#no he ain't coated in oil he's just like that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blackenchanting · 1 year

Text

Ravens burrough Remastered episode 1

February first. Year 2016. Location a few miles outside of ravens borough

warning this story is NSFW therefore not made for anyone under the age of 18. Ameila likes to swear

The roaring of engines came as a large airplane flew overhead. The silver and white flying coffin featured a red stripe down the side and four main engines, two on each wing. It flew closer to an airport below inside a detective laid in his seat with a hat over his head snoring silently when he was disturbed by a noise

"Attention passengers we are approaching our destination please be patient while I land this bird. Thank you for flying unnamed american airlines and welcome to ravens burrough" the captain said

"Probably should stop watching movies and reading a book while drunk, that was a weird fuckin dream." Rob said, adjusting his hat.

The plane flew over the airport as a beaten, worn down black 1972 chevy el camino with racing stripes on the hood drove past the front gate greeting the world with a bang from the tailpipe while turning to park alongside the airport. Stoping beside the super modern style airport with a magnet on the bumper that said 'honk if you wanna fuck… no seriously'

After the plane had landed

The detective was wearing a black suit with a beige trench coat over it. That made him look like he'd just stepped out of the 1940's stood outside the airport clearly far more modern than him as a gust of wind blew the hat off his head and away as he stood there without a care.

"Well that's number four. Probably should stop buying hats." The detective said, adjusting his tie. While His eyes gazed upon his surroundings it was good to be home then his eyes landed on the el camino with a pink haired cat girl dressed in a red jacket and daisy dukes with a guitar over her back laying against it and facing the opposite direction and the distant sound of the radio playing from the open window "hey there Delilah what's it like in New York city.. I'ma thousand miles away but girl tonight you look so pretty" a muffled voice sang from the radio.

"New York city sucks ass, and I think I'm part of the mob now, I have no fuckin idea." The detective said walking over to the el camino.

The girls head slowly moved back and forth to the music as she could be heard humming to herself

"Oi! Jailbird!" The detective said. Causing the girl to jump as she admitted a loud cat shreaik. Before turning, revealing a set of aviators on her face and placing a silver and green prosthetic left arm on the hood of the car. In a manner that wasn't thrilled about being scared

"What? Not expecting to be called that?" The detective asked.

"No.. I wasn't expecting you to yell" she said.

"Well sorry, you weren't paying attention." The detective said.

"Thats alright.. I suppose my ears are sensitive" she said rubbing them.

"Sorry Ameila, that's what happens when you don't notice that I was talking." The detective said.

"I'm gonna get you back and you are not gonna like it" Ameila said, opening her car door.

"Oh lord no." The detective said getting in the car

"He ain't got nothing to do with this" Ameila said getting in

"And now I'm even more concerned." The detective said.

The inside of the car was a lot better than the outside with a full leather bench seat. The shifting stick was long and had an 8-ball on top and an air freshener that looked like a snake oil bottle hung from the rear view mirror. With not an ounce of trash to be found.

"Let's get this show on the road already I've had to wear this fuckin outfit for like a week straight." The Detective said. As Ameila laid her guitar behind the seat

"Alright I'm going I'm going no need to be pushy Rob." she said placing her prosthetic hand on the wheel and her right hand on the gear shift and her foot on the brake. And pushing it into drive as they took off. Her movements were a bit restricted but she could still drive fairly well.

"Sorry. Sorry, just excited to be home again." Rob said.

"I understand that, though sometimes you just gotta sit back and enjoy the ride." Ameila said, pulling up to the front gate. She placed her good hand on the radio knob and turned it with a bang from the exhaust the car swerved onto the road.

"I'm gonna enjoy the ride, but I'm more interested in the destination really." Rob said.

"Good ol unknown town USA" Ameila said.

"That's the worst nickname for the town ever." Rob said.

"What would you call it. We can't use weirdest little town in the USA" Ameila said

"Hmm. Good point." Rob said. as they past a rundown gas station called two point gas and go

"Loneliest little town in the USA?" Ameila asked shifting gear

"Definitely not. There's a shit load of couples and families." Rob said.

"No wait I got it" Ameila said

"We should call it unknown town USA!" She added.

"Perfect!" Rob said.

"Anyway so how was it" Ameila asked

"Eh, not much of interest really. Turns out the guy I was looking into joined the mob to support his family here and he doesn't want them mixed up in all that." Rob said.

"Guess it really is a small world huh" Ameila said

"Now he owes me several favors because of things I'm not legally allowed to disclose." Rob said.

"What the hell did you do this time" Ameila said

"Dealt with a human trafficking operation." Rob said

"Involving?" Ameila asked

"Not the mob if that's what you're asking. Chinese triads. Nasty business." Rob said.

"Ah then I guess I don't need to use the toy in the glove box then" Amelia said

"Like I said the mob owes me favors, they were adamant about getting rid of that operation. The guy in charge is actually a lot more level headed and actually has mostly respectable ethics." Rob said. Opening the glove box out of curiosity as a silver Smith and Wesson Model 500 fell in his lap

"OH! I see. I prefer mine though." Rob said

"Dont let it fool you that baby packs a punch. Now please put it back" Ameila said

"It's a model 500, of course it packs a punch. I prefer a 45 though, they also pack a punch but don't result in insane recoil." Rob said, putting the gun back.

"I prefer my Smith and Wesson Model 500. Because I don't even have to shoot it to scare people off" Amelia said

"Fair." Rob said.

"I won that baby at the craps table" Ameila said

"That sounds like a lie Eva used. At least twice. In fact, didn't you tell me you won it in a game of corn hole?" Rob asked.

"Could have sworn I said I won it at a knife throwing game at a fair" Ameila said

"That was another one. Blackjack, poker, backgammon, fuckin trivia. Shit you not fuckin scrabble." Rob said.

"I won it somewhere k? I've forgotten over the years" Ameila said

"Yeah. I know." Rob said. As the truck car hybrid flew down the a small hill and drove next to a large river driving towards a small plaza

"Are you hungry?" Ameila asked

"God yes." Rob said.

"Thrill Grill" it is Ameila said turning into the drive through and pulling around to the menu

"Double bacon cheeseburger." Rob said.

"Good choice" Ameila said

"Hi welcome to thrill burger! How can we serve you today" a voice asked

"One The Road Not Bacon. With extra bacon. And two Cheddar Late Than Nevers with a large fry and. Large coke… you want a drink" Ameila asked

"Make that two large cokes, one with no ice." Rob said.

"And another large coke with no ice" Ameila added

"Alright that's one The road not Bacon. With extra bacon. Two cheddar late than nevers a large fry and two large Cokes one without ice" the voice asked

"That is correct." Ameila replied

"Twenty dollars first window please" the voice said

"Awesomeness." Rob said.

"My wallets in the glove box. Can you get it please and not let my gun come flying out?" Ameila asked

"Here." Rob said, handing her a twenty dollar bill from his wallet.

"Absolutely fucking not" Ameila said rejecting it

"What I'm offering to pay as thanks for picking me up." Rob said, grabbing Ameila's wallet anyway.

Which was long half black half white with a yin yang on it

"Dude I got more money than I know what to do with" Ameila said

"Fair enough." Rob said.

Soon they were back on the road and they passed a sign that said Welcome to Ravens Borough, Oregon. The perfect place to start a family

"Gooood morning Ravens burrough and Ravens claw this is your host Jack mickfinagen bringing you the news. Today's forecast is sunny with a high of 63 an. Later tonight we'll be reviving a visit from our old friend the purple fog. And if you're feeling bored. This weekend is the annual anniversary of our town. Come on down to Raven's burrough national park and learn about your founding mother and receive a speech from local mayors elizabeth morningstar and Athena morningstar. There will be games and free food. And rides " An enthusiastic male voice said over the radio. As the el camino drove through town coming to a stop outside a modest yet still rundown two story detectives office

"I am so gonna need to change jobs at some point because that place could collapse whenever." Rob said.

"Looks fine to me it just has abit of character" Ameila said

"It definitely does." Rob said. Opening the door to get out as a bucket of water fell on his head

"How in the hell did that even happen." Rob said.

"Life is full of many mysteries" Ameila said taking off

"Well at least I have another reason to get out of this outfit." Rob said entering the office to see a five foot two albino woman with shoulder length hair wearing a black sweater, jeans and red and black striped socks that go up behind the jeans sitting on his desk.

"Welcome home, looks like I'm not the only one who's wet." The woman said with a giggle as Rob casually walked over and kissed her.

"Fuck I missed you Eva." Rob said as the woman wrapped her arms and legs around him.

"And I missed you too." Eva said.

"I'm glad to be back. New York was… interesting. Dealt with a human trafficking operation, helped the guy that was worried his wife was cheating on him. That's gonna take a long while to explain to his wife." Rob said.

"Stop talking. I'm already wet." Eva said as Rob picked her up and carried her up the stairs to their apartment.

Ameila's feet slapped through the water under her while she walked away from her car and through an alley way wearing an old barmaid outfit with the color scheme dark red and white. Turning left as she came to a set of stairs that were hidden and didn't stand out against the alleyway and slowly made her way down. Reaching the bottom where she turned her head to the left where a medium sized led sign flickered and buzzed with the words Hearts of Steel on it.

0 notes

silverskye13 · 2 years

Text

An Interview in Hels

A tall man sits down at the desk. His blonde hair is a mess, and he seems oddly fragile without the horned helm on. It'd been a fight to get him to take it off. He scowls, all sharp edges, broken glass.

"Let's get this over with."

"My hermit?" She curls a strand of red hair around her pale finger. "Couldn't care less about her, I don't think. I've got my own stuff going on. Besides, she's already dead, technically. That means I've won, right?"

She raises an eyebrow condescendingly. “Right.”

"I thought we weren't going to interview me. I mean, I don't mind. I like talking. But I don't have a hels."

The man grins. His youthful features are new. The mischief in his eyes is not.

"Not anymore anyway. Not anymore."

"Ye be wasting my time with this." The man growls, because that seems to be the only tone his voice can take. It might be a side-effect of the axe, or it might just be his dramatic flair. "I don't care for my hermit. Why would I? The man's a coward. He made me, didn't he?"

"Welsknight. What a laugh." He sniffs haughtily, rolling his eyes. "The man's hardly a knight - unless his tenets of chivalry include being a pathetic mess and avoiding conflict like the plague. In which case he's the best knight around. And he has the nerve to think he's the stronger of the two of us? I was forged in flame. What's he made of? Fairy dust?"

She giggles. "Oh I fink she's adorable. You see all the pink she wears? Got a mean streak in 'er too, and a god named after 'er. You don't get much better than that."

She kicks her feet up on the desk nonchalantly, like she owns the place. Her boots are black and studded, as is the rest of her outfit, and her dyed hair. "I mean, not my style really, but I can respect it. I'm gonna be honest luv, I think she could do me in. But why would she? She's got too much goin' on, and we're a bit too different anyway, ain't we? You oughta be interviewin' them poor sods is fading out. They'll care more than I do."

She twirls a necklace in between her fingers, content to let her attention wander away from the interview.

"Yeah, I confronted my hels. We were a lot alike." He's given up the pretense of humanity and is floating on his back over the chair, making himself comfortable. A pair of blue vex wings flicker faintly, filling the air with the crackle of magic. His lab coat brushes the chair he's supposed to be sitting in.

"Well I guess really he confronted me. Scrawny kid. Nothing wrong with that but I had more experience. And the smarts. He was fast though. Taught me a thing or two about speed running. He thought fast too. I think he was more of the speed chess kind of person.”

"I guess I think he's terrifying?" He laughs nervously, and ice curls with his breath. "I mean, you've seen what he does with the ravagers, and the redstone farms and the death machines. I always kinda thought he should be the hels anyway, since he's got all the fire-ificatory stuff going on."

He runs his claws through his hair, and the air is chilled as he sighs. "Though I guess I would think that. None of us really thinks we're the bad guys here, right?"

"Okay fine, I'll answer your damn questions, but if the feds ask, I was never here. You got me?" He has square glasses and forest green hair, and there's a fresh burn scar showing underneath his shirt. It seems like the last of his concerns right now.

"Yeah I think he's a coward. He calls his dumb tweets social justice? I'll show you what justice is. Justice is a pipe bomb on an oil rig - and there's one in your mailbox next week if you breath a word, am I clear?"

He’s twitchy, and rightfully so. His eyes case the room, searching for hidden cameras and microphones, and anything else that could capture evidence he was here.

“I think he’s the hels anyway. You’re telling me we’re the dark mirrors of these people? I admit, I have a bit of uhh… avant-garde approach to justice. But at least I try. That man cowers in his builds every day, making the world better with stupid pretty things. Who’s that helping? Who’s that saving? If I’m hels, heaven’s pathetic, and if you’re sharing this with our hermits, you can tell him I said that.”

He stands abruptly and leaves, slamming the door behind him. He has places to be, and a long list of important organizations to infiltrate and burn to the ground.

“I shouldn’t even exist. None of us should,” he snarls, and he fingers the axe scar on his neck. “We do because they’re too weak without us. Always lookin’ fer someone to blame, that lot. Someone responsible fer all their fell woes. None of us asked for this, did we? Nay, we just picked up the messes they dropped.”

He chuckles, and the furred cloak on his shoulders bristles like the hackles on a wolf. “I was made by the point of a blade, and I’ll see him suffer by one, ye can count on that mate. He can run, but he cannae hide from the boogieman in his reflection.”

“Kill her? No way!” she laughs like you’ve told a joke. There is a moon-shaped doodle she’s made on her wrist, and she adds rays to it with a red pen she hid in her sock. The doodle looks a bit like an eclipse, or a blood moon, or some other moon-based astrological weirdness. She’s probably hiding more things. The pat-down on the way in hadn’t robbed her of much. “I mean I could, don’t get me wrong. But that kinda ruins the point of it all, doesn’t it? We’re not supposed to exist, not really. So what happens then, when you get rid of the half of you that is supposed to exist?”

She shrugs, and her smile is radiant. Her eyes are red. “Well I don’t know. That’s why I asked you. All I know is Doc’s hels disappeared one day, and I can’t even remember what he looked like. Same thing with Hypno and Cub and… well… a lot of them really. Best not to tempt fate if you ask me. I quite like being alive and remembered, you know.”

She rests her chin on her interlaced fingers. “Sucks though, don’t it? I bet she’d be a fun fight. I don’t think anyone else would be enough of a challenge.”

“Iskall? Yeah, we worked together for a little while.” the assassin has a red beret, and they’re cleaning the glass on the sight they keep clipped to their glasses. Their rifle is propped against the door - they wouldn’t do the interview without it. “I wonder how they’re doing now? No, don’t tell me. It’s best we stay distant.”

They shrug, “That’s why we broke it off, you know. I mean, I’d made peace with it. Death is inevitable in this line of work. I didn’t really think it was all that different from getting shot on a job. I mean, there’s no respawning from something like that, but if you’re off-world, or on a hardcore server, same stakes right?”

They give a reminiscing sigh. “They were the more soft hearted out of the two of us though. Sentimental. So they insisted when they found out, that we do whatever we could to keep me alive. I’d have preferred the friend. You don’t get many with this kind of job.”

They resituated their sight over their eye, and tapped a button on their glasses. Some redstone circuit remade itself, and a small electronic overlay flickered to life on the red glass of the sight. “We breached the topic once, on what would happen if it was them or me. I offered we go to a hardcore world, get it over with. I figured they’d win, honestly, and I think they thought so too. They wouldn’t do it.”

They smirk, “Most people call that mercy, I think. I don’t much care for it, but it wasn’t my decision to make.”

“What, couldn’t get Evil X here so you settled on second best? Hahaha very funny. Yes whatever, I’m his hels. Yes I hate his guts. Can we go now?”

The creature in the chair is a shadow, with bloodshot eyes that imply a lack of sleep.

“What do you mean you’ve got more questions? I don’t care about your questions. I’m supposed to be haunting that idiot right now. He’s sleeping. Every night at sundown. This is my only time to terrorize-- yes this is important. Do I look like I’m doing this for fun? My life depends on this! You wouldn’t understand. You’re not a hels. You don’t get it. Last time he thought I was tolerable, we both disappeared for-- for----”

He looks confused, like his train of thought left him abruptly. He shakes his head, “Do you think this is funny? There are lives-- my life is at stake here! Hurry up with your next question.”

“He needs to be taught a lesson. He needs to be strong. I need to be strong. I’m the only one looking out for us.” He doesn’t look nervous, he looks stern. He reaches to tuck a strand of his blonde hair behind his ear so it doesn’t fall in his face. “Look, I already know I’m not different enough. I’m not like EX, or Cleo, or Joe. That just comes easy for them. They’re their own people now, and that’s great for them. But what about the rest of us? Those of us who only ever became mirrors? Mirrors shatter.”

He sighs, and he interlaces his gauntleted fingers together.

“I’m a knight. I can’t be self-serving in this. It doesn’t matter what I want. I’m helping hels, and all the helsmits and evil doubles that get tossed in there and left until their other halves finally do something about it. If that makes me like him, so be it. This isn’t about me. I’ve made peace with that.”

“I always kinda wondered what would happen if a hermit lost.”

He’s playing with his vex magic in the air, spinning a ball of it on an outstretched finger, reveling in the fact that he can. “We always hear about how the hels are our other halves - inner demons, the worst parts of us, evil twins, whatever you wanna call it. And I get that’s scary for some people. But I’m a vex man.”

He shrugs. “I kinda wondered what would happen if I lost… just for the heck of it. And he really wanted to win, you know. He avoided me for a long time. And when we finally decided to fight it out, he used every advantage he had. But he was the half of me that wasn’t supposed to exist, you know. The universe favors us. It always does.”

He smirks and drops back to his feet, standing behind the chair. His vex wings flex. “I really wanted him to win. Maybe that’s why I turned out this way. It feels a little less like I took back over, you know? We’re halves. I embraced it. Sure I look a little different, and my blood boils a little different. But I made a new speedrunning record this year. Did you see it?”

Cub shoves his hands in the pockets of his labcoat and shrugs.

“I think he could do it faster. Absolutely.”

#the barking writer #Through Hels or High Water #helsmits #hermitcraft #uhm i'm not tagging all of them #there's a lot of them here #anyway this is very much inspired by theminecraftbee's interview with the dead as far as format goes #i thought it'd be fun to experiment with a bunch of the helsmits here #try and spot which ones are which #The Red King Hels

381 notes · View notes

theodorevg923 · 3 years

Text

Werebeast FNAF AU

WERE!FNAF X Gen Reader

Cause thanks to getrammed I can't get this outta my head. I've been writing it with Bonnie's Bar n Lounge and I'm taking a break so let's do some world building!

(Been working on this for a couple weeks!)

Feel free to use snippets off it. I'd love to see what ya make with it!

(Updated May 9 '22)

I'll update it eventually

Master List!

Really long with ⚠️ NSFW Rut Habits info!

⚠️⚠️⚠️🔞🔞🔞

Lots of kinks, arachnophobia, and slight gore

Glamrock Band:

Freddy:

Brown Bear

7' 10"

Age: 34

Leader of the band and singer, co-owner of the plex

Relationship: Unknown

Werebear Bite: TBA

Breeding Habits: Oh ho, ya thought this bear was SOFT? Just wait, ya see how he truly is during breeding season. Special room built within his office, away from from prying eyes. Only the best for his SUPERSTAR! A massive bed in this dark den, piled high with pillows and silk sheets. Being the owner of the plex, he can't spend all day with ya, but that doesn't mean ya can escape! Bound to the room, all ya could ever need will be there. His desires to fill ya up are strongest at night, writhing beneath this big bear. Soaked and dripping, bites and scratches galore, his desires for CUBS overwhelm ya. Don't worry, he won't let ya fall as ya moans and whimpers drown out his roars.

Monty:

American Alligator

Age: 25

Bass player, runs Gator Golf

Relationship: Spiked / WerePanther @spikedsoul

Weregator Bite: Worst bite in the plex. Bit at the young age of 7 years old by a feral weregator.

Taken in by Freddy and Bonnie at age 15.

Breeding Habits: Alligators are typically monogamous, but not this one! Expect nests in both his room and deep in Gator Golf. Mating for alligators is simple but an exquisite show of strength, AGILITY, and stamina. Expect rough sex and a lot of LOVE bites, rolling ya around, wrapping his body around. Don't think ya can escape, cause he will keep ya in the nest for days, cock warming is a GODSEND with this alligator. Coming to breed ya after every show, all his anger turned to lust and desire. In the still of the night, this alligator's guttural growl will have ya soaked, swimming in the clear pools.

Roxy:

Grey Wolf

6' 8"

Age: 25

Keytaurist, runs Roxy Raceway and Roxy's Salon

Werewolf Bite: Unwillingly bitten at the age of 15 causing self esteem issues.

Raised under Foxy's care after her bite.

Breeding Habits: RUN! This werewolf lives for the chase between . Once she catches ya, everything's over. Wolves don't den much until pups are born, but there will be two in the Raceway and her room. She will take ya after every show, for every chase. Her favorite is the Raceway Shop, smell of ya juices, sweat, metal, and oils driving her FERAL. Be prepared for her to eat ya out nonstop, nips between ya legs, belly, thighs, and ya neck. If toys are ya thing, there will be bites to ya back n neck during WOLF style. Unless ya don't mind scars, scratches will be soft and gentle to prevent scarring.

Chica:

Sussex Chicken

6' 3"

Age: 29

Guitarist, runs Mazersize and Roxy's Salon

Werechicken Bite: TBA

Breeding Habits: OH, ya thought she was just a sweet chicken? Wait until breeding season, she ain't such a softie then. Better get ya stretches in first cause this girl will try EVERY position possible. Nests will be in her room, kitchen closet, and a hidden room in the Mazercise, coated in her FEATHERS just for ya. Chickens don't normally have teeth, but werechickens do! Bites will be galore, eating up the taste of ya skin and soft bites. And she will LOVE to eat ya out, coating ya in food, devouring it off ya flesh.

Daycare:

Sun:

Eastern Coyote

9' 3"

Age: 24

Daycare Attendant, runs daycare with Moon, and runs the children's theater.

Werecoyote Bite: Bit at the age of 17.

Breeding Habits: This coyote keeps his den high above the plex, in the balcony. A loud howler, romps with him are fun with teasing and tickling. Drawing all over ya skin as a CANVAS, washable or edible PAINTS of course! Soft blankets, pillows and plushies will fill the den ya share. Just because this coyote is gentle with children, doesn't mean he is with ya. Bites and scratches mark was skin in patterns and designs. The FUN never ends with this one!

Moon:

Eastern Coyote

9' 3"

Age: 24

Daycare Attendant, runs daycare with Sun, head of security

Werecoyote Bite: Bit the same time as Sun, age 17.

Breeding Habits: Stolen from Sun, this coyote is much different than his twin. Bound, BLINDED, and gagged high in a suspended nest above the daycare. He competes with the bites his twin left, making his own designs. He prefers ya SOFT moans, watching ya body seize in the dark. Sweet nothings are whispered in ya ear, taking ya long and slow. Gentle squeezes and caresses, cock warming as ya SLEEP so peacefully. Be warned, this coyote has a thing for somnophilia.

Others:

Bonnie:

Flemish Rabbit

8' 2"

Age: 34

Retired from the band. Runs Bonnie's Bowl and Bonnie's Bar n Lounge, bouncer of the bar. Co-owner of the plex.

Relationship: TBA

Wererabbit Bite: TBA

Breeding Habits: Rabbits are well know for their breeding habits and his one ain't any different. Ya will have a BURROW in his room, but he will take ya anywhere, anytime a hint of arousal hits his ears. Rabbits are known to be QUICK, but not this one. This rabbit is loud, purring and growling, taking ya for hours at a time. Being the most violent in the plex, he will pepper ya in bites, loving every one of ya screams and moans. If ya try to leave, he will BIND ya down. Can't be having his cottontail escaping! This rabbit is the ultimate dom, breaking ya down to need only HIM, forever.

Foxy:

Red Fox

Age: 32

7' 5"

Captain Foxy of Pirate Cove

Relationship: [FINALLY] Rosebush Twins; Raspberry and Karvelia / humans

Werefox Bite: TBA

Breeding Habits: This fox loves his tricks, even more so during breeding season. His den can be found deep in the bowels of the ship, ever suspended HAMMOCK with exquisite pillows, silks and satins. Bondage play if wonderful with the fox, just the right tension to suspend ya from the ceiling in SILK ties, blinded and gagged by bandanas. He will adorn ya body in oils and RICHES, praising ya for hours. Nipping and licking at ya supple skin, coated in whiskey and RUM. Don't worry about leaving Captain's quarters, he'll keep ya well fed as he breeds ya every night, desperate for crewmates.

DJMM:

Zebra Spider

10' 7"

Age: ?

Runs Music Man's Dancefloor n Karaoke

Relationship: unknown

Werespider bite: Werespiders are rare. Not much is know about their bites and DJMM will not speak of his.

Breeding Habits: A special nest high above the dancefloor, woven of spider threads and SILK ribbons. Wrapped and bound in his threads, this spider will worship ya as he breeds ya. Bites caress ya skin, greedy for the SWEET liquid contained within. This spider lives to dance all night, bound in the night for an endless ritual. Ya squeals and cries echo through the dance floor, in a SONG just for him. Ambrosia drips from his fangs, in a never ending high of ecstasty. The world disappears, lost in his gentle embrace of music.

WereBlobby: [NOT CANON]

Not much is known about this... creature.

Said to have been infected with an unknown bacterial infection.

Simply put, it's grotesque. Rotting flesh perpetually drips from it's various species bones, black blood pouring out in rivulets. Supposedly contains remains of animals and werecreatures it's consumed. Bear, fox, rabbit, and other creatures heads and limb protrudes through shifting flesh. Various HEARTBEATS can be found within and heard in the ever present silence.

It doesn't mean any harm, it lost it's conciousness and hunger a long time ago. But if ya gentle and QUIET, it might either leave ya alone, or approach CURIOUSLY. Forming a bond with it is the key to survival.

If ya try to hurt it, ya will NEVER be found again.

WereMice / WereRats:

Security team of the plex.

Breeding Habits: They each have their own nests throughout the plex, knowing every blind spot. Hiding ya away, they'll adorn ya with treasure, cherishing ya with everything they are. Getting FED by them is the best, bringing anything ya crave as they pound away, breeding ya as quick as they can. LOVE bites all over, scratches gracing ya body as they cuddle ya against their soft fur, deep in the plush nests.

WereGerbils:

Janitors of the plex.

Breeding Habits: Cleanest hidden nests throughout the plex, stowing away merch and snacks. Feeding ya SWEETS as they soak up the warmth from ya body. Gently caressing galore, cock warming deep inside the soft warmth of ya flesh. Ya be kept SAFE they wrap around ya, desperate to keep ya forever.

Megaplex History!

Freddy took over ownership of the old pizzeria at the age of 20 in 1993 after the death of his father when the original pizzeria burned along with the original band.

Megaplex was built years 5 later in 1998, starring Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica as the original band.

In 2003, Bonnie retired from the band, allowing Monty and Roxy to take their places.

Megaplex expanded afterwards for Bonnie's Bowl, Bonnie's Bar n Lounge, Pirate Cove, Roxy's Salon, and Chica's Cafe.

Werebite Lore!

Once bitten, human form is gone for good. Only other form possible is feral.

Transformation can occur at any age, but the saliva that causes said transformation is not produced by the werecreatures until they have matured.

For a transformation to occur, direct contact of the weresaliva with the bloodstream is needed.

Once a were goes feral, there is no returning. Turning feral is still not fully understood as many reasons can cause it. But turning feral is when a werecreature fully transforms into said animal species.

Werecreatures can conceive but only during their rut season that varies my species.

During each species' rut season, the werebite saliva production is suspended.

Stay Cruel Until The End! - Theodore

Posted Mar 25 '22

129 notes · View notes

boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

🌻 masterlist 🌻 taglist 🌻

BAD TOUCH | SIDE A

me and you, baby, ain't nothing but mammals, so let's do it like they do it on discovery channel!

For @slothspaghettiwrites , a crack treated seriously addition to her monsterdrabble contest. This is the first side of a two-sided fic, the second part will come out sometime... Sometime. And it will have feral!Reader and Loki.

Sam Wilson x shy!f!Reader. Rated Explicit, contains: unethical lab accidents, fake a/b/o meaning the reader has a 'heat', acquisition of animalistic features/traits, oral and PIV sex, Sam's foul mouth, and, uhh, a lisp. This is crack treated seriously! Word count: a whopping 8,7k.

Sloth, I finished it up as soon as I could. Please don't be sad, you're too cute for that, besides - sad backwards is das and das not good. I love you so much, girl!

"Dr. Banner, I'll give respect where it's due, but that reaction was way too unstable for us to be able to safely attempt this experiment on a larger scale," your words, however patiently spoken, fell on deaf ears.

"Listen, I've got it almost figured out. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?" The man himself, the genius, the scientist, energetically gestured towards a set of beakers and a small, round machine that looked like a futuristic Roomba, it's numerous lights blinking at rapid intervals. "A little explosion never hurt anybody. Tony blows something up every other day and he's none the worse for wear!" Dr. Banner argued, his lab coat bearing suspicious stains of soot and motor oil and something vividly purple.

Before you could get another word in, your friend and colleague rapidly shook her head, crossing her arms in defiance. "Sir, we're not talking about a boom and some flying sparkles. We don't know how this will affect the area around the device, Hell, we don't even know its range of action. We could all end up being," she paused to roll her eyes and gesture with her hand wildly. "Like, donkeys, or something."

A loud chortle interrupted the argument, followed by a click as the fourth person in the room finally stepped up and into the conversation.

"Is that your way of saying your boss is an ass?" Tony Stark arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow in the direction of your friend. When she didn't budge on her stance, set in her resolve, Tony's smirk turned into a toothy grin. "I'll allow it. Just this once."

You hid your smile, briefly ducking your head to avoid your bosses' stares: part pleading, part annoyed, you willed yourself not to budge, not to give into their, at times, childish curiosity.

"Look, I'm not saying that we can fix whatever happens, IF it happens," Mr. Stark spread his arms. "But I'm a genius and Bruce is not too bad at this science stuff, either," walking over to the device, Tony began to mess around with the cables attached to it.

"Thanks," Dr. Banner replied dryly, fighting the smile creeping up his face.

You felt a headache begin to crawl up the nape of your neck and judging by the drawn-out, loud sigh coming from your friend, she wasn't too far off from turning around and walking out of the lab, employment be damned.

This time, you didn't resist the urge to cross your arms and stare down the two grown men who insisted on using high-end laboratory equipment like a kindergarten playroom toy box. Mr. Stark had procured a screwdriver from only God knew where and Dr. Banner was flicking some of the switches on the remote; despite their best efforts to explain it, you still had no idea what the machine was actually supposed to do.

Mr. Stark's explanation sounded like a bad re-telling of the horror movie Splice; Dr. Banner's mad ramble about animal DNA and hybrids didn't make much more sense, either.

Your friend, the polar opposite of yourself - meaning a lack of a filter and general disregard for appropriate office behaviour - had muttered a joke about nerds and catgirls under her breath. A joke that Dr. Banner heard, causing the man to blush crimson, but even the teasing and mocking didn't halt his resolve to continue his odd experiment.

The machine beeped a few times, sounding sadder and sadder with every little noise, lights slowing their flicker as Mr. Stark stuck his hand, up to the wrist, in it's guts.

"Bruce, I need my soldering iron and size 3 screws," Mr. Stark mumbled.

"Go get them," Dr. Banner rolled his eyes, rolling over in his chair to a wide set of screens, where you assumed the project's control panel was located.

The other man scoffed but removed himself from the machine, rapidly walking over to the adjacent lab as you and your friend geared up for the final attempt of discouraging the two men from potentially causing a serious lab accident. Ms. Potts would appreciate your efforts nonetheless, but a successful diversion could result in a bonus for both of you - and who were you to say no to that?

The machine beeped again, this time louder than ever before, all lights suddenly turning green. The bottom disc on it began to turn slowly, picking up speed as Dr. Banner looked up, eyes widening in alarm.

Everything happened too damn quickly.

One moment, you were looking into your friend's wide, surprised eyes and the next moment there was a flash. It was almost noiseless, sounding more like a muted clap - and you found yourself on the floor, blinking away the blur of the ceiling and fighting a strange, full-body nausea, as your senses were suddenly assaulted with an avalanche of noises you had never heard before.

Something was whirring, a steady low hum overlaying the cacophony of all the various noises. You'd landed on something that made for a truly excruciating pain bloom in your tailbone and on top of that, your nose itched so violently, you weren't sure which sensation was worse - the pain or the itch.

"What the frick frackity fuck?!" You heard your friend yelp, a pained moan quickly followed by the sound of thundering, booming footsteps.

Dr. Banner. His green problem. Oh fuck...

"Are you okay?" His voice shrieked, pitched in distress. "I-..." He abruptly stopped, falling to his knees with a thud right next to your head.

"What the hell?" Mr. Stark's voice was a quiet murmur somewhere above you. "Bruce..."

A quiet curse left your friend's mouth, followed by frantic shuffling, the sound of her keychain dragging against the tiled floor grating, nearly unbearable. "No-o, that's sensitive," she whined suddenly, making your ears twitch sympathetically.

Ears. Twitch.

You blinked furiously, brain unable to properly sync the external stimuli your body was receiving. Horror dawned on you as you came to a shuddering realization that the noises - the sounds around you, weren't coming from your ears, they didn't enter your brain from the sides of your head, where human ears were usually located.

Oh no.

Something soft and droopy on top of your head, that was the source of the rapidly approaching migraine. Fingers shaking and eyes still unseeing, you lifted a hand to the top of your head, groping around your hair for something that definitely was not supposed to be there.

"I have rabbit ears," you said quietly, to yourself, voice dripping with disbelief.

"And a tail," your friend, previously occupied with whining about something or another, supplied unhelpfully, sounding almost... Excited. "Try to wag it!"

"I'm not wagging my tail," you shot back abruptly, still caught up in the absurdity of the situation. As a human being, you were not even supposed to have a tail! Your ears twitched again as the desire to bolt and hide overcame you, your body curling in on itself.

"It feels good," your friend immediately defended, causing Mr. Stark to explode in a fit of nervous laughter. Dr. Banner chuckled, too, mostly out of confusion. "I'm pretty sure I can hear shapes and colours," she remarked after a brief pause.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just..." Mr. Stark lowered the volume of his laughter to quiet giggling.

You tried to sit up but the floor was too hard for you, now that the tail end of your butt had what felt like a round ball of fluff attached to it - fluff that was surprisingly sensitive. It did not appreciate being smushed between the tight waist of your work trousers and the hard floor.

Sitting up on your knees, you saw your friend's identical struggles. Even despite being much more relaxed about her work attire (not that Stark Industries cared), she had come to the same conclusion, sitting her butt on her calves.

Now that you had the time to get a good look at the situation, the first thing you noticed was the mischievous grin adorning your friend's face.

A toothy one at that; touching your hand to your mouth, your eyes zeroed in on the slightly enlarged front teeth protruding between your friend's lips. As your eyes raked over her, they lingered on a set of floppy, oversized rabbit ears protruding from her hair. They matched the tone and texture of it perfectly; against your best judgement, you had to admit they looked bizarrely fitting. It was safe to assume her tail would be the same, fur matching her hair.

Her nose twitched, bringing your attention to your own snoot - several long, gentle whiskers protruded from it, barely moving, vibrating oh so gently seemingly with tune with the hum that surrounded you in the large science lab full of various equipment.

"Okay, okay," Mr. Stark slapped his knees, startling himself when both you and your friend jumped. The noise sounded like a thunder clap to your enhanced hearing. "Sorry," he grimaced, catching your eyes. "Okay, this is adorable," not deterred by your embarrassed groaning at all, he walked over to crouch in front of you, eyes sparkling. "You okay, Space Jam?"

"Yes," you nodded indecisively. "No. I'm a rabbit," you tried to summarize your emotions but only short puffs of exhales came out. The sudden increase in sensation, the loud machines, it was all so new and so terrifying.

Your heart raced, jumping down in your belly and up in your throat. The urge to flee was becoming overwhelming.

"Those rabbit instincts pack a punch," Mr. Stark remarked, slowly and carefully extending a hand, placing it between your ears. Your eyelids fluttered shut as calloused but gentle fingers began to rub around the base of your ears. It was completely mortifying how quickly your heartbeat returned to normal.

The bafflement only grew as you watched your friend suddenly leap up, all but running to the nearest reflective surface to examine her new appendages.

The curiousity didn't stop there either; in the elevator, under the amused stares of both scientists, you allowed yourself to lift your eyes from the floor and face your new (temporary - it was temporary) form in the mirror.

Sure as you were already, it was shocking to see your own set of floppy ears that matched your hair colour. They moved and twitched in response to the flurry of emotions you felt upon seeing yourself like this; your whiskers swayed timidly; you felt your tail shake with your nerves.

As the elevator door opened, you let the two men to take the lead, the urge to hide once again overwhelming as several people in a large room sat, wearing expectant faces.

Steve Rogers stood up, and being a good head taller than the scientists, his concerned gaze immediately landed on you and your friend. You shrunk under his gaze as the blonde's eyebrows furrowed together, mouth falling open almost comically slow. "I-..."

"So, we have a bit of a situation..." Tony began.

"I'm literally part rabbit," your friend snorted, attracting another tall, confused man to the party. Loki stood up, his trademark cheeky smirk morphing into an expression identical to Rogers': eyes wide, mouth agape.

"I thought that was possible only in those Japanese cartoons?" Bucky Barnes's voice bled confusion and suspicion.

"Well, you see..." Bruce began with a sigh, taking off his glasses to nervously rub them on his lab coat.

You stood awkwardly, partially obscured by Tony's rapidly gesturing form as he was coming up with excuse after excuse for the freakish lab accident that made you and your friend a little more discovery channel than strictly necessary. The noise was growing in volume and so was your discomfort; previously most content to be hidden by Tony, you now desperately wished to be anywhere else but in the vicinity of the yelling men.

Captain Steve Rogers certainly didn't hold back his opinion on the involvement of random interns in unethical human experiments.

Your friend made some big eyes at Loki, twitching one ear and then the other, bursting into a fit of gleeful giggles as the Asgardian cracked a reluctant smile of his own. She was known around the tower for her sense of humour and willingness to partake in occasional mischievous tomfoolery and the Asgardian definitely had caught on the tail end of her antics several times.

Unfortunately, you just could not see things the same way. Not nearly as outgoing or confident, you preferred the quiet of the corner of your lab to the bustling of the company, content to do your part without unnecessary human interactions. The sudden enhancement of your senses was definitely a curse, not a blessing: even the electricity humming in the walls was just too much.

"You're scaring her, morons," a thick, rich voice suddenly interrupted Mr. Stark's and Captain Rogers's bickering. The Falcon - Sam Wilson - stepped into your line of view, glaring scary daggers at the two, extending a friendly palm towards you. "Would you like a glass of water?"

"Yes, please," you replied in a small voice, taking the offered hand and following Sam into the kitchen. Once you were safely settled at the counter and the door to the common room was shut, you allowed yourself to relax. Your ears fell into your hair. "Sorry, everything is just too loud."

Sam slid a glass of water over, lowering his tone. "Your senses are affected?" He seemed only appropriately curious.

"My hearing, yes," you nodded shyly, catching the tilt of his lips. "And I think something else. I have this sudden urge to run away and hide whenever I get uncomfortable," admitting that caused your face to bloom with heat.

Sam whistled softly, leaning on the counter in front of you, biceps bulging out under his plain t-shirt. He was friendly enough but you could swear you felt an unhappy undertone to him, almost like he was disappointed in something.

"They will fix you in no time," he offered. "Every other week something weird happens in this fuckin' house," he chuckled and you had no choice but to giggle in response.

You knew. Everybody knew, really. There was even a betting pool.

A soft knock; the Black Widow entered the kitchen, shooting you a mildly interested glance. "Tony has prepared guest quarters for you to stay while they work on reversing your condition," she stated curtly but compassionately. "Someone will stop by your house to grab the things you'll need so make a list. A week's worth of stuff, just in case," Natasha raised her eyebrows, seeing you on the verge of bolting once more.

A whole week stuck like this? Like... Like some sort of scaredy little rodent? Your rational mind intervened: no matter how good the safety of your den... Den?! No, house - sounded, it was way more practical to be within a minute's distance from the labs and all the equipment needed to un-rabbit your human self.

"Okay," you nodded decisively despite the terror, voice meek. Somehow, you found yourself feeling sorry for every rabbit and hare that ever existed.

"We have good sound isolation here," Sam, once again, was your saviour. "I'll show you to the rooms, alright? And explain everything. This place is a little too high tech for us regular people," the last words were spoken with no malice but with an obvious jab towards Mr. Stark.

Chuckling nervously, you followed a pace behind the bulky man, past the still-arguing Avengers, past Thor who was shoveling in popcorn at an impressive rate and past your friend, who didn't even seem to notice you, too preoccupied with chewing on a carrot the size of her forearm without an ounce of reservation, a grinning Loki standing next to her, looking seconds away from summoning a notebook and a quill to write down his observations.

Numbly, you wished for at least one tenth of the tranquility that your friend and lab buddy seemed to posess.

The skittish feeling of helplessness briefly gave way to reason when Sam offered to take a list of items to retrieve from your house, taking the odd request of 'every blanket and throw you can see' in stride. The man radiated nothing but kindness and compassion, putting you slightly more at ease, however it was still clear as day - you couldn't wait to return to your ordinary, mousy self.

After some time spent curled up under a mountain of blankets in the sterile bedroom that still smelled like paint and wood shavings, you decided you were hungry. Disappointment reared its ugly head shortly afterwards: anything and everything that wasn't a vegetable tasted outright vile and Dr. Banner's excitement regarding your newly discovered dietary preferences was insulting - having wanted a hearty helping of the universal comfort food of mac'n'cheese, you returned to your room with a large bowl filled to the brim with different fruit and vegetables.

The TV was running in the background as quietly as possible. Your whiskers twitched and your ears perked up, standing straight, mouth watering at the sight and sweet smell of raspberries, apples and, out of all things, spinach, coming from the bowl you stubbornly placed at the foot of the bed.

The idea of gnawing on uncooked vegetables made your human side pout and your stomach churn... The disgust didn't last long.

On day two, you couldn't help yourself anymore. Overpowered by your instincts, your dignity shamefully withdrew into the depths of your weary mind: your jaws hardly stopped moving in the moments you were awake. Spinach, lettuce, apples and even raw broccoli had disappeared from the bowl.

The times grass appeared on the TV, you felt your body lean closer to the screen, eyes focusing on the green stalks rather than the attractive male lead of the show you were attempting to watch. The ears, the whiskers and the tail didn't feel as extra appendages anymore and you'd finally stopped jumping at the tiniest amount of noise. You could never, ever insist someone touch grass ever again.

The knocking on your door, however, caused you to immediately retreat into the depths of your blanket pile. It took a few moments for you to find your voice, and when it came out, it was rough and scratchy. A slight lisp had began to taint your speech, courtesy of the elongated front teeth.

"Yeaf?" You winced, seeing Sam's curious eyes become wider as he surveyed the scenery.

"Just checking in," he took care to keep his baritone quiet and gentle. "Your friend told Loki you haven't answered her texts since yesterday. Goat boy insisted I come to see if you're alive for myself."

You giggled at the nickname Sam had given Loki. "I'm otay," the slurred speech caused your face to heat up immediately. "Thif if embawassing."

Sam's shoulders shook with restrained laughter as he stepped in, closing the door behind himself and taking out all the vexatious noises of the outside world. "No-o," he attempted to soothe you as you gave into the urge to hide behind more covers. "I've gotta admit, you're very cute."

"You twy being a fawking wabbit!" Flaming in indignation, you only succeeded to amuse him further by slurring your very heated curse. "Not funny!"

The bed dipped as he sat down, still keeping the laughter to a minimum. Your whiskers twitched as a delightful scent reached your nose: rich cocoa butter and sandalwood, rum on the fire and spiced cinnamon. Ears flat against your head, the shuddering inhale had your blood rushing through your veins at an alarmingly increased speed.

"I'm sorry, Bunny, Tin Can and Brussels Sprout are working on the cure. They've been up all night. I promise, they'll fix it soon," Sam crooned, looking at the hole in your blankets you'd left to breathe through.

Reluctant but unable to resist Sam's soft tone, you pulled the covers off your head. Your nostrils flared as more of his rich scent invaded your senses. "I know," you mumbled, leaning towards him to try and conserve his presence.

His hand reached out, brows knitted together in a curious inquiry. When you didn't flinch, he let his hand rest on the top of your head, fingers gently carding through your hair.

Your heart picked up its fluttering pace.

The rough pads of his fingers scratched where your scalp and the soft, silky fur of your ears met. Dignity be damned, you sighed, lips falling open as your whole body erupted in delightful shivers.

Sam's chuckling remained, undertones growing warmer. "There you go, Bunny. You're safe and sound."

A little mewl was all you could manage. Your willpower was fully focused on stopping your instincts from taking hold of your frozen limbs and drawing your lax body into Sam's lap; his clever fingers turned your muscles into warm play dough and your thoughts into melted marshmallows.

His phone beeped, interrupting the idyllic moment. Your ears stood up in alarm.

"Sorry," Sam scrambled for his pockets. A brief glance at the phone and he was getting up, mouth downturned apologetically. "I have to go. I'll stop by as soon as I can, okay?"

"Yeaf," you looked away before he could catch you ogling him and his wonderful, gentle hands. The touches had felt addictive - and surprisingly intimate. You head was swimming, inside of it had gone liquid.

"Text me if something comes up, okay?" He waited for a nod. "Can you promise me, Bunny?" It didn't satisfy him in the slightest, however, and you had to squeeze out another lispy noise of agreement before Sam let himself exit the room.

Too emotionally overwhelmed to consider the implications of such kindness from a virtual stranger, you couldn't help but begrudgingly trust your instincts - and your gut erupted into hundreds of tiny excited little sparks whenever the thought of Sam crossed your mind. The memories of him brought back the soul-warming, ear-rising scent that had penetrated every pore of your being.

He didn't stop by the next day and the say after. You'd texted your friend, who answered sporadically and in bursts of paragraphs that had you considering to text Dr. Banner to check her out for mania; knowing that most likely, she was bothering everyone anyway, you'd left it alone, knowing that she, out of all people, would definitely be the one to find positives in her current situation.

Your attention was steadily deflecting somewhere else. On the morning after Sam's departure, you had woken up hot and clammy. The restlessness seeped into your bones as you paced the room wall-to-wall a hundred times over. Your skin itched and you shedded every article of clothing besides a pair of low-rise underwear and the loosest, biggest t-shirt you could find.

It felt like thousands of tint little bonfires had been ignited under your skin. Not long after that (and several cold showers later), you gave into the desires that had been lurking in the depths of your mind, to no avail. Several hard, wet and messy orgasms later, you were as restless as ever. Furthermore, it seemed shooting blanks had only increased your appetite. Your core throbbed and pulsated around nothing, void and starving.

Your tail was pressed flat to your back as your fingers indecisively hovered over the chat tab, your friend's name and the offline sign next to it questioning your resolve.

You waited with baited breath, suspecting, somewhere deep inside, that you knew exactly what was happening. You'd studied biology, you knew how female mammals worked.

Loki and his antics were the last thing on your mind; barely a minute after you'd replied to your friend, one of the worst cramps in your entire life forced you to keen over and clutch at your stomach in surprised anguish.

It didn't stop there. Minutes stretched into hours; the discomfort came in waves. A thin sheen of sweat now covered your bare body as chills forced you to rid yourself of your t-shirt and panties. The ultra soft fleece blanket, a housewarming gift, was the only thing that didn't make your nerve endings ache like they were exposed and rubbed into by sandpaper.

Your senses ran haywire. The tiniest foreign noise made your ears twitch and stand up, faint hope blossoming into a muted disappointment when it dawned that nobody was coming. Your nose was buried in the quilt at the foot of your bed, right where Sam had sat when he petted you like a well-behaving house animal.

The scent lingered enough for your sensitive nose to pick up the brightest remnants of it; cinnamon and musk made your dignity fly out of the window as your senses flared and the heat between your legs grew substantially at the mere thought of being in the presence of the brown eyed man. He wasn't even here and your back was arching.

A flurry of worried voices startled you out of the lust-mudded haze.

Your palms, which you had stuffed between your legs, came out wet and sticky - the mess on your thighs, you didn't even want to think about. The room smelled strongly of musk and sweat.

"May we come in?" Dr. Banner's voice hastily quizzed from behind the door.

"Abfowutewy fawking not!" You yelled in a panic, eyes darting all across the room; from the discarded shirt and panties, to the ruined sheets and blankets.

Several sighs emanated from the people behind the door.

"Listen, we know that something's wrong and we think we can help you..." Stark attempted to convince you as the door handle jiggled.

You heard Sam's voice angrily whisper-yell at someone and the handle's movements abruptly stopped.

"YOU FINK?!" The indignation and irritation made your voice abruptly rise in pitch. The pain only fueled your frustration. "FAWK YOU, FTAWK!" You exclaimed, beginning to hear snickering. "AND YOU, BANNEW!"

The snorts turned into full-fledged laughter; you thought you heard someone falling over. The anger turned into helplessness very quickly, however, as another wave of dizziness and nausea overtook you. A whine built up in your throat. Holding it back was pointless.

"Bunny, let me in. I promise, I won't laugh," Sam's tone was much more serious than his comrades. He wasn't as amused by your pain as Stark and Banner seemed to be, and you'd be damned if it didn't make your heart melt a little.

"Otay," you said after a brief moment of silence. Your ears twitched and your tail wiggled, seemingly out of their own accord. "But onwy you. Ftawk and Bannew can ftay outfide," your speech became less and less intelligeble. The discomfort was astronomical.

The door cracked open the smallest amount possible for the stocked man to squeeze through; as his scent filled up the room, you watched, with a great deal of satisfaction, as he shut the door right in the curious faces of Banner and Stark, no qualms about hitting the latter with it.

Sam's shoulders fell and rose as he surveyed the state of your room, finally settling his eyes on you. They sparkled, last specks of amusement giving way to genuine worry.

"I'm in heat," you announced as flatly as you could, tone still laced with disbelief.

"You're what?" Sam froze in his steps, halfway to your bed.

"In heat," you looked away, tucking the blanket tighter around your naked body.

"Like... Like cats?" Sam resumed his soft padding towards you, surveying for a cleaner space to sit down. When he found it, he noisily plopped down, immediately palming his face.

"Wike wabbits," your eyeroll made it past through the stone wall of aches and pains. Cinnamon and sandalwood surrounded the air around Sam, drifting into your space and momentarily bringing clarity to your heated brain.

"I, uh, wow, umm," he blinked around warily.

The haze began returning - a hundredfold stronger. Your muscles went lax first, eyelids drooping, the corners of your mouth moistening as you panted through another wave of shorter, stronger cramps. The skin over your knuckles was stretched taut with how hard you were gripping the comforter.

A wave of sticky, slick fluid dripped onto your calves where you had them tucked right under your butt; your tail twitched and your ears stood up, goosebumps traveling from the top of your head to the bottoms of your feer. Heat blossomed in your stomach, crawling up your neck in steady waves of red-hot hunger.

The hum that left your throat was completely involuntary.

"Are you in pain?" Sam finally found his voice.

"Yef," you breathed, shuffling around as much as you could. Which wasn't much. Your calves rubbed against your sensitive lower lips. "I'm buwning up," you admitted.

Sam reached out before you could stop him; firmly planting his cool palm on your forehead, he froze in his spot as your ears immediately fell flat with your head, a keen mewl envoking a startled gasp out of the man.

"Sorry!" He yelped, withdrawing his hand immediately. That didn't stop you from mewling again, attempting to follow the retreating appendage slowly, but eagerly. Sam cleared his throat. "Is this affecting you?"

"Feelf good," the words slipped out mid-gasp as you fought so hard against your primal instincts. You fought and you lost. "S'your fmell. You fmell fuper nice," if you weren't burning up as it was, the shame would have definitely made sure you did.

Sam's chuckle was less nervous and more flattered this time. He pulled out his phone to, presumably, text the scientists still bickering noisily outside your door; his fingers moved rapidly as he texted.

The answer didn't have to wait long. You needn't to look at Sam's phone: a loud "Oh, shit!" and a panicked "Tony, what are we gonna do?" was heard as clear as day, thanks to your enhanced hearing.

The moan you let slip was full of embarrassed terror. "They never liften, not to me, not to Peppew," your sigh made the air around you heat up even more.

Sam's sigh was equally distraught and disappointed. "They're the most educated idiots I've met, they'll figure it out... Eventually," the last word was said quietly, but not quiet enough for you to miss it.

You lifted your bleary eyes at him, hoping to convey all your displeasure with the unlucky situation at hand.

"Hey, I'll sit with you, okay?" The man hastily backtracked, waving you over to him. "You don't have to suffer alone."

The gesture made you flinch and scoot further away from Sam. The opposite of what he wanted - well, he didn't know. He just didn't know... "I'f not a good idea," you attempted to reason with him.

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Because?"

Stammering, you toyed with the hem of the blanket that was, thankfully, covering the most of your shame. You were sure that if you moved another couple of inches, Sam would see the wet spot under you. The fluid had dried somewhat and the cool, sticky sensation of it was beginning to feel unpleasant.

"Becaufe I'm in heat," you tried to emphasize, hoping he'd understand the implications of such a personal experience.

"So? I'll even give you ear scratches," Sam waggled his eyebrows in a way that could have been humourous if not for the fact you would probably cum on the spot the moment he touched the soft spot on top of your head.

You furiously shook your head negative, feeling all the remaining heat rush to your cheeks.

"Well, at least let me get you some water and food, okay?" Sam's baritone was both suspicious and compassionate. Angry as you were at the resident mad scientist duo, you still thought that they would explain everything to Sam if he left the room.

You reluctantly nodded and scrambled to change the bedding as soon as his back disappeared behind the door. Despite the cramps and the hot flashes, the possibility of embarrassing yourself further gave you the needed energy to follow up with a rapid lukewarm shower.

Toweling down was a challenge, the scratchy material of a t-shirt and sleep shorts was torture. Sam returned quickly: a basket of goodies in his left hand and several bottles of water in his right; with the expression of a man considerably puzzled, he set the item's down in front of you, awkwardly standing in the middle of the room.

"Bruce kind of explained what is going on," he started, studying you with clever brown eyes.

You chewed on a celery stalk in defiant silence, not trusting your mouth whatsoever.

Sam sighed, shoulders dropping. "There's no chance you'll go out with me after this, is there?"

The crunching abruptly stopped; your eyes widened as you struggled to swallow a piece of food that had suddenly stuck halfway down to your stomach. "Exfcufe me?"

"I mean," Sam rubbed his face once, twice. "We're about to get very up close and personal," his words puzzled you further. "But I'm not a smash and dash kind of guy. My ma would have my head," he chuckled nervously.

Your tired brain attempted to follow the trail: absolutely in vain. Not only you couldn't believe what Sam was proposing, you felt more than a little indignant at his seemingly one-sided decision to... "Uh," you blinked once, twice. "What, exfactly, awe we gonna do?"

"I'm at your service," he spread his arms in a gesture of shy invitation. "We can cuddle, for starters," coming to some sort of a personal conclusion, he walked over to the head of the bed, shucking off his shoes and getting comfortable against the headrest.

You studied him out of the corner of your eye. Your ears had gone completely flat against your head once again, as you belatedly realized - in a gesture of complete submission; even as you struggled to preserve what was left of you dignity and focus on the mouthwatering greens in front of you, the resolve you worked hard to maintain was crumbling by the second.

The man's fingers and eyes were preoccupied by his smartphone but with your senses dialed up to eleven, you knew he was watching you, waiting for some sort of reaction.

It didn't let him wait too long; with a sigh, you polished off the last of the strawberries and leaned against him with a sated sigh, immediately getting a strong, muscular arm wrapped around your shoulders. The aches and pains your overtired, overheated body possessed temporarily fell into the background.

Sandalwood filled your nostrils, steady thumping of a strong heart occupied your sensitive ears, Sam's skin felt delightfully cool to your exposed arms. Every now and then he would sigh, a chestful of shuddering breath, envoking a tiny twitch from your whiskers as the sweetness of his breath tickled the ends of the receptive bristle hair.

"Thif if the worft thing that haf ever fappened to me," you mumbled, feeling mellow in the safety in Sam's embrace.

"Bunny," he crooned, immediately putting his smartphone away. "The idiots will fix it. Don't worry." With the newly freed hand, Sam allowed himself to easily find the spot between your ears once more.

The purring sound came from somewhere in your chest. If you thought your ears couldn't become flatter, you were proved wrong - as Sam's fingernails gently scratched your scalp, spreading tangy warmth from your neck, below your shoulders and down into your belly where it slowly began to coil in a tight knot of resurfacing arousal.

Inch by inch, your skin responded to his meticulous ministrations. It appeared he was as engrossed in giving you affection as you were in receiving it; his fingertips traveled to the tender cartilage of your extra ears. Sam curiously lifted one of the up to gently pat and examine the unusual appendage.

"Oof," your mouth parted to let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

Sam immediately stilled, the floppy ear laying flat on his upturned palm. "Am I hurting you?"

"No," you rasped, breathy. "This feels good."

The fur on the ear stood up in response to Sam's resumed stroking. Growing bolder, he followed up with lavishing touches to the other ear, letting it naturally fall lax once he moved onto scratching the messy, damp hair on your scalp.

Under the blanket, your toes involuntarily curled. The damp, hot feeling began to ascend from the depths of your belly once more: you were afraid should he persist, there would be another wet patch right under you once more.

"Sam," you breathed, hoping to warn him.

To his ears, it sounded like a plea. The arm that was wrapped around your shoulders migrated to the nape of your neck, thumb digging into the tense flesh around your spine.

With a startled yelp, you felt your whole body droop. Like a suddenly untied string, all the tension you harboured in your back disappeared, forcing you to lean heavily on the man behind you, the sear of your skin reaching for him even through your clothes.

"Bunny?" He inquired, shuffling in place, bringing up his other hand to knead at the opposing shoulder. "This feel good?"

You attempted to nod but your head swam, uncooperative. "Yeaf," several hot exhales dropped your voice into a sultry drawl.

The man chuckled, using the heaviness in your limbs to gently push you onto your stomach. "So, massages. I can do that," he spoke calmly. You were thankful to hear him voice his intentions. "I've been told I'm really good at it," now this, this was spoken considerably more flirtatiously. You could hear the ghost of a cheeky grin in his tone.

You could do nothing but blink as Sam's hands wreaked havoc on your vestibular system. Your ears twitched almost constantly, your tail moved side-to-side whenever his fingers hit a particularly tense, sore spot. Like pouring warm honey onto a ball of ice cream, it was the most delicious, refreshing sensation of your blood finally rushing free throughout your limbs.

"Huh," was your only warning. Something warm and soft wrapped itself around your tail, momentarily making the room spin. "That's cute," Sam mumbled, giving it a curious, tender caress.

"Oh," you squeaked into the pillow, heat rushing to your core at speeds that surely broke the sound barrier. Completely involuntary, your hipbones lifted off the mattress; the discomfort at having to wear clothes returned. The only need for friction you experienced was something, anything between your thighs.

Sam's smile was silent but you felt it clear as day; the base of your tail was immediately and swiftly assaulted with an array of sensations you could not fathom describing; sweet and heavy and tender and explosive were all just words, not nearly powerful enough to accurately pinpoint the cause of the sparks suddenly erupting in you.

From your head to your toes, every single hair on your body stood up at rapid attention. Your limbs demanded you trash against Sam, to arch your back and present yourself, submerge all of you into him and drown in sandalwood and cinnamon that was beginning to cloud your rational mind.

You swallowed, mouth completely dry. "Fam..."

His answer had been prepared long ago. "Can I take care of you, Bunny?" It was naïve, perhaps, to expect he wouldn't be affected by this... By your heat. The roughness of his voice stood out more than ever. "Do you trust me?"

Such a difficult question, you managed to catch the tail end of your last coherent thought. Instead, your body made the decision for you. "Pweafe," you swallowed once again; the viscous shame and the anger you felt at your helplessness, all the sticky, icky feelings withdrew at the possibility of finally getting some relief.

The stupid nickname, the stupid lisp and the stupid heat were problems you were going to deal with once your flesh stops feeling like a broken heater, you decided.

The rumble of Sam's agreement reached you in a wave of lustful stupor, traveling through your limbs to further feed the tight ball in the low of your belly. You didn't know someone's voice could sound like that.

"Alright, let's get you out of these sweaty clothes," his baritone dripped dark, bittersweet chocolate all over your taste buds. You could taste the sweat on Sam's skin when he pulled your damp top over your head.

The shorts quickly followed suit. Muffled curses sounded out from behind you as the cool air of the room hit your slick, glistening thighs; you didn't need to part your legs for the arousal to be clearly visible to the naked eye.

"Fuck, you're all soaking wet," you'd be sarcastic about Sam stating the obvious any other time. Caught in the moment, you could only moan in appreciation as his fingertips once more settled on the knobs of your spine, slowly making way down to your tailbone, scratching around the tuft of fur. Your hips lifted again, causing the man to chuckle. "So eager, pretty Bunny."

There was a quick shuffle, soft cotton landing next to the bed. Inside your mind, images of Sam's defined, muscular chest began popping up like mushrooms after a rainfall. You wanted it pressed against you: the coolness of his skin, the slick of his sweat.

He didn't let you wait long. Warm, plump lips placed several sloppy kisses in the tops of your shoulders, hot breath tickling the shell of your ear, your hands clutching at the sheets.

"Let me know if something's wrong, okay? I won't do anything you don't want to. Say the word and I'll stop," Sam crooned in-between kisses.

"Don't," you gasped. "Don't stop."

Reducing you to a whining, panting mess seemed to be more than a goal for the suave man; it was a job and a mission. Gentle bruises and the darkening of your skin: inch by inch, keen by keen, the puddle between your thighs grew steadily as he took his time to get to know your body.

Harsher bites and louder inhales fueled the near-unbearable lust within you as Sam's clever mouth and fingers finally, finally reached the low of your back. It made all kinds of profanities cross your mind as he deliberately avoided the tender area around your tail. Heeding your friend's earlier advice you wagged it, finding next to no relief when not two inches away, your tender skin was being gently lavished with fluid motions of a slick tongue.

"Cute little Bunny," Sam noticed your efforts to attract his attention where you needed it the most. "Lift your hips up for me," he instructed, sitting up.

No matter how hard you tried, your body just wouldn't cooperate. You wanted to cry.

"Aww," he crooned, "does my little Bunny need help?"

You could only moan a half-bitten curse, frustration coursing through you with the force of a thousand suns. The blood in your veins screamed, pulsating against your temples.

In one swift motion, Sam's strong hands lifted your hips in the air, setting you firmly on your knees. The cool air hit the your swollen pussy with a rush. Acutely aware of the way your clit throbbed under his eyes, you still couldn't muster up any shame in the wake of the river of slick glistening on your thighs.

Sam shuffled behind you once more, bringing a large palm to knead the meat of your ass, spreading your just slightly - enough for more and more moisture to leak from your cunt.

"That's one messy Bunny," he remarked conversationally, a stutter to his breath. "Don't think I've ever seen a girl this wet," you felt the puff of his breath on your outer lips. It made you shiver and arch your back even more, desperately overdue for attention. "Would be a shame to waste it," with the final words spoken quietly, you missed the exact moment his mouth closed over the engorged flesh of your cunt.

"A-ah," the new sensation hit you like a freight train.

Sam's thick, wet muscle probed all around your cunt, collecting every drop of moisture that had collected in every fold; he swallowed eagerly, quickly, diving over and over into the depths of it, breaching the lax of your entrance with his clever tongue over and over and over again.

Your walls pulsed and squeezed as Sam began to tongue-fuck your sloppy hole in earnest, coarse, short moans erupting from his mouth every time he surfaced for a drop of oxygen. Your hips shook with the forces of lust; the coil in your belly grew and grew and grew until you felt yourself teethering on the edge of an explosion of volcanic magnitude.

The tiniest bit, the gentlest stroke to your clit would end it all. You mewled and begged, slurred, lispy and incoherent into your pillow, for mercy and the sweet relief.

"Fuck," you two had only began but Sam was already breathless, voice coarse. "Filthy Bunny," his finger circled around your hole, dipping in the slightest bit just to feel your cunt pitifully trying to clench around the digit.

"Pwease," drool had collected under your mouth, your pillow wet with sweat and saliva. If you gripped the sheets any tighter, they'd tear.

"I know, I know, baby," Sam's breathey croon was topped off with his thumb sliding into you without any noticeable resistance. "Such a cute, hungry pussy you have, Bunny," he teased over the sound of his belt buckle clacking.

You felt like a tender peach, ripened under the summer sun, juicy and harvest-ready. One bite would be all it takes to bring you to new heights of existence. "Fuck," you slurred, acutely aware of Sam noisily losing the last of his clothes.

A precise slap shook you to your core; sudden and frivolous, it made the flesh of your ass jiggle, cunt clenching over and over at the pleasure-pain it brought to your heated body.

"Naughty Bunny," Sam's smile was teasing and infectious. You shifted your hips, receiving an identical slap to your second cheek, quietly moaning in utter delight. Something hot and blunt was nosing at your core, as unexpected as the previous assault that had descended on you moments ago - but it felt like eons. "Ready?"

The question briefly brought you back to reality, clearing your mind for the few seconds needed to assess the situation. Heat or no heat, Sam was attractive. "Yeah," you moaned pushing back onto his cock with the patience of a hungry animal.

As the velveteen bulbous tip breached the tight ring of muscle, you breathed in sync for the longest brief moment, feeling each other's body becoming one. Like two puzzle pieces that perfectly fit together, Sam's cock filled you up easily, snugly nestled in the pulsating, slick heat of your cunt.

"Fuck, yeah," Sam's lust made its way past his lips in a low growl. He shifted his hips, pressing his pubic bone flat to your ass, making goosebumps rise all over your back from the delicious stretch inside of you as your body adjusted to the thickness of his cock. "Gonna take it like a good little Bunny?"

If you could speak, you would have begged, pleaded and moaned for him to move, to thrust, to finally do something; however brief your moment of clarity was, your head once more reduced to complete emptiness. You could only feel the head of his cock pressing insistently at your g-spot, making you dumb with desire.

Not long after, Sam's hips withdrew, bringing that much needed friction onto your walls, gliding in and out effortlessly, slow, drawn out thrusts that shook your very core. Your knees trembled under your combined lust; sparks crawled up your spine and tiny little golden fireworks set off behind your bellybutton. The desire was as liquid and slick as the mess between your legs, aching sweetness, Sam's scent blanketing your overwhelmed senses with it's warmth.

"Sam," you keened, a single syllable noise maxing out your speech apparatus.

The man snapped his hips, gripping your ass so tightly you were sure there would be bruises; your thighs jiggled and tour head lolled to the side, exposing your neck and the slack of your mouth. Keens and wordless please flowed from it endlessly, fluidly.

"What's that?" He leaned over, hitting a spot you didn't know existed with the new angle.

You yowled, pushing back harder, hoping to convey your enthusiasm and willing to do anything to keep Sam's cock hitting that spot again. And again, and again, and forever.

Your shoulder was pushed back, forcing you to begrudge stand up on all fours; arms more than a little shaky, you managed to balance yourself with Sam's help. The mess of your hair, the heat of your open, panting mouth, the god-forsaken ears that stood up at full attention as your back arched to an angle you'd thought impossible.

In your belly. You could feel Sam in your belly, moving right under your navel, pounding on the doors of your release meticulously and insistently. Drops of cool sweat hit your back, sizzling wherever they landed on you. There was a good chance they evaporated, such was the heat you felt all around you.

"Be a good Bunny, cum for me," Sam sounded strained, like he was holding back. "I know you want to come all over my cock, I can feel your pussy practically milking me," he growled into the space between your shoulder blades, quickly wrapping you up and against himself.

"I- I- Ah," you wanted to say you wanted, you needed more. You were so close, yet something was missing-

A hand reached between your legs, gliding through the mess of slick and sweat without a hitch, spreading the mess even further in the moments it took Sam to find your clit. Jerking violently, your body stood between a rock and hard place, not knowing whether to keep trying to sate the bone-deep hunger by letting you fuck onto his cock or rub itself against Sam's palm which was gently but steadily making circles around your clit.

It throbbed, swollen and neglected, a flood of sensations, sweet and merciful. Like an exposed nerve, raw and tense, the coil inside of you tightened. Your g-spot was assaulted relentlessly, your clit toyed with until the room around you disappeared and all you felt, all you knew was Sam.

"Bunny, be a good girl," Sam's voice was pleading; strung high and wide, the muscles in his legs became rock-hard behind your thighs.

"Please," you begged, not even knowing, not even caring what was it that you were begging for.

Sam's free hand wrapped around your throat for leverage, briefly obstructing your airways- as your eyes flew open, your body tensed in what felt like it would have been the last moment of your life.

The dam had finally burst. A scream tore from your throat, originating somewhere in your cunt and coming out of your mouth with a gargle; your limbs tensed, ass pushing back madly onto Sam's cock, legs twitching squeezing his hand that was still relentlessly working your clit.

Thick, burning lava was coursing through your veins; if you'd come back to this world, you'd surely burn up, you reasoned. There was no need neither any desire to leave the state of being pure, liquid energy that you had achieved.

Somewhere in the very furthest depths of your mind, you registered a low growl and a warm sensation painting the deepest parts of you; Sam's body shook, too, and both of you crashed face-down on the bed, gracelessly flopping into a pile of limbs.

You panted, the thumping of your hearts matching one another, beating in unison, echoing in the space you shared. It pounded in your skull, pulsed in your abused cunt, the soreness bittersweet and pulling.

A kiss on your shoulder took you out of the immediate stupor. "You good, Bunny?"

"Uh-huh."

"I'm gonna go clean us up."

"Uh-huh."

Sam's chuckling followed him all the way to the bathroom. "Fucked the Bunny stupid, didn't I?"

"... ... Uh-huh."

@mikariell95 @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins2 @persephonehemingway @bluecrazedandbeautiful @sapphicnoodle69 @xoxabs88xox @tatestripedsweater @stuckybarton @biiskuitx @bdffkierenwalker

#sam wilson x reader smut #sam wilson x female reader #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson smut #sam wilson x you #bun writes #bun writes: drabbles

341 notes · View notes

sporadicthingcollection · 3 years

Text

99 Problems: Entry #10 (Cad Bane x F!Reader)

Summary: Bane underestimates the power of sex appeal.

Pairing: Cad Bane/F!Reader

Rating: 🌶️ Explicit 🌶️

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: Bend and snap, 🛥️, semi-public sex, oral (male receiving)

DRIVE B//: User > Me > Documents > Text > Personal > Other > list1.hpd

LIST OF REASONS YOURE A PAIN IN THE ASS AND I SHOULD TURN YOU IN

#10: YOU GOT A BIG MOUTH

---

The backrooms of seedy cantinas are Bane's usual place of business. He's right at home sitting at the table, boots kicked up on the edge as he gnaws on a toothpick.

You, on the other hand, look deeply uncomfortable. You're wearing a rut in the floor, hunched in on yourself underneath the ridiculous fur coat you insisted on wearing, your pretty li'l face all screwed up into a grimace.

You're a few centimeters deep when you finally speak. "I don't like this."

"Me neither. But it's de only lead we got right now." He swings his legs off the table. "Don' worry yer pretty li'l head. I got it under control."

"What do you even know about this guy Tolrol?" You pause, looking around the room. "And where am I supposed to sit?"

"Between what Ohnaka said an' what I found on my own, not much," he says. "Just dat he's a Pau'an, smarmy as all get out, and can point us in da right direction. As fer you..." He pats his thigh, giving you a crooked grin.

He expects you to frown, but your lips curl up. "I've always wanted to be shown off."

You sit your lovely ass across his lap. One hand goes right to it, giving it a firm squeeze, as the other goes to one of your thighs.

"Ain't showin' ya off, girlie," he says as he kneads his fingers. "Need something to squeeze dat ain't his neck."

You scoff. "He can't be that annoying."

---

He is, in fact, that annoying.

Tolrol is a slimy little man. Simpering, sycophantic, yet somehow convinced of his own importance.

"I expect nothing less than two million credits," he says, flashing his teeth. "Non-negotiable."

He grits his teeth. This fucking guy. Who does he think he is, trying to extort you? And him, by extension.

He curls his fingers, and you let out a yip. A loud one. One that makes Tolrol narrow his eyes.

"...Is she alright?" he asks.

You shoot Bane a glare. He ignores it. "She's fine," he says. "We ain't payin' dat."

"Then you get no information." He leans back, folding his arms over his chest. "Take it or leave it, bounty hunter."

"I have a better idea." He squeezes to try and shut you up, but you ignore it. "We'll run a job for you. In exchange, you give us the info."

What are you, his handler? "I never work for free," he hisses, punctuating his words with another squeeze.

You jump again. This time, you're in the perfect position to knock his hat off. A low growl escapes his throat, and he bares his fangs at you. You scowl at him in return.

Tolrol smiles wryly. "Looks like you need to control your woman."

"I'm tryin'." He shoves you out of his lap. "Pick it up."

Still scowling, you do so.

He expects you to squat like a normal person. You do not.

Hinging at the waist, you drag your hand along your leg -- your very bare, very smooth, very shapely leg. You're down so far that he can see straight down your blouse.

You pick up the hat and pop back up. Literally. You straighten up so quickly that the bounce of your tits makes the snap on your blouse pop open.

Thank the Maker you're wearing a bra this time.

Your cheeks flush dark, and you gasp as you cover yourself. "I'm so sorry!"

No need to be sorry, he wants to say, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Tolrol does not. His hard gaze has gone soft and lascivious. "No need to be sorry, my dear," he says, voice slick as oil.

Still blushing, you reseat yourself on Bane's thighs, fumbling with the snap.

"So, back to negotiating," you say. "I think we have some wiggle room..."

---

Negotiations go great. Probably one of the best bargains he's ever made. Run a job, get the information, and get paid two million credits.

All thanks to your sex appeal. He tells you as much as you walk through the cool city night, back to the dockyard

You shrug. "No straight man is immune to the bend and snap."

Bane blinks at you. "The what?"

"The bend and snap," you say simply. "Learned it from a Twi'lek on Ord Mantell. Works every time, though the button popping was an accident."

He doesn't believe that and tells you such. "Banthashit."

Your painted lips curl into a smirk. Without a word, you slough one of your bracelets off.

You bend over, running your hands along your very bare, very smooth, very shapely leg -- hey.

You're down so far, he can see straight down your blouse -- wait.

And then you pop back up. Your breasts stay where they're supposed to this time, much to his disappointment-- son of a bitch.

You have the biggest shit-eating grin on your face. "Every time," you reiterate.

He swipes his tongue along his lips. He really wants to see those breasts, but you're not even halfway back to the ship...

Oh well.

Bane pushes you into a narrow alley and against a wall. Grabbing the edges of your shirt, he yanks. The snaps come apart easily.

You're grinning until he reaches into his boot and pulls out the vibroblade he keeps there. He slips it under the center of your bra and pulls, slicing the garment in two.

You shriek. "That was expensive!"

He shoves the cups side, freeing your glorious little breasts. The peaks stiffen immediately in the cool night. Running the pad of his thumbs over them earns a squeak from you.

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he lifts you upwards, propping you against the wall as he buries his face in your tits. Warm. Soft. Floral. Heaven.

Your giggle vibrates in your chest as you wrap your arms around his head. "Enjoying yourself?"

He drags his tongue up the curve. Your salty-sweet skin makes his mouth water. "I could just eat'chu," he rumbles.

Taking your breast in his mouth, he traces the nipple with his tongue. You moan deliciously.

He can't see your face from down here, but the battle between lust and shame is evident in your voice. "Can't we take this somewhere private?"

"Nope." He lets you slip from his grasp, putting one hand on your shoulders to push you down to your knees as the other fumbles with his zipper. "Open up."

You pout at him, but it softens as his cock springs outwards. You lick your lips, smearing the pink lipstick you spent so long applying, and gaze up defiantly. "No."

He should have expected this from you. He takes your chin between his thumb and trigger finger. "Don't make me do somethin' you'll regret."

You hold his gaze, only to huff dramatically. You part your lips to take him, only to choke as he pushes in faster than intended. But you hold it together.

Bane has to brace himself against the wall with his forearm to keep from collapsing. How is your mouth so hot? So wet? So soft?

You let out a little moan of your own, sending the vibration up his cock. You wrap your arms around his thighs as you bob your head in time with his lazy thrusts, letting out lovely little hums that vibrate down his thighs.

It's times like these when he can't decide which lips he likes better, your upper or your lower. Your pussy is tight, but they don't paint his cock the way your lips do, smearing pink up and down his shaft with every thrust. And your tongue -- Maker, your tongue. Exploring every ridge, tracing his head, lapping at the stray drops that leak from his slit.

For the briefest of moments, he never wants to leave your mouth. But his groin tightens, and as much as he'd like to see you swallow, he has a better idea.

He pulls out, gritting his teeth. Your brows knit in confusion. "Tits," he grunts. "Out."

"Oh, these?" You push your upper arms against your chest, pushing your assets outwards. "Glaze 'em, Cad," you purr.

No need to tell him twice.

He cums with a clipped groan, painting your breasts white with his seed. And your neck. And your belly. And a bit of your chin. You flinch slightly, but grin as it spurts all over.

When he's fully empty, he leans his full weight against the wall, panting, peering down at you as you watch the rivulets drip down your skin. It does look a lot like glaze.

"You cum a lot," you finally say. "More than Zeltrons do, anyways."

He huffs a laugh. "Ya think dis is a lot, wait 'til I'm fertile."

Your face snaps upwards. "Huh?"

Pushing himself off the wall, he tucks his cock back into his trousers and heads back out into the street.

"What do you mean by 'fertile?!'" you call after him.

He just smiles to himself. You'll find out soon enough.

If he's lucky.

---

DRIVE B//: User > Me > Documents > Text > Personal > Other > list2.hpd

LIST OF REASONS YOURE KIND OF USEFUL AND I SHOULD KEEP YOU AROUND

#10: YOU KNOW HOW TO USE THAT MOUTH

---

⬅⬅⬅ | "Catch Us If You Can Masterpost" | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar | ➡➡➡

#cad bane x reader #cad bane #star wars smut #catch us if you can #reader insert #x reader

89 notes · View notes

sheisraging · 3 years

Note

🔀 Gimme that charmie thanks and you know what the kids say: ain't not charmie party like a tainty charmie party.

send me a 🔀 and a pairing, and i’ll shuffle my playlist and make an au based on the first song that comes up

oh god i just realized i forgot the taints. ugh and i forgot pizza the first time. sorry, pal. i hope this is acceptable. sans taint.

Set in GBBO AU universe, but it can probably be read on its own... minus one thing at the end that you won't get if you have not read GBBO, sorry.

Anyway...

Mouth - Merril Bainbridge

Armie eats hot peppers like they’re candy.

Not just your average chili peppers, no. They’re the ones you see in those ridiculous social media challenges — the ones with Scoville Units that make you roll your eyes. Just tosses them into his mouth like other people eat popcorn or Tic-Tacs. Sometimes, he’ll snack on them mindlessly while he’s cooking, or watching TV, or anything at all.

And then Timmy will come home, snake arms around his waist and kiss him. Suck on his tongue, his lips. Hum against his mouth and come away with fire on his tongue. Lips stinging with a heat that he hasn’t built up the tolerance for yet — though not for lack of trying.

Armie will chuckle and peck his cheek. Pour him a glass of milk and smirk as he watches Timmy gulp it down. Cup his jaw and lick the trickles that spill from the corners of his mouth.

Tonight is no different. He waits until the glass is nearly empty and sets it aside. Kisses the curve of Timmy’s neck, the spot behind his ear. Yanks his shirt over his head and tugs a nipple between his teeth.

Timmy gasps and curls both hands into Armie’s hair. Snorts quietly when he’s hoisted off his feet, big hands gripping his thighs, carrying him over to the dining room table, and setting him down. They kiss and laugh into each other’s mouths, working on buckles, buttons, zippers. And when they’re both naked, Timmy scoots forward, pushes Armie down onto the chair behind him and climbs into his lap.

Armie mouths at Timmy’s jaw, neck, shoulder. Grips his waist and grinds up against him until Timmy’s nails are digging into his back. Reaches around and slips two fingers between his cheeks, teases his rim.

“Wait-wait-wait,” Timmy slurs, words melting together against Armie’s cheek. He half turns, flailing his arm out across the table and pushing a bottle hurriedly against Armie’s chest.

“Olive oil?” Armie mutters, even as he’s unscrewing the cap. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Timmy bumps their foreheads together. “I don’t want your spicy fingers in my ass, again. Remember what—”

Armie’s laugh is rough. A warm, damp bloom in the hollow of Timmy’s neck. “That’s riiight,” he says, and tips the olive oil into his palm. It spills over the side of his hand and onto Timmy’s thighs.

“Don’t waste it,” Timmy takes the bottle away, setting it as far back on the table as he can reach. “And it’s not funny.”

“I know,” Armie leans in, slips his tongue between Timmy’s teeth. Sucks at his upper lip and presses slicked fingers into him. “I’m sorry I laughed,” he whispers into Timmy’s mouth.

“Fuck I don’t care,” Timmy coats his palm with the spilt olive oil on his thigh, wraps his fist around Armie’s cock, jerks him hard and fast until Armie’s grip on his waist tightens. Pushes back against his fingers and moans. “Give me one more.”

“Yeah,” Armie nods, lips quirking up as he pulls two fingers out, pushes three back in. “Nothing extra virgin about that.”

“Oh god, that was terrible,” Timmy snorts, then gasps and grabs the back of the chair. “You’re the worst.”

“You love it,” Armie kisses him. Pulls his fingers out again and grabs his dick.

“Shut up,” Timmy huffs against his lips. He shifts up and sinks down slow, breath stuttering noisily. He winds his arms around Armie’s neck, fingers pushing up into his hair, curling into fists and tugging as he rolls his hips forward.

Armie keeps one big hand curved over his hip, guiding the pace, the firm press of his fingers rocking Timmy over the length of his dick.

They go slow until they can’t anymore. Until Timmy’s hugging himself tight to Armie’s body, grinding his leaking cock between them and begging to come.

They have to shower twice, because immediately after the first one, they’re fucking again on the bedroom floor. Afterward, Armie shuffles back into the kitchen, his bare feet leaving damp prints on the hardwood. Timmy drags a paper towel around with his toes in a lazy attempt to dry them up. They put a little effort into cleaning up, but leave most of the work for the morning.

They’re eating leftovers on the sofa when Armie snorts quietly. His lips curve as he spoons another bite into his mouth.

Timmy stretches his leg across the seat cushion and pokes his toe into Armie’s thigh. “What’s so funny?”

Armie shrugs. “Just thought of an item title for the weekend lunch special.”

“Oh yeah?” Timmy pokes him again. “What is it?”

Armie lifts a brow and smirks. “TNM Spicy Fingers.”

#gbbo au #gbbo charmie au #shuffle meme #ask games #memes #charmie au #charmie #my fic #shuffle fic

14 notes · View notes

deniigi · 4 years

Note

will we be getting anyting spooky for this year? "ain't afraid of no ghost!" fed my halloween loving soul.

hi!!

I’m a little burnt out with writing right now, BUT I do have a piece from the Selkie Verse that’s a little bit ghostly/scary. I can’t remember if I posted it here already or not, but I’ll give it to you (again?)

It’s like 8k so be prepared!

Title: ember ghosts

Summary: Flash forces Peter, Ned, and MJ to go ghost hunting in a local cemetery. Peter decides to add a little pizzazz to this trip in the form of Resident Dead Hero Jack Murdock to get back at Flash. Things, as they are wont, go terribly wrong.

--------------

Matt’s new coat was white and incredibly heavy; Peter learned that last part upon dragging MJ and Ned over to catch Matt in the act of grooming it.

He barked at them and the volume of the sound locked Peter into place for a minute before he came back to himself and hustled in to go flop down next to Matt and ask him if he needed help first, and then secondly, if his dad was busy.

Matt felt for his chin and then jerked his face close.

“What business do you have with him?” he asked.

Stories about baby seals, obviously.

Matt tossed him away.

“You’re not borrowing my father’s spirit to scare Flash,” he said.

MJ and Ned came over to join the pleading session.

“But Mr. Murdock’s the biggest ghost ever,” Peter lamented.

“He’s a normal sized spirit, not a ghost,” Matt sniffed at him as he gathered up his fur rug from the floor and started picking through it in his lap.

The gesture he used was mesmerizing. He dragged the fur back the wrong way until he found something he didn’t like, then used the last three fingers on his hand to scrape at it until it was vanquished. He pulled his whole hand over the place again and carried on down the stripe he was making until he found another knot or bit of dirt or something to scratch at.

“Can I try?” Ned asked.

Matt’s face jerked his way and he dragged even more of the coat into his lap.

“No touching,” he said.

“I thought Foggy’s coat was the white one?” MJ asked.

Matt gathered his coat even further in offense.

“It will shed,” he said. “It is a new coat.”

“It’s baby fur,” Peter told the others. “Foggy said—”

He got a face full of baby fur and could now confirm that it was soft and fluffy and amazing. He could sleep in this.

“It’s a new coat,” Matt emphasized. “Annoying me will not unlock access to my old man.”

Boo on you, sealman.

“I’m gonna ask your mom then,” Peter declared.

He got yanked down before he was even all the way up.

Matt held his chin again.

“He’s a spirit,” he said. “And a hero. Say it with me.”

“He’s a spirit and a hero,” Peter repeated.

Matt shoved him away.

“If you ask him very nicely, he might be interested in having some time away from the church. But not too long. He can’t be away from Mum for too long, you hear?”

That was permission.

“We hear,” Peter promised. “Should we bring Sister Maggie an offering?”

Matt huffed and stood up. He left his pile of coat behind him and the urge to pet it behind his back was insurmountable. Peter met Ned and MJ’s eyes and bounced his brows. MJ shook her head.

Matt returned from the table and held something out towards the coat. MJ leaned forward and plucked it out of his hand.

“A comb?” she asked.

“Tell her its teeth are too wide,” Matt said. “Go get a bouquet of flowers—no roses, Peter. Go for hyssop if you can find it.”

Copy that.

“Be gone with you.”

“You’re my favorite teammate,” Peter said.

“I said begone,” Matt sniffed.

---

“You think he should have just kept it anyways?” MJ asked on the way to May’s friend Tonya’s place.

Ned took the comb from her and held it up to the sun.

“What do you think it’s made out of?” he asked.

Knowing the selkies? Probably teeth.

The other two stared at Peter.

He shrugged.

“Johnny says selkies are obsessed with guarding their teeth,” he said. “So maybe it’s whale bone or something.”

Ned huffed.

“Maybe it’s turtle shell,” he said.

Maybe.

“Why not roses?” MJ asked Peter.

Oh, well that was easy enough.

“There’s not really a kind of rose that isn’t a curse for Mr. Murdock,” he said. “It’s all friendship this, scorned lover that. And from the sounds of it, he doesn’t like them. Hyssop is a sacrifice flower, so you know. It’s an offering for both him and Sister Maggie.”

MJ tapped at her lip.

“Do you think we should cover our basis with a can of sardines, too?” she asked.

Well, it couldn’t hurt.

---

Tonya, upon learning that the flowers Peter was seeking were to be given to a ‘selkie and her young man’ (in her words) went a little overboard.

She stuffed the hyssop in as an afterthought among a tryptic of sunflowers in a bed of bursting blue cornflowers. She mused on a pink rose or two to top the whole thing off, until Peter informed her that the son of the recipients had warned against it.

She said hollyhock would have to do, and then she gave Peter a basket of herbs for drying back home. She said to leave them outside when he went in to talk to the selkie.

Tonya’s apprentice said nothing the whole time and stared at Peter like he was scum while she snipped the low leaves off the stems of black-eyed susans. Peter resolutely didn’t look at her or her fancy, pale-eyed familiar.

She was a poser, anyways.

“Tell me how it goes,” Tonya hummed, draping herself across the desk and humming. “I wish I could bag a selkie. Imagine it, Missy. Strong handsome man comes up from the banks and—”

“The banks of the Hudson, Ms. Rice?” Missy said scathingly.

Tonya considered this then shrugged.

“He’s shower first,” she said.

Peter and the others said bye.

---

Sister Maggie was suspicious of the flowers. But to be fair, she was suspicious of pretty much everything. She accepted the comb back much more comfortably.

“You want Jackie?” she asked once that was done.

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter said.

“What for?”

A reckoning.

“One of our classmates is a jerk,” MJ said. “He’s forcing everyone in our club to go ghost-hunting with him even though no one wants to. So we thought we’d give him a run for his money, but we didn’t want to like, disturb anyone or raise the dead or whatever.”

Sister Maggie’s eyebrow arched and Peter swore that she was going to start in for a lecture. He braced himself.

It did not come.

“That’s considerate of you,” she said instead. “How long do you need him for?”

“Like, just a few hours? Fourish?” MJ said.

“Let me ask him,” Sister Maggie said. “I think he’ll be interested, he’s been rolling balls back to the wains all day. It’s only fun for the first five times.”

---

Mr. Murdock was a good four inches taller than Matt and around forty or fifty pounds heavier. He looked like he could carry all the babies at St. Agnes’s all at the same time if he wanted to. But, having seen the guy in action (i.e. hopelessly lost in the tunnels of the great seanchaidh), Peter now knew that he was kind of a St. Bernard burdened with a troublesome wife and son.

“Have fun,” Sister Maggie said.

Mr. Murdock huffed at her and said that he ‘shan’t’ and it made her laugh as she closed the door behind them all.

“I’m not a ghost,” he told Peter, ignoring the other two’s shock and awe.

“A spirit,” Peter said. “Yeah, I know. But Flash is a dick and you don’t like bullies, right?”

Mr. Murdock’s jaw worked.

“What kind of bully, now?” he asked.

“He calls us names and talks shit behind our backs and runs into me on purpose in the hall during passing period,” Peter said.

“Easy fix for that,” Matt’s dad said with a hand wave.

“Mr. Murdock, I can’t fight him. I’ll break him in half,” Peter said. “Fighting is only for spiders.”

Mr. Murdock did not understand. That was okay, he and Matt only understood the language of hitting people. It was genetic.

“If you can just like, do the glowy thing right behind him tonight when we go to this crypt, that would be super helpful,” Peter said.

“You glow?” Ned asked Mr. Murdock.

Mr. Murdock was not convinced.

“How will me standing over a guy get him to stop bullying you?” he asked.

That…was maybe a fair point.

“It’ll scare him,” Ned said. “And it’ll be all his fault and everyone will blame him and he’ll feel stupid for having made everyone go along with his dumb idea.”

Mr. Murdock considered him and then looked back to Peter.

“Just go with it,” Peter said. “It’s a teenager thing. It’s how we keep each other humble.”

---

Mr. Murdock didn’t want to wait with them until nightfall. He wanted to be with Matt. That was his second favorite place to be, apparently, after hanging around Sister Maggie, but Peter got the feeling that Matt would talk Mr. Murdock out of some good, honest revenge and into some Catholic guilt if they were stuck together. So he gave him the next best thing.

Foggy was basically a vengeful spirit.

He laughed really hard at the idea of Mr. Murdock going around scaring kids in a cemetery.

“No, no,” he said. “Here, you must—Jack, can you hold things?”

Peter snapped his head back to Mr. Murdock.

“Some,” Mr. Murdock said.

“How much can you lift?” Foggy asked.

Mr. Murdock squinted at him.

“I don’t like the question,” he said.

Foggy abandoned them all to go dig through one of his kitchen drawers. He came back with tiny bottle and held it out to Peter.

“Mix it with some lamp oil,” he said.

Peter took the bottle.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Ask not what you don’t want the answer to,” Foggy said. “Just mixy-mix, boyo. Here, I’ve even got a lantern around here somewhere. Jack, we need to dress you for the part.”

Peter paused and turned to look up at Mr. Murdock’s dark eyes and thick hair.

Dress? Him?

You could dress a spirit?

“Why not?” Foggy said. “You, my dear sir, need a coat and a flatcap.”

Mr. Murdock’s whole expression dropped.

“I’m not playing some ghostly lighthouse man in the middle of New York City,” he said.

“You are,” Foggy said seriously. “For your people, Jack. Think about your people. And fix that accent, I know you’ve got a brogue in you.”

Peter took Mr. Murdock home with him when he and the others split off to reconvene at the cemetery at 8 o’clock. Mr. Murdock rode the train like a champ. It was cramped from the rush hour traffic and Peter entertained himself by watching Mr. Murdock lay his hands tenderly on top of those belonging to douchebags who were plenty tall enough to hold onto the upper bar but who couldn’t be assed to look away from their phones to realize this.

One guy yelped at Mr. Murdock’s touch on his knuckles and ripped his hand off, only to see nothing there. Everyone around him stared at him.

He coughed and reached up for the overhead rail.

Mr. Murdock abandoned him to squeeze through the carriage to the back. He found a pregnant woman standing beside a group of teenagers all listening to music. Peter watched as he inspected the lady’s phone in her hand and then her face. He tapped on the top of the phone so it fell right out of her loose grip, and the woman jumped. The kids all startled at the sound of the phone hitting the ground and two jumped up to pick it up for her. One offered her his seat.

She thanked them and carefully, carefully sat down.

Mr. Murdock watched this with no expression.

Peter swallowed a giggle.

Jonathan ‘Jack’ Murdock. Lighthouse Ghost Impersonator and Subway Manners Enforcer.

---

“Oh, hey there, long time no see,” May said to Mr. Murdock when Peter got home. “You’re going with Pete and the others tonight?”

Mr. Murdock said nothing.

Peter recounted his poltergeist from earlier for him. May thought it was just delightful.

“I told him to take Johnny,” she said. “But you might be even better.”

“They should just fight it out,” Mr. Murdock said.

“Mm. School authorities won’t go for it,” May said. “So I’m afraid we must stoop to witchcraft.”

---

Mr. Murdock didn’t know the full glory of Youtube, so Peter spent the next few hours snacking and showing him clips of old vines. Then, when it was time to go, he turned to google how to use an oil lamp. Mr. Murdock watched him struggle for a good five minutes before reaching over him and showing him how.

“Did you and Matt not have electricity in Ireland?” Peter asked him.

Mr. Murdock huffed.

“No, I just uh. I guess I had an interest in maritime shit since I was a kid.”

Ohhh.

“Is that how you met Sister Maggie?” Peter asked.

Mr. Murdock’s lip quirked up a little.

“No,” he said. “But we got there anyways, didn’t we?”

---

“Do you not like roses?” Peter asked him on the way to the train station.

“They all smell like soap,” Mr. Murdock said as he followed Peter down the steps to the station. He was wearing the hat that Foggy had impressed on him. It was a strange thing; Foggy had marked it with a piece of chalk under the brim before handing it over and it seemed to have made it ghost-apparel. He didn’t have a big scary coat, but he did have a scarf and between that and the hat and the lantern, Mr. Murdock was plenty old-timey lighthouse man.

“Not all of them,” Peter said. “Some smell like lemon.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” Mr. Murdock said over the heads of folks by the train. “S’all soap.”

---

“Did you every hunt for ghosts when you were a kid?” Peter asked when they were approaching the gates of the meeting place. May had given him a bag full of offerings to place on graves when people he was with weren’t looking. Some mandarin oranges and little bouquets of lavender and zinnias with sprigs of baby’s breath. They were pretty. Peter had something like twenty in among the fruit.

“No, the dead never bothered me half as much as the living,” Mr. Murdock said.

That sounded kind of angsty.

“How did you become a hero?” Peter asked.

“Kind of a long, boring story,” Mr. Murdock said. “The short of it, I guess, is that I did a lot of shit for the fae and they appreciated it.”

“Johnny’s starstruck of you,” Peter pointed out. “He thinks you’re like, super cool. He told me you smell really good.”

Mr. Murdock glanced down at him.

“It’s a sign of status for the fae to be attached to a hero,” he said.

Oh???

“Am I a hero? Does Johnny get a boost from being with me?” Peter asked.

Mr. Murdock shrugged.

“You’re both pretty young to be able to know or tell,” he said. “And you’re a witch. So unless you’re a hero-witch, I got nothin’ for you.”

Ah, well. It was worth a shot.

“There’s Ned, that’s our cue. Here, you can take the lantern. I’ll point Flash out to you,” Peter said.

Mr. Murdock took the lantern Peter held out to him without complaint while Peter fumbled through his pockets for a lighter.

He held it out.

“Do you want me to light it or are you okay?” he asked.

“You light it,” Mr. Murdock said. “This is heavy for me in this shape.”

---

Mr. Murdock took the lantern and left Peter to go meet MJ and Ned. The light had vanished by the time Peter looked back.

“I think Mr. Murdock’s a little sad,” he told the others.

“Ghost separation anxiety?” MJ offered.

“Maybe it’s harder for him to be with people who aren’t his family. Maybe he’s tired,” Ned said.

Yeah, maybe.

“Or maybe he’s a softie who doesn’t like scaring people,” MJ said. “But that means that Matt got his nonsense gene from the nun side.”

It wasn’t implausible.

“Hey, are you guys coming?” Abe tossed back at them. He was prepared with two flashlights and a backpack with a bulky mobile charger in his pocket. He’d said that he wasn’t falling for ‘any ghost shit’ that night and no one was making any ‘dumbass mistakes’ on his watch.

Peter thought that Abe might try to punch Mr. Murdock in the gut. He and MJ agreed to separate him from Flash as soon as possible.

---

Flash insisted on leading the charge—of course he did. Peter hung back a ways so that he could set offerings on graves. Ned told kept reminding him that he didn’t have to do it for every single one, and obviously Peter knew that. But some of the graves deserved stones on them and a quick prayer. That was just being polite.

Flash caught him at it and asked him if he was scared. Peter told him to mind his own business.

“We’re here to find ghosts, not feed them,” Flash volleyed back.

Peter pointed at him in a way that he hoped was dramatic enough for Mr. Murdock to catch sight of it from wherever he was.

“If they’re eatin’ these, they aren’t eatin’ me,” he said. He offered Flash an orange. “You want one?”

Ned snickered.

“You’re not funny, Parker,” Flash sighed. His breath clouded around him. “Come on, it’s not too much further.”

---

The ‘crypt’ was actually a mausoleum, as Peter had expected. It was tall and made of stone and Peter could tell immediately that it was of no one of import to the local necromancers.

Even the vultures had declared the folks in this one too boring for their rituals. It was probably a family thing. A bunch of folks who were ordinary but devout. Maybe they had a little money and chose to spend it in death.

Everyone had their own thing.

Peter had oranges and flowers, for example. He snuck around the corner to set one onto the ground by the stone.

His breath puffed out around it and misted away and Peter paused before standing up out of his stoop. He could feel a breeze on his cheeks. He looked up and around.

“Mr. Murdock?” he breathed.

Nothing.

No lantern light.

“You’re not my ghost,” Peter whispered. “I’m just leavin’ a snack, okay?”

The breeze seemed to vanish.

Cool.

“Don’t mind my spirit friend. He’s big and kinda glowy, but he’s not one of you,” Peter said.

“Peter?”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“I’ve gotta go,” he said. “But this other idiot is gonna try to climb onto your grave. Sorry about him. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it.”

The leaves at his feet blew up and scattered around the orange.

“No problem.” Peter said. “Bye now.”

He hurried back to the others.

---

The main problem was that none of them knew how roman numerals worked and, surrounded by ghosts, looking it up on the internet was kind of challenging.

MJ and Ned gave Peter pointed looks when he came back to join them.

They knew Peter could read roman numerals. He was assigned the task of keeping his mouth shut without anyone having to tell him.

“Maybe they don’t want to be read,” Felicia said.

“Correct,” Abe agreed. “No reading. I can’t read. None of us can read. This is a blessing of ignorance, given to us by the Lord.”

Flash stared at them.

“X is ten,” he deadpanned.

“Damnit, Flash,” Abe said.

“What’s L?” Flash said. “And M?”

“Code,” Ned chimed in.

He got flat eyebrows all around.

“We live in the twenty-first century,” Flash told the stone. “Just use normal numbers like everyone else.”

The wind kicked up a bit in offense.

“Alright, well, now what?” Abe said. “Not a single ghost so far. Only a creepy stone in a creepy yard with a creepy—oh shit. Turn off the light.”

Say what now?

“Keeper,” Abe snapped over his shoulder, pointing away from them towards a floating light. “Turn ‘em off or we’ll get kicked out.”

Oh.

The lantern.

Peter joined the others in turning off their lights and hiding on the other side of the mausoleum.

“You’d have thought it would be too late for working,” Felicia whispered.

“It’s a graveyard,” MJ whispered back. “The time you need the most coverage is night.”

“Are they still there?” Abe asked.

Flash peeked out from around the stone.

“No,” he said.

Peter untensed his shoulders and stepped out.

“What if it’s not a keeper?” he asked. “What if it’s a—”

“Huh-uh. No,” Abe snapped. “We’re not asking stupid questions tonight, remember, Parker? I specifically said this not 10 minutes ago. No stupid questions.”

Abe had seen a few horror movies, it would seem.

“Alright, alright. No stupid questions,” Peter said. “It’s just—that doesn’t look like a flashlight to me.”

Ned made a show of looking around.

“It’s gone, it doesn’t look like anything to anyone,” he said.

“This is exciting,” Felicia anxiety-giggled.

“It’s not,” MJ sighed. “Well, we’re already here. Might as well keep going.”

The others all turned towards her.

“Wait, you mean, go further?” Flash asked.

MJ shrugged.

“We’re only like, part of the way in,” she said.

Peter surveyed the space beyond their current alley of monuments. The light from the two floodlights at the gated entrance was already weak. Further out, there wouldn’t be light until they hit the war memorial way, way in the back.

That was a plenty big enough stretch.

“Guys? Did it get foggy?” Felicia asked.

Peter shivered.

He had about ten oranges left and an equal number of flower packets.

Welp.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Before it rolls in thicker.”

---

The grass seemed to get wetter and wetter with every yard and Peter had started to see things out of the corners of his eyes. Shadows. Little flickers of light.

He felt MJ’s fingers sink into his jacket sleeve as he watched an extra set of legs follow behind them in the jerky shadows jostled around by the flashlights.

Abe froze twice, each time to take a deep steady breath and to remind himself that he was not asking stupid questions.

Flash laughed at him, but the sound was strained and a little hysterical. Felicia had grabbed ahold of one of each of their arms up ahead. Ned touched Peter’s shoulder.

“Where is he?” he whispered.

Peter shrugged.

“He’s lantern man,” he said. “We’ll see him.”

“In the mist?”

Mmmm. Okay maybe they should have brought Johnny after all.

---

They were halfway to the war memorial when the lights above it suddenly went out. MJ’s fingers dug deep into Peter’s sleeve. Ned gasped.

“Dude,” Flash’s voice said in the dark. “That’s not cool. Don’t do that.”

“Don’t you talk to it,” Abe snapped. “Don’t you dare talk to it. Just walk. Don’t ask questions. Just walk.”

Peter felt wind against his cheeks. He shivered.

Mr. Murdock wouldn’t fuck with the lights, would he? Was he that strong?

Peter thought he was supposed to be a spirit, not a ghost. And he’d seemed kind of tired earlier. Surely he hadn’t fallen asleep or something, right?

There was a loud rustle to the right of their group and Peter jumped, which made MJ jump, which made Felicia yelp.

The rustle carried on. It was punctuated with a horrible, wet-sounding slap all of the sudden.

“Wh—what was that?” Flash asked.

Another slap rang out, then another. Followed by the sound of something dropping into leaves. Something…heavy.

“Nice try, slugger,” Mr. Murdock growled.

Actually growled. Like an angry tiger or something.

Peter shivered hard.

This guy hadn’t been scared at all. He’d been preparing himself.

To fight.

Fuck.

Abort mission. Abort, abort, abort.

“We need to leave,” Peter said sharply.

“Agreed,” MJ said.

“Yep,” Ned said.

“You speak my language finally,” Abe said. “About-face and—”

“Don’t move,” Mr. Murdock said dangerously.

Peter felt his body turn to ice.

“Who’s there?” Flash asked.

“They’re mine,” Mr. Murdock rumbled. “Hands off, ya fuckin’ lowlife. Yeah, get back to your hole. Go on.”

Oh, okay.

Fun times with the undead. Peter should have brought holy water.

“Wh—who’s there?” Flash asked again in a cracking voice.

The sound of metal clanking met them and then an orange flash crackled into sight. And there was Mr. Murdock. Six foot two and missing his hat. He looked huge and solid and his shoulders glowed ever so slightly.

Flash and Felicia and Abe gasped.

“Y’all better be moving along,” Mr. Murdock said, meeting Peter’s eyes seriously.

“Are—are you a ghost?” Felicia whispered.

Mr. Murdock flicked his eyes down at her and they didn’t reflect the light from the lantern.

“Folks call me ‘Jack,’” he said, holding out the lantern. “Or they used to. Nowadays, the little ones call me ‘John.’ This is a ritual grounds tonight, kids. Bad night for a hunt for the living. Go on, I’ll see you out. Take this; your lights won’t work.”

MJ took out her flashlight and it clicked as she turned it on and then off.

“What kind of ritual?” Peter asked.

Mr. Murdock’s lips thinned.

“Go,” he said.

Peter’s chest expanded.

“Where are they?” he asked.

Mr. Murdock shook his head.

“Go,” he said again. “This isn’t for you, little witch.”

Peter heard the others’ shape intakes of air, but he held firm.

“You’re a spirit,” he said. “You can’t stop them.”

Mr. Murdock sighed and his shoulders fell slowly.

“I’m not just a spirit,” he said. “I’m a hero. I’ll see you out. Tell my son the name of this place. He’ll come in the morning.”

Wh—

No, wait.

“Don’t go,” Peter said.

But he was already gone. Felicia was left holding the lantern.

---

They ran-slipped-fell all the way back the way they’d come. This time, Peter held his breath at the sound of too many feet hitting the wet pockets of mud around them. He heard Felicia sobbing and the lantern clanking dangerously ahead of them.

The floodlights at the entrance had gone out.

They had to carefully climb the fence and pass off the lantern one at a time until they were on the other said, panting.

Peter realized belatedly that he’d dropped the bag of grave offerings.

He dipped his head and clenched his fists.

He’d have to go back for it in the morning.

“You’re a witch,” Flash suddenly snapped at him.

“Lay off,” MJ said immediately.

“You’re a witch and you brought that—that guy with us?” Flash asked.

“It was supposed to be a joke,” Peter said.

“A joke?” Abe said. “You—Peter, witches aren’t real. Ghosts aren’t real. Who was that?”

“No, you, a witch, thought it would be funny to bring some kind of spirit with us to a graveyard?” Flash demanded.

Peter huffed.

“Hey, you were a dick about this first,” Ned said. “The ghost dude is harmless.”

“Harmless?” Flash said. “Harmless? Yeah, fuckin’ streetfighter ghost is harmless.”

“He’s not a ghost,” Abe said, “He’s an actor. Peter that’s not cool, man. That’s not cool.”

“He’s not an actor,” Felicia said quietly.

The rest of them turned to see her holding the still-burning lantern. She was staring into it.

“His hands were so cold,” she whispered.

Abe executed a full-body shiver.

“Well, now what?” he asked. “We’ve trespassed, found a ghost, and nearly got ritualed to death. What else do we need to do to learn that this was a bad idea all along?”

Peter looked up at the gate.

“Dark magic,” he said.

MJ and Ned turned towards him.

“Peter, you’re not going back in there,” Ned said.

“I took charge of the spirit,” Peter said, setting his jaw. “I’m not going back on my word to a selkie.” He jerked back. “I need my familiar,” he said. “You guys can go.”

“Your…familiar?” Abe said slowly. “Peter. Peter, you are not a witch.”

“He’s not a familiar like others are, maybe, but he’s mine,” Peter said. “And he’ll know how to help the spirit.”

Ned and MJ exchanged glances.

“Okay?” Ned said. “Well, where is he?”

---

Johnny answered his phone and said he’d been 20 minutes. They were the longest 20 minutes of Peter’s life and were spent primarily being interrogated by Abe, Flash, and Felicia.

They were understandably upset by the set-up, and then understandably upset by the fact that they were, in fact, living in ignorance of a whole multi-dimensional plane.

Abe demanded to know if genies were real, and Peter could only say that they probably were.

“Just so I’m clear here,” Flash said. “You went and borrowed your local seal-person’s husband for a jump-scare for us and now we are waiting on a fire demon to help us rescue the seal-person’s undead husband from some evil witches trying to raise the dead?”

Peter chewed a few fingers.

“That’s the gist of it, yeah,” he said.

“PARKER.”

“PETER. OH MY GOD.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Abe sobbed.

“I was appeasing the spirits,” Peter snapped at them. “Why do you think I brought all those oranges? Do I look like I’m vitamin C deficient?”

“You’re a witch,” Felicia said. “You’re a witch. That’s insane. How do you—”

“I’m not a witch,” Peter sighed. “I’m—I’m a—I’m almost a witch.”

“Clearly,” Abe said.

“Hey, leave him alone,” Ned jumped in. “It’s no one’s fault this happened. We all thought we were walking into a totally different situation.”

“Yeah, except Mr. Ghost Man,” Flash said. “He knew what was up. Why didn’t you listen to him? Or, I dunno, read the undead-people signs?”

“Because he’s not my family spirit,” Peter snapped at him. “And he’s not a ghost. He’s a spirit, and not like a spirit, even. He’s a—it’s hard to explain. I don’t even know what he is. He’s just different. He’s like an inbetween kind of—”

“He’s a hero.”

They all looked up to see Johnny standing there in blue with a black knitted scarf wrapped triple around his neck. His eyes flashed orange and red and gold. The ground swayed around him, light up by his internal lantern.

Everyone around Peter recoiled.

“What does that mean, Johnny?” Peter asked quietly. “I don’t understand.”

“It means that the spirits of the sea granted him another life in exchange for the protection he offered their people during his human one,” Johnny said. “You should know by now, Peter; the fae work in exchanges.”

“He already made his deal,” Peter said. “I don’t understand.”

“His deal as a human was fulfilled. His soul is safe with his selkie, only she can shepherd it. It will go to the Otherworld, where he will stay in comfort. But he’s chosen to stay here--as a hero. In this world. And as long as he is here and not in the Otherworld, his purpose is to protect humans and fae, to protect them from each other if he must, as he stands now with a foot on both sides of the line.”

Peter felt his breath coming slowly again.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“Because,” Johnny said with a sudden smile. “Your soul is already mine—we share a heart remember? I don’t need you getting stupid ideas—imagine if you decided to become a hero, then died and decided to stick around these parts instead of letting me take you to the Otherworld. You’d drive yourself mad, Peter. You’d never sleep ever again.”

Peter blinked.

“You lied to me?” he asked.

“I’m a fire demon,” Johnny said. “We listen to truths. We don’t have to tell them.”

Wow.

“Know that I’m really upset with you right now,” Peter said.

Johnny bobbed his head.

“But you’re more upset about the hero,” he said. “No need for that. He didn’t become a hero by dumb luck, and anyways, look at his kid. He’ll be fine; he’s the original material. A little dark magic isn’t gonna tear him up. He’s probably just gonna—”

There was a flash like miniature lightening through the bars of the gate.

“I take it back,” Johnny said. “Whoopsy-daisy. Come on, now, heart-boy. Up and over.”

---

Peter landed on the other side of the gate right into mud that hadn’t been there a moment earlier.

“What’s going on?” he asked as Johnny hopped down with him.

“Big, wet,” Johnny said. “Dark, dark magic. Gross. Sticky. Here, we need more light.”

Little embers glittered in the throw of fire that expanded Johnny’s lantern lights. It brightened the space substantially and when Peter looked down, the ground was dry.

“Dude,” Flash said. “You know what? I’m convinced.”

“Johnny Storm is a fire demon,” Abe wept into his hands.

“Stay here,” Peter told Ned and MJ, we’ll be—”

“BACK. BACK. BACK.”

Johnny slammed Peter against the fence and let out a hiss that sounded like water hitting a scalding piece of metal. Peter’s heart throbbed. Johnny slowly released the pressure on him and made a clicking noise.

“I think,” he said after a moment. “That perhaps I am not a big enough fire.”

Dude, what?

Johnny turned to him.

“Sorry,” he said sadly. “More and more are waking up every second. They’re heavy.”

Dude, what?

“I’m really sorry,” Johnny said. “But uh. I think I need to, uh—”

“Need to what, Johnny?” MJ demanded on the other side of the fence.

Johnny looked like he was going to cry.

---

“JONATHAN STORM.”

Scary, scary, scary, scary, scary.

“Sue,” Johnny pleaded. “Not here. Not now. There’s hero in the—”

“Oh, I see him,” Sue Storm said, looming. “He’s doing just fine. He’ll hold on for long enough for me to—”

“It’s my fault,” Peter blurted out. “I called him here.”

Sue Storm’s blue eyes seemed to blaze in the dark.

“Don’t blame him,” Johnny said. “I’ll take it. He’s my human. I’ll take it.”

“This is dark magic,” Sue said. “None of you should be here. This earth will turn sodden under the spell of these monsters. The hero will return it to balance. You two, in the meantime, are no heroes. Not even halves of one.”

Peter felt his face burning.

“He’s the selkie’s, Sue,” Johnny said quietly. “He’s not long a hero. Please help him?”

Sue Storm chewed her tongue, gazing holes into Johnny’s face. Johnny looked away first.

“Which selkie?” she demanded.

“Her name is Margaret,” Peter said.

Sue’s face jerked his way. Her eyes widened and she turned back out towards the cemetery.

“Oh,” she said softly. “That selkie. She’s more like us.”

Peter frowned.

“I don’t—” he started.

“She honors the earth and its fae even though she’s sea folk,” she said. She sighed heavily. “Alright, fine. I’ll help. But for the hero, not either of you, you hear? Johnny, you’ll need to make things right with the selkie. She’ll be furious. She’s been nothing but kind to our people. We can’t repay her like this.”

“Will do,” Johnny said.

“Stay here,” Sue said. “All of you. The curse has got into you. We’ll break it all at once.”

Oh shit.

MJ and Ned turned slowly towards Peter.

“Curse?” Ned asked.

Peter groaned.

---

“It’s a friendship circle,” Johnny bubbled as Peter shoved him, once again, into the sigil he was trying to draw in the dirt at the cemetery entrance.

“I’m gonna salt you in and I will not regret it,” Peter threatened him.

“Johnny, come sit,” Ned said, patting the place between him and Felicia.

“Never,” Johnny hissed at him. “My heart is right—”

Peter left him to finish the circle. Johnny hurried to keep up with him.

Flash watched after him with furrowed eyebrows and a fist pressed to his mouth.

“This is not how this night was supposed to go,” he said.

“We didn’t even ask any stupid questions,” Abe sighed.

“What’s she doing out there?” Felicia asked.

Peter shoved Johnny’s flailing body towards her and finally finished the circle. He’d never made one this big. He started in on the protective signs around the interior.

“She’s a boggart!” Johnny chirped. “She’s boggart-ing!”

Peter felt the pause of the others more than he heard it.

“What does that mean?” Felicia asked.

“Oh. She’s a faerie of darkness,” Johnny said. “So she’s probably winding her way through all the posers and chasing them back to their hovels so that she can go chase the witches away from the hero and let him rest for a bit. She’ll guide him back if he’ll let her—which he might not. You never know with heroes. He might not want her smell on him.”

Peter had the feeling that Mr. Murdock was made of more sense than pride.

“How long will that take?” Abe asked.

Johnny made happy crackling sounds.

“Who knows! Depends on the witches,” he said. “Depends on how many people she needs to terrify. Boggarts get power through fear. The more spirits she scares, the faster she’ll be.”

Peter moved Ned’s backpack out of the way and carried on.

There was a lull.

“Peter, what are you doing?” Felicia asked.

“Protection circle,” MJ said for him.

“Oh.”

There was another silence.

“Where did you learn that?” Abe asked.

“His aunt’s a full witch. She does business in herbs, potions, and materials for their part of Forest hills,” Ned said.

“Oh.”

Flash and Abe scooted forward to let Peter in behind him. They watched him.

“That’s pretty cool, actually,” Felicia said. “Thanks for that.”

A mumbled thanks went around the whole group. Peter finished the final marks and stepped carefully over them into the circle.

“It’s nothing,” he sighed, flopping down and dragging Johnny away from Ned. “I should have known better. I think the ghosts were trying to warn me from the start. I should have listened better.”

More awkward silence.

“Well, it sounds like the fighting’s calmed down,” MJ said. “Mr. Murdock should be okay.”

Yeah.

“Wait,” Abe said. “Isn’t that your boss, MJ?”

Welp.

“Ghost man is my boss’s dad,” MJ sighed.

“Oh my god,” Felicia giggled. “You guys roped your boss’s dad into a practical joke?”

“He didn’t even want to scare you guys,” Peter groaned. “Man, I gotta learn how to read spirits. Johnny, how do I read spirits?”

“No idea. Spirits don’t like me. I’m too bright and obnoxious,” Johnny said.

“I’m un-bonding us,” Peter said. “You have nothing but bad advice and secrets.”

Johnny made kissy noises at him then scrambled up straight.

“Sue’s got the hero,” he said. “She’s arguing with him. Ahahaha.”

Peter cleared his throat. Johnny startled.

“Right, sorry,” he said. “She’s uh. Trying to convince him to come with her, but he’s refusing to look at her. Smart guy, you know that? Name a boggart and they’ll go off on you. He doesn’t want to chance it. Sue’s telling him that she’ll do the invisible thing so he doesn’t see her and he’s not into it, guys.”

Peter took it back. Maybe Mr. Murdock had too much sense for his own good.

“Can you talk to him?” Felicia asked.

“Who? Hero-man? Nah. I can just feel Sue’s frustration,” Johnny said. “Sibling bond, forever. You know?”

No, Johnny. No one knew. The only people with siblings in the circle were MJ and Abe.

“You’re so annoying,” MJ said.

“Aw, I like you too,” Johnny tittered.

Peter yanked him back and prayed that Mr. Murdock would give into the inevitable soon.

---

“Look? See? No trouble. Not even a little trouble. Did I lie to you?”

Peter snapped awake and shook himself. He blinked into the dark until the shapes of bodies appeared before him as the other woke up too. They all turned around to see the dark outline of Sue standing on the other side of the fence.

Mr. Murdock’s tall shape was there too.

They looked…uh.

Kinda scuffed up, actually, hair-wise and scratches and bruises--the whole thing.

“Lord, she’s still talking to me,” Mr. Murdock said, facing away from Sue, now that Peter could see better.

“God is smart enough to see through you talking to him to talk to me,” She pointed out.

“Lord, you are so unknowable,” Mr. Murdock said pointedly.

“You know, for a fae hero, you’re sure religious.”

“Please see me through this period of suffering,” Mr. Murdock carried on. “And safely away from this hostile body and place.”

Johnny leapt up.

“You found him!” he cheered.

“Yes, of course I did,” Sue said. “He was fine, by the way. Meat-head here has anvils for hands.”

“I keep hearing voices, Lord,” Mr. Murdock said miserably. “Whatever sin it is I’ve committed, I’m willing to repent. But you’ve gotta help me out, man; the priest is convinced I’m a demon in his confession box.”

“Move,” Sue told Johnny. “Come one, Hero-man. We’re going through a fence. I dunno if you’ll fit with all those muscles.”

They all watched as Sue got a handful of the back of Mr. Murdock’s shirt and dragged him through the largest part of the gate uncomfortably.

“You did it!” she cheered. “Successful hero. Another quest fulfilled. Look at all these living children. And you even picked up a rock! That’s good for a young guy like—”

“I’m going back to the church and I’m never leaving,” Mr. Murdock finally told her directly.

“Oh,” Sue said. “You’re a church hero. That’s new.”

“I’m done. No more seals. No more mountains. No more lakes. No more cemeteries,” Mr. Murdock said, shaking himself and dragging his hands through his hair to smooth it out.

“Oh, wow, you’ve really been through it, huh?” Sue asked his back as he left them all in place.

“No more superpowers either,” Mr. Murdock said over his shoulder at her. He moved on ahead purposefully.

“I want him,” Sue told Johnny forcefully.

“He’s taken,” Johnny reminded her.

“He’s sturdy is what he is,” Sue said.

“Reed is sturdy,” Johnny pointed out.

Sue contemplated this.

“But he’s not fae,” she said.

Johnny rolled his eyes.

“Sue, we can throw your boyfriend into a graveyard of dark magic and let him fight his way home,” he said. “That’s something we can do. We can even time him.”

Sue drummed fingers across her face and slowly wrapped an arm around Johnny’s shoulders until his cheek was smushed up against hers against his will.

“You are so smart, little brother, sometimes I forget how smart you are,” she said.

She threw him away and straightened herself out.

“We’re hours from dawn,” she said. “We’re going home. Baby witch, you and my brother will apologize to the selkie tomorrow. I don’t think the hero wants to stay with you until then. I’m 90% sure, actually, the hero is already catching a train without you. The rest of you--”

She rounded on all of them.

“Do not play with ghosts, witches, spirits or any receptacle of them, do I make myself clear?”

Peter shrunk under her finger.

“Yes, ma’am,” they all mumbled.

She sniffed.

“Good,” she said. “Now we all need to go talk to baby’s witch’s mom. You have one hell of a curse hanging over you.”

---

May was not pleased.

May doused them all in six different herb waters and made them eat something foul that tasted like charcoal and rubbing alcohol.

Then they had to get sprayed off with the hose in the backyard until all the cemetery mud came off and only then did May send everyone home.

---

“Hey Peter?”

Peter looked up from his grinding in the doorframe the next morning—it as far as he was allowed at the present moment—and jumped at the whole group from the night before staring down at him.

He scrambled up.

“Uh, hi,” he said.

“Did you say sorry to the selkie yet?” Felicia asked him.

He almost wanted to shush her and check for passersby. May swore at something in the kitchen behind him. He edged forward and closed the door as far as he could without closing it all the way.

“No, not yet. What are you all doing here?” he asked.

He got a wave of eyebrows all around.

“We wanted to go with you and to say thanks. To the hero guy. You know. For uh, saving us from certain and horrible death,” Abe said.

Oh.

“Let me, uh--give me just a second,” Peter said.

---

Matt was at his apartment and he opened the door at the third knock. He heard MJ clear her throat and started cackling immediately.

“Don’t be a dick,” MJ said. “Let us say thank you.”

Matt remained inarticulate.

“Oh my god,” he finally choked. “Do you know—I haven’t—He hasn’t been this mad since I ate fries off the street—hold oh. Oh my god.”

Ew, man. That’s disgusting.

“Pops, come on out,” Matt coaxed, wiping tears from his eyes and skirting fingers across his kitchen counter until he got to cupboard under the sink. “They just wanna say sorry, Dad. It’s okay. There’s no secret second quest.”

Mr. Murdock refused to exit his newfound home.

Matt snickered so hard his shoulders shook. He stood up and found his counter to lean his elbows against.

“No harm, no foul to us,” he said amiably. “Mum’s been trying to keep a straight face in Mass. He came here for sympathy that I’m afraid I don’t have.”

Man. It was a wonder that Mr. Murdock stuck around at all.

Peter puffed himself up anyways.

“Mr. Murdock,” he said. “I know you can hear me. And I wanted to say that I’m sorry for roping you into the whole thing yesterday, but I’m also super glad you were there. ‘Cause we would’ve been screwed otherwise. So thank you.”

“Yeah, thank you,” Felicia said. “You’re really nice, and I’m glad you were there, too.”

The others added their thanks to the pile and Matt grinned in the direction of the cupboard.

“Come onnn,” he drawled. “I can feel you giving in, in there.”

Nothing.

Matt muffled a round of giggles in his sleeve.

“He accepts your thanks,” he said. “He’s just allergic to sunlight and gratitude.”

The cupboard door rattled violently. Matt shoved a foot against it.

“Mum isn’t mad either, she thinks it’s healthy for him to do quests without her,” he said. “So you’re all good with the three of us.”

Peter wasn’t positive that they were actually. But okay, sure?

“I guess we’ll leave you guys to uh, brood? Baseball? Whatever it is you do together?” He said.

Matt hummed and nodded and waved them out. Peter shut the door behind them.

“That was easy,” Flash said.

“Man, I hope my dad just dies the once,” Abe said.

“My dad isn’t cool enough to fight zombies in a graveyard,” Felicia said.

MJ considered this.

“My mom could do it,” she said.

Ned snorted. Peter swallowed a laugh.

---

“So,” Flash said as they passed by the church that Mr. Murdock usually called home. “I know it was all kind of an actual nightmare, but like. I dunno.”

Peter stopped.

“You want more fae bullshit?” he asked in shock.

Flash rubbed at the back of his neck and even Abe and Felicia refused to make eye contact. Ned and MJ stared at them, then Peter in shock.

“It’s just really cool,” Flash admitted. “Like, there’s all this stuff that I thought was fake. But it’s all happening here, all at once—you know. Heroes and zombies and fire demons and witches.”

“This isn’t a tv show,” Peter said. “You know that right? Like, we don’t always win? Yeah, there are heroes and witches, but there’s also really bad magic. Dangerous fae. There are turf wars and tricksters and everything you do is a deal and you always owe someone something. It’s not always fun.”

“Okay, but isn’t it better to know?” Flash asked.

Peter closed his lips.

He didn’t have an argument for that.

“I’m not teaching you,” he sniffed. “I’m already apprenticed. If you want a mentor, it can’t be me—and you can’t have my demon.”

“But he’s Johnny Storm,” Abe blurted out. “Johnny. Storm. Peter, how did you even swing that? And why does he listen to you.”

“He doesn’t,” MJ butted in.

“He does,” Peter corrected.

“He really doesn’t,” Ned said. “Peter’s an amateur witch at best who bound himself to a fire demon with impulse control issues.”

Wow. Betrayed by his own family.

“I’m leaving, I’m grounded, you guy go get a grimoire or something and learn your magic bullshit yourselves,” he said.

“Aww, come on.”

“They were just joking, Peter.”

“Come backkkkk.”

Mr. Murdock had the right idea. Peter had a cupboard to find.

------

Hope this hits the spot, boo!! And Happy Halloween, y’all!

#fic #ficlet #selkie verse #witch peter witch peter witch peter

72 notes · View notes

annaphoenix1994 · 3 years

Text

Colter - The Aftermath of Genesis

Arthur interrupted Pearson's quiet thoughts with a cough, seeing that Pearson had been waiting for the fire he had created to pick up. "We're gonna starve to death up here, Mister Morgan," He spoke.

"We're okay," Arthur assured, rubbing his hands together.

"We have a few cans of food and a rabbit. For what, ten, twelve people? When I was in the Navy-"

"I-I do not wish to hear about what you got up to in the Navy, Mr. Pearson," Arthur replied, not interested.

"We were stranded at sea for fifty days-"

"And you unfortunately survived..." Arthur teased.

"When we ran away from Blackwater, I wasn't able to get supplies in!" Pearson explained.

"Well when government agents are hunting you down, sometimes shopping trips need to be cut short!" Arthur replied, watching Pearson carry the pot to the brewing fire. "We'll survive...we always have...and if needs be, we can eat you, you're the fattest," Arthur continued with his crude humor.

"I sent Lenny and Bill hunting and they found nothing!" Pearson argued, soon being joined by Charles Smith, who was gripping his still-injured hand.

"Well, Lenny's more into book learning than hunting," Arthur chuckled, holding his palms to the fire. "Bill's a fool. Unless those mountains are full of game that wanna read, ain't no wonder they found nothin'!"

Arthur really did not want to go out and face the snow again. For once, just once, he wanted to stay inside and not do anything else.

"Enough of this," Charles intervened. "We'll go find something. Come on, Arthur."

Arthur grunted as he was once again chosen for a task he didn't want to do, but he knew someone had to do it and he didn't want Charles to go off by himself.

"Wait a second, hold on," Pearson said as he made his way to his make-shift butcher's table, retrieving a can of salted Offal for them to take. "Here, you're gonna need something to eat out there!"

"Assorted, salted offal," Arthur read from the can. "Starving would be preferable."

"Come on, let's go."

"You can't go huntin', look at your hand!" Arthur protested.

"I can't stay here listening to you two," Charles replied. "Look, if there's game in those hills I'll find it and you can kill it."

"You need to rest, Charles!"

"You think this is rest?" Charles argued. "Come along."

───※ ·❆· ※───

Valentine, New Hanover

Minnie scarfed down a shot of harsh whiskey. She was never one to drink cheap liquor, but with the past couple of days being so rough, she didn't care. As long as it burned her throat and had her craving more, she wouldn't protest.

Her father, Jameson Barlow, had a cabin just north of Citadel Rock. It was small, quiet, and comfortable - somewhere for her to go when her actions got the better of her. She felt selfish for calling her father's home her preferred hideout as her father was the complete opposite of her: an honest, working man who made honest money. He knew who she was and what she was capable of, but he knew he couldn't change her ways. He swore to never tell her, but he never properly accepted the money she would gift to him as it was stolen. Instead, he stored it in a chest under his bed, promising himself to never touch it, even in an emergency.

"You want another?" The bartender asked his regular customer.

"Nah, I'm good for now," Minnie replied, embracing the burning sensation coating her throat. "I wouldn't mind some of that beef stew, though." She added.

"Sure thing, ma'am."

She nodded and took a few peanuts from the small bowl as they were available for everybody, setting aside the shells as she ate. She couldn't help but see a couple of men in the corner, pretending to play Dominoes, scouting her out. She hid a sly smirk as they must have thought she was stupid. Everybody knew around here that the O'Driscoll's wore a green vest or scarf and most of them lacked common sense.

She knew they were after her.

"Thank you." She smiled at the bartender as he brought over a fresh bowl of stew. Her stomach growled as she had gone without a whole meal for a few days, only relying on small game and wild berries to satisfy her hunger.

"No problem, Miss." He replied while setting down a glass of water for her as it was complimentary with every meal.

She soon finished her meal, requesting another shot of whiskey as she knew she was going to get in another fight sooner or later.

"See you around!" She said almost too loud, alerting the two O'Driscoll's who had been watching her.

She tossed a couple of coins down on the counter before slinging her coat over her shoulder while her spurs jingled as her heavy boots collided with the wood floor. She nodded in greeting at everybody she had come in eye contact with as she walked out the door, even the two O'Driscoll's who were after her, using her sly grin and short wink as a 'fuck you' to them as she passed by.

Instead of mounting her horse, she turned to the right to the small alleyway that ran towards the back of the buildings. "Where you goin', Miss?" One of the O'Driscoll's said.

She turned around slowly to study them. At one point in her life, she was a secret agent for the Pinkerton Detective Agency, specializing in hand-to-hand combat, security, and weaponry. She had also posed as a spy to expose crude companies such as the oil industry and acts of the mob in the surrounding areas. During one of her assignments, her supervisor, Andrew Milton, conspired against her as she "knew too much" about the industry and attempted to have her killed. After figuring out the plan, she had turned against him and the Pinkerton Detective Agency and robbed Andrew Milton before running from the law, becoming the well-known Minnie "Bandit" Barlow.

"Ain't none of your business where I'm goin'," She replied.

"Is too!" One of the O'Driscoll's replied, his hands on his gunbelt. "You're a wanted lady, Miss Barlow!"

"Don't know what you're talkin' about, Mister," She chuckled, shaking her head.

"Oh, I think you know. You're a wanted lady. About eight thousand for your hide! And I don't know about you, but I could do with a good chunk of cash like that!"

Minnie scoffed, "Yeah? And I could do with gettin' in a good fight. I need to burn off some excess energy!"

"That's it! Get her!" The man said as they both clenched their fists, lunging at her. She ducked from one's punch but received a punch to the side from the other. She groaned at the sudden pain and hunched over before delivering a blow to the man's groin, buying her time to take care of the other man who was well on his feet. She blocked his punches as she grabbed his left wrist, using her small fist to target his major pressure points throughout his torso, such as his jaw, solar plexus (under the sternum), and kidneys. The man groaned as she used items around her for her advantage, such as using the saloon wall to slam his temple before he slumped to his feet in defeat.

The other man finally stood to his feet before attempting to deliver another punch or grab to her, but she was too fast. She used her knee to bury into his sternum as he gripped her thigh and calf as he attempted to take another breath. She then delivered a strong punch to his nose, upwards towards his face, making it bleed almost instantly before slamming him into the wall as well. She blew a piece of her stray blonde hair from her face as she shook her fist, staring at the two men lay before her. "You jackass, you got your blood all over my knuckles!" She snarked before kneeling down to the men, "What're you bastards doin' here?" She questioned.

"I-I..." He gargled.

"I-I can't hear you!" She mocked as she gripped his collar.

"We were told to kidnap you and take you to Colm!" He cried. As much as she loved to be feminine, she also took pleasure in putting the fear of God into a man when she needed to.

She chuckled, "Colm O'Driscoll? Yeah? Well, you tell him just where he can find me, but you and I both know he won't!" She hissed, gripping the man's collar harder, pulling him closer to her. "I'll do the same thing to him like I just did to you two!" She warned.

"You and your big and bad words!" He taunted.

"Big and bad words, huh? Want me to brand you as we do to livestock? Is that it?" She questioned as she pulled out her massive hunting knife.

"Better than dyin' by the hands of you!" He cursed.

She nodded her head before taking the tip of her knife and poking it through the sensitive skin just below his left eye socket. It was a small cut, but big enough for any lawman or government agent to recognize within the region: A snake eye - a well-known mark done by only the hands of Minnie Barlow.

Resembling the Pinkerton Detective Agency's popular slogan: We Never Sleep, hence putting a small cut just below the eye socket as it took longer to heal, keeping the victim awake.

"Sometimes, snakes are just within your sight," She whispered as he groaned at the new pain. "If you don't mind, I'm just gonna take everything from ya here and be on my way!" She taunted as she looted his pockets. The man took a deep breath as she let go of his collar, his torso thudding against the mud. He didn't give up, though, as he wrapped his arm weakly around her leg as she stood, trying to stop her from leaving.

"Let go of my boot!" She warned as she jerked her foot from his grasp, using her spur to gouge him in the arm before walking out of the alleyway towards her broad buckskin Quarter Horse, nodding at the local townfolk who had just seen what had happened.

She would be lying if she said her adrenaline wasn't pumping. She took a cheap thrill in running from people who were after her, whether it be government agents or local gangs, she enjoyed it far better than doing honest work for the government as she now felt the government's work was more crooked than being an outlaw.

Her horse loped along the trail as she purposely took the long way to her father's cabin, eager to see him after a couple of weeks. She continuously studied the area for any threats as she neared her destination, wanting to avoid any harm to her father and his land as he had always worked hard to keep his home as private and secluded as he could.

"Pa!" Minnie said as she slowed her horse, dismounting at the hitching post as he had slowly walked through the front door with a pipe hanging loosely from his lips.

"Evenin', darling," He croaked. "How are you?"

"I'm doin' well, pa," Minnie smiled as she stepped up onto the porch, engulfing her father in an embrace, finding the smell of his tobacco comforting. "I brought you somethin'," She added as she pulled out a money clip from her pocket as well as a tin of cigars.

"Thank you," He smiled as he sat down in the rocking chair, releasing a cloud of smoke. "If ya don't mind, put it on the mantle and bring out the whiskey! You look like you could use a drink!" He chuckled.

"Sure thing!" She nodded as she walked into the cabin, seeing that a small fire had been lit in the hearth. She walked closer to the mantle, seeing that her father and mother's wedding photo was still presented in the middle of the hearth. "I miss you so much, ma," She whispered as she picked up the frame, flipping it over to see her mother's handwriting on the back: JAMESON AND EMMA BARLOW - 1837

She smiled as she looked up at the bust of a buck that was mounted above the mantle. A small six-point buck that her mother had killed a few years ago and had gotten so excited at her first kill as she was never the one to hunt, but to always provide, hence why her father called the location "Six Point Cabin." It was his way to always remember her as it was one of the many exciting moments of her life before she passed.

"I hope you're keepin' dad sane in this cruel world," She continued, putting down the frame before looking at the photo of her as a child: MINNIE ANNA BARLOW - 1867

"What the hell happened?" She chuckled as she degraded herself before putting the photo back on the mantle before returning to the task at hand. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey as she walked out back onto the porch, taking a seat in the rocking chair beside her father.

"What took ya so long? My throat was gettin' dry!" He joked as he reached for the bottle.

She giggled, "Just looked at momma's photo you got on the mantle and got to missin' her," She frowned.

Jameson nodded, "I miss your momma every day. Tuberculosis was real bad back then - still is," He explained as he took a sip of the whiskey, grunting as the strong liquor coaxed his throat.

"I understand," She frowned, looking down at the toes of her boots. "If I could've done anything to prevent it, I would've!"

"Minnie, darling, there wasn't anything you could've done. That disease affects older people the most. It's progressive and there's no stoppin' it. Stop blamin' yourself for it. I did and now I feel more at peace," He explained, lighting his pipe once more, taking a long drag before continuing. "You know, I met a feller a while back when I had to go to Saint Denis, some Indian feller who was hoping to find peace within his tribe - met him on the train. We had got to talkin' and your momma's passing came along. He said that she was lucky. I looked at him like he was crazy and made him explain. He said that most people don't know when they're gonna die, nor do they have that closure or time to find peace before passing. He said that she at least got to find peace and be with us before she went as comfortably as she could. That's when I opened my eyes and realized that I needed to stop blaming myself for it and to embrace her spirit and energy as she is looking over us,"

Minnie wasn't one to have a soft heart for regular people, but when it came to family, everything she was known for was unknown. She held back a tear at her father's explanation, taking note that she may have to do the same in order to move on with her life. She loved her mother unconditionally, but she could never let go of the guilt she felt she had to carry when her mother got diagnosed with Tuberculosis. Minnie was known for being so strong and relentless but felt helpless when she watched her own mother pass away in her arms in her now father's cabin in eighteen ninety-six.

"Do you remember this fella's name? I may need to pay him a visit. Seems like he has tons of wisdom, not much more than you, of course," She teased.

Jameson chuckled, reaching over and patting the top of her hand with his own, reassuring his daughter, "Rains Fall was his name."

#arthur morgan #arthurmorgan #reddeadredemption2 #minniebarlow

0 notes

whimsically-ominously-auspice · 4 years

Text

I hear two Atlanta Police Officers with missing vehicles called the Mayor and apologized to her for thinking of only themselves, admitted they were afraid that if they were in the same situation they would been fired as the other two in the Rayshard Brooks case and they couldn't allow that to happen to,themselves and the community so they wanted to show what would happen if it did because like me they all saw it as a justified homocide, a honorable weapon's discharge.

But after reading what i wrote last night. They fully regrret their decision and would like to have a meeting with her today, the entire 25 that stayed home for 3 days and they will all drive up to see her, in their personal cars of course.

Of course they got her mussing her mascara and all. Weeping she is. Don't mean she's weak. Just means she knows love. And she knows how evil attacks it and makes love so painful.

... ...

I mean I'm real surprised at Atlanta. I never had any problems with them they was always "The Next New Orleans" i called them.

Always just witchy with it. Good and a skip ahead.

So besides my anger at the situation created...

Look. I come straight outta the 90s.

Back then... Man. Our history been lost in 30 years. Our soul soul soul filled history. Its gone. It ain't there.

Back in the 90s we had about a 15 year break. From the protests from Vietnam War. Love not War Protests. We had them nice little 1950s with "Hello Technology: introduction to the TV" ONWARD to the "60s Hippies. Make love not War" taking it right onto the 70s which came back with the Civil Rights

So our 90s. Y'all they were the most beautiful. They were the combo of the 60s and 70s.

The riots and protests being taught to me and we made it big as we could with all the best parts of being a Human Rights Activist with brand new only 1990s fluorescent neon dripped could bring in.

That was all lost. Its all gone.

But the fight. The rights. THE TRUTH we went all 1950s and stayed in and raised our kids right. People wanna say shit about the Millennials. But we spoke truth. We spoke from our heart and we let them find,the truth as safe as possible and form their own opinions based on truth alone.

So now people wanna beat our kids. People i went to high school with they got high school graduates. Mine will be 17 this August. Real honest to God birthday and age.

Those are my babies. Our babies. They are our future. In 50 years they're gonna be like old man Bernie Sanders. 70 years old bent over fighting because we're gonna be near dead at 90 and more.

And people neglect and beat and ...

Man Our kids got it bad enough already. Simply because THEY KNOW THE TRUTH.

And man we got to protect them. Protect their hearts. Their minds. Their souls.

And they getting allllllll this stress. Put on them. Stress that is simply avoided.

By one dancing in the streets.

By 15 officers stating their badge numbers.

By the police owning up to who they are and why they exist.

Don't they want peace? Used to be they were called Peace Keeping Officers.

Now they called Lice Officers. Coming in on Native American Reservations claiming unwashed hair bread bugs. Let me tell you something. My daughter and I got lice a while back.. Like 8 years. The only thing that killed them was coating our hair in oil

Lice breath through holes in their exobody. So the oil makes them suffocate to death and die. Furthermore people whom smoke reject lice more frequently than those that don't. It takes me 3 months longer to get lice than a non smoker.

Peace pipe anyone?

So historically police aren't loved. They aren't wanted.

Being a police or military. It becomes a color of our skin. I'll post a tattoo that isn't finished being colored or lined. It's not done. I'll show you we can balance it.

Get out of your comfort zone. Step out of your skin.

We can't stop being black. We can't stop being what drives us to be police.

But we can control it.

"BURN ALL THEIR FUCKING CARS" demanded the international head of the CIA.

"No ma'am. This is what we did" they didn't tell me No before. They just did it. Because they knew it was better. They knew it would cause all 25 of y'all to have to stand up and say "my car is missing. This is how i feel. I do/don't want it back"

Where yall can't pretend what y'all did didn't matter and just get up and go to work the next day. All sneak in and get back to business.

No. You got a fucking problem. You forcing others to take on your load, Zone 5.

Were not walking away and being all its fine what ever. You got a problem. We need to tackle it in a for real state.

Foooorrrrr Reeeaaaalllll state.

You got a problem in your mind? Those become tangible. They aren't floating thoughts. They are what makes us do what we do.

Make it concrete. Take away their cars.

I ain't saying the charges will be dropped. That's all a whole other issue. I don't work in the justice system. Court. Law. I tell you how to win in court. But i ain't about telling some DA how to shove it. I just sue them. When its courts. I fight their game. With paperwork and all that shit. So like i said that's not on me to say the charges will be dropped.

When it's a basketball game you use a ball and circle to drop the ball in.

Use proper tools

Atlanta PD could and should said "alright let's picket the DA. Lets go in uniform. Leave our weapons in the car. Unbutton our shirts. Put red paint on our foreheads to show where they're hurting us. Show them the DA now made us defense less and stripped"

Half hour. 10 minutes. 2 hours. Don't matter. As long as you make that statement.

NYPD did that.

Sure i can ask Tree, tree why ain't you posted that? Taught them?

But why didn't NYPD pull out thier hands and say NBC, FOX. Where's them videos of what we use to do and so we can stop and make this shit right in the streets?

Thata all i did. That's all im doing now. Yeah I'm,the most brilliant and all

But the last since November i been telling y'all "shake them tail feathers"

How is Gary Trump's brother going into human trafficking for 24 years to be found by me. Then murdered by his brother that took his name and lied about who he was? And his brother didn't care. He said "ill go by Gary. It don't matter. Hes worked hard under my name"

How is the ACTUAL Donald Trump not allowed to be in a Black Lives Matter movement? How come no one is shaking their tail feathers to a man killed by the government for greed and white power?

The faux Donald Trump that is our impeached President is a racist.

So why isn't his brother being named? Black Lives Matter.

One person says "Let's Shake Our Tail Feathers".

Dont matter if you believe me. Its the movement. Quite literally.

Its confusing and alive and can make us all sick. It is its own plague. "Shake ya tail feathers" it's a mental plague if you refuse truth.

Regardless how i named it. I still taught it and spoke it. And led y'all to dance it.

Bye bye stress. Bye bye human trafficking.

Bye bye inequality.

Instead it's crazy

It was already planned to be crazy. Burning down buildings calling them Liberty Torches.

Civil Rights . Civil Liberties . take No Justice/Fairness and make it a sight to behold.

Is it fair to me financially to burn down my own economicially profiting legally businesses to make a Park and Garden where you can get fresh and,free vegetables and fruit for life? HELL FUCKING NO.

I got to pay security and taxes and i don't get a single domestic dime in return.

Kids go play on my slides and swings and wear them out having too much dam fun. Then i gotta spend More Money to make sure i am making sure they even get a single second to know what fun is.

I spent my whole life working. Every dam day.

One day I went out and I was 18 years old and i heard laughter. And i didn't know what it was. What made people laugh? How could people even be happy? Or want to laugh?

I was 18 years old. Didn't under stand a human thing.

And it just kept going and going and going. I wanted it to stop. I wanted to do whatever it took. And I didn't know why. Because i got my car keys out and opened my car door the second time that day. This time to make it stop. I put my car key between my fingers. Next thing i knew, I was sitting back down. And starting the car. Obviously my mom knew I was crazy with worry. And lost my mind. Shoved my ass back in the car and said "no you're just gonna leave and leave those innocent people alone"

I was so angry and bitter. And now my life is even worse.

If I couldn't attack them people. No one else can attack innocent people in public.

I don't care how fucked up you are. YOU CAN'T ATTACK SOMEONE FOR THEIR FREEDOMS.

Laughter. Black Lives Matter. Blue lives MATTER. All lives MATTER.

Some ignorant fool was arguing with a store clerk saying how her Black Lives Matter sign offended him

Watch me, #BLM #BLM ONE OF THOSE IS BLACK. ONE OF THOSE IS BLUE. TOGETHER WE ARE BRUISED BLACK AND BLUE.

Why can't y'all see and accept that?

We can't we be one. One truth.

One life to live

I can't live as Cleopatra or anyone of my past lives. I can't even live the life I led in the 90s. I can't even walk

We have one life to live and this is it.

So do we kill each other? Or do we protect each other?

Why aren't we being One?

When you're alone you can think of only you. You realize how important you are. We all need alone time.

When im with you i can only think about how important you are.

There isn't enough room in my brain to say how important we both are at the same time unless we do and think and act the same way all day long. Even for twins and clones its impossible.

So in my brain and in yours. You can only think about how much ONE life matters at a time.

ONLY ONE LIFE IN THIS WORLD MATTERS. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?!

We. Our. Us. You can't stop a great combination.

Power and love = unified. Unity. United.

Watch me, #BLM #BLM ONE OF THOSE IS BLACK. ONE OF THOSE IS BLUE. TOGETHER WE ARE BRUISED BLACK AND BLUE.

Stop the pain. Hold our hands. Let the love flow. Let the Heart speak until it sings.

So yesterday old Blackfeet and Regina didn't see each other for the DUMBEST thing. She said "oh baby ill move in the nursing home with you"

He says something all "nonsense that's dumb shut up" all Grumpy Bear.

I don't even want to be with you.

So i talked to Michael about their unique situation.

He could had said "I'm well enough to move into a regular home with you. We don't need the nursing home. I moved to (US state) to be with you. To be close to you because you mean more to Me than Anything in the world. And you deserve a big ole castle. Because i love you and we gotta do all this best and right. No nursing home. We got another 50 years plus i wanna be doing you on the kitchen table and not here. All I can smell is stinky old man diapers from the neighbor"

And she could said had he continued the fight "oh idk what I'm saying I've never even seen the nursing home. Do you mind i come visit you there? Id really like that"

It would taken ONE. Only one to stop their ninny war.

And they would been holding each other. With love.

Instead of living in Hell.

So, now what happened was we put it all on old dad. Because hes the Black Beethoven who can suddenly sing a ballad of symphony in the midst of telling some real bad history truth.

Then moments later Regina said "well i could said something different, too".

It takes two to tango.

So I challenge y'all to punch inequality in the face. BLM. there is no difference between.

Black. Blue. Red. Purple. Yellow. Green. All bruises.

Challenge each other. Black and blue.

Force it. There is no difference and it must be seen.

Chant it. Turn on the "Boombox" and dance together. Dance if some won't. But do it in their face.

Laugh. Be happy. In their face.

If they're bitter like an 18 year old me and don't have a Angel Mommy to bust their ass back down into a sitting position. Someone will beat the shit out of them. Someone will stop them and i Will go after them and send you services for legal and medical. Free.

Acknowledge.

You are hurt. I am hurt.

Lets Live. Lets be happy.

Lets try. Trying makes perfect.

"MOVE BACK"

"TAKE THAT FIRST STEP"

"MOVE BACK"

"SEE WE ARE HURT SAME AS YOU" point out the ones that have fear. The ones that try to intimidate. -- The I Can See You -- let them scream in your face youre nothing but a piece of shit. And yell back they're someone inside a police uniform. And you can see it.

Beat their asses like fucking Care Bears.

Teach you a little photography. 1. Dirty lens. Dry skin. 2. Lotions the skin. Hannibal lectur. 3. Cleans the lens. 4 & 5 close up with flash. 6&7 close up without flash.

After meeting some kids in college. Native Americans from tribes near Gallup. Very very. Very Racist.

I began to question my life long believe of how I could live with being a military based person. And being an Native American.

I didn't know. I just knew i could and it wasn't fair to me to destroy the very being of me. Simply because it don't make sense without actual factual historical documents.

Remember Oregon Trail was First. That made Atlas.

Then down the coast to find gold. So NM DONT KNOW SHIT ABOUT NO FUCKING TRAIL OF TEARS SO GET OUT MY FACE.

And so my owl... Its every thing. I didn't design it normal. It has wings that are out stretched yes.

But it has a secomd pair of wings. Which are pins from the United States Coast Guard. Those wings are like hands. To do things close by to the body.

Its slightly designed after a Hindu God. She has 6 arms.

Here the wings are keeping the body warm and safe and sound.

How could myself own an owl to represent my secret past of S.Leigh if it can't have hands to represent both my heart and mind?

There figlirliee on the head. That's not for me. Its because I think about you. The mass population of Earth.

I need more simply than what the Earth can provide in the reality of which exists on Earth.

There's an hour glass of water on it's side, traveling... My baby bird is flying with an hour glass.

If you look. You'll see a woman under and between the two shields. And she has "duck lips"

For the real "Not Gary Donald Trump"

Her lips are actually a heart. But they look off..

A rose each sits above the shields. A diamond in the midst of the tail feathers.

No piece

No area.

Is just a feather. A stroke of color.

Each is an item. There's no nothing. It is all something

The military did not just beat us and we took it as Muscogee Creek Nation. We built an Atlas. Recivejed the City of Atlantis -- the Spain sent supplies to help us for years. All the way from Florida.

There was Something. It all wasn't nothing

Or for nothing. Everyone looks for the truth. Looks for the Lost City of Atlantis and i am the one who sunk it. Because I am the Goddess.

The diamond has a purple eye. Diamonds are the hardest and toughest known substance.

Well i know my mind is gonna cut you and rip you apart from what I've seen. So my eyes are like diamonds. My mind

Our tounges are diamonds. We can slash each other apart.

Or we can acknowledge the riches we have.

My Ultimate Challenge is for the police to create a barricade when necessary. No weapons in hand. Hands on the top of their heads and chant BLM Bruises are the same.

We know black bruises hurt the worst, the same level as red.

Then purple. Then blue. Green and yellow rarely do.

So please fight blindness and inequality with me.

And please post it on the national news and international news. So that we know as a world we all fight together

Whether it's in the couches or in the streets.

Thank you for trying.

0 notes