#rat is aware of his dash

[astaroth1357]

The MC Meeting the Brothers' (+Dia & Barbs) Cults

So like. Imagine the Brother's Fanclubs + Witchy Requests. That's this.

Contents: Satanic themes, demon stuff, witchy inspirations

~♡♡♡~

Lucifer

Lucifer's cults take this shit SERIOUSLY. They're not just fooling around with the occult, they live and breathe it.

I'm talking dark robes, goats heads, bonfires, animal blood, ritual dances- You know. The works.

Definitely the sort of occultists who gatekeep other occultists. They want the world to think of THEM, the followers of the mighty Lucifer, as THE quintessential demonic cult to model all others after. He (and by that they mean they) deserves no less.

Oh yes, they are a very prideful and obnoxious bunch... Completely void of self-awareness too. Try to point out how arrogant they're being and they'll call you crazy.

Lucifer openly despises most of them and possesses a quiet distain for the rest. He doesn't think they're nearly as competent and useful as they claim to be and would rather they simply butt out of his affairs.

He doesn't visit them much nor allow them to summon him unless it is a world-ending emergency (so never). A former past leader thought he was beyond those rules and paid for his hubris with his spine...

Lucifer will do all in his power to convince MC that his cult isn't even worth visiting. They'll annoy them to death... And even if they do go, the self-absorbed members won't exactly roll out the red carpet.

Just take down any names of the most irritating ones and Lucifer will take care of it. The dungeon rats could use some company.

Mammon

Mammon's cult kind of feels like a mix between a tech startup and Gambler's Anonymous at times. Money is the goal, babes. Everybody there is some kind of slave to the grind and they hustle like the goddamn NFL.

Funny enough, it usually isn't the already rich and successful who find themselves in Mammon's orbit, but those who are close to, if not in, poverty and looking to turn things around.... in less than stellar ways.

What I'm saying is, most are either casino regulars, scam artists, or buy into crypto.

That said, unlike most of his brothers, Mammon actually has a pretty deep soft spot for his followers. He puts on the "callous demon" act when he's brought out, but generally, he never cruel to them. He may even throw in an extra bit of help for free if he sees someone is struggling.

When they first met the MC, they really went out of their way to be sure MC was safe, pampered, and satisfied. This was Mammon's favorite human, after all! He talks about them constantly...

It's pretty humorous because most of them already know what kind of food MC likes, what their sense of style is, their favorite colors, and the like from just listening to Mammon's rambles. Or because he'll send one of them to fetch him some kind of present when he's visiting.

Admittedly, they're all kinda scummy and insufferable at times. But endearing in the same way Mammon can be so hanging out with them can still be a good time. MC just have to keep an eye on their wallet.

Leviathan

Levi's cult feels like a bunch of teens who read a creepypasta once, tested it out as a joke but found out it was all real. Thankfully, instead of being horrified, they were actually psyched!

They kind of take to devil worship with a DnD-like enthusiasm. They all have code names like, "Grimshadow" or "Evergloom," each owns a black cloak that they MUST wear to all meetings, and they all have incredibly embellished and extensive backstories for their "darkside" personas. Levi is very proud of their commitment to it all.

That being said, they do take to their found family, counterculture thing with a good dash of humor. They once all attended their local aquarium in full robes and linked hands around the jellyfish tank for shits and giggles.

Levi's followers rarely summon him, but he stays in regular contact with the group through chatrooms and messengers. They love to report on the fun "campaigns" they're building on or when they pull some kind of silly stunt to scare the normies.

When MC visits them, they've long since built up this prince/ss persona for them and treat them like the defacto second-in-command. (Partially because they know Levi would flip out if they upset MC in any way).

If MC enjoys a bit of LARPing, they're the most dedicated group they'll ever find! If they're not willing to play act royalty for a few hours...? Steer clear.

Satan

Satan has a ton of cults so they come in all shapes, sizes, and flavors. MC will certainly find one for them!

... The catch is that very few of them actually have a good idea of who Satan really is. It's pretty common to mistake him for Lucifer still, to the point that some cults use their names interchangeably, and THOSE cults better not try contact him personally.

If MC manages to uncover more updated following of Satan's, they'll feel like they walked into a "National Treasure"-style bookclub. These guys are looking for the secrets of the universe, never mind anything else.

Meeting with Satan's inner circle usually feature the search, collection, curation of old esoteric tomes or lost artifacts from the distant realms. The majority of the participants are scholars, academics, and the odd cooky conspiracy theorist who just happened to be right.

Also. Cats. Soooo many cats... The cultists are VERY aware of Satan's volatile temper, so they take pains to keep as many cats present as they can whenever they summon him. Their meeting house is just full of them...

Satan's cult gives MC the real VIP treatment because NO ONE wants to the one to tell the Avatar of Wrath that they disrespected his loved one... If MC were walking barefoot, they'd be laying pillows beneath their every step. The only things treated better are the clubhouse cats.

Asmodeus

Asmo's cult is basically one big family. Very enmeshed and a lot of history, but also soooo fascinating to be around.

If MC wanted to keep track of every person in Asmo's following, they would have to make a chart that could expand the length of an entire wall and, in some cases, go back generations if not centuries.

Followers of Asmo have historically ranged everywhere from sex workers to concubines and even members of the aristocracy looking increase their social capital. Being under his cult provided protection and refuge for the most derided of society, no matter orientation or background. A good portion of his modern following are actually members who've been grandfatherd in from parents or siblings who have joined.

And, of course, Asmo maintains a very close and personal relationship with almost all of them. He's always invited to attend baby showers, weddings, graduations, birthdays, what have you and he makes it to a good deal of them, even if only for a few minutes.

Because of its sheer size and unorthodox structure, Asmo's following almost seems like a "cult" in the loosest sense. They have rituals, spells, and meetings but it all looks SO much different than the others. Get-togthers among the adults are practically just parties and maybe you summon some succubi with goat's blood and glitter glue.

Asmo's cult can be kinda catty, but generally very supportive and they LOVE having MC around. Big gossips with a lot of questions. If they love a party, then they can't go wrong!

Beelzebub

Beel's cult takes self-indulgence to a whole new level. These guys LOVE their vices and find a little demonic touch is the best way to keep the indulgence going.

Belphegor

It's amazing that for such a sweet demon, his cult is some of the scummiest people on the planet. We're talking riding yachts on your mega-yacht levels of excess. "Too much of a good thing" taken to the extreme.

The thing is, as long as you have the money to feed Beel then he's really agreeable and kind. So wealthy assholes take advantage of his generosity all the time...

That said, don't feel too bad for Beel just yet because they ARE scumbags, but Beel is in charge and he has his limits.

One old billionaire kept summoning him during his fangol matches. The guy's maids found his nightrobe ripped to shreds and bite marks in the furniture.

Another one made a passing insult about Mammon and Beel came home to give his brother the lady's jewelry... after he washed them off, of course.

He discourages MC from meeting them even harder than Lucifer, and if they insist, he'll go with them and loom over their shoulder like a round-the-clock bodyguard. He doesn't need to tell his followers to treat MC nicely... he'll make them.

Absolutely those edgy kids who dress in all black and SAY that yeah, they've totally met Belphegor. But they really haven't, and it shows.

Remember, Belphie is on the blacklist so most witches who say they've met him are fucking liars. However, that doesn't stop novice covens searching for a little respect from claiming they're in good with the guy.

Since the group doesn't really know what Belphegor is about, they most just use their little club as an excuse to grief others and claim undue superiority. They pull a lot of pranks though, so they at least have some parts right.

Belphie has a vague awareness of their existence, but couldn't be bothered to contact them or set the record straight. What's it matter to him if a bunch of humans want to make a fool of themselves? He doesn't care that much about his reputation.

If MC were actually summon Belphegor themselves in front of them, the entire group would shit their pants immediately then cry and beg for forgiveness. Again, Belphie doesn't care, but he likes toying with fools so he'd play the part of the "Angry Master" long enough to make them run for their lives.

Needless to say, if MC wants there to be no Belphie-cult, no more Belphie cult there will be.

Diavolo

Actually a very small group since it's not super widespread that the Demon King is out of commission. But those who are there are a real who's-who of the witching world.

Dia doesn't actually interact with his cult very much, despite their combined influence, because he finds them very off-putting. Most of them are just "yes men" or social climbers wanting to get in good with royal bloodline, so he doesn't put much stock in what they do or say.

If he does contact them, it's for his "Bring Harmony" plans and they do come in handy as envoys in the human realm. He keeps the interactions brief though.

Several of his number have attempted to get into contact with MC before, but Solomon usually wards them off for much the same reason Dia does. They all just want something from them, so why let them bother his sweet little apprentice?

Those who slip through the cracks get shut down immediately by an impromptu visit from the friendly neighborhood sorcerer who seems to have some of charm in place for just such occasion. It's pretty confusing for MC to watch Solomon drag some big politican out of the house by the scruff of the neck, but it's probably better that they just don't ask and move on.

Barbatos

An even smaller group than Dia's and even more secretive. You basically have to be invited in by Barb's himself so a new member gets added every half century or so...

Nobody is quite sure what spurs Barbs to select someone into his cult... Maybe they make a good first impression when summoning him or he sees that they're important for the future? Sometimes, he'll even induct complete normal humans who weren't even witches to start with so it's anybody's guess.

Due to its small size and, frankly, years of even centuries worth of distance between members there's a lot less meetings and more just doing what Barbs says.

For instance, he may instruct a member to bury a particular message on a hill to then tell a different member to go find 60 years later... Or he'll have another member set into motion a chain of events that won't actually be felt for decades to come.

The cult members don't know about MC unless Barbs NEEDS them to know about MC. He keeps a lot in the dark. If they do, he takes pains to stress that he admires MC quite a bit and to not upset them...

When Barbatos tells you not to do something, you don't fucking do it, so they are VERY kind to MC. Just in that "I feel like there's a gun to my head"- kind of way...

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Hi there! I was wondering if I could request a scenario for Identity V? Specifically for Norton? I love the way you write for him!

Okay so, it’s safe to say that since Norton and Fools Gold are basically the same person, they feel the same way about things, including people. What if the reader (female or gender neutral) discovers Norton’s feelings toward them after having a match against Fools Gold and confronts him about it? Like rather than chair the reader, FG acts possessive toward them and teases them? Confrontation with Norton could end in fluff or NSFW, up to you!

Thank you!

Fool's Gold be normal challenge part 2 lol but im mad i lost my idea midway (curse u adhd!)

Rated Mature | Warning: relationship -in psychologist voice-

With how long you have been running your chest is starting to hurt, which does not help the limited places to run are getting smaller and smaller. Luckily, the map is Chinatown and there are plenty of places to hide. Not so lucky, as the hunter is well aware of those places. Not a rare map to be placed in but frequent as the Arms Factory or Sacred Heart Hospital. 

With a dash upstairs and your legs give out, your chest burns but your heart does not stop racing as the hunter is still nearby.

You have been tunnel-hunted before by hunters, never for a reason-- Sometimes. However, you have never felt like a mouse in a game of cat and mouse, there is a teasing nature and you hate it. Fool’s Gold can be mean but he is no Ithaqua or Ripper, still for him to get seemingly off on you running away— His laugh loud— Worries you. The costume he has on does not help as he looks like a demon from the seven hells ready to claim your soul!

“Sparky, where are you~!” In a sing-song voice as he comes up the stairs. You go still, your dark costume is to your advantage as you hide behind a mannequin. The heavy footsteps have you holding your breath as you emerge from the stairway. His eyes looked around, his intimidating height towering above everything. He turns in your direction, golden stylized pickaxe but then lowers it as he hears a cipher pop.

“I will be back for you later.”

You have experienced fear but the rush of it never gets easier.

The hunter throws his weapon before using the magnetism to pull himself out of the opening in the store. You dash immediately out the other way refusing to just pray he forgets you.

He does not, he waits for you to be rebirthed by Embalmer's casket. You stumble out still hurt but alive, Fool's Gold leaning against a wall cleaning the caked-on blood on his hand, his pickaxe nowhere in sight.

“Sparky.”

“Only Norton calls me that.” Getting ready to book it.

“I am Norton.” Stepping forward, “Better than that brat.” You step to the side.

“No, you are some fucked ‘what if’.”

Fool's Gold stands at his full height, his one eye glowing almost brighter in this dark area, “Careful, sparky, I can let you escape through the dungeon if you behave.”

“I will hit you.” That makes him laugh, “I have one fuse left, we can go together.” Because you are not above being crazy.

“That I do not doubt,” Closer but you stand firm, “But you used all your tools. Too bad it didn't help that prison rat.” When you actually attempt to hit him, he is careful not to use his solid hand. His deformed hand holds you in place, the magnetism holding it together is used to keep you on the table as you try thrashing about. “You could've left him alone!”

“Yeah? Maybe you should've let me have you.” Standing over you, “Kiting me only pissed me off.” It is true the time he had you in his sights you made your business to be annoying. He scares you! Like right now. Being pinned down on a table with him between your legs. His solid hand traces your face.

“He didn't mark you.” Spoken when he yanks down your top to expose your neck and part of your chest. The marks on your skin are always from Norton, friends with benefits arrangement.

“What, you plan on doing it for him?” Playing fearless but you are fearful, this is the darker part of Norton. The demon everyone tries to hide made manifest, Norton hates it— Hates him.

“Why else do you think I have you here and not bleeding you out.” As if he would waste his time bleeding out anyone, maybe himself but that work he does not feel like bothering with. “Are you going to fight me?”

You weigh your options, “Mess around and find out, sport.”

His grin is wide, His teeth look sharp, and your inner masochist is excited.

He let you go via the dungeon, your legs hurt and you know your chest and neck must look like a mess. Easy to hide until you find Norton in your room waiting. He hates it when you have matches with his counterpart, especially the tunnel-hunting you most of the time.

“(Name).” Standing up the moment you entered, he put down the charm you made him on the bed where he was sitting.

“We should talk.”

Talking usually with Norton means he has to sit and listen and consider things, you only inform him so he has time to process and return to you. However, given the things Fool's Gold— Other Norton—was open about. Details are murky as he is not exactly like Norton, but the raw feelings are there, all laid bare because he refuses to standby and let his other self be an idiot.

The conversation is long, but no tears, and a few awkward silences but it ends with an understanding. Sex does not happen, Norton learning the ability to be grateful does not mean sex. Plus, the prospector is conflicted about how his other self thinks he has the right to touch you.

“I mean he is you?”

“I don't care! You're mine.”

“Oh, can you say that again for me, sport?”

[writethebodyelectric]

Prima Nocta

A John F. Kennedy Fanfiction

Summary: When the daughter of a Rat Pack singer wants some romantic experience, she turns to President John F. Kennedy, a friend of her father’s, for help.

Warnings: 18+, smut (occasional dubious consent), angst, infidelity, antiquated ideas of sex/marriage, swearing, 22-year age gap

Word Count: 3k

AO3 Link

You’d been sitting on the edge of the bed for exactly 12 minutes and 47 seconds, your eyes twitching ceaselessly between the little white clock on the nightstand and the round-top bedroom door, when finally, the doorknob started to turn. The brass glinted in the silver-blue moonlight beaming through the sliding glass wall behind you. You felt your tongue dry out and stiffen in your mouth like a towel in the sun.

John Kennedy—or “Jack,” as he’d once told you to call him—stepped into the room, materializing out of the pitch-blackness of the hallway. “Hello there,” he said. With that charming New England accent, he pronounced “there” like “they-ah,” and beneath your heart’s frantic sparking and sputtering, a little spot deep in your gut groaned with affection.

“Hello,” you said in return. You were locked practically motionless in the dark searchlights of his sleepy gaze as he guided the door shut behind him.

His shoes clicked on the wooden floor as he began striding slowly towards you. You cleared your throat and pushed yourself to speak again: “Thank you for meeting me.”

“Why, it’s my pleasure,” he said as his shadowy shoulders blocked out more and more of the floral wallpaper around you. The sharp, forest-y scent of his cologne made your nostrils feel cool and crisp. Your hands tightened their grip on each other where they lay folded in your lap.

Jack’s mouth twisted into a gentle smirk as he swayed to a stop right in front of you and brought one of his big hands to cup the underside of your chin, his long callused fingers curling up around your head. Instantly, your spine twinged with the urge to pull backward and away, but you clenched your stomach and held yourself still. You wanted this, you reminded yourself as you gazed up at Jack through mascara-caked eyelashes. You can’t be chicken now.

“I have to admit,” Jack said then, with a huffing chuckle, “that I’m frankly a little surprised at your timing.” He sounded staticky and distant over the dizzying clang of your heart against your ribs. “I can’t help but feel guilty, uh—” (his eyes flicked briefly to the side, seemingly searching for the right word) “—spoiling you for your husband,” he continued. “Poor kid’s had the patience of a saint.”

You felt your throat press against his warm palm as you swallowed. He surely thought you were some sort of lunatic for waiting until the week before your wedding to finally dial that number his secret service agent had slipped through your fingers at Frank Sinatra’s birthday party, which was almost half a year ago now. But there was, actually, a perfectly reasonable explanation. At least, you thought so.

You could’ve explained to Jack how your future husband Jimmy, the world-famous heartthrob singer you’d been practically betrothed to since we were children and who you were marrying in just 7 days (the tabloids had been very generous in making sure every single person in America was aware of this fact—including the president, apparently), was secretly homosexual and had no intention of ever being romantic with you. The feeling was perfectly mutual, of course; you both saw each other as more of siblings than anything else. But, naturally, that still did nothing whatsoever to satisfy your ever-burning desire to find someone who could help you simulate the fairytale wedding night you’d always hopelessly dreamt about—one where, in a pink haze of passion, you’d finally hand over your virginity and roll around in the sheets till the sun came up with someone who was masculine and dashing and strong.

But, obviously, you could never betray Jimmy by telling anyone any of that. However, you also weren’t content to just waste away at home while Jimmy got to enjoy his revolving door of classified lovers, so you would just have to settle for Jack assuming you were some kind of newly-emerging sex-crazed adulteress—which he of all people would have no right to judge you for, anyway.

You felt the skin of your throat stretching as Jack tilted your head up and rotated your face slowly to the left, then to the right. You followed him with your eyes, watching him study your neck and collarbones like they were an expensive piece of machinery he was looking to purchase. You did your best to set your trembling shoulders back, wondering if this was typical behavior of a man before he made love.

“Speaking of Jimmy, I’ve been wondering. Is he the reason you called?” Jack asked while he conducted his examination, as if he was simply discussing the weather. “You think he’s liable to disappoint you on your first time? Or you just can’t possibly wait another seven days for him?” He phrased them more like teasing accusations than actual questions.

“Oh, n-no,” you said. The firmness of his grip on your jaw caused your words to come out clipped. “I just. . . .” You could feel your eyes bulging as you tried to scrap together some semblance of a reasonable explanation as to why you were here. You’d been hoping he wouldn’t bother with this line of questioning. “Well, Jimmy’s just so young, you know,” you sputtered, “and maybe—maybe I want to know what it’s like being with . . . an older man.”

Jack blew air out of his nose in a half-formed laugh. “An older man, huh?” He brought your head back to center and gave your cheeks an affectionate squeeze between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re cute, you know that, sweetheart? I’ve wanted to be alone with you since the night we first met.”

Your heart spasmed at that, and you could feel your mouth twisting as you tried not to break out in a giddy grin. Gosh, he could be so sweet.

The night you both met was two whole years ago now. Jack had been just a senator then, and you’d been just 19 when he, his wife, and several of their friends came backstage after one of your father’s glitzy Rat Pack shows in Las Vegas. You still remembered how, while your father was introducing you, Jack's placid blue eyes had slithered up and down your dress. Inexplicably, blood had gushed pleasurably between your legs while you watched him eye you like this, smoke from his cigar furling around his lip.

Jack's hand dropped from your chin then and moved to start unbuckling his pants. Your head suddenly felt too light, like your brain wasn’t there anymore, and the skin around your jaw prickled with the absence of his fingers. This was it. You were moments away from having the full experience of being a married woman and—if the rumors you’d heard about Jack Kennedy’s sexual aptitude were true—all of the mind-melting pleasures that came with it. The anxiety you’d been feeling ever since you decided to call that secret number a little over a week ago was about to be entirely worth it.

Jack let his belt slap to the floor, and his hands slipped under your armpits to pop you up onto your feet. You sucked in your lips to stifle what would’ve probably been a pathetic, whimpering gasp. His face was mere inches from yours now, and as he looked down at you, you were almost overcome by a strange, aching pull to stand up on the very tips of your toes so you could squish your nose against his. The leader of the free world was just a big dreamboat softie, really, and he could be anywhere on Earth with anyone he wanted, but he chose you.

You didn’t really have time to consider these unusual whims of yours, however, because then Jack bent his head and fastened his mouth to your neck. You could do nothing but stand there dumbly as he covered your skin with sloppy kisses, his buttery brown hair tickling your shoulder. The gentle clicking of saliva between his lips buzzed in your ears.

All of a sudden, as if you’d blacked out a few seconds ago and were now coming to again, you noticed your dress had been unzipped and was in a puddle around your kitten heels. Goosebumps sizzled up your bare arms and legs, and your shoulders folded in on themselves as Jack's hands appeared on both sides of your vision, one tossing your bra to the floor and the other moving to clasp both your wrists tightly behind your back.

He yanked your wrists downward with surprising gruffness, forcing you to arch your back and thrust your bare chest out toward him. A stuttery inhale hissed through your teeth, and you squeezed your legs together, blushing furiously as your nipples prickled and hardened under his gaze. You knew this would be part of it. You knew he would have to see you naked.

“God damn,” he said, his voice dark and rumbling, before bowing his head to take one of your nipples in his mouth like a hungry dog. A low, needy whimper trembled in your throat and as he moved from one nipple to the other, viciously biting and sucking. The stiff tent that had sprung up in the groin area of his slacks collided with your clit, wracking you with a full-body shiver. For a quick moment, you were awash with a lush, golden feeling of pride. You were making the president hard.

He hooked a finger in the waistband of your cotton panties and leaned back from devouring your chest as he pulled them down, the tip of his nose brushing on your forehead as you both watched—to your piercing horror—an elastic string of wetness stretch between your vagina and the spot on the crotch of your panties where it had attached itself.

You noticed, too, how slick and glossy the insides of your thighs had become. “Oh, no.”

“Now, now.” Jack spoke in your ear with a brisk tone like he was impatiently reprimanding a child. “There’s no shame in getting a little excited.” He brushed a finger over the smooth slit of your labia, and you practically squealed, “Jack!”

Your little cry seemed to ignite something in him. Suddenly, you were whirled around to face the twinkling Chesapeake Bay shoreline and its tumbling black water and navy blue sand. And then there was a wide hand between your shoulder blades. “Bend over for me, doll,” Jack instructed you pointlessly as he went ahead and shoved your upper body into the mattress.

With the heel of his palm, he slid you forward so you had to clamber up onto the bedspread on your knees. The electric crackle of your nipples against the rough old fabric caused a loud “ah!” to spill from your mouth. You craned your neck as far over your shoulder as it would go to watch Jack’s eyes pick their way down your body just like they had the night you met. But now, all splayed out for him like this, you suddenly felt sick and dirty enough to throw up. This sort of position seemed more suited to a common whore than a bride. Your face burned like someone was shining a heat lamp on you. And yet, your clitoris pulsed with an almost painful voracity, causing your hips to twitch slightly with each pounding beat.

Outside in the living room, you heard the muffled laughter of the two secret service men who, when you’d first arrived at this rented beach house about 20 minutes ago, had told you President Kennedy would arrive shortly, and then casually led you to the bedroom like you were going to a meeting in the White House. You clenched your teeth against the toe-curling humiliation of it and forced yourself to shuck those guys from your mind. You were going to pretend that you were completely alone with Jack, your handsome powerful husband, and that this creaky Cape-Cod-style house was your lovely newlywed home.

The quick screak of Jack's zipper snatched you out of your thoughts. In the open fly of his pants, you caught a brief, heart-softening glimpse of his blue-striped underwear—And then, suddenly, there was a real-life penis whacking against the small of your back.

“Oh my!” you shrieked, and Jack's Adam’s apple bounced with a small laugh. The anatomical diagrams you’d studied with your childhood tutor had utterly failed to capture how big and messy-looking penises really were. The veiny skin on Jack’s was wrinkly and loose like an elephant, and the whole thing looked almost thicker than your forearm.

He began pumping his hand up and down the length of his long erection in a lazy, thoughtless motion, swiping his thumb across the shiny little hole every time he reached the top.

“Do you—do you think it’ll fit in me?” you asked. It was hard enough sometimes just trying to get a little tampon to settle in right. Glancing up at the ceiling, you prayed that, by some magical trick of biology, you would be able to accommodate Jack's size.

“Oh, sure,” Jack assured you as he palmed your buttcheeks and spread them apart, allowing himself to drag the tip of his penis down across your puckering butthole and line it up with your vagina as he spoke. “A young cunt like yours might require a little, uh, tough love, but it’ll fit me by the time I’m done.”

You weren’t entirely sure what he meant by “tough love,” but it didn’t matter because suddenly he was easing his big round tip inside you with a low, sonorous groan. You grabbed fistfuls of the bedsheets. Already, your “cunt” felt stretched beyond what was healthy.

“Fucking shit.” His voice sounded from far back in his throat. “You’re tiny.” And then, without further ado, he forced himself inside you, crashing his hips against yours with an echoing smack.

Your vagina ripped open. You screamed at the blistering sensation. Your stomach felt like someone had removed your intestines and replaced them with a big metal pole. The area around your belly button was bloated out and pulled taut.

A single tear was knocked out of your eye and down the side of your nose as he pulled all the way out and ruthlessly slammed back in again. He began moving you back and forth at a rapid rhythm, jerking you around like a rag doll. Your head was ringing as you buried your face in the bed, bracing yourself to take this for as long as Jack wanted you to. You wondered if it was typical for a man to be so harsh with his partner.

“Fuck.” The words were tumbling out of his mouth. “Fuck. You feel damn good, you know that?” His hand came down with a hard slap on your buttcheek and, instinctively, you bucked your hips away from him.

With his hands on your waist, Jack jolted you back into place in front of him. He smacked your butt again, like he was punishing you for fleeing, and you let out a panting whine as the sting shuddered through you.

“I know it . . . hurts, sweetheart,” he said between guttural grunts as he continued to pound into you, “but this is . . . what it takes . . . to break a little body like yours in. This’ll be . . . much easier next time.” He flashed a quick, cheeky grin.

Then he scooped one of his hands around your throat and whipped you upwards so your back thunked against his chest. He mumbled into your ear, “Now let me take another look at these pretty tits, huh?” He cupped your breasts in his hands, squeezing them together then pulling them apart, and your head fell back onto his shoulder with a tortured moan.

“God, look at you,” he murmured, pinching your nipples. “Maybe I should just take you home with me, huh? How does that sound?” He was a mumbling mess; you wondered if he even knew what he was saying. “I could ruin your little cunt so Jimmy won’t even want it anymore, and I’ll hide you away in my house up in New York. Keep you all to myself.”

As he spoke, one of his hands slid down your stomach and began to rub slow circles on your clit. This was met by another watery yell from you, and you felt Jack's teeth on your cheek as he chuckled. “Ooh, now that feels good, doesn’t it?” he cooed. “Fuck, I love it when my girls scream. Let me hear you again.” He swatted your clit with his hand and, like clockwork, you cried out for him.

He sped up the pad of his finger on your clit, rewarding you for your obedience. “Just like that,” he said. “Let those fuckers out there in the parlor here you.” He slapped you between the legs again, and that’s when, seemingly without warning, the brutal throbbing you’d been feeling tumbled over into an explosion, like a hot water balloon bursting in your pelvis. You wailed and rolled forward, your bones gelatinous.

Jack caught you by the shoulders before you could flop onto the bed and lowered you the rest of the way down. “There we go,” he praised as your orgasm rocked through you. “That-a-girl.”

You offered him a weak smile and then realized he couldn’t even see it because your face was in the blanket.

As soon as your climax fizzled away, Jack grabbed ahold of your knees and turned you over onto your back. Then he pulled out of you for the very last time with a lewd squelching noise. Your entire lower body felt shriveled and deflated as you watched him give his erection a few self-indulgent strokes.

He rolled his head back with a loud “mmm,” and several long strings of white, mucus-y liquid began shooting out of the tip.

“Oh my gosh,” you gasped to the ceiling. Air was getting caught in the emotional stickiness of your throat as you tried to catch your breath. Jack’s semen was splattering across your stomach. “Oh my gosh.”

[myhauntedsalem]

Christmas Tree Ghost Ship

From 1898 to 1912 Herman Schuenemann was the Captain of the wooden schooner Rouse Simmons.

Captain Schuenemann was considered as much a part of Chicago’s Christmas as Santa Claus because his ship was better known as the “Christmas Tree Ship.”

Every November he would set sail on Lake Michigan from Thompson with a full cargo of spruces, pines and balsams piled high.

As Schuenemann reached his destination– he would steer the Rouse Simmons down the Chicago River and up to the Clark Street Bridge were thousands of waving Chicagoans would wait in anticipation.

Once the ship had docked, people swarmed onboard to choose a Christmas tree. They cost 50 cents to a dollar.

“Chicago’s Yuletide season began when the Christmas Tree Ship arrived with evergreens lashed to her masts and rigging… Her skipper would welcome throngs of Chicagoans aboard as soon as the ship’s moorings were secure. Whole families would hurry to the dock to get the pick of the crop. Many wandered on deck to watch the Captain’s daughter, Elsie, weave pine branches into wreaths, which were also for sale.”

–Reminiscences of Phil Sanders when he was a boy.

Herman Scheuenemann and his brother August before him– from 1876-to 1898– always made sure no one left without a tree. Both brothers gave away hundreds of trees to needy families, churches and orphanages.

August was carrying a load of trees to Chicago when his ship went down in 1898 in one of Lake Michigan’s fierce November gales. His brother, Herman made another trip just two weeks later determined Chicago would have its Christmas trees that year.

Unfortunately, fourteen years later Herman would suffer the same fate.

Lake sailors as well as ocean sailors are a superstitious lot–they have to be. Generations of “old salts” pass down what a sailor needs to be aware of–this includes everything that happens on and around their ships.

Captain Schuenemann was a competent and cautious sailor but for some reason he ignored a significant number of ominous warnings in November of 1912.

He was planning to sail from Thompson, Michigan on a Friday with a large cargo of trees despite severe storm warnings. His crew was nervous for there was an obvious storm brewing and the captain wanted to start their journey on a Friday.

Sailors considered it extremely unlucky to begin a voyage on a Friday. In the 1800s the British Navy was so annoyed by this superstition they purposefully launched a new ship called HMS Friday on a Friday.

Needless to say this ship and its crew were never seen again.

Captain Charles Nelson, Herman’s partner who had been a lake captain for 50 years tried to persuade Herman to delay but he could not convince him. Herman didn’t want to take the risk of being iced into the harbor and having his ship dashed against the docks by gale-force winds.

Schuenemann then ignored several more bad omens. Just before the schooner left the harbor several sailors watched in horror as droves of rats fled the ship. This is believed to be a sign a ship is in imminent danger.

Three crew members afraid now left the Rouse Simmons forfeiting their pay. This left just 13 crewmembers on the ship. Sailing with thirteen crewmembers was considered to be as dangerous as starting a voyage on a Friday.

Ships at the time nailed a horseshoe to the side of their vessels for good luck. Just as on land it is considered bad luck if these horseshoes are hung upside down–all the luck will run out.

As the Rouse Simmons set sail, the horseshoe that was hung on its side was loosened by strong winds. It was now hanging upside down on a single nail.

Captain Schuenemann left the harbor on November 22nd and sailed right into the now infamous Big Storm of 1912.

The temperature immediately dropped from 40 degrees to below freezing. Rain turned to snow and ice, which coated the ships’ rigging, sails and spars–and the Christmas trees that were on deck.

The next day witnesses in Kewaunee, Wisconsin saw the Rouse Simmons pass by flying her distress signals. They wondered why the ship with its tattered sails did not just stop but instead sailed into a blinding snowstorm.

“The Two Rivers Life Saving Crew was informed of the ships’ distress signals and set out in search of the schooner but it was never found.”

–From an article in the Chronicle of Two Rivers

This mystery was not solved until 1971 when the wreck of the Rouse Simmons was found at the bottom of Lake Michigan.

Its wheel was missing so the experts concluded that the ships enormous cargo of Christmas trees had basically turned into ice blocks on deck, which then slid into the wheel leaving the captain unable to control the ships’ course.

One popular sailor superstition is that when a ship’s bells are heard ringing of their own accord, as in a storm, this foretells death.

In the days after the Rouse Simmons was lost several people near Two Rivers, Wisconsin reported hearing phantom bells and phantom cries in the wind.

A ghost ship has also been seen through the years. It is often spotted on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day gliding in the waters near Two Rivers. People have watched as it just vanishes into a mist.

[lazywriters-blog]

THE VENGEFUL MAN

YANDERE EREN JEAGER

Warning: May contain triggering content. Slight manhandling. Not proofread. 3 Am shenanigans-

Summary: He scares you, so you avoided him to the bitter end until he returns with vengeful intent. Hoping to see you and trap you with him.

The brightness in the room dulled the sense of dread brewing within her chest, heart racing as though she were running a marathon, her caressing fingers no longer capable of drawing her away from unpleasant notions. Her eyes were glued to the back of her hand, plummeting into an ocean of thoughts.

And she should have been surprised when the door creaked open and stepped in a man with a rifle, directed straight toward her crown. His orbs are demanding and full of dangerous urgency, that she doesn't revolt against and oblige like an obedient rat, settling down when a push shoved her right onto a chair, the same one she sat on that morning to muffle her hunger.

Whoever had decided to invite themselves to her home unannounced and uncalled was a brunette, the only boy who sought freedom on her behalf. And the only person who snatched her away from her parents on that fated day when wall Maria was destroyed.

She doesn't recognise him. Doesn't see the same boy who dragged her out of her hiding and understood her imprisonment when it wasn't needed. She was content with what she had even when denied independence.

His green eyes stared at her and both had a lingering tint of melancholy glowing in their gaze.

She could never forgive him.

"You've changed." She demurely begins, briefly taking notice of the two guards behind her. After she retired from her duties, she had only avoided him. Even to an extreme measure, and as it stands, it didn't fare well in the long run.

"How have you been?" She asked. "I thought you would have forgotten about me by now."

He sits motionless, observing her intently, and she was always the first one to separate their gaze, looking elsewhere, dismissing the fiery motives behind each glance.

"No, I haven't forgotten you." He replied, voice deeper and heavier than she recalls, plodding to a sorrowful yet stern tone, he eyes the guards around him and wordlessly they move outside of her house and block her only chance at escaping.

"I see... That's good." She looked down, "I heard you were leading your own group now, following a common goal."

"That isn't about them. This is about you and me, don't bring up irrelevant topics." He calmly snapped, letting her be aware that her dismissive attitude had consequences, he had found her after all, she had to confront him.

"If this is about our relationship, I assure you there was nothing between us. I loved and cared for you as a comrade, honestly-" she paused for a moment, "I have nightmares about those times you used to force yourself on me. Demanding me of something sustainable."

He carefully heeded her words, lips pursued as he drank in her distressed features hidden thinly behind a humane veil. "If you want me to take you back. I'm so sorry, I have nothing to give you." She said, mildly furrowing her eyebrows and focusing on the slightest shift.

"What's that ring on your finger for?" He abruptly inquired, interest pointed to the pearly sliver with an embedded gem. She tries to downplay it, softly touching it and hiding it.

"Just an accessory I wear nowadays. It's pretty, isn't it?" She lied, smiling at the non-living object fondly to disturb the man.

"Take it off." He demanded all of a sudden, glaring at the item as if it were a poisonous snake meant to be killed. She stared at him, "I don't want to see it on your hand. Take it off." He begins with a firmer accent.

"It's my choice. Don't tell me what I should do and what I shouldn't." She attempted to reason with resentment. Eren didn't seem to take it nicely.

He stands up, pushing the chair back as he moved closer to her, she knew what was coming. She quickly got up and risked the chance to dash towards her room. It didn't take a second for him to pull her back and hoist her onto the table, forcing his leg between hers and encasing her.

"You think you can just up and leave me for another man?!" His voice rings in her ears, looking up at the man who she thought would give her space. But how wrong was she?

She immediately shrank inwards, turning her face away and comprehending her choices. "I know you've been setting yourself up with another man." He growled, his calm demeanour vapourising into thin air. His grip on her wrist grew stronger.

"So you could forget about me." He hatefully muttered near her ear, throwing his glance back to the ring in her hand, he slowly starts to slide the ring, tugging it out and hauling it to the ground.

"You can't ever forget me. Even in death."

[pocarinapyon]

[Chili] A Good Experiment

Sweet and sensual: that was how Albedo made love to you. Lately, he wondered what if you were getting bored and wanted to spice up your sex life? Thus your ever-so-curious lover decided to conduct an experiment. He was to take down notes while watching you have intercourse with other men. He wanted to pick up techniques while learning more of your preferences. Pretend he wasn’t there. All consensual, of course. Regardless of his restricting pants, Albedo could – should – only keep his eyes on. Focus. After all, direct and clear observation are imperative to a good experiment.

 Contents include [introduction], [session # n], and [after session].

Starring : Albedo, Childe, Diluc, Kaeya (Separate)

Warning : 🌶🌶 [Chilis] S*ggs; Voyeurism; Exhibitionism; Petnames (if it bothers you); Oral sex (Receivers: You, Kaeya); Fingering; Desire to impregnate; Creampie; Overstimulation; Kaeya urging you to masturbate; Masturbation; Dirty talk (?); Ass-smacking; Edging; Getting cockdrunk; Squirting; Anal; Childe being a menace (?); Kaeya and Childe being jerks; No s*ggs scene for Albedo; Diluc, Kaeya, and Childe being covetous; Surely Albedo is aware the three men wanted his woman but – idk; Moment of birth for Albedo’s yandere tendency; etc.

😅 Additionally, this was written with the lack of brain juice and just thirst so please bear with me.

Links : Masterlist

 Target audience is female reader.

 To whoever is reading, please enjoy.

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

“Before we begin, my love, please drink this,” Albedo said while handing you a test tube filled with pink liquid.

“What is this, love?” you curiously asked. “Is this different from the potion you asked me to drink after each – uhm – session?”

“Yes. This potion ensures us you won’t get pregnant,” was your lover’s forward response. You nodded and drank the potion in one go. “This is a safety measure. I know you love it when I ejaculate inside so I assumed you would also ask your partners to do the same.” You grimaced and slapped Albedo’s arm – because it was true: you loved hot cum spurting in your womb. Albedo chuckled, “I will be back to fetch your first partner. Please relax and wait for a while.” Albedo patted your head before going outside to discuss with the lab rats. Although, in a sense you were also considered a lab rat.

You sat on the bed and contemplated. How did Albedo manage to make you agree again? And how did he convince those three men to join? Imagine: a Fatui Harbinger, the Favonius Cavalry Captain, and Mondstadt’s wine tycoon. How will they handle your body? Will they be the same as Albedo: sweet and gentle? Or will they –

Your thoughts were interrupted when the door creaked open to reveal Albedo and Diluc. The dashing gentleman as your first partner. You felt your face heat up and glanced somewhere else. Really, what was on Albedo’s mind, thinking of such lewd experiments?

The two men entered and as soon as Diluc saw you, froze while taking in your beauty. Oh, he can’t wait to finally have a taste of you! A delicious snack all for him – even for a brief opportunity. Meanwhile, Albedo closed the door and guided Diluc towards the center of the room.

“How are you feeling, my love?” Albedo confirmed.

“Nervous,” you admitted skittishly while playing with the hem of your skirt. “Uhm… Master Diluc, please go easy on me.”

Diluc’s eyes widened. Were you a virgin? But Albedo implied it wasn’t the case. Thousand thoughts ran through his head before he finally grunted in response. What exactly did that grunt mean? Even Diluc did not know.

“It will be alright, my love. Take your time,” Albedo stepped closer and kissed the top of your head.

“Yes, love. It’s just… I don’t know what to expect…”

“If it makes you feel better, rest assured I won’t hurt you,” Diluc protested quickly. “I’ll do my best to please you…and give Albedo decent data.”

You smiled a thank you at Diluc before taking in a deep breath.

“Uhm… I think I’m ready, love,” you mustered the courage to say.

“We can always stop if you feel distressed in any way. After all, our main priority is your pleasure,” Albedo cupped your cheeks and gave your lips a peck. An assurance. “Remember: our safe word is?”

“Coffee Jelly,” both you and Diluc answered.

Albedo hummed in approval. You placed your hands on top of Albedo’s to signal you were ready, cuing him to sit back and watch the show. Albedo got comfortable on the chair, placed his clipboard on his lap, and gave the go-signal.

“Shall we start?”

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

Session #1 : Diluc Ragnvindr

“M – Master Diluc…!” you cried, voice breathy from pleasure. It was embarrassing to erotically call another man’s name but Albedo insisted it was alright.

You were sprawled on the bed, thighs clipped on Diluc’s shoulders as he assaulted your wet pussy with his tongue. He ran his soft muscle in your slit before circling your clitoris and suckling the sensitive bundle of nerves. You moaned, back arching from jolts of pleasure.

“Does it feel good?” Diluc asked in between greedy slurps from your honey pot. Crimson eyes peered at yours while plump lips puckered your pulsing clit.

“Y – yes – ahn…! M – Master Diluc, please, inside…! I want you inside, please!”

Diluc had been engaging you in foreplay and making sure you were prepared for him. He was afraid to hurt you but you couldn’t take it anymore. You already came once from having your clit played and now dying to have his cock inside. Your gummy walls sadly clenched at nothing. Instead of using his cock, Diluc plunged two digits inside your hole. You groaned, happy yet discontented to feel your hole stretch.

Diluc buried his fingers oh-so-deep, hitting your puffy clit with his palm. You bit your lip and suppressed your moan but Diluc did not like it. He finger-fucked you in a fast pace, curling his fingers to hit your sweet spot. You couldn’t help but whimper. Fluids sloshed out of you, making a wet mess on his hands and on your thighs. He slid another digit and continued his relentless speed, pounding you fast and hard. Clapping flesh, wet sloshes, and erotic cries echoed in the room. Your pussy was on fire. The more Diluc met his palm on your clit; the more he dipped his fingers in and out, the closer your next climax.

“Master Diluc! I – I’m cumming!” you screamed, hips elevated to get more of Diluc’s divine fingers.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he demanded, intently gazing at you and etching your gorgeous messy image in his memory.

One scissor motion of his digits made you release, screaming from the glorious climax. You slumped on the bed and panted heavily as Diluc slowed his pace to a complete stop. He removed his digits inside you to let you come down from your high.

Diluc’s hungry crimson eyes watched your vulnerable form. You looked so delicious: chest rising up and down; thighs shivering; pussy dripping. But your hazy gaze wandered somewhere else – roaming around to search for your boyfriend. Diluc clicked his tongue. He gently caressed your cheeks then steered your face towards his.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

The sight of your glossy eyes and trembling lips pleading for cock could make Diluc cum. But why would he when Albedo said you loved feeling warm cum spurting inside you? Thus he made it his mission to fill you up with his seeds.

And possibly impregnate you so you can be his.

Diluc flushed your knees on your shoulders, giving him a prettier view and an easier access to your pink pussy. He kissed his cock on your hole before finally penetrating you, making you hiss at the delicious stretch. Diluc was well-endowed. He plunged deeper until the tip of his cock punched the entrance of your cervix, forming a bulge in your stomach.

Grunt. The tightness of your cute cunt almost made Diluc cum. It took all of his will-power to control himself and cute little you did not make it easier for him.

“Master Diluc, please spill all your seeds deep inside me,” you whispered on Diluc’s ears.

Diluc smirked. You asked nicely thus he shall give generously. He started to pound you in slow and shallow thrusts, pleasantly stretching your pussy as he molded your gummy walls to accommodate him.

Diluc watched your jiggling tits, savoured your tight cunt, and hearkened your angelic pleading voice. Soon he got lost in pleasure. He hastened his pace and began to fuck your pussy senseless. Creamy white ring formed around his shaft as he ripped your small hole apart; balls slapping on the flesh of your ass. It was too much. This position made Diluc reach your deepest parts and you could only scream-chant his name like a mantra. Your pussy burned at the continuous friction from Diluc’s long thick cock – your mind long turned mush. Orgasm was coming.

“Master Diluc! S – so good…!”

“You’re cumming, aren’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, please, may I cum? Please, Master Diluc!”

“Hah…! No one’s stopping you from cumming, [your name]. Cum for me, sweetheart.”

Obeying his command, your pussy choked Diluc’s cock as you came. Yet Diluc kept pounding your snug cunt – this time not letting you take a break.

“W – Wait! Master Diluc, please! I’m still sensitive!”

“Just a little more, sweetheart,” Diluc pleaded, chasing his climax. “I’m gonna breed you. Gonna fill you up with my cum. You want that, don’t you?”

You could only babble nonsense. Coherent thoughts poofed away as Diluc kept abusing your oversensitive pussy. His thrusts were getting sloppy; his climax was close. Diluc latched his lips onto yours and snapped his cock deep inside you before spilling generous seeds filling you to the brim. In turn, you came once again at the feeling of hot sperm flowing in your womb. You both indulged in the wet kiss while recovering from your highs, eating each other’s exhales. Instead of pulling out, Diluc kept himself plugged inside your hole.

“Be a good girl and keep it all inside, sweetheart.”

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

Session #2 : Kaeya Alberich

“Don’t be shy, angel,” Kaeya cooed as he held your hair away to view your lovely face. “I’m sure Albedo would love to get this data, no?”

You glared up at Kaeya. Albedo clearly instructed to pretend he wasn’t there and Kaeya mentioning your boyfriend made you feel conscious. In fact, you were still discombobulated by Albedo’s peculiar experiment. Still, Albedo insisted you to explore your preferences.

Kaeya leaned his back on the bed board, thighs splayed so you could glorify his erected cock. You, on the other hand, were on all fours. Your ass was hanging high and your wet pussy was displayed prettily.

You tried your best to take the Cavalry Captain deep in your throat but it was your first time giving someone head. Albedo never made you do such things and you weren’t “wild” enough to suggest it. Now as much as you wanted to try giving Kaeya a blowjob, you could only take a few inches of his length.

“Inexperienced, are we?” he asked and you could only hum in response. “Oh, well. Take it easy, angel.”

Kaeya chuckled as he watched your cheeks puff from being stuffed with cock. He didn’t mind if your blowjob was toothy. It simply proved your mouth was virgin. Oh, he delighted in your untainted pussy-mouth! It made want to ravish it more.

“Why don’t you touch yourself, angel?” Kaeya suggested with a sly smile. With a pop, you removed his cock in your mouth.

“As in…?” you bashfully asked. Of course you knew he was saying you should masturbate but it was too embarrassing.

“Touch yourself. Rub your clit. Dig your fingers inside you. I know you’re already wet in anticipation, angel. I bet you want this cock to massacre your cute little cunt. Don’t worry.  I’ll play with your pussy. For now, I want to make your mouth feel good.” Kaeya’s voice was low and smooth, effortlessly enchanting you to trail your hand on your stomach down to your glistening cunt. “That’s right, angel… If you cum using your fingers, I’ll be sure to reward you later.”

As you dipped two fingers inside your hole, you simultaneously wrapped your mouth around Kaeya’s head. Deeper. You pushed your digits deeper and plunged your head lower. Kaeya guided you to take him more. The tip of his head touched the back of your throat and you almost gagged. Kaeya groaned in feeling the vibrations of your mouth, chuckling at your cuteness.

Deeper. Slowly but surely, Kaeya helped you get comfortable in his size. You soon found yourself bobbing on your own, taking his length halfway. Your small wet mouth served his veiny cock as you buried your fingers and played with your own clit. You never thought cock would taste delicious.

“That’s it. Good girl, [your name],” Kaeya cooed.

“Mmph…! Khaeyah…,” you moaned in between slurps of Kaeya’s pre-cum. “Your cock tastes so good. Mmph…!”

“Do you want more, angel?”

No words. Your glossy eyes pleaded while your mouth continued to service Kaeya’s glorious dick. He smirked, suddenly pushing your head lower so he is bottomed out. Your groans and cries only made it better for Kaeya as you struggled at the sudden stretch of your throat. He grunted.

“Fuck! Your mouth is just like a pussy, isn’t it, angel? I’m going to make you drink my cum. Don’t waste any drop, yeah?”

Kaeya took control and fucked your mouth like pussy. Each time he lowered your head, he snapped his hips up. You would be lying if you said you did not like the way Kaeya manhandled you. You loved it – the honey dripping from your cunt as evidence. The burning of your throat made your pussy feel cold and empty. Your gummy walls sought to squeeze something bigger and your fingers weren’t satisfying enough.

“Shit…! I’m cumming, angel! Drink it all!”

You and Kaeya came at the same time, moaning blissfully at the release. Your love juice gushed out and trailed down to your knees on the bed. Meanwhile, Kaeya spurted thick cum in your mouth, making your eyes roll back. Once Kaeya was done spilling his seeds, he pulled your head to give you a breather.

“Hah… Were you a good girl, angel? Open up and let me see that pretty mouth of yours.”

You swallowed before showing your small cavern to Kaeya and rolling your tongue out. Of course you were an obedient girl, careful not to spill the tasty cum.

“Heh. Good girl. You deserve a reward, no?” he cooed. “Now face the other way so I can fuck your tight little pussy.”

In a daze, you did as told and turned around so Kaeya can see your plump ass and aching cunt. You slumped your upper body on the bed, leaving your hind hoisted in the air for Kaeya to admire.

Slap! You winced as Kaeya smacked your gelatinous flesh. Slap! Slap! He enjoyed it: hearing you whimpers while watching your big fat butt jiggle with every strike. How bouncy would your ass be as he fucks you from behind? The thought got him hard once more as he would soon find out the answer.

He soothingly caressed your swollen cheeks before wordlessly slamming his full length inside your pussy, bottoming out and flushing his hips on your behind. His balls slapped your puffy clit. Snug velvet walls squeezed his cock as his tip kissed the entrance of your cervix. The vibration from the impact made your hind shake and Kaeya groaned at its sight.

“Damn – this is better than I expected… Angel, your pussy is begging for me, isn’t it? You’re clenching me so hard.”

“Kaeya…!” you cried at the sudden intrusion, glancing behind to see a devilish smirk on Kaeya’s face making your pussy flutter.

“You’re such a slut, aren’t you? I bet you always squeeze Albedo’s cock with your tight cunt. Hell, I bet you were the one who came up with this experiment.”

You wanted to protest but Kaeya tightly gripped your hips and began to massacre your cute little cunt, rocking his hips back and forth at an animalistic pace. Erotic whimpers instead escaped your lips at the intensity of Kaeya’s cock stretching your pussy. You buried your face on the pillow to silence your cries.

“Let me hear your voice, angel,” Kaeya demanded as he grabbed your hair and pulled your head up.

The pain of having your head forcefully pulled back was nothing compared to feeling your abused cunt pleasured – your sloshing pussy in lust served as evidence. Your focus was solely on the fast approaching climax and your pussy squeezed oh-so-tight around Kaeya. He knew you were close.

“Hah… Can Albedo fuck you as good as this, huh, angel?”

You ignored the inquiry and gave no coherent answers – only loud moans and wails of pleasure. Your love juices were almost ready to gush out.

And that was when he stopped – erection still inside of you.

“Hah…! Ah…? K – Kaeya…? Why?” you groggily asked, tearing from the sudden loss of pleasure. You wriggled your hips but Kaeya slapped your hind, making you wince.

“Ah, ah… Why did I stop? It’s because someone has been bad. Do you think you still deserve my cock, angel?” Kaeya queried.

“Yes. Yes, please! I’ve been bad? But I’ve always been good, haven’t I?” you pleaded, trying your best not to move. “I want your cock…! Please, Kaeya…! I want to be good!”

“If you want to be good then answer me, angel,” Kaeya stated before languidly thrusting in and out of you again. “Who’s making your pussy feel good right now, angel?”

“Y – You are…! Archons, Kaeya, your cock feels so good! Please fuck me harder!”

“Ahaha… More, angel?”

“Yes, please…! Oh – archons!” you squealed as Kaeya immediately hastened his speed, snapping his hips to and fro in a fast pace.

“Who’s my cockslut, [your name]?”

“I am! I am Kaeya’s cockslut! Kaeya, I’m cumming, please! Please! Please! I want to cum!” you panted like a dog in heat – tongue lolled out as drool streamed from the corned of your lips.

“Good girl,” Kaeya cooed. “Now… Can Albedo fuck you as good as this, huh, angel?”

“N – nngh…! Kaeya…!”

“Well, angel?” Kaeya threatened. You felt his hips losing its speed.

“N – no! No! Archons, Kaeya, your cock is the best! Ah! Kaeya is fucking my pussy so good! Please, Kaeya, please! Don’t stop!”

“Haha…! Let’s try again, angel.”

Kaeya laughed at your cock-drunk response. All for the sake of cumming. With both hands, he gripped you hips tightly and your upper body slumped back on the bed. While poisoning your brain to think of him and his cock alone, he abused your clenching cunt; his balls continuously spanked your puffy clit. Then he stopped again. Whenever he felt your climax nearing, he would stop himself and you would plea. The vicious cycle repeated itself leaving you more desperate to cum – so on edge with pretty tears streaming down your cheeks in frustration.

“Kaeya, why? Please make me cum…! I’ve been good, right? Please…!”

“I know, angel. Since you asked nicely,” he groaned shakily.

This time, Kaeya did not stop and rolled his hips eagerly. His climax was approaching too and your pussy was more than eager to squeeze him dry. With few rough thrusts, both you and Kaeya came, making you squeal at finally being given the freedom of release. Both of you were spurting yet Kaeya kept moving his hips, paying no mind to being overstimulated. You did not mind, so long as you could cum and cum and cum.

“Damn, angel. Your pussy is just too good. Cum for me more.”

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

Session #3 : “Childe”

“Childe, sir…,” you groaned. “Ah… This is – this is embarrassing…”

“What? It’s not like your boyfriend haven’t seen your naked body before,” the harbinger guffawed while scissoring two fingers inside your pussy. “I’m doing him a favor, see? This position gives him a niiiice view, don’t you think?”

Both you and Childe were facing Albedo’s way. The harbinger had your back leaning on his toned chest as you sat in front of him. Your knees were clipped and your thighs were spread apart. Yes, Albedo surely had a perfect view of your exposed body; a perfect view to see how Childe fondles your soft breasts and plays your pretty little pussy. Seeing the darkness in Albedo’s eyes intently watching as Childe had his way disturbed you. Yet Albedo insisted you to not worry and to just get wild and focus on your pleasure.

“Aw, you’re creaming so much just from my fingers! How cute,” Childe chortled, digging his fingers deeper to stretch your hole and brushing his thumb on your clit from time to time. He whispered in your ears, “Or maybe…you like seeing Albedo leering at your stuffed pussy?” Albedo did not know what the harbinger told you but judging from the way you gasped, it must be something flustering. “Anyway, let’s give Mister Albedo a show, shall we?”

Childe circled his thumb on your clit before pressing them firmly. He then hooked his digits inside your hole. With the way your body jerked, he was sure he found your g-spot.

“Mister Albedo said you should focus on your pleasure. Then let’s see if I can make you cum, yeah? Let’s not disappoint Mister Albedo now, yeah?”

Childe began to massage your clit and g-spot roughly, stimulating both that sent great jolts of pleasure. Your eyes rolled back, screaming from the intensity – the double assault was just two much! The room echoed with Childe’s manic laughter, your love juice’s sloshing sounds, and your erotic cries of pleasure. You struggled to free yourself from the overwhelming pleasure. You wanted to make it stop; to close your legs – but Childe used his other hand to ensure Albedo would see his work.

Your glorious release was so close; you can feel it. But somehow, it was different. It was comparable to cumming but dissimilar.

“You’re tightening around my fingers! Does that mean you’re close?” Childe asked while speeding the process of your release. “Come on, girlie! Cum for daddy!”

Childe’s relentless assault and coaxing words cajoled you to release. Your body shook as fluids gushed out of you like fountain. But you knew it wasn’t cum – it was as if you had squirted your love juice. Seeing how hard you heaved, Childe removed his hand from your womanhood to give you a breather.

“Wow! That’s a lot of cum,” Childe laughed as he watched the wet stains on the bed. You couldn’t respond – your limp body simply leaning on Childe’s lively one. He brought his stained fingers to his mouth and gave it a lick. “Mmh ~ You taste delicious, girlie. Hey, Mister Albedo, invite me over next time you have sex, yeah?”

“Hah… Childe…,” you addressed weakly. Albedo clearly stated to pretend he wasn’t there yet here Childe was, calling out to your boyfriend.

“Hey, girlie. Let’s make you cum again and give Mister Albedo a good show.”

“Wha…?” you stuttered. Childe wasn’t done? “Wait – ! You’re done, aren’t you…? Please, no more…!” you pleaded feebly, eyes heavy from exhaustion. But your cries fell on deaf ears.

“No way! I was just preparing you for the best part. So just relax, yeah?” Childe chortled. He then lifted your light body and shoved the tip of his cock inside your ass. Your eyes widened in surprise.

“W – wrong hole, Childe! Wrong – ahn!” your words were cut short by Childe pushing himself deeper inside you. “Stop, please…!”

“Fuck, girlie! Can’t believe your boyfriend haven’t tried fucking you like this before!” Childe sang as his cock squeezed itself inside your ass hole. “Ah ~ so tight! And it’s all for me!”

Pretty tears ran down your cheeks as Childe bottomed out. It was your first time having something so big stretch your ass hole. It was mind-numbing – quite painful even; yet your pussy got wetter and wetter.

“Aw… Does it hurt? I’ll make it feel good for you,” Childe cooed as he planted a peck on your cheek.

He wiped your tear away with his thumb, whispering praises and affirmations in your ear. He then trailed sweet caresses to your neck down to your chest then finally to your stomach. Surprisingly, the harbinger’s touch was gentle enough to soothe you somehow. You purred, nuzzling your head on the comfort of his shoulders.

“You look so pretty, I could just eat you up,” Childe lowly chuckled, taking his time to spread your love juice before burying two fingers inside your fluttering womanhood. You bit your lips, holding back the moan threatening to escape. “Let me hear your cute voice, girlie. Does it feel good?”

“Y – yes, it feels good,” you breathed as Childe curled his fingers to immediately focus on your spongy spot; his thumb on your clit.

“Let’s make it better.”

Childe wasted no time and began to arouse your sensitive areas, making you toss your head back and squeal out loud. Lewd squelching came from your dirty pussy as the harbinger went ruthless on your womanhood. With Childe’s long and thick cock occupying your behind, your velvet gummy walls felt tighter and Childe could easily press your spongy spot harder.

You couldn’t help but move your hips at the rhythm of Childe’s pulsing fingers. And the more you move, the more you were reminded of the peculiarly delicious stretch of your ass. He had so much control over your body. Too much pleasure. Your eyes rolled back and your tongue lolled out as you screamed louder incoherent cries of pleasure.

“Archons – ! Ah! I’m cumming! I’m cumming!”

You didn’t even have to tell Childe. He knew it from the way you were sucking him inside your holes; from the way you were blabbering non-sense; from the way you were eagerly grinding yourself. In a swift motion, Childe moved his hands away from you, giving Albedo a clear view of how fluids once again gushed out of your pretty little pussy. Childe mused at the new mess your lewd cunt made, clearly amazed and proud of his work.

“What did I tell you? Felt better, yeah?” Childe chortled but you were exhausted to speak. He just chuckled at your weary state.

Childe pecked your cheeks and cooed how you were such a good girl. His hands once again trailed all over your body, giving you feather-light tingly touches. Letting your guard down, you closed your eyes and indulged in the gentle caresses and sweet whispers. You didn’t even realize his hands positioned itself to once again assault your cute little pussy.

“One last time, girlie. Just to make sure Mister Albedo jotted down his notes. ’Sides, I wanted to cum inside you too! I’m gonna paint your ass with my cum and claim it as mine!”

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

“My love…,” you spoke weakly, lying limp on your side. “Did you get your data?”

“Mmh. Yes, thank you, my love,” Albedo hummed in satisfaction to which you sighed in relief.  “Although I may wish to collect more data in the future.”

You smiled at the thought of Albedo’s fruitful experiment. Contentedly, you closed your eyes as Albedo cleaned you up with warm towel and massaged your sore spots. You were seconds away from drifting to dreamland when Albedo called your name and planted a kiss on your forehead. Drowsily opening your eyes, you saw your lover handing you the potion you were supposed to drink after each session.

“Please drink this, my love.”

Oh, was there another person aside from Childe, Diluc, and Kaeya?

Albedo helped pull you up as you struggled to sit on the bed. You did as told and sleepily drank the potion to rejuvenate your energy. What woke you up was not the effects of the potion but instead Albedo’s uncharacteristically vulgar words.

“Slut. It seems you need to be reminded whose cockwhore you are. Not Childe’s. Not Diluc’s. And definitely not Kaeya’s. Mine. Fucking mine. A discipline is in order, I believe. Now let’s fill you up with MY cum, my cute little cumdump.”

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

Thank you all for the 200+ follows. Any suggestions on how to commemorate this…event? 🐱

Anyway… Who should Teacher Albedo contact for the next experiment? 🤔

To whoever read this, thank you for your time. Here, have some carrot. 🥕

 Stay hydrated, people!

 Links : Masterlist

[absolutely-not-my-main-blog]

Random Risk E. Rat Notes before I go scrolling my dash at last

-The gang all singing together in the opening, I am kissing them on the lips

-The timing of that opening felt off though, the pacing/timing of the whole episode felt a little off.

-Dennis vaguely mentioning the noises in there, no I am not gonna blow this out of proportion and daydream overstimulation scenarios, I'm not, I'm not (that's a lie).

-Kinda dog-coded Frank again with the water, can't wait to read the essays on that.

-I find it really interesting they decided to team up Dee and Frank once again this season, though I'm too tired to formulate thoughts on why, I just... it's interesting. There's something there... something.

-Charden kicking the wall together, they're so stupid (affectionate) <3

-You can do whatever you want, the parents not around, I wonder if Mac's parents would just like dump him there so they wouldn't have to deal with him for the day and he'd end up in that timeout room a lot because he was angry, he needed a way to let out his anger... the fake gun he wanted to get with the tickets, oh guns again this season, I've got thoughts now for another post, don't mind me, very unrelated.

-I find it interesting the different levels of awareness, how they're all still stuck in the past because it's what they always knew, but on some level can understand why things had to change, especially when confronted with something they recognize as bad that say Frank still doesn't, yet they still cling to it because that's how it's been done, tradition, legacy, they don't actually want what what was there, the punishment? the guilt? even the rat boobs, but they want to cling on to it because they fear change, because if it changed, that means it was wrong, like how it changed from Frank's day, and then they have to face that their childhood memories of this one safe haven were not all roses, so they try to force the past back into the present to prove it was better then... and things go horribly wrong, because some things are better left in the past... seen through rose coloured glasses, but what happens when they do come to the surface, when they see it in new context, just like the whole show lately slowly becoming more tragic in hindsight with each passing detail. This episode reminds me of Big Mo in a way.

-Partly on that above note, for real, Charlie and Dennis sound so unenthusiastic/uninterested in those rat boobs, like an ace and a gay man looking at them just because they think they should, they think that's how it's supposed to be.

-Mac in the feelings room saying he's angry, and he feels misunderstood, unheard, just in this instance or in general, throughout? (Unheard, as he's not supposed to speak.) Misunderstood as our perception of him and his actions this season may not be as it seems. I also find it interesting he's separated from the gang again... And he still feels the need to be punished and feel shameful... maybe he thinks he doesn't deserve that relationship with Donald or Dennis, or... idk, just... much to think about. That theme of denial... needing to deny and look back to cope. To believe his parents still loved him, feeling guilty and being punished is what kids are supposed to go through and he’s not allergic to nuts and Dennis isn’t Johnny. (Also, off topic, Mac with his lil juice box, adorable.)

-Sending Dennis to the Feelings Centre immediately btw

-"I don't 100% understand what satire means." Dee, voice of Reddit today.

-In my mind, Dennis took the ear plugs :) noise sensitive dennis real to me

[writtenonreceipts]

@jilymicrofics january microfic prompt #1: fireworks

Canon! Just some fun that got a little bit away from me while it was slow at work yesterday, lol.

word count: ~1.3k

New Year, New Mischief

The boy is seventeen years old and he has only one thing on his mind: to smuggle a large box of fireworks through the Honeydukes secret passage and up to the Common Room without getting caught.

It’s not the first time he’s done this of course. The Honeydukes passage has long been used by him and his friends. They often find any excuse to sneak out of the castle, to find a bit of freedom, to cause a little bit of mischief.  And the Honeydukes route leads to sweets which always puts an adventure off to a good start.

James Potter is quite aware that fireworks are a little bit more than simple mischief, but it is New Years after all.  Well, it’s a little bit later than the actual day but it’s close enough.

So with snow still melting through his sweater and the invisibility cloak rippling around him, he gleefully slips through secret passages and hallways. Dodging Filch and the other professors on patrol is easy enough.  Even if he does have a headboy badge now, there isn't an easy way to explain fireworks nor an invisibility cloak.

It isn't long until he makes his way to the portrait of the Fat Lady.  He pulls the invisibilty cloak off of him before approaching, just to be safe.  While he doesn’t think she’ll rat him out to a professor, he doesn’t want to take any chances.  He offers the password to her sleepy form.  It is well past midnight after all.  She lets out a perturbed sigh as she looks him over..

“You're going to keep me up all night aren't you,” she drawls.

James only offers a wry grin and slips into the Common Room. It’s later than he intended it to be and only one person remains awake. Just as he suspected.  Sprawled out on the floor before the fire, is Lily. Her red hair is pulled up into a messy bun with at least two different quills poking out of it. The low burning embers left in the fireplace illuminate her soft features and only serve to make James pause just a moment in admiration. 

She’s too engrossed in her studies to notice him. Before the Christmas holiday, she’d started an essay for McGonagall as a means of extra credit, Lily really was miserable at transfiguration.  Only now it was nearly two weeks after their return to school and she still hasn’t finished it.  James had offered to help but she'd firmly denied it. She could do this on her own or not at all.

She can be quite stubborn like that.  Not that James minds it in the slightest.

“You're still at it?” James asks with fondness as he crosses the Common Room towards her.

Finally Lily looks up. She blinks several times before sighing. “Well, I was working through the essay then realized I forgot about Slughorn's analysis on the complex sleep draught which reminded me I didn't finish charting that mandrake growth thing and by that point doing anything transfiguration related sounded absolutely miserable. So now I am getting a head start on Flitwicks assignment.”

It all comes out in nearly one breath and James can’t help but grin.  Because this is his Lily.

“Cmon,” he tells her. He adjusts his box of fireworks in one arm and holds his other hand out toward her.

“What?” she frowns eyeing him. “Where are we going?”

“To cause a little mischief, Evans, what else?”

Her green eyes spark and he can tell the exact moment he wins her over.  Because as dedicated to her studies as she is, Lily Evans is just as troublesome as the rest of them.

Plus, they’ve only been dating officially for two months at this point and James would like to think she is just that enamored by him.

Either way, they are soon dashing out of the Common Room, giggling madly especially as The Fat Lady harrumphs after them.

They don’t stop running until they’re well away.  James keeps Lily’s hand in his own as they ease into another secret passage.  She hasn’t asked him yet how he knows his way around the castle so well, but James suspects she may already know.  Or have a very accurate guess on the matter.  He’s almost revealed the map to her on several occasions, but knows the other boys do have their reservations on the matter.

So, he and Lily move through the castle blindly.  She does know about the cloak, but there’s only so much coverage it can offer.

By the time they’ve reached the Astronomy Tower, the silky fabric is balled up under one arm and the fireworks under another.

“Fireworks?” Lily asks as she takes in the fireworks. “Where’d you get those?”

He watches her brow furrow and a small pout dashes across her lips.  Despite her bravado and her own penchant for levity--Lily Evans is still the responsible one.

“You would not approve of the answer to that question,” James informs her.

She looks up at him.  He very much likes when she fixes him with that exact look.  It’s the one that says you’re insufferable as well as I shouldn’t be as amused by this as I am.

His Lily is rather funny like that.

“It’ll be fun,” he assures her.

And then before she can say anything else, he’s pulling up the winding stairs that’ll lead out to the observatory platform.

“Is there a reason you’ve chosen today for mayhem?” Lily asks him as he props the door leading outside for her.

“You never need a reason, Evans,” he says.

“James.” She says his name so perfectly; exasperated and humorous.

He sets the fireworks down and adjusts her glasses. “It’s the new year.”

“It’s January twentieth.”

“Because we can!”

“You say that about everything.”

She’s crossed her arms over her chest and James knows she wants a real answer.  He sweeps an arm to the fireworks and up to the open sky.

“Because,” he says, with a little less bravado than before, “I know your holiday wasn’t the best.  And I know you’re worried about start of the new term.  So.  We’re going to launch off random bouts of fireworks until Filch chases us down and back to the Common Room.”

Lily rolls her eyes at him even as she crosses the observatory platform so she can pull him into a hug.  It’s soft and gentle and she sighs as she presses her cheek against his chest.  She says nothing for a few minutes before finally a chuckle escapes.

“So, causing things to explode in a bright halo of light is your idea of therapy?”

“Isn’t it yours?” he teases.

That gets her to laugh a real laugh, once that causes her to tilt her head back and grin at him.

“Well alright then,” she says. “Let’s start shall we?”

The spend the next hour lighting fireworks and watching the lights explode across the sky.  When they nearly get caught, the only move to another part of the castle and continue to see how many fireworks they can get off before another professor finds them.

When they finally run out of fireworks they sneak back to the Common Room, prodding a very irritable Fat Lady awake.

“Thank-you,” Lily tells James as she gathers all the books and papers she’s left sprawled about.

James helps her and makes sure nothing is going to crease or get rumpled as he stacks the books together.

“For what?” he asks.

She pushes to her tiptoes and brushes her lips with his. “Giving me the best new start to the year.  Even if it is a little late.”

And James knows then and there that he will do anything at all for Lily Evans.

[givehimthemedicine]

more thoughts on Hawkins Lab / memory alteration / NINA / the rainbow rooms / Kali / Henry / El / Terry

(of possible interest to laozuspo and aemiron-main bc of that other HNL post / possible implications for Henry. no pressure tho you guys are both way ahead of me on this investigation)

Owens implies that he developed the NINA program only since El's power loss in case she ever needed it restored, but I have very strong doubts.

how does Owens know that NINA could bring El's powers back stronger than before unless this technique has already been used? best-case-scenario, tested on someone during recent development to make sure it works for El, but worst-case and more probable scenario, used to psychologically manipulate or bring out powers in the lab kids, maybe even El herself, in the past. maybe even Terry Ives (Becky specifically mentioned Terry doing sensory deprivation tank experiments, which is a component of NINA).

HNL has need to alter potentially all the kids' memories, not just Henry

the lab wants all those kids uniform and tractable, so they'll make good little lab rats / spies / assassins, right?

the lab-born kids like El would be relatively easy to mold, because the lab is all they know. but what about Kali, Henry, and any other kids who were wild-caught old enough to remember their former lives? you'd think even remembering the fact that there IS a world outside the lab would make them harder to control. don't they need to be wiped of their memories of their past lives and stripped of individuality, identity?

you would probably also want to wipe any kid after sending them on psionic spying / assassination missions so they don't retain classified info or gain too much knowledge of the outside world, lest they become an escape risk.

I think there's a strong possibility that NINA or equivalent was already used throughout the HNL program for this purpose.

I don't know how you straight up delete memories, but it's easy to see how NINA could be used to plant fabricated replacement memories. add a dash of brainwashing and presto.

Kali tells a little of her life after the lab, but I don't remember her saying anything about before it. all our knowledge about her kidnapping comes from that newspaper clipping, right? do you think she remembers her former life?

Henry is the only other kid we know is wild-caught, and he still has his pre-lab memories, but maybe that doesn't matter in his case because he's uniquely kept in line with soteria.

Two - Eighteen have to be free to use their powers for experimentation, so the lab can't soteria them, they have to be controlled a different way. the most secure way to keep someone imprisoned isn't with strong locks, it's for them not to fully realize they are imprisoned or that escape is even an option. I doubt any of the kids like the lab, but they probably have a limited awareness that there is any other place.

Henry's pre-lab memories could also have been made safe for him to keep (tampered with). we know Virginia was in cahoots with Brenner before Henry even went to the lab, and I wouldn't put it past her to cooperate with the creation of staged footage of Henry's home life to NINA him with. possibly even Alice, unwittingly. not Victor.

now let's talk about the rainbow room(s)

Kali and El both refer to a "rainbow room" in season 2, but the room we see in Terry's memories bears basically no resemblance to the season 4 one.

the areas Terry is seen searching look reasonably like a 70's hospital, and the rainbow room looks like be a small exam-room type area. but season 4's rainbow room is big, with tiled halls, heavy metal doors, high security, the whole works.

these definitely can't be the same room, but I've always wondered whether we're supposed to just fudge it and consider them to be the same?

did the lab retool and get a high-security makeover after the Terry incident, or did both places exist the whole time?

I haven't scoured every frame of the show so tell me if I'm off, but I think I'm deciding that no, the two rainbow rooms aren't supposed to be the same, and that HNL has always had both a publicly presentable hospital area (where the s2 rainbow room is), and a more intense locked-down lab/prison area (where the s4 rainbow room is). they serve the same purpose, just with different security levels.

the lab isn't the mid-70's hospital area made-over because for one thing, they still have a hospital area when Will is a patient there in 1984. this doesn't look like Terry's exact hallway, but note those wood-veneer doors and square plated handles.

HNL has always been both a "hospital" and a prison.

from the path we see Hopper take in 1x5, it would appear that the tiled hallway familiar to us from s1, El's room, etc, is on the ground floor, just beyond a keycard security access point. we see him get in the elevator and go down to the water tank / mothergate floor. he later describes this to Joyce as "upstairs vs downstairs".

but the lab is at least a handful of stories tall. so I feel like the hospital area must be on the second floor or up.

we aren't shown the path that Terry Ives takes to locate her rainbow room, but we do see her come walking from the direction of what looks like elevators just before she finds it, opposite bright windows, which I'm taking to mean that the Terry rainbow room was on an upper floor. not on the same floor as the s4 rainbow room.

tangent: is the hospital where Sara died supposed to also be Hawkins Lab? I thought that was in New York? this looks like a different landing in the same stairwell. I'm confused about the Hopper lore because I think some of it comes from the novels I haven't read and idk whether we accept that as canon. please advise?

anyway, idea: were the lab kids not numbered, not officially program subjects, from birth?

little Kali and El have long hair and seem allowed to wear fairly normal clothes during their free time. the tattoos go on left wrists and I don't think I see one on baby El, not that we're given a very good look.

the lab kids seem to be roughly a year apart each, but they don't go all the way down to babies. the youngest (Eighteen)'s actor was probably 7 or 8 at the time of filming. so there is such a thing as a minimum age for the program.

It can't be that they didn't start numbering the kids until after the Terry memory, because we saw Henry get tattooed in '59 or '60, very possibly before Two was even born.

I'm now chewing on a scenario where maybe young prospective lab kids were kept in a lesser-security area to be evaluated, and officially made test subjects only once they demonstrated powers.

after all, Brenner took newborn El because he expected Terry's abilities to be passed down, but you can't ask a baby to do telekinesis for you. it'll be a while before you get proof. and the lab can't be handing out number tattoos too hastily and wasting resources on some kids for years only to find they show no promise.

we know that didn't happen because there are no numbers 001-018 unaccounted for. no failed discarded subjects.

if not all people have equal latent potential, you can't pick all winners from the getgo, and if you also don't discard any failed numbers, that means you'd have to evaluate a bunch of kids, keep the best for the program, and discard the others before they ever become numbers. and if you do that (without just killing them), you probably wanna wipe their memories first so they don't go around telling what you're up to. this avenue of thought may be of interest to Will-as-a-lab-kid truthers (doesn't this require Will to be missing from home for a chunk of his childhood? explain to me please).

a program intake system like this could help explain how all the kids can be numbered neatly in order of age despite the ages of wild-caught kids being impossible to anticipate, which has bothered me for a long time. edit: I may have misjudged Kali's age, although if any other kids were wild caught I guess the question still bears asking

I hc this memory to have occurred during that preliminary observation time, unless they just didn't start shaving heads until the mid 70's. electric shock seems overboard for standard kid misbehavior. Kali must have already demonstrated psychic potential in order to be kidnapped in the first place, so I imagine this was probably disciplinary action for refusing to use her powers for them.

now let's look at El's and Kali's memories:

what event is this describing? if Kali escaped before El, how was Kali the one who found El gone?

could this be when El disappeared from rainbow room 1 and taken to rainbow room 2? did Kali ever see rainbow room 2?

or was El just in sick bay or isolation or something, and Kali thought she was gone-gone?

Henry corroborates Kali's escape being prior to El's. this puts Kali's escape after - what, say 73? 74? but before 79.

El apparently has no memory of Kali except for the one she got from Terry. did El lose her Kali memories (along with pre-massacre memories in general) from the coma, or did the lab wipe/brainwash her after Kali's escape, not wanting her to remember her at all?

because it's funny that even during the scene where Henry is jogging El's memory about Terry's visit, that same Kali rainbow room footage all we see. I know the scene was about her remembering Terry, not Kali, but it makes me wonder if she remembered that scene by way of her 1986 knowledge, or if that's also all 1979 El remembered about Kali?

El is struggling with the cognitive dissonance here - she insists that Mama died making her, even though she also does successfully recall the memory Henry is describing, and it upsets her. again, I imagine NINA is a lot better at restoring or implanting memories than at deleting them, so you'd have to rely heavily on old fashioned brainwashing to try to cover up an event like this. until Henry brought it up in 1979, El probably believed she had imagined it.

WHY does Kali pause like that before calling the Terry/rainbow room footage a "memory"? it makes me feel like she questions its veracity. either Kali was given different information about how kids enter the program, or she knows that isn't really how El's situation went down. or something. I'm suspicious of ALL lab related memories, even from the good guys.

flies in my ointment:

if Kali finding El gone is describing a time when El was taken out of my theoretical observation area and locked fully into the program, before Kali, you'd think she would have a lower number

if Kali escaped the observation area before she ever made it into the program proper, how was she already known as Eight? unless they were all numbered unofficially before that and just not tattooed yet, and if you gotta discard a kid you recycle their number

if you don't earn your number/tattoo/spot in the program until you're at least something years old, I wonder if El wasn't called Eleven as a toddler? Kali asks her name, she says Jane, and then Kali checks her wrist for the tattoo. I can't actually recall any proof that Kali remembers El as Eleven.

spinning my propeller hat and honking my clown nose:

HNL has high security and Terry already shot a guy on her way in. she had to have already had some idea of where to look in order to find El before the guards got to her. somebody told her where. hint: Henry somehow

did Henry lie and tell Kali that El was gone to prompt Kali's escape?

did Henry think he was telling the truth when he told Kali that El was gone, but really Brenner fed him that?

Kali seems less empathetic than El, do you think Henry would've had a similar alliance with her? why would he choose her to help escape. or did she not need help escaping?

why don't these people just ask each other the most obvious questions in the world AAAAAAHHH

[as-they-say-in-nippon]

thought that I’ve had for a while now:

It’s obvious that Stone and Robotnik are gay for each other but I don’t see Robotnik showing a whole lot of emotion towards it, y’know not being super mushy n stuff

but imagine, if you will…

It’s like the final battle and it’s heated—our heroes are giving their all, Robotnik’s not holding back, in fact he’s got that crazed grin on his face and Stone’s right beside him smiling too

And I don’t know how it happens, the big robot that Robotnik’s controlling crashes, a piece of shrapnel goes in the wrong direction, a spin dash, punch, Miles Prower invention attack, a makeshift weapon is poorly timed

No matter how it happens, Stone ends up on the ground. Everything around him is smoking, sparking, destroyed. The emotion from the battle still raging on is palpable, but for Robotnik—it stops.

He’s aware of his Agent at all times. Even in his most focused state, he knows Stone’s state of wellbeing because the control gloves Robotnik made for Stone report his vitals right to Robotnik’s own control gloves. He knows the agent’s position at all times. He knows the Agent like the back of his hand.

So he didn’t even need to turn to know that something was wrong.

The moment it happened, it felt like a sword went through his chest. He didn’t even need the faint beeping of his control gloves giving him report of Stone’s injuries to know that his love had been hurt.

Everything falls away from Robotnik as he drops down to cradle Stone.

He’s bleeding and unresponsive.

Robotnik leans over him, shielding him from the battle that is slowly coming to a stop as the heroes realize what’s going on.

“STOP,” Robotnik screams, desperate to keep Stone from further harm. He’s scared—he’s never worried about Stone like this because the Agent can take care of himself.

But now Stone was defenseless and battered, and Robotnik can’t handle all the emotion. He’s never loved something so fiercely that he’d abandoned reason. He should be getting up and killing that blue rat but Stone takes up all his focus. Here is the great Dr. Ivo Robotnik, reduced to begging.

“Stop! Please… please don’t hurt him.”

The wide, worried eyes of Sonic the Hedgehog appear closer and closer in his vision. How dare he.

“I can get him to a hospital quick!” Robotnik’s grip tightens.

“No! My lab has all the capabilities to heal him.” But the lab is 20 miles away. Stone doesn’t have that kind of time.

The woman, Maddie, he thinks, pipes up.

“He needs medical attention now, Ivo!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” he yells. He hoists Stone up into his arms, staggering.

“I have to get him to my lab.”

[waheelawhisperer]

Violence ask 6?

You guys gotta specify a fandom or I'm gonna give you a million answers.

6) which ship fans are the most annoying?

RWBY: Bumbleby fans are so fucking annoying that they're probably 40% of the reason I'm considering not shipping it anymore. Black Sun fans are also annoying and far more delusional but there are fewer of them and they mostly keep to themselves at this point. The Jaune harem people are also fucking obnoxious, like I'm not even opposed to a Jaune + girls polycule if it's written competently and with respect to all characters and relationships involved instead of just a bunch of women brainlessly thirsting over one man who doesn't even bear any resemblance his actual canon characterization beyond the physical appearance, but that's never what we get. Ever. I don't even have a problem with horny wish fulfillment shit existing, but that doesn't mean I want to see someone else's.

Bee shippers take the cake though because there are more of them, they never shut the fuck up, and many of them are violently opposed to the idea of anyone shipping either Blake or Yang with someone else (especially if that someone else happens to be male) and there's also significant overlap between the worst of the Bee shippers and the people who think anyone who thinks the show is less than perfect deserves to be tried in The Hague

Arknights: I don't really have a good one here because honestly most of the Arknights shippers aren't that bad. There aren't really any shipping wars that I'm aware of, nor do people try super hard to push their ships on everyone else. I guess I'll pick Nearl + Platinum and Blemishine + Platinum shippers because I specifically hate both of those ships with a fiery passion and people keep putting them on my dash, but this is really only because I feel like I have to pick something here. Like yeah there are some outliers but generally most of the Arknights community is pretty willing to just kinda live and let live when it comes to shipping.

For the Fate series it's gotta be the people who argue over which mediocre protagonist the infinitely-better female characters belong to. I already wanted to drown Emiya Shirou like a wet rat, but every time I see some dumbass on reddit who thinks Saber needs to keep herself pure for him argue with some idiot who thinks Guda deserves ALL THE WOMEN the urge intensifies, to say nothing of the arguments over whether Tamamo is allowed to fall in love with anyone besides that guy from Fate Extra

I remember the era of the Bleach/Naruto/InuYasha ship wars...

[mediacrushin]

I've heard Coraline theories before, and I've been seeing videos pop up on my Youtube dash again so I'm in the mind for it.

I've seen the "the well is just another portal to the Other World and the Beldam actually won in the end cause they threw the key down" theory talked about a lot, but never someone trying to refute it, so I'm gonna touch on this super topical theory and say I disagree.

People like to make these theories to put a twist on the end of the movie and say Coraline lost actually and the Beldam won, and evil just wins. They point to several clues so let's touch on them real quick:

The Well [we'll get to this one last]

The hands covering the moon

The shape of the garden

The cat disappearing before the credits

All decent theories, not saying they're not, but I never got that vibe from the movie. Let's touch on 2-4 and I'll circle back to the well.

First, the hands covering the moon. It's pointed out that this happens after the key is tossed but Coraline should be in the real world, so it seems like either the Beldam's control reached over or it's meant to signify that she's won in some way [aka getting the key]. But the cloud hands are pulling away from the moon, which to me would signify that her control has weakened. The veil has lifted. That she's lost control and cannot reach over anymore to lure kids away. The doll was destroyed, her hand slipped through but it was crushed, even the rats aren't much of a threat really between the cat and mouse traps. This never seemed to me like "oh her reach still gets into the real world" and more that Coraline is aware now and fought back and cut her off. Second, the shape of the garden. People claim the garden goes from being shaped like Coraline's face in the other world to being shaped like the Beldam's in the real world as everyone is working to plant the flowers... but it's clearly still Coraline's face. It has more to do with what's planted in the garden to bring out the face. To me the garden at the end more symbolized Coraline putting in the work to bring out the potential of the garden and herself. The Beldam used magic and ulterior motives to make the garden into something beautiful but ultimately not genuine. Meanwhile Coraline now seeks to make the garden--as well as her life--beautiful with work and connection with the other people around her. It still looks like her, she's just slowly bringing that appearance out rather than it magically unraveling in seconds like what the Beldam did. Third will be pretty quick, the cat disappearing just before the credits. The cat is the lingering connection to prove Coraline's adventure and ultimate triumph actually happened. He has his own magic, and cutting off the Beldam and other world won't take that away. He said himself he goes where he pleases, ergo he disappears to wherever he wants whenever he wants, other world or otherwise.

Finally, the well. This well is a point of contention for a lot of people. It's got its own mythology as Wybie describes it ominously as being so deep if you fall in you can look up from the bottom and see stars even in the daytime. It's the place Coraline thinks best to ditch the key at the end to hide it from the Beldam. With this strangeness attached people seem to think it's actually another portal to the other world... but I don't think so. For one, the portal to the other world is special, it's older than the Beldam and she is in fact afraid of it. Explaining most likely why she's never tried to come over to the real world herself and instead sends minions through or lures kids to her. Having just another portal out in the woods seems to cheapen the lore of the portal behind the door to me. The main thing making me skeptical of it though, is that when the Bledam's hand arrives and grabs the key it starts dragging Coraline back towards the house. If it wanted to just get the key and Coraline back to the other world, why not just drag her into the well? It's closer and already open right there. I don't think the well is a portal, I think Coraline did actually win. I think the movie was doing the thing most harrowing stories made for children do, and confirming what children already know: that monsters are real, but also shows that they can be defeated.

[skelletors]

MCYT as D&D Characters 4 - Grian

Hello! In case you don’t know what this is, this is me making various MCYTs into playable D&D characters. Today's lucky person will be Grian! The grain man. Bread boy. Before we begin, here are the ground rules:

This will not be balanced and the builds may not be very good. This isn’t for the minmaxers (not that there's anything wrong with that), this is purely based on either stories these people have participated in or their overall persona on the internet

These characters will go up to level 20, but in no way do you have to play them to the max level to get all the mechanics that make up the character

There will be no homebrew in this build.

I will be using standard array for all of these characters (15, 14, 13, 12, 10, 8) when determining the stats for these characters for my own ease of use.

Character Traits to Emulate:

Ultimate prankster

Pesky bird man

Resistance leader/freedom fighter

Watchers?

Race, Class, Background and Stats

Race: Owlin ( I debated a lot, but ended up deciding this was the best fit. These bird-like beings have some pretty useful abilities, and being from the Feywild tend to have that trickster, chaotic personality we all know and love from Grian).

Ability Score Increase: +2 to one stat, +1 to another. Let’s go for +2 to Dexterity, +1 to Charisma.

Darkvision: You can see in the dark! Nifty.

Flight: You have a fly speed equal to your walking speed. Perfect for some Pesky Bird activities.

Silent Feathers: You have proficiency in the Stealth skill.

Background: Charlatan (There isn’t a perfect background, but I just think the skills provided by Charlatan plus the tools work best for Grian)

Proficiencies: Deception, Sleight of Hand, Disguise Kit, Forgery Kit

Class: Rogue 17 Warlock 3  (I think this one is pretty obvious, especially when it comes to subclass. I mean, rogues are just primed for complete chaos! Plus, warlocks and their patrons can have a similar vibe to the watchers and the players they watch.)

Stats

Strength - 12

Dexterity - 15 +2 = 17

Constitution - 10

Intelligence - 13

Wisdom - 8

Charisma - 14 +1 = 15

Now for once, I feel like I might actually have to explain the stat distribution, particularly with Strength, Wisdom and Intelligence. Intelligence is important for his subclass, so it was important that I keep it above average (even if Grian can be a silly little guy at times). Now the real thing is why I made Wisdom an 8 instead of Strength, and hear me out. Grian is the definition of high intelligence, low wisdom. What do I mean by that?

Well, high intelligence, low wisdom characters would see a swarm of rats and cast fireball on them, not taking into account that they are in a very flammable forest. They seek direct, smart ways of solving problems but aren’t always aware of their surroundings or all the consequences. Sound familiar?

Level 1: Rogue

Expertise - Rogues get a metric ton of proficiencies if you start with them (four out of a list of 11 very useful skills), so being able to double your proficiency bonus for TWO of them is incredible.

Sneak Attack - If you have advantage on an attack (usually from being hidden) or if you have an ally within 5ft of an enemy, you can add extra damage. This can get downright nasty at higher levels, especially if you factor in crits. This can only be done once per turn, but still. It can get insane.

Thieves Cant - This is just a coded way of speaking, and while I’m sure there’s some points where Grian speaks in code, it’s just funny for people to think that Grian’s speaking in thieves cant because they just don’t understand what he’s going on about.

Level 2: Rogue

Cunning Action - You can Dash, Disengage or Hide as a bonus action. It just makes it easier to get sneak attack damage.

Level 3: Rogue

Subclass time! Subclass time! Say it with me now, we all know it, we all love it, of course Grian’s subclass is going to be….

Arcane Trickster! It’s all in the name, I don’t even need to explain why he is that, but to summarize, you can use magic to cast illusions and be sneaky little guys. Just like a certain bird lad. You get access to a couple of nifty things right away as well, like…

Spellcasting! You can cast spells. You choose from the Wizard spell list and use Intelligence as your spellcasting modifier.

Mage Hand - You get an improved version of the mage hand cantrip. It’s invisible and you can use a cunning action to control it.

Level 4: Rogue

Ability Score Improvement. You get these every few levels and can either choose to improve your stats (either +1 to two or +2 to one) or take a feat. We’ll be taking the Mobile feat this time. You get a +10ft to movement, can move through difficult terrain easily and don’t provoke opportunity attacks. Grian’s a mobile little lad and also, frees up your bonus action so you don’t have to disengage ever again.

Level 5: Rogue

Uncanny Dodge - If you see an attack, you can half the attack’s damage. There are several points where Grian absolutely should’ve died, especially within the life series, this just feels fitting.

Level 6: Warlock

Now we’re jumping over to Warlock! And you get to choose your subclass immediately. 

We’re going with Great Old One, it’s the most Watcher-y, although none of the patron options are very good for the Watchers

Awakened Mind - You can speak telepathically to creatures within 30ft of you. This isn’t the most relevant, but it is kinda fun to think about with the whisper feature on the life series server.

Spellcasting! Your spellcasting ability for warlocks is Charisma, not Intelligence, and you have far fewer spell slots but the fun bit about warlocks is that they get their spell slots after a short rest and you always cast at the highest level you can. Plus, many, many cantrips

Level 7: Warlock

Eldritch Invocations - You can get some cool magic abilities, like being able to see perfectly in the dark, extend the reach of your eldritch blasts and many other fun things.

Level 8: Warlock

Pact Boon - You get something from your patron! I’d go for Pact of the Chain, since you can get a familiar. Along with being extremely useful (being able to see through their eyes, casting spells through them, etc), especially for rogues and acting as scouts, you can get a pesky bird for this pesky bird.

ASI time! We’re going to be adding a +2 to Dexterity, bringing it up to 19

Level 9: Rogue

Expertise - You get to choose two more proficiencies to have expertise in!

Level 10: Rogue

Evasion - You can half damage on area of effect spells or basically any effect that makes you roll a Dexterity saving throw

Level 11: Rogue

Nothing really here, just more spells known

Level 12: Rogue

Magical Ambush - If you’re hidden when you cast a spell and it has a saving throw, the creature has disadvantage on it.

It’s that time again, it’s ASI time! We’re going to be adding +1 to our Dex and +1 to our Intelligence.

Level 13: Rogue

More spell slots! Nothing else, though

Level 14: Rogue

Reliable Talent - Whenever you roll a skill check that you’re proficiency, anything under a 9, you treat as a 10, even natural 1s.

Level 15: Rogue

More cantrips!

Level 16: Rogue

Versatile Trickster - You can distract a creature with a mage hand and give yourself advantage.

ASI! We’re going to be improving our stats again, giving a +1 to Dex and a +1 to Intelligence

Level 17: Rogue

Blindsense - If you can hear, you can sense any invisible or hidden creatures within 10ft of you. Grian tends to be a bit more perceptive than people give him credit for, he susses out when people are hiding and stuff.

Level 18: Rogue

Slippery Mind - You have proficiency in Wisdom saving throws. These are usually against charm effects or spells trying to take control over creatures, so it seems fitting for Grian, despite his low Wisdom. He’s not one to listen to other people’s orders

Level 19: Rogue

ASI! We’re going for another feat, this time, Shadow Touched. We’re going to take the +1 to Charisma and you get some a spell from the illusion school of magic as well as invisibility. These don’t count against your spells known, too!

Level 20: Rogue

Spell Thief - Whenever a spell is cast that either targets you or hits you with an area of effect, you can reverse the spell and force the caster to make a spell saving throw with its spellcasting modifier. If it fails, you can cast the spell for eight hours using your spell slots. The creature also can’t use that spell for eight hours. You can use this once per long rest and really, what is a more chaotic ability for Grian? It may not be a capstone, but it might as well be.

[supersaiyanjedi14]

SABEZRA WEEK: Day 5 (Nov 18): AU/Free Day

*My AU: A morning in the life of the Wren-Bridger family*

(putting this one under the cut because it's much longer than my other entries. Appropriate, seeing as this is the last day and we might as well go out with a technicolor bang!)

“Ezra.  Come on, up and at em.”

Jedi Master Ezra Bridger groaned as he managed to wake from his slumber.  Light from the windows shone straight into his eyes, forcing him to blink a few times before getting to his senses.  Finally reaching a sitting position, he began to stretch himself awake.  At 59 standard years of age, Ezra was far from the energetic youth he had once been, the scars around his face and torso serving as mementos of what his body had endured over decades of service.  Still, age had not slowed him down to the point where even the most sarcastic padawan could denigrate him as an “old man”.  The Force did wonders for a Jedi, as he had become increasingly aware of over his career.  Breathing deeply, he allowed its currents to wash over him, filling him with awareness of every corner of the bedroom.

Finally in a state of proper alertness, Ezra turned to see a pair of beautiful brown eyes framed by green and yellow dyed locks.  The galaxy had many names for the woman beside him; Mandalore the Defender, Countess of Clan Wren, the Crusader of Krownest, the Painted Warrior.  But for Ezra, the only name that mattered was Sabine Wren-Bridger.  The years had taken a toll on her as well, but to Ezra, she was just as beautiful as she had been when he first laid eyes on her.  Even devoid of her colorful armor, Sabine commanded a figure that exhibited strength and fortitude, worthy of the finest of warriors, yet he and a select few knew the gentleness that she could just as easily embody.

“Time to get up, huh?”

“What clued you in?” Sabine replied with a light laugh, leaning over to peck her husband on the cheek.  “Frankly, I’m surprised Brycan didn’t wake you up first with all that slashing.”

Ezra rolled his eyes as he threw back the bedclothes and made his way over to the refresher.  True enough, his ears picked up the unmistakable hum of a lightsaber being swung in the courtyard below.

“After twenty years, you tend to grow numb to the noise in the morning.”

A few minutes later, the pair were cleaned and dressed for their days.  Sabine’s armor was just as vibrant as ever, the bright painted colors further supported by the purple shoulder cape and half kilt strung over her left side.  Even after she had officially stepped down as Mand’alor, passing the title to the reluctant yet worthy Din Djarin, people still regarded her by her former position.  Unsurprising given all she had accomplished during her tenure and what she had led her people through.  Even now she was still being called upon to aid the Mandalorian Union and advise its leadership.  Sabine often joked about how she was now in a perpetual state of “semi-retirement”.  For his part, Ezra was a far cry from the street rat he had once been, even beyond his prominent position on the Jedi Council.  The robes of the Jedi Order had been his choice of wardroom for a long time now, though he still stood out in his own ways.  Aside from the earthy browns, oranges and reds he preferred, what truly distinguished him was the flowing black cape that hung from his shoulders, a gift from Tristan for the wedding.  Though seemingly ostentatious for a Jedi, even the less standardized kind that had cropped up in Luke’s earliest classes of students, Ezra never flaunted this decoration, wearing it only as a symbol of the world he had joined upon marrying Sabine.  Even then, Ezra thought it made him look quite dashing, though Sabine preferred the word “dork” on occasion.

Descending the stairs, Ezra and Sabine were greeted by the smell of fresh nuna sausage wafting from the kitchen.  Seated at the counter was a young woman of fifteen years with vivid green and red hair garbed in a green tunic and black leggings.  She was pouring over a datapad in one hand while a half-eaten sausage hovered in the other.  A suitcase sat on the ground at her feet, packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice.  While Ezra and Sabine had not made much noise coming down, the girl, her Force sense every bit as potent as her father’s, perked up anyway and turned, revealing her coppery face and her mother’s eyes.

“Nice of you guys to join us.” Mazal Wren-Bridger said with mock annoyance.  She gestured to her plate.  “There’s more on the stove.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Ezra gave his daughter a light kiss on the top of her head before making his way to the food.  “Has your brother eaten yet?”

Mazal snorted.  “He’d have to leave that yard, first.”

Looking out the window, Ezra saw the source of the humming beforehand.  Beyond his lighter tanned complexion, the young man was almost the spitting image of his father, with a black buzz cut and blue eyes.  Priding himself as a Mandalorian Jedi, Brycan Wren-Bridger never went a single morning without going through his drills.  Clad only in sweatpants and an undershirt, Brycan moved his weapon with a flawless fusion of power, speed, and precision, everything one would expect from one of the most talented swordsmen of his generation.  Brycan’s feet moved just as readily as his lightsaber, transitioning from various stances and postures with the fluidity of a dancer.  He had clearly been at this for hours, a visible sheen of sweat covering his face and arms.  Ezra had a distinct feeling that if the shining blue blade came any closer to Brycan’s skin, he would hear the unmistakable sizzle of evaporating moisture.  In contrast to his master, the large domesticated Loth-wolf also out in the yard was lazily spread out on the grass, letting the rising Coruscant sun warm its steely fur.

With a final exertion, Brycan leapt into the air, threw out his leg in a powerful kick, then regained his stance to finish the sequence with an overhead chop that would have split a boulder down the middle as if it were made of flimsi.  Giving his son a moment to properly bring himself to a stop, Ezra entered the courtyard himself.  The grasses and flowers that made up the bulk of the yard reflected both Sabine’s colorful expression and the prairies Ezra had known all his life, though the real hallmark was the pair of saplings planted at either end.  One a Lothalian spine tree, the other a Mandalorian galek, both had been planted upon the re-establishment of the Galactic Alliance on Coruscant.  While Ezra and Sabine each had their preferences of residence on their respective homeworlds, these small details made the Coruscant penthouse feel that much more like home for the both of them.

Ezra reached Brycan just as he came out of his stance and reached for a towel to wipe the sweat from his brow.  Letting out a breathy laugh, Brycan clipped his deactivated lightsaber to his belt.  “So, you’re finally up and about,” he remarked, proudly displaying the sarcasm that was just as much his heritage as the Force and Resol’nare were.

“Funny,” Ezra rolled his eyes, “your sister just told us the same thing.  as well as the fact that you’re training on an empty stomach.”

“The Force gives me all I need.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I just gave all these,” he held out a small plate of sausages he and pilfered from the kitchen, “to Beskad over there?”

At the sound of his name, the Loth-wolf sprang from its prone position and patted over, attracted to the smell of grilled meat.

“Oh, no you don’t, you lazy furball!” Brycan got in the way of his pet before his breakfast could disappear.  “You know the rules” he continued as he collected the plate from Ezra, “he who does not train does not eat.”

Beskad whimpered, giving his master the same eyes he had used to score table scraps as a pup.  Mandalorian warrior discipline was no match for Loth-wolf pouting, as the family had learned quite well over the years.  Letting out a sigh, Brycan relented and tossed a link in the air.  With a snap, it vanished into Beskad’s waiting maw.

Brycan shook his head and made his way towards the house.  “So much for the mighty Lothal predator.”

“You reap what you sow, my son.” Ezra replied with amusement.  Patting Beskad on the snout, he followed Brycan back into the house, where Sabine had just finished depositing hastily-prepared fried eggs and a bowl of sliced jogan on the table.

“Thanks, Mom,” said Brycan as he sat down and started inhaling his food.  Not exactly the most comprehensive family meal, but everyone had work to get to, including three transports leaving the planet by the end of the day.  Mazal was still pouring over her datapad, absentmindedly pushing a piece of egg into her cheek.

Sabine, chuckled slightly at her daughter’s predicament.  “Mazal, that report’s not going to disappear if you look away for five minutes.”

“Captain Rekross wanted us to know the dossier inside and out before we even got on the ship.  The planet’s already got a ridiculous amount of climate factors besides the groundquakes that just happened.  Getting relief to the people planetside isn’t going to do much good if we get swept up in a storm we weren’t prepared for.”

“Well,” Brycan chimed in, “considering you have the memory of a droid, you should be able to recite that thing by heart after all the time you stare at it.”

Mazal groaned at her brother’s comment.  “Contrary to what you may think, planetary humanitarian efforts are not as simple as just swinging a lightsaber at something.”

“Simple?” asked Brycan incredulously, “You call this simple?  I’ve been practicing those techniques for months-“

“Alright, alright,” Ezra held up his hands between his children, “No need to tear up the kitchen.”

“No, no, no,” the elder sibling said with a cocky smile on his face, “I wasn’t gonna break anything.  Just help my baby sister appreciate the art of lightsaber combat more.  Help me out, Dad?  It’s been a while since we’ve had a go.”

Ezra caught Sabine shaking her head at the antics.  Freshly knighted, Ezra would have jumped at the chance to give his son the chance to hone his skills.  Not to toot his own horn, but Ezra knew he was quite the proficient swordsman himself.  Now, however, was not the time.

“Much as I’d love to show you what your old man’s still capable of,” Ezra said with a light chuckle, patting the weapons at his belt for good measure, “I’ve got a day full of meetings with the Council and I doubt they’ll appreciate one of their fellows sweating like a bantha.”

“Luke’s seen you worse.” Sabine added her own snark to the mix.

“Don’t worry, bro,” Mazal chimed in, “you’ll have time to show me your ‘special art’” she added the other with a hint of faux wonderment that caused Brycan to roll his eyes, “some other time.  Who knows?  Those pirates you’re off to hunt down might show up where I’m going.”

“yeah, I guess that’s-“

Brycan stopped.  His smile faded as he looked to the chrono on the wall.  “Karabast!” he shoved what remained of his breakfast into his mouth.  “Briefing’s at 0900, I’m gonna be late!”

“You haven’t cleaned up yet.” Sabine called after Brycan as he bolted upstairs.

“I’ll shower on the ship!”  Less than a minute after he left the room, he returned in his usual travel garb, his travel bag clanking with the additional pieces of his armor.  His eyes darted all over as he struggled to get his jacket on.  “Helmet, helmet…where’s my helmet?”

“Here!”  Mazal reached out her hand and the blue and red headgear flew from the caf table.  The helmet, adorned with Nite Owl eyes and Loth-wolf ridges, barely spent a second in her hands before she tossed it to her brother.

“Thanks, Maz.” Brycan leaned to place a light kiss on her head before giving his mother a one-armed hug.  Next he turned to Ezra.  “Oh, Dad, before I forget, the stuff for the exhibition-“

“Don’t worry,” Ezra reassured, placing his hand on Brycan’s shoulder to help him relax.  “I’ll be in a conference room with Kyle all day and your mother’s going to see Kad this week.  We’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Brycan let out a sigh of relief.  “Thanks, Dad.”  Checking the chrono once more, he wheeled around to the door.

“Be careful,” called Sabine, “And don’t fly too fast!”

“I’ll be fine, Mom!”  Brycan called back.  “Love you!”

“I better get going, too.” Mazal scraped what was uneaten into the disposal and reached for her belt and cloak.  “Ship leaves at 1100.”

“Call us once you jump to hyperspace.”  Ezra said as he collected what remained of the breakfast plates.

“Don’t worry, I will.”  Mazal reassured her parents as she finally switched off her datapad and slid it into her suitcase.  Checking to make sure her lightsaber was properly secured, Mazal hugged Sabine then Ezra.  “Say hi to Uncle Tristan for me!”

With everything squared away, Ezra and Sabine were soon out the door themselves.  Brycan was just firing up the engines for his speeder as Mazal took a moment to scratch a waiting Beskad behind the ear, her own speeder bike waiting just beyond.  Only one vehicle remained, a 4-seater adorned with a large Starbird on the hood.  Ezra started to make his way over before turning back to face his wife.

“You sure you don’t want me to drop you off at the spaceport?  I mean, we have our own ship.  It’ll save Tristan some speeder fuel.”

Sabine shook her head.  “This is a formal council for the Union.  Korkie insists there be some semblance of formality, even for an ex-Mand’alor.”

“Never thought the Mandalorians would be caught up in administrations.”

“If any other Mando heard you say that…”

“Good thing I’m only talking to this one, then.”

Sabine couldn’t help but laugh.  It was a sound Ezra regarded as one of the most wonderful in the galaxy, one that had never gotten old even after nearly fifty years together.  As Sabine’s laughter died down, Ezra took a long look at the house behind her.  The simple yet homy two story complex, the spacious courtyard with its varied plant life and the slothful Loth-wolf returning to his slumber.  He though of the building’s counterparts on Lothal and Krownest, similar in design yet more articulated to the planets in question.  Most of all, he thought of the four people who called all three of those structures home.  One of whom was standing right before him.

Sabine finally noticed Ezra’s wandering gaze.  She approached her husband.  “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said, looking into those warm brown eyes.  “Just thinking about how I’m probably the luckiest guy in the galaxy.”

Sabine smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck and gazing into his deep blues.

“Funny.  I was about to say I was the luckiest girl in the galaxy.”

“Not bad for a Loth-rat, huh?”

Sabine didn’t answer.  She didn’t need to.  From the deep kiss she gave him, right there on that beautiful sun-lit platform, even without the Force whispering in his ear, Ezra knew exactly what she was thinking.

[headcanonsandmore]

The Turtle Moves, Chapter One

Summary: In the bustling city of Ankh-Morpork, a murder has taken place. Not especially unusual, but such a case happens to be the first for a new recruit to the City Watch; a working-class boy from the Ramtops called Ron Weasley.

(This is my first time writing for Discworld characters and my last writing for HP characters, so hopefully I haven't messed up any characterisations too badly)

Tagging: @thefandompixie

~~~~~~~~~~~~

                       Read on FFN.                                       Read on AO3.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night had always been a time to be afraid of.

It was ingrained into humanity, a distant memory from the time where a fire in a cave was the only safe harbour from the things that lurked beyond. Things with teeth and instincts that came canine-in-canine with them.

Ankh-Morpork at night was roughly similar. Except the creatures in the dark took your wallet as well.

It was that sort of cold winter night that encouraged all sane people to stay inside in their bed, cosy or otherwise. The sort of night that made you feel sorry for the poor buggers working out in it.

The care-taker at the prestigious Mrs Chuttington-Warbley’s Finishing School For Young Ladies* was not one of these poor buggers. In fact, he was of the opinion that any outdoor activity should only be conducted by stout men who’d been brought up for that sort of thing.

The care-taker did have a name but, after so many years of being referred to as “caretaker” by those around him, had just decided to accept the majority vote and go by that title instead. His first name was ‘care’, his surname was ‘taker’ and his middle name was ‘dash’. Which made him rather dull company at parties.

As the new academic year was due to start within the week, the care-taker was making his usual preparations around the school. The sort of things that people only complain about if they go wrong. Staircases without wormwood. Windows that didn’t creak. And doormats that didn’t complain when you stepped on them**.

He was just about to turn in for the night, when he heard a noise from within one of the teachers offices.

The care-taker sighed, put down his broom, and trudged over to the door in question.

‘Bloody rats get everywhere,’ he muttered, opening the door. ‘Oh, sorry, Ms Smith, I heard a noise and I wondered if it were… were…’

He trailed off, noticing that Ms Smith, the new form tutor, was lying on the ground. And that a small pool of red liquid was slowly growing around her.

‘Oh, dear…’ the care-taker said, taking off his hat. ‘Oh, dear-oh-dear…’

‘How rude of them!’

The spirit of Ms Smith was glaring over at the open window, her hands on her hips. She was the sort of practical-minded person who wasn’t impressed by people making themselves out to be smarter than they actually were. And that included the person who had just ended her life.

The care-taker couldn’t see her, of course. In fact, he turned on his heel and left the room.

IN MY VIEW, RUDENESS IS ONE WAY OF READING IT.

Ms Smith turned. A large, cloaked figure was stood nearby. Very thin sort of chap. Almost skeletal, in fact.

‘It’s the principle of the matter!’ She continued, fussing with the sleeve of her cardigan***. ‘I hadn’t finished my lesson plans; how can a substitute continue without me if they don’t know what curriculum I had laid out?’

USUALLY, replied the figure, PEOPLE DO NOT WORRY ABOUT THOSE THINGS IN THESE CIRCUMSTANCES.

‘Not worry?’ Ms Smith repeated, as if offended by the very thought. ‘Well, maybe some people might, but I have my students to think about! I can’t have their education disrupted just because of a small thing like this.’

MS SMITH?

‘Yes, young man?’

ARE YOU, PERHAPS... AWARE THAT YOU ARE DEAD?

Ms Smith stared at Death.

‘Really?’

I'M AFRAID SO.

‘But I have so much to do! We have new students arriving within the week, and they’ll all need to sorted into classes and dormitories…’

Ms Smith’s form began to fade.

I'M SURE THAT WILL BE TAKEN CARE OF.

‘I really wish they’d just left it a week,’ Ms Smith continued. ‘There’s nothing I hate more than leaving without a proper goodbye.’

IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL ANY BETTER, I'M SURE YOUR STUDENTS WILL NOT BE OFFENDED.

Ms Smith smiled.

‘So… where do I go from here?’

Death couldn’t smile, but the eye sockets of his skull seem to round slightly. He reached out and took Ms Smiths’ hand.

ONWARDS.

                                                            *

* Known to its students by a variety of aliases including “the warblers”, “the finishers”, and -to a few of the more frank-minded girls- “a complete bloody waste of my time”.

** That last one was due to a rather unfortunate incident involving a travelling con-man, one very naïve housemaid and several sentient objects obtained “semi-legally” from within Unseen University. The care-taker would never forget the time he had stepped through the kitchen door, only to be told by the doormat that his left boot was smelling strongly of bird mess and would he kindly get his dirty great feet off my face-.

*** Well, technically it was the spirit of her cardigan, but it was a very good cardigan, after all.

                                                             *

For the moment, let us pan away from the sprawling streets of Ankh-Morpork (over which the sun was now dimly rising) and out over the Sto Plains, where the only things sprawling were the cabbages and their farmers who did not mind a) a strong smell of cabbages attached permanently to their person and b) having no friends.

A carriage was making steady progress down the long dirt road from the Ramtop mountains.

Or, at least, that was the case until two passengers decided that the carriage should stop by the side of the road so they could have a look around. For the seventeenth time.

‘C’mon, gel,’ replied the shorter of the two passengers in question, to a young redheaded girl sat on the seat opposite. ‘You go with Mistress Weatherwax while she looks for herbs.’

The girl let out a sigh, but followed the aforementioned Mistress Weatherwax out of the carriage.

The short lady then turned to the young man sat next to her.

‘Oh, don’t look so serious, lad!’

‘Sorry, nanny.’

She wasn’t actually his grandma, of course. Like many people in the small kingdom of Lacre and its surrounding countryside, Ron Weasley was (in some way he wasn’t sure how) related to Gytha Ogg. He had given up trying to understand the complicated familial relationships, vendettas and petty squabbles that went on within the Ogg clan. All that mattered was that Ron had far too many relatives for his own liking; all of them determined to elbow into each-others’ lives whether the person liked it or not.

Mercifully, Ron was -at most- a distant cousin of the Oggs. Somewhere on his mum’s side, through marriage, apparently. He never was much good at family history. Ron didn’t think he was good at much, to be honest. And his older twin brothers had encouraged this assessment at every opportunity.

Ron had been the odd-job man in his family for as long as he could remember (which, since he was sixteen, wasn’t that long, admittedly). He was the resident boot-maker, cook, baker, carpenter and snow-clearer.

He was also bitterly fed up with his lot.

His parents could tell. The youngest boy of seven children, Ron had always found it difficult to make his own place. To Fred and George, Ron’s place was “off the end of the bench”. Ron didn’t particularly like that place either, so he had asked his parents if he could do something that didn’t involve the jobs no-one else wanted to do at home.

Actually, Ron didn’t mind helping out. He often worked with his second-oldest brother Charlie with hauling carts up to Copperhead. Ron liked this because Charlie didn’t chuck wood chippings at his head like the twins did, and also because the dwarfs were a very straightforward sort of people.

Ron had also started to notice that, after several months of hauling carts up to the mine entrance, the twins had started to avoid chucking things at him. And that his shirts didn’t fit properly anymore.

His parents had seen that it was time for Ron to make his own way in the world, hopefully somewhere he wouldn’t be stuck with half a dozen brothers crowding his style.

So, Ron was being sent to join the Ankh-Morpork City Watch. A sensible profession, he had been told.

‘Now,’ Nanny Ogg said, grinning knowingly. ‘I heard you get a decent bit of money in the Watch. But I don’t want to hear that you’ve been spending half your pay packet over at the Guild of Seamstresses.’

‘Oh, you won’t need to worry, nanny,’ Ron replied. ‘I already know how to darn my socks.’

Nanny chuckled, although Ron wasn’t really sure why. But Ron could feel his mood improve already, which was a good sign. While he was looking forward to seeing the big city, he had also been a little nervous. After all, coming from such a small place as Lacre to city of over a million inhabitants was a big step.

Ginny, on the other hand, was not in such a good mood. She was being sent to a young ladies finishing school. Ron wasn’t entirely sure what a finishing school was, or why a place for young ladies would want Ginny, but he didn’t enquire further. He had spent most of his childhood learning from the twins that asking questions got wood chippings thrown at your head.

‘Oy, Esme!’ Nanny Ogg called out the window. ‘Let me have a talk with Ginny, will you?’

Nanny grinned again at Ron, before leaving the carriage. Ron instantly felt himself sit up straighter as Mistress Weatherwax climbed back into the carriage. Ron had a sneaking suspicion that Nanny was going to be talking to Ginny about the sort of potions that women back in Lancre only alluded to with hushed voices.

‘You packed everything you need, lad?’

‘Yes, Mistress Weatherwax,’ Ron replied, politely.

‘You aren’t going to ignore Ginerva when you’re in the Watch, are you?’

‘No, Mistress Weatherwax. She’s my sister; I’ll make sure to watch out for her.’

Like everyone in the Ramtops, Ron knew that being polite was very important to Mistress Weatherwax. It was a trait that she thought very highly of. Not for herself, but for everyone else to have, of course.

Mistress Weatherwax didn’t smile, but the sides of her mouth did raise slightly. Ron took this as a good sign.

‘I knew exactly what I wanted to be when I was a gel,’ Mistress Weatherwax said. ‘I’m sure Ginerva will too; she’s a bright one.’

Ron nodded.

He hadn’t been expecting for Mistress Weatherwax to give him any advice, but he did wonder whether what she had said was more for his benefit. After all, he knew that he didn’t want to do anything that his brothers had done. Or claimed not to have done, in the twins case.

‘C’mon,’ Nanny Ogg said, as she and Ginny climbed back into the coach. ‘Time to get going, driver!’

To the audible relief of the other passengers, the coach pulled away.

                                                           *

 Ankh-Morpork was a sign for sore eyes. And sore ears too. Generally speaking, it was a place for soreness.

The city seemed to grip the surrounding area like a limpet. Ron had imagined wide towers and walls, elegant avenues made of marble. But Ankh-Morpork looked more like what a city spat out. Houses awkwardly cobbled together in a slapdash fashion, streets that seems to cling to the earth beneath like a limpet. A city that looked like it was constantly on guard, just in case someone tried to tell it that it was loitering.

The city seemed to thrive in the outdoors. On every street, people were jostling for position, as well as carts, animals and goodness-knew-what-else. And the smell…

Ginny gagged slightly.

‘Winds in the wrong direction,’ Nanny said, cheerfully. ‘That’s the river for you.’

Ron nodded, patting Ginny softly on the shoulder. She smiled queasily at him.

Eventually, the coach stopped and the two Weasleys followed their guides out of the coach and into a bustling open area. A dirty sign nearby labelled the place as ‘Sator Square’. Ron was already feeling wary, as if someone would make a ploy for his wallet at any moment. Which, given that he hadn’t paid the Thieves Guild rate for that financial year, was very accurate.

About ten minutes later, they managed to break through the crowds and crossed the Bridge of Size, passing across the river (Ginny and Ron making sure to breath only through their mouths and, when that failed, their ears) and into the more respectable Rimward side of the river. Ron really wasn’t sure what made it more respectable, but at least the air didn’t smell so bad.

The four of them headed across Hen and Chicken Field and into a smaller road, eventually coming to a stop outside a large gated building. Sure enough, a well-polished sign on the wall indicated this to be Mrs Chuttington-Warbley’s Finishing School For Young Ladies. A few girls of Ginny’s age were leaning out of windows and eyeing the younger redhead with slightly wary expressions.

‘Bye, Gin,’ Ron said, turning to his sister. ‘I’ll come and see you after my shift finishes tomorrow.’

Ginny smiled. She didn’t hug him, but Ron hadn’t expected her to. He knew she wanted to appear confident and cool in front of any other students that might be watching.

‘Thanks, Ron; see you later, then.’

Ron nodded, and waved as she walked in with Nanny Ogg, who had the letter written by Mrs Weasley addressed to the headmistress.

Feeling as awkward as he always did around Mistress Weatherwax, Ron stood in the road. Mistress Weatherwax didn’t say anything, but muttered something under her breath about ‘city people’.

A few minutes later, Nanny reappeared, grinning.

‘All settled in,’ she said, slapping Ron cheerfully on the arm. ‘C’mon, lad; let’s get you over to the Watch.’

Ron nodded, swallowing nervously.

He followed the two witches down a large avenue, passing several huge mansions and houses of the rich. There were less people here, and Ron got the distinct impression that, if he was ever caught here alone, he would have been asked to move along by some indignant butler*.

Eventually, this avenue ended and the two witches (for whom everyone dodged out of the way, including many who seemed surprised at having done so) veered left onto a large road that stretched back towards the river. Looking behind him, Ron could see that the road stretched all the way to the city wall in the far distance. Judging from the various cartloads of onions clattering along beside him, the road eventually led to Quirm**.

About ten minutes later, the witches and Ron emerged into another huge square, this one having the centrepiece of the Ankh-Morpork Opera House. Skirting around the impressive structure (albeit one which seemed to be missing parts of its roof), the two witches led Ron over to a building nearby. It wasn’t nearly as imposing, but it had a distinct earthiness to it. Like it had more important things to worry about than grandness.

“Watch House”

Ron swallowed, clutching the strap of his small satchel.

‘That’s the Watch house, lad,’ Nanny said, patting Ron cheerfully on the shoulder. ‘In you go.’

‘Oh, right…er…’ Ron said, turning to the two witches. ‘Thank you, Mrs Ogg and Mistress Weatherwax. For bringing me and Ginny down to the city. I really appreciate it.’

Mistress Weatherwax didn’t smile but nodded in reply. Nanny grinned, showing why Lacre was not known for its large index of dentists.

‘You’ll do fine, Ronnie,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry.’

Ron smiled, before turning and entering the Watch House.

He was immediately met by a mass of noise. Everywhere he looked, people were yelling and running back and forth. Representatives of every race on the Disc seemed to be represented, none in a “we are all together” way but instead in more of a “when does our bloody shift finish” situation.

Ron approached a set of desks. A dwarf was sat behind the moth-eaten wood, looking very bored as an irate vampire tried to submit a complaint.

‘I tell you, it’s a disvase,’ the vampire said, hotly. ‘Anyone vould think the place didn’t vant a vampire vorking there. I can work verever I vont!’

‘Yes,’ replied the dwarf. ‘But at Stronginthearm’s Garlic Wholesalers?’

‘That’s discrimination!’

‘What can I do you for, lad?’

Ron jumped slightly. The sergeant sat behind the desk next to the dwarf had a large red face and kind, albeit somewhat dim, eyes that stared over at the young redhead.

‘Er… Acting Constable Weasley,’ Ron said, quickly throwing up a salute. ‘Reporting for duty, sir!’

‘Ah, you’d be that lad down from the mountains,’ the sergeant replied, realisation dawning on his face. ‘Lacre, yes?’

‘Yessir!’

‘Okay… er-’

‘I’ll field this one, Fred.’

A captain had appeared behind the desk. He was enormously tall, and about as wide across the shoulders. He had short red hair and was wearing armour that Ron could see himself reflected in. Ron knew exactly who this was; he was a living legend back in the Ramtops.

‘Okay, Captain Carrot.’

Ron saluted again, feeling just as awkward as he had done the first time.

‘That’s alright, Acting Constable,’ Captain Carrot said, walking round the desk. ‘Please follow me this way for your orientation.’

Ron hurried after him up a staircase and into a room.

‘Tell me,’ the captain said, brightly as he gestured Ron towards a seat and taking the other. ‘How is shaft nine coming along in Copperhead?’

‘Er… I think they’ve almost completed it,’ Ron said, putting his satchel down next to him. ‘My brother Charlie was helping them with the final preparations earlier this week.’

‘Carrot, stop asking him about home.’

Ron felt the temperature of the room drop suddenly. A woman had entered through the door. She was short, with long blonde hair. He knew instinctively that this sergeant was not someone to be trifled with.

Ron swallowed, and stood up again, before saluting.

‘Constable, this is Sergeant Angua,’ Captain Carrot said, smiling.

‘Sergeant Angua is a werewolf, yeah?’

There was silence in the room for a second.

Ron felt a shiver go up his spine as Sergeant Angua turned to look at him. Bollocks. Why couldn’t he have kept his big mouth shut?  

However, at that moment, Carrot leaned forward.

‘Care to explain how you noticed, Acting Constable?’

‘Er…’ Ron said, feeling very awkward. He had never felt all that comfortable talking about his thoughts. Generally because the twins usually made sure he felt uncomfortable after doing so. ‘The collar she wears; it’s a type of leather that can expand and retract easily under pressure without breaking, isn’t it? Perfect for having to change between forms on short notice.’

Angua stared at him.

‘Yes…’ she said. ‘That’s right. You’re very perceptive, constable.’

‘Thank you, Sergeant. Er… sorry, I wasn’t trying to be rude.’

Carrot stared down at a piece of note paper that he had pulled from somewhere.

‘You say you’ve got experience with herbs?’

‘Er, yeah,’ Ron said, still feeling Sergeant Angua’s steely gaze on him. ‘I used to help Mistress Weatherwax with collecting things around the countryside.’

Carrot looked up and smiled at him.

‘In that case, I think our forensic division could use you very well. Report to Forensics, and ask for Cheery Littlebottom.’

‘Forensics is a couple of floors up,’ Angua continued. ‘In the old privy.’

Ron awkwardly saluted. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to doing this whenever he had to leave a room.

                                                                *

*This is what is often referred to a “class memory”. It doesn’t have much to do with class, although the people clamouring to use the whips often like to believe themselves to be men of it.

**Ankh-Morpork does use onions in many recipes, but all of them are labelled as “foreign food”, being just foreign enough for the rich to enjoy.

                                                                *

 Ron headed up the rickety stairs, until he eventually began to smell something like an old latrine mixed with chemicals. He followed the corridor along, and slowed to a stop before a door labelled ‘Privy’. He was just about to knock when the door swung open.

‘GET DOWN!’

Ron got a brief flash of a bearded face, before he crashed backwards onto the floor. There was a colossal explosion.

Ron waited for the ringing in his ears to fade, before reopening his eyes.

There was now a dwarf lying on his chest.

‘Er…’ Ron said, saluting. ‘Acting Constable Weasley, reporting.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ said the dwarf, before climbing off Ron and helping him to his feet. ‘Experiment went a bit wrong.’

‘No problem,’ Ron replied, as they headed back inside the room. Which did indeed appear to be an out-of-order toilet. ‘Er… are you… Cheery Littlebottom?’

‘That’s me!’ Cheery said, grinning. Ron was suddenly aware that the dwarf was wearing lipstick and eyeliner. ‘I take it you’re the new recruit? I’m not bothered by the title, so you can just call me Cheery, if that’s okay with you?’

Cute.

Ron felt his cheeks flush.

‘S-sure,’ he said.

‘Now, I’m sure Captain Carrot’s explained a few things,’ Cheery said, not seeming to realise Ron’s flustered expression. She pulled a tube of paper out of a pocket on her belt. ‘Used to dealing with herbs in the mountains, by the sounds of it. That’s why you’ve been put with me. Just between us, I’ve never had to manage anyone before; forensics isn’t something most Watchmen know much about.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Ron said.

Cheery smiled, patting him on the arm. Ron felt goosebumps raise up his arm.

‘So, how’s Copperhead doing nowadays?’ Cheery asked, climbing up and onto a rickety stool nearby. ‘I imagine you probably got grilled by Carrot about it; he’s always enquiring after news of the old place.’

‘Y-yeah,’ Ron replied, sitting down next to Cheery. ‘He’s a bit of a legend back home; we’re pretty caught up with what happens in Ankh-Morpork.’

‘I take it that’s why you didn’t say anything about me being a woman?’

Ron felt his face turn red. Copperhead dwarfs were generally a lot more progressive than some of their contemporaries over in Uberwald, but… well, Charlie had said that the subject of dwarf gender was something of a private matter still.

‘I… I don’t mind!’ he said, quickly. ‘Really! I think it’s brilliant!’

The last thing he wanted was his commanding officer seeing him as some backwards idiot from the countryside. Gender was something Ron had never really understood anyway, so who was he to say what was correct and what wasn’t? This was the century of the anchovy, after all. Or would be, once the astronomers had finally agreed.

‘That’s lovely of you to say; I appreciate it,’ Cheery replied, smiling. ‘Now, new recruits are scheduled to do patrols a few times a week during their orientation period. Get your bags unpacked in the dormitories upstairs and then head over to Uniforms; you need to receive your armour and helmet. I’ve got a few things to finish up here, but I’ll meet you downstairs in the main reception in twenty minutes ’

Ron nodded, before saluting and leaving.

There wasn’t anyone in the dormitory, but he found a bunk with ‘Weezely’ engraved above it*.

Ron packed his scant possessions (a change of clothes and a nightshirt) under the bed and headed downstairs to Uniforms. Mercifully, they had one in his size. It wasn’t very well polished and smelled vaguely of radishes, but Ron didn’t complain. Anything was better than wearing Percy’s old trousers.

Ron was just heading down to the main reception when he rounded a corner and walked straight into someone. Who promptly crashed to the floor.

‘Ow. Lad, you mind watching where you’re going?’

‘S-sorry!’ Ron exclaimed, hurrying forward and helping the man to his feet. He was short, with the bearing of someone who had previously had an awful diet but had finally started eating properly. ‘Are you alright?’

‘I’m fine, lad,’ said the man, wearily. ‘You new here, then?’

‘Er, yes,’ Ron said, before hurriedly saluting. ‘Acting Constable Weasley, sir!’

‘No need to salute,’ said the man, waving his hand. ‘I’m not a lord. You need to go on patrol, I take it? C’mon, I could do with a walk.’

‘But Cheery said-’

‘I’ll leave a note for her,’ said the sergeant, already writing a note and sending it into the pneumatic tubes that seemed to be used as a form of messaging within the Watch House. ‘Don’t worry, lad; I’ll show you the ropes.’

Ron followed the old sergeant out of the Watch house and into the sprawling city streets. Coming from the Ramtops, Ron still felt very shocked by the sights and sounds (not to mention smells) of a city that over a million inhabitants called “home”**.

They crossed Bronze Bridge and into Sheer Street, on the hubwards side of the river. This unfortunately meant that the air smelt of the river, but Ron was already finding that he was growing used to it.

‘No gagging, then?’

Ron shrugged.

‘And before your first day in the city is even finished?’ The old sergeant clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Nice going.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Gotta learn to read the streets, son,’ said the sergeant, now lighting a horrible-smelling cigar and taking a deep draw on it. ‘It’s a dirty old slagheap, but we’re here to keep the peace.’

Ron nodded.

‘I’ll do my best, sir.’

‘That’s all any of us can do, lad. Well, that and learn to use your elbow in a fight.’

Ron nodded again.

‘Not a talkative one, are you.’

‘Sorry, sir.’

‘Where you from, lad?’

‘Lacre, sir.’

‘Huh,’ replied the sergeant. ‘That kingdom in the Ramtops you can spit across?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Don’t worry; Captain Carrot comes from those parts too. Funnily enough, you even look a bit like him.’

Ron nodded, not sure what to say.

As they continued through the streets, Ron became aware that many of the passers-by seemed to recognise the old sergeant, and a few even darted away from him as he passed. Must be a proper old Watchman, then.

‘Is… is Commander Vimes tough?’ Ron asked, hesitantly as the two of them slowed to a stop to stare out over the river. ‘To work for, I mean?’

The sergeant stared at Ron, drawing on his cigar in apparent thought.

‘Hmmm. Yeah, I guess he is, a bit. Mind, between you and me, he’s a bit of a miserable old bastard. But you’ll do fine. You’ve just got to get some experience under your belt.’

‘Thank you. I… I just don’t want to let everyone down.’

The sergeant smiled at him. It wasn’t a particularly cheerful smile, but Ron could tell the sentiment was positive.

‘Excuse me?’ came a voice from somewhere near Ron’s right elbow. He turned.

A girl was glaring up at him. She was roughly Ron’s age, and about half his height, with an enormous mane of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth.

‘I’m very sorry, Miss…er…’

‘Granger,’ said the girl, quickly. ‘Listen, the Dwarf Bread Museum has been closed for most of the past two weeks; how am I supposed to organise an educational excursion if it never seems to be open anymore?’

Ron stared behind her. Sure enough, a sign labelled “Dwarf Bread Museum” pointed to a small, slightly musty looking building.

‘Miss Granger,’ Ron said, sighing. ‘Have you tried sending a Clacks to Captain Carrot? I believe he often looks after the place on his days off. I’m sure he’d been thrilled to help organise this excursion with you.’

‘I…’ Miss Granger replied, her mouth opening and shutting. ‘I… I didn’t think of that.’

‘Well, there you go.’

The bushy-haired young woman smiled, apologetically.

‘My apologies, I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m a student teacher and I need this exertion to be a success.’

‘No problem,’ Ron said, tapping the side of his helmet and feeling immensely glad that Charlie had once mentioned that fact about Captain Carrot. ‘Happy to help.’

‘Thank you, Constable… er…’

‘Weasley.’

The girl smiled shyly up at him.

‘Constable Weasley, then. Thank you very much.’

‘It’s what I’m here for, Miss Granger.’

The young woman smiled once more and walked away. Ron felt strangely cheerful all of a sudden.

He turned back, to find the old sergeant giving him a very knowing look. This particular look could have held multiple degrees and at least twelve school leaving certificates.

‘What?’ Ron said, his ears turning pink.

The old sergeant grinned.

‘Nothing, just admiring how well you diffused that situation. You really are sure this is your first day?’

‘Er, yeah-’

‘Unlicensed thief!’

The cry had come from just across the street, where a woman was pointing towards a figure who was darting into an alley, holding a handbag that was clearly not their own.

‘Sidney Pickens!’ Exclaimed the Sergeant, throwing the remainder of his cigar into the river***. ‘You get back here right now!’

The sergeant sprinted off after the thief, putting on a burst of speed that wouldn’t have seemed natural coming from a man his age. Ron was just about to follow, when a hand patted him on the arm.

It was Cheery.

‘I see you’ve met Commander Vimes,’ she said, smiling up at Ron. ‘He’s alright. Bit weird but alright. Don’t worry; he’ll catch up with Pickens. C’mon; we’ve had a clacks come through, we’re needed over in Hen and Chickens Field-Ron? Ron, whatever’s the matter?’

Ron’s mouth had fallen open. He was now staring in horror after where the older Watchman had sprinted off.

‘You’re telling me that was… Commander Sir Samuel Vimes?’

‘Yes,’ Cheery replied, looking concerned. ‘Why? What’s wrong?’

Ron shook his head.

It was his first day and he’d already let slip all his worries about joining the Watch to the leader of the entire bloody organisation. Oh, he was never going to live this down…

                                                               *

* Captain Carrot’s doing. Although a very good captain and able to recognise every resident of Ankh-Morpork by name and tax details, the finer points of spelling had always eluded him.

** Actually, most of them referred to it as “a stinking heap”, but it meant the same thing in the end.

*** For any environmentally-minded readers, please rest assured that the river suffered no ill-effects from this. While the cigar did eventually sink through the yellow crust covering the river Ankh, it was quickly dissolved by the lifeless miasma of grease, silt and faeces below.  

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone! If you enjoyed it, please like, reblog and comment. If you want to be added to the tag list, please let me know.

[lunabenoit]

Joaquinn & Luna @joaquinni

Where: downtown

If Luna were to lay her life out in order of most painful moments, there was a safe bet that most of them would involve Joaquinn. In some form or another, whether he was simply there, a passive player in the way life had its way with breaking her heart, or if he was the direct result of all that pain. Once upon a time, he had been her ultimate freedom, the person with whom she felt most like herself. There was no need to play the role of the perfect daughter, beauty queen. She had no need to be anything other than exactly as she was, and at the tender age of sixteen, she believed he would be all she would ever need. Falling helplessly in love with how every woe she'd ever felt dissolved when she laid her head against his chest.

Running away with him was easy. The only thing in her life she had never second-guessed. She was fearless when she got on the back of his bike and left it all behind. At sixteen, there was no other way to hold onto the first real thing she'd ever felt. Maybe if she had been older, wiser, and a little less reckless, she wouldn't have let her youth slip from her palms. And test, years later, with all she knew now, Luna could not answer if she would have done it any differently. There wasn't much Luna knew about life, but she was certain she could count on the lack of predictability. She was a young girl swept away in the love affair with Joaquinn. Never could she have imagined she'd spent years after being haunted by the ghost of his absence. His leaving had been sudden and terribly painful. It tore something asunder at her core, scattering the pieces of all she had known of herself into the terrible unknown.

She had been twenty-three when he left. The day was not one she could recall in anything more than soul-sickening loss, but in the days, months, and years since, there had been times when Luna caught a glimpse of someone who could have been him. Her heart would plummet, and she'd focus and realize as quickly that it was not him. Surely it never would be again. She wasn't completely clueless. She knew he was someplace in California. Perhaps it was what drew her back years later, knowing that there were worse things along this coast to be haunted by than the man who was still written all over her. Still, sometimes she could convince herself she imagined it all if there wasn't his handwriting inked along her wrist to keep her planted in the painful now. Hiding out in a small town forty-five minutes outside of San Francisco until she could figure out what she was supposed to do next. Paint and ink-stained her fingers as she carried her groceries down the street, suddenly stunned in place by the phantom vision of Joaquinn. Luna blinked hard, certain she would focus and realize it was just another tall dark-haired man. But by the third time she realized with a heavy sinking feeling it was in fact him. After twelve years her heart raced blood rushing to her face and Luna was swept up like a memory.

Unfortunately, she had plenty of years to think about what she would do with this opportunity. All the things she wanted to say rushed to her lips, and as she grew closer to him, they were replaced with blinding rage that came forth as she shoved her groceries into his chest with a sharp shove at the center of his chest. "You rat bastard." She seethed without the soft remembrance she had hoped would have set in by now. Luna thought it would be enough time to let the wound scar over, tender scar tissue, but all healed nonetheless. She found, as her palms crashed against his chest, her groceries spilling at their feet, that he was nothing but a bruise that ached as if it had been pressed too hard. All the soft parts of her had been damaged by what Joaquinn had done to her, and now confronted with him after all these years, Luna was more aware than ever that she was more rage than woman. All her flimsy attempts at healing at becoming something better were dashed before they even took shape, and in a breathless moment, she knew it was him.

Luna had spent years chasing his ghosts, looking for answers in silence, only to have all of them slip through her fingers like water. Tears stung at her eyes, stubbornly unshed as she jutted her chin up at him twelve years later, and all her best-laid plans dashed as her head spun. A quite smothered sob threatened to spill tears over her cheeks. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his top before she ripped her hands away. Pushing up on the tips of her toes, she closed the space smacking her hand against his cheek with a sharp slap that stung her palm. "I thought you were dead. I wished you were dead."