even went to class, I could've considered maybe hitting him up again for more, but he was so rude about the confrontation that first day so I definitely don't see myself crawling back for more."

“Do you regret it? Now knowing who he is and all,” she asks.

“I don’t know. Sure, it was like, almost the best sex I’ve ever had, but because of what he said to me after class that day and his sour attitude as of late…I don’t really know,” you answer.

Standing from your bed, she turns towards the bedroom door without another word. You follow her, curious by the sudden reaction and see her standing by the phone in the living room. Raising your arms and shoulders up, you shoot her a confused look, before she holds a finger up to you.

“Hello? Hi, I’d like to place an order for a large pepperoni pizza. And also an order of garlic knots please. Yeah the address is 225 Sunberry Dr, Apartment 8. Thank you,” she hangs the phone, before dialing another number.

“What the hell are you doing now?” You ask.

“Cancelling my date with Emilia tonight. Tonight, the two of us are gonna watch movies, eat pizza, and drink some beer to forget about that asshole.”

—————————————————————————————————————

“Alright everyone, turn in your assignments as you walk out for the day. Have a good weekend…or don’t,” Professor Munson tells what remains of your class. You were shocked to learn that your class barely made the cut of staying together, with the school policy that classes under 7 people had to be disbanded. Your class came in to 9 remaining students. Out of 25.

Standing from your chair, you gather your things and begin heading out. You place your paper on the pile and stop before you’ve crossed the threshold of the lecture hall. Turning on your heel, you make your way to the office attached to room, knocking on the door. With a sigh, your professor turns to you.

“Can I help you?” He grunts out, tapping the stack of papers against his mahogany desk and looking to you with narrowed eyes. The grip on your backpack becomes tighter as you clear your throat.

“I was just wondering…why did I get a C- minus on the paper we did last week? You didn’t provide any feedback and I was just curious as to how I can improve going forward,” you inquire, trying your best to stay level-headed and as professional as you can be.

“Well…the assignment was to write about the genre you’re most passionate about to start the semester off,” he begins. He places the stack on his desk and swings around to the front of the surface, lightly scooching back and sitting on a clear area. “The way you wrote about your favorite genre made it seem like you weren’t passionate about it. I wasn’t convinced that you even like music to begin with, it just didn’t have any heart or depth to it. The C minus was merely on your formatting and writing abilities.”

You nod, thinking back on the words you wrote. A bit of heat rushes to your cheeks in embarrassment, biting your lip to hide to awkward smile that was slowly forming on your lips.

“Want my advice? Quit trying to suck up in the papers you write, I’m not looking for anything that needs to be published or win any sort of acclaim. The goal of the exercise was to share how you express yourself through music and why you’re drawn to it, how it makes you feel, stuff like that. Don’t try and bullshit your way through it. I said on day one that stuff like that isn’t going to pass in my class.”

“And what makes you think that what I wrote wasn’t bullshit? How can you be so dismissive of it?” You question.

“Trust me, I have an eye for this kind of stuff. I used to be the biggest bullshitter when it came to school, so I know exactly what to look for,” he answers, a smug look creeping onto his features.

You huff, rolling your eyes before turning on your heel once more, taking the few steps towards the door. It was taking all the energy you currently had inside you to not blow up at him.

“Wait, stop,” he tells you, standing from his desk and reaching out towards you a bit. You turn, crossing your arms as you raise a brow at him.

“I’m willing to let you redo the assignment for up to one letter grade increase. Just-make sure it comes from the heart okay? Make it personal, emotional, whatever. Not like you’re reciting a manual about music,” he tells you.

You can’t help but smile at the kind gesture, nodding as you grip your backpack strap again. "Thank you professor."

"Sure. Have a good weekend."

You turn once more, heading out the door. Maybe the personal vendetta he had against you was all in your head, and he was just a tough professor all around. He may have a rougher demeanor and act all tough, but secretly, Professor Munson was a softie. Maybe he didn’t have to be as bad as he let on a first…well, technically at second.

—————————————————————————————————————

The music in the bar swarms your senses, flooding your ears with the soft rock playing through the overhead speakers. You smile at Nadia, grasping the shot she grabbed for you as she slides into your usual booth next to you. Across from you are two of your other friends within your small group, Derek and Eli. The two guys lived on your floor freshman year, and with the amount of times you and Nadia would hang out together in the floor’s common room, it was no surprise you’d run into them on multiple occasions. Forming a great bond, you all kept up throughout the years and found yourselves sitting in the very booth you’re resting in every Friday night.

“What time is Emilia meeting up with us?” Eli asks, taking a sip of his beer.

“She’s working at the library until 9:30 tonight, so she’s gonna change and get here probably a little after 10,” she answers, taking hold of the shot glass in her hand and raising it up. The rest of you do the same, licking the salt from your hands and hitting the glasses together in with a clink, downing the liquid quickly, letting the strong taste of tequila travel down your throat in a burn. Taking hold of the limes, you squeeze the juice into your mouths and let out a sigh of relief, the boys shouting as the relish in the feeling of the alcohol beginning to overcome their senses.

“I hope y’all make it out of college. Y’all are cute together and I don’t know what I’d do if I found out you broke up,” Eli lets out, his words running together and speech slurring lightly. Eli had a habit of being a sappy drunk, letting his emotions get the best of him during many of your outings that involve alcohol. You all laugh, Derek hitting Eli’s arm and shaking his head. He turns his attention towards you, smirking a little before adverting his eyes back to Nadia.

“Have you started applying to jobs yet? I know it’s only January, but I know people who did internships over the summer who already have a nice cushy job lined up and waiting for them once they cross that stage in May,” you question. Derek nods while Eli shakes his head.

“I’m not too worried about it right now, I just want to enjoy the time we have left to be wild and stupid before getting up to face the working world every morning for the rest of our lives,” Eli says. You chuckle, tapping Nadia on the shoulder to let you out.

“I’ll be back, I'll get us another round,” you tell everyone, excusing yourself from the conversation and walking up to the bar. Leaning against the wooden surface, you wait around as you attempt to flag down that bartender.

“What can I get for you?” The bartender asks.

“Four shots of tequila please.”

“Can I see your ID?”

You whip out your identification, handing it to the young man and sending a smile his way. He nods, looking up to you before running off.

“Do you want limes?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Shouldn’t you be reworking that assignment we discussed earlier today?” You hear someone say beside you. Turning, you’re greeted by none other than Professor Munson seated at the bar in the chair beside you, waving slightly as he holds his beer close to his figure. Rolling your eyes, you let out a groan as you run your hand down your face.

“Why are you always here? Don’t you have friends to see or a life to be living rather than slumming it at the go-to college bar?” You question.

“Not today specifically. Usually try to live my live on days where I'm not spending it with a bunch of kids like yourself. Ask me on Monday and I'll tell you about all my plans," he teases, bringing the glass bottle up to his puffy pink lips.

"You sure didn't think I was a kid a couple of weeks ago," you mutter out, loud enough for him to hear.

The bartender slides the four shots over to you as you roll your eyes at your professor scoffing next to you, digging around in your pocket to pay for the drinks. Sliding the card over to him, you grab hold of the shots and walk back towards your friends and set the shot glasses down. The four of your take hold of your respective glasses, taking turns passing around the salt shaker and putting a bit on the side of your hands.

“3…2…1…cheers!” You shout, licking the salt off your skin then immediately downing the tequila, feeling the burn travel down your throat. Quickly, you grab at one of the limes and squeeze the juice into your mouth, soothing the burn just a bit and adding some flavor. You all laugh as you see one another’s puckered faces contorting, soaking in the feeling of the alcohol traveling throughout all your systems and sending a buzz throughout your bodies.

Setting your glass down, you lean your head on Nadia’s shoulder as you laugh watching Eli throw an arm around Derek. Moments like these you knew you’d be missing within the next few months, so it felt nice to be able to soak it in, being irresponsible just for a little while longer.

“After the week I’ve had, I need another drink. I’ll be right back,” you tell them as you slowly rise from Nadia’s shoulder. Sauntering over to the bar once again, you stand in the same place and flag down the bartender once again.

“Another round of shots?” He ask.

“No, no. Just a Vodka Soda with house and then just close out my tab,” you tell him. He nods and turns his back to you, grasping different glasses and containers as he begins making your drink.

“You’re gonna get sick if you keep drinking at the rate you’re going,” your professor pipes up. Groaning, you turn back to him.

“Why do you even care? You’ve already made it clear that you don’t give a shit about me outside of your class, so why do you keep acting like it is the opposite?”

He pauses for a moment, taking your question and letting it sink in. The tone of your voice came out a bit hurt, mixed with the slurring of your words. He really had you believing that he could care less about you with how he’s been acting within the past few weeks, especially after your talk after the first class. He hated hearing the sadden inflection in your voice, because he was not only lying to you, but also to himself when he set things straight that day after class. He stands from his place, inching closer to you until his lips are hovering near the shell of your ear, nearly grazing over the skin that covers it.

“I was only acting like that because I’m trying to look out for you and myself. Because you’re in my class and I work at the university, we can’t do anything. But I just can't get you out of my head, sweetheart. If I had it my way, I’d be taking you home with me every night and pounding you into the mattress in my shitty apartment and making your scream my name so my neighbors can hear through the paper thin walls. Ruining every other man for you in a matter of minutes. Turning you to putty just by a simple touch,” he whispers, resting a hand on top of yours as he begins pulling away slightly to gauge your reaction.

You hate that there is a fresh wet spot forming in your panties, the mixture of his words and the alcohol running through your system making your extremely susceptible and completely turned on. You did only have a few months left to be wild and irresponsible, so why not take the risk? Worse case, you'll never have to see him again past May.

You bite your lip, looking deep into his big beautiful eyes, watching the lust swimming around his beautiful chocolate irises. Leaning closer, you copy his movements and bring your lips close to his ears. Rubbing your thumb against the back of his hand, you breathe out softly before attempting to talk, letting your breath his his neck and watching him shiver ever so slightly.

“What if no one had to know? We can always keep it our little secret, Professor.”

He shoots you a knowing look, biting his own plump pink lips as he slightly readjusts himself in his black trousers. You smirk slightly, proud of the effect you have on him as you watch the gears turn in his head, processing your suggestion and thinking of how to move about this.

“Make up an excuse and meet me in the back alley. We’re taking this back to my place because I really need to be inside you, sweetheart,” he demands in a whisper. You nod, watching him take off towards the back of the bar as he gathers his belongings. The bartender catches your attention when he slides the drink to you with a smile. Thanking him, you pay your balance and bring the drink back to your friends.

“Hey, I just got a rush of nausea like right after I ordered this so I’m just gonna go back to the apartment,” you lie, setting the glass in the middle of the table and waiting for someone to snatch it. Your friends all look at one another before Eli reaches out to the drink, beginning to chug it and making you chuckle in your place.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Nadia asks.

“No! No, I think I can make it back to the apartment, I’ll take one of the buses. Plus, Emilia will be here soon, so I don’t want you to not be with your girlfriend,” you reply, sending her a smile. You lean down and hug her, making your way around the booth to hug Eli and Derek before bidding them all farewell. Grabbing your coat, you rush out the door and swing around the facade of the building until you hit the back alleyway, seeing a taller dark silhouette smoking a cigarette.

You slowly make your way into the alley, walking up to the figure and seeing your professor features gleam in only light making the small walkway visible. He takes a long inhale of the cigarette before tossing it to the ground and stomping it out with his dress shoes. He grabs you and turns your back to hit the side of the alley, his lips flying to yours as your hands find purchase in his mane of curls. His grip on your hips is tight as he deepens the kiss, the taste of nicotine fresh on his breath.

“Where. Is. Your. Car?” You ask between breaths. He pulls away and takes your hand, walking with you towards the back parking lot of the bar and unlocking an older van that has seen better days. Holding the door open for you, he smirks and leans in to plant a kiss on your lips, your hands flying to his cheek and returning the gesture.

“Buckle up sweetheart. You’re in for a wild night.”

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ginemrys · 4 years ago

Note

a bedsharing fic!! <3

i had some fun with this one!!! thank you for sending in the prompt @sunshine-marauders <3

-------

“Lily, it’s okay, we’ll grab a room in a hotel, it’s not the end of the world.” James said as the two of them stood staring up at the boards in the centre of Euston station, tears in Lily’s eyes as she read the bright orange “CANCELLED” sign beside their train, the last train of the night that would get them home.

It had been a wonderful night of visiting the theatre with one of her best friends, getting lost in a musical for a few hours. The two of them had been singing songs from the show to each other on the tube on the way back to their station, not caring as they got weird stares from other passengers on the Northern line whilst they sang a beautiful rendition of All I Ask Of You. And sure, Lily had felt her heart beat a little faster when they reached the point of the song where Christine and Raoul kiss as she looked into James’ eyes, but that didn’t mean she liked him. It just meant that she understood the character, right?

But their sing-along had come at a price. They’d missed their stop. And the next after that. Then the next. It wasn’t until the last passenger left besides them on the train got off at Golders Green that they’d realised their mistake. And then they’d had to run and get the tube back to Euston, only to just miss one. A three minute wait later and they were finally heading back to Euston, getting off to discover that the last train to Northampton was cancelled. And they were stranded in London.

Lily was wiping furiously at her eyes. They’d stopped for a drink in a bar after the show, assuming that they’d have enough time. So the alcohol in her system heightened her emotions, resulting in the water works. James was scrolling through his phone, looking for the closest hotel.

“There’s a Travelodge or a Premier Inn, they’re fairly close. Everything else is ridiculously expensive.” James said, glancing up at her. “Which would you prefer?”

“Premier Inn, duh.” Lily said, pushing her hair out of her face. “Are you sure we can’t get a taxi?”

“From Euston to Leighton Buzzard?” James shook his head. “It’ll be cheaper to spend the night. Come on, it won’t be that bad. It’s just a short walk and then we can grab some breakfast in the morning before heading home.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “What do you say?”

“Fine,” Lily shoved his side playfully, but leaned into his hold after. “But you’re buying breakfast, you’re the one who suggested drinks.”

“Deal.” James chuckled before ducking to kiss the top of her head. “Come on, let’s go. It’s late and we’re both shattered.”

And so they made their way out of the station, following Google Maps to the closest Premier Inn. It was dead quiet inside, just one sleepy receptionist behind the desk barely able to hold her head up.

“Hi, how can I help?” She asked in a monotone voice, having just blinked at the two of them a few times as if she was trying to figure out if they were real or just her imagination.

“Hey, we missed the last train home. Do you have any rooms for tonight?” James asked, running his hand through his hair. Lily watched his movements, eyes following the motion of his fingers brushing through the messy black curls. She wanted to do that, run her hands through his hair. Chill out, Lily. She mentally berated herself, barely hearing the conversation beside her as she tried to sort out whatever the hell was going on with her hormones at that moment.

“Lily?”

“What?”

“Are you good with sharing a bed? There’s only doubles left.”

Holy shit. The thought of sharing a bed with James both thrilled and terrified her. Would she be able to control herself around him? The not crush but definitely a crush that she’d been harbouring for him for the last few months might rear its ugly head and make her do something stupid. But then again, she really didn’t want to have to walk all the way to the Travelodge and have the exact same option, or no room at all.

So she nodded, blushing when James grinned and turned back to the receptionist, passing over his card. Lily tried to protest but he insisted that she could just send him half the money later to save time. Then before she knew it she was joining him in the lift, heading up to the fifth floor. Of course James had had the foresight to ask for some toothbrushes and toothpaste, Lily was far too occupied to even consider such a thing.

Lily decided that she was going to hum to herself the overture to Phantom of the Opera as they travelled up to their floor, her eyes fixed on the ceiling of the lift. And then James’ hand was in hers, pulling her out of the lift and down the corridors of the fifth floor until they came to a stop in front of their room. He swiped the key card and there they were, alone, in a room with one bed.

Her throat felt thick as Lily looked at the double bed, why did it look so tiny? She stood in the small space beside the open wardrobe and the bathroom while James flicked on the lights and moved further into the room, peeling off his jacket and kicking off his shoes as he went.

“Come on, Evans. It’s just a place to sleep.” He smiled at her as he said it, noticing her hesitance. Damn him for being so perceptive to her emotions all of the time. With a deep breath, Lily walked further into the room, setting her shoes beside his while her own jacket draped over the top of his on the chair.

“Here, toothbrush.” He said, passing her one of the two clear toothbrushes he had picked up. “I’ll let you use the bathroom first, gentleman as I am.”

“Oh, so kind.” Lily rolled her eyes while grinning at him, accepting the toothbrush gratefully. She shut herself up in the bathroom, immediately rushing to the sink to splash some water on her face. Why was she so warm? “Get it together, Evans.” She muttered to herself, glancing at her reflection. She sighed as she looked at her makeup, minimal as it was, she had nothing to remove it with. Which would almost certainly result in panda eyes in the morning, but what other choice did she have?

So she left her face alone and focused on brushing her teeth, being a little more thorough than she usually would so James wouldn’t have to wake up to horrific morning breath. God, James was going to see her first thing in the morning. Christ on a bike. She filled one of the small glasses by the sink with water to rinse out her mouth, then gulped another glass down.

James was sitting perched on the edge of the bed when she returned, his eyes meeting hers straight away. Damn, did this man ever stop smiling?

“All… All yours.” Lily said quietly, stepping out of the way as he moved to head into the bathroom.

“Thanks, Lil.”

The door locked behind him and she released a deep breath again, her fingers moving shakily to undo her jeans. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep in them, so wanted to get them off and climb under the covers before he could come back. He wouldn’t want to see her in her underwear.

Jeans folded, with her bra tucked safely beneath them, Lily climbed into the left side of the bed, hoping he didn’t mind that she preferred the left. She plugged her phone into the socket next to her bed, thanking her past self for packing her charger in her bag. And then she waited, sitting cross-legged beneath the duvet as she listened to the sounds of the tap running.

The bathroom door opened and Lily had to do her best not to gasp. He’d taken his shirt off. It wasn’t even like it was the first time she’d seen him shirtless either, but seeing him in a dimly lit bedroom right before he was about to be laying right next to her was something else.

“You don’t mind if I sleep in my boxers, do you?” He was asking, his eyes having taken note of her folded jeans.

Lily shook her head, doing her best to look him in the eyes rather than drool all over his bare chest like some hormonal teenage girl watching Magic Mike for the first time. But then he turned his back on her and was pushing his jeans over his hips and Lily couldn’t help but stare. It was actually so unfair how fit her best friend was now, she could still remember the scrawny little kid she used to swim in the local lake with.

Any shred of sanity Lily had left vanished when he turned to face her again, she could feel a wave of heat rushing all over her body. And he’d seen it happen, had seen her eyes darken and her gaze shift into something hungry.

But he ignored it, electing to just climb into bed beside her and turn out the light, facing away from her.

With a slight huff, Lily threw herself down against her pillow, gazing up at the dark ceiling. Her arms were folded over her chest, her legs still crossed like they had been when she’d been sitting. While annoyed that he’d not responded to her sex eyes, she also just felt embarrassed. Because she’d totally just objectified him, looked at her best friend in the whole world like he was a tree for her to climb and use. And she hated herself for it.

“I can hear you thinking, Evans.” James whispered through the darkness, his back still facing hers. “Relax.”

And she did, her hands slid to rest on her stomach, her legs unfolded and moved to rest against the mattress. Her eyes closed and she let out a small sigh. And then he had to go and roll over, his breath on her neck.

While she knew she should just ignore it, squint her eyes and try to sleep, Lily couldn’t help but turn her head on her pillow, her eyes opening once more. And there he was, looking at her. No glasses, his hair already made even messier than usual from the pillow. He just looked so soft.

Usually James was all sharp edges and angular, charisma dripping from every inch of his body. He was sarcastic and energetic and never ever seemed to get tired. But there, laying in bed beside him, he seemed so calm, so at peace. His sharp edges had blurred, softened by the look in his eyes as he gazed at Lily. And that was what he was doing, gazing.

It didn’t take her much to lean in, just one look from him was enough. Her body turned on the mattress as she shifted to reach his lips, her own brushing his softly. And then she moved to pull away, to see his reaction when he moved, his hand sliding to the back of her neck to drag her closer. His lips covered hers and by god, did it feel right. Lily’s hand came to rest on his chest as she kissed him eagerly, their mouths pressing together in a perfect dance, nothing too eager or too slow.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for months.” Lily whispered when they broke apart, her eyes still closed.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for years.”

She looked at him then. There was no trace of a lie in his eyes. She believed him, because of course she did. James never lied to her.

And then she tackled him against the bed and thanked the London Northwestern Railway gods for cancelling the last train home.

#jily fan fic #jily drabble #jily fic

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llamagoddessofficial · 4 years ago

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Thank you to @lost-immortality for commissioning this Death God Sans x Reader (plus a special guest~) piece! This was a joy to write!

The Mouth of the Underworld was legendary, to say the least.

It made sense that you’d want to see it, even just one time. When you entered and left the Underworld, it was through Sans’ ability to instantly bring himself anywhere he wanted, not via the Gates that separated the mortal world from that of the dead. Sans had been somewhat confused as to why you wanted to visit it (“not much to see, my love, it’s just a cave.”) but he’d been willing to take you.

He was... concerned, however. If that was the right word for it. Because of what was guarding the Gates.

Cerberus.

Sans had raised the issue that it may not be a good idea to come to the Gates while the legendarily foul-tempered hellhound was present. He mentioned that Cerberus, while at the place he had unfailingly guarded for thousands of years, tended to become aggressive and overzealous; dangerous to be around, even for deities who normally had nothing to fear. Cerberus didn’t quite strike as much fear into the hearts of Gods and mortals as Sans... but that wasn’t a particularly high bar to cross- and it didn’t mean the creature was exactly beloved either.

He was the reason Souls without Sans’ permission never made it out of the depths.

“Come on, it’ll be fine. I know you’re nervous but there’s no danger. I’m certain I’ll be safe if you’re with me, Sans...”

“you aren’t subtle. i know you’re trying to manipulate me.”

“It’s working.”

“yes, it is.” He stood from his desk, cloak manifesting from the silver brooches at his shoulders and flowing down his back like wine from a goblet. “we should go now, if we want to arrive before mortal sunset.”

...

It was an absolutely beautiful cavern. A cathedral-like white cave, pillars and signs of worship carved into the stone, sun beaming in from the cavern mouth... great ancient boughs of wisteria wound up the walls and ceiling, hanging thick grapelike bunches of violet and lilac flowers that filled the air with a sweet floral scent and carpeted the ground in soft purplish petals.

... And there he was. Cerberus... asleep as far as you could tell (thank the stars). Far, FAR larger than you’d expected- big enough to be mistaken for some kind of titan or hydra, enough to easily swallow unfortunate men whole. A looming skeletal dog; three great crowned heads, skulls bearing terrifying sword-teeth, the length of his body decorated with scars from years of defending the mouth to freedom. He was laying with his body blocking the mouth of the cave... you briefly wondered how many people had this silhouetted image as the last thing they saw before being violently sent back to the depths of the Underworld.

...

One of his heads, the middle one, opened a socket. Not asleep anymore. You flinched back- Sans placed a steadying touch on your shoulder, no doubt used to people fearing the Guardian. Cerberus had lights in his deep void eyesockets, like his master; observant and sharp as they rolled to land on you. How many Souls had he seen come and go? A single breath from one head sent up a cloud of petals.

Something new...

... As if the central head had whispered to the others, the other two lifted and glared across the cave at you... you were safe with Sans, right? Right. You backed into him even more and he moved his hand to your forearm. Part of you wanted to ask a thousand questions, is this normal, are we fine? but the other parts of you didn’t dare speak in case it agitated the monster.

... Cerberus fully raised all three heads, dragged his clawed feet underneath him, he’s standing? The sound of bone scraping against rock filled the seemingly endless chamber, petals tumbled down from his shoulders and off his back, he must’ve been there for years... he turned...

...

... And leapt toward you.

You were certain for a moment that he intended to crush you under one humongous paw but, to your shock, as he moved through the air he shrank. When he jumped he was a beast with teeth as big as your head...

... And when he landed in a light shower of petals, just before you, he was merely the height of a lion, his shoulder perhaps at your waist height. The guardian of the gates stood before you...

... Then barked, play bowed, and rolled onto his back.

...

You immediately gasped, dropping onto your knees out of Sans’ hold, rubbing the exposed ribcage like you were ruffling fur. Cerberus’ first head stuck out a glowing blue tongue, and the middle one barked again, skeletal tail thudding against the ground fast enough to resemble a heartbeat.

“Oh my goodness, you’re just... so fearsome, aren’t you?” You cooed, scratching his ribs. “The stories were right, I’m terrified! Are you the scariest beast in all three realms? Yes you are, yes you are...”

Cerberus eventually rolled back over again, jumping up, pushing his middle head against your face- you couldn’t help but laugh, enthusiastically petting him, and the first head insistently pressed against you too to the point where you would’ve gotten bowled over if you hadn’t quickly readjusted your footing to dole out attention to both.

... Sans chuckled. You were hardly paying attention to him. The third head, apparently a little calmer than the other two fussing you, lifted to greet Sans at your side.

“first you steal my heart,” Sans said, giving Cerberus’ greeting head a small, affectionate scratch on the jaw. “then a place in my bed. and now you steal my hellhound... honestly, when are you going to let me rest?”

“Never.” You wrapped your arms around the two close heads. “This is my puppy now, I’ll fight for him.”

“no need. you seem to be his favourite.”

As if to confirm Sans’ observation, you were gifted the blessing of a very gross lick on the side of your face by the head that’d just returned from greeting his master.

... You soon realised a predicament- something that was, perhaps, the greatest tragedy that could befall you. It made your heart drop. You turned, looking up at your betrothed, rubbing one of the insistent noses that pressed against your cheek.

“Sans. You can curse people, right?”

... He raised a curious brow. “... yes.”

“Find whichever horrible monster decided I could only have two arms, and give them the worst curse you have.” Two arms, three heads... injustice. “They need to suffer unendingly for their cruelty.”

“i’ll see to getting that done for you, love.” He teased. “until then... cerberus is one being, so i’m sure he won’t mind your predicament. he seems happy to receive the attention, regardless of the head.”

“You’re really going to look at this adorable creature and tell me you don’t want to pet every head at once?”

Sans laughed, seemingly unable to help himself, a beautiful dark sound. You weren’t sure if it was your adamancy to bestow love on Cerberus, or your declaration that he was ‘adorable’ that apparently entertained him so much... but it always felt nice to make Sans laugh.

“... Hey. Now that I think about it... looks big and scary, is feared through both heaven and earth, but is secretly adorable and gentle... you two are more alike than I thought you’d be!”

“come now. you can’t be saying things like that.” He smirked. “i have a reputation to uphold.”

You held Cerberus’ most affectionate head, the first, and pressed a kiss to his skeletal muzzle as revenge for his gross lick.

“... I know you said he comes and goes from the palace as he pleases... but I really hope he follows us. Otherwise I’m going to have to come here every single day.”

... You were half joking, in your dedication to return to see your new dog. But luckily for you, you didn’t need to make the journey- Cerberus, the ‘untamable’ monstrous hound, wouldn’t leave your side for a moment and loyally followed you and Sans all the way back to the palace, barking and wagging his tail the whole time.

...

Well. Now that made two ancient underworld-dwelling skeletal godmonsters that developed an instantaneous affection for you. Maybe you had a knack?

#commissions #llama writes #death god sans #fables and romances #BIG DOGGO #ehehehehhe #mc: if I had a nickel for every terrifying slightly eldritch skeleton creature that instantly loved me I'd have two nickels.#which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice

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mageofspacemultiverse · 2 years ago

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The Comedian - Split Ends

WORD COUNT: 1,592

SUMMARY: Trajes tries to make arrangements, but a roadblock prompts a self-care visit to a place of comfort and a meeting with an old friend. Mentions of Ashter Faurux from @memurfevur (Story begins under the cut)

“Missus Kalzir, I--“

“-DIctIr Kalzir. And, as I instructed befIre, I can’t even begin to think why any If this is my prIblem. NI means n|, even in y|ur kind’s language.”

The waiting room was abustle. Wrigglers hissed and nursed their bruised mandibular sockets with invasive grey tongues. Whimpers rose from some chairs in clouds. Trajes’ attention only loosely included them in his universe, though he was more than protected from view by transparent glass that housed the reception booth.

“I admit, it’d be more cramped on room than I first thought, but--“

He would have normally shrugged such derisive remarks away, but the two beefy biceps strangling both his armpits made the motion difficult. “I can promise you--. I sent my references to Mister Ianoni three days ago--! I’ve never had a problem with this before, I have plenty of references--! Name one--! You, Tiny Timmie, ask me a hospital in the--!“

“C’mon, little guy, let’s go.” One of the lugs murmured between pastrami wheezes.

“Wait--! Wait, okay, just--!” Trajes wriggled a little in the air as he was hoisted up. “I can send a follow-up, that’s fine--! But you at least remember the other thing I asked for, right--?”

“And that’s an|ther thing with y|u.” The Cerulean glowered, arms crossing over her surgical gown. “It’s bad en|ugh t| have a l|ne cullbait like y|u l||se in the |perating r||m-“

“-Theatre--!”

“-but what use d| y|u even have f|r a bag |f hair??”

Trajes’ eyebrows lifted in surprise beneath his mask, as if the mystery was obvious to her. “Well I’m not doing anything weird with it, I promise! Besides, it’s not like your patients need it anymore, it’s practically running off their heads--!”

“Can you just--? Please get it--? Please--?”

“Dunk--? Your--...your hospital has a swimming pool--??” As Trajes was carried down the hallway, he beamed. “That’s great material, why didn’t you tell me earlier--??”

Dr. Kalzir simply shook her head with disapproval and vanished around the corner.

======

They did not, in fact, have a swimming pool in the hospital. Apparently take a swim had meant Trajes getting stuffed down a small rectangular chute on the other side of the hallway that led thirty stories down in claustrophobic darkness. Trajes bumped and fell through the duct yelping with dismay for 45 seconds, waiting to hear the splat of his bones on the pavement, but instead he was met with the cushy embrace of at least four dozen black garbage bags of used medical equipment. The Pyrite rubbed his elbows, scraped from contact with the metal, and smoothed out his hair.

“Well……that’s one way to make an exit--!” Despite the heart-dropping plunge his humour quickly returned, and he popped forward on his knee, quickly adjusting to avoid the puncture of an errant syringe needle poking from a biowaste container, and peeped from the dumpster’s skyward opening.

He was on the side of the tall building, and as he remembered…yup! His cherry-red bike of 3 sweeps was still propped against the adjacent wall, waving him out.

But before that…the doctor’s words spawned a thought, and he looked back to the bags and quickly began glancing through the bundles of refuse, giving a rough feel through the contents. Diapers, diapers, dressing gowns, face masks, IV bags.

Seconds turned to minutes, but there was no luck. Sourness puckered at his lips, and the stink clung to him just as much as the shame did. He…hadn’t done it. He’d failed. Failed again.

Failure, failure...failure...f-failure...his chest started to feel tight, arms quaking. C'mon, keep it together, this is nothing, this is...

A buzzing from his pocket, though, distracted him just as the first traces of a tear started to fill an eye.

32-02

& <( Did the doctor cooperate?)

Well, shit, he was hoping for a moment’s notice before she tried to pry. Sometimes, it felt like she knew exactly when he needed her advice; maybe that was a power she’d never told him? Or there was a security camera in the garbage chute…

32-02

If cooperate you mean a) say no to everything and b) make me never want to go skydiving for the rest of my existence--…

then yeah, it went swimmingly--. I was so excited to see the pool too--. 8(

32-02

& <( The resident must still be dodging his shift for bucket smuggling. It sounds like you’ve been through an ordeal. Does it hurt your feelings?)

32-02

It feels--…

I just don’t feel good--.

32-02

& <( Leave it in my hands, Trajes. I’ll straighten this out for you. Do you want a milkshake? I can transfer you some credit.)

Trajes clambered over the edge, avoiding twisting his ankle on the low slope in the guttered alcove. The thought gave him some peace. Tomorrow, the mean lady would not be so mean; he knew how Superego went about her business by now.

32-02

I want to go be with Zaldes right now--.

32-02

& <( Are you positive? Don’t be afraid to message your brother either though.)

& <( If you’re sure, send my best wishes to their spirit. I’ll let you know about the show tomorrow)

32-02

Yeah--.

Trajes lodged his flip phone back into his pocket, and grabbed his handle-bars, gripping the rubber tighter than he needed.

======

He’d grabbed the last ziplock of hair from his hive before making the short cycle down across the familiar path. Through the graveyard, past the whole in the chain link fence. Dodge the poison ivy whacking at your bangs and try not to spill your lunch for the five minutes of jerking up and down on bump rocky dirt.

Planted between autumn leaves was the tree stump where Zaldes was buried. This had once been desolate not so long ago: the arborists had made the area look much better than the desolation that once tattooed its sickly vertebrae. In the heart of the stump, Trajes placed his offering with the many others.

“Hey--! Hey, Zaldes--!” He cooed, like waking him from a nap, his fingers knitted and eyelids weary. “How’re ya, buddy pally chummy--? I hope you aren’t too lonely--…

“Anyways, look--…I know it’s been two weeks this time, so you’ve probably been wondering how I’m doing--! And, well, I’m--…” He sniffed, grinning and looking up past the treeline. “I’m doing super--! You know, I--…I met my brother—!”

He clapped to the silent audience. “I met him, finally, like I said I would, and he--…doesn’t outright hate me, I think--! That was kind of a given, you know how my energy is, my natural charm and wit, but I was really afraid at first, you know--?

“Buuuut he saw my show, oh yeaa--! The other day, actually, and he said he enjoyed it--! Not his sense of humour, but he saw the merit--! Yeah, oh, he’s a gamer, and he wears muscle shirts, and has lots of quads, and a fluffy mohawk--! You’d appreciate him, he’s really stand-up, honest and caring, not low self-esteem whatsoever, not a trace--. What else, what else--? Superego's doing great--...uumm--...

Trajes paused, feeling like he could sense the appreciation from the soil. His arms fell to his side as he looked down. The seconds ticked and locked by, tip of tongue in between teeth.

“I miss you--………I know I--…say that, every time, but I--…do miss you, still, Zaldes--…wish I could hear you being proud of me, you know--? Wish I could know everything is going to be okay--. I’m not a wriggler anymore, I can take care of myself, but--…just--...it'd be nice--...”

………

.........

Are you even there? His thoughts poked at the endothelium of his skull, lips pursing. Am I even talking to you right now?

........

The moment of self-reflection passed though as his lips puckered, and Trajes clenched his fists and forced a smile. “Sorry, sorry--! Don’t worry, I shouldn’t ask you for so much, you’re already so busy in the afterlife--! Getting five trolls for every quad, drinking Cruel-Aid in a jacuzzi, telling tall tales to every ear that hears--! Ohahahaha, you rascal bastard, don’t ever stop, stay wild for me, alright--? I’ll hold you to it--! And I promise, next time, I'll bring you some of that cobbler from Chacho's--! I know you've been wanting it--!!”

Bubbly as ever, Trajes clicked his fingers and winked, then grabbed his bike and left the sacred place to the mnemonics of chirp-beast song and the peeking eyes of the moons. His latest donation of hair shifted in the wind as he rang his dingy bicycle bell and headed hive.

#trajes #trajesfaurux #mageofspacemultiverse #homestuck oc #homestuck drabble #fantroll oc

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wayward-dreamer · 4 years ago

Text

Foundation Quaking - Part 6

Part 6: Garage

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean x Female!Teacher!Reader

Word count: 2,352

Summary: Y/N returns from a night out with friends, seeing Dean working on setting up the garage and fixing the car. Unable to keep their hands off each other, they cross another fantasy off the list.

Warnings: Fluff, Swearing, Smut: Dirty talk, Heavy foreplay, Unprotected sex (wrap it up before you tap it), sex on the hood of the Impala. More fluff.

A/N: I can’t believe this little mini-series has almost come to end, just two more parts after this! There’s so much more coming for these two though, and I can’t wait to share it with all you! Thanks for all your kind words and support. As always, happy reading and enjoy! :)

Series beta’d by my twin and forever cheerleader @downanddirtydean. I love you! <3

Life’s Lessons Saga Masterlist

Dean lifted up the heavy box kept to one side of the garage, carrying it across the room and over to the workbench that he had set up. Opening it, he took out all the tools that didn’t fit in his toolbox, hanging them up on the hooks he placed on the wall or putting them in small plastic boxes as he sorted through them. It was a Friday night, and usually he would be out at the bar with Benny and Cas, or out with Y/N or spending time at home, but considering he hadn’t set up the garage yet, he wanted to get started. Y/N was out for a girls’ night with Charlie and Meg, so he was by himself at home, with not much to do other than fix things up in the garage.

He also wanted the time to do a check on Baby, making sure everything was working the way it was meant to, as she had been sounding a little worse for wear lately. After he had fixed up his work bench and put away everything properly, he got to work on fixing up his beloved Impala and get her back to sounding the way she should.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been in the garage, tuning Baby up with a socket wrench and Zeppelin lightly playing in the background, but he heard the sound of heels coming down the hallway outside the open door into the house. Lifting his head slightly, he saw Y/N appear at the threshold, dressed in sleek black flared pants that hugged her waist incredibly well, and a loose black strappy top. Her hair was open and wavy, looking as stunning as she always did. She looked him up and down, biting her lip as every time she found him working on the car, it always, always, awoke something deep inside her.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, carefully moving his head from under the hood of the car. He closed it, leaning against it as he looked at her.

“It’s 1.30am, Dean,” she said, softly as she walked over to him, her black heels clicking against the concrete floor. “I didn’t think you’d be out here.”

He shrugged, turning the wrench in his hand. “Once I started with the garage, I didn’t stop and then went on to check on Baby, lost track of time.”

“Well, I hope you ate,” she sighed, moving into him and wrapping her arms around his neck. She was still slightly shorter than him even with her heels on. “I know how you get.”

“I started after eating, don’t you worry about me, gorgeous,” he told her, pecking her nose softly.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands slowly sliding down to her ass over the pants that accentuated the feature. “Have fun with the girls?”

“Always,” she replied, smiling.

“And uh… how many guys did you have to turn away tonight?” he asked, smirking slightly. “Cause let me tell ya, this outfit… is making me very glad that I’m your one and only.”

“Well, none actually, now that I have this,” she said, smiling as she lifted her hand and showed him the ring he had given her.

His smirk widened, turning into a grin. “Good to know.”

Dean leaned in, kissing her passionately as he brought her body closer to his. A soft moan left her as the kiss deepened, her hands moving up into his hair, running through the short locks at the back of his head. She leaned into him, their lips locked in a heated exchange, both of them aware of where this embrace was heading. He turned them around, pressing Y/N against the Impala, lifting her legs to wrap around his waist.

“So beautiful,” he whispered against her lips, as his hands drifted up her legs to her waist.

He pulled at the fabric belt tied into a bow on her pants, hissing slightly as she moved forward, her covered mound against his crotch. She smiled mischievously, that one he never got tired of seeing, as she began to grind slowly against him.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers.

She moved against him, her hands moving down to his waist to pull him closer to her. She bit her lip, feeling him getting hard against her.

“God, you have no idea what you do to me,” he groaned, pulling her closer to his covered dick.

She hummed, biting her lip, cheekily. “I think I do.”

He reached between them, unzipping her pants, both of his hands slipping into the waistband and pulling them down. She lifted up slightly, letting him move them down her smooth legs. He smirked as he saw her black lace panties, moving in to grind against her again, the barrier between them thinner than before. His hands took the edge of her flowy top and pulled it up, her hands moving up to let him discard it to the floor beside her pants. He reached around and unclasped her black strapless bra, tossing it behind him. He leaned in, kissing down her neck, lightly nipping at her skin. He took her right nipple into his mouth, a moan leaving her lips as he circled the stiff nub with his tongue. He palmed her left breast, his fingers tweaking the nipple, as he continued to softly nip at the other.

“Dean, fuck, I-” she gasped, grabbing onto his broad, thick shoulders and pulling him closer.

He released the nipple from his mouth, his lips hovering over hers as he smirked. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

“Fuck me,” she bit out, her eyes shut tight. “Fuck me hard.”

“You’re forgetting to ask nice, gorgeous,” he said, his smirk as cocky as ever.

She groaned, frustratedly as she shook her head. “Please.”

“Say it properly, Y/N,” he ordered, his eyes darkened as he looked at her.

“Please, Dean, please fuck me,” she begged, as her eyes snapped open.

“Say it again,” he teased, his smirk unwavering. “I wanna hear how much you want it.”

“Fuck me hard, Dean, please. Please I need your cock,” she pleaded. “I need to feel you deep inside me, fucking me hard and fast, filling me up.”

He chuckled against her lips, his hand moving between her thighs to her covered sex, feeling how wet she was through the lace of her panties.

Dean reached down and unbuckled his belt, undoing his jeans and pushing them down along with boxers. He wrapped his hand around his hard cock, pumping it slowly as he saw her gaze down. Her hand reached forward to touch him, but he moved it away with his, holding her as he laid her back against the hood of the Impala, a small gasp leaving her as her back hit the cold surface. He bit his lip, seeing her spread out on his car was a fantasy he had had for a while and now it was coming true.

He moved his hand down between her legs, hooking a finger into her panties and pulling them down, straightening her legs up to take them off and toss them aside. He smoothed his hands over her legs, placing her calves on his shoulders, her heels still on her feet. She truly was a sight in that moment, and he was quick to remember once again how fucking lucky he was. Taking hold of his cock, he slapped the tip against her heat, a small gasp leaving her as he did. He slid his shaft through her folds, her arousal wetting him. He moved to her entrance, pushing in slowly, a groan falling from his lips as he felt how tight she was in this position. He slid out slightly before moving back in, bottoming out completely inside her. She moaned as he moved his hips, setting a moderate pace as he thrusted in and out of her.

“Fuck, so tight, baby,” he groaned, his hands holding onto her hips, tightly as he pulled her forward against his.

“Dean,” she whimpered, her hands moving up to her breasts, her fingers pinching and tweaking her nipples. “Fuck me harder, Dean… please.”

He smirked, his thumbs softly running over her hip bones. “That’s what I like to hear.”

His hips slammed forward, a loud moan leaving her as he set a harder rhythm, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her with precision, as her walls clenched around him. His hips slapped against her thighs, as his balls pressed against the curve of her ass, the smacking of skin as loud as their voices.

“Fuck, you feel so good around my cock, sweetheart,” he growled, his hands gripping her hips tight as he continued to pull her against him. “So wet, tight… like you were made to take me.”

“Yes, oh fuck,” she gasped, lifting her head and gazing down the length of her body. She saw his cock slide in and out of her, the speed of his thrusts driving her wild. “Fuck, Dean… love your cock inside me, fucking me hard.”

She continued to tweak her left nipple, her right hand drifting down to move between her legs. Her walls clenched around his cock, knowing she was close with how fast he was moving within her. Suddenly, a hand came off her hips and grasped hers tight, flicking it away.

“You don’t get to cum yet, sweetheart,” he warned, a wicked glint in his eyes as he looked down at her. “Only I tell you when you can.”

“Dean, please,” she begged, looking up at him. “Please I wanna cum.”

“Uh uh,” he shook his head, a playful glare on his face as he looked at her. “Or I stop right now.”

“No, please,” she whined, shaking her head.

“Be good and you’ll get what you want, Y/N,” he stated, turning his head and planting a kiss on her left calf.

He drove deeper into her, his eyes raking over her body and admiring the light sheen of sweat from their activities. He smirked as their eyes met, a groan leaving his lips as a moan left hers at the feel of her clenching around him.

“You’re so close, aren’t ya, sweetheart?” he asked, a teasing smile on his face.

She whimpered, her back arching off the car. “Yes.”

“Bet you’re wishing you could touch yourself right about now, huh?” He looked at her as his hand moved between their bodies, hovering over the bundle of nerves. “You want me to touch you, baby?”

“Yes, touch me,” she gasped, pushing herself up on her elbows to between their joined bodies.

“Y/N,” he warned, looking down at her as he continued to thrust into her, his movement frenzied.

“Please, touch me, Dean,” she said, looking into his eyes.

He obliged her by pressing his fingers to her clit, circling them over the nub as their hips continued to meet. She moaned loudly, her chest heaving with frantic breaths as she got closer to her release.

“Dean, I-I’m close,” she moaned, her eyes flicking between watching his hand and looking at him.

“You’re gonna cum with me, sweetheart,” he grunted. His eyes shut briefly as he felt his cock throbbing inside of her, before he looked at her again. “Not before then.”

“Fuck,” she cried, desperate to let go. “Please, please tell me you’re close.”

His fingers moved faster over her clit, a string of short gasps leaving her as she felt the coil tightening in her core. His hard cock continued to pound into her, his other hand tight against her hip, no doubt bruising her flesh.

“Fuck, cum with me, Y/N,” he growled, his jaw clenching from the pressure building within him. “Cum with me, sweetheart.”

“Oh god, Dean! Yes! Fuck!” she yelled, as the coil snapped. Her wetness covered his cock, as he sped up slightly, a loud grunt leaving him as his cock pulsed, spurts of his cum bathing her walls.

“Fuck,” he groaned, as he breathed heavily, a content smirk on his face.

Y/N slipped back down, lying flat against the hood once more. Her chest heaved with heavy breaths, a hand over her eyes as she came down. Dean looked at her, turning his head and kissing her calf again, his gaze on her as he breathed deeply. She lifted her hand off her eyes, slowly sitting up and cupping his face in her hands. She kissed him hard, their lips feverishly moving against each other’s.

“You’re incredible,” she told him between kisses.

“I think that’s you, sweetheart,” he countered, pecking her lips.

“I can’t believe we had sex on Baby,” she said, a giggle bubbling up in her chest. She shook her head, pressing it to his shoulder as she laughed.

He joined in, his hand brushing away her hair from her shoulder, as he placed a soft kiss to it. “Kinda been dreaming about it.”

“Did we just cross off another fantasy of yours?” she asked, lifting her head and looking at him with a knowing smile.

“Definitely,” he replied, smirking as he leaned in, kissing her. He pulled away briefly, pulling up his boxers and jeans, securing them over his hips.

She hummed, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him again. “I guess it’s my turn next.”

He wagged his eyebrows, a grin on his face as he pulled her close. “Can’t wait.”

Dean helped Y/N off the car, her legs shaking slightly as she tried to stand. She took off her heels and picked up her clothes, carrying them with her as they made their way back into the house. After a quick shower together, they got ready for bed, Dean stripped down to his boxers as she slipped on a black tank top and cotton shorts in red and black plaid. He couldn’t understand how she managed to make something so simple look sexy, but she did.

Wrapped in each other’s embrace, they kissed goodnight, slipping into a peaceful slumber with pleasant dreams of each other.

-x-

Tags: @deanwanddamons // @winchest09 // @downanddirtydean // @jensengirl83 // @wonder-cole // @that-one-gay-girl // @whatareyousearchingfordean // @flamencodiva // @danneelsmain // @ellewritesfix05 // @roonyxx // @akshi8278 //@hobby27 // @michellethetvaddict // @spngirl05 // @kyjey // @440mxs-wife // @stoneyggirl // @stoneyggirl2 // @deanswaywardgirl // @redbarn1995 // @marianita195 // @babypink224221 // @deans-baby-momma // @parinarain // @thoughts-and-funnies // @mandalou29 // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @supernatural-love14 // @vicmc624 // @prettyboyswow // @lunarmoon8 // @irmcpar // @compresshischest09 // @weepingwillowphoenix // @xlynnbbyx // @whiskey-infused-dreams // @perpetualabsurdity // @verytoadpapersoul // @pink-sparkly-witch //

#Foundation Quaking #Life's Lessons Saga #Dean x Female!Reader #Dean x Female!Reader Series #Dean x Female!Reader Fanfiction #Female!Reader Insert #Mechanic!Dean #Teacher!Reader #Dean x Reader Fanfiction #Dean Winchester Smut #Dean Winchester Series #Dean Winchester Fanfiction #Supernatural Fanfiction

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