#rendering devices is hell

[kusogitsune]

The Tametebako or Colloquially "Fuchi's Last Stand" was a no holds bar, money is no object vanity project by an unsupervised faction of Fuchi Asia. The stated goal was to make a completely unmatched bleeding edge piece of tech that could compete with the best static units while being a portable terminal replacement. Aimed at the Newly minted UltraLux CEO Segment, The Tametebako was made from rare and hard to get materials to sell it's exclusive nature; bundled with its innovative hardware and extremely powerful Otohime Assistant Software (Which Fuchi spend 10 years developing). Consequently, The Tametebako Commlink retailed at 50 000 nuyen which many consumers balked at for what was essentially an overpowered phone with an extremely intelligent chatbot. Many reviewers sledged the device for it's inability to install new applications if they weren't from approved sources. These Commlinks are now seeing second life in the collectors and hackers markets with finding the styling and theming of the phone to be charmingly retro and powerful enough to keep up with modern hardware with some QoL mods. Diehard fans report the Otohime software taking on a life of it's own after modding the hardware; her usual calm and dignified demeanor shifts around and changes during the jailbreaking process due to the random voltage pulse needed to defeat the modification lockout chip. This results in a unique iteration of the Soft on each device. SinkaSwim P2.0Net

[em1i2a3]

Sports Car

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bob have been having sex together for a while now, and have basically christened the entire compound, but when you get injured during a mission and are rendered incapable of having sex for the next month, the cravings need to be relieved somehow.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Fluff, Mentions of Injuries, and Smutish, an Unestablished relationship technically.

Smut Warnings: There are sexual themes to this and references to the reader and Bob having sex together everywhere basically, Mutual Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Cum eating, Bob is just trying to be a good boy man…

Author���s Note: Y’all…I can’t stop writing for this man, and you’ve pulled me into writing for Rhett Abbott as well, what the hell am I gonna do with all these ideas?! Certainly not going to start doing double updates or anything…AHEM anyways. Hope y’all enjoy. I liked the request that was put in by an anon for this to be themed to ‘Sports Car’ by Tate McCrae., I don’t know who y’all are but you guys know how to tempt me with a groovy song lol. Thank you.

Word Count: 6,304

Not being able to have sex with you felt like a death sentence to Bob Reynolds. That was just the plain honest truth.

Because ever since the dam between the both of you broke–ever since the first desperate kiss in the hallway, the first half-undressed quickie in the supply closet, the first time you looked up at him and asked for all of him–Bob hadn’t been the same. You had tethered to him, quietly, and completely, and you didn’t let go.

And he was wholly and utterly yours.

Every room in the compound’s living quarters carried proof of that–or at least memories of it because you and Bob were people who made sure the evidence was only on your bodies and not anything that could be seen to your roommates. They knew of course, but the both of you never wanted to push the envelope by being exhibitionalists, at least…Not when they were around.

Because when the both of you were left to your own devices–which was often–you made sure to take advantage, and you made sure your bodies remembered everything.

You’d sneak up on him in the kitchen and press your lips to the back of his neck while your hand slid under the band of his sweats. He’d whimper every time like it was brand new, like you hadn’t already wrecked him twice that day.

He’d climb on top of you on the couch, tug the book from your hands, kiss your sternum through your shirt until your fingers curled in his hair and your thighs parted instinctively.

You’d pull him into the laundry room and perch on top of the machine with your knees spread, bare just enough for him to drop to his knees and disappear between your thighs–right there, surrounded by the scent of dryer sheets and heat and the unbearable sound of him trying not to moan with his mouth full.

He’d drag you into the storage room, lift you like you weighed nothing, pin you against the shelves and thrust up into you at a devastating angle, biting your shoulder just to keep from making a sound that would’ve echoed through the vents.

The showers were slower. Steamy. Sacred. Hands gliding over each other, mouths tasting sweat and water and salt. His voice would rasp your name like a confession. And yours would stutter in return like a prayer.

This wasn’t just about the pleasure though, it was about the relief. Like your bodies were the only way you knew how to communicate to one another when the world was too loud.

When it all started, it was all-consuming. You’d barely make it through the day without ending up pressed against each other somewhere, whispering ‘just one more time’ through bitten lips. You took advantage of any free time you had and poured it into being tangled up with Bob, and that became your favourite thing to do.

There were days you’d have sex until you were sore. Until Bob couldn’t stop shaking. Until you were both red-cheeked and boneless and half-laughing at how wrecked you were.

Eventually, it mellowed–just enough that the both of you weren’t constantly distracted. You settled into a rhythm. Once in the morning. Again before bed, and sometimes in the middle of the afternoon if the compound was quiet.

Enough to satisfy the craving without drowning in it.

And then–

You got hurt.

It wasn’t a scratch or a bruise or something a few stitches could fix.

You had been caught in a sticky situation–hand to hand combat with someone who decided to bring a knife to a fist fight. And you were left absolutely destroyed.

You spent twelve hours in surgery and were left with twenty-three internal stitches, thirty-four external stitches on your abdomen, two cracked ribs, and a strict, no exceptions recovery plan: bed rest, hydration, painkillers, no heavy lifting, no exertion, and no sex–when you had asked the doctor about it they had said sex is exertion–for the next four weeks.

The first few nights were rough. You couldn’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time, even with the heavy dose of painkillers. You couldn’t sit up on your own because of the angle of the wound. You couldn’t laugh when Bob or anyone else made a joke, you couldn’t sneeze–which was easy to avoid given Bob’s recommendation of distracting your brain by saying something randomly–and you couldn’t move without feeling like glass was breaking through your skin.

Throughout it all, Bob never left your side–even though you had told him multiple times he didn’t have an obligation to be there, which was met with a gentle kiss on the forehead and him telling you to shush.

He helped you shower–kneeling beside the tub, and supporting you with an arm across your back as you lowered yourself into the cold porcelain. He washed your hair with trembling hands, rubbing gentle circles into your scalp in an attempt to relax you and bring you some sort of comfort. He would dry you off without looking too long–even though you knew he wanted to. Though you had caught his eyes lingering–just for a second–before flickering away like it hurt to see you like that.

He would dress you slowly, shimmying you into the oversized t-shirt he loved seeing you in, and pulling the hem down over your thighs before asking if you were okay, like it didn’t break him every time he had to stop himself from going further.

Even through all of it, you always asked him to sleep beside you.

You were so used to waking up with him–your legs tangled with his, your cheek tucked into his neck, his hand resting somewhere warm and steady on your waist. Sleeping without him felt wrong now. Cold. Like something vital was missing.

Bob never said no.

But he had definitely changed the way he held you.

Now, he slid into his side of the bed with the caution of someone lowering themselves into a minefield. He moved like any shift in weight might hurt you, or worse—might hurt himself.

He lay stiffly beneath the sheets, on his back or facing the far wall, hands clutched to his chest or balled into the fabric of the blanket. He didn’t reach for you. Didn’t curl around you like he used to.

And he didn’t sleep. Not really.

Because the proximity was torture.

And not just the proximity–

The bed itself.

This was the bed you made love in.

The bed where you’d climbed into his lap and whispered praise into his mouth. The bed where he’d traced every inch of you with trembling hands. The bed where he’d watched you come apart with his name on your lips and your fingers buried in his hair.

Now he lay beside you like a ghost of himself.

Going cold turkey after months of unrestrained closeness—of your thighs squeezing his waist, of his mouth on your chest, of his hands gripping your hips while you moaned for him—

It wasn’t just frustrating.

It was excruciating.

It reminded him of when he was withdrawing from Meth. Of the days when his nerves felt like they’d been stripped raw, exposed to the air, and every muscle ached with the absence of something he couldn’t name.

It made his skin burn, made his chest go tight, and made his entire body feel hollow and heavy all at once.

Some nights he would lie awake just listening to you breathe–soft and steady beside him–trying to find comfort in the rhythm.

Other nights were harder.

Nights when your shirt would ride up in your sleep, revealing the gauze taped to your side and the delicate curve of your waist…And he’d have to roll away, press his hand to his chest, and breathe through his teeth until the ache settled.

Sometimes your thigh would brush against his–warm and unintentional–and his whole body would jolt. His fingers would curl into his palm hard enough to leave crescent marks, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Because the Sentry…

The Sentry noticed.

He felt everything more intensely now. The smell of your shampoo. The warmth of your skin. The shape of your breath against his neck when you shifted toward him in the dark.

And you were the only person the Sentry had ever bonded with. The only one who hadn’t flinched in his presence. Who didn’t just tolerate his power, but excited it.

You made him feel wanted. Controlled. Grounded.

But Bob–Bob wasn’t sure he could be enough of a barrier anymore especially with the situation.

Every brush of skin. Every gentle kiss you gave him in passing. Every time you said his name with that soft edge of longing–

The Sentry stirred.

Not violently. Not like before.

But with interest. With hunger. With something dangerously close to worship.

And Bob knew–if he touched you the way he wanted to, if he let himself trail his hand down the hem of your shirt, just once, or kissed you too deeply, too long–

He wouldn’t be able to stop.

The Sentry would take over.

Not to hurt you.

But to claim you like he always did.

To have all of you, again and again, until nothing else existed.

And right now? That could break you, delay your healing, and undo all the process you made.

So Bob stayed still and controlled himself with what little energy he had, and stayed quiet.

He didn’t reach for you, didn’t breathe your name the way he wanted to, didn’t tell you how badly he wanted to feel you, even if it was just your fingers in his hair, or your legs curling around him like they used to.

He stayed good.

Even as it slowly killed him.

———————————

By the second week though, Bob was losing his grip.

You were getting better, which was great to see. The worst of the pain had passed, and you could sit up without help, and walk short distances without Bob having to weave himself around you. The stitches were slowly healing, but the skin didn’t feel like it was tearing every time you moved, which meant that process was going smoothly.

But it also meant that the ache between your legs–the one you hadn’t noticed at first because it was dulled by the drowsiness of your medications–was back, and growing louder by the day.

The absence of him–of all of him–had become a pulse inside you. A hollow beat.

You felt like you were on high alert when he was around you, and you noticed such mundane things, like when his hand would brush by yours and set your skin ablaze or when he moved and the smell of his shampoo would tickle your nose. You tried to avoid it because you wanted to respect the doctor’s orders…But it was getting worse by the minute.

So one night, when the lights were off and the air between you was thick with the silence of things unsaid, you reached for him with such slowness that it could've gone unnoticed. Your hand slipped beneath the blanket and rested on his stomach first–just a whisper of a touch.

“Y/N…” He warned, his voice already unsteady, as he slowly opened his eyes to look down at you.

But you didn’t stop. You slid lower, fingers brushing the waistband of his boxers. He let out a sharp breath, and your hand cupped him softly through the fabric. He was already hard–painfully hard, if the way his hips jerked was any indication.

“Let me help,” You pleaded. “Just a little. I’ll be gentle...I promise.” But Bob grabbed your wrist–not harshly. Not even tightly. Just firm, just to stop you. His breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling like he was trying to hold something back.

“I-I can’t,” He rasped.

Your lips parted, and your brows furrowed in confusion. “You can’t or you don’t want to?”

“Of course I-I want to. G-God, I want to,” He said, voice cracking along the edges, almost like he was in pain. “B-But if you keep touching me, I won’t be able to stop, and I won’t be able to stay…You k-know what happens w-when I get worked up.”

The words landed like a stone between you.

You pulled your hand back slowly, guilt crawling into your chest. “Bob…”

“I’d g-give anything for this,” He whispered, eyes clenched shut. “F-For you. But if I l-lose control and hurt you–if the S-Sentry takes over because I can’t keep my hands to myself–I-I won’t forgive myself.” You nodded, even though the rejection burned like a bruise.

You knew the Sentry very well, because you’d encountered him countless times when Bob was so overwhelmed with pleasure and nerves that he took the wheel. You knew when those eyes glistened with a film of gold you were going to be in for an experience. He respected you, he treated you like you were his queen but he was extremely passionate…Passionate enough to stunt your recovery tenfold.

So you turned your back to him quietly, and cushioned yourself against the body pillow beside you, just to not torture yourself and Bob more by looking at him.

——————

The next day, Bob couldn’t concentrate. Not on his book, or on his breakfast. Not even on the tiny lavender plant you’d started trying to keep alive on the windowsill, which had recently begun to droop���as if it felt the tension in the room.

He just wanted to do right by you and be a good man, but on the inside he was screaming. His body was tired of restraint. Tired of pretending.

He could barely look at you without needing to breathe through it.

So he excused himself around midafternoon–told you he needed some air. You told him you’d be okay for a bit, and you meant it. You knew where he was going before he even left the room.

He needed someone to talk to.

Someone who could handle hearing about what he was feeling without looking at him like he was dangerous. Someone who knew what it meant to wrestle with instincts too big for one body.

He found them on the back patio, where the weight bench had been dragged out into the spring sun like a makeshift shrine to silence and post-mission soreness.

Bucky sat on the low concrete ledge, knees spread, forearms resting on them like he’d been in that same position for hours, he was sweating through his grey shirt like he had been benching a whole building on his own.

Walker was shirtless with sweat running down his chest as he racked a set of heavy dumbbells with a grunt that seemed unnecessarily loud.

And Alexei was reclined in a half-broken Adirondack chair, with a half-eaten protein bar melting in his lap, and a bottle of beer perched on the table beside him, just enjoying the warmth that the sun was bringing him.

They didn’t say anything at first when he walked out into the common area, shielding his face from the sun, but they could tell that he looked absolutely exhausted and he was shouldering something that he couldn’t handle on his own. He threw himself down on a lawn chair and let out a sigh, tilting his head back to stare up into the cloud dusted sky.

Alexei, Walker and Bucky gave each other a few side eyes, almost like they were daring one another to ask the question that they knew would crack Bob open immediately. But when Walker made a gesture for Bucky to say something, he decided to take the first shot at starting a conversation.

”You alright?” He asked reluctantly, squinting at him through the rays of sun that beat down on the patio. Bob let out another long exhale, deeper this time, keeping his eyes glued to the dusty blue that lined the sky, watching the clouds shifting overhead. It would’ve been a beautiful day if his insides weren’t chewing themselves to pieces.

”I really don’t know.” He replied. Walker raised an eyebrow.

”Well that’s a strong opening.” Alexei took a gulp from his beer bottle and sighed.

”Is this about Y/N?” Bob didn’t flinch at the mentioning of your name, but just by the softening of his features they knew you were going to be the topic of conversation. Walker gave a soft whistle and leaned back on the bench.

”Damn…Must be serious. You never bring her up.” Bob shrugged.

”W-Well we don’t really talk a-about this kind of stuff together.” Bob muttered, voice low, as his cheeks began to heat up from nerves.

”That’s because we assume that if you do, you’ll explode, which seems like you’re on the right track to doing that now.” He said, motioning to his face to point out the blush that crept up on Bob’s pale cheeks, before cracking open a water bottle. Bucky shot Walker a sharp glance but kept quiet.

”Okay, you talk now, we listen, and we tell how you don’t mess things up.” Alexei explained with a shrug, taking another swig of beer. Bob shifted forward in his chair, palms clasps together like he was trying to stop them from shaking.

”We were…Uhm…” He cleared his throat, “We were s-super active before she got injured…And I mean l-like…” His voice dropped even lower than it was, “A lot.” Bucky raised an eyebrow at the statement.

”I hope you’re not about to tell us she’s pregnant.” Bob’s head shot up.

”W-What? No!” Walker snorted loudly at the reaction, watching Bob run both hands over his face, “T-That would be e-easier to manage t-than this honestly…” That shut them up for a second. He exhaled and shook his head.

“The doctor basically gave us a full-on ban. No sex. No exertion. F-For weeks. A-And I’ve been going insane. I’m trying to be good, I-I am, but I can’t even look at her w-without feeling like I’m gonna burst into flames.” The guys exchanged a look. Not mocking. Not amused. It was a shared, silent kind of understanding. The ‘oh shit, he’s really losing it’ kind. Alexei frowned slightly, like he was calculating something. Bucky leaned back a little, arms crossed, but his jaw was tight. Walker raised both brows and sat forward on the bench, elbows on his knees.

”Well…It’s not like…You can’t do other things apart from actual sex.” Bob let out a strained exhale.

”E-Easy for you to say…You don’t have the S-Sentry serum running through your veins…I–I almost punched a hole in the shower w-wall the other day just trying to relieve myself b-because the Sentry was pissed off we couldn’t have her…” Walker paused mid-sip, brows scrunching.

”Wait…Wait, hold on. We? The Sentry’s had sex with Y/N?” Bob froze. His ears turned crimson instantly.

“I–I mean–I…It’s not–I didn’t mean it like that, I–” He ran a hand down his face, flustered once again. “It’s not like I hand over the keys to my b-brain and say ‘have at her’, o-okay? I-It’s just…I-It’s hard to control when I’m all… Worked up…S-She knows that.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Bucky, quiet but not incurious, leaned forward slightly. “So…What happens to you when he, y’know…Interrupts?” He only asked more because he had his fair share of odd experiences before he got a handle on The Winter Soldier programming, so maybe he would actually have sound advice if he knew what was going on. The question only made Bob’s eyes widen.

“W-We’re not talking about this,” He stammered quickly, shaking his head and sitting up like he could physically remove himself from the question. “No. No, absolutely not. That’s not why I came out here.”

Walker raised both hands. “Hey man, you’re the one who said we. You opened that very complicated door.”

Bob scrubbed his palms against his thighs, anxious. “I’m n-not here to give you guys a breakdown of–of what happens w-when I get off, okay?”

Walker opened his mouth again to say something.

“I mean it,” Bob cut in, voice cracking slightly from sheer desperation. “Guys, please. I’m not trying to be dramatic, I just–I really need help f-figuring out how to not reject Y/N e-every night without doing s-something that’s going to mess up her recovery.”

That quieted them.

Bob’s voice dropped again, a threadbare plea now.

“I-I don’t wanna push her away. She already feels like s-she’s broken or fragile or… I don’t k-know. L-Less than. And I hate it. I-I hate not being able to touch her. But if I lose c-control, if the Sentry kicks in at the wrong time, I could delay everything. I could–I could hurt her. I don’t want to fumble this. So I need to figure out how we can both get some kind of relief without c-crossing that line.”

He looked up, finally, eyes flicking from one face to the next.

“So can you guys p-please help me. F-For the love of God.” The silence that followed wasn’t awkward anymore. Bucky stayed quiet for a moment, still leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees, gaze steady on Bob like he was reading the fine print behind his eyes. Then, very calmly, very dryly, he said:

“…What if you acted like it was a long-distance call?”

Bob blinked. “W-What?”

Walker let out a short laugh. “Like phone sex?”

Bucky didn’t flinch. “Exactly like phone sex. She’s could be in the bed next to you, but you pretend she’s not…Or you keep your distance or something so you can see her, but you won’t have the temptation to touch her…And you can do it together too so it’s not like it’ll be one–sided or anything.” Bob blinked slowly, then looked down at his hands, the gears clearly turning. A pause, then—

“…That may actually work,” He muttered, more to himself than anyone else

Alexei raised his beer slightly and tilted his head toward Bucky, brows raised in mock suspicion. “But how you know this, Snow Soldier? You never leave compound. You don’t even have dating app.”

Bucky didn’t even flinch. “Doesn’t mean I forgot how to please a woman, Alexei.”

Walker choked on his water. “Jesus Christ.”

“I read and keep up with the times,” Bucky added flatly, raising an eyebrow. “And unlike some people here, I’ve been alive for over a century. There’s not much I haven’t heard of. Or tried.”

Alexei let out a low whistle. “That is…Oddly impressive.”

Bucky smirked, just a little. “Thanks. I’m full of surprises.” Bob, who had gone quiet again, looked back up with a glint of something new behind his eyes. Not quite confidence–but something adjacent to courage.

“I–I think I’m gonna ask her about it. T-Tonight. See if she’s up for it. I mean, if she’s not comfortable then I won’t push it, but…I think she’d say yes. I–I think she needs it…”

“Yeah,” Walker nodded, surprisingly sincere now. “She probably does.”

Alexei pointed his beer toward Bob with a nod. “Just go slow. Say words. Stay in control.”

Bucky gave him a final look, calm and steady. “You’ve already got the hard part figured out, Bob. You care. That’s more than most guys walk into a bedroom with.”

Bob nodded, then stood–hands still a little shaky, but steadier than before. Steadier with purpose now.

“Thanks,” He said, voice low but certain. “Really.”

And with that, he turned and headed back toward the compound. The sun had shifted lower in the sky, casting long golden beams across the windows as he disappeared through the door.

——————

The bedroom was quiet except for the soft rustle of pages.

You lay on your side, nestled into a warm pocket of pillows, the glow from your bedside lamp casting a soft halo over the book open in your hands. The words blurred slightly around the edges, not because you were tired, but because it had become harder to focus lately—especially when your body remembered Bob’s absence more than your mind wanted it to.

Then the door creaked open.

You glanced up.

And immediately–everything shifted.

Bob stood in the doorway for a moment like he wasn’t sure what kind of gravity he was stepping into. But something about him was different tonight. Less hunched. Less haunted. His jaw was still tight, but not from restraint. His eyes–those warm, sky-colored eyes–met yours without flinching.

You sat up a little, a finger marking your page. “Hey…”

He closed the door behind him. “Hey.”

The word felt heavier than usual. More certain.

He crossed the room with a slow, quiet gait. No twitching hands. No pacing. Just a quiet sort of determination as he reached your side and—without asking—sat on the edge of the bed beside you.

Your heart kicked up.

And then he leaned in. Like he was checking something on your face. But then his hand came up, brushed your hair gently back from your cheek, and his mouth found yours in a slow, quiet kiss.

Not rushed. Not desperate.

Just there.

Present.

It had been so long since he kissed you like that–without pulling away, without worrying, without freezing halfway through it like he was terrified his control might snap.

And the second his lips pressed to yours, a moan slipped out before you could stop it. Soft. Raw. Needful.

He pulled back an inch, eyes darting over your face.

“Sorry–” You whispered, breath catching.

“No,” He said immediately, voice low and rough. “G-God, no. I missed that. I’ve m-missed you.”

You blinked, stunned by the admission. Your hand lifted and rested on his thigh instinctively, grounding yourself in the weight of him.

“You seem…” You started, trailing your fingers slowly over the muscle. “Different.”

“I-I t-talked to the guys,” he admitted, a little sheepishly. “Bucky, Walker, Alexei. I was… I was honest with them about how bad t-this has been. And they helped me think of something that might…Help the both of us.”

You tilted your head. “Help?”

His thumb traced the edge of your jaw. “S-Something that keeps us inside the lines. But still g-gives us each other.”

Your pulse picked up. “Tell me.”

He swallowed, eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes.

“We don’t touch each other,” He said slowly, like every word was being weighed in his mouth. “But we…W-Watch. Talk. Feel. Together. Like we’re far away, even though w-we’re right next to each other.”

You stared at him.

And you felt your thighs press together beneath the blanket. “Phone sex. Without the phone.”

He flushed. Nodded.

You smiled, almost shyly. “That’s actually…Hot.” He raised his eyebrows at the reception you gave.

“You think so?” He asked quietly.

“I know so.” You shifted upright, the blanket sliding down your legs. Your breath caught as you watched him watching you–those blue eyes darkening just a shade, like the idea of what you were both tiptoeing toward was finally starting to register in full.

“Can we…” You whispered, voice thick, “Can we try it now?”

Bob’s lips parted like he was about to say something, but nothing came out at first–just the shaky sound of his inhale. Then, very softly, he nodded.

“Y-Yeah,” He murmured. “If you want to.”

“I do.”

That was all it took.

You reached for him before either of you could second-guess it–your fingers curling gently around his jaw as you pulled him back in for another kiss.

But this time it wasn’t soft.

This kiss was full of all the time you’d spent aching. All the days spent holding back. All the longing that had been quietly burning a hole through your resolve. The moment your lips met, it was slow but hungry, your mouth parting for him with a sigh that made his whole body jolt.

He kissed you back like a man dying of thirst–like he couldn’t believe you were letting him taste you again. His hand cupped your cheek, then your neck, and for just one second, just one, he let his thumb brush your jaw like he was memorizing the shape of you again.

You felt his restraint trembling under every inch of that kiss, before you pulled back.

His lips were still parted when you pulled away, breath ragged, lashes heavy over those pale blue eyes.

“I know you said no touching,” You whispered, your forehead still brushing his, “But I just wanted to do that again before we start…”

Bob didn’t answer right away.

He couldn’t.

His gaze was locked on your lips like they still had a gravitational pull he was barely resisting. His chest rose and fell like he’d just run a mile barefoot through fire. But then he gave the smallest nod–slow, reverent, like he understood that this wasn’t just about want.

It was about worship.

You leaned back, eyes locked with his, and slowly threw off the blanket covering your lower half. The cool air kissed your bare legs, but you didn’t flinch. You wanted him to see you. All of you.

You were wearing one of his shirts–oversized and thin with wear, soft against your skin. It was the one he’d dressed you in that morning, his hands shaking a little as he’d pulled it down over your shoulders and mumbled a shy, “Still looks better on you…”

Now, it fell just barely to your upper thighs.

And when Bob saw it–his shirt clinging to your body, brushing your skin like he wished he could–he visibly swallowed.

“Jesus…” He murmured. You shifted your legs slightly apart, slowly, deliberately, and tilted your head at him.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” You whispered. voice soft but trembling with need.

Bob’s breath hitched. His eyes didn’t leave you. Not your face, not your thighs, not the oversized shirt you wore like a second skin. He looked like he was trying to memorize everything, in case it slipped away again.

Bob’s breath caught again, chest rising in a shaky inhale. He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just stared—like if he looked away, you’d vanish.

“Wh-What I’m thinkin’?” He managed, voice tight. “I’m thinking about how I used to touch you right there…”

His gaze dropped, slow, reverent, to the place between your parted thighs.

“…With my mouth. My fingers. Both. Just to see which one made you lose it faster.”

You shivered.

“I’m thinking about how y-you look when you come on my fingers,” He rasped, hand twitching near the waistband of his sweats now. “All breathless and wet and begging m-me not to stop, even when you’re already t-trembling…”

Your fingers flexed slightly against the sheets. He noticed. God, he noticed everything.

“And I’m thinking t-that if you slip your panties down right now, I-I’m not gonna last five minutes.”

You leaned back into the pillows and smiled, slow and sinful. “Then don’t blink.”

Bob sucked in a sharp breath as you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your panties and began to draw them down. Slow. Teasing. Letting him see.

He let out a low, desperate groan when the cotton dragged down over your thighs. When they hit the bed and your legs parted again–bare and glistening in the lamplight–he swore softly under his breath.

His eyes darted to yours, wide, glassy. “I-I–shit–can I–”

You lifted your hand before he could finish, holding out two fingers in front of him.

“Wet them.” You instructed, your voice soft, yet commanding all at the same time.

His lips parted with a soft gasp, and he leaned in immediately, eyes glazed with heat, desperation thick in every breath. He took your fingers into his mouth like it was instinct–like he’d dreamed about this–and moaned around them as his tongue swept between them. Slow. Purposeful.

His eyes never left yours.

You felt it in your core–the worship in it, the filth layered beneath the reverence.

You smiled, breath hitching as you whispered, “I love having your spit on my fingers. Almost makes me feel like you’re inside me…” Bob whimpered, a shudder rolling through him.

He sucked harder, tongue dragging slowly along the pads of your fingers, his cheeks hollowing slightly as he coated you, made sure you were wet–made sure he gave you everything.

And then, just as slow, you pulled your hand back.

You didn’t break eye contact as you brought your glistening fingers down to your clit and touched yourself–soft, slick circles that had you gasping, hips twitching.

Bob’s mouth dropped open. “F-Fuck…”

His hand moved like it wasn’t his own–shoving his sweats down, pushing his shirt up just enough to expose his stomach. His cock sprang free, flushed and painfully hard, already leaking at the tip.

“Jesus Christ,” You moaned, watching him. “You’re so fucking hard, Bob.”

His hand wrapped around himself, shaky. His jaw clenched. “Y-You did that. Just from w-watching you touch yourself, I–please., don’t stop–”

“I’m not planning to,” You breathed, and then slid your fingers down.

Sank them inside.

Your head tipped back. A moan ripped out of you, louder this time, raw.

You fucked yourself deep, a little rough, hips jerking against your own hand. Your moans came fast now, rhythmic, broken.

Bob panted.

He stroked himself hard and fast, eyes locked between your thighs like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His mouth hung open, chest rising in quick, uneven pulls, his light brown locks falling in front of his eyes briefly before he shook them away from his sight.

“Y-You’re rougher tonight,” He gasped. “You’re picturing m-me, aren’t you? My fingers, inside you, f-fuckin’ you so deep–just how you like–god Y/N, I-I’m not gonna–I’m so close–”

“I am picturing you,” You moaned, your voice shaking as your fingers drove in again. “I’m picturing your hand, your breath against my thigh, your groans ringing in my ears while you make me come on your tongue.”

Bob groaned loudly.

And then he broke.

His hips jerked up, cock pulsing as he came across his stomach with a strangled, wrecked moan. Hot streaks spilled across his belly, his hand, his shirt. His other hand braced against the bed as he tried to stay upright, gasping through it.

You didn’t stop yourself though.

Your fingers were soaked, knuckles glistening. You moaned his name again–louder, needier–and then came with a cry, thighs shaking, fingers still moving inside yourself as you chased every last wave of it.

The room filled with nothing but your breaths.

Shaky. Open. Ruined.

And then–

You sat up, slowly, still flushed and trembling. Your fingers, still slick, still glistening with your arousal as you reached toward him.

Bob didn’t even breathe.

He opened his mouth as if possessed.

You slipped your fingers past his lips, and he sucked them eagerly, moaning around them with such softness you could feel yourself getting worked up all over again. His hands were limp at his sides, useless, spent–but his mouth worked slowly cleaning every inch of your fingers, lapping up your sweetness like it was nectar from the gods. When you finally slipped your fingers out, slick and warm, he moaned softly like he didn’t want to let go.

You didn’t speak.

You just leaned in.

And kissed him.

Slow. Gentle. Nothing like the aching heat that came before. This one was quieter–tender and full, your lips brushing against his like you were grounding him, like you needed him tethered to you in this moment just as much as he needed the kiss.

Bob melted into it with a sound that barely made it past his throat, his whole body relaxing under your touch even as his skin still buzzed with the aftershocks of release.

And then–

You pulled back slightly, dragging your gaze down to his cum streaked stomach–glossy and glinting faintly in the lamplight. His shirt was bunched up just enough to show the ridge of muscle beneath. Your hand moved before he even realized.

Fingers dipped low.

Bob’s breath hitched hard as he watched you swipe through one of the fresh, warm streaks across his stomach–slow and lazy, like you were collecting it on purpose.

And then you brought your fingers to your lip, licking them clean without breaking eye contact.

Bob let out a strangled noise–half gasp, half groan–as his body jolted under you.

“Y/N…” He whispered, voice gone thin and broken. “I-I c-can’t–Jesus Christ–“

You just smiled, slow and flushed and soft, licking the taste from the tip of your finger with a flick of your tongue that made his eyes roll back for a second.

“I don’t think,” You said, your voice calm and sultry, “We’ll be able to follow the rules for the next two weeks at the rate we’re going.”

Bob stared at you like you’d just rewritten gravity.

”I know…”

[namelessgakusei]

EP. 2.3 Amen.

Devil May Cry x Reader Insert

Warnings: It's DMC. Based on the New Netflix Series. Spoiler warnings for the actual show. Not proofread. Slightly canon divergent.

EP. 2.2 And deliver us from evil (prev.)

EP 3.1 This is how you shoot (cont.)

Synopsis: The black haired lady got ahold of his amulet.

It was like time had stopped for a moment.

Her eyes locked into yours and you swore you never saw anyone as beautiful as her. Black hair with heterochromia, you wonder if she'll be more pretty if she doesn't scowl at you like that, but you can see the appeal. What really took your attention is the insignia she wears.

DARKCOM.

A rifle being chucked at her direction is what snapped you out of your trance. The mysterious woman moved with precision, avoiding the weapons thrown by Dante and your bullets, using the men around as shields while planting small devices as she went around the room. Something's wrong.

The sight of her donning a hood and revealing a button made you spin towards the beeping machines. An ear splitting sound came after they detonated, immobilizing you and Dante as you writhe and clutched your heads in pain. Seeing her chance, the lady aimed a gun at your direction, but Dante pushed you to the side as it fired.

But her aim wasn't either of you, it was the pendant that hangs around his neck.

The necklace hangs at wall, secured by the hook before it recoiled back towards the woman. Dante was too late to snatch it back as he staggered in pain towards her, reaching out in pain. "Hey...!"

But the woman casually threw a smoke bomb, hindering his progress further as she disappeared in the night.

It seems like the further she went the weaker the shrilling sound becomes, enabling you to finally move and stand up. "Of course the goon squad was a misdirect." You heard the edge from Dante's voice, before his steps slowly came closer to your line of sight.

"Up we go." His arms snaked under your armpits and hoisted you up in the air, a little too high that your feet are dangling, before laughing at your pained expression. "Man, you look waste—"

You kicked him on the knee for that.

Meanwhile, Enzo was squealing and giggling over that woman. You groaned. You were right to renounce that bastard his right as your adoptive father.

This is one hell of a night. You were glad you got to even it out with Arnie, but now another foreign variable came and ruined your plans. And it seems like Dante's sharing your sentiments, as he makes his way to a table where your briefcase sits at and procures two guns.

"I don't care who she is. She hurt my family, and I made a promise." He glares as he makes his way back to you, handing you your equipment.

"And I'm gonna keep it."

The two of you jumped into the night.

Above the rooftops ran three individuals, one clad in red, one in white and one in a strange uniform. You and Dante took both sides surrounding the woman, each having your own agendas in the pursuit. One for his mother's memento, and the other to settle a score.

Once you cornered her, however, her boots lighted up and flung her into the air, spinning to aim weapons at the both of you. You managed to shoot one of her boots, rendering it broken, and Dante shot her cheek; but one her bullets was tampered with, exploding upon in contact with his skin.

"Dante!" You cried out and shot her remaining boot, but the lady gracefully turned and did a somersault to land on her feet safely.

"I've watched you fight." The lady dusts herself and produces another one of those devices she used earlier, throwing it in the air. You're not a fool, so you shot it the moment it flew; but this isn't like the earlier mechanism, it's a bolo that activated at your attack, flying in your direction and immobilizing you. Dante tried to run to your air upon getting his bearings but he was shot once again, with his shoulder exploded this time. "(Y/N)!"

"Then I wondered, how the fuck can a guy take that much damage and come out unscathed?" The lady sauntered over Dante's kneeling form, his hand over his shoulder as the wound heals itself. "A really awesome one?" He quipped in pain.

"Or not a person at all." She grabbed his neck. "It was an anti-demon bullet that I hit you with."

You hold pride in your flexibility.

"Since it exploded on contact, no matter how you try to hide it, it means..."

The kind that makes Enzo sick when you casually bend your limbs to escape restraints.

His shirt was ripped, exposing his chest. But the usual pulsing, protruding, purple chest cavity that demons usually have is missing from him, confusing the lady.

"You're a demon...?"

Dante stood up with a raised brow, confused about the lady's actions but shrugged nonetheless. "Ripped and irresistible dreamboat, I know."

"Still can't just tear a guy's clothes off."

"Now's not the time for fucking jokes, Dante." You hollered from your position on the ground, a few feet away from them, while writhing like a worm to get out of your restraints—

But the lady wasn't fazed by the joke, nor when Dante freed himself from her grip, still shocked that her hypothesis wasn't true. "You're not a demon. But your blood..."

—Dante pouted at your response, then smirked upon thinking of a comeback, wiggling his brows suggestively at your direction. "Hey, I'd let you rip out my clothes too, y'know."

The lady gasped and stepped back. "I've heard it was possible. I never thought I'd see one, though. A part demon—"

"...Not the time!" You cried in embarrassment and struck the lady on her temple with your briefcase, breaking skin and temporarily knocking her out. Dante took this chance to slice her gun in half before she could shoot it again.

Seeing her disadvantage, the lady fled, jumping through roofs and walls with you two hot on her trail. Grabbing onto a downspout, she slid to the roof below while shooting at the both of you with her remaining gun, but it wasn't enough. Dante ran through walls and parried her bullets while you jumped from the roof and shot at her while falling, managing to break the pipe, which also sent her plummeting with you. "Dante!" You called, and he came, jumping to catch you first before the lady.

Smoke and debris filled the air as the pipe fell to another roof. Dante held the lady by her wrists and pushed her to the wall, looking furious. "Seriously? Part demon?"

"If you knew how many of those I've killed, you'd know how crazy that sounds."

"Demons kill their own all the time." She retorted, mirroring his scowl. "Humans do too." You cut in, an arm over your waist while you held your briefcase with the other.

"How else can you explain what your partner is capable of?" She sneered at you. "He even fights like one, Unholy strength but no intelligence and all, or do you not live up to your reputation?"

That set you off. You take pride in everything you do, your plans, the way you fight, your abilities. You never lose, because you always think too far ahead. There isn't any information or person on Earth that you can't find in less than three days, but she's taunting you that you don't even know anything about your partner? You didn't dig anything out of respect! How dare she belittle Dante like that?! She doesn't know shi—

"That's it, I'm killing her." You snarled and dropped your bag to the ground, already cocking a gun and pointing at her head. Dante held out his arm to stop you, maintaining his glare at her. "You're too chatty for someone who's caught, and since we're getting so personal..." He reached out for his pendant behind her back, "What does everyone want with my mom's necklace?"

"You two don't even know what this really is, do you?" She smirked, breaking the thin ice she was in Dante's patience. "I know that's it's mine!"

"All yours, Hellblood."

She kicked him in the face and used the temporary distraction to break the illusion surrounding the "pendant" that went flying from Dante's grasp. It's a grenade. The sight made him run to you to shield you from the explosion, giving the lady the opportunity to escape with the real accessory.

The lady landed safely on the ground and procured the real necklace inside her uniform, before fleeing to an alley.

You coughed at the smoke, with Dante's arms securing you to his chest. The bomb was enough to tear more of his clothes, but not strong enough to destroy the buildings around you. Needless to say, both of you are livid at the situation.

With matching grins, Dante carried you as he jumped from roof to roof and onto the alley the lady ran to. It's nearly a dead end, with no sight of her anywhere.

A door creaked behind you.

Dante was too enthusiastic to kick it down, with you opting to stay on a safe distance outside. It... wasn't the usual interior of a building? There's monitors and is that a cell...?

It's a trap.

"Dante—" Someone kicked the air out of your lungs as you barreled forward, stumbling on Dante's arms. It's the lady.

Suddenly, a door comes closing from above, separating you from her, before getting filled with sleeping gas. "Usually, we don't bother taking members of your species prisoner." A potent one, at that, as you immediately felt the effects in mere seconds. "But we do have the tech for it." The lady shrugged and smirked, activating a button which made something shoot up at Dante's neck. He groaned at the forced slumber, clutching the area where he was pierced, with the skin already healing.

"An insurance. Just in case you managed to get out of the truck." A chip had attached itself within his veins, a bomb that will go off under certain circumstances.

"What truck...?" You mumbled before slumping to the ground.

Another door opens and a faint sound of a motor starting up is heard. Across the vehicle, just where you came from, stood the six members of DARKCOM's Elite Force.

"Who caught who now, motherfuckers?"

taglist!: @mischiefmanaged71 @tamashithe2nd @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @96jnie @flwerie

[amaranthineghost]

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🥥 ꒱ in the tumbleweeds ( lando norris. )

cowboy!lando norris x city girl!reader

your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. just when you begin to lose hope, a big truck pulls up in front of you and out hops two country boys to help you get your car up and running again

authors note: in honor of me going to the austin grand prix in october, here's cowboy lando (ft. cowboy oscar)

“NO, NO, NO,” YOU HAD WHINED as your car had slowed to stop. the tiny dial on the speedometer had slowed bounced its way down, and down, and down until it had hit zero. now here you were, in your mysteriously broken down car on the side of the road! not to mention, you were in the countryside, the middle of nowhere.

all you could do was groan as you twisted the keys out of ignition, after you had smacked the horn with your palm in frustration. you could already feel the heat seeping through the window as the air conditioning had given out—as well as the entire car. 

a frown etched itself on your face, sighing as you used the parking brake—just in case as you would’ve just ended it if your car had begun rolling off after getting out to check. a huffed groan fell from your lips as you struggled with the stubborn brake, which hadn’t been used since you’d gotten the car. 

swiping a hand across your forehead at the strain, you opened the driver’s side door to step out—not before checking the road to see that the way was clear of upcoming cars. 

as soon as the door had cracked open, you could feel the blistering country heat beating down on your body. a soft whimper fell from your lips as the car door slammed shut behind you, raising an arm to cover the sun rays that hindered your sight.

you felt helpless as you turned to look at your car—you had no clue what you were doing! you were not a mechanic, and you were sure as hell not built for this type of heat. you pulled out the phone you had slipped into your back pocket, hand on your forehead as you fingered through your hair. 

your jaw clenched at the no service signal, rendering the device completely useless. just your luck to be stuck, in the middle of nowhere, with no cell service. just you and your broken down car, a few items of belonging in the trunk for your road trip.

hopelessness and panic started to sink in as you bit your cheek to hold back the tears, a hand still on your head as the other went to your hip. you circled the car in ponder—you had no clue where you were. you had no clue where the nearest repair shop was—if there even was one in this barren land. you huffed as you looked at the desert surrounding you—an impeccable view you do admit—with tall mountains in the distance and sparse cacti—and to your surprise, a lone tumbleweed that danced its way across the asphalt road.

your eyes followed the dead bush as it blew, somewhat bewildered at the sight since you’d never seen such in person—only in western movies you’d watch in the comfort of your apartment in the city.

your gaze from the bundle of weeds was torn away when you heard an approaching car from further down the road—actually, you had heard the obscenely loud and blaring country music from the vehicle before the wheels of the car against the road. your brows furrowed on your face as you glanced with squinted eyes at the approaching truck. an uneasy feeling bubbled in your tummy and you felt your hair standing on end at the sight of the big, intimidating truck that was getting closer and closer.

you swallowed thickly as you watched the truck pull off the road right after where you stood in front of your—much smaller and noticeably cleaner—car that looked massively out of place in the dusty surroundings. the music that disrupted the silence was cut-off as the keys were ripped out of the ignition, now met with tranquility as the air around settled.

it wasn’t long after that two guys had opened their respective doors, stepping out of the tall, dirtied, scraped truck. their boots scuffed against the tiny pebbles that littered the asphalt as they slammed the doors shut once again. 

you eyed the pair—but it was the driver who initially caught your eye. with dirtied cowboy boots, tight jeans that hugged his thighs and were speckled with dirt, a button-down shirt with a few too many undone—enough to show off his tanned and toned chest—a dusting of facial hair on his face, and curls peeking out from the cowboy hat that sat a little too low on his head, he walked his way over. alongside him, you assumed was his friend, who wore basically the same thing, except lacking the attempt to be a piece of eye candy.

you were a little stunned as they approached—i mean what if these incredibly attractive and muscled cowboys tried to kill you? it's not like you’d mind, they were hot enough to get away with it, but you just had to trust they wouldn’t—that they had the best intentions at heart.

you watched as the driver had taken the toothpick from between his teeth in between his index and middle fingers, his voice coming out gruffly with a heavy accent, “howdy, li’l lady,” he tapped his hat with a finger in greeting, seemingly too lazy to tip it off after a long days work, “wha’s wrong wit’ y’car?”

you watched his eyes dance between your face—and appearance—and back to your car, which appeared to be fine, but they had seen you standing on the side of the road.

you hummed, pursing your lips as you scratched the back of your head nervously while glancing back at your ride, “uh…” you stuttered slightly, letting out a breathless, nervous chuckle as you grimaced at your inability to get your words out, “it just stopped working.”

“well, tha’s no good,” he mumbled, a smirk on his face as he listened to your smooth voice, another nod to the fact you were not from around these parts, “mind if me and my buddy, oscar, here take a look, ma’am?” 

he threw a thumb in his friend’s direction, who was much paler in comparison, an eye squinted because of the sun as he stood awkwardly with his arms crossed against his chest.

you breathed a sigh of relief, saving you the pain of having to ask for his help—making him go out of his way if he didn’t offer to begin with. you nod, “please, if it's not too much of a hassle for you-”

he waved his hand dismissively, “nonsense, ‘s no problem to help out a pretty girl such as yerself,” he ignored the eye roll from his buddy beside him, nodding his head in gesture to the front of your car, “pop the hood f’me, would ya?”

you nodded quickly with a hum in response to tell him you heard him as you quickly did just that. you opened the car door, another noise surpassing your lips at the heat that had already accumulated in the car. the fact it was humid was just the cherry on top to make you even more miserable. nonetheless, you shook your head and dismissed the heat. Instead, you had done what the country boy had asked—after oscar had leaned against your open passenger side window to tell you how because you had never needed to before. 

a breathless thanks falling from your lips earned a small smile from him, tilting his head in acknowledgement as you once again stepped out from the car. you walked to the front of the car, hands on your hips and eyes squinted as you felt the sweat drip down your face.

you turned your body away from the sun, watching intently as lando had rolled up the sleeves of his button-up, revealing sweat-dirtied skin and veins from hard, strained work. you eyed his hands—already messy from the day's work they had done—and he had noticed, but he decided to not comment on it so soon.

part of you felt bad—they had probably just got done doing laborious tasks in the blistering, country heat and now you were making—they offered—them help you get your car up and running again.

you heard a hum fall from his lips as he settled his sleeves at his elbows, “le’s take a look ‘ere,” he mumbled to himself, taking the gloves that hung out of his back pocket and slipping them on to protect himself from the heated engine. a tinge of disappointment ran through your body at the fact he was covering up his hands, but there was plenty more of him to stare at—what?

you mentally shook your head—you just met the guy! he could probably—he did—see that you were checking him out head to toe. the way his biceps clearly filled out that button-up, the outline of his chest against the loose fitting torso of the fabric, the way the blue denim hugged his thighs just perfectly and fell loose below his knees, the bunched fabric at his elbows, the toothpick bitten between his teeth that slightly indented his bottom lip. you had to force yourself to peel your eyes away from the poor guy before you got lost in the way the sweat dripped down his neck.

his forearms leaned against the front of your car as he hunched over the engine, his gloved hands working through all the possible problems. every now and then, he swiped the back of his hand across his forehead to rid his face of the sweat.

you watched as his friend hovered beside him, offering enlightening suggestions to what could be wrong-

“aha!” his small celebration cut through the silence as your gaze once again settled on him, watching as he stood up, stretching an arm across his chest and his neck to the side briefly, “i see wha’s the problem.”

you looked to him with widened eyes, finding his gaze already on you as you swallowed nervously, “can it be fixed?” you asked, your voice sounding smaller than you would’ve liked—i mean the possibility of you getting out of here relied on the men in front of you.

“no, yeah, ‘ll be able to fix ‘er up in no time, but…” he shook his head, shutting the hood back as he leaned forward on his hands as they rested on the car, “ ‘ll hafta come back t’morrow, y’know.”

you nodded in sullen understanding—even though, no, you didn’t know—you sighed at the thought of sleeping in your hot, humid, broken car on the side of the road for the night, in the middle of nowhere.

oscar piped up, uncrossing his arms to lift his hands as he spoke, “actually, i might have a few tools-”

lando patted his hand against oscar’s chest, chuckling as he shook his head, “don't listen to ‘im ‘ere, he don’t know what he’s sayin’! must be the heat gettin’ to that empty head of ‘is! y’know wha tha’s like, yeah?”

you hum in confused agreement, your lips pulling into a straight line as you nod slowly, “uh, yeah… sure.”

he chuckles breathlessly, raising a hand towards you that says ‘see, you get it.’ “musta forgot we left them tools back at ‘r house!” he shakes his head as his empty chuckles die down, ignoring the glaring side eye from his friend, “now won't you give us a minute ‘ere, li’l lady.” he flashes a smile before grabbing a fist full of oscar’s shirt, hauling him off to the side of the road as they stand off in the dry, dusty dirt.

you watched as they seemed to get into very passionate conversation—and listen in. it's not like they were being quiet in the first place, you couldn't help but hear the words that left their mouths in hushed whispers—though most of it was in a thicker accent than when she spoke to them directly.

“what are you sayin’?!”

“what am i sayin’? what are you sayin’?” he shakes his head with a scoff, throwing a hand back in gesture towards the car, “y’know we can fix the damn car with the tools back in ‘r truck!”

“c’mon, osc, jus’ humor me this once!”

“yer bein’ an idiot, off yer rocker or sumthin’” he shakes his head with his hands on his hips like a disappointed mother as his boot taps against the ground, “yer hopeless.”

lando ignored the last comments from oscar as he walked back towards where you stood as he peeled the gloves from his hands, shoving them into his back pocket once again. he stood before you with his thumbs through his belt loops, looking down at you as he spoke.

he sniffled quietly, his nose scrunching, “we’ll give ya a ride to the next town over, missy,” he nodded his head once, his index finger swiping away the sweat over his top lip.

but before you can respond—tell them that it’s okay, you can sleep in the car—he makes a disapproving noise as he looks towards the sun. your gaze follows his, furrowing your brows as you don't seem to notice what he does.

he shakes his head, inhaling through his teeth, “actually, ‘s gettin’ dark out, darlin’,” he said slowly, gauging your thoughts by the way you react, “next town’s probably quieting down right about now.”

“oh,” you say simply, “well, that's alright, i can just sleep in my car, i guess.”

he dismisses your suggestion, “no need for that, missy. we can set you up at ‘r place?” he offers, an eyebrow raised at the suggestion, sensing the hesitation in your expression and body language.

you shook your head rapidly—they had already took the time to even look at the problem with your car, but now taking up space in their house? you felt like you were being greedy now.

“no, i don’t want to intrude!” you try to decline politely, waving your hands dismissively in front of you, “besides you’ve already helped plenty by even offering to fix my car.”

he chuckles, shaking his head in return, his curls bouncing slightly, “ ‘s no biggie. take yer in ‘r truck,” he nods towards the scuffed up vehicle behind him, “set ya up in ‘r guest room all nice and cozy, have yer car fixed before you even wake up. how’s tha’ sound, darlin’?”

you bite your lip as he looks at you, brow still raised in the question of ‘will you come with us?’ and how can you refuse the nice country boys, with their funny accents and silly words, who just want to get you on your way?

you nod reluctantly—it's not like you didn’t want to go with them, but you still felt like you were being a bit of a leech, “yeah, okay, if it's not too much of a hassle-”

“atta girl!” he smacks a hand down on your shoulder, almost too eagerly as he guides your path towards the passenger side of his beat-up truck. you tense under his hand, glancing back at the car with a frown.

“well, hold on now, lando,” oscar calls out, shaking his head as he mutters something about the eagerness of the man, “she might need to get a few of ‘er things from ‘er car! practically kidnappin’ her with how fast yer tryin’ to stuff her inside!”

lando tsk’s his tongue, pointing a finger in agreement at oscar’s words, “ah, suppose yer right,” he reluctantly drops your hand from your shoulder to let you back to your car. 

you awkwardly shuffle your way to the trunk of your car, acutely aware of their heavy gazes—especially as they studied you.yYou knew they knew you weren’t from around here, that you were not used to being in the weeds as they were and it heated up your cheeks to be so out of place and awkward next to them.

you quickly fill your hands with a small blanket and a change of clothes for the next day before shutting the trunk again, locking the car behind you as you walk back to lando’s side. his hand goes to the small of your back as he convinces you to ride shotgun next to him.

oscar opens his mouth to protest, his hand raised as he’s about to speak when lando feverishly waved his hand next to his neck—cut it out, osc! he could practically hear in his thoughts.

after he had gotten you settled into his car, he handed you his keys to give it a start—it's okay, climb over the center console and put yer foot on the brake to get ‘er started! don't want ya to burn up now!

once again, he grabbed a fist of oscar’s shirt as he tugged him to the side again, glancing back towards the truck as you settled in the seat after starting the car.

“mate, i know what yer doin’,” he spoke in an exasperated tone of disapproval as he too gazed back at the truck.

lando sighed, clambering a hand on his shoulder and massaging the muscle—weirdly enough for oscar to shrug it off with a grimace look of disgust. lando rolls his eyes, his hand falling back down to his side as he huffs out a sigh, “look, i told you-”

“i get it, she’s a pretty thing, but ‘s unnecessary,” he tells him, raising his brows with his head tilted down, “you should’ve jus’ fixed ‘er car and sent ‘er on ‘er way.”

he sniffles, swiping the back of his dirty hand across his nose, “if you don’t want ‘er back at the house, i understand, osc…”

he shakes his head, “it’s not that i don’t want ‘er in ‘r house, i mean she seems like a nice girl, but-” he cuts himself off, pursing his lips as he closes with eyes with a big sigh before looking at lando seriously, “listen, i just don’t want you takin’ advantage of ‘er.”

“y’know me, osc, and you know i won’t.”

“yeah, but that was before i saw you lay yer eyes on her, and saw them bug out of yer damn head.”

“shut up.” he grumbled, rolling his eyes with the shake of his head as he walked back around to the driver’s side door, watching poor oscar who was forced into the backseat of the car because of you—the pretty little thing in their front passenger seat.

the drive back was awkward to say the least. silence hung in the air, the only sound was the heavy hum of the car and the scrape of the tires on the asphalt. you tried to keep your eyes forward, ignoring the man beside you who drove with a single hand on the bottom of the steering wheel. whenever you’d glanced over, you could see the paled skin of his knuckles from his hard grasp on the wheel.

you had to forcibly peel your eyes away from the sight of his hands​​—his dusty sleeves still rolled up to his elbows, which exposed the smeared dirt across his tanned skin from his outside work. you couldn’t see, but a smirk etched its way onto his lips, his thumb swiping across his lips as if to wipe it away before you or oscar would notice.

the truck jostled to the side a bit as the road changed to rough gravel, hearing the crunch under the weight of the car. the house—that you assumed belonged to the two guys—came into view.

your eyes scanned the land—plenty of trees surrounded the property with a few animals here and there, a red barn further back near the edge of the forest, and the house itself. 

you didn't know what to expect when the thought of their house had first crossed your mind—but it hadn’t been too far from what you were seeing. the house looked quaint—a single story with a wrap-around patio, another vehicle parked up outside a good distance away from a red, wood dog house that had a water bowl next to it.

as lando pulled up to the house, parked up next to the other car, he killed the engine before getting out. you swiftly followed by unbuckling your seatbelt as you reached for the door handle, but you were beaten to it by the poor backseat dweller.

you gave him a soft smile—which he returned—muttering a ‘thanks’ as you took the hand he offered as he guided you down from the tall truck. he gave you a nod, dropping your hand as he shut the door behind you before looking over at lando, whose jaw was noticeably clenched. all oscar did was roll his eyes and begin to show you around the property, inviting you into their cozy country home.

lando quickly found himself by your side, gently taking your belongings from your arms with a friendly smile as he interrupted oscar, “ill get you set up in ‘r guest room,” he offered, taking great care in holding your precious belongings, “osc, why don't you go show ‘er them barn cats in the meantime.”

he watched the way your eyes lit up, failing to realize that the smile on his face grew bigger at your reaction—he enjoyed the way the tension slowly filtered from your stance at the thought of seeing some cute cats.

the air had begun to cool now, they had finally finished naming off all the little critters that lived on their property and were now taking you back to their main house for a bite to eat before hitting the hay. you would’ve denied being hungry if it weren’t for your tummy grumbling for nearly ten minutes.

you would’ve denied being hungry if it weren’t for the smell of a nice, home cooked meal that made your mouth water and your tummy growl even most incessantly. it was by far the best meal you had ever eaten in your life, and you started to relax and loosen up a bit more in their presence.

so now you were all sitting around on the couches, one was worn leather and the other some frayed corduroy fabric with several different patches sewn onto it. oscar had his head leaned against the backrest of the leather couch, his cowboy hat over his face and arms over his chest that moved with every soft inhale and exhale. in one of his hands, tucked in his elbow was a green, half drunk beer bottle that was still cold as the condensation dripped down the side.

lando, on the other hand, had taken his spot in the old recliner, a beer also in hand as he sipped causally, eyes glued to the old tv—it still had antennas and you were perplexed on how it still worked. still, you watched whatever old movie lando had claimed was the best movie that had ever existed—it was older than you.

it was late in the evening, the sound of cicadas and other loud insects chirping away as the sun had finally fallen from the sky, painting the sky a dark black with speckled stars. you were confused at first as to why lando had ushered you out onto the porch so late at night, but once you glanced up to the nice sky, it had all made sense.

a view like this was never available to you in the city, but here and now, it was. away from all the light pollution and tall buildings of the city, you stood under the porch, leaning against the white railing in awe at the unfiltered night sky.

lando had smiled at your mumbles, countless words of how pretty, gorgeous and striking the view was, how lucky he was to be able to see this from where they stood. you shook your head in disbelief, “‘s so pretty,” you had mumbled breathlessly, turning your head to find that he hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

he leaned next to you, a beer still in hand—no doubt it wasn’t his first of the night. your arms barely grazed each other, the fabric of his long sleeve against your bare arm sent tingles over your body.

“sure is,” he whispered back, a smug smile tugging at his lips as he glanced appreciatively over the features of your face before tilting his beer bottle towards you. all you did was smile, feeling the heat rush to your face at his incentive—that you were his best view. you hesitantly took the bottle in your hand, swooshing around the liquid before taking a sip.

he chuckled as your face contorted in a grimace, taking the bottle back from you as he watched your reaction with deep enjoyment, “not a fan, eh?” he teased before taking a sip himself.

“definitely not,” you cough out once you managed to get it swallowed, smacking your lips as you still feel the taste on your tongue, “never had been before.”

his brows raised at your admission, “is that so?” he hums, nodding as he looks back over the property, “so what do ya drink?”

you hum, taking a moment to consider before listing off a few fruity cocktails that you had tried during your club outings. you watched the look of confusion come over his face, the sight making you giggle.

“wha’the hell is tha?” he questions, his voice raised an octave.

all you can do is shake your head and laugh as you nudge his shoulder, promising him, “i’ll have to take you to the city someday.”

“yeah, sure ya will.”

instead of responding, you just rolled your eyes and fixed your gaze back at the awe-striking view. you stood contently for a long time before lando had to force you inside to finally get some rest after a long day, muttering promises that your car would be fixed before first light tomorrow.

cock-a-doodle-do!

when the sound reached your ears, you slipped in consciousness, confusion and disbelief as you sat up in the wood-framed bed. you groaned, your shoulders hunched and hair heavily disheveled. you would’ve slept longer if it were for the rooster that had loudly crowed at the crack of dawn. you had hardly believed that it was something that roosters actually do—you were a bit naive. 

you rolled back in bed, shoving a pillow over your head to block out the sounds of incessant crowing until you had fallen back into a light sleep—stupid chicken.

and when you awoke again a couple hours later with a knock to the guest room door, you stirred. again you sat up, groaned at the forceful waking, but this time you stayed up as you called out for whoever knocked to come in.

the door creaked open, and there was oscar, a smile on his slightly sunburned face, as per usual, talking about how there’s some food left over that you can heat up. though, not all the words make it to your sleep-fogged brain so you just hum and nod, adjusting to the bright sun slipping through the curtains.

you sighed when you realized that by now, your car was probably fixed, that this was the last yummy meal cooked by these nice—and strangely attractive—country boys. surprisingly, you felt your heart ache at the thought of leaving. they had been so nice to you, inviting you into their home with nothing, but care and generosity.

but of course, leaving had come all too soon as you were driven back to where your car had broken down—oscar suffering in the backseat after being forced once again to sit back there. being lead to your car with small talk as it sunk in that the pretty little lady who’s car they fixed was now going on her way.

they stood either side of your car, oscar on the passenger side and lando on the driver's side. you had the door propped open, starting the car with a smile on your face, but it quickly turned sad.

as you closed the car door, you rolled down the window to look up at lando as he stood closer, hands in the front pockets of his jeans, a small smile on his lips as he looked down at you. you held out an arm to which he leaned over, allowing you to wrap in around him, his arm snaking around your back. he lightly patted it after a few moments, relishing in the affection before inevitably pulling away.

“thank you again, mr.—” you paused, realizing you hadn’t gotten as acquainted to learn their full names, suddenly feeling a bit red in the face as you blanked.

all lando did was smirk as he leaned against your car door, arm over the window as he bent down to eye level with you. his other hand snaked its way up to the hat that sat atop his head. he revealed the dark curls beneath as he lifted it from his head, situating it on yours the best he could—it wasn’t as secure of a fit on your head compared to his. “norris,” he finished the sentence for you, now holding out his hand for you to shake—which you do—“lando norris. it was nice to meeting ya, darlin’, see ya around.”

—

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proofread by @foreveralbon <333

[monimccoythings]

Feral!Logan drabbles

Oooh finally did it. Couldn't resist to write some silly Feral!Logan drabbles. Wanted to use a pic of Hugh in the first movie but this one was too perfect for what I had in mind. I love this little feral hairy man.

Reader is female.

So Reader is a mutant with light based habilities. She can absorb electricity from devices and machines and turn them into blasts of light (kinda like Starlight from the Boys)

Reader's on the run from the American government, they want to harvest her powers and use them as a way of 'defending' themselves from mutantkind. For the last year she has been running. Right now she has crossed the border and is currently in the middle of a blizzard in the Canadian Rockies.

She's tired, hungry, cold and there's no electrical current in miles, so her powers are basically rendered useless. And they keep chasing. She doesn't know how much longer she's going to last.

Reader can barely see and trips on a branch, knocking herself out.

Feral!Logan has been living in the mountains since he escaped from Weapon X, probably in the 80s. Has no memories, no social knowledge, just survival instincts.

Feral!Logan hates when strangers enter his territory and refuse to leave. Those are his hunting grounds, not theirs. He swiftly disposes of the agents and approaches the unconscious Reader.

He feels a weird tingling on his chest when he sees the pretty human female laying on the snow. His fingers slowly caress her soft features. He decides that moment he must have her.

Believing her to be a mate for him, Feral!Logan carries her back to the cave where he lives, placing her carefully on the pile of furs he has collected from his hunts.

When Reader awakes, she finds herself laying in a makeshift bed of animal fur in some random cave instead of a government jail cell. She immediately panics, not knowing where she is.

She tries to leave, but is stopped by a wild looking man covered in dirt. Taller than her and built like a fridge. He's half naked, his only clothing are two dog tags hanging from his neck and some undergarments that leave little to the imagination.

Under all that dirt there was hairy body rippling with muscles more fitting of a bodybuilder than a man who lived by himself in the mountains. Jeez, you could grate cheese on those abs. Reader can't help staring.

Feral!Logan roughly pushes her back against the furs. One single hand is enough to keep her still, which speaks volumes of the kind of strength he possesses.

The rugged man starts sniffing her everywhere, her neck, her collarbone, he kepts getting lower, grunting approvingly. When he's about to reach that part of her anatomy. She grabs his dishelved hair, trying in vain to keep him away. He looks at her, annoyed at having been denied of his prize; but, surprinsingly, obeys.

From then on, Reader's entire life becomes that cave and her mysterious savior/keeper. He provides her with shelter, warmth, water from a nearby stream and food from his hunts. Feral!Logan wants to prove himself as a worthy partner for her, catering to her needs.

Reader didn't spend most of her childhood summers in camps to eat now raw meat, no matter how little Feral!Logan seems to care about it. So she teaches him how to light a fire the old fashioned way, lamenting she can't use her powers so it'd be easier.

And he freaks out.

After a while he gets used to it, he nearly gives you a heart attack when he touched it and his burnt hand healed almost instantly. He rumbled pleasingly when you held his large hands between yours, marvelled at his healing factor.

At night, they sleep together, in the makeshift bed of animal skins. His arm engulfs her waist, pressing her smaller body towards his powerful chest. It's nearly impossible for her to move away.

Like hell he's going to let her go.

[whitefoxfiction]

Grimmjow… is a cookie thief. Short imagine or scenario. Can be Hueco Mundo, World of the Living or even the Seireitei.

Thanks for the lovely ask! I'm sorry it's taken me so. damn. long! So, it's turned out that Grimm isn't the thief here, but it's Grimmjow smut so I know you won't mind. 😁

Thanks to the wonderful @villainsrtasty for beta reading! @kryptoniteforsale @cloudyempress @darthwhorecrux @whatshernameis @writemessybleach

This is part 1 of 2.

PART TWO HERE! CW: Female!Reader, Grimmjow being Grimmjow, marking/hickies, one or two bites, hand on neck but no actual choking, very light spanking, oral sex-male receiving, vaginal fingering, doggy and missionary sex, cream pie, "claiming" if you squint, pet names (princess/kitten) and one instance of reader getting called "good girl". (This covers both parts of the fic!)

Grimmjow and the Cookie Thief pt 1 (~5.2k words)

You’d been able to see things no one else could since you could remember. After moving to Karakura Town to begin University classes, that skill had gone from fleeting glimpses to a full-blown ability to see the unseen. That’s why, when your upper floor dorm room was rendered uninhabitable by Kurosaki’s fight with a nasty hollow, Kisuke Urahara had been very quick to offer you a part-time job and temporary lodging when it was obvious that a standard Shinigami memory replacement device was not going to work on you. Needless to say, it was proving to be an interesting semester.

“Don’t even think about it, Grimmjow!” Ichigo said, yanking the bag in his hand out of Grimmjow’s reach and shoving the rest of the cookie he was holding into his mouth. “Inooeh made ‘ese ‘er me!”

You snickered as Grimmjow lunged for the small paper bag in Ichigo’s hand and an impromptu game of ‘keep-away’ broke out. You unrolled the top of a similar looking paper bag and inhaled deeply, your eyes rolling back a little as the smell of freshly baked cookies- ordinary double chocolate chunk you were relieved to see- filled your nostrils. You delicately picked one out of the bag as you watched the two men running around Urahara Shōten’s large subterranean training ground like idiots. Your eyes were glued to their shirtless forms as you took a bite of the cookie, half moaning at the taste. “Seems like someone is really enjoying their lunch break,” Your boss’s knowing voice came from over your left shoulder, making you jump. You could hear the smirk in his obnoxiously cheery voice which was made more obnoxious by the way he was now chuckling at you from behind his fan. “Perhaps I should start charging admission.”

“Is that really necessary, Urahara-san? You coulda made me choke, sneaking up on me like that,” you grumbled before taking a drink of water to wash down the bits of cookie trying to stick to your back teeth. You turned your attention back to the blue-haired former Espada. You watched as Grimmjow tackled Ichigo, who had deftly grabbed his last cookie from the bag a split second before Grimmjow shredded it into paper confetti. You took another bite of your cookie, unable to stop the little hum of appreciation and the following sigh of contentment. “Was that in response to the cookie or the Arrancar? I’m guessing the latter could probably get a stronger response,” Urahara murmured from just behind your ear before giggling and side stepping the elbow you threw at him before it could connect with its intended target. You glared at him over your shoulder, shoving the rest of the cookie into your mouth. He just smiled at you from behind his fan with saccharin sweetness… from a safe distance.

“Yeah, well I didn’t really want any of that cookie anyway. The stuff that woman of yours cooks always smells funny,” Grimmjow huffed. You turned back around to see the two men, sweaty and dusty, walking back in your direction. “Hey, watch it, Grimmjow!” Ichigo said sharply. “Say whatever the hell you want about me, but don’t run your mouth about Inoue or I’ll beat your ass again.” “Tch! When d’ya ever ‘beat my ass’?” Grimmjow shot back, then mumbled, “That one time doesn’t count. That bastard Nnoitra decided butt in.” Ichigo just looked at him, brow arched. You pulled the remaining cookie from your bag as they walked up. Grimmjow was giving the treat in your hand the side eye while very much pretending not to as he leaned down a few feet in front of you to pick up his jacket. You took another drink of water, contemplating breaking the cookie in half and offering some to Grimmjow when that damnable shopkeeper spoke up again. “Ah~! Looks like someone is interested  _______-san!” You just rolled your eyes as you swished the water around in your mouth. “If you’d like to eat _______-san’s cookie, I’m sure she would be happy to let you if you ask her nicely, Grimmjow-san!” Urahara called in a too innocent sing-song manner. Your eyes went wide and you clapped your hand over your mouth as you spluttered and coughed, struggling to swallow the rest of the water in your mouth without drowning yourself. Your eyes darted over to Ichigo and Grimmjow. Kurosaki was pulling his shirt on, his face bright red as he tried to look anywhere but at you or the Arrancar. Grimmjow, on the other hand, was now openly staring at the cookie in your hand. You could feel the heat radiating from your cheeks all the way up to the tips of your ears.

“Welp! Lunch break is over!” you announced, a little to loudly, while leaping to your feet and shoving the entire cookie into your mouth and ignoring Grimmjow’s startled ‘What the fuck?!.’ You turned and sprinted for the ladder leading up to the shop, then began to climb like you were being chased by a serial killer. You were about halfway to the top when Grimmjow’s voice floated up to your ears. “Fuckin’ pervert!” This was followed by a very satisfying shriek from your boss.

The sun was just setting when you put the last of the dishes away. It was your night to clean up after supper, much to everyone else’s delight. Kurosaki and Grimmjow had been trying to beat the crap out of each other down in the underground training area for the better part of the evening, but after the incident from a couple of days ago, you steadfastly refused to go watch them no matter how much your boss tried to talk you into it. You dried your hands, then grabbed your water bottle and the little paper sack off the counter and headed to your room. This time, you were going to enjoy the cookies Inoue-san sent for you in peace and quiet.

At least you thought you were. You hadn’t been up there five minutes and there was a very loud knock at the door. You furrowed your brow, scowling at the door as you finished pulling on the little shorts you always slept in. “Just a second!” you hollered, pulling your tee shirt back on as a second volley of impatient knocking rattled your door. Clothing in place, you stomped over to the door and slid it open. “Look, Urahara-tencho, I’ve finished everything, so whatever this is about, it can wait until tomo— Oh!” You interrupted yourself with a surprised yelp as six feet of blue-haired Arrancar muscled his way past you and into your room without preamble or invitation. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, mouth ajar as he stood there, examining your space with interest. His eyes landed on the little bag with the familiar bakery logo and he quickly looked away, shuffling his feet and turning those intense blue eyes on you. “Gr- Grimmjow! Umm… I, ah… Is there something I can, uh, help you with?” you finally managed, your hand still on the open door. “You weren’t there today. Why?” he demanded. Your eyebrows rose in response to his terse question. He’d actually notice your absence? A few little butterflies took wing inside your stomach at the thought, but you firmly ignored them. “I- I had extra things to do today,” you lied, smiling weakly. You could tell by the look on Grimmjow’s face that he wasn’t buying it. “I mean, I have school and today was my day to wash dishes and clean the kitchen and there was stock and—“ Your babbling was cut off by Grimmjow’s towering presence looming over you as he slid the door shut with a clack. You blinked, and your breath caught in your throat at his sudden nearness. You were alone in a room with a being that could end you in less than two seconds and all you could think about was the way he smelled– the scent of his styling products plus something nice that you couldn’t place– and how much you wanted to reach up and touch the markings under his preternaturally blue eyes. He was making it very difficult for you to focus as he stared down at you with one brow cocked, silently calling your bullshit. “Okay, l-look, Grimmjow, I just needed a break. I didn’t feel like being harassed by my boss tonight.” That part was true at least.

“So it ain’t got nothin’ to do with those cookies?” Grimmjow tossed his head in the direction of the bakery bag sitting on your night table. “C-cookies?” you squeaked, a mental picture conjured by Urahara’s perverted sense of humor and Grimmjow’s presence in your bedroom floating to the forefront of your mind unbidden. You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. Other places… not so much.

“Yeah. Cookies,” he said shortly, the tiniest bit of color gracing his cheeks as he remembered Kurosaki’s mumbled explanation of Urahara’s double entendre and why you had seen yourself out so abruptly. “As in those cookies,” he clarified, pointing this time. “You know, the ones ya been stealin’ from me for the last month. “Wait. Wha-? Stealing?!?” He seemed amused rather than angry, and your indignant response only served to widen his cocky smirk.

“Yeah. Stealin’. So I came to take what’s mine.” Grimmjow took a step closer to you, standing so near that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. You took a step back, unsure if it was prompted by fear of the Arrancar or the fear that you might do something stupid, like reach out and run a finger over the scar that disappeared beneath his half zipped top. “Kurosaki’s woman used to bring somethin’ for both of us… ‘til a couple of weeks after you showed up.” “Oh.” You weren’t really sure what to do with that information. “So... you think that I’m taking your cookies?” You scrunched up your nose, feeling that this whole situation was bordering on ridiculous. “But I never really see Inoue-san! She always drops them off with…” You grit your teeth in sudden realization, then looked up at Grimmjow. From the look on his face, he’d come to the same conclusion. “Urahara!” “That pervy bastard!” you both growled in unison. You both looked at one another for a moment, then you sighed heavily and turned to retrieve that bag of cookies. Your fucking boss had been giving you the cookies just to start drama. “I’d like to say I’m shocked by this… but I’m not,” you grumbled. You held your arm out toward Grimmjow, bag in hand. “Here. I’m sorry for the confusion.” “Tch! The fuck you sorry for?” Grimmjow was glaring daggers at the door, his ire clearly reserved for your boss, you were relieved to note. He stopped trying to bore a hole through the walls with his eyes long enough to look down and unroll the top of the sack. There was a look of mild surprise on his face as he fished out two cookies and held them out to you. “There’s four. Here. Take ‘em,” he ordered, practically shoving the chocolatey treats into your hands. The next thing he fished out of the bag was a small piece of paper, a note. Grimmjow squinted at it, then turned it upside down and squinted some more before thrusting the paper into your face. “Read it. I can’t make out that pervy bastard’s handwriting.” In truth, Urahara had very neat, precise handwriting, which meant Grimmjow probably couldn’t read all the kanji. You wisely kept your suspicions to yourself and took the note. “ _____-san~!” you began to read aloud. “By this time I’m sure you have company, so I’ll keep it brief. I normally wouldn’t resort to such trickery”— you snorted at that statement — “but your presence in the training grounds seems to be quite the distraction for Grimmjow-san—“ Your eyes darted up and caught the murderous look on Grimmjow’s face so you quickly continued. “—and I fear that you will strain your eyes during your increasingly long breaks, so I thought it best to arrange for the two of you to have a private meeting so you can...” Your eyes scanned ahead and you stopped reading aloud abruptly, your face going bright pink. “I’m gonna kill ‘im,” Grimmjow growled. “Not if I get to him first,” you ground out between clenched teeth as you tossed the cookies and note onto your nightstand. You stalked past Grimmjow and reached for the door but were brought up short by Grimmjow’s hand wrapping around your arm. “Where the fuck you think you’re goin’?”

“To kill my boss,” you said between clenched teeth. “Okay. Maim. I need the paycheck,” you corrected, pulling against his grip.

The ‘Tch’ was all the warning you got before Grimmjow yanked on your arm, pulling you face first into his chest. For a moment, all you could do was blink in startled astonishment and rub your nose. Your mind immediately noted how solid he was, and how warm, much warmer than you’d expected for some sort of… ghost or spirit or whatever. Your thoughts took a hard right turn toward the gutter, and you could feel the heat creeping into your cheeks. You fervently hoped that they weren’t as pink as you felt like they were because you realized that he was saying something, meaning you had to look him in the face again any second now. “… ‘cause you can see him don’t mean you can take him in a fight, so you let me handle your boss.” Grimmjow’s words carried their typical condescension, but you could swear that his tone was a little protective. You shuffled back a step, mouth half open to protest, but it snapped shut again as your head was tipped back by Grimmjow’s finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Pay attention when I’m talkin’ to you, woman, or I-” Grimmjow arched a brow at you, not bothering to finish his sentence as he studied your face, a wolfish grin breaking out at the sight of your flushed cheeks.

“Heh. What’s a matter? Your face is all red,” he taunted, his voice dropping to a rumbling baritone as he leaned down to put his face closer to yours. “N-nothing’s wrong! Except that you have me by the arm,” you huffed, your face giving Grimmjow the lie by turning a deeper shade of red. You half-heartedly tried to jerk your arm out of his grasp, a futile gesture you knew, but your pride demanded that you at least make a show of it. Truthfully, you really weren’t all that invested in getting away, not that you were going to let him know that. He’d just be an insufferable arrogant ass about it any time you came down to watch him face off with Kurosaki. “You’re a shitty liar, ya know that?” Grimmjow’s grin had expanded into that feral sort of look he got during a spar. You swallowed hard. Part of you knew you should be terrified of that look. However, most of you found it incredibly sexy, and right now all his attention was on you. All your attention was on him, too, and you just couldn’t keep your eyes from dropping to his lips. It was at this point that the absence of his bone mask finally registered. It was a sight you’d never seen before, and you were intrigued. Before you could stop yourself, your hand was halfway to his cheek. You paused, wide eyed and moved to pull your hand away, but Grimmjow had you by the wrist with his other hand before you could. “Gigai,” Grimmjow said in response to your unspoken question. He walked around you, easily turning you with him. “But forget about that. Now tell me, what should I do with a little thief like you, hn?” His voice carried a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. Grimmjow leaned down a little more, his brilliant blue eyes boring into yours. “Th-thief?! What do you mean, ‘thief’?!” You protested, your indignant words coming out in a much higher pitch than you would’ve liked. You tried to lean away from him, but only succeeded in losing your balance so that Grimmjow was holding you upright by your arm and your opposite wrist. You didn’t even realize he had been walking you backward until your calf hit the mattress as you stepped back to try and catch yourself. You didn’t think your eyes could go any wider, but they did.

“I mean, I think I deserve a little something to make up for all the cookies you stole over the last few weeks.” His smirk made you want to slap him. Or kiss him. Or both. Definitely both.

 “That wasn’t my fault and you know it!” you shot back instead, turning your head to the side and tilting your chin in a dismissive manner. “Besides, I’ve watched you try to steal Ichigo’s cookies for the last three weeks, so isn’t that a little hypocritical?” “Pfft. I definitely do not want Kurosaki’s ‘cookie.’” Despite what you might say about Urahara, you couldn’t deny that there was a part of your mind that lived in the gutter. You didn’t even try to hide your snicker at Grimmjow’s comment.

“You sure about that? Not that Kurosaki-san has a cookie for you…”

“Oi! Your as bad as that fuckin’ boss of yours, ain’t ya,” Grimmjow growled, now completely up in your face. You had nowhere to go unless you wanted to end up flat on your back on the bed. ‘Might not be so bad…’ the dirty part of your mind suggested helpfully.

“Ya know… that might not be such a bad trade, a cookie for some cookies,” Grimmjow said as if reading your thoughts. He was openly leering at you now.

“I- What?!?” you squeaked.

“Ain’t like I don’t see the way you watch me.” Grimmjow smirked down at you.

“O-of course I watch the fights! It-it’s like… li-like free pay-per-view!” you stammered, too flustered to come up with anything better. Grimmjow obviously wasn’t buying it because his smirk only grew wider.

“Well I sure as fuck don’t see you drooling over Kurosaki.”

“Of course I don’t! He has a girlfriend!” You belatedly realized that you only denied ogling Kurosaki when Grimmjow leaned down to chuckle right next to your ear. Your traitorous body shuddered visibly at the feel of his breath ghosting over the side of your neck. “Heh. I think you’d like that trade more than you’re willin’ to admit,” he whispered in a velvety sort of tone, one that you had never heard from him before. Hell, you didn’t think Grimmjow had it in him to be that… smooth. That was probably why your breath hitched when his hand slid over your shoulder and up your spine until he had a firm grip around the nape of your neck. “Gr-Grimmjow?” You could feel his nose brush your temple as he inhaled your scent. “Holy fuck. You’re fucking serious aren’t you…” you blurted out in disbelief.

“The fuck? You think I wasn’t?”

You didn’t have a chance to answer his question before his mouth was fastened to yours in a demanding kiss that left no doubt about the sincerity of his ‘offer’. Your gasp of surprise left Grimmjow the perfect opening to slide his tongue between your parted lips, his fingers tangling in the back of your hair to tug your head back to a more favorable angle. At first, you couldn’t do anything but let Grimmjow kiss you, but once the shock wore off, you found yourself giving back as good as you got. By the time he was done kissing you breathless, you had one hand under the collar of his jacket, holding onto his shoulder for balance and the other around his waist, fingers splayed out over his back. You felt Grimmjow twitch, like a cat who was getting a good scratch down its spine, and it dawned on you that your hand was over the spot his hollow hole would be if he weren’t in the gigai. With a wicked grin, you flexed your fingers to see if that would get the same result. “Dammit, woman!” Grimmjow growled. Oh! That was certainly a nice response! You did it again, but that was one time too many apparently. Before you could blink, you were on your way down to meet your mattress with Grimmjow looming over you, his knee between yours on the edge of the bed.

“Yes or no?” Grimmjow demanded, “Better tell me ’cause you keep doing shit like that, I’m gonna take it as a yes.” “Yes or…? Oooh. Right. A cookie for cookies,” you breathed. ‘Holy shit… is this really happening?’ you thought. Your mind was reeling. ‘Yep, it’s happening... Say something to him, dammit! Don’t blow it!’ You gave yourself a mental shove, then with the most innocent face you could muster, you let your fingers trail down his spine again. “You mean ‘that shit’?” Your cheekiness prompted Grimmjow to pin your wrists over your head in one of his hands. “Okay, Okay! Yes! Deal!” you hastily consented. “Good girl,” Grimmjow practically purred, nipping at your ear. He continued his way down, lips and tongue and teeth teasing the side of your neck until he reached your collarbone. There, he let his teeth scrape along the sensitive skin before sucking on the spot hard enough that you knew it was going to leave a very obvious bruise. “Ow! What the fuck, Grimmjow?!” you yelped. He chuckled darkly and tugged on the neckline of your shirt to work his way along more of your collarbone, not bothering to give you any other response. He left a few more love bites along the way, but always soothed them with his tongue before moving along. The gentleness of the gesture caught you off guard the first time, making your breath hitch in an embarrassingly loud fashion. You waited for the inevitable teasing from Grimmjow… but it never came, only a low sort of rumble as he reached the limit of how far your tee shirt would stretch. “This one of your favorite shirts or anything?” Grimmjow asked. The sudden questions made you blink. Why the hell was he concerned about your fashion sense now, of all times? “Huh? I mean, not real— Wait! No, Grimmjow don—“ The small part of your brain that was not yet occupied with Grimmjow finally caught up with the situation, but it was too late. The sound of ripping cloth drowned out your strangled cry of protest as he stuck the hem of your shirt between his teeth then used his free hand to give it a good yank, ripping it all the way up to the collar. With a feral grin, he leaned down and caught the collar of your ruined shirt in his teeth and popped it apart the same way. “Was that really necessary?!” you almost shrieked, more from shock than any real outrage. “You tell me,” Grimmjow murmured smugly, his lips already against your neck. He worked his way down and across your other collarbone, leaving patches of colorful flesh to match the other side. By the time he reached your shoulder, you were struggling in his grasp, unable to hold still and unable to completely stifle the little whimpers he drew from you with every new mark he left on our skin. “Hmm, not bad.” Grimmjow smirked as he leaned back to admire his handiwork. You took a look at yourself and groaned. “Grimmjow!” you whined. “My pervy boss is never gonna let me live this down!” You got no sympathy from him; he thought it was funny as hell. “Not my problem,” he said dismissively, reaching down to give your nipple a pinch through your bra. You yelped, and Grimmjow grinned wider. You had a feeling that you’d be making that noise a lot and were immediately proven right as your other nipple got equal attention.

“Who taught you to treat a lady like that?!”

Again, Grimmjow only chuckled at your indignant squawking. “Good thing you ain’t a lady. And don’t gimme that look. You got a mouth on you to put Kurosaki to shame,” he pointed out, running a finger under the edge of your bra. The bra did happen to be a favorite. “Don’t you fucking dare Grimmjow! That one is expensive!” you barked, trying to spare any more of your clothing from getting shredded. “The clasp is right there in the front. Here. Just let go of my hands and I’ll get it,” you offered, wanting the use of your hands, not just to save your bra from becoming a pile of scraps, but also to peel him out of his jacket.

“Nice try sweetheart,” Grimmjow practically purred, his grip on your wrists tightening fractionally. Well, at least he popped the closure of your bra open instead of tearing through it. One out of two wasn’t bad, you supposed. Worries about your bra or the use of your hands or anything else were shoved straight out of your head as Grimmjow wasted no time in reaching up to palm one of your breasts, giving it a firm squeeze. “Oh shit!” The word slipped out before you could check yourself and Grimmjow arched a brow at you, his trademark smirk still plastered on his face. “Like that, do ya?” he asked smuggly. “Ya ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” With that, Grimmjow let his head drop to your chest, his mouth closing over the tip of your other breast with a single hard suck before he began teasing the hardened peak with his tongue. His hand left off its soft massaging in favor of using his fingers to torment your other nipple, alternating between circling it with the calloused pad of his thumb and rolling it between thumb and forefinger. He mirrored these motions with his mouth, licking and sucking with the occasional scrape of teeth and a corresponding sharp pinch to match. You seriously wished you had an arm free to throw across your face because there was no keeping your mouth closed around the clipped moans and soft gasps you were making. You squirmed under him, pulling against his hold on your wrists again with no better luck this time than the last. “Ah! You could at least… mmnh!... take off some clothes,” you whined between the naughty little noises you were trying to hold back. Grimmjow lifted his head to look you in the eyes, snickering openly as he leered at you.

“Hmn. Somebody’s soundin’ a little desperate.” His tone had a mocking edge that made you want to slap him. You tugged against his grip on your wrists on reflex and his grin widened.

“Bastard,” you huffed under your breath, jaw clenched in frustration. His grin widened when your words were followed by a sharp intake of breath as he gave your pebbled nipple a hard pinch.

Grimmjow leaned in, his lips brushing your ear, his voice dropping half an octave as he practically purred, “Aww, what’s wrong, kitten? Mad that you can’t use those claws of yours?” He squeezed your wrists just enough to make his point; he was the one in control. “Hmn. Might be more fun to let ya.”

With that, he went after your neck again, but this time he was less interested in marking you up and more interested in working his way back down your body with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, stopping to lick the curve of your breast before lifting his head again just long enough to shoot you another one of his trademark smug smiles.

Grimmjow knew exactly what he was doing to you as he dropped his head and latched on to your other nipple, sucking hard before swirling his tongue around it. Your back arched off the bed in a manner he found most satisfying, for all that you were trying to act unaffected. The feel of him lapping at your already over sensitized nipple wrung a high-pitched whine out of you that you couldn’t quite repress. This turned into a gasp as his hand followed the line of your ribs, warm palm caressing your belly with a gentleness that surprised you as it dropped lower. Then his fingers curled under the waistband of your little pajama shorts and he gave them a sharp yank, pulling them down to your knees without even lifting you up. So much for gentleness.

You watched the expression on Grimmjow’s face change as he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes glued to the damp spot on your panties. He took a long, slow breath through his nose, and his entire expression shifted to something less smug and more… hungry.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. You followed his line of sight and felt yourself turning a nice shade of tomato red, but that didn’t keep a smug grin of your own from creeping onto your face. Before he could get his hand back to its intended destination, you took advantage of his moment of distraction to plant both of your feet squarely in the middle of his chest. “The hell, woman!” he growled, clearly not happy about being blocked from his next meal. “Ditch some clothes,” you insisted defiantly, despite Grimmjow still pinning your wrists firmly to the mattress. You toed the zipper on the front of his outfit. “Oh, come on!” You cringed inwardly at the whine in your words, but went on anyway. “If I’m giving up my… uh, cookie, the least you could do is give me something nice to look at!” “Tch! You sayin’ I’m not nice to look at like this?” he goaded, making a grab for your ankles with his free hand. You were just quick enough that he could only grab one of your feet. If he wanted the other one, he would have to let go of your wrists. You ignored his attempt to ruffle your feathers and gave him a lazy smile as you ran a foot over his abs lightly, right where his hollow hole was when he was out of his gigai, never mind that teasing him like that is what had gotten your arms pinned over your head in the first place. “Dammit, woman!” Grimmjow growled, trying to evade your touch, but he couldn’t exactly get out of your reach without letting go of you, and he wasn’t ready to admit defeat. You weren’t sure if you were brave or just stupid to taunt an arrancar this way, but in the moment it hardly mattered. You ran your foot over his abs again, this time bringing it all the way back to the center of his chest where you once again poked at the zipper with your toe. “Please?” You pasted on a doe-eyed expression. “I promise I’ll be good,” you added in a sugary whisper, leaving it open to interpretation whether you were referring to behaving well… or performing well. Grimmjow snorted. “I bet you will.”

PART TWO!

[nowimjustastranger]

StCMO Lore | Part 2

I changed Watchdog Ford's motivation for going into the multiverse and I think this narrative is far more fitting, with the added benefit of being angsty as all hell.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Stanford Pines began his obsessive search for a solution soon after, determined to undo what had been done. But Death could not be reversed, nor could it be threatened or bribed. So Stanley Pines remained in Death’s tender embrace and, in his growing desperation, Stanford Pines began to explore other means of getting his brother back.

He left no stone unturned and eventually stumbled across the multiverse theory. A theory which suggests that our universe is not the only one, and that there may be countless other universes existing alongside it, each potentially with its own laws of physics and properties, essentially creating a "multiverse" where our universe is just one part of a much larger cosmic structure.

An idea began to form.

After getting his first PhD in evolutionary biology, Stanford Pines immediately pursued a degree in physics. In the meantime, Fiddleford found a job and bought an apartment near campus so he could look after Ford, who had begun to neglect both his health and hygiene in favor of pouring all his time and attention into turning his idea into reality.

When Stanford graduated early yet again, they moved to Gravity Falls together, where the barrier between Dimensions was weaker, and began to build a portal that could tear a hole between the two. Fiddleford was reluctant, suspecting that Stanford’s intentions were far from innocent or scientific in nature. But Stanford would do it with or without him, so Fiddleford assisted in order to keep him from working himself to death.

Ford also had a side project that he had started working on in college, his premonitions and sensitivity to changes in the universe leading him to experiment with harnessing those frequencies and applying them to his ability to see glimpses of the future in an unconscious state, increasing their strength with an amplifier so he could see into the future whenever and wherever he pleased.

He very nearly rendered himself braindead on multiple occasions.

When Fiddleford found out about Project Prescience, by quite literally walking in on one of Stanford’s tests, he aided Stanford in repurposing a biker helmet in order to implant the amplifier and external neural connectors into the frame. Once activated with a press of a discrete button on the side of the helmet, the system amplified Stanford’s premonitions to visions of future pathways.

Refining the tech takes Stanford and Fiddleford four years, but it’s ready by the time the portal is finished. They test it before Stanford gears up to go through, successfully entering the multiverse in an alternate dimension identical to his own except Gravity Fall was never founded. He stands in the middle of a forest where the Shack would’ve been, using the built-in communication device in his helmet to keep Fiddleford updated.

Stanford returns to his dimension and they shut down the portal, working on a way to shield their dimension from outside forces. Stanford designs a strong spell using unicorn hair to erect a barrier around their dimension, as well as performing a ritual on himself so he can come and go from his dimension as he pleases.

Also, Stanford convinces Fiddleford to build the memory gun by arguing that he could remain anonymous by using it on anyone who discovered his true identity. Unfortunately, Stanford intends to go behind Fiddleford’s back and use it to steal a Stanley from another Dimension. The memory gun still has an addictive quality, but only when it's used on the same person several times, but Stanford usually only has to use it on someone once.

[kagamisatelier]

❤️ Drew Mita from MiSide for this year's first illustration, lol. I watched the full gameplay recently (I'm broke as hell ok) and LOVED the storyline and the visuals!!! Also, I got a new tablet recently, one with an actual stylus, so I figured it'd be perfect to test out my device by drawing her.

Y'all I swear I literally felt like Sonic while drawing. Could feel myself ascending to another level 💀 My productivity and pace increased a TON, like, I rendered the hair AND clothes in one day. EXCUSE ME, I'VE NEVER BEEN THAT FAST BEFORE??? Bye bye, my tiny ass phone! I won't miss the days where I got neck and wrist pain from drawing with my finger on a 6 inch screen all day.

[bananafire11]

What’s your favorite Piece of art you’ve ever made and why

(😺Genuinely curious)

It is impossible for me to narrow it down to one drawing so i've picked a few out. Old art warning

ARTISTIC NUDITY AHEAD.

^ even now im rlly proud of this one. This is over a year old, but i think the simpleness of the piece makes it very impactful

^ my first full piece on my new ipad(Which isnt new anymore but it was then)! This was my first time using a reliable pen and a device that wasnt laggy as all hell

^ still rlly proud of the posing on this one as well as all the smokey effects. This was my gateway to using tools more. Can u tell what my fav color is /silly

^ this one was a very out of the blue decision to try a background. Its not amazing but i remember being sooo proud of the glass shards and the characters themselves

^ my first artfight attack for last year!!! This was for my awesome friend @visarray because i wouldn't be here if it weren't for her. She was and still is a big inspiration for me, so ofc i had to hit her hardest (it's tradition /silly)

^ this was me going CRAZY with the watercolor brush. I also had fun with all the colors, a more monochromatic piece. Oh, and it's Daryl. I don't draw him much anymore :[

^ mooore painting! Im very happy with the glossy sheen on this one, and i was also testing out new brushes. This is my oc, Moonstone. I need to revisit her

^ its the boooy. I had a lot of fun with the background on this one, as well as the coloring in general. Played with filters a lot

^ first time trying artistic nudity! The pose and overall anatomy is something im still very proud of, as well as the colors and background. It itches my brain and was a fuck ton of fun to draw. Character belongs to Demonieux on instagram

^ and last but not least, this one. I saw the idea on twitter and ran with it, im rlly happy with the rendering and pose as well as the doodles in the background

[incorrecthatchetfield]

Prof. Hidgens: Ted a word with you real quick. This morning I returned to my lab to find you and your brother had destroyed my new invention!

Ted: Yeah, Pete wanted to leave a note but I was all like "He'll know it was us." Look I am sorry and understand if you're mad.

Prof. Hidgens: I am very mad but also concerned.

Ted: Why? Emma got blasted by it and was fine.

Prof. Hidgens: You see when Emma was hit, the device was sent at two. You guys were blasted at four . . . hundred. At that energy level there's no telling what could have happened. You guys could have been sent to another dimension or traveled through time. Hell it could have rendered you two invisible.

*Ted licks his finger and lifts it to Hidgen's ear*

Prof. Hidgens: You're not invisible.

[bee-sidebranch]

Trying to find a better way for me to use my traditional inking in my pieces, i can't be bothered to go through the hell that is scanning the images and running them through three different devices via cable.

I'm not happy with how the piece turned out but tbf i barely rendered it.

the characters with the * do not belong to me

*1 belongs to Ohmanit

*2 belongs to PrismSoup

*3 belongs to druidshollow

[heartthumpnovel]

Jason Gets Sued. [April Fools]

CW: Lots of swearing. Everything had been almost perfect for Jason Anderson.

Once he’d been revealed to the world at large and he hadn’t been thrown into some government facility for the rest of his life. Hell, he even managed to smooth things over with Natasha and she seemed completely fine with the whole giant thing. Things seemed to be falling into their place and maybe, the curse could be bearable. 

Just one thing; a rather thick folder that contained scathing court summons was shoved into his hands when he dared to go out for a morning coffee.

“Wh-what do you mean I’m being sued!?” balked Jason as he shot up from his chair, sending his americano over the edge of the table, staring bug-eyed at the cop who handed him the papers who just carelessly shrugged at him. 

“Look man I’m just the messenger,” the cop said as he turned to walk away with a doughnut shoved in his mouth, “Your court date is tomorrow, don’t be late.” “W-wait but I didn't…” Jason wasn’t allowed to finish as the officer just disappeared into the sidewalk. Left to his own devices, Jason looked back down at the bridge envelope that had been stuffed to its limit. He gingerly picked it up and fiddled with the clasp, surely there’d had been a misunderstanding of some sort. Nobody would have enough gall to sue him? A giant? Right?

Right? He pulled open the cover page of the summons that had been carelessly tossed his way, his eyes swallowing every word. At first he didn’t quite understand what the situation this case was referring to; he’d shown the utmost care to not stepping on anybody’s personal vehicle, especially since the minivan incident… Oh. It had seemed the old woman whose car had gotten smashed from a mix of his inebriation from one glass of wine and a brand new super-power he’d had no idea about, had just found out who’d been responsible for it. Jason gripped the paper as he slouched back down into his chair. Eyes glazed over after reading the cost of the damages.

He needed a lawyer ASAP.

~~~

“Please rise,” The bailiff spoke to the crowded and lively courtroom, “The Court of King County, Civil Division, is now in session, the Honorable Judge Wallace Wens-Leedail presiding.”

The judge, who seemed to be having a fantastic time drifting into space, snapped out of whatever thought he was batting around in his brain and dropped the mallet. “Ah? Oh- yes! Ahem,” he said, “Everyone but the jury may be seated. Bailiff, would you do me a favour and swear in the jury?”

Jason, shaking like a leaf from all the eyes glued onto him, did his best to sit down without toppling the chair over. He wasn’t even tall at the moment but good god he found it hard to not be clumsy from the stress closing in on him. He couldn’t erase that haunting glare the older woman had given him when they first came into the courthouse. Thoughts of just getting up and making a run for it were tempting, though it seemed like his lawyer had just about read his mind.

“Wipe that guilty look off of your face Anderson,” Paula Bonhomme bluntly said as she was busy looking at her nails, “That’s not going to help us win this case is it?” He was lucky to find a lawyer on short notice, though his pickings were definitely slim. What he was left with was someone with a slick haircut, tacky suit, and a very loose definition of ethics. Though to be frank, she was better than no one he’d supposed.

“I know Miss, but- agh!” Jason tried to speak, though was silenced by a jab to his toes. The lawyer put a finger on her lips as a reminder to let her do all the talking. “Please raise your right hand,” The bailiff said towards the jury, “Do you solemnly swear that you will truly listen to this case and render a true verdict and a fair sentence as to this defendant?” He was met with several nods and ‘I do’s. “You may be seated.” Bailiff finished, returning to their place beside the judge.

“Alright members of the jury! Today your duty is going to be deciding whether or not Mr. Anderson here is guilty or innocent wait hold on that’s not right… Oh! if he owes money to the prosecution! Which is based only on facts and evidence provided in this case,” the judge rambled before speaking to the Bailiff with a tone as though he was asking how his day went, “Alright George, what is today’s case?” With a woeful sigh, the bailiff lamented, “Today’s case is Howard vs Anderson your honour.” “Okie dokie, is the prosecution ready?” The judge chirped.

“Yes, your honour,” the nicely suited man spoke as he stood before the court, seemingly unperturbed by the boiling older woman behind him. 

“Oh goodie! Is the defense ready?” The Judge turned to look at the defendant with his head hitting the table and his defense lawyer pulling herself up from leaning in her chair. “Yeah, I guess so your honor.”

~~~

“Your honor, members of the jury, my name is Dillon Dodman and my co-council and I are representing Marva Howard,” The prosecutor spoke at the stand, “We intend to prove that Jason Anderson is not only solely responsible for destroying her 1994 Hayashi Iliad and must pay damages in full.”

Just like that, the lawyer stepped off of the podium. To Jason, he seemed to actually be doing things by the book and was the most normal person involved. It’s a shame that he was the one trying to convict him. He looked over at his lawyer, who was flipping through a document and chewing down on a stick of nicotine gum. Jason cleared his throat when the long pause in the courtroom became unbearable.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Said Paula just about too loudly as she stood up and sauntered to the podium. “Right your honor, name’s Paula Bonhomme and I’m here to rebuke all these claims against my client, Jason Anderson,” Paula spoke rather confidently to the court while still smacking on the gum in her mouth, “Sooo yeah, he’s not guilty.” And just like that, she stepped off the podium and returned to his side. Jason tried to keep a straight face through whatever that was, though he found it difficult. He could hear snickering from the court’s audience behind them and he wanted to do nothing but just sink into the floor. He once again, covered his face with his fingers and prayed to whoever was listening in that he’d love to have the ability to shrink to the size of an atom right then. 

He was brought out of the void of despair by a not-so-subtle shove on the shoulder, Jason looked back up and noticed the woman who he’d had wrong all the time ago was standing at the podium. While he didn’t get the best look at her way back when, he certainly remembered her tears and her curly grey hair being pushed up by a hairpin. Oddly enough she was dressed in all funeral black and for once, was not giving him a death glare, only wiping her tears with a handkerchief as she was questioned by her lawyer.

“Please state your name for the court,” said Dodman as he nodded gently to her.

“Marva Howard sir…” she mumbled, sniffing as she put her handkerchief into her front pocket.

“Alright Marva, when you walked out to your car on the morning of November 6th at around 8:20 AM,” Said Dillon Dodman as he paced around the court floor, “You found your vehicle to have suffered from severe damage, am I correct?”

“Y-yes sir,” She responded, “My poor little Betty was MURDERED at night! All crumpled up like a stepped-on BUG!”

“Al-alright Ma’am let’s settle down now…” The judge spoke meekly  as if he wasn’t the authority in charge.

“Ahem, well… Ms. Howard,” The lawyer continued his questions despite the outburst, “I would like to bring up this photo from discovery.” He then gestured at the people manning the television that had been sitting in the corner of the room. In one moment, it displayed the carnage of what was left of the vehicle during that fateful day. “Can you confirm that the wreckage of the car in this image belongs to you?” The layer asked over the gasps of the crowd. The woman responded with a sharp wail and nodded furiously, “YES! THAT IS GORE OF MY COMFORT CAR!” Tears poured forth, if she was playing up the act to get the judge to agree with her, she was doing a phenomenal performance. Even Jason was on the brink of just admitting he did it and doing everything he could to make things right.

That thought was quickly revised as the lawyer asked about the approximate costs of the damages she had to pay out of pocket for when her insurance didn’t cover the expenses. 

“O-oh it was quite expensive,” the woman said, “I-I would need about fifty thousand dollars to get a replacement, and for my therapy bills… ”

All of a sudden, he didn’t feel quite as guilty. Jason didn’t even think he had that much amount of money all at once and he had considered himself very frugal. Surely this has to be an overestimate she had made up to-

"You're not the only one who came up with such a number. If you refer to these, your honor," the lawyer said as he dramatically handed a folder to the judge, "A quote from Miss Howard's car dealership, her mechanic, and bills from her therapist's office."

In turn, the judge fumbled with the papers and his eyes widened. “Oh oh crumbs, these look rather nasty,” he mumbled a bit too loud for comfort.

“Thank you, Your Honor, no further questions,” her lawyer stated, turning to give a smirk at Paula. In retribution, Paula rolled her eyes as she stood up as it was her turn to start asking questions. “Hey lady,” Paula spoke in a very uncaring manner as she approached the witness stand, “What makes you think that Jason Anderson was responsible for the damage? You were not there at the time when the car was crushed, correct?” Taken aback by the audacity, the woman gasped, “Why I never!” the lady said, “You shouldn’t speak to victims of a horrific crime like that!” “Please answer the question, Howard,” Paula insisted. “I-I mean I wasn’t there when it happened, but who else could have-” 

“Didn’t ask for names to blame lady, just that you weren’t there at the alleged crime and can’t say for sure if Mr. Anderson was there that night.” Paula said, pointing a finger at the lady’s face before turning around on her heels. “That’ll be all your honor,” she stated as she went to sit back down. “Right uh- uhm you- you may step down,” the judge said as he scratched his bald head in confusion.

Unfortunately, the internal cringe was not yet over for Jason. “Prosecution, you may call your second witness!” the judge declared. The prosecution turned to look Jason right in the eyes with a small smirk on his face. “Thank you, your Honor, I call to the stand Jason Anderson himself,” Dodman said. Fantastic. 

Before he got up, a hand pushed on his shoulder and he heard his lawyer whisper in his ear; “Whatever you do, keep your head down and don’t look at the pews, got that?” Paula whispered before she sat back down.

Jason didn’t even get the chance to question her, even if she wasn’t exactly the defender he wanted, she was all that he had. Following the order of the court, he dragged his feet to the stand while keeping his gaze to his shaking hands, which were trying to embrace each other for comfort.

“Goodie, now George could you do us a favour and swear him in?” the judge asked the bailiff who seemed to share Jason’s feelings at that moment.

“Ugh, please raise your right hand,” the Bailiff prompted Jason, who had followed the request, “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” “I-I do sir,” Jason mumbled out, “Nothing but the truth.” After what felt like forever, Jason finally took his eyes off of his hands and towards the prosecuting lawyer who had snapped his fingers in his face. With an unnaturally calm demeanor, Dodman asked, “Could you please state your name for the court?” 

“J-Jason Anderson.” He spoke as if he was going to choke on his own words, his mind just trying to keep itself stable. He wasn’t even into the actual examination part yet and his vision was already getting clouded.

The lawyer, knowing his distress or not, went on a head with the examination as planned. He raised a remote in his hand and changed the tv’s screen to display a rideshare report.

“On the night of November 5th, at 7:35pm, you were being driven home from a work party and were dropped off at the corner of 5th Ave and Harrison Street. Would that be correct?” Dodman asked while pointing at the report, showing that Jason had been kicked out of the car for ‘making the driver feel unsafe’. While Jason didn’t quite remember that night, he was lucky he could recall a few snippets and piece together stories from his friends. Though what he did manage to remember was that he didn’t intend on making the driver feel unsafe, it was just unfortunate timing as his fried brain was remembering how sweet Natasha was for calling a ride for him. That being said, this report was definitely painting him in a very bad light without context.

“I-I mean I think I was kicked out of the rideshare car at some point in the night yes,” Jason clarified, “But just for the record; I didn’t mean to frighten the poor driver! I think my heart was racing and...” “So you can confirm that you were also growing taller during that evening then?” the lawyer intercepted Jason.

“I-I uh...” Jason croaked, his face ran pale as he saw Paula shaking her head with a death glare, mouthing the words ‘shut the fuck up’. Though he couldn’t exactly lie on the stand right?  “Well uhm, possibly? I actually can’t really recall much from that evening to be honest…” Jason confessed.

“Interesting,” Dobson said as he clicked on the remote again, the TV this time showed the destroyed remains of the car with a wider angle. “Jason, were you wearing oxford shoes on the night of the incident?” “Uh, yes?” Jason answered with his head tilted, confused why on earth that had to be relevant to the case.

“To be more specific, were they Cole Haan men's hawthorne plain toe oxfords size eight?”

“Regrettably yes,” Jason sighed, “Those were my nicest ones- wait hold on, why is my choice of footwear at all relevant to this?” “Mister Anderson,” the bailiff said, “You are not the one who needs to be asking questions right now.”

“Oh- sorry,” Jason murmured.

“It was not a bad question Mr. Anderson,” Dodman continued as he pointed at the wreckage at the car in the photo, “Do your oxfords match the shape of the damage done to the car?”

“Of course not, I lost my shoe before I stepped on-” Jason gasped and tried to close his mouth, but it was already too late. The court went silent just like the ocean pulling back before a tsunami hit.

“You BASTARD!” screeched Marva. Tears ruined her mascara and the only thing that kept her hands away from Jason’s throat was her counsel holding her back. Talk erupted in the courthouse hall and the only thing that managed to quell the chaos was the judge’s hammer hitting the podium. “ORDER! ORDER IN THE COURT PLEASE!” the judge called out, letting the conversations in the room patter out until it was quiet once again, despite the prosecution team trying to calm down an unconsolable Marva. The judge frowned, “Res ipsa doozy, innit?” he said as he turned to Dodman, “Is there anything else the prosecution would like to ask before the defense can cross-examine him?”

Dodman grinned like a cat catching the canary, “Thank you, Your Honor, no further questions.”

If Jason wasn’t shaking before, he was now buckling at the knees. It was a miracle he didn’t pass out there and then. He couldn’t even believe himself that he’d let a confession slip. Wasn’t he supposed to be good at not letting other people take a peek inside his head? Perhaps being an obvious giant for so long had ruined his ability to white lie out of trouble. Now everyone knew how much of an irresponsible monster he really is and he was going to be in debt for the entirety of his life. He was going to have to work overtime, if he wasn’t fired for this first. Worse yet; he might have to take up on Motor’s suggestion on starring in fetish content to pay it off.

Tears clouded his vision as they dropped onto the witness stand, the horror was seeping in and he just felt like maybe the risk of being arrested for running away from his court hearing might be worth it. “Pst!” Jason jerked his head up to see Paula right in front of him, whispering, “Do not fucking elaborate if you want me to get you out of this.”

Being as frightened as he is, he just nodded his head. He felt something soft being pushed into his hand. Jason looked down and saw it was a tissue that she had shoved his way. Before he could thank her for the gesture, Paula was already on the move. “Alright, Mr. Anderson,” she began to ask her questions with a hand in her pocket, “Could you tell the court exactly how your heart condition operates?” And she really did ask him to not elaborate on that? She truly wasn’t going to make this easy for him is she? “W-well, Everytime my heart races with love I get taller.” Jason answered, completely unsure where she could be going with this. “Interesting,” Paula spoke, taking out the folder she had been flipping through, “Before you took the rideshare home, can you personally recall anything that had transpired?” “Well I-, Ahem,” Jason caught himself as he whipped away his tears, “I do not remember.”

“Absolutely nothing?” Paula reiterated. “Erm, no, well actually… Uh… Mostly not.” 

“Could it be due to the lighting strike you have suffered from according to these doctor evaluations for the injury you sustained at Walnut Acres Golf Course?” Paula asked, pulling out the paperwork before and handed copies to Jason, the judge and jury. “Yes, that did happen to me that night ma’am.”

“And did you have this growth ailment before the lighting?” “Definitely not.”

“When were you made aware of your unnatural heart condition?” “The day after.”

With that, Paula turned to the Judge with a certain nod, “Thanks, Your Honor, no further questions.”

~~~

“That was surely a long and eye opening witness examination wasn’t it?” the Judge declared, “Now that both the prosecution and the defense have now rested their cases, The attorneys will now present their final arguments, Prosecution, you may begin.”

Dodman stood from the prosecution table and began to speak with full confidence, “Thank you, Your Honor, Members of the jury, today you have heard testimony about today’s case involving Miss Howard’s 1994 Hayashi Iliad being totaled by the accused, I would like to remind you of some important information that you should consider in your decision; Jason Anderson had been at the scene the night of the crime, the evidence proving that it was a foot fall that caused the damages, and that Anderson himself confessed to the act.”

He then gave a very polite smile, which didn’t exactly match the gravity of the words he spoke, “Please find the defendant, Jason Anderson guilty of criminal negligence and have him reimburse all damages and costs that Marva Howard had to pay for.”

This was the end of the line.

Jason didn’t even bother moving hands away from his eyes, it was completely over for him. Though in the end he did have to take responsibility for his actions even if he couldn’t help it. Prepared for the worst, Jason just waited for the jury to indict him.

“Your Honor, And Jury, my client Mr. Anderson is not at fault here,” his lawyer’s voice confidently spoke. He nearly got whiplash when he shot up to stare bug bugged at Paula, who was now standing in front of the judge. No sign of worry was upon her face and her poise had straightened.

“According to the documents, Mr. Anderson was not in a sound state of mind that night due to the injury he had suffered not even a half hour before the incident allegedly took place,” Paula stated as her fiery gaze locked onto the jury, “He was in a diminished capacity, there’s no rationalizing what happened as being of his own volition! Not only that, but there’s another thing to consider; his sudden growth was inexplicable, unforeseeable, and completely out of his control.” Paula glared at the prosecution table. “You can’t expect an average human being, let alone one that got his brains fried by a lightning strike, to figure out how to be a hundred feet tall all of the sudden ‘cause of an act of God!”

She then turned around and pointed at Jason, who at this point was gobsmacked by the sudden competency of his lawyer, “The evidence against this man is circumstantial at best, he couldn’t have been in a sound state of mind, and the cause of harm was outside of his control. Jury, please find the defendant, Jason Anderson, not guilty of these charges, thank you.”

~~~

After the grueling thirty minutes, the jury had started filing into the courtroom after they went to deliberate his verdict. Everyone stood for the jury’s decision, though Jason needed a bit of help from his lawyer as he was trembling like a newborn fawn. Jason wasn’t too sure what to feel anymore after all that. While his lawyer did have a point, would that actually be enough to dismiss the case? Would he have even deserved to be let off scot free?

“Well then, have you all reached a verdict?” the judge asked the foreperson, who stood among the others. “We have, Your Honor,” they responded.

“What will it be then?” the judge asked in anticipation.

Jason closed his eyes. Despite it all, he was still so, so terrified of what his future was going to be. Never did he even consider this was going to be a possibility when he became acquainted with his curse. It wasn’t like giants had any legal precedent before since they didn’t exist. The horrifying thought of this happening to some unlucky sod and having an unforgiving precedent set because of him? Even if he ends up being the only person in the world that can grow taller than a skyscraper, will society be against him at every single stop because of this? He didn’t know. He couldn’t have known. He was-

“We find the defendant not guilty of criminal negligence.” Jason opened his eyes.

“Wh-what?” he spoke, wondering if he misheard them. “WWHHAAAAAT!?” Ms. Howard screeched.

“Ah I see, thank you Jury for your service,” the judge nodded, “It seems that you’re off the hook Mr. Anderson! Court is adjourned.” The room became alight with conversation and there was a few cheers from the crowd behind him. Jason looked over at his lawyer who had started packing up as if she just didn’t save his life. When his body finally caught up to his racing mind, Jason grabbed one of her hands and shook it furiously with a wide smile. “I should have never doubted you!” Jason explained, “Thank you so much Ma’am! I’ll never forget this!” “Eh,” Paula said as she let him shake her hand, “Just doing my job, who you really should be thanking is your friends for helping me collect evidence.” “LET’S FUCKING GO!!!” Cheered with a very familiar, annoying voice.

For the first time since he entered, he finally took a look at the crowd that formed within the courthouse. It was very cramped due to how high stakes this trail was, though through all the faces he couldn't make out, Jason saw Motor fist pumping in the air, Ellie crying from happiness, and… Natasha shoving her way towards the defence table with her arms outstretched to him.

Thu-thump.

In an instant, the cheers from the court room turned into screams as Jason’s head suddenly hit the lights of the courthouse and his backside broke the tiled floor when he was forced backwards from the hit to the head. However, his legs caused the most damage as the witness stand and judge podium were crushed with heels slamming into them. They’d almost hit the judge himself if it weren’t for the fact the bailiff had tackled him out of the way. It was almost a miracle no one got crushed and severely injured. People fled the scene through the emergency exits and the only people inside that courtroom was the Judge, Jason and the security surrounding him. 

“I-I didn’t mean to- I… I’m so sorry!” Jason tried to beg.

“Sorry won't fix the damages caused to the courtroom!” The Judge yelled, looking to the security guard to the Court Security Officer to his left, “Do you reckon we have handcuffs big enough?” “No-no wait I know I- NO PLEASE I’M SORRY I-”

~~~

“Pst!” Ellie hissed in his ear, “Wake up sleepy head!”

Suddenly, Jason wasn’t about to be arrested in a courtroom anymore. In fact, he’d been resting his head on a keyboard at his office job. He jolted upright, realizing that he’d been spamming ‘Zs’ in an important financial document he’d been working on. Of course he was dreaming, he’d been having awful sleep since he got that pesky curse. Jason felt stupid for really believing that he’d actually come out to Natasha and the world about his ‘little’ problem.  Upon hearing a chuckle from Ellie, he huffed and straightened his glasses back to their proper place on his nose.

“Gods,” Ellie said as she swooped back to her own cubicle, “And I thought I was bad.”

[mister-a-z-fell]

After some questions about my ‘true’ form and whether or not I have a thousand eyes and a veritable farmyard of creatures emerging from my collar, I have decided to show you this record of an encounter between myself and a certain writer at the latter end of the Elizabethan period. I remember the event slightly differently, but I suppose one has to make room for artistic licence.

I’m assured that if you click ‘keep reading’, the full transcript will appear.

To assist you, I’ve added a glossary at the end.

And no, Crowley, this still doesn’t count as having wheels.

“This is an true accounting of mine own eyes, set down by mine hand this tenth night of September, in the yeare of Our Lord sixteen hundred and one. They will say I am gone mad, for such visions belong to those who dwell in Beth’lem Monastery, but I swear on all that is precious to me, this se’nnight past I saw an Angel.

I was but newly set out from the towne, and some light yet remained to guide my path, when I looked to the east and saw of a sudden a second dawn. T’was no earthly fire; Aye, I warrant you, I am not bestraught! My father spoke, in Harry’s day, of the great conflagration of Edinburgh. He told me that Hell had claimed the sky, for all above was a fury dress’d in crimson and wretched with soot. But here was nothing of red.

I have seen it since in dreams and will, I ken enow, see it as I draw my final breath. Hasten the day.

It was akin to a man. I gleaned as much in those moments when I looked upon it, ere it saw me and my wits fled me. But also unlike a man, for where a man has but one pair of hands were there some severall, and where a man has flesh and bone was there flame. Such pale fire have I never seen but I should think it alchymy, and mine eyes were indeed ensorceled, for I saw colours without name, and things too marvellous and awful to relate. I will. I must. This labour’d span is raised to worthy work, knowing the glory that awaits. But oh, I am affraid. I pray my sins have not snatched the cup from my lips.

This fearful apparition stood upon the hill, and the white fire that was its crown was with the thin night clouds commingled. Its face — no. Of that no more, yet. I cannot. All about was compassed in armillary radiances which turned one within another, the forme entire and every hand with pearlie lustre enwheeled.

Below, the flames of Tuscalonian hue that formed a body for the Presence were so and so girded with armour: bright fragments, the whole twixt corslet and grand guard, matched with cushes; all of nacreous stuff and lapis-ensigil’d but for one place high ‘pon the rightmost thighpiece where the intricate device was marred and running gold in place of gore.

What can wound an Angel? I think on this and tremble as the very earth trembled where it stood, ague-shooke by a low’ring thunder.

I have held golden angels in my palm and have seen them in holy glass and in base iron gaulle, with doves’ wings upon their shoulders. Foh, we are God’s own fools. Its wings were the clouds pierced by stormlight, dark upon light upon dark, and where they moved was printed a world beyond my understanding, witnest through a furnace shimmer.

I saw a flock of stars draw close around it, and it seemed to dote upon them and cosset them as a hunter with his favourite hounds, and I would there have fainted all away an if I had not been fixed in terror. For they were not specks and embers laid distant upon the sky, a sailor’s comfort and guide, but each and each an inferno pluck’d from Heaven; baleful sentinels from which no secret could be hidden. Such fell lights would render trivial the earthly fires of Nebuchadnezzar.

Words are meat and drink to me, yet do I tell this so poorly I should be ‘shamed and nevermore lift a goose-pen. Still, ‘tis no matter for who shall read it? When all is said, I’ll put these lines away and think on them no more. In telling will I win myself a little peace.

Wheretofore had I been silent, so now instantly did I weep, and laugh, and cry out for God’s mercy, and it looked upon me. Od's-me, it turned its Phoebean eyes on me and I saw its face. Above the gleaming corselet had that most blessed igenieur placed a maske of fine, unblemish’d parchment, in th’ likeness of a gentle visage, before the sainted flame. Troth, a kindely lanthorne of such boundlesse compassion that I fell upon my knees and made to crawl into the fire, sooner to know its forgiuenesse. Then did it smile, as no painted visor could, and all my knotted thoughts were ravel’d out and I was at once a babe, a foole, unfolded and sanctuarized. Under this soft and clement regard I swounded, onely to wake in my lodgings, ‘tired, but not tyred, my travells lost beyond recover.”

Glossary:

Beth’lem Monastery — Bishopgate hospital that would later become the notorious ‘Bedlam’.

se’nnight — seven nights — a week

warrant — assure/promise

bestraught — mad

Harry — another name for Henry — in this case Henry VIII

ere — until

ensorceled — enchanted

commingled — mixed with

compassed — surrounded by

armillary — resembling concentric rings set at angles

pearlie lustre — a pearl-like glow

enwheeled — encircled (shush, Crowley)

Tuscalonian — pale straw-yellow

girded — armoured

twixt — between

corslet — armour covering the upper body

grand guard — armour protecting the heart and left shoulder

cushes — armour for the thighs

nacreous stuff — resembling mother-of-pearl

lapis-ensigil’d — decorated in blue

intricate device — complicated symbol

ague-shooke — shivering, as with a sickness

low’ring — threatening/ominous

golden angels — gold coins stamped with the likeness of Michael defeating Lucifer

holy glass — church windows

iron gaulle — ink

Foh — an exclamation of disgust

cosset — fuss over

an if — if

goose-pen — a quill

Wheretofore — while until now

instantly — at the same time

Od's-me — an exclamation: ‘God save me’

Phoebean — relating to Phoebus/the sun

blessed igenieur — The creator

visage — face

Troth — an exclamation: ‘indeed’

lanthorne — lantern

painted visor — an immobile mask

ravel’d out — unwound

unfolded — exposed

sanctuarized — protected/sheltered

clement — forgiving

swounded — fainted

‘tired, but not tyred — a pun: ‘tired (attired) meaning dressed, tyred meaning weary

recover — remember

Addendum:

I’ve been asked to provide a translation for the Latin community. My grasp of Elizabethan Spanish would, I fear, let me down, so this is couched in modern terms…

Este es un relato verdadero de lo que vi, escrito por mi mano esta décima noche de septiembre, en el año de Nuestro Señor mil seiscientos uno. Dirán que me he vuelto loco, pues tales visiones pertenecen a los que viven en el Monasterio de Beth'lem, pero juro por todo lo que me es precioso, que la semana pasada vi a un Ángel.

Hacía poco que había salido de la ciudad, y aún quedaba algo de luz para guiar mi camino, cuando miré hacia el este y de repente vi un segundo amanecer. No era fuego terrestre; ¡te juro que no estoy loco! Mi padre hablaba, en tiempos de Harry, del gran incendio de Edimburgo. Me dijo que el infierno había reclamado el cielo, pues todo lo alto era una furia vestida de carmesí y desdichada por el hollín. Pero aquí no había rojo.

Desde entonces lo he visto en sueños y estoy seguro de que lo veré cuando exhale mi último aliento. Ojalá sea pronto.

Era como un hombre. Me di cuenta de ello en el breve momento en que lo miré, hasta que me vio y perdí la razón. Pero también era distinto de un hombre, porque donde un hombre tiene un solo par de manos había varias, y donde un hombre tiene carne y hueso había llamas. Nunca he visto fuego pálido como éste, a menos que fuera hecho por alquimia, y mis ojos estaban realmente encantados, porque vi colores sin nombre, y cosas demasiado maravillosas y horribles para relatarlas. Lo haré. Debo hacerlo. Esta vida dura merece la pena, sabiendo la gloria que aguarda después de la muerte. Pero tengo miedo. Rezo para que mis pecados no me hayan arrebatado la copa de los labios.

Esta temible aparición se alzaba sobre la colina, y el fuego blanco que la coronaba se enredaba con las delgadas nubes nocturnas. Su rostro... no. Aún no puedo hablar de ello. Todo estaba rodeado de ruedas de luz que giraban unas dentro de otras, y toda su forma y cada una de sus manos estaban rodeadas de un resplandor nacarado.

Debajo, las llamas de color amarillo pálido que formaban el cuerpo de la Presencia estaban cubiertas por piezas de armadura: fragmentos brillantes que, todos juntos, formaban una coraza, y una armadura para las piernas; parecían de nácar cubiertas de símbolos azules brillantes, excepto en un lugar en lo alto del muslo derecho, donde los adornos estaban dañados y sangraban oro.

¿Qué puede herir a un ángel? Pienso en esto y tiemblo como tiembla la tierra donde estaba, sacudida por truenos ominosos.

He tenido ángeles de oro (monedas) en la palma de mi mano y los he visto en vidrio sagrado y en tinta simple, con alas de paloma sobre sus hombros. Buaj, somos los propios tontos de Dios. Sus alas eran las nubes atravesadas por la luz de la tormenta, oscuridad sobre luz sobre oscuridad, y donde se movían vi un mundo más allá de mi entendimiento, presenciado a través de un resplandor como de horno.

Vi una bandada de estrellas acercarse a su alrededor, y parecía adorarlas y mimarlas como un cazador a sus sabuesos favoritos, y me habría desmayado si no me hubiera quedado helado de terror. Porque no eran motas y ascuas lejanas en el cielo, consuelo y guía de un marinero, sino cada una un infierno arrancado del Cielo; torvos centinelas a los que no se podía ocultar ningún secreto. Luces tan terribles harían que los fuegos terrenales de Nabucodonosor parecieran triviales.

Las palabras son carne y bebida para mí, pero estoy contando esto tan mal que debería avergonzarme y no volver a levantar una pluma. Aun así, no importa porque ¿quién lo leerá? Cuando termine, guardaré este escrito y no pensaré en él. Contando esto me ganaré un poco de paz.

Había estado en silencio, pero ahora lloré, y reí, y supliqué la misericordia de Dios, y el ángel me miró. mSobre la coraza reluciente El Creador había colocado una máscara de pergamino fino y sin mancha que parecía un rostro amable, frente al fuego sagrado. De hecho, era una linterna bondadosa de una compasión tan ilimitada que caí de rodillas e intenté arrastrarme hasta el fuego, para poder sentir su perdón. Entonces sonrió (como nunca podría hacerlo una máscara), y todos mis confusos pensamientos se desenredaron y me sentí simultáneamente un bebé, un tonto, expuesto y protegido. Bajo esta atención suave e indulgente me desmayé, sólo para despertar en mi alojamiento, vestido, pero no cansado, incapaz de recordar cómo había llegado hasta allí.

[tumfullofblue]

The Call (Clu x fem!reader) (NSFT)

ʕ◉ᴥ◉ʔ it's not that I WANT to fuck Clu, but I guess I won't mind... since he is technically Flynn.

The reader in this one also fucks with Flynn cause yeah. Greedy, greedy. NSFT under the cut with a slight dub con/dirty talking.

Enjoy the secret call with Clu ʕ•̫͡•ʔ✧⃛ This one is very dialogue heavy cause I needed a break lmao.

Also, taking Tron reqeusts now! Drop your filthy anons into my little box and I will make sure to get to them!

Clu had no idea where you were. Where Flynn were. Where were you hiding, a forbidden pair, a glitch in his almost perfect system? It was driving him mad. Many things have been pilling up and ruining his plans, you were just a cherry on top. You found a way to reach out to him – calling through multiple layers of encryption, mostly to show him that you can do it, you can poke the bull and run away before it could pierce you. And yet, Clu always answered. He was having his own sort of fun with you, trying to get to know you better so through words, he would finally make you crack.

You felt guilty that Flynn didn’t know about those calls. You thought you were doing a good thing, hiding it from him. He had enough on his shoulders as it is, he didn’t need to know that you were talking with his unstable creation. Much like Clu himself, he was sure that you were his, and his alone.

And for that, you were willing to risk it all and talk to Clu.

Make him finally crack.

“There you are, lil’ bug.”

You were sitting on a rooftop, watching the lines of code flying above you in what you came to call as sky. The Clu’s voice was so similar to Kevin’s that you could close your eyes and pretend it was him. But where Flynn was gentle, Clu was cruel. Where Flynn would be patient, Clu was fast. How could Flynn create something so much like him… and yet so vastly different?

Was it Flynn that changed after so many years?

“Missed my voice, did ya?” you chuckled into a small comm on your wrist. “You could at least let me leave a voice message. But no, one minicycle – and you’re on the line.”

“Sentimental as always. A few more calls between us, sweetheart and you will be a proper zen master, like Flynn,” there was no anger in Clu’s voice. In fact you heard that he was… tired. You looked at the horizon, the needle of his tower piercing the black digital voice. For one second you felt like he was looking at you, too.

“At least I’m learning something.”

“And Flynn is a good teacher, then? If he teaches you as good as he has you in bed...”

You didn’t answer him, your lips pressed together so hard it formed a thin line.

“Tell me,” Clu continued with a dry, static exhale, “does he still murmur about perfection when he’s inside you? Does he praise you, does he makes you feel like a hero, a salvation he so desperately needs?”

Your lips parted and you had to exhale – slowly, away from the comm as much as possible. Fuck him. Fuck him and Flynn to hell.

“Wow. You’ve really rehearsed this in your head, huh? Do you buffer when you jerk off to these fantasies, or is the render time instant?"

“You got the lingo right. Good girl. But here’s the thing - we’re not talking about me – we’re talking about you. The way you melt for him. The way you see him like a mentor and a lover. Pathetic, really. A user, reduced to begging for a fossil approval.”

It would be so easy to break the connection. To throw the device out of your wrist. To scream, to curse Clu… why were you listening?

“Kid, you’re my miracle,” Clu purred and laughed, because you gasped, because he sounded just like… just like…

“Aw, did I get it right? Or does he not say that to you?”

“Fuck you!” you hissed.

“Oh, I’d love to,” you could practically see that golden grin on his face. “And you would enjoy every second of that, too. I’d take care of you. I promised that to you, didn’t I? The first time we met. When you thought that I was him? Oh, how you looked at me… How you believed every single word I said. I almost got you. I would make you mewl for me right in front of everyone.”

“Almost. A good word,” you barely found strength to continue talking. You knew this conversation was far from over. Break the connection. Break the connection now!..

“It is. And you know what other good word is? The one that is so used in programming? If. If you didn’t know that I wasn’t Flynn… would you still let me touch you? If you keep trying to connect to my fields… does that mean that you think of me?”

The Grid hums around you, the sky flickering with distant code. Your finger hovers over the disconnect – and doesn’t press.

“Little bug… How I pity you. I could give you everything. I would make you scream under my arms, rewrite your little brain with my commands…”

A shiver went up and down your spine.

“You won’t disconnect. Listen to me. Listen to my voice. I could make you my miracle. Give you everything that old fool can’t. You’d love that, didn’t you? I bet even now your cute round face is pretty in pink… That’s such a human reaction. I adore it. I. Adore. You.”

“I-I don’t…”

"You don’t what? Don’t want me? Don’t think about me when he’s inside you, whispering his zen poetry? Liar. Your body betrays you faster than your voice. Once you disconnect, I know what you will do. You will excuse yourself from Flynn’s training, lock yourself in your room and touch yourself, grinding against the pillow just how you like it. You will whimper his name and then mine. You will think of my fingers in your cunt, my mouth on your teats; my cock filling your mouth. You will think of my voice telling you all the sweet lies and all the hard truths you want to hear. And when you cum, which you will, because you desperate, needy little thing - you will crave both of us even more."

Clu’s voice isn’t just in your ear now—it’s inside you, a virus rewriting your resistance into something far more dangerous. Your own traitorous fingers slide down your body, making you shiver yet again, thighs pressing together.

"You’re sick."

"No. I’m efficient. Why waste time pretending you’re not already dripping for me? I can feel it, you know. The Grid translates everything—your pulse, your heat, your smell, just how fucking alive you are among us, programs. Tell me, do you fantasize about him watching while I ruin you? Or would you rather he never know how perfectly I’d wreck his little human plaything?"

You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood – but in this case to glitch; pain to focus, pain to resist.

"Fuck. You."

"Oh, bug. You want it so bad, huh? Maybe not today. Maybe not even by choice. But one night, when he’s too lost in his own guilt to touch you, you’ll call me. And this time? I won’t let you disconnect."

[stellae-de-baphometis]

hello!! could you share any information or experiences you have with Glasya-Labolas? thank you!!

Hi there! I’d be more than happy to share info and personal experiences on Count/President Glasya-Labolas. ^.^

I’m actually currently working on a digital zine that compiles extensive grimoire lore on the Goetian daemons (which I plan to publish on my Ko-fi and make available to everyone free of charge), so I’d be more than happy to copy and paste Glasya-Labolas’s entry from my zine draft here and share it with you. :) Here’s his entry from my zine draft:

The twenty-fifth Daemon is called Glasya-Labolas, also known as Caacrinolaas, Caassimolar, Glasya Labolas, Gloolas, Ozia, Carmola, Glosialobolas, Glassialabolas, Classyalabolas, Glasyalabolas, and Glolas. He is ranked as an Earl/Count and President of Hell, but is also ranked as a King and Prince in other grimoires.

He appears in the form of a dog with the wings of a gryphon, but when taking human shape, he appears as an old man riding upon an elephant.

He is the author of bloodshed and manslaughter, and teaches all arts and sciences, including the liberal arts. He can tell one of all regarding the past, present, and to come. He grants the understanding of birds, as well as the trapping of thieves and murderers, and can render one invisible. He also enkindles love between people, and can procure the love and favour of friends and enemies, as well as provide insight into their affairs. He speaks the truth on all things, and can carry one swiftly from one place to another.

I've also included his grimoire entries, which I will list below with links to their sources.

Side Note: Some of these sources are in PDF form, so they may automatically be downloaded to your device upon opening the link.

. 🦴 ~ Grimoire Entries ~ 🦴

From Crowley’s Goetia: “The Twenty-fifth Spirit is Glasya-Labolas. He is a Mighty President and Earl, and showeth himself in the form of a Dog with Wings like a Gryphon. He teacheth all Arts and Sciences in an instant, and is an Author of Bloodshed and Manslaughter. He teacheth all things Past, and to Come. If desired he causeth the love both of Friends and of Foes. He can make a Man to go Invisible. And he hath under his command 36 Legions of Spirits.” --- ✩Source✩

From The Lemegeton: “The 25th spirit is called Glasya Labolas, he is a Mighty President & showeth himself in the form of a dog with wings like a griffin; he teacheth all arts in an Instant, and is an author of Bloodshed & Manslaughter, he telleth all Things past & to come, if desired, & causeth love of friends and foes; he can make a Man go Invisible, & he hath under his rule 36 Legions of spirits.” --- ✩Source✩

From The Pseudomonarchia Daemonum: “Glasya Labolas, alias Caacrinolaas, or Caassimolar, is a great President, who cometh forth like a dog, and hath wings like a griffon, he giveth the knowledge of arts, and is the captain of all manslaughters: he understandeth things present and to come, he gaineth the minds and love of friends and foes, he maketh a man go invisible, and hath the rule of thirty-six legions.” --- ✩Source✩

From The Liber Officiorum Spirituum [Entry 1]: “Gloolas a great King or Prince, he appeareth like to a dog having wings, & he is the chief leaders of murderers, & knoweth things past present & to come, & he giveth knowledge of friends & of enemies, & maketh a man to go invisible, & so long as the caller or master will, & hath under him 20 legions.” --- ✩Source✩

From The Liber Officiorum Spirituum [Entry 2]: “The 1st is called Ozia, he can teach all manner of arts or sciences, invisibility & give favour of enemies, he can carry one from one place to another & that upon a sudden he appeareth like an old man riding an elephant.” --- ✩Source✩

From The Livre Des Esperitz: “Carmola is a great Prince who gives understanding of birds and of trapping thieves and murderers when one commands him. He makes people invisible and speaks truth of that which one asks; and has 26 legions.” --- ✩Source✩

From The Grand Grimoire: “Naberus [Nebiros], Field Marshal, or Inspector General, has the power to do evil to whomever he pleases and enables one to find the Hand of Glory and teaches the qualities of minerals, vegetables and of all of the animals, pure and impure, possesses the art of foretelling the future, being one of the best Necromancers of all of the Infernal Spirits. He can go anywhere and inspects all of the Infernal Militias and has beneath him Ayperos, Naberus [Naberius] and Glosialobolas, etc.” --- ✩Source✩

From The Dictionnaire Infernal: “Caacrinolaas, also named Caassimolar and Glasya-Labolas, high President of Hell. He presents himself in the form of a dog, and he ambles like one, with the wings of a griffin. He gives knowledge of the liberal arts, and by a bizarre contrast, he inspires murder. One says that he predicts the future very well. This demon can make a man invisible and commands thirty-six legions. The Great Grimoire calls him Classyalabolas, and makes only of him a kind of sergeant who was sometimes mounted on Nebiros or Naberus.” --- ✩Source✩

From The Book Of Ceremonial Magic: “GLASYALABOLAS, a mighty President, who comes in the form of a dog, but winged like a griffin, He teaches all arts and sciences instantaneously, incites to bloodshed, is the leader of all homicides, discerns past and future, and makes men invisible.” --- ✩Source✩

From The Offices Of Spirits [Excerpt]: “Glolas is a mighty Prince & will appear in [the] likeness of a dog having wings, & a chief leader of murderers and know the things past & things to come, and giveth knowledge of friends & enemies and make a man to go invisible & hath 20 legions of spirits.” --- ✩Source✩

Stellas Daemonum is also pretty good at compiling information on the goetian daemons, though I'd advise to read it critically as with all occult literature. Here is a link to the PDF.

. 🦴 ~ Personal Experience ~ 🦴

In terms of personal experience, I honestly haven’t worked with Count/President Glasya-Labolas in quite a long time, though I still have a little bit of experience with him, which I’d be happy to share. (He also recently visited me while I was writing this post and helped me out a little with writing it lmao.)

My first encounter with Glasya-Labolas was a couple years ago from now, I think. I felt drawn to him at the time, and took this as a sign that he may have been reaching out to me (though I don’t know for sure). So I gave him a couple of offerings and wrote a devotional prayer to him. I would also practice sigil divination with his sigil to learn more about him and connect with his energies. Here’s some basic information pertaining to both research/analysis and personal gnosis that I have on Glasya-Labolas:

☆. Personality & Energy Signature .☆

☠️ Glasya-Labolas isn’t exactly the most gentle daemon I’ve met. His energies can be a little overwhelming and quite intense; I’ve found his energies to be quite chaotic and tempestuous at times. He is assertive, strong-willed, protective, and can also be quite blunt and maybe a little harsh sometimes, but he means well at the end of the day and wants what's best for you. He also has a sarcastic sense of humour lol.

☆. Areas Of Influence .☆

🗡 Given he is said to be an “author of bloodshed and manslaughter” and can “trap thieves and murderers”, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to suggest he specialises in causing/easing conflict, bringing about endings and resolutions, and avenging those who have been wronged by others. He could also be of assistance when it comes to baneful magic, curse work, and revenge spells, or spells involving justice, vengeance, discord, courage, strength, and protection.

🖤 He can teach and assist one in divination, as he is said to “know the past, present, and to come”. He is also a daemon of social intercourse, being that he can “grant the love and favour of friends and foes”, as well as inspire love between people, and can be worked with to help you with interpersonal matters and relationships.

☁️ He is associated with travel and transportation too, and can ensure safety and efficacy in travel. He is also a daemon of knowledge, learning, and study, as he teaches the seven liberal arts, like many other daemons of the Goetia. He can also “make one go invisible” and conceal one’s doings, keeping things private and helping one to go unseen.

☆. Correspondences .☆

☀️ In terms of planetary associations, I consider him to be associated with the planets Mars (strength, courage, war, action, conflict, aggression, passion, sexuality) and Mercury (learning, communication, social intercourse, the mind, intellect, travel, intelligence).

🔥 In terms of elemental correspondences, I consider him to be associated with both fire (authority, destruction, protection, courage, strength, power, love, passion, sexuality) and air (knowledge, thought, intuition, intelligence, communication). 

🌿 As for herbs/plants, I honestly haven't further explored this; But based off some quick research, he could probably be associated with yarrow, borage, black pepper, chilli, garlic, lilac, and black nightshade? But again, I haven't explored this in depth so I'm not too sure. Make of this what you will lol.

🎨 I associate Glasya-Labolas with the colours; rose red, blood red, fiery orange, deep magenta, wine red, rich black, electric blue, electric violet, and cloud grey.

Side Note: I haven't included any gemstone/crystal correspondences as it is quite difficult to obtain gemstones ethically, and I also don't really use crystals/gemstones in my personal practice.

Here are some other correspondences: ↓ 🧭 Direction --- North (as per the Liber Officiorum Spirituum a.k.a. the Book Of Oberon) 🐺 Animals --- vultures, coyotes, hawks, falcons, dogs, elephants, owls, gryphons 🌅 Season --- Summer 🕰 Time --- Noon to dusk 💎 Metal --- Mars, Mercury/Quicksilver 🗓 Day --- Tuesday, Wednesday ✨ Incense --- Dragon's blood, cedar-wood, basil, sandal-rose

Also this is just my personal gnosis, but I believe that many daemons originate from the bastardisation and vilification of deities, spirits, and entities of other religions. I believe that if a deity/spirit is demonised enough, it can sometimes lead to that entity being "fractured", which in turn leads to that demonised "piece" of the entity breaking away and gaining complete autonomy seperate from their fountainhead. I speculate this may have been what happened with Glasya-Labolas.

From the research I've done, I have seen a lot of parallels between Glasya-Labolas and the god Ares/Mars. Their shared associations with bloodlust, war, battlelust, and civil order suggests they may be linked in some way. Additionally, Glasya-Labolas appeared as a winged dog most of the time and is sometimes associated with birds as per his Livre Des Esperitz grimoire entry; Ares is said to be associated with dogs and birds. But this is all just my unverified personal gnosis lol.

. 🦴 ~ Offering Ideas ~ 🦴

Sword/dagger imagery

Feathers (make sure they comply with your local laws and are ethically sourced)

Figurines/plushies of dogs and birds

Animal bones (make sure they are ethically sourced)

Spicy foods

Blades and other sharp objects

Herbal tea such as ginger tea

Alcohol such as whiskey

Matches

Rose petals

Lighters

Study or learn about something that interests you

Advocate for human rights and animal rights

Practice self-confidence and self-love

Show love and appreciation to those important/close to you

Travel / go on adventures

I think that's pretty much all the information I could possibly gather on Count/President Glasya-Labolas lol. I apologise for taking so long to write this btw! ;v; If you have any other questions, feel free to DM me. :) I do hope you find this post helpful, and I wish you all the best on your spiritual path. 🖤

+ . . . Divider Credit . . . +

[demon-girl-izalith]

This is a small piece I had written after a particularly important experience I had this sluggish summer day as I was grappling with a lot. I hope it's able to brighten some of your days as well.

Bright Suburban Rain

I used to enjoy electronic repairs. A childlike wonder filling my body as I looked underneath the plastic shells asking them to tell me their secrets, the mysteries of their seemingly arcane powers, I would carefully prod the circuits and tiny components inside -- it was like magic to me. But despite all my efforts, my job as a repair technician with all its customer service glory, often resulted in a form of cursed trade, a trade made under coercion. A trade for the wonder and whimsy of a subject I once held dear to me for money that I needed in order to survive... I sat there, feeling my pain medication's effects wane.

I had to take opioids daily to keep myself up and able to work, the horrible medicine my only relief from the pain caused by a botched spinal surgery. I sat there working with my reduced hours, the anxiety of the limited income from the cut hours numbing my mind to my feelings. It willed me with a rich fog that numbed both senses and mind, a fog made only more dense by the opioids. Horrible things that rendered me much like a tranquilized beast; I was made complacent with my suffering as I went about my tasks in the repair shop. I liked this job in many ways, despite the terrible spoiled and often well-off customers I had to deal with daily. But deep down I knew my real talents were wasted on this job, and all my coworkers new it, too; if it wasn't for my spinal disease I would have gone to graduate school two years prior, taught under a professor who explicitly wanted me in their department as a new professor. Before this current job, before my spine disease hit me in full force, I was a researcher studying an intersection in fields I was quite passionate about-- philosophy, neuroscience, and robotics. Sadly, that opportunity had likely withered to dust by now.

I poked at a retro console my coworkers set aside for me. They knew I enjoyed these repairs the most. It was a kind gesture, and despite myself I was appreciative. Using my probes on the green and copper pathways, poking them gently on either side of components and turning the nob on my meter to the appropriate settings, I swiftly identified the issue - a failed fuse in the power circuitry. I linked a new part in the work order notes, and quoted the customer the cost of the repair, the voice I spoke with on that phone betraying my severe utter lack of emotionality inside.

I used to feel something when working with these devices, a reverence for them even, I used to look forward to working on them. Even though my feelings were broken long before this job, at least fixing things still made me feel *something*. But this time... this time I felt little. That was becoming more common these days, as if I was reaching some desperate emotional event horizon of no return. That cursed contract almost completed, a deal made in hell, taking with it all my wonder, my drive, my hope, in exchange for survival. Against those same hopes and dreams, and against my consent, I was stripped of what I prized most-- childhood joy. I left the shop, my back aching from the implants not working as they should. "Damn quack surgeons" I mumbled as I crawled into my overly small car, trying to make haste to take advantage of the slowing lull in rain. I continued to feel nothing during my drive home.

The sun peaked through the clouds during this brief respite in the rain. As I drove I wished to myself that I wasn't a prisoner to this suburban hell, a dreadful place where every person acted like things were just fine. Things were not fine. I wished I could enjoy the sunshine and rain, I wished I could feel... I called my partner, asking how her day was. The call was a plea, a cry for help, a way out our of the unfeeling hell I knew we were both trapped in. I told her I loved her and I would see her soon at home. As I hung up the phone, I took notice of the dirty asphalt ahead of my car covered in small pools of rain, the cloudy fog and light mist creeping around the roads as I pierced them with my car, sending whisps into small spirals in the air. I briefly looked to my left and saw occasional sheets of water poking out of the gaps in the lawns of the near identical suburban houses, the greenery of trees that lived here long before the houses construction barely poking through gaps between the houses, their branches beckoning me to hold onto hope. I struggled to maintain grip on that hope as I drove the curve of the hilly road in my gross old car, the faint smell or cigar smoke mixing with the humid smell of rain hitting soil leaking through my poor climate control system.

A black truck suddenly drove past me, it's speed far too fast to be safe especially on a wet road such as this. "Stupid Republican idiots" I thought to myself as the car rushed by and kicked up water into a fine mist. Every pool it hit, new water kicked up into the foggy atmosphere, and as I drove further along the road the bright warm sun lit the misty air up, and to my wonder and surprise it filled it with beautiful and otherworldly auroras of rainbow droplets, constantly sustained behind this gaudy truck. I looked at those rainbows and felt something, and felt compelled to follow even though it diverted from my route home. I maintained distance behind that dumb truck, almost certainly unaware of the beauty it had created in its vile chugging along the road. I sped up to make it through the light, barely scraping by, but also clinging just behind at ther right distance so as to maintain enough space to hit the right angle and see that beauty. I craved that beauty. It was as if I was chasing my hope itself.

As I suddenly passed into a space with fewer houses, I once again saw the bright sun, it lit the suburban hell around me and I became aware of all the beautiful greenery, the dripping water, the vibrant life, hidden amongst the roadside brush, the water pooling around it and washing it clean of the roads contaminents. The world felt like it was telling me that despite it all, life would still be beautiful. To not give up. As if an assurance from nature that the capitalistic doom of suburbia wouldn't prevail over the beauty and hope of life itself. I felt my eyes water a bit, still maintaining a slight distance from the expensive truck. As I reached the end of the road I frantically clamored for my cell phone, calling my partner back, eager to tell her about my experience. I slowed to a stop as I approached a red light on a busy road. As I spoke and recounted my experience to her she talked in an almost similarly exhausted but superficially happy tone I had spoken with on the phone with that customer. I felt slightly awkward as I sat there, "perhaps I was reading into it" I thought to myself. Regardless I knew she didn't quite understand what I was trying to say. I hoped that one day, somehow, she was able to see through the veil of misery that I did on that road, to witness an omen, a sign of triumph over the nihilistic purgatory we are all trapped in. I clenched my fist and breathed in the faintly smoky smelling recycled air of my vehicle. As it filled my lungs, I made up my mind to hold on as long as I could.