#makes me think about the cow orb

[thejuicedbox]

Little fucking creature

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

Jizz Fingers║ ⓞⓝⓔⓢⓗⓞⓣⓢ

|| ꂵꍏꀤꈤ ꂵꍏꌗ꓄ꍟꋪ꒒ꀤꌗ꓄ || | PAIRING(s): alien!Joel x reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 3.2k | CONTENT: This is a crackfic. Joel is not Joel. He’s an alien that can shapeshift and isn’t into the splorgimums on their own planet. He wants to nut in you with his creampie fingers. It’s not supposed to make sense. It’s not supposed to be anything but fun and sexy and silly. It’s meta. It’s tongue-in-cheek. It’s self-indulgent. If you’re not into that kinda thing then idk what to tell ya, bud. 

| SYNOPSIS: u get creampied by a dick finger alien Joel Miller.

The sonorous silver ship glided above you before descending gently into a large clearing in the field ahead. Bright light flooded your vision as a hidden door pushed away from the spacecraft and revealed an occupant.

It appeared to have an amorphous, fluid corporeal form, but no matter the shape it always remained an off-white greenish gray color. Six large onyx orbs were situated near the top of the form. You assumed they must be eyes or some other sort of organ. When the greenish grey flaps snapped together and apart a few times in quick succession, you realized they were in fact lidded eyes.

A warbled voice sounded inside your mind. “Do not be afraid. I come in peace, and I stand before you with no intention of harming you.”

You realize the creature is speaking to you through your own mind.

You should be afraid, but instead you’re just fascinated and exhilarated. You aren’t sure why they’d say the same thing twice, though, just in a slightly different way. You also aren’t sure if you should respond in your head, out loud, or at all.

“That’s kinda a weird thing to say. Like, you said it twice,” you point out, speaking loudly and clearly enough that the creature can hear you.

At least, you think they can hear you. You don’t see any ears. Then again, they possess the capability of telepathic speech, and there must be some equivalent to hearing for that. You try to think what that is called or what that might be called when the creature shifts back and forth but still doesn’t approach.

“Those were two separate statements,” the voice in your mind contends firmly.

“Huh?” you ask. You’re sure you sound dumb, but you were never really going to be a match for a higher level intelligent being anyways.

“When I bust, it is peaceful for every being involved. I also greet you with good intentions,” the voice patiently clarifies.

Suddenly you are standing no more than arm’s length away from the being. “I saved your achilles the trouble,” the voice in your mind said, as if it was some huge favor.

“My achilles is fine,” you grumble awkwardly. “I know I should hit leg day more, but sometimes it’s just so–”

“Our sex organs are complimentary,” the voice interrupts. “We could perform the Divine Dance, if you’d like.”

You wanted to ask why they had to come all the way to Earth just to get laid, but you think better of it.

“The splorgimums on my planet just don’t get me,” the voice explains. You realize you said your thought aloud.

“Oh. Uh, okay. S-Sorry about that. I, uh, didn’t mean to offen–”

The creature waves a gelatinous blob arm dismissively. “No offense taken. You’re not like other splorgimums. I can tell. You’re different,” it assures you.

You feel a blush creep onto your cheeks. “Oh. Well, uh–” an awkward giggle “—thank you. But I’m not really that special, here on Earth I mean. There are other women who are wayyyyyy more attractive. Oh! I know! You should try driving by Doja Cat’s house because oh my god she is so. fucking. fine. Like, if I had her in that I’m A Cow Bitch Moo costume for 5 minutes I’d—”

“No. No Doja Kitties. Only you.”

You shrug and accept their obsession with you.

“Okay. So now what? I don’t know where your Divine Dance hole is, and your floating blobs are sort of freaking me out,” you admit.

You keep tabs on the hovering goops that orbit the creature. They remind you of the time you tried to make Key Lime Jello Shots for your uncle’s cousin’s dog’s recital but added too much vodka.

“I can take the form of something pleasing to you. An earth male, perhaps? The female of your species is more difficult to capture as they are far superior.”

“So fuckin’ true,” you agree. “But, hhmmmm, a male specimen? I mean, I hate all men, but Pedro Pascal seems pretty decent. Maybe you could turn into Joel Miller? You know, from The Last of Us?”

The creature nods — you think it’s a nod — and transforms into Joel. Game Joel.

“Oh, uh, look, Pixel Daddy is fine as hell, especially in part 2, but I meant the HBO adaptation of the game. Please,” you correct.

“How’s this?” Pedro’s version of Joel’s voice asks aloud.

Your pussy bottoms out. “Oh, fuck yeah.”

You disrobe completely as you enter the spacecraft.

“I set it to 72º Fahrenheit. Is that a suitable climate for your meat suit?” Joel asks.

“Yeah, that’s perfect. Mr. Alien, could you, like, put more of the twang into his voice? And use words like he does?  Like, how he sounds on the show? You know what, let’s watch a few clips to get it right.”

You pull up your account on your phone, but it takes you a minute to find it because you forgot they changed it from HBO Max Go to just Max. “So fuckin’ stupid. Purple is a better color than blue anyway,” you mumble to yourself as you pull up an episode.

The galactic creature uses some magical time skip thing to binge the entire series and gets a yucky smudge of goop on your phone screen when it attempts to find season 2.

“There’s just one season? Please tell me there’s another one,” Joel implores.

“Yeah, there’s a second season, but it’s not out yet,” you inform him.

“Damn. But you said there’s two games already? So what happens in the second game?” he asks.

“You know what, we super don’t need to get into that right now. Let’s see what you’re working with,” you quickly change the subject and grab at his crotch.

He grunts in approval. “Needy lil thing, aren’t’cha? You want my cock, baby?”

Your eyes narrow suspiciously. “Did you use a time jump thing to read a whole bunch of Joel Miller smutfic on Tumblr?”

Joel blushes and scratches the back of his neck. “Eh, mighta read a few.”

“Oh my god, you’re gonna be super nasty and dominant, aren’t you?” you sigh.

“Only if that’s what you want, baby. I’m a consent king,” he assures you.

“Well, alright then. I want you to rawdog me and slap my ass, okay?”

He smirks and pulls you close. “I’ll give ya what I give ya, and you just gotta take it,” he grunts into your neck as he nibbles and sucks downward.

You gasp at the sensation and grind your hips into him. “Oh fuck, Joel,” you whine. “I want you to wreck me, please!”

“Gonna fill that cunt up,” he says gruffly as he gropes your ass and breasts.

“Yes, Daddy, please!” you beg.

He pauses for a moment and looks confused.

“Oh, uh, you must not have got to those kind of fics–” you cough awkwardly “–uh, anyway. Sorry. Joel. Yes, Joel, please.”

“I can sense the vibrations of your inner sex organ when you call me that. If it is sexually gratifying to you, I wholly welcome the use of it,” the original voice says inside your mind.

“Oh wow. I love that you’re not kink shaming me. Glad you didn’t make it to that side of Tumblr,” you huff in a laugh.

Joel suddenly pins you against the wall and presses his hard, clothed cock against your bare skin. Even through the denim you can tell he’s huge. Apparently all those fic writers were right all along.

“Who’s gonna fill up that pretty cunt uh’yours, huh?” he demands as he grabs the back of your neck for leverage.

“Y-You, Daddy,” you say in an aroused tremble.

“That’s fuckin’ right. When my fat cock is inside you, I better hear you singin’ some thank you’s to Daddy for fillin’ you up so good,” he warns.

“Yes, Daddy, I’ll be your good girl,” you promise. 

He flips you around without warning and pushes your chest flush against the wall. 

“Even good girls need to be reminded every once in a while what happens if they don’t listen to Daddy,” he says in a low gruff.

His clothes have magically disappeared with the help of his alien outerspace boi powers. You feel him firm against your backside before a harsh slap of his palm replaces it. You jump and yelp in pain at the surprise spanking.

“Mmmm, pretendin’ you don’t want it, but I feel you pushin’ your ass back for more,” he taunts. 

You whine because he’s right. You can only imagine the derisive comments he’d make if he felt how wet you are. 

He lands another three harsh swats on the same patch of skin. Tears prickle up in your eyes. “D-Daddy,” you moan. 

“You gonna thank Daddy for keepin’ you in line, baby?” Another swat. It stings so much you know there must be an imprint of his hand clearly outlined by your welting red flesh.

“Thank you, Daddy!” you choke out. “Th-Thank you for k-keeping me your good girl and not letting me b-be bad, Daddy. I only wanna be good for you, Daddy!” you wail.

“That’s what I like’tuh hear, baby,” he grunts into your ear. “Ask Daddy to make you into his own little cocksleeve. Ask Daddy to give you this big, fat cock.”

You whimper as he slips his length between your folds and rubs back and forth in teasing passes. 

“Daddy, I want you to use my pussy. I need it so bad. Please. I just wanna be your cocksleeve. Use my holes, Daddy,” you whimper.

You barely finish your sentence when he flips you around again and lines himself up with your entrance. Apparently the alien creature was just as into this as you are because their altered form reverted back to the amorphous gray green blob. You’re way too horny to be picky about it right now, so you squeeze your eyes shut. You forgot to charge your vibrator, anyway.

Their penis was more like fingers that kinda moved around randomly. You don’t know. You’re not an astrophysicist or whoever it is that would best be knowledgeable about alien wieners.   

Its spongy gray appendage felt firm and slimy as it entered you. There was some sort of phantom connection to your mouth and throat as well, the sensation of its finger-penis dragging back and forth, able to be felt in both your pussy and your mouth. It was weird, but you knew if it was Joel Miller doing it then it would somehow become totally fine and very hot. 

“You’re getting too lost in the sauce,” you whine. “You’re in your true form again. Change back.”

“Mmmmm, sorry, baby,” came the familiar gravelly voice once more.

When you felt brave enough to open your eyes again, you saw those familiar Wreck-It-Ralph sausage fingers and sighed in relief. The alien had changed back to your preferred form of Joel Miller as portrayed  by José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal.

As much as you wanted to stare at his face, you also wanted him to dick you down through the floorboards of the ship. You wiggle to sink down onto your hands and knees. “Wanna be wide open for you, Daddy,” you pout.

He makes an approving growling noise and scrambles behind you, shoving you downward between your shoulder blades until your face is smushed into the floor. He makes no effort to warn you before slamming his entire length into you. The impact of his wide tip against your cervix is so forceful it punches the air out of your lungs. You let out a panicked, strangled moan, suddenly unsure if you were going to be able to take this dick like a champ.

Joel grabs your hips for leverage and starts pistoning rough, deep strokes into your drenched pussy. “Gaahh–Goddamn! Fuckin’ chokin’ it, honey,” he rasps in a labored voice. “Feel so fuckin’ tight for me.”

“It’s s-so big, Daddy. I dunno if I can take it,” you cry.

“You can take it. You can take it for Daddy. Be a good girl or m'gonna hafta punish you,” he cautions. As a reminder of what that might entail, he strikes your backside so hard your entire body jerks as you let out a sob.

A high pitched moan gathers in Joel’s throat as you start to accommodate his size. “Yeah, fuckin’ like that, huh? Like when Daddy spanks you? Makes ya listen?”

“You’re so good to me, Daddy!” you sob. Your arousal is practically dripping down your thighs. You listen to the hum of the engines mixing with the sounds of your drooling cunt being fed Joel’s massive cock over and over again. He grabs your wrists and pulls you upward, using your limbs like reins on a horse. You have no control over the depth of penetration in these positions, and Joel is opting for nothing less than utterly devastating your pussy.

“M’gonna give you these fingers, too, baby. Know you can take it,” he pants.

He releases your arms and lets you scramble to catch yourself before faceplanting.

“Hey! You could’ve at least–”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth and take what Daddy gives you,” he snarls.

You whine and clench around him. You feel a boogery churro type object prodding at your asshole. You turn your head quickly enough to see the creature has let Joel’s arm halfway revert back into the wiggly blobby thing.

“Did I say you could turn around?” he barks. He spanks you again with his 100% Joel hand, hard enough that you know there are pinpricks of blood beginning to seep through.

“I’m sorry, Daddy!” you scream.

You feel him now inside both holes. It’s overwhelming and amazing. The phantom throat thing is back again, and you like how you gag even with an “empty” mouth.

“Got enough for every hole you got and then some, sweetheart,” he practically slurs. He sounds completely wrecked.

You feel your lower belly heating up and quickly tightening.

“Oh my fucking god, Joel. I’m getting so close,” you gasp.

“THAT AIN’T MY FUCKIN’ NAME WHEN I’M STUFFIN’ YOU WITH MY COCK, SWEETHEART,” he grits out as he wraps his hand around the front of your throat and squeezes.

When your breaths quickly become hard to take, you know you’re going to come soon.

“I want your space juice inside me, Daddy!” you cry out, not caring if you’re breaking the illusion. You still needed to be clear and consensual in your approach to this intimate exchange, and you needed to address the weird topic of whether or not your birth control could do effective hand to hand combat with spaceboi cum. 

“Our sexual organs are compatible, but our reproductive hormones and liquids are not,” the voice explained in your mind.

The Jim Carrey baby grinch was kinda cute, but you still felt better knowing you weren’t going to birth a little green gremlin alien baby. (Although you did think Victor or Clementine would be nice names.)

“Put a baby in me, Daddy! Fuck your baby into me!” you beg now that you know you can’t actually get pregnant. 

“Uh, I mean, there’s just so much pregnancy fic out there,” Joel hedges carefully, still maintaining his merciless thrusts. “You don’t really wanna make this into a whole thing do you? Ya know, with the pregnancy storyline and stuff? Some users have actually said they prefer—”

“No, Joel, I’m not actually—” you interrupt in a huff “—I’m just saying it to be sexy. It sounds sexy. Besides, there’s some fic writers who basically only write creampies but none of their characters ever seem to get pregnant. It’s kinda wild. There’s a fic writer I can think  of right now, actually. She loves creampies so much.”

“So she’s just really into pussy gettin’ drenched but nobody’s gotta deal with babies? Sounds like a pretty sweet deal if ya ask me,” he approves.

“Yeah, I think the only pregnancy fic she has is, like, this really nasty oneshot where the reader is already pregnant and she gets double teamed by Tommy and you at the same time. Oh and she lactates. I wasn’t into it at first, but it was kinda hot. Maybe you’ve read it? The author calls herself Puddles?”

“Oh, her? That Gasoline Rainbow lady? I thought she just made memes?” He sounds surprised and impressed. He’s hitting your cervix repeatedly with such force that you feel like your vagina is going to look like somebody dropped a tray of lasagna on a pubic hair linoleum floor.

“No, she actually has, like, legit fic on there, too. She’s, like, really talented. I can’t believe she doesn’t have more followers,” you laugh incredulously. 

You’re glad he doesn’t ask how you would know how many followers she has since that isn’t publicly available information. You hate it when plot holes have to be smoothed out nicely and still fit in with the story. It’s so boring and way too much work sometimes.

“Maybe stuff like alien jizz fingers is a little too much for people to–”

“Okay, this is getting too meta. Let’s just get back to you fucking me so rough I can’t walk right for an entire week, okay?”

“Hnngg, fuck yeah. Daddy’s gonna wreck this cunt,” he hisses as his thrusts pick up pace.

“DADDY, I’M GONNA COME,” you cry as you start clenching and seizing around the massive circumference of his cock.

Joel lets out a guttural, choked moan as he empties inside you. You can feel it from his weird creampie fingertips, too — even the invisible one in your mouth and throat. You’re trembling, trying to keep yourself upright as Joel fucks into you through his orgasm. You lick your lips. There’s a flavor there. Is that….?

“You like Daddy’s brisket cum, sweetheart?” he grunts as his thrusts slow to a sloppy grind.

“I thought I tasted barbecue,” you muse. It was bewildering, but mostly satisfying.

“Yeah, tastes just like those Fourth of July backyard get-togethers you love in that Texas heat,” he breathes. "You runnin' around in barely anything, makin' me hafta adjust myself so your dad don't catch his best friend ogling his precious daughter."

“I’m starting to think you read more fic than you admitted to earlier,” you assert.

“I like it, darlin’,” he shrugs.

“Are you gonna follow Puddles now? Oh! Can you do a mind link thing with her and see what she’s working on next?” you implore.

Joel appears to zone out for a minute, and you take the opportunity to stare at his naked body. He looked perfect. His eyes focused again as he looked at you.

“Her waveforms are erratic and very concerning, but once I subdued a Brain Goblin inside her mind I was able to discern she is likely to be releasing some Ezra from Prospect centered fictional stories,” the voice inside your head revealed. "They are very sexually aggressive."

“Nice,” you say under your breath.

“So you gonna let me have that sweet pussy again, sweetheart?” Joel drawls.

“Yes. But I’m going to need you to familiarize yourself with Pedro’s extensive works. I’m thinking we could do some really great Mando roleplay in this spaceship,” you say with a big smile as you gesture around.

Joel smirks at you. “Don’t matter what form I take. You’re still gonna be callin’ me Daddy.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you agree with a big grin.

I hope those splorgimums understand what they lost bc that's our man now! Special thanks to Multiversed Daydreamer (Fuzz) for inspiring part of the title and @xdaddysprincessxx for the shared derangement over That Old Man™.

Undying thanks to @psychedelic-ink and @bonezone44 for writing some of my fave ~aLtErNaTiVe KiNk CoNtEnT~ and inspiring me to let my brain run wild with this crackfic.

Art in graphic includes transformed works of the Mucinex booger man.

catch ya later, ♥Puddles♥

P.S. - I counted how many times "Daddy" appears in this, and it's 29.

tagging: @wannab-urs, @gracieispunk, @milla-frenchy, @patti7dc. @lumoverheaven, @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog, @toxicanonymity, @rubyfruitjungle, @huffle-punk, @jupiter-soups, @swiftispunk, @theywhowriteandknowthings

[ntls-24722]

I was thinking about @/artastic-friend's tags on my Comet post, and, first off thank you it was really sweet, but I had also realized that I wasn't even on tumblr to show the REEEAAALLY early designs of Comet, so here they are!

Comet had gone through a lot of changes, the most important one being... not looking exactly like DJMM! Comet originally looked exactly like DJMM since a good 80% of her body used to actually be mechanical, and her organism part was... very minimal and degenerate. But I very quickly found that lame - what's the pizzazz in being ~secretly a manmade organism~ if most of you is still mechanical anyway? I found an old picture of her transition from this (i apologize for the low quality, but much of the old sketches are super smudged n junk.) She still had motors and but much more of her internals filled up the plastic exoskeleton's empty space.

A detail i had actually forgotten now that I read back through old messages and pictures is that she used to be compatible with eating/drinking gasoline AND actual food? She had microbes that could eat it in her stomach and then she'd eat THOSE microbes like a cow??? that was kinda sick, past me, good job.

Comet's actual face being striped originated from her bony skeleton being full of bigbig holes (shown below, left) - they were meant to just be the frame for the plastic cover, but when the mechanical parts were taken out the holes condensed into stripes (shown below, right), partially being inspired from this Clownsuu post (AUGH ITS SO COOOOOL)

The 10 eyes thing stuck because it was like... representative of her kids' souls being infused with hers after she unknowingly ingested them after brain surgery?

She didn't like, pick them up and start chowing on her own children like you would with a bunch of dry cereal - in order to make the Comets less resource-needy the Oort Cloud would give some of the remnant they produced back to them? When Comet found out where it came from and where one of her missing kids went, she refused to eat or sleep at all until she almost died of exhaustion and finally went unconcious. The Oort Cloud took advantage of the fact she was finally not resisting and did the surgery as she slept. She didn't remember anything when she woke up and... ate for the first time in awhile not knowing what was in it, or that she even had kids in the first place.

Making the surgery easier is actually why the side of her head in this picture is exposed and Boneless (in some pictures there's actually huge stitches on there, too) but i realized that any behavioral disruptions would be directed to the frontal lobe, and that's why Modern comet actually has this little plate right between her eyes - that plate of exoskeleton is actually slightly loose and you can take it off n put it right back on for the least amount of scarring. It's also why Luz and Zoey don't have it.

For some reason I chose a marching band theme for her, maybe to cover up her skeleton-y Beneathness, and that is what made her into the star-spangled DJMM we know today. I chose a space-y theme since the Plex is.... somewhat space themed? Not entirely sure why but I'm glad I did it. She was intially accented with minty blue rather than the bold one she is now. This is where she also got her name, though it was initially "Comet Music Man."

She used to, temporarily, also have a 4 pairs of antennae coming from her wrists. I took it out cuz i couldn't find a reason for them

Comet wasn't based on any particular spider BUT there was the initial concept of having her be based off of the mirror spider and have a.... disco ball butt (you can kinda see it in the skeleton face pic) But in another universe, She could've been a spiny orb weaver, or a scorpion-tailed spider.

I did sometimes COMPLETELY go south with how her Beneath would look like in favor of a soft, fleshy interior, and I made...this! I hated it and I'm forever glad I didn't decide to go with this! jesus christ!

There were also the origins of the little harpoons - I had a headcanon that DJMM has little pedipalps on the inside of his mouth that looked like little STAFFbot hands and that got integrated with Comet, too

Alsoalso: the Neck

Couldn't figure out how to do it for a long time, since it's long and dragon-y and flexible and curvy, which is why half of it was exposed skin for awhile. In this outdated organ diagram i actually made the neck a bunch of layered "bowls" like one of those rainbow slug toys (not that you can.... see much of it lol) (also old sona jumpscare HOOH)

There's probably more considering Comet is now a year old and also her entire universe and story got REALLY derailed from a oneshot self-insert fic that i never even finished (the contents of which actually are why Comet and Fritz live where they are, in some abandoned factory - it was Fritz and DJMM's hideout) (also, Fritz predates Comet by a lot) because i thought WAYYYYY tooo hard about the implications of DJ Music Man, the giant spider, being alive

("what are you? are you a species or were you created? for what? By who? why are you pretending to be a robot? Are you pretending? What do you eat, and what's feeding you? Do you need to? Why do you have to be alive, and not an animatronic like everything else?) (also technically Bighand is just the alternate and anticlimatic version where he's just like "yeah I'm alive and I just work here") (both leave bc it sucks)

bonus patch notes that I couldn't cover:

neck became attached further up the head instead of below the jaw because keeping it the way it was was... not good

ALL of her became metallic-looking

She went from being a mirror spider to a sparklemuffin spider because of the coincidence that those spiders had the same yellow stripes from their eyes as she does.

The antennae became just 1 pair because the fact she had 2 pairs was also unnecessary

She used to have 2 little flesh strands from her top jaw and bottom jaw. They served no purpose only to get in the way of things so I got rid of them.

Her dewlap used to have music notes, stars, and lines

The tongue went from being thick n long to being flat and rounded. Fits in the mouth better

[xerith-42]

That AU where Aphmau Blows up

Shout out to @thornsofrustandash for the idea. This just came to me like a prophetic vision.

Okay so I usually change Aphmau's name because I hate calling her that, but I have warmed up to just shortening it because Aph is a really cute nickname and it's more accessible to people who can't be bothered to keep track of the 5th Aphmau rename they've read this weak.

This post is me pushing my garrancemau propaganda so if you aren't down with that, idk what to tell you you just don't have taste /j

If you're reading this, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know this isn't what we wanted, I know I'm supposed to be better than this. I was once a lord, I should know the responsibility that comes with it, and I shouldn't be so selfish.

But I need to think for myself. Have I not earned the right to selfishness after all those years of sacrificing myself for others? That's why I have to do this. I'm sorry.

Aaron, I need you to look after Lilith. I know she's going to miss me, but you're a great father and you have plenty of people who will help you with whatever you need so long as you ask for it. That's what I've always tried to tell you, and I'll keep telling you from the great beyond if I have to.

To my guards and friends, I'll miss you dearly. I wish we could share one last celebration with one another, but after this, there will be plenty of reason for celebration. Please don't let the tragedy of my death outweigh the triumph of my accomplishments. Remember me fondly, keep love in your hearts, and go forward knowing that you are some of the best companions a woman could ask for.

And to my head guards... [There's a noticeable teardrop staining the page and causing some of the ink to bleed] I'm sorry. For everything.

Goodbye.

Aph

A tear slipped down her face again, one that Aph was quickly wiping away as she folded up the letter and left it on her bedside table. She glanced over at her bed, where Lilith was swaddled up in a blanket and snuggling her favorite doll, one Laurance had carved for her. Aph's heart dropped at the image, the final thing that would make her doubt what she was about to do.

She had to remind herself that it wasn't a guarantee it would kill her. Only a possibility. She could hear Zoey rightly correct her that it was a high possibility, but she had to do this. Aph walked over to her daughter, placed a final kiss on her forehead, and then left her home. The Phoenix Alliance was quiet. It usually was, but somehow it felt even emptier under the light of the full moon. As if they're city was as abandoned as the one they had found on the island.

Her eyes kept catching on the sings of life. A guitar leaned up against a stand, the sound of cows snoring in their pens, and the many clothes strung along the drying racks reminded her that they lived here. They were making a home here. Aph had a home. The relic fragment pulled at her, reminder her that she had to protect her home. She had to. She couldn't stand seeing that sad look in Vylad's eyes anymore.

She nearly sprinted past Lucinda's house after traveling through the portal. She couldn't let anyone find her. They might be able to talk her out of this. Luckily she knew the path like the back of her hand. The forests of Phoenix Drop had changed quite a lot over 15 years, and yet they were exactly as Aph had remembered them.

The fragment in her pocket started to pull at her further and further, as if responding to the magic around the closed portal. Aph pulled the piece out, turning over the small purple orb in her hands.

"Take me to him," She commanded, and a burst of light instantly went off, magic springing from the fragment and latching onto the frame of the portal. It flashed red, and the portal was open. She could almost see him. Aph reached her hand through, and when she did, she could instantly feel the heavy blue fabric she knew so well. "Garroth!"

Aph pulled, yanking him out of the dimension and to the floor, where he was instantly followed by Zane who now stood before her. The relic fragment in her hand continued to spark with magic even as she tried to close the portal. Both Garroth and Zane needed a moment to readjust to being in the overworld. It was Zane who took less time, who realized where he was, and who he was in front of.

Bright white angel wings filled Garroth's vision as he looked up at the lord he loved so dearly.

"A-Aph?" Garroth muttered out. "What are you doing?"

"Saving your life," She answered, a smile evident in her voice. Though it faintly echoed with an unfamiliar sound, overlapping with the voice of another. "I'm sorry I couldn't do it before!"

"Wait!" Her hand shot forward, reaching straight for Zane's chest as she held onto the fragment even tighter, trying to hone and focus all the stray magic that was jumping from it.

"W-What are you doing?!" Zane gasped out as he saw her eyes start to glow white. "YOU'LL KILL US BOTH!!" Finally, she had clarity. Zane had put it so well. In order to succeed, she had to kill them both. A relic for a relic, a life for a life.

"That's the plan." Aph turned around and looked down at Garroth, her eyes becoming amber for this final moment. "I love you." A blinding white light filled her eyes, and an explosion rang out across the land.

"What happened?!" Dante nearly screamed as he raced to the explosion site. He prayed that Alexis would find no refugees were harmed, but all thoughts were swept from his mind when he got a clear view of the crater where the forest once was. Black and purple essence was scattered across the destroyed land, some parts were still actively on fire, and near the edge of the crater was Garroth. "Garroth?!"

Dante didn't get a reply. Garroth was still in shock, his hands trembling, and his eyes trying to cry. He was trying, but all he could seem to do was shake.

"Garroth, what happened?" Dante's voice sounded far, like he was talking to someone else. Garroth fell to his knees as he saw what laid at his feet where she once stood. A leather bound notebook with a rather crude "Aph" carved into the front of it. It was worn, clearly loved, and when Garroth traced his fingers over the poor thing like it would break, he could almost feel her life force coming from the pages.

It should have been louder. Garroth should have been filled with anger, something violent, something heard. Instead, the moment he held her diary in his hands, Garroth broke out into the sort of weeping he hadn't allowed since he was a child. Since the last time he lost someone this important to him. Garroth's crying was quiet. His tears were plentiful, but the sound was reserved, only a few sobs escaping between gasps for breath.

"Dante!" Travis called out, only seeing the backs of the two men. "Dante, what's going--" He stopped short when Dante turned around and he saw the tears streaming down his face. It made both men freeze at the sudden display of emotion. "What... What happened?" Dante glanced back at the weeping Garroth, and opted to step away and bring the conversation somewhere he couldn't hear.

"I-I don't really have any details yet. Garroth's not exactly comprehensible right now," Dante explained with a shaky voice. Travis faintly wanted to hold his shaking hands, just to console him a little. "Seems like nobody else was harmed in the explosion... Except..."

"Except...?" Travis repeated.

"A-Aph. I'm pretty sure she was the uh... The cause." Travis could hear his heart beating in his head as the entire world came out of focus. He couldn't really process what Dante said at first, and when he did, he felt numb. Like he should have some big reaction to the information, but instead it just left him feeling cold. "I-I'm going to keep looking around, see if I can't find a sign that she's alive."

"Yeah, y-you should do that. I'm... Enki help me, I don't know what I'm going to do."

"You could help me." Travis didn't have the heart to tell Dante his effort would be fruitless. It's not like Dante would listen anyways.

"I think I'm going to go tell the others." Dante nodded, before walking back towards the site. Travis' body moved without his own will, his legs suddenly having a mind of their own. His head felt heavy and yet also weightless, and he felt dizzy. Things only came into clarity for a moment when he saw Katelyn limping down the path through Phoenix Drop towards him.

That was when Travis got a hold of himself again, and he was suddenly racing towards her, catching Katelyn's weak form in his arms like it was instinct.

"Katelyn? What are you doing out of bed?!" Travis almost yelled.

"Like I was gonna sit still after hearing that," Katelyn groaned as she leaned against his weight. Travis' arm wrapped around her waist to hold her up like it was nothing. "What happened?"

"Still figuring that out."

"Where's Aph? I-Is she safe?" Travis's heart dropped, and he could feel the beginning of tears.

"I-I don't know."

"You don't know what?! Where she is or if she's safe?! You're her guard you should--" Katelyn stopped her yelling when she saw the tear finally slip down Travis' cheek. "No, no, no. Don't--"

"I-I'm sorry, Katelyn."

"No! She can't be!!" Katelyn was suddenly fighting against Travis, trying to break free from the grip he had on her waist. Instead, it just turned into Travis pulling her in even closer, wrapping both his arms around her tightly as Katelyn began to wail. The sound of her agony was enough to finally push those stubborn tears from Travis' eyes as e clung onto her.

They barely noticed the figure rush past them. His vision was somehow hazier than usual with the added tears in his eyes. It was when he stumbled into the crater and saw the man standing before him that the whirlwind of emotions quieted down, and Laurance was able to hear his own thoughts, feel his body again.

Mere moments before he felt an unholy amount of pain, a miserable feeling of mourning consumed every part of his body, and when he saw what remained he realized why. He saw Garroth's absolutely pitiful expression as he clutched onto her diary like a lifeline. Laurance's mind was quiet at first. Just him. Just the realization of all he had lost in a single moment. And all he was now able to lose.

Finally there was a sound to rival the explosion, a single noise to encapsulate the grief. A miserable scream that cracked and broke as it continued to tear through the land as Laurance came to terms with everything he had lost, and everything he was about to lose. The poor man could only fall to his knees and scream as it all came crashing down on him. A cacophony of voices filled his ears, only making it worse as tears forced their way through glassy eyes.

The voices of the calling were the same, yet because they called for something new, none of them sounded right. Nothing was right. Laurance's body felt like it was being ripped apart all over again and it didn't even matter this time because she was gone. He had failed her and possibly doomed everyone because of it. Every time Laurance tried to focus on the anguish of her loss, it was always weighed down by the agony of his own curse. The curse he bore for her sake was now meaningless.

Eventually Laurance's voice went hoarse. It was only then that he finally looked up and saw Garroth. The man he had spent so long fighting to get back, the man who he was ready to rip apart the realm barrier for, the man who was so loved he had more than one person willing to do that. Adoration and love swelled in Laurance for a moment, and emotion got the better of him. Laurance threw himself into Garroth's arms, and Garroth caught him and held him like it was the easiest thing in the world. He held Laurance's sobbing form and continued to weep himself.

Neither knew how to feel about the few tears of joy they initially shed while holding each other. They didn't last very long, and were rather quickly overshadowed by mourning. Garroth managed to stand up and walk the two of them away from the crater, before he collapsed against a tree and allowed his body to finally relax.

Neither Laurance or Garroth spoke for quite some time. It was just the two of them and her diary. At some point Garroth must have decided he'd had enough of wearing the heavy armor, but he never set Laurance down. Even as they walked through the streets of an empty Phoenix Drop that Garroth wanted nothing more than to explore. He'd need time to adjust to their new world, he knew that, but he always dreamed he'd do it hand in hand with the people he cared most about. He never imagined it would be him and Laurance stumbling into Aph's empty home at the top of the hill, and then collapsing before they could get to their own bed.

Now Garroth lay on the floor, Laurance still on top of him, and both of them seemingly run out of tears. That wouldn't last long.

"We should at least get to bed," Garroth suggested quietly. He was met with the sound of Laurance's sniffles.

"I can't," Laurance answered.

"Why not?" Laurance sat up, finally getting off of Garroth and letting him sit up. Laurance tried in vain to wipe his eyes, knowing it likely wouldn't do anything.

"I-I can't. I can't be around you for much longer."

"Why? What's wrong?" Laurance's body began to tremble. His blood ran hot. If his voice weren't already so hoarse, Laurance might have screamed. No no no this couldn't be real-- "Laurance, please talk to me."

"I can't!" Laurance backed away from Garroth, but refusing to move too much. He wasn't sure if he moved if he would have control of his body. He couldn't take the risk. "Calling!" That's all Garroth needed to hear.

The calling. He'd helped Laurance with it before, and Aph had told him how it was harming Laurance. Neither knew too many specifics unless Laurance disclosed them, but Garroth did know exactly what he was saying. There was no doubt that Dante's effort to find her was meaningless. She was dead and Laurance knew the second it happened. And now the calling had simply switched targets.

"I..." Garroth's voice trailed off. What was he supposed to say?

Aph would know what to say.

The thought made Garroth feel like crying all over again, but he didn't dare look away from Laurance. Especially not when he saw his eyes flash red.

"I'm sorry," Laurance whispered. "I love you." And like that, he was gone. In almost an instant Laurance had stood up and taken off, faster than Garroth was capable of keeping up with.

"Laurance!!" He desperately cried out, scrambling to stand up in his heavy armor, and barely making it to their door before he realized it was hopeless. As the sun started to peek over the horizon, Garroth looked out upon an almost empty Phoenix Drop, and he couldn't contain his anguish anymore. Garroth fell to his knees in the doorway of his beloveds home, and wept for his lost lovers once more.

hi i actually have a lot more ideas about this but this post is really long and writing this au is literally hurting me so I'm gonna make another post with more stuff later okay bye

[guzhufuren]

"do you ever think about imaginary lady Huaien smiling bashfully in that carriage" buddy it's been 2 weeks and Li Le's boba eyes have haunted my every waking moment, I have known no peace since. How dare he look straight at the camera while being so lethally doe-eyed. His orbs were orb-ing at levels not seen since First Kanaphan. If those two were ever in the same vicinity the combined powers of their big beautiful brown baby cow eyes would kill me dead. If I had any skills I would make a meme that's just that image of fox demon!Vee seducing a haunted San, where San is me and fox demon!Vee is "imaginary-lady-Huaien-in-the-carriage's devastatingly beautiful orbs", that's the state I'm in. Anyways, yay for more MYATB today, have a wonderful day.

HIS EYES ARE ENORMOUS AND SO SHINY i don't think he is real.. for real, Lele was sent by gay gods to seduce and murder us with his eyes and smile and rosy lips and melodic soft singing. my heart gives up every time he smiles or talks or blinks. fuck. let's have a great time with ep 5, it will be very crazy and deranged today

[littledemon154]

kong x reader

Enemy to lovers

Im not done yet but I was thinking of making a fanfiction and wonder what you guys thought.

Under the cover of night, the moon cast its gentle glow upon a group of people dressed as soldiers, their laughter echoing through the air. They had discovered their favorite drinking spot, chanting the words "Tom yummys" in unison. It was a secret place where they could be alone without being yelled at by the Commander.

"Hahaha, hey, (Y/N)!" Kong yelled with an exaggerated enthusiasm, his voice practically doing a cartwheel in an attempt to grab his enemy's attention. Oh boy, does Kong love being the center of the spotlight! "What 'King Kong'?" Y/n retorted, their gaze swiftly shifting towards the figure wearing a mask. The mask made him look like a giant, and he sure sounded like one as well. He was tall enough that if Y/n reached out with both hands and tried to reach up, they would only touch his chest. "I got something for ya"

Me? Did you hear that right? He's got something for me? Well, well, well, now this is a plot twist I didn't see coming! It's like finding a diamond in a pile of cow dung. Normally, this guy's about as friendly as a grumpy hedgehog, always shooting snarky remarks my way. We're practically like two rival boxers in the same ring, constantly trading punches. (y/n) thought.

Kong eagerly reached over to his backpack, unzipping it with a grin plastered across his face. With an air of excitement, he began rummaging around inside, searching for something special. After a moment of anticipation, his hand emerged from the depths of the bag, holding a vibrant red present adorned with a sleek black ribbon. The gift practically shimmered in his grasp, promising untold surprises and delights. The sight of it caused Y/n's stomach to clench. Their eyes widened with curiosity, their lips curling into a wide smile. Kong grinned back with a mischievous glint sparkling in his black orbs.

"Here we go!" Kong said with a chuckle, holding the present out before them with a flourish. His grin grew larger as the anticipation built. With all the courage she could muster, Y/n finally spoke after taking a moment to collect her thoughts. "So… what's this all about?" They asked cautiously, trying not to sound too eager. But they couldn't help it!

As Y/n tentatively reached out to accept the gift, their heart pounded in their chest, the excitement mixed with a tinge of apprehension. The anticipation that had built within them was like a roaring fire, warming their soul, until… Until that moment when their existence plummeted into a whirlwind of anger, rage, and despair.

In their trembling palm lay a cat suit, a symbol of humiliation and defeat. The vibrant red fabric seemed to mock them, taunting their vulnerability. It was a painful reminder of a bet, a wager made in jest that had now come back to haunt them. Kong's voice, dripping with cheekiness, sliced through the air, further fueling the raging inferno within Y/n.

"Yeah, remember when you lost that bet?" Kong jeered, relishing in the power he held over them. His words were like daggers, piercing through Y/n's defenses and leaving them feeling exposed and vulnerable. His laughter blended with the chorus of the group, a chorus that only deepened the wounds inflicted upon Y/n's pride.

""Hey, how about this for a crazy idea?" Kong exclaimed mischievously, a twinkle in his eye. "Why don't you dare to strip off those boring clothes and slip into that adorable cat outfit? Let's have a little fashion show, shall we?"

Smudge's eyes widened, taken aback by his friend's audacious challenge. "You really think I'd back down from a bet? Well, think again!" Smudge retorted with a determined grin, determined not to let Kong have the upper hand.

Kong's smug smirk grew wider, his plan working like a charm. The surrounding men couldn't help but chuckle, enjoying the unfolding spectacle, while one opportunistic soul even readied his camera, eager to capture the amusing moment.

Meanwhile, inside the bathroom, (y/n) felt a mix of embarrassment and excitement flooding through her. As she donned the cat outfit, her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, as if someone had sprinkled her with a dash of blush. The fabric hugged her form, transforming her into a feline enchantress.

[princekirijo]

Thoughts on SEES's 1st tier personas? You can keep this short if you want, and don't forget Psyche!

WOOHOO Prince rants about personas round 2 electric boogaloo!

OK this time I'll focus a little more on the actual designs themselves and my thoughts on how they relate to the character + their stories. Read more because well... You know me...

MC/FeMC: So for Orpheus I think its a pretty fitting choice for the protagonists. The protagonists are on a Journey just like Orpheus journey out of the underworld (kinda on the nose lmao) and both of them have strong connections with music! There's probably some connection between the underworld journey and the fact the plot of the game is to stop death but I'm not sure how to word it if you get me. I also like how they really resemble the protagonists face and hair wise! The mechanical detailing is also a neat touch, I've always seen it as the protagonists being very closed off with their emotions (that's kinda of a trend with a lot of the P3 cast I feel, the inital personas are very stiff but then the 2nd tier have more human feel to them).

Junpei: I think Hermes is a really good choice for Junpei. They're both kinda tricksters and Hermes is often portrayed as being carefree (in media at least) which suits Junpei a lot. In terms of design I think its pretty good, I really like the over exaggerated wings on his feet (the iconic winged sandals Hermes usually rocks) and I like his helmet design. My favorite thing about him as I mentioned before though is actually his animations. The way he slides into the enemies reminds me of a baseball player sliding to a base when they're running between bases (Idk baseball that well I hope that makes sense). Very fitting for Junpei considering his choice of career in Arena and also how he uses his sword like a baseball bat!

Yukari: Io is an interesting one for me. I really like her design, I think the girl in the cow head is a very fitting look for Io (who was a woman who got transformed into a cow by Zeus. Io's story is very sad imo (classic Greek woman gets screwed over by Zeus story) but I'll be honest I've never been totally sure why they went with her for Yukari. I think it works don't get me wrong and I like the choice I just don't see why (I, as I'm sure you can tell, am very passionate about Persona designs and I do my best to understand the choices behind the character and design of the persona and how it relates to the user). It just got pointed out to me (shout out to you Rui) that the way the woman is chained to the cow is kinda symbolic of how Yukari is chained to her past and I think that's a really really cool detail!

Akihiko & Shinjiro: I have to combine these two for obvious reasons. Polydueces ugly design aside for a moment, man. This choice for Akihiko is so good because of its connection to Castor. Regardless of how you view Akihiko and Shinjiro's connection, the way they are so connected to each other and how interwoven they are as characters to the point their personas are literally twins?!! Absolutely amazing I don't think we've had as powerful a persona connection since. I really love how their designs reflect each other two, Polydueces with its lighter and more alive design versus Castor and his dark look and the sword that's embedded in his chest? Symbolizing that he's the mortal twin that dies in the legends? And then connect that with his story in the game? Blows my MIND conceptually the best personas in the series actually. I love them.

Fuuka: OK I love Lucia and how she interacts with Fuuka. Having that glass orb as her body and have Fuuka in there navigating for the team is really really cool! I really like the pose of the persona (there is something about it... blanking on why that is relevant to its design). I also love the detail of her eyes being covered as she is the Patron saint of the blind! A cool choice for a navigational persona. Something about her being considered a martyr is fitting for Fuuka too. I also like how different it is to the others (a lot of the others having Greek connections whereas this is a Catholic saint).

Mitsuru: Oh Penthesilea my absolute beloved. I've discussed her in detail before (mind you probably two years ago at this point) but like one of my favorite things about her is the weapons she uses. The sword, particularly a rapier is seen as an honest weapon. A good knight has a sword, a skilled duelist has a rapier. Mitsuru is a very strong and experienced Persona user (and ofc is a fencer herself). She's convinced everyone she's on this noble quest to fix the Kirijo Group's mistakes, which is partially true to be fair. But her other weapon? A dagger. Associated with dishonesty and treachery. I feel like this alludes to her being dishonest with SEES. I adore Mitsuru but even I can admit she was sneaky and kept important details from SEES (she had her reasons but still). And ofc the treachery I feel is less her and more Ikutski betraying her trust and her father's trust. Also her being dishonest about her own motivations! And then ofc the big details: the absence of red in Penthesilia's design and her face being fully covered by the mask! Showing the walls Mitsuru has built up around herself!!! Sorry I just love Penthesilia and will over analyze her a lot.

Koromaru: Honestly I don't have much to say here but that's not a bad thing! Cereberus is really true to the original myths, a three headed dog with a hellish looking design and that's what they've given us. It's a solid design and I love him!

Ken: OK my own thoughts about Nemesis aside, I think its a really well executed design. It's a very unnerving and angry looking design, perfect for the goddess of revenge. And obvs her being a goddess of revenge is very very suitable for Ken given his motivations up until October 4th! The color scheme really helps with this too. Just a very edgy design perfect for Ken.

Aigis: Palladion is really cool because it's not actually a person but rather an object! Specifically an object associated with protection very similar to aegis. Which well, is perfect for Aigis. A robot dedicated to protecting the protagonist. I can't quite put it into words but its just a really really cool design. I like the big metal spike going through it, very robotic and always reminds me of the front of a pirate ship, not sure if that was intentional tbh.

Metis: OK Psyche is tricky for me. As a design its really cool. I enjoy the butterfly motif a lot. I really like its dress too and I think it resembles Athena which makes a lot of sense given who Metis is! Why Psyche though? The only connection I can make is that Psyche was originally a mortal who was considered so beautiful people mistook her for Aphrodite. Which I guess ties into how Metis was mistaken for Aigis..? Idk there's def a connection here somewhere but I am not sure of what that is. It's still a cool design though.

And I think that's everyone? Hope I didn't forget anyone man this was fun to do. Congrats if you read it all LMAO

[familyterminated]

Love at First Explosion; Chapter 1; Family: Terminated

“Rrgvryneryonguyrtoy ryhgyv7 5 8uhryuv57 8trt7tiytityret39itygbyt5tlvq[wsyq;5bv8y989tyevvt 8t y8re8yev ey pwoetyt75tugytb7v6oeigt7r” Father said. I think he was malfunctioning. He walked over to mom and SLAPPED her. I stood aghast with my mouth agape. My father walked away from my mother, who also stood in shock, holding her cheek. He walked into the doorframe when trying to exit the kitchen and exploded. There was a blinding light and immense pain. I felt like I was on fire. All I remember is a soft white light emitting from a dark place, and then nothing.

Looking back now, it should have been obvious my father was the terminator. We knew he was a robot, but my mom found that attractive, and since I had grown up with him, it was perfectly normal.

My mother, Sarah Connor, had been killed in the blast.. Or so I thought.

My mother was a renowned scientist that dedicated her life’s work to demolishing the terminator program. The government issued it a long, long time ago with the goal to decrease the population. Many countries had agreed to this idea, but many were also against it.  My mother had to marry my father in secret, because people were forbidden to have relationships of any kind with the robots. My father had to remove the government device planted into him so that the government wouldn’t catch them. Eifvbgstjhbgrjgquoi4atq3ukatrukcyewj. Sorry about that. I’m half robot, so sometimes my brain malfunctions, and my monologue turns into robot code. Nowadays, I hang around in the shadows, hiding from the world because if I was found, I would be terminated. I hadn’t seen my mother since the explosion, so me, and everyone else in the world, assumed her to be dead. I was wanted in several countries, all from the same thing. The sky is round, the Earth is flat. Pigs can fly, and cows can jump over the moon.

Sorry, I started rambling. My name is Caleb Alicorn Musk-Connor-balljuice, but everyone just calls me Cam. (Elon was my mom's side thing for a bit, but that's not important). Anyways, I have a crush. I know that isn’t the best option when I need to be undercover, but this man is fiiiiiiiiine. He’s got auburn hair with beautiful blue orbs that would perfectly compliment my own icy blue orbs. Just thinking about Jake (lmao) makes me swoon. But the thing is, he doesn't know I'm a robot. I'm scared to tell him. What will he think of me? I don't want him to think I'm some robot freak and call me a rusty metalback (that's the slur for robots. Don't say it unless you're also a robot. And if you have the capacity to read, you probably aren't a robot. Robots can't read, because I can't read and neither can my dad.) That's why it took him multiple women to find my mom.) Anyways, back to the topic of Jake. he’s walking up to me right now.

His orbs pierce through me, and bite my lip, trying not to blush.

“Hey.” he growls, his deep voice pierces my soul, sending shivers down my spine.

“H-Hi.” I nervously stutter, hoping he can't see my robotic blush. “Wh-what is it?”

“I wanted to ask if you wanted to come over today, since we’re study partners and all..” He fidgets with his hoodie strings and looks at the ground.

“S-s-sure.” I muttered, metallic blush creeping up my cheeks. 

 “What's that? I didn’t hear you.” he asks, running a hand through his curly red hair.

“DSFUibgry eufgysvuk!”

“Huh?”

“Erm…..” I blush, internally screaming at myself. I suddenly realize that if I go to his house, I endanger not only myself, but him as well. Who cares, it’s Jake! “Sure!” (those stupid robot code dialogues! They're so embarrassing…)

“Oh, okay great!�� Jake smiled brightly and leaned down close to me, “See you tonight..” He whispered to me in a deep seductive tone.

After he left, I groaned, blushing and put my head on my desk.

[whitepolaris]

The Tri-State Spook Light

Judging from the stories dating back to nineteenth-century Oklahoma, you'd think that one in every five relationships ended with one person killing the other, that the most common cause of death among settlers was decapitation, and that pioneers went looking for things only in the dead of night. Then again, tales of mild-mannered townsfolk who ran feed stores and died uneventfully of old age in their beds don't usually get passed down through the generations.

Without these fantastic narratives, we might not have anything to talk about as we slouch in our car seats on darkened back roads waiting for mysterious dancing lights to make an appearance-a popular activity with people living in northeast Oklahoma. This is, after all, the location of the Spooksville Triangle, a region famous for unusual nighttime phenomena. Stretching between Miami, Oklahoma; Columbus, Kansas; and Joplin, Missouri, the region is rife with unexplained lights that taunt visitors and elude rational explanation.

The most famous of these luminous entities is the Tri-State Spook Light, which actually lies just outside the designated triangle along East 50 Road, just this side of the Oklahoma-Missouri state line. Locals say that if you park your car about a half mile west of the border and face the Show-Me State, you'll see a show you'll never forget.

According to witnesses, the light emerges from the trees along the shoulder and floats out above the roadway. It always appears as an orb, but varies in both size and color, usually measuring from somewhere about the size of a volleyball to as much as five feet in diameter. Sometimes the light will change in both size and color right before your eyes, apparently depending on its mood. On occasion, multiple orbs will even appear together, dancing and leap-frogging like puppies in a pet-shop window.

The phenomena is typically shy, though, and will dart off if you honk your car horn or turn on your headlights. Yet some allege to have encountered the light up close when it approached their vehicles as though suddenly curious about its audience. A few have said the light even entered their cars, at which point the astonished passengers felt an intense warmth radiating from the orb. In one case, the light hitched a ride on a school base taking kids home from a carnival, jumping out when it apparently reached it destination.

The earliest verifiable report of the light dates back to 1936, but many claim that the locals have known about it as far back as the mid-1800s. Native Americans may have been aware of it even further back than that. As such, numerous legends have attached themselves to the phenomena. In one case, a young girl was said to have been lost at night while looking for stray cows. Her mother, who searched for her by the light of a lantern, was so upset by the loss that she continues her search in the afterlife. In another story, the lantern is said to belong to a prospector who was decapitated in a mining accident. Another recounts the tale of a soldier whose head was blown off by a cannon ball during the Civil War. Then there's the Seneca Indian who got into an argument with his axe-wielding wife and-you guessed it-lost his head. A more romantic version of the story tells of two Indian lovers who were unable to marry and leaped to their deaths. They continue to seek each other nightly.

Naturally, many people have attempted to explain the lights scientifically. In the 1940s, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers came to have a look, as did a scientist from Kansas City, Missouri's Midwest Research Institute. In 1969, a professor from Southwest Missouri State University performed his own study. In the years since, numerous scientists, ufologists, and documentarians have conducted investigations with varying levels of scrutiny and technical expertise. No one has come up with a conclusive answer for the light.

That's not to say that myriad theories haven't been proposed, of course. Swamp gas is a popular one, as is static electricity. Some are convinced that mineral deposits are at the root. Ball lightning, plasma, and natural phosphorescence round out the more far-reaching explanations. More often not, though, skeptics insist that it's just the result of distant car headlights reflected by the atmosphere, although that doesn't explain the reports that originated before the advent of headlights vehicles.

Regardless, it seems the light doesn't stick to one spot. In addition to East 50 Road, otherwise known as Devil's Promenade, repots indicate that you're likely to catch it playing to the north over on East 40 Road, as well. You might also catch hit at Devil's Promenade Bridge to the west, where East 57 crosses Spring River, especially when the Quapaw tribe holds their annual powwow nearby. However, East 50 remains the most popular viewing area and the one most everyone will point you to when asked.

When inquiring about directions, though, don't be surprised if the locals correct you on the name. "Tri-State Spook Light" is more the phenomenon's politically correct moniker, as multiple towns in three different states claim the spectacle as their own. In Missouri, you might hear it called the Hornet Spook Light, the Neosho Spook Light, the Seneca Spook Light, or the Joplin Spook Light. Kansans say it's appeared on their side of the state line, also. In Oklahoma, the towns of Quapaw, Miami, and Peoria have all staked naming rights, so you might as well call it when you want.

Spook Light Spotting Is a Family Affair

My mother was raised in northeast Oklahoma during the Depression. Most summers in the early 1960s she and I and my older brother would venture up there from Texas. Even when I was little, I remember all of us driving out of Fairland, Oklahoma, to this deserted country road where we would sit for hours waiting for the Spook Light to appear. There were the usual explanations: swamp gas, car lights refracted somewhere, and so on. My mother told us her father used to see it when he was a kid, before cars were invented. His generation believed the Spook Light had something to do with lost and wandering Cherokee spirits. Others claimed it was the ghost of a Civil War soldier with a lantern, out looking for his decapitated head.

My favorite story involved a couple of policemen who witnessed the light come close enough to pounce on the hood of their patrol car, then the trunk, before disappearing.

Most of the time I remember falling asleep in the car, waiting and waiting, then waking up on the way home, my mother telling me if they had seen the light or not. Finally, one night when I was about six, I got to see it for myself; it was exactly as everyone had described it to me over the years. It started out way down the road and it took a while to get your eyes focused on it. When was cool was hearing other car doors opening and realizing about five or six other families had come out there late on a summer evening for the same thing.

I was frightened at first, but that faded as the phantom light came closer and more focused in intensity. I could see why some people describe it as the front light on an approaching train. Except as a train light grows in intensity and illuminations, it also increases its circumference, which helps you to keep it in perspective as to its proximity. The Spook Light, however, grew only in illuminated intensity; it never grew in size. It consistently appeared to be the size of a bowling ball.

This first time I saw it was cool because I really thought the thing would dance or bounce around like I had always heard. I wasn't disappointed, because the closer it got, the more you could see that it wasn't taking an entirely straight course; it veered and dipped ever so slightly.

As my family and I watched it approach, I heard the excitement of other families around us, particularly the random boo, and the high shrill squeak from some poor little kid, followed by laughter. But I didn't take my eyes off the Spook Light. What happened next was the part that made that night even more memorable.

The light just veered off to its left in a wife arc, cutting across a field, but fast, like a big round rocket hitting a booster stage, and BOOM. Everyone sort of oohed and aahed together when that happened. It was the only time I observed the light seeming to change in its size and intensity as it faded off. I did see it other times later, but it was never as cool as the first time. -Nick Beef

[vvatchword]

Adventures in Valheim

Yesterday, Dan invited me to play Valheim. Honestly, I was a bit nervous about doing so. I thought Valheim was "Minecraft, but with Vikings." See, while I like lots of things about Minecraft--its quirkiness, its depth, the way it encourages individual expression, the survival aspect--it has never had its hooks in me. Once I get past the initial survival stage--trying to race oncoming night to build a safe place, then scrabbling around in an attempt to find food and resources--I quickly get bored. Once I've made a safe place to live and bolstered my defenses, the only gameplay loop available is to make a more luxurious safe place, farm resources more effectively, and fashion better defenses... rinse, wash, repeat.

Ehhhhh.

So I tried playing variations on the Minecraft formula, from adding mods to playing games inspired by it, but no luck. Terraria and Starbound come to mind. "Ah," quoth I. "I've survived the night in this basic tree hut. After I survive tomorrow, I will build a wall around my hut. Then I will prepare a plot of ground for a garden. And after I've built the garden, I'll... uh... catch a cow... and a sheep... and uh... survive another day, but with a nicer house... and then I survive another day, but now I have a better sword?... after which... I'll be completely self-reliant, and... I think I'd rather take a nap, actually." However, I DEEPLY enjoyed Valheim. There was something wonderfully satisfying about racing through a thick sunlit forest while the branches of Yggdrasil glint faintly overhead, then punching a boar to death with my bare fists. It's so fun to build a fort to protect against a living forest that wants my blood. My character has dreams that tell a story of a Viking warrior, and she wanders a trackless wilderness where only spirits go, and she still hasn't figured out how to dodge roll because it's about as intuitive as rubbing your head and your belly at the same time. Which made me realize that my issue with Minecraft was chiefly about "story" and how I insert myself into a narrative. In Valheim, I get to pretend I'm a deathless warrior of Odin who really enjoys chasing down deer on foot and seeks the glory of battle with wicked spirits. Whereas in Minecraft, you're just some guy? You can present yourself any manner of ways (my avatar looks like Ronald McDonald) and prepare a world to live in (mine cowers before the might of my McSandwiches), but there's no real identity to Minecraft other than its graphical presentation and the crafting mechanic (which I deeply resent for the way it's infiltrated every game on earth regardless of how well it fits, but that's another story). Minecraft's theme is a basic one of human versus wild and very little else. Here's a tree, here is a cow and a sheep and a pig, yes you use them all exactly the way you think you should. The biomes change, but I'm very rarely excited by my discoveries: of course this is what a jungle looks like, of course this is what a forest looks like. The few surprises I've ever marveled at--villages full of villagers, house-sized mushrooms and witches in the swamp biomes, dungeons and monster-spawners, the Nether, baby zombies, and once, for some reason, a mountain-sized perfect orb of earth (????)--are just not enough to carry the game by themselves. One of my problems is that I'm a neophile and I thrive on surprises and novelties; the other is that the game loop has to give me a constant dopamine rush. Minecraft's gameplay loop is satisfied as soon as I can appropriately take care of myself, which is almost right away. So the challenge is over too fast, more or less. Yeah, I could certainly dream up perfect or complex solutions for various problems, like a lot of Minecraft players do--bless 'em, they are impressive and I don't want to put that down--but I don't need a diamond sword to kill zombies and I don't see any reason to get one when iron does just as well. Valheim demands constant struggle, and I think that helps immensely. Resources are JUST difficult enough to source, challenges are JUST difficult enough to keep you on your toes the whole time, and the skill requirements ramp up over time. Also, it helps that Dan is showing me how to follow the plot, which is just shy of Minecraft-esoteric: you kill a boss, you take its power, then you seek out another boss to take its power, which requires certain skills. I could have gotten stuck in a gameplay loop in the Meadows, and I'm sure that eventually I would have found it boring. Chasing the story, often outside of my comfort zone, has been immensely rewarding. Again, it helps that Valheim has a story. In Minecraft, one of the only equivalents is fighting a mob boss like the Nether dragon or the Wither, battles that you have to look up in a Wiki to perform correctly, and after a few minutes of gameplay.... okay that's it bye. It's just a thing that happens, about as equivalent as invading a dungeon and fighting a lot of Blazes. I'm sure they've introduced more mob bosses since, but I'm also sure they're just "things that happen." "Things that happen" is almost guaranteed with randomly generated worlds, so you can't be angry at them for it. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I just had to find a game that hit that sweet spot. Gotta feel like progression matters. Gotta feel like I'm always on the edge of success, but never quite getting there. Want to feel like I can escape from the world, so the game world itself has got to feel like a unique place. Pretty graphics also help immensely. So Valheim hits that sweet spot for me. The image I have included is courtesy of Dan, who removed the GUI. Our characters are sitting in the mouth of a troll cave, where I had just died because I suddenly couldn't remember how to dodge-roll and got smashed into a pancake. It was weirdly comforting to sit by a fire while the rain pounded down outside.

[yandere-sins]

Could I request a yandere vampire viewing humans to be nothing more than food, only to find their Darling stand out amongst the many mortals they’ve consumed over the years?Instead of draining their Darling prey dry in a few weeks like usual, the vampire decides to keep their Darling - to savor, to play with, and cherish in its own way - much to Darling’s dismay at seeing no end or escape in sight. Bonus points if the vamp bite can be pleasurable or painful, depending on the vamp’s mood, and can be used as a reward or punishment as needed. Double bonus for nsfw bits if you’re feeling up to it

I just felt like writing about bitemarks, make of that what you want. Thanks for requesting!

»»———————— ♡ ————————«« 

You winced as they put the weight of their arms on top of yours, tangling their fingers with yours. With your arms stretched out by long, silk fabric and suspended in the air on either side, you had crumbled to the ground, exhausted, drained, spent. Only making you more vulnerable than you already were. You looked up into the mirror before you and at yourself, your eyes lidded from getting no sleep ever since you arrived, and your body missing its energy, skin sunken in as if you were sick.

The vampire let out a satisfied groan, watching you through the reflection in the mirror. Of course, you couldn’t see them in return. You just felt them. You felt their breath against your cheek, the weight of their body as they leaned on you and your feeble condition, and the itching pain from the bite marks that were all over you.

When you were chosen as a sacrifice, you naturally felt the weight of the world on your shoulders. Unlike the many sacrifices you had witnessed over the years, you tried to put on a brave smile, help with the preparations, and even changed your diet. All so that the last few hours of your life would be meaningful. But in reality, you were horrified. Scared and unwilling to die. Creatures like the vampires should be flogged and not appeased with sacrifices they could eat. You weren’t cattle! You were a living, breathing human! However, now that you spent days with them, you realized that it was absolutely impossible to be anything other than a blood donor.

Over and over, their fingertips tapped on the marks they left behind from their teeth. Some started bruising, hurting under their touch. Others were still oozing crimson blood after being torn open. Your life had become much worse than that of cattle. You wouldn’t die as quickly as a cow or goat. You had to endure until you either were killed out of boredom or drained dry to the vampire’s pleasure.

“Tears ruin the taste,” they scolded you, indifferent to the feeling of helplessness and fear you were experiencing. Instinctively, like the people-pleaser you were, you tried to wipe them away, but your hands were still suspended in midair, hanging from the walls on either side of you. If only you could have had a bit of dignity, maybe dying wouldn’t have been so bad. But they restrained you like the sacrifice you were, making you look at yourself in the mirror as they tortured you.

You didn’t even want to think about what they’d do to your body after you died.

Long, cold fingers wrapped around your throat, the mild strangulation uncomfortable yet able to make you focus on it instead of everything else. Deep breaths, the villagers said. Whenever the vampire touches you, take deep breaths to keep calm. Struggling was futile anyway, and you are a sacrifice, not a wild animal. The villagers told you that as if you should be proud of your position, but how in the world could you be proud of what you had become?

One hand wandered upwards to your face, the fingers slim like spider legs, but you couldn’t help but notice that they had begun to warm up, and you assumed that was thanks to your blood. They crept up on you until you had to fear their long nails were going to pluck out your eye. Squeezing them both close tightly, you hoped to at least not experience that horror, only feeling how one of the fingers brushed by your eyelashes, wiping away the tears for you.

Blinking a few times, the hand disappeared, and you heard a very disappointed sounding, “Salty...” from behind you. Twisting your head to look back over your shoulder, you were met with the bright crimson eyes that drilled into yours, their hand slowly lowering from their mouth after they had a taste of your tears and an unsatisfied expression on their face.

“Told you it ruins the taste,” they shrugged, elegantly gesturing that they didn’t care for your tears, and you almost felt inclined to apologize.

“Please...” you muttered, finding that your mouth was terribly dry.

“Hm?” they perked up, having forgotten how your voice sounded after days of silently accepting your fate.

“Please end it,” you pleaded, close to tears again. “I-I’m ready. I don’t care what happens, but I can’t live like this anymore. Please, have mercy!”

You were tired. So, so tired. You wanted to sleep or eat. Go back to your family and see your friends again. But knowing that would never happen, if you at least could die, then you wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.

Instead, fingers wrapped around your chin, their presence suddenly in front of you. Forcing your head back, you were stared at from above, just two red orbs enveloped in darkness, and it was hard to maintain eye contact with them more than ever. “Who do you think you are? Thinking you can make demands?”

“N-No,” you pressed forth through the pain of your jaw crushing under their grip and your bruises ripping open from the strain. “I’d never dare!”

“Good.” Instantly, the vampire’s mood seemed to change back to the usual indifference, and they kneeled down before you. Their right hand brushed down your neck and along your shoulder, getting covered in the red color of your blood before they brought it to their lips, licking it off their knuckles. “I gave you these for a reason. They are a perfect imprint from me on you, so no one will dare to feed off my property. And I’m not done with you yet.”

Speechless, you wanted to say something, but the situation was simply overwhelming. Why would they want to mark you? Why was it important who you belonged to? You were just a sacrificed ready to be consumed.

A flinch escaped you as they leaned forward, and you were expecting another burning bite, but instead, lips pecked at the bite wounds tenderly, one after the other. Again and again, until the kisses became fervent, tongue lapping out, sucking at your skin. It stung and burned, and you had to bite your lip tightly as to not let out a sound. Your body grew hot and felt like it was pulling at your open skin; it was almost too much.

Until you suddenly felt hot breath against your lips, opening your eyes alarmed. With an eager tongue, the vampire tasted from the blood on your mouth before parting your lips, breaths and tongues mingling. You expected to taste your own blood, but it tasted sweeter than you could have ever dreamed about. Sweet, enticing, and hot, that’s what the kiss felt like, even though your body was struggling with the pain and the hand on your throat cutting off more air than you could take in. And yet, as if magically pushed towards the vampire, you only leaned in more, tried to get more of the sweet pleasure of their tongue. Just as surprising as it came, it ended, and you were left gasping as the vampire pulled away.

“Better?” they asked, and through your fogged brain, you weren’t sure you understood. “Don’t ever ask to die again. Remember, you are mine forever.”

With them standing up, you got a glimpse of yourself in the mirror again, and you blinked a few times at the image before you. All over your left shoulder, there was no mark left, and your skin had puffed up again, eyes wide open and awake. The vampire disappeared behind you again, but you quickly felt their arms wrap around your torso, a feeling you knew well by now. “If you’re truly that miserable, tell me. I wouldn’t know. I don’t understand you humans. But know that my help comes at a price.”

Finally, you were able to puzzle together your thoughts. The healthy feeling you had, together with your body looking perfectly fine, must be the vampire’s doing. They must have used some kind of magic or trick on you, but having exhausted themselves by doing that, that probably meant...

Their fangs protruding from their mouth, they dragged them along your supple skin, searching for the best spot to bite down. Fleshy, warm, and soft. Where the blood would spurt out from the slightest irritation. Clenching your teeth, you couldn’t help but try to fight their tight embrace, tried to get out before it was too late. But your struggles were futile, only pressing you up into their fangs until you felt them sink into you inch by inch.

Your ears buzzing and your heart racing as you were fed from, you only shut your eyes tightly, holding back the gasps and moans, not wanting anyone to think this was actually enjoyable. But the sweet taste on your tongue remained, as well as the feeling of their lips against yours, making you wonder what they meant when they claimed you for ‘forever’.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: Cersei II (Chapter 7)

A cold rain was falling, turning the walls and ramparts of the Red Keep dark as blood.

I'm starting to think this Red Keep might be a woeful place.

He remembered seeing the Red Keep looming ahead of him in the first grey light of dawn. The rain had darkened the pale pink stone of the massive walls to the color of blood. - Eddard IX, AGOT

x

The sun had fallen below the western wall, and the stones of the Red Keep glowed dark as blood. - Sansa VI, AGOT

It's cold, and pouring rain during Tywin's wake. This pleases me.

+.+.+

The queen held the king's hand and led him firmly across the muddy yard to where her litter waited with its escort. "Uncle Jaime said I could ride my horse and throw pennies to the smallfolk," the boy objected.

"Do you want to catch a chill?"

That feels like a bad sentence.

+.+.+

Only the highborn and their retinues were to be admitted to the morning service; there would be another in the afternoon for the commons, and the evening prayers were open to all. Cersei would need to return for that, so that the smallfolk might see her mourn. The mob must have its show. 

How does the kid have better instincts than the queen? Compare Tommen wanting to throw the smallfolk pennies to Cersei believing they care about what she's wearing, or whether she's properly mourning.

This is why the Tyrells are winning.

+.+.+

Tommen did as he was bid. His meekness troubled her. A king had to be strong. Joffrey would have argued. He was never easy to cow.

Kill the boy, Tommen.

+.+.+

"Don't slump so," she told Tommen. "Sit like a king. Put your shoulders back and straighten your crown. Do you want it to tumble off your head in front of all your lords?"

A beautiful parallel is born if you ignore Tommen, and picture Cersei giving this same advice to Joffrey.

He [Viserys] studied her critically. "You still slouch. Straighten yourself." He pushed back her shoulders with his hands. "Let them see that you have a woman's shape now." - Daenerys I, AGOT

+.+.+

He will grow into Joff's crown in time. Until he did, a smaller one might be needed, one that did not threaten to swallow his head.

That feels like a bad sentence.

+.+.+

"I thought there would be more people. When Father died, all the people came out to watch us go by."

"This rain has driven them inside." King's Landing had never loved Lord Tywin. He never wanted love, though. "You cannot eat love, nor buy a horse with it, nor warm your halls on a cold night," she heard him tell Jaime once, when her brother had been no older than Tommen.

Yikes.

+.+.+

Lord Tywin had given him that crown to replace the one that was lost when the mob killed the previous High Septon. They had pulled the fat fool from his litter and torn him apart, the day Myrcella sailed for Dorne. That one was a great glutton, and biddable. This one . . . This High Septon was of Tyrion's making, Cersei recalled suddenly. It was a disquieting thought.

[...]

What does he know of me? How much did the dwarf tell him? The High Septon smiled as he escorted her into the sept. But was it a threatening smile full of unspoken knowledge, or just some vacuous twitch of an old man's wrinkled lips? The queen could not be certain.

How is this not the funniest character in the story?

Tyrion is not funny. This? This is funny.

+.+.+

The High Septon walked slowly, leaning on a weirwood staff topped by a crystal orb. 

Is that allowed?

+.+.+

Many of her father's bannermen were here, and knights who had fought beside Lord Tywin in half a hundred battles. The sight of them made her feel more confident. I am not without friends.

Twenty seconds later:

The queen put her arm around Tommen and kissed his golden curls. He will need me to teach him how to rule and keep him safe from his enemies. Some of them stood around them even now, pretending to be friends.

Again, how is this not the funniest character in the story?

+.+.+

Her brother was growing his beard again as well. The stubble covered his jaw and cheeks, and gave his face a rough, uncouth look. He might at least have waited till Father's bones were interred beneath the Rock.

Dead Lannisters belong beneath the Rock.

+.+.+

Even in death his face is noble, she thought, although the mouth . . . The corners of her father's lips curved upward ever so slightly, giving him a look of vague bemusement. That should not be. She blamed Pycelle; he should have told the silent sisters that Lord Tywin Lannister never smiled. The man is as useless as nipples on a breastplate. That half smile made Lord Tywin seem less fearful, somehow.

[...]

"Mother." Tommen tugged her sleeve. "What smells so bad?"

My lord father. 

It's not enough he was killed by his son on the toilet, the author is going to send him off smelling rank and smirking like a weirdo, while it pours outside.

+.+.+

Lord Tywin's eyes are closed forever now, Cersei thought. It is my look they will flinch from now, my frown that they must fear. I am a lion too.

It was gloomy within the sept with the sky so grey outside. If the rain ever stopped, the sun would slant down through the hanging crystals to drape the corpse in rainbows. The Lord of Casterly Rock deserved rainbows. He had been a great man. I shall be greater, though. A thousand years from now, when the maesters write about this time, you shall be remembered only as Queen Cersei's sire.

I wonder if I'll contemplate my own greatness during my father's funeral.

That last line is probably accurate.

+.+.+

How can Lancel be among the living when Tywin Lannister is dead? Have the gods taken leave of their wits?

Lord Gyles was coughing more than usual and covering his nose with a square of red silk. He can smell it too. Grand Maester Pycelle had his eyes closed. If he has fallen asleep, I swear I will have him whipped. 

I have nothing to say, I'm only laughing.

+.+.+

To the right of the bier knelt the Tyrells: the Lord of Highgarden, his hideous mother and vapid wife, his son Garlan and his daughter Margaery. Queen Margaery, she reminded herself; Joff's widow and Tommen's wife-to-be. Margaery looked very like her brother, the Knight of Flowers. The queen wondered if they had other things in common. Our little rose has a good many ladies waiting attendance on her, night and day.

This thought happens pages before Cersei starts lusting for Lady Merryweather.

Cersei projecting all over Margaery begins now.

+.+.+

Lancel nodded, plainly miserable. "When it seemed that I might die, my father brought the High Septon to pray for me. He is a good man." Her cousin's eyes were wet and shiny, a child's eyes in an old man's face. "He says the Mother spared me for some holy purpose, so I might atone for my sins."

Cersei wondered how he intended to atone for her. Knighting him was a mistake, and bedding him a bigger one. Lancel was a weak reed, and she liked his newfound piety not at all; he had been much more amusing when he was trying to be Jaime. What has this mewling fool told the High Septon? And what will he tell his little Frey when they lie together in the dark? If he confessed to bedding Cersei, well, she could weather that. Men were always lying about women; she would put it down as the braggadocio of a callow boy smitten by her beauty. If he sings of Robert and the strongwine, though . . . "Atonement is best achieved through prayer," Cersei told him. "Silent prayer." She left him to think about that and girded herself to face the Tyrell host.

Guys, I'm starting to worry about the High Septon.

And I don't have high hopes for the other one either.

The only question would be whether Jaime cut him down in a jealous rage, or Cersei murdered him first to keep Jaime from finding out. Tyrion's silver was on Cersei. - Tyrion VII, ACOK

+.+.+

It was Lady Merryweather who truly pleased her. "Your Grace," that one said, in her sultry Myrish tones, "I have sent word to my friends across the narrow sea, asking them to seize the Imp at once should he show his ugly face in the Free Cities."

"Do you have many friends across the water?"

"In Myr, many. In Lys as well, and Tyrosh. Men of power."

Cersei could well believe it. The Myrish woman was too beautiful by half; long-legged and full-breasted, with smooth olive skin, ripe lips, huge dark eyes, and thick black hair that always looked as if she'd just come from bed. She even smells of sin, like some exotic lotus. "Lord Merryweather and I wish only to serve Your Grace and the little king," the woman purred, with a look that was as pregnant as Lady Graceford.

This one is ambitious, and her lord is proud but poor. "We must speak again, my lady. Taena, is it? You are most kind. I know that we shall be great friends."

Cersei instantly befriending Lady Merryweather because she's attractive and speaks of having Tyrion killed is so perfectly Cersei.

+.+.+

"Lord Tywin was a great man, an extraordinary man," he [Mace Tyrell] declared ponderously after he had kissed both her cheeks. "We shall never see his like again, I fear."

You are looking at his like, fool, Cersei thought. It is his daughter standing here before you.

Bran's rank as the second best POV in the series is in serious danger.

+.+.+

The governance of the realm must come first, Lord Tywin often said. And I am pleased to bring Your Grace good tidings in that regard. My uncle Garth has agreed to serve as master of coin, as your lord father wished. He is making his way to Oldtown to take ship. His sons will accompany him. Lord Tywin mentioned something about finding places for the two of them as well. Perhaps in the City Watch.

The queen's smile had frozen so hard she feared her teeth might crack. Garth the Gross on the small council and his two bastards in the gold cloaks . . . do the Tyrells think I will just serve the realm up to them on a gilded platter? The arrogance of it took her breath away.

Here's another mistake by the brilliant Tywin Lannister that gets glossed over by the fandom.

When Robert surrounded himself with Lannisters everyone with half a brain could see that was a disaster. Tywin does the same with the Tyrells, and all I hear is crickets.

+.+.+

Then his mother appeared and slid her arm through his own. "It would seem that Lord Tywin did not share his plans with our regent, I can't imagine why. Still, there 'tis, no use hectoring Her Grace. She is quite right, you must write Lord Leyton before Garth boards a ship. You know the sea will sicken him and make his farting worse." Lady Olenna gave Cersei a toothless smile. "Your council chambers will smell sweeter with Lord Gyles, though I daresay that coughing would drive me to distraction. We all adore dear old uncle Garth, but the man is flatulent, that cannot be gainsaid. I do abhor foul smells." Her wrinkled face wrinkled up even more. "I caught a whiff of something unpleasant in the holy sept, in truth. Mayhaps you smelled it too?"

"No," Cersei said coldly. "A scent, you say?"

"More like a stink."

[...]

"Lord Tywin and I were on the point of setting a date, as it happens. Perhaps you and I might take up that discussion, Your Grace."

"Soon."

"Soon will serve," said Lady Olenna with a sniff. "Now come along, Mace, let Her Grace get on with her . . . grief."

I will see you dead, old woman

These two could do this for the next hundred pages, and I wouldn't grow tired of it.

+.+.+

Qyburn was old, but his hair still had more ash than snow in it, and the laugh lines around his mouth made him look like some little girl's favorite grandfather. A rather shabby grandfather, though. The collar of his robe was frayed, and one sleeve had been torn and badly sewn. "I must beg Your Grace's pardon for my appearance," he said. "I have been down in the dungeons making inquiries into the Imp's escape, as you commanded."

[...]

"I know all this." Jaime had examined Rugen's cell, and Ser Addam's gold cloaks had examined it again.

"Aye, Your Grace," said Qyburn, "but did you know that under that stinking chamber pot was a loose stone, which opened on a small hollow? The sort of place where a man might hide valuables that he did not wish to be discovered?"

"Valuables?" This was new. "Coin, you mean?" She had suspected all along that Tyrion had somehow bought this gaoler.

"Beyond a doubt. To be sure, the hole was empty when I found it. No doubt Rugen took his ill-gotten treasure with him when he fled. But as I crouched over the hole with my torch, I saw something glitter, so I scratched in the dirt until I dug it out." Qyburn opened his palm. "A gold coin."

He looks like some little girl's favourite grandfather, therefore I trust him.

For some reason I thought Varys admitted to leaving the Gardener coin to create conflict, but apparently I imagined that.

It was most likely Varys, but there does exist a possibility that Qyburn is playing her.

+.+.+

Gold, yes, but the moment Cersei took it she could tell that it was wrong. Too small, she thought, too thin. The coin was old and worn. On one side was a king's face in profile, on the other side the imprint of a hand. "This is no dragon," she said.

"No," Qyburn agreed. "It dates from before the Conquest, Your Grace. The king is Garth the Twelfth, and the hand is the sigil of House Gardener."

Who would ever fall for this?

+.+.+

Of Highgarden. Cersei closed her hand around the coin. What treachery is this? Mace Tyrell had been one of Tyrion's judges, and had called loudly for his death. Was that some ploy? Could he have been plotting with the Imp all the while, conspiring at Father's death? With Tywin Lannister in his grave, Lord Tyrell was an obvious choice to be King's Hand, but even so . . . "You will not speak of this with anyone," she commanded.

Never mind.

We'll eventually learn Olenna travelled with these coins.

Cersei sat beneath the window. "Did you know that the Queen of Thorns keeps a chest of coins in her wheelhouse? Old gold from before the Conquest. Should any tradesman be so unwise as to name a price in golden coins, she pays him with hands from Highgarden, each half the weight of one of our dragons. What merchant would dare complain of being cheated by Mace Tyrell's lady mother?" She sipped her wine, and said, "Did you enjoy your little ride?" - Jaime II, AFFC

I doubt Qyburn would know something like that, but Varys would.

+.+.+

He is not Pycelle, that much is plain. The queen weighed him, wondering. "Why did the Citadel take your chain?"

"The archmaesters are all craven at heart. The grey sheep, Marwyn calls them. I was as skilled a healer as Ebrose, but aspired to surpass him. For hundreds of years the men of the Citadel have opened the bodies of the dead, to study the nature of life. I wished to understand the nature of death, so I opened the bodies of the living. For that crime the grey sheep shamed me and forced me into exile . . . but I understand the nature of life and death better than any man in Oldtown."

"Do you?" That intrigued her. "Very well. The Mountain is yours. Do what you will with him, but confine your studies to the black cells. When he dies, bring me his head. My father promised it to Dorne. Prince Doran would no doubt prefer to kill Gregor himself, but we all must suffer disappointments in this life."

"Very good, Your Grace." Qyburn cleared his throat. "I am not so well provided as Pycelle, however. I must needs equip myself with certain . . ."

"I shall instruct Lord Gyles to provide you with gold sufficient for your needs. Buy yourself some new robes as well. You look as though you've wandered up from Flea Bottom." She studied his eyes, wondering how far she dared trust this one. "Need I say that it will go ill for you if any word of your . . . labors . . . should pass beyond these walls?"

"No, Your Grace." Qyburn gave her a reassuring smile. "Your secrets are safe with me."

Fix your clothes, she can't have people who look poor in her inner circle.

Similar to Marwyn, I don't know what to make of Harold Shipman here. Almost every instinct Cersei has is wrong or misplaced, so her trusting him has to be a mistake, right?

+.+.+

Try as she might, she could not seem to bring Lord Tywin's face to mind without seeing that silly little half smile and remembering the foul smell coming off his corpse. She wondered whether Tyrion was somehow behind that as well. It is small and cruel, like him. Could Tyrion have made Pycelle his catspaw? He sent the old man to the black cells, and this Rugen had charge of those cells, she remembered. All the strings were tangled up together in ways she did not like. This High Septon is Tyrion's creature too, Cersei recalled suddenly, and Father's poor body was in his care from dark till dawn.

Are you prepared to watch Daenerys become this paranoid? Because it's going to happen.

+.+.+

Ser Kevan was fair-skinned and blond, though at five-and-fifty he had lost most of his hair. No one would ever call him comely. Thick of waist, round of shoulder, with a square jutting chin that his close-cropped yellow beard did little to conceal, he reminded her of some old mastiff . . . but a faithful old mastiff was the very thing that she required.

Mastiffs can be ferocious things, Cersei.

Leo yawned. "The sea is wet, the sun is warm, and the menagerie hates the mastiff."

He has a mocking name for everyone, thought Pate, but he could not deny that Marwyn looked more a mastiff than a maester. As if he wants to bite you. The Mage was not like other maesters. - Prologue, AFFC

Both Tyrion and Cersei think of Kevan as Tywin's obedient dog. Get ready to learn how wrong they are.

+.+.+

She held out her cup, and Senelle filled it once again.

x

When he was gone, Cersei poured herself a cup of strongwine and drank it by the window, watching the shadows lengthen across the yard and thinking about the coin. 

x

They ate a simple supper of beets and bread and bloody beef with a flagon of Dornish red to wash it all down. Ser Kevan said little and scarce touched his wine cup.

Guys, I think Cersei might have a problem.

+.+.+

"Better that than suffer another Tyrell on the council." His reproach annoyed her. "Rosby will make an adequate master of coin. You've seen that litter of his, with its carvings and silk draperies. His horses are better dressed than most knights. A man that rich should have no problem finding gold. As for Handship . . . who better to finish my father's work than the brother who shared all his counsels?"

"Every man needs someone he can trust. Tywin had me, and once your mother."

"He loved her very much." Cersei refused to think about the dead whore in his bed. "I know they are together now."

lmfao.

I'm slow, I only now registered that Tywin refused to remarry, yet denied Cersei the same courtesy. What a stinky bitch (derogatory).

Also, I love that she's using Rosby's fancy litter as evidence he'll be a good master of coin. Hahahaha.

+.+.+

"So I pray." Ser Kevan studied her face for a long moment before he replied. "You ask much of me, Cersei."

"No more than my father did."

"I am tired." Her uncle reached for his wine cup and took a swallow. "I have a wife I have not seen in two years, a dead son to mourn, another son about to marry and assume a lordship. Castle Darry must be made strong again, its lands protected, its burned fields plowed and planted anew. Lancel needs my help."

Please don't tell me Kevan is a better father and husband than Davos.

+.+.+

"The realm. Aye. And House Lannister." He sipped his wine again. "Very well. I will remain and serve His Grace . . ."

"Very good," she started to say, but Ser Kevan raised his voice and bulled right over her.

". . . so long as you name me regent as well as Hand and take yourself back to Casterly Rock."

[...]

"If you are resolved against another marriage, I will not force it on you. As to the other, though . . . you are the Lady of Casterly Rock now. Your place is there."

I would normally detest a mother being separated from her children, but this is different.

+.+.+

"Jaime . . . Jaime has taken vows. Jaime never thinks, he laughs at everything and everyone and says whatever comes into his head. Jaime is a handsome fool."

"And yet he was your first choice to be the King's Hand. What does that make you, Cersei?"

+.+.+

"The king is my son!" Cersei rose to her feet.

"Aye," her uncle said, "and from what I saw of Joffrey, you are as unfit a mother as you are a ruler."

+.+.+

"Are you threatening me?"

"I am counseling you. If you will not yield the regency to me, name me your castellan for Casterly Rock and make either Mathis Rowan or Randyll Tarly the Hand of the King."

Tyrell bannermen, both of them. The suggestion left her speechless. Is he bought? she wondered. Has he taken Tyrell gold to betray House Lannister?

"Mathis Rowan is sensible, prudent, well liked," her uncle went on, oblivious. "Randyll Tarly is the finest soldier in the realm. A poor Hand for peacetime, but with Tywin dead there's no better man to finish this war. Lord Tyrell cannot take offense if you choose one of his own bannermen as Hand. Both Tarly and Rowan are able men . . . and loyal. Name either one, and you make him yours. You strengthen yourself and weaken Highgarden, yet Mace will likely thank you for it." He gave a shrug. 

Dot, dot, dot. And loyal.

Those two names again.

Varys gave him a simpering smile. "You would win, my lord. Lord Alester was indeed the first to bend the knee. Many others followed."

"Many," Tyrion said pointedly, "but not all?"

"Not all," agreed the eunuch. "Not Loras Tyrell, nor Randyll Tarly, nor Mathis Rowan. - Tyrion VIII, ACOK

Those two Targaryen loyalists.

+.+.+

Traitor, she thought. Turncloak. She wondered how much Mace Tyrell had given him. "You would abandon your king when he needs you most," she told him. "You would abandon Tommen."

"Tommen has his mother." Ser Kevan's green eyes met her own, unblinking. A last drop of wine trembled wet and red beneath his chin, and finally fell. "Aye," he added softly, after a pause, "and his father too, I think."

Final thoughts:

I hate when one character's point of view dominates a book, but this will be an exception.

-> return to menu <-

[jayaury]

Bimbo Bull

All characters are over 18 and all that jazz.

~ ~ ~

“You’re not uncomfortable. Are you?” the holstaur, Avaline, said.

“Um, no. Only…”

“Yes?” she asked.

Evan looked into the warm eyes of the curvy blonde, her stubby cow horns curling from her bouncy brown hair, and found he couldn’t quite muster an argument.

And… and it had been in the job description. Peachbottom’s holstaurs were the best in the business, and their milk prized all over the country. And as everyone knew, a happy cow makes the best milk.

So it only made sense to hire people to attend to the holstaurs. The milkboys as they were called.

Evan didn’t much like the name. He was out of high school. An undergrad at the nearby college. He was a man in body and in mind, and being called boy rankled him. Especially when it was by such a mature beauty as Avaline. Especially since she considered clothes more of a ‘suggestion’ than an actual requirement.

Still, the pay was good, and both the job and hours weren’t too demanding. He had time to work and to keep up on his studies. Among… other things.

So really, he couldn’t complain. Not even when Avaline asked him to come into her room. Not even seeing her utterly naked, her plump breasts nearly as big as his head, her body perfumed with a scent of rich, earthy cream. Not even when she turned around, and asked him to sit in her lap.

Avaline smiled, wrapping her arms around him, tugging him closer against her, the back of his head and shoulders pressing into those glorious pale tits. “That’s good. I wouldn’t want to make my milkboy uncomfortable. I want him to be happy, after all.”

Evan blushed, squirming uneasily. And he wasn’t uncomfortable. Not at all. He was just… very aware of her. Of how she smelled. At how soft she was. At how big and comfortable and warm her breasts were. How full they were…

Were…

“Um… Avaline?”

“Yes?”

“Did you… um… did you get yourself milked earlier?”

There was a long pause. Evan felt a lump forming in his throat. Oh no. No. He’d been warned when he’d been hired. Don’t come near the holstaurs unless they’ve already been milked. An unmilked holstaur is always a risk. She’s liable to think more with her tits than her head. Liable to want to find herself another way of relieving the pressure. Holstaurs hated milking themselves. They always tried to find a boy or a milker to do it for them.

Evan felt a dampness against his shoulders.

“Avaline…”

“I’m sorry, Evan. I just… I don’t like those milkers. So impersonal. So cold.”

“Um, I guess. I wouldn’t know. But um…”

“Oh Evan,” she sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a naughty cow. But I was just feeling so pent up. Then I heard you walking by, and I thought, if I could hold my darling milkboy for a little bit, I’d be able to go and use the milker. I’d be able to take it.”

“Avaline… I’m not sure about this. I mean…”

“Won’t you stay for a little bit? Let me hold you? For me?”

Evan bit his lip, trying to ignore the way her plush tits pressed against him. Her soft words tickled his senses. Her presence wrapped around him as surely as her arms. Her hands stroking him. Soothing him.

Maybe… maybe just for a few minutes. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe that would… would be okay…

“A-alright. But only for five minutes. After that…”

“Of course,” she crooned, nuzzling him, his hair tingling from her warm breath. “Only for a little while…”

Evan sighed and tried to resolve himself to her touch. “Isn’t that nice?” she murmured. “Isn’t that so relaxing…”

“Yeah,” Evan admitted, realized what he’d said and hastily clamped shut his mouth.

Avaline hummed softly. “Mmm. Good boy.”

“Not a boy…” Evan said, though the admission came out almost petulantly.

“Of course not. My mistake. My man. My big, strong man. So handsome. So brave. So strong willed. He’d never fall for a pretty cow. Never be enthralled by her big. Milky. Breasts. No. He’d be so strong willed, he’d be able to drink his fill and keep his self-control. Such a strong man could…”

Her words tingled in Evan. Yes. Yes, a strong man would be able to… to do that. He felt more comfortable at that. Smiling a little in pride.

“And you’re such a strong man, Evan. You’re not a weak boy. A silly milk boy who’s too afraid of a holstaur. Who’s afraid to milk her big breasts. I know you’re stronger than that. I bet you could. I bet you could drink my warm milk and not fall for me. Not be enslaved by my breasts…”

Evan gasped as he felt her hand in his lap. Yet strangely, he didn’t feel the need to move it. Of course not. Why would he? As she rubbed the bulge of his cock, that was fine. She liked big strong men. And he was a man. Not a boy. Not her silly milk slave.

“Oh Evan,” she murmured. “Do you want to try?”

“T-try?” he breathed as her fingers kept rubbing his bulge.

“Yes. Try milking me? Milking your big cow?”

“Oh,” Evan said, gasping as her thumb rubbed the sensitive tip of his cock through his pants, his body warm, his head foggy with lust and warmth and sensitive pleasure. “Um. Oh. I don’t… I don’t know…”

“Such a big strong man doesn’t need to fear a big titted cow. Does he?” Avaline purred.

“N-no. Of course n-not…”

“Then is there a problem?”

Was there? Evan felt like there should be. But at the same time, he was thinking of those breasts. The ones pressed against his back. So big. So plump. So milky and needy and the hand on his cock stroking and teasing. His breath coming in and out. In and out. Hot. Heavy. Eager. Soft.

“Just a little,” Avaline murmured. “Just to… take off the pressure…”

He could… he could do that. Just a little bit. He could resist. “I… okay…”

He felt her smile as she kissed the top of his head. Her hands left his cock and Evan slowly turned around, straddling the holstaur’s legs, and looking straight on into her breasts.

Oh fuck. They were so big. He’d seen them daily, of course. But right now, right in front of him, they seemed so much larger. So plumper. So heavier and milkier. He swallowed as he saw beads of milk dribble from her plump nipples.

“Mmm,” Avaline moaned, hefting the orbs of her breasts. “Oh my handsome, strong man, I’m so… so pent up. Please. I need you. Please…”

Evan was entranced. Enthralled. His hands moved as if on their own accord, hefting those plump orbs, his hands sinking into her titflesh. Avaline moaned softly, her long lashes fluttering, her breath hitching with purest pleasure.

“Oh…Oh Evan. Please. My big, strong bull. Don’t… ah… don’t tease me… Please…”

Evan pressed her breasts together, fairly feeling how heavy and pent up they were. His mouth was so dry. He was so thirsty. That he hadn’t been minutes ago no longer mattered. He needed it. He needed… needed…

He was leaning forward. Her breasts filled his vision. He forced himself to stop, hesitating at the last moment, on the edge of a precipice he sensed more than saw. Staring at those plump nipples. What… what was he…

Gentle hands touched his head. Eased him forward. Pressed him to Avaline’s milky tits. His mouth opened on instinct. Took a budding nipple between his lips.

And sucked.

“Ooooooh,” Avaline moaned, shuddering in purest pleasure as he began to drink. Began to suckle. “Goooood boy,” she moaned.

“Mmm,” Evan murmured.

“Oops,” she giggled. “Of course. You’re not my silly bimbo boy. You’re my big strong bull. You’d never fall under my thrall. You’d never be enslaved to my big tits. My sweet milk. My handsome bull is far too strong for that. Far too clever.”

Evan relaxed again. That’s right. He was a bull. A clever bull. A smart bull. A bull wouldn’t be enthralled to a hosltaur’s milk. He smiled dreamily as he guzzled her cream, moaning softly as warm languor spread through him like perfect pleasure.

“Mmm. That’s it. Such a good bull. And what do bulls do with their pretty cows? That’s right. They fuck them. They just rut and moan and pant as they fuck their pretty cows. Because bulls only think with their big cocks. Don’t they?”

Did they? Evan wasn’t sure, but his cow said they did, so it must be true. Especially when he felt her hands on his pants again. Teasing them open. Her fingers wrapping around his cock, making him moan hotly as she began to stroke him, thumb teasing along the underside, fingers moving up and down. Up and down.

“Mmm. What a big bull I have here. Such a big cock. Such an eager cock. Does my bull want to fuck his cow? Of course he does. His cock is so eager for me. And bulls think with their cocks. Their silly cocks. They just can’t help it. A pretty cow comes by, shaking her big breasts, letting him milk her, and he just can’t help but want to fuck her. Want to cum all his silly bull brains out inside of her. Isn’t that right?”

It must be right. It was so right. Everything was so right. Evan moaned, nodding dimly, panting hotly.

“Good bull,” Avaline moaned, easing him out of the chair, onto the floor, never taking his lips from her big breast. Letting him milk her like a good bull boy. He was panting beneath her, moaning, whimpering, not because he was hers. Not because he’d been enslaved by her tits. But because he was a bull. And bulls whimpered and moaned in just the cutest ways as their cows straddled their waist, lowered herself, and filled her with his cock.

“Ooooh,” Avaline moaned as her depths swallowed his manhood. “Yessss! Oh my big bull. That’s it… ah… that’s a gooood bull. Mnnnn. Fuck me. Fuck me deep! Oh fuck. Fuck! Oh yes. Goddess yes! Fuck me, stud. Fuck me with your big bimbo cock. My big bull boy. My handsome bull. My pretty boy. My boy. Oh yes. Yes! Fuck me! Fill me!”

Evan could barely hear her. Barely understand. And yet her every word seeped into his addled mind. Filled his thoughts with love. With pleasure as her depths squeezed and massaged his cock. As her big hips swallowed him with every bounce.

Bounce.

Bounce.

As her breasts filled his vision. Her milk his mouth.

Milking her.

Moaning.

Moaning like a good bull.

A handsome bull.

A silly bimbo bull.

“Yes. Yes! Cum in me. Cum your brains out! Cum your bimbo brains out my bull. Yes! Yes! Ahhhhh!”

Avaline cried out, shuddering in purest pleasure, her pussy squeezing, massaging, coaxing his cock as she came.

“Mmmmm!” Evan moaned into her breasts, beyond resistance. Beyond control. He shuddered as his orgasm whipped through him, pumping his cum into her. Pumping his thoughts. His will. His mind. His silly useless mind. Filling it with her. With love. With being a good, brainless bimbo bull for his milky cow.

Avaline moaned softly, settling atop him. She smiled down at him, and Evan gazed up at her, his eyes hot with love. With adoration for this glorious creature. The most perfect woman. The most wonderful cow. She giggled, gathering him up against her.

“Mmm. How does my bimbo boy feel?” she asked sweetly.

“So… ah… so good,” Evan moaned. “Good boy. I… I’m a good bull. Good... Good bull…”

Avaline giggled. “Such a good boy,” she crooned, her hips beginning to move again, riding his cock anew, making him mewl and moan. “And a good bimbo boy, oops! I mean bull,” she giggled. “A good bimbo bull just loves his cow so much, doesn’t he? Why, he’d never want to leave, would he? He’d want to stay with her. A good bull. A handsome milker making sure his lovely cow is all spent. That he’s gotten his full of her milk. Wouldn’t he?”

“Oooooh,” Evan moaned as her pussy squeezed and milked his cock. “Yessss… Be a good bull. Goooood bull…”

“That’s my bull,” she giggled. “And of course, my bull will get his fill. We can’t have him being able to think naughty thoughts like leaving me. Can we?”

“No,” Evan moaned as she lifted him to her other breast. “No,” his lips murmured as they latched on to that other nipple, and found another bounty of rich cream from his cow.

Avaline giggled, gasped, moaned as her bimbo’s soft lips milked her. As he nuzzled her breasts. So soft. So sweet.

Such a perfect bimbo bull…

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into The Unknown, Part 5

First

Previous

Tim finished up pretty quickly.

After all, all the baby toys seemed to just be different variations of each other. Some crinkle, some make sounds, some squish, some… do nothing at all? Tim had no clue how he used to get by as a kid.

He ended up getting Damian three toys:

A tiny rubber duck. He’s almost completely sure that Marinette would have bought one if Tim hadn’t. At least when he was the one buying it he could opt to get the Darth Vader one (Damian had always been woefully uncultured, this was his one chance to make the kid watch sci-fi without risking getting stabbed).

A plush cow with crinkly ears. He had to hope that this could maybe jog memories of Batcow and, in turn, everything else. Tim had tried to think of something a little more relevant but all he could think of were things related to Batman, to Superboy, to the League of Assassins (did their lives really revolve around vigilante-work that much?)... and, unfortunately, this reality didn’t have merch that he could give the kid.

And a squishy plastic baguette. Because that was all he could think of to get back at Marinette for the duck thing.

When it came to little kid books he hesitated for just a bit before getting the basics -- stuff like animals and the letters and Spot The Dog. He wondered, vaguely, if he’d have to teach the kid numbers since they already used the Arabic numeral system. He got a book on it just in case.

Then he got a couple of books on parenting.

He checked out and then walked back to the sitting area where he was supposed to meet Marinette.

… she was taking forever.

He sighed quietly and skimmed through a book on parenting.

… oops they were supposed to breastfeed until Damian was about two. No clue what to do about that. Maybe the kid was already used to a bottle? He hoped so. He’d watch him more carefully while Marinette was holding him to see. In the meantime, he’d get a bottle and some formula on top of the baby food they’d been getting so far.

Alright so the kid was supposed to learn behaviors and language through observation. Good. That, hopefully, solved that problem. Tim probably would have just given the kid a textbook and said ‘good luck’. Marinette… he didn’t really know what Marinette would have done, but the woman wasn’t a teacher as far as he could tell and asking her to teach the kid properly was a little unfair.

Babies around his age are supposed to speak in something called… protowords? Like… a baby language? Damn, he has a miraculous and it seemingly allows him the power to understand every language but apparently ‘baby-speak’ didn’t count as a language. Tim called bullshit.

He felt a weight settle down on the bench next to him and absently glanced over.

Marinette sent him a slightly tired smile. She was wearing a new, dark red scarf.

He opened his mouth to say something only to have her shake her head and adjust her scarf a little to show him something.

Ah. It looked like Damian had fallen asleep on her shoulder so she’d fashioned the scarf into a makeshift baby sling.

“Could’ve used the stroller,” he whispered, setting his receipt in the book to mark his page.

She snorted. “And risk waking him? He cries every time he wakes up, I’m not dealing with that right now.”

He bit his lip. “You know… this book says he’s supposed to cry for, like, an hour to an hour and a half a day.”

She tipped her head to the side a little. “He’s cried like… three times.”

“Yeah, and he was really easy to shut up. Decidedly not normal.”

They looked back down at Damian, identical frowns on their faces.

“Does it have an explanation for why he’d be like this?” Marinette asked, her voice soft.

Tim hesitated.

“The only reasons I can think of are that he doesn’t think we’d help him if he cried or he thinks crying is something he’d be punished for. Considering how he was raised… it could be either. Or both.”

~

Marinette yawned as she sat back on the hotel bed. She leaned back against Tim, leaving him to bear the weight of both her and Damian.

He, to his credit, barely even blinked. He turned slowly until they were both leaning back against each other.

She tipped her head back to rest on his shoulder.

She could fall asleep like this, she thought. Propped against Tim. Damian, in her arms, watching an episode of something called True and the Rainbow Kingdom… it was nice.

Or, at least, it would be if Tim could stop that infernal tapping.

“Ugh, could you stop that? Some people actually sleep.”

He gave a tiny puff of laughter that acknowledged that he heard her but, alas, he continued typing.

She groaned a little and reached a hand behind herself to give him a tiny bap to his side.

“Hm. This may shock you, but hitting me really hasn’t helped your case.”

She huffed and twisted around to try and see over his shoulder. She’d given up on sleeping, anyway.

“What are you even doing?”

He shrugged just slightly. “Trying to figure out what to do about money.”

She nodded slowly, looking over his shoulder as he scrolled through jobs they could do with zero experience or degrees. That could sustain a family of three and pay for the daycare they would have to take Damian to. The options... weren’t great.

Damian tugged on her shirt for her attention and she looked down as he pointed at his screen with a bright smile. There was a black cat on the screen. She didn’t really know what he wanted until he kept saying ‘ma’ over and over. She nodded and said ‘cat’ in both Arabic and English, which seemed to sate him as he went back to watching… the giant green yeti monster stealing a basket of candy? What the fuck was even going on on this show? Were kids’ shows like this in her own world, too? Or was this one’s shows just especially weird?

A thought occurred to her and she looked back over at Tim.

“You exist in this world, right?”

He nodded absently and opened a tab that, despite its claim that it was an entry level job, apparently required two years of experience and a degree. He closed it quickly.

“Why don't we just mooch off of the other you?”

Tim sighed. “Because that’s illegal?”

“You’re a vigilante. I don’t think that ‘borrowing’ money from your alternate self is where you should draw the line on illegal activities.”

“I draw the line when it harms innocent people.”

She laughed at that. “He’s rich. It’s not like he’s going to miss it. Think of it as… giving the money to people who need it.”

“You’re a regular robin hood,” Tim said sarcastically.

“I know. I’m so kind,” she agreed, grinning.

There were a few moments of silence.

Then, finally, he shook his head. “Even if we could somehow do that -- which I can’t guarantee because I’m not completely sure I could guess my passwords -- the fact that we’re in Texas… he’d notice.”

She shrugged. “Then let’s move back to Gotham.”

He blinked and finally looked up from the computer. “What?”

“We don’t have much of a life here, really, so why not move?”

He considered this for a while before sighing and flopping back on the bed. “Let me see if I can even get into the account. There’s nothing to say that I even have the same social security number here...”

She nodded her understanding and laid back next to him. Damian whined a little at the sudden displacement but just ran a hand up and down his back absently until he was watching his show again, completely silent as he stared at the screen. Now the main girl was reaching into her bag for a weird orb of light that was, apparently, sentient. Was this the Dora of their world? God help their children.

Speaking of helping their children...

She picked up a parenting book to read while Tim tried to guess his otherworldly counterpart’s passwords.

~

Tim managed to get in.

He rested his head in his hands, cursing quietly.

She glanced over and smiled at his slightly flushed face.

“What was the password?”

He grumbled under his breath.

This only seemed to encourage her more because she started nudging his shoulder, the soft smile morphing into a cheeky grin.

He sighed and took a moment to gather himself before looking over at her. “It’s… ‘<3Richard<3graysons<3little<3brother<3’.”

“... I don’t get it.”

“Good. So you can’t tease me about it,” he said, sticking his tongue out at her.

She scoffed. “That’s not fair.”

“Totally is.”

He set the computer down beside himself and stretched his achy old bones. He’d had a baby for approximately two days now and he could already feel the bad back setting in. Tomorrow he would have gray hair.

“I’m going to look it up if you don’t tell me.”

“... he’s a celebrity,” Tim said quietly.

Her grin wavered back towards that genuine smile for just a second before spreading into an even wider grin. She reached out and pinched his cheeks. “Awwww, Tim, that’s so cute --!”

“Shut up,” he complained, batting her hands away.

She snickered. “No. I’m going to write that password on your tombstone.”

“You’re assuming I’m going to die first.”

“I have an extended lifespan. You’re only going to have that for another fifteen years. After that? Unless I’m really stupid you’re gonna die first.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to find out how to be immortal now. Purely to spite you.”

She snorted. “Okay. Good luck with that.”

“Thank you.”

With that, he pushed himself up with a groan. “I’m going to get him ready for bed.”

She nodded her understanding and continued with her reading.

Damian whined a little when Tim tried to take him away from where he had curled up next to Marinette but that seemed to be more because he was tired and cranky than genuine distress.

Tim was the one to bathe him. It wasn’t a bubble bath, he wasn’t eager to repeat the previous night’s mistakes, but he did give Damian the rubber duck. This seemed to work for all of them, since Damian now allowed them to take him out of the bath as long as he got to bring his duck.

Marinette grinned when she looked over at where Damian was chewing on his rubber duck as Tim struggled to click the annoyingly difficult buttons of the onesie into place.

“Told you he would love it.”

“We both know that wasn’t why you wanted to get it.”

“And we both know you didn’t get that squishy bread-thing just because you thought he would like it, either.”

He smiled. “Maaaaaybe.”

The onesie finally allowed itself to be buttoned and Tim picked Damian up so he could get into bed.

Marinette frowned. “This book says we shouldn’t let him sleep with us every night. Says it creates a bad habit that’s hard to break.”

Tim raised an eyebrow at her but, reluctantly, carried the kid over to the crib so they could sleep separately.

“Fine. But I’m going to sleep before him so I don’t stress out all night.”

She snickered. “Fine. Fine.”

He climbed into bed, set a pillow between them, and promptly dozed off before he could get woken up by Damian whimpering through the night.

… Tim woke up a few hours later -- his body wasn’t quite used to sleeping through nights just yet -- to find that Marinette had brought the kid into bed with them again.

He smiled a little and moved the pillow out from between them. Even if Damian was currently too trapped in Marinette’s arms to even reach it, it was best to make sure it couldn’t happen.

Damian whimpered a little in his sleep again and Tim tipped his head to the side. He reached over and gently combed his fingers through the fuzzy little tufts of hair that the kid had so far. Damian relaxed.

Tim sighed and shifted in the bed until he was closer to Damian, then maneuvered through Marinette’s mess of limbs to press a tiny kiss to the top of his head. The baby smiled in his sleep and, though the kid couldn’t see it, he returned the smile. He rested an arm around the kid as well in hopes that it would keep the kid feeling safe before allowing himself to drift off.

~~~~~

Next

@nathleigh @peachmuses @unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

[fairyoftbz]

a rewritten faith | l. juyeon

🪕 pairing: bartender! reader x cow-boy! juyeon 🪕 word count: 4k 🪕 genre: western! au, 1920s!au kinda?, angst to fluff 🪕 tw: mentions of violence, guns, fights, close death experience, deceased father, false accusations, swear words, the reader has some trauma 🪕 synopsis: you are the owner of the local saloon and something usual will happen, but it will take an unexpected turn. 🪕 a/n: i had this idea while watching a western film with my dad and i hope it's not gonna be too bad... 🪕 requested: no

╰☆☆☆☆╮

Your head turned to look at the entrance as the swing doors of the saloon burst open, two sergeants dragging another man inside, his face and body littered in bruises and cuts. He winced in pain as they shoved him against the counter not far from you, both giving him a hard slap at the back of the skull. With an attentive eye, you kept on polishing your whiskey glass with your used piece of cloth, watching everybody’s attention drawn towards the three men.

“You bloody bastard! Did you really think that you would get away with that? Raising your voice at Sir Landfield and seducing his daughter to use her for your own needs? Who did you think you were, the sheriff?” the entire pub erupted into a coarse laugh, some men hitting their pistol against the wooden tables to express their mockery. You, along with the waitresses, were the only ones to remain silent, your eyes darkening as you kept on drying your glasses. “I never touched Sir Landfield’s dau-” “Enough, bastard!” one of them yelled and punched him in the face, blood now oozing from the young man’s nose as his head swung to the side at the violence of the blow. He stumbled on the right, his wounded hand quickly grabbing the counter to prevent him from falling.

The church bells rang as it announced another hour of the day, the wind shifting some dirt and sand off the ground. Quickly glancing outside, you noticed a convoy drawn by horses walking down the main street, their whinnying getting louder as the man guiding them whipped their back and sides sharply.

“Gentlemen. What did your good-for-nothing do to our town? And what brings y’all in my father’s saloon?” you asked, the attention shifting from the culprit to you. You arched a brow as you slid the whisky glass you’ve just finished cleaning and another one across the counter, walking over the liquors to fill it for the men with their habitual orders.

“Ah,” one of them grunted. “This bastard thought he was the best in town and started arguing with Lord Landfield over some laws. He threatened him and even tried to get into his daughter’s panties!” one of them shouted as you poured alcohol into their glasses, noticing an arrogant smile plastered on his face. You didn’t like where this was going.

The culprit raised his eyes at you from his stool and observed you working, your orbs boring into his for a quick second before looking away to grab another bottle of liquor.

“Well, I’m pretty sure he had some good reasons to speak his mind to the mayor. Does he have a name?” you smirked as you placed a glass of herbal liquor in front of the soon-to-be-dead gentleman. He thanked you by a brief nod, and his face contorted into a grimace as he rose his glass to his lips, downing the drink in one go.

“He deserves to be hung by the balls, he’s from the Lees! Lee Juyeon! No one touches the mayor’s daughter like that except her husband!” the man on the left banged his fist onto the wooden counter, making everyone applaud and raise their glass at the idea.

Of course, you disagreed with their horrendous methods, but who were you to counter. Since you didn’t want to be the next in line, hung and burnt alive, you preferred to keep your mouth shut and observe.

“I never touched her!” exclaimed the-said Lee Juyeon but was quick to get shut up. “You don’t get to speak up, you piece of shit! If I said that you touched her, you did, end of the story!” Another man threw his fist right into the apparent lawbreaker’s nose, who immediately wiped his blood-spattered face on the side of his dirty shirt and spat on the floor.

You could tell that Juyeon was surprised by everyone’s agreement, trying his best to hide the fear in his eyes by clutching his jaw. One of the stablemen left the pub for a quick second before coming back, holding a long, white rope with a dirty smile on his face. Faces lit up in delight when he skilfully threw it in the air and swirled it around one of the massive wooden joists before tying a slipknot on the other end. The young man’s hand clutched around his glass, and he stared at you, noticing a hint of despair behind his two dark brown orbits.

You’ve seen many men and women in his state, but for once, you spotted something different. Sincerity, pain, and hopelessness could be observed in this man’s behaviour. He looked like he couldn’t hurt a fly, but you also knew that men were good at lying and being pitied when it was needed. However this time, for some reasons, you felt your heart pinch at the visible fear daunting the cowboy.

The men of law sat down at a table near the swinging doors and lit up their cigars thanks to the waitress’ matches, only to slap her butt as a thank-you. She giggled like a teen girl, which made you even more sickened by the situation than you already were, many people emptying the saloon in fear of witnessing death.

“Oi bastard, are you thinking of a way to shag the bartender before your sentence? She’s pretty cute, right?” one of the officers yelled as the delinquent’s eyes lingered on your working figure. You sent them a death glare, and they elbowed each other with a dirty grin, the idea of shooting them between the eyes titillated your mind for a quick second. “Try not to get us thrown out, she can be pretty rough, just like her father,” you heard them snicker, and you turned around to sigh and roll your eyes, trying not to get arrested either by ‘disrespecting’ them, even if it looked really tempting.

Abruptly, the oldest officer pushed a chair with his foot towards the young man, puffing some smoke out of his mouth, the action leaving a greyish trail lingering above their bald, dirty-minded heads. The stableman grabbed the man from the counter and forced him to get on the chair before shoving his head inside the slipknot and tightened it.

Exhaling sharply as it already happened too many times since your father passed away and bequeathed the saloon to you, you closed your eyes and looked away, mentally cursing the sheriff for choosing your tavern for doing such horrible acts of what they called ‘justice’.

“So, Lee, any last words before we shoot you in the head?” one of the officers insolently said as he expertly swirled his pistol in his hand, his other holding the cigar close to his mouth. From where you were, you could see the culprit gritting his teeth, trying to remain neutral.

“No, I don’t. Because I have done anything wrong, except expressing my honest opinion to the sheriff. And, as much as you want me to, I never laid a finger on his daughter,” the man spat confidently, only to have the two officers and some other men around the saloon unpleasantly shaking their heads.

“I can’t believe it. Even at the edge of death, he’s still willing to lie,” locking the cylinder before lowering the hammer of his revolver, the officer pointed his weapon towards the young man, who stayed as still as possible.

Everyone stared at the scene with intensity, some drinking their liquors or taking puffs of cigars like they were watching and enjoying some entertainment. The culprit was staring intensely at the officers, making them understand that he wasn’t scared of the gun nor facing death. You, on the other hand, were exhausted of those illegal actions and atrocious scenes that already happened when your father was still from this world. Luckily, he always made sure to give you to the tailor next door when such things happened, but it wasn’t really helpful since you became responsible for the aftermath at a very age.

They weren’t the ones that got rid of the dead bodies they shot inside your establishment, they weren’t the ones crazily rubbing the dirt and dried blood off the wooden counter or ventilating the building to get rid of the gory, metallic smell lingering around, nor were they the ones getting scared and sick of working in such sordid conditions. Some graphic execution scenes were still lingering in your mind even years later and shocking you to the point of getting sick and wobbly for a few days, getting flashbacks of the gun firing off. No matter how many people you saw dying in the saloon or while walking around town after witnessing some settling of scores, you would never get used to this sleazy, corrupted method of getting rid of people.

And this case was the last straw. You could not handle another bloody situation, where people would be cheering and happily exiting the saloon as if nothing happened, leaving you mortified and scarred for the nth time behind.

As the sergeant was about to pull the trigger, you were swift to get out your dad’s revolver from the small compartment under the counter and shoot the wooden beam in two precise bullets. The waitresses shrieked and the rest of the souls populating the saloon flinched, hands going to protect their head and ears. You shot the wood three other times to make some dust and pieces fall to confuse everyone, hiding some bullets in your corset before going around the counter and grab the man by the sleeve. Among all the panicked people trying to rush out of the saloon, you dragged the man out through the back door, letting one of the waitresses take the control of the saloon.

“Come on, we don’t have a lot of time!” you said out of breath, the muddy ground staining the pans of your dress with a dark brown colour. The man looked still shocked to have narrowly dodged death, catching his breath as your hands were fumbling with the knot keeping your horse close to the wall. Seizing the reins with a soft yet skilled hold, you were quick to slide your foot in the stirrup and swing your leg over the beast, extending your hand for the man to take it.

He messily placed his foot on the wooden fence and jumped behind you, his hand still in yours as the fence collapsed under his weight. You felt his jerky breaths fanning your neck as you commanded the horse to race off.

“Ya! Ya!” you angrily yelled, repeatedly squeezing your legs around the horse for it to go faster as you heard some gravelly voices lingering around the saloon. Your horse neighed and picked up the pace, its hooves hammering the dried ground of the main street as you bolted out of the town. “Lower your head, we need to go faster!” you yelled and the man obeyed, your heart pulsating in your temples as you heard some screams and people opening fire towards you, bullets going through a few wooden wains from the neighbouring houses.

“Sorry about the fence,” the man whispered and you shook your head, eyes still focused on the dusty road. “That’s the least of my worries right now. Hold onto me instead so we can lose them faster,” you spat and whipped the reins on the horse’s neck, the man’s large hands landing onto your waist. “What’s your name, by the way?” he yelled so his voice wouldn’t be covered by the horse’s noises, and you slightly turned your head to the side. “Y/N,” You simply answered, trying to ignore his hands on you as he was accused of inappropriately touching the mayor’s daughter and pushed your feet down the stirrups as you went up a hill.

The town was quick to disappear behind you as you hurried into the taiga, following the winding trail as fast as possible. The lawbreaker was still holding onto your waist, his hold strengthening as you didn’t seem to be ready to slow down anytime soon. The concentrated look on your face didn’t subside at all, sometimes looking back to make sure that you weren’t being followed.

Your heart skipped a beat as your horse jumped over the railway line, his hooves toughly landing on the floor as the way started going downhill again, the man behind you hitting his chin against your shoulder due to the force of the impact. He mumbled a quick apology, but you didn’t even hear it, the wind blowing in your ears preventing any sound to reach you.

You finally ordered the horse to slow down as you reached another dense forest, the air feeling chiller as the sun was struggling to get through the infinite branches of sharpened pine needles. You and Juyeon kept your head low, the latter pushing his hat further onto his head to protect his already severely injured face from the spiky needles. He let out a small hum of surprise when you reached a small cottage with a wide range of greenery surrounding it, not expecting someone to live here. The air was so pure and fresh that it almost hurt your lungs, with no sign of tobacco smoke or dust from the road to poison your inner organs.

Getting off the horse, you drew the gun out of your corset and removed the bullets, tossing the revolver on a lonely stump. The man recoiled at the sight of the weapon, but instantly relaxed as you went behind the cottage. He grunted in pain as he got off the horse, giving it a gentle tap and rub its muzzle. It snorted quickly and turned around, walking further into the greenery to relax from the intensive workout you went through.

When you came back, the cottage key in hand, your gaze fell on the man leaning against a trunk, dried blood and cuts still covering his face. His bottom lip was split open, and his cheekbones were bruised, eyes bloodied by the dust and the several hits he received from the men of law. You sighed as you stared at him, hand sliding in the key and unlock the door.

“Come in,” you said as you pushed the door open, walking across the room to draw the curtains out.

Juyeon slowly limped inside, eyes travelling around the small living room, falling straight on a chair after placing your dad’s revolver on the table, the wood creaking under the collision. He groaned in pain and closed his eyes tightly, his jaw twitching as he suffered in silence.

You gave him some privacy and walked to the kitchen, getting some wood planks and a bunch of herbs and weeds from one of the cabinets. Just like your dad had taught you, you lit up a fire in the chimney and hung a small cauldron to the chain. You stood back up, the room getting filled with a heavy silence, not really sure of how to act with a possible criminal in your secret home. He sighed and groaned in pain many times as you prepared a brew and some lukewarm water to freshen up.

His worried eyes met yours as you heavily placed a wooden basin with steaming water on the table next to him, your hands sinking a piece of cloth in the warm water and twisting it.

“Take off your shirt, I need to clean and check your wounds,” you monotonously said, and the man’s hands hovered above his top, hesitantly undoing the first few buttons while looking outside.

He gulped as he exposed his torso to you, your eyes widening in shock for a quick second at the state of it. He got beaten up severely, red, and purple areas already littering his entire thorax. The bruises looked excruciating and probably caused some inner injuries, hence his unnatural movements.

You quickly pulled his shirt away from his body and ditched it on the table, eyes now wandering around his arms. He was pretty muscular – you couldn't neglect the steel-craved abs embellishing his torso – but the cuts and wounds were critical enough to damage the view.

Starting by cleaning his wounds and body with the piece of cloth, Juyeon tried his best to remain still, but it got intolerable at some point. He started hissing and cursing – not at you, he was grateful that you were willing to put yourself in danger to save and take care of him – but more in pain, his eyes flooding with anger as he recalled the sergeants’ faces and their accusations.

“You know,” the man started through gritted teeth before groaning as the piece of cloth grazed against a sensitive laceration on his collarbone, “I didn’t touch the sheriff’s daughter. I'd never touch a woman like that despite what they want everyone to believe,” you quickly looked at him in the eyes and chuckled, your hand delicately grasping his wrist to lift his arm to clean the residues of the cut on the side of the torso.

“I think it’s impossible for you to do so,” your voice trailed as you focused on your task, the man questioningly looking at you. “How so?” “She’s on the other side of the world, probably a thousand miles away from us. Serena is a successful woman, she’s sacred to her father. You probably saw her mother strutting around town like she’s the next queen, which is something quite ridiculous but funny at the same time. Serena is the pride of the family because she got married to an Australian businessman and is now living like a good middle-class person, you know?” his eyes widened as you explained everything to him, his tongue clicking in frustration.

“Lies? I became the scapegoat of those assholes for lies?” you defeatedly sighed and shrugged as the man was furrowing his brows, getting upset. “Welcome to our town, I guess. It is how we, no they, make the peace reign there. We all know that nobody shouldn’t mess with the mayor, but I guess that you are not from here, so you miserably fell into his trap,” you offered him a compassionate smile and carried on with cleaning him, wiping your damp hands on your dress as you got back to the fireplace.

You came back with the cauldron, hands enveloped in the wet piece of cloth as you gently plunged it in the water, Juyeon flinching at the steam surfacing from the warm-cold impact. Your eyes focused on the plant-based mixture you had prepared to heal and sanitise his injuries, following your grandma’s textbook to the letter.

Juyeon groaned again at the warm solution being applied on his body, feeling his skin itch and burn as you kept rubbing the product in. He looked up as you focused on your task, now rubbing his arm while holding his limb with a certain grace. On your face, he could discern some sadness and exhaustion hidden in your features, his mind wandering to what possibly happened to you to be in this situation.

“And you?” he started with a more hesitant voice as if he was scared to frighten a deer, “what made you the bartender of this saloon?” your hand quickly stopped working but resumed almost instantly, but Juyeon noticed.

“Owner,” you corrected, and his eyes widened, an impressed look painted on his face, “I am the only survivor in my family, they all died from sickness or old age. I became the owner of the saloon as soon as my father passed away. He was in this horrible business, letting the authorities do their dirty work inside the bar, away from prying, curious eyes. Of course, since I am a woman and is only good at taking care of children and clean, they keep coming here no matter how many times I refused. I, fortunately, didn’t have to witness every single execution when I was young, but it still sends me into anxiety fits when it happens. I’ve seen a lot of people going through what you’ve just escaped from and it’s almost impossible to get rid of the flashbacks,” you briefly explained, feeling the tears well up in your throat at the mention of your deceased father and harrowing trauma, but you swallowed thickly and repressed your emotions, keeping a neutral face.

“S-Sorry, I didn’t mean it,” he mumbled, and you shook your head, wetting your hands in the basin to quickly get rid of any remaining substance. “It’s fine,” you emotionlessly said, hurrying back in the kitchen to get some time alone.

Juyeon didn’t mean to hurt you by stirring some hurtful memories, but of course, curiosity killed the cat. Thanks to you, he had escaped his humiliating death sentence, and all he did was unintentionally pressing the wrong buttons. Agonisingly, he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as he got up, the room slightly spinning as he limped towards the kitchen to come to you. Your shoulders were heaving up and down as you attempted to muffle your cries and silence your emotions, not wanting to break down in a room with a man other than your father. It was one rule that you forced yourself to follow, not wanting to appear weak to anyone's eyes.

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to hurt you like that,” his cavernous voice resonated against the walls of the empty kitchen, making you wince and quickly wipe your face with trembling hands before turning around. “How could you know?” you said with puffy eyes, the sight squeezing Juyeon’s heart as you tried to give him what was supposed to be a reassuring smile. He slowly walked to you and took a gentle hold of your trembling wrists, his chocolate orbs boring into your own. The gaze that you had found quite intimidating a few minutes ago when he was angry against his attackers currently held something completely different. It wasn’t pity as you were used to when you brought up your past, but something more like compassion and tenderness.

“Y/N. I know I'm a complete stranger and a criminal in your eyes, but I wanna help you the way you did for me,” he started, and you stared at the ground, trying to get off his grip. “I don’t need help,” you mumbled, but he didn’t let you go, the grasp around your forearms tightening but still felt consoling.

“Yes, yes you do. Withdrawing yourself into silence won't solve anything, it will only give prominence to your sadness and scars and prevent you from moving on. You don't have anyone to talk to about it anymore, you keep everything to yourself and stay stuck in this state of distress. You helped me avoid death and run away, so let me assist you in breaking away from your past. At least allow me to try,” he whispered those words to you as if he was afraid someone else would hear.

Tears blurred your vision, something that didn't ordinarily happen when the discussion topic was your father. You always managed to hold back your tears, but for reasons that were still unknown to you, with Juyeon, it was like your brain allowed him to see your raw, true side for some reason, despite knowing him for less than an hour. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t from your town and wouldn’t be telling your secrets to anyone else to cause you harm or humiliation.

“One trauma at a time. You need to get some rest first,” you countered his argument by guiding him out of the kitchen, and Juyeon let out a chuckle, frustrated that you cared more about his well-being than yours. “Very well then, but promise me you'll let me help,” he asked as you walked him into the rocking seat where your grandfather used to take his nap when he was still in your life.

"We'll see," you whispered, helping him to sit down before giving him a small smile. He let go of one of your wrists and lifted your hand to his face, placing a kiss on the back of your hand while never breaking eye contact, the action of chivalry making your heart skip a beat.

"Thank you for everything you have done for me," He mumbled before kissing your hand again, his damaged lips curving into a smile as you let your hand linger in his, against his mouth.

[trashytummiez]

Hinata try’s to impress Naruto by doing the 100 bowl ramen challenge and ends up letting some serious belches fly

Hinata fawned when she watched Naruto sitting and pounding away one bowl of ramen after another. She sighed wistfully trying to think of a way to get her friend to notice her better. But she was stumped and unable to think of anything.

While she pondered Naruto continued slurping down his many bowls of ichiraku ramen until they were all sloppily stacked on top of one another in an unwieldy pile. Satisfied with his meal Naruto leaned back against the counter and gave a loud burp as he always did after stuffing himself. "Ahhh that was the best!" Naruto said patting his belly with satisfaction. Hinata blushed as she saw Naruto's tummy was looking pretty bloated after so much ramen.

The old man who cooked the stuff wandered over to collect the bowls and saw the ninja sitting there rubbing his stuffed belly in a satisfied way. "Kid I don't think I've ever met anyone who loves this stuff as much as you do."

Naruto shot the old man a cocky grin. "And ya never will!"

Just then it sank in for Hinata. She knew just how to get Naruto's eyes on her.

"Oh I don't know about that," Hinata spoke up softly. She approached her blond crush and sat down at the table near the counter. "Hello Naruto."

"Oh heya Hinata!" Naruto exclaimed then raised a brow. "Wait whadduya mean ya don't know about that. Have ya seen how much ramen I pack away? I'm here all the time!"

"Indeed you are. Though I've never seen you do this," Hinata replied then turned to the old man. "Is it too late to take the hundred bowl challenge?"

Both Naruto and the old man gaped.

"Well certainly if you're up to it but...I should warn you miss. It's-"

"-A hundred freakin' bowls!" Naruto blurted out.

"That," the old man conceded.

"Oh I think I can manage," Hinata said with an assuring smile.

Neither Naruto nor the old man could believe what they were hearing. But nonetheless the old man quickly got to work whipping up his meal for Hinata. Or as many bowls of the stuff as she would be able to fit inside of her.

Eventually the old man returned with a dozen bowls and quickly got to work making more. Hinata wasted no time downing those bowls in a way that made Naruto's eyes widen with disbelief. She didn't turn into a ravenous pig the way Naruto did whenever he ate stuff he really liked. She maintained that same inhuman calm and just slurped each bowl down heartily with scarcely a pause between bowls.

Her pale throat rhythmically pulsed with one rippling gulp after another. She downed those ramen bowls the way Naruto would down a can of soda.

By the time Hinata was nearly done with her first dozen the old man already had her second dozen ready to go and quickly realized he better get to work on the third set.

Naruto just watched utterly mesmerized at the sight of Hinata slurping down enough bowls to give even Choji or Kiba a run for their money. But surely she couldn't eat more ramen than Naruto.

So he thought.

With all that ramen going down at once Hinata's usually lean and concave tummy was starting to grow rounder beneath her jacket. It was even beginning to get noisy the more ichiraku ramen filled her up. Hinata's tummy gurgled heavily from all the ramen it quickly got to work digesting. And the challenge was just barely over halfway done too.

The old man returned with more bowls then returned to his kitchen looking amazed.

But Hinata looked a little nauseous for a second while her tummy uttered a gaseous grumble.

"Wow you're really goin' to town ain't ya!" Naruto exclaimed eyeing all the bowls Hinata had already devoured.

Hinata smiled and tried to reply. Instead she burped. And it wasn't a petite ladylike puff of air either. It was a big gas riddled burp that sounded like it could've very easily come out of Naruto himself.

BRUUUWAAAAAAAARRRRRHP!!!!!

She quickly covered her mouth and blushed. "Oh do pardon me!"

Naruto just burst into laughter. "Bwahahahaha! Holy cow Hinata! Didn't think ya had that in ya!" He leaned in eagerly. "Can ya do that again?"

Bit of an odd request but it seemed she certainly had Naruto's attention. So Hinata held her bulging tummy and gave the softer portion of it a good squeeze. This shifted another gas pocket up her throat and caused another loud throaty burp to escape Hinata's mouth.

And again Naruto broke into a fit of laughter. Not a teasing sort of laughter but an impressed sort. The kind when a friend told another friend a really funny joke.

"Damn yer just full'uh surprises aren't ya!"

"And ramen," Hinata thought to say earning another laugh from her crush.

She resumed slurping more bowls with her one-man audience. It was quickly becoming apparent that Hinata did indeed have the stomach for this challenge. The stacks continued piling on like a monument to Hinata's surprising gluttony. Each set of bowls only made her tummy grow increasingly more and more bloated and round.

Something that steadily caught Naruto's attention. He started noticing just how big Hinata's stomach was starting to get and found his cheeks getting warmer and warmer.

Hinata was almost looking like she was pregnant after a while of slurping one bowl of ramen after another. At no point did it seem like she was flagging with each dozen the old man brought her. Her belly stretched out to the point where her jacket completely rode up and exposed this big pale orb full of digesting ramen and swaying noisily with her movements.

Hinata eventually finished the hundred bowl and flipped it to show to both Naruto and the old man it was bone dry. She swallowed the rest of it with an especially large gulp that made a big lump push down her throat as the rest of that mouthful slid down into her incredibly swollen belly. The second it was gulped down Hinata leaned back in her chair and released such a huge burp that the bowl stacks shook in place.

HAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUURRRREEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOORRRRRHPPP!!!!!!!!!!

Hinata was way too full to bother excusing herself. Besides which letting that burp out felt amazing. So much so that she gave her belly a resounding pat of relief that made her enormous tummy slosh and ripple under her hand heavily. Which of course only made her burp again.

HHHOOOOOOOUUUUUUURRRRPPP!!!!!!

Naruto whistled. He was very clearly impressed and amazed.

"Damn..." he uttered.

Hinata lazily held up the now empty hundredth bowl and showed it off to Naruto and to the old man.

"I do believe that means I WOOOOOOOONNNN!!!!" Hinata's boast was interrupted when she very embarrassingly burped the end of her sentence out.

That one made her blush a little since it was completely unexpected.

"...Excuse me."

But the old man just gaped.

"...I...can' t believe it," he uttered. "Hope you enjoy free ramen young lady. Because you're going to be getting quite a bit of that for the next week!"

The thought of eating anything made Hinata feel ill. But she couldn't help smile with pride. Especially the way Naruto looked lost for words.

"...Hinata that was..." Naruto struggled to talk. But then he grinned and shouted "that was AWESOME!!!"

Though the blush on Naruto's cheeks wasn't lost on Hinata either. She simply leaned back which made her globe-like tummy slosh heavily in place against her spread thighs. "Thank you very much Nar-URP-to," she blushed and covered her mouth again with a sheepish giggle. "Guess you're not the only one who-urrrp-loves ramen after all."

"Heh. Guess not," Naruto admitted then sat down next to Hinata. He was unable to take his eyes off of her hugely stuffed tummy.

Hinata could feel his infatuation and given the way she shared it she decided to lean back even more so her belly stuck out further bouncing a little from how soft and sloshy all that ramen in her tummy was getting. "Would you like to touch it?" Hinata asked him.

Naruto almost instantly placed his hands against Hinata's mountainous tummy. Hinata couldn't suppress a shudder from how sensitive her soft and swollen stomach felt right now.

"Damn Hinata..." Naruto mused and ran his hand across that vast belly.

Hinata moaned delightedly when Naruto's fingers roamed across her smooth bulging tummy. She could feel his fingers kneading into her soft flesh and instinctively leaned into his touch. The old man was fortunately too busy in the kitchen to notice the intimacy.

But he certainly noticed when another monstrous burp ripped out of Hinata's mouth startled him half to death.

BBBRRRRAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUURRRRREEEEELLLCH!!!!!!

Hinata's burp was so powerful that her belly rippled in Naruto's hands.

The boy shuddered himself at the sight sound and feeling. He grinned despite his own growing blush. "Good one!"

Experimentally Naruto's hand raced over Hinata's bloated pale orb and eventually he pressed into Hinata's belly hard enough that his hand sank slightly into her soft tummy. And out came another deafening burp from the unassuming young girl.

GGRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHYYYUUUUUUUUURRRRRRLLHP!!!!!!!!

"Man and I thought I could burp!" Naruto exclaimed patting Hinata's big jiggling tummy and making her hiccup from the thumps. "I gotta up my game."

"In time I'm sure you will," Hinata said with a smile. "But now you know that there is more to me than meets the eye."

"Guess so," Naruto said with a fondness in his bright blue eyes while his hand glided all across the round bubbling surface of Hinata's swollen tummy. "I wouldn't mind seein' more'uh you..."

Hinata rested her eyes shut and smiled contently.

She wouldn't mind that one bit either.