#so maybe this one can exit purgatory

[shiftylinguini]

For the Never Have I Ever asks :) *secret identities*

oooh WELL I have never posted this, but I am sitting on a Steddie WIP that might fit the bill if I really stretch it LOL (does Cat count as secret identity??). The premise is thus:

Eddie is a magical somethingorother and town pariah who has managed to bork a spell up and is now a cat that does not remember it is usually human.

Steve is a regular human person who is being harassed by a dickhead cat that hates him but won't leave him alone.

Dustin has regular cameos in which he does important things like throw leaves in Steve's face, inform us that cat bites can make you go blind, be sad about his missing human friend (see: first dot point).

Eddie definitely has fleas.

Sometimes I think, "why don't i finish more stories? this is a great story idea!" and then other times i see them written out like this and think, "why are you such a massive wanker?". The sweet spot is in the middle of those two states lol.

Never Have I Ever fic trope ask game!

[lostinlovingrevery]

Thinking about OldMan!Logan putting reader in the strongest, horniest matting press ever until she cries and begs him to slow down

You Make Me Feel So Young

Old man Logan X F! Reader

Logan's feeling feisty

A/N: I imagine Logan bursting into readers room like that big bird gif. You'll see what I mean.

Warnings: SMUUUT! MDNI, sexting/nudes, mutual masturbation, unprotection PiV, Logan gets a tad rough, and then a lil mean and teasing, mating press :), creampie

He hadn't felt this good in ages.

What was causing his sudden heightened mood, burst of energy, he didn't know. Maybe it was because he actually ate breakfast this morning, or the sunlight from earlier today and warm brush of wind that signaled Spring was here, or maybe it was because he has a pretty little thing by his side. All starry-eyed and eager to take care of him, make him happy.

Since you've come to his life, he has no excuse to stare down the bottom of a bottle every night. He doesn't skip meals anymore, because you won't let him. Even if he tries to tell you he's not hungry- you'd pout,

"You're really going to let me eat this all alone?"

And shit, he can never resist the way you stick out your bottom lip and look at him pleadingly with those stunning eyes. So he'll eat a few fries off your plate, finish off your sandwich. sip on your water with you.

What do you know, eating actual food, drinking water, it does make you feel better.

The aches and pain still come. The fits of coughing. The pain of his wounds healing themselves slower than they used too- yet still faster than an average man. Instead of bleeding to death like most men would with injuries he has sustained, he sits in some type of purgatory, not healed, but not dead either.

You're always there though. There to soothe the aches and pains. To rub his back when it gets too much. To clean him up and stitch what hasn't healed yet. You do it with a smile and a kiss.

He hasn't told you he loves you yet, but he's pretty sure you know.

It's not all about what you do for him though. Just who you are. Wonderful, full of life. He sees a future with you. When before, all he wanted was to take that last breath, finally be pretty to rest in the cold dirt; Now, he has reason to keep going, everyday.

The Chrsylers door slams shut, as he watched last of the bachelor's party drunkenly stumble back into the hotel. Normally he'd getting irritated chuaffering around a bunch of drunken fools but he couldn't deny that he was amused by them tonight. In a way, they reminded him of his young self. Bold, arrogant, didn't take life that serious.

As he watched the last nearly nosedive into the glass doors of the hotel entrance, he felt a vibration in his pocket. Pulling out his phone and glasses, he tucked them on and unlocked the screen where he saw your name popped up.

Busy night?

His expression softened at your name and text. Always checking up on him. It's late, you should be asleep. You like to wait up for him despite his pleas for you not too. One of you should at least have a full nights sleep. He looked back at the hotel entrance, making sure none of the bachelors have passed out in the foyer in their own vomit, before returning to the drivers seat.

Once seated, he texts you back.

Got a few jobs

He set his phone on his lap, waiting for you to text back while he stared out the window. The phone buzzed and he quickly grabbed it.

Should I expect you late, or do you think you'll come home soon?

Another text from you came in just as he read the first one

I miss you <3

A faint smile stretched across his face. He responds back to you.

I'll see what I can do. Miss you too baby.

He exits your chat, going to the app where he gets his jobs and communicates with customers. The next pickup isn't for an hour. He grumbles to himself, as he felt eager to join your company. He as scowled at the time of the job- your name popped up again.

He clicked on the chat.

To keep you company ;)

Below your text, was an image. An extremely delightful image to grace Logan's eyes. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He let out a soft gasp, eyes growing heavy as he observes the curves of your figure in the dirty picture you have sent him. Your hand strategically placed to block what he really wanted to see.

Fuck

His cock throbbed in his trousers and he quickly palms it with his free hand. He stared at every detail, every single pixel- as if he hadn't already committed you to his memory. He squeezed himself through his pants, a small groan escaping him.

Another picture came in, from another angle.

He swiped the chat away. Quickly going to the work app, he canceled the job. Fuck it if he loses some money- all the blood in his head has rushed down to his second head, he's not thinking straight anymore.

Once the cancellation was confirmed, he put the limo into drive, checked his mirrors and quickly pulled off onto the road, driving towards the highway.

Meanwhile, you're in bed, concerned by a lack of response from Logan. It's marked that he's seen it- and he usually responds. Sometimes you'd get a phone call from him, leading to some phone sex as you get yourself off to the sound of his voice. Never have you received nothing from him though. It made you worry if he got into some trouble.

It's not till you heard the familiar sound of doors opening and shutting that you sat up from bed. You held a blanket over yourself, still nude from the pictures you've taken, and listened to the sound of footsteps approaching the bedroom.

The door opened, and Logan stood there- looking flustered as hell.

"Oh-" You blinked in surprise, "Lo, honey what are you doi-"

Before you could finish, he was on you faster than you could blink. His hands tore your comforter off you, as he grabbed your ankles and pulled you towards him with a yelp, him kneeling onto the bed and slotting himself between your legs and his lips crashed onto yours.

You moaned as he licked into you mouth. He grinds into your core, you could feel his hard cock through his trousers. Your arousal was soaking the cloth of his pants but he didn't care. Your hands clenched at his shirt, desperately grabbing onto him, onto something because he was moving so damn fast you could barely process it.

"Logan!" You gasped, tearing yourself away from his kisses. "Baby- what's got into you?"

"You." He says, lurching forward again, his tongue pressed against yours. His hands explored your figure. Cupping your breasts and rubbing circles into your nipples. He slid them down your curves, pulling you flush against his hips as his kisses trailed down your neck and between the valley of your breasts.

"Mm-" You tipped your head back, arching into him as his tongue ran over your skin, becoming hot and sweaty from Logan's incessant grinding. You pushed him up, sitting yourself up in his lap while meeting him in a heated kiss.

Your hands pushed off his jacket, and worked on unbuttoning his shirt. Once you reached the last button, he pulled it off, discarding it to the side. You helped him pulled off his white tank. Revealing his torso, littered with hair and scars. You pressed open mouth kisses over his chest, running your tongue over a nipple- a deep moan from him gracing your ears.

He pushed you back onto the bed, and you watched him quickly undo his belt, unzipping his pants and pushing it down to his thighs.

"Those pictures really riled you up huh?" You smiled.

He looked down at you, and grinned. His smile sent warmth through you- and a little worry. Almost devilish in how he looked at you.

His thumbs hooked into his briefs, pulling them down to join with his pants. His cock waved at you in the air, and you couldn't help the small giggle that escaped you at the sight of it.

Reaching your hand up, you grasped his girth. Your thumb ran along the thick vein that ran from his hip, down to the tip of his head, red and swollen- leaking pre-cum that you used as a lube as you stroked him slowly, watching as his expression melted into something pleasurable.

He wasn't going to let you have all the fun though.

He leaned down over you while you jerked him. His free hand reached down between your thighs, finding your clit. His calloused fingers rubbed circles into you- at the same pace that you stroked him.

His lips brushed over yours, but he didn't fully kiss you. Only a teasing touch as he circled your clit, making your hips squirm. Every time your hand pumped him faster, his own hand worked you faster- until your panting, barely able to focus, your hand moving him on autopilot as you focused on your impending finish.

Only-

He took his hand away. You felt your pleasure melt away, leaving your core aching and needy.

"Logan-" You whined,

"Hush baby." He grumbles, bringing his hands to the back of your knees and pushing them up to your chest. "I got you-"

You angled his cock to your core, as he carefully thrusts into your folds, bumping your clit that elicits a harsh gasp from you each time. Then you felt his tip push into your cunt, and your head fell back in relief as he buried himself in you- inch by inch.

He barely gave you time to adjust- not wanting to waste another second of his burst of energy, he began pounding into your pussy. A moaned scream escaped you, as your hands reached to grab onto his wrists- where he still held your legs to your chest.

"Lo-!" You cried out. The bed shook underneath you, his thrusts coming in powerful droves where his hips slammed against yours.

"Taking me so damn well darling-" He says through gritted teeth, as sweat beaded his forehead, and his face becomes more flushed.

You never seen him like this before. While you and Logan had a fairly active sex life, his stamina and energy wasn't always there. Still better than anyone you ever been with though- the man can make you cum as many times as he desired, completely wreck you.

This, it was almost too much.

He was fucking into your harder and faster than you were used too. It felt so good, but so much. You couldn't think straight, you couldn't catch your breath. You're pretty sure the mattress is going to break soon under the power of his thrusts.

Breathless, you tried to say his name- to tell him to slow down but you could barely manage it. The buildup in you was intense. Your nails dug into his skin. Logan's grunts filled your ears, and you could only focus on the sound of him and the feeling of his cock splitting you open over and over and over.

He leaned down, his chest and hips flushed against you. Your legs hooked over his shoulders and he wrapped his arms completely around you. His pace didn't falter, in fact he seemed to get faster- using you as leverage to slam into you harder.

His knees spread farther and buried into the mattress, his heavy breath hit across your face. He tipped his chin up, staring down at you with parted lips- watching your every expression.

He never admitted to you how he wished he'd met you in his prime. Where he could go multiple rounds without breaking a sweat. Sure, his game is still considerably better then most men, but nothing like how he used to be. He can put you to sleep, happy, satisfied and filled with him to the brim. He always wants to give you more.

This? This was just merely a fraction of what he could do to you. Whatever this burst of energy he has, he's using every bit of it.

"Lo-" Your lips formed into that pout he always thought was so cute. "I- I-!" You whined, unable to form words. Each thrust knocking them out of your head.

"What sweetheart?" He grunted. You moaned, your head falling limply to the side, tears welling up in your eyes as exhaustion threatened to break you.

"Slow down!" You managed to cry out, before moaning when he hits that sweet, honey spot inside you.

"What's that baby?" He asks, clearly having heard you- but he wanted to hear it again. It may be awful, but fuck it fills him with pride to hear a young thing like you to beg him to slow down.

"Please- Slow, slow down?" You whined,

He obliges, pacing himself slowly in and out of you. It felt good, you could catch your breath- but now he was being painfully slow. He rutted deep into you, the coarse hair that sat above his cock brushed over your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you that made your legs tremble- but it wasn't enough to push you over that edge you needed so badly.

"That better baby?" He coos, a teasing edge in his voice.

"You can...Go faster than that-" You mumbled lazily.

"Slow down, go faster, can't make up your mind now can you?" He taunts. He stops himself, buried inside you, but unmoving.

"Logan!" You cried. "Move!"

"Oh, that's not good enough either huh?"

You huff, opening your eyes to look at him- to be greeted by a cocky grin. Almost youthful in the way his eyes sparkling looking down at you. You realized he loved every second of this. He always teased you a little bit, but this was something different.

You like it.

"Please- Please you can do whatever you want just-"

You gasped when he picked up his brutal pacing into you again. Angling himself to pound into the sweet spot, that had you seeing stars. You've become mindless, just taking everything he gives you.

He could feel the way you clenched around him, the look in your eyes told him you were close. Contrary to his brutal thrusts, he softly pressed his lips over yours, gentle and loving. He whispered,

"Cum for me baby."

You let go, waves of pleasure rushing through you, seemingly never-ending as Logan fucks you through it. Your throat was hoarse from screaming his name- you didn't even notice.

Logan slammed into you one last time, as you felt his cock twitch inside you. With a loud grunt and locked jaw, he filled you up- just as he likes to, his messy way of claiming you all for himself.

His face buried into your neck when he finished, the both of you out of breath, covered in sweat.

"Lo..." You sighed sleepily. "Mm, that was nice."

"Yeah." He replies, before pushing himself up and pulling out of your carefully. Your legs were sore, and numb from being in one position for so long. To your surprise, he flipped you onto your stomach. "We're not finished yet, darling."

[jams-sims]

Because its so late, I think I can say this. As much as I fucking hate purgatory. As a DM to a story I think its the most natural out for characters and Muns. Oh! my character can have either lived or died on the purg island? Do I feel like coming back? If the answer no. Easy out, no over the top feeling, no need to do a final stream if I dont want to. Just a stark sad tragic exit that leaves it mark. Because no one expected people to die on this silly fucking island. But deaths, mark very important and poignant moments. The island is curel and its consuming its islanders.

Max's death is one of sacrifice for his friends and the eggs. He was in a hole of loneliness, I think that loneliness took him as well. But I think qMax's death was a simple stepping stone while q!jaiden death will be a full on turn. See-

Jaiden death is probably the most fitting for her character because it is the most tragic. Q!Jaiden died when bobby died. She speant her days in a home just cluttered with his images and his likeness. She was being used by the Feds and I think deep down she knew that. Her connections were severed do to grief, her platonic husband while also spiraling found hope. He got married had a new kid and while he made sure people put some respect on her name when it came to Bobby. He had moved somewhere she could not get to him.

An in a way, I think that's all she truly needed. Her last connection, Roier was happy living his full life in a castle. An what did she have to go back to? A sunset in a house full of memories in a field of flowers surrounded by nothing. The week spent in purgatory felt like a century of suffering.

Something in her finally broke and maybe she didn't make it to the final part where everyone else was. Maybe she walked slowly, legs and feet numb. An she got to a clearing, the world is doused in chaos once again. An her ears are rinning with sirens. An all of it fades away as she stops, she stops limping along, she falls back into sitting on the cold earth.

She realizes their nothing waiting for her back on the island. What was the rush for? What was all the screaming and crying, the begging the longing. She's tired. She so tired of it all. All of it and what was it for? A new start that would never truly be hers.

She relax for the first time in a long time and the sunset looks beautiful. And she hopes that roier stays happy that all the eggs get to live happy and healthy lives.

She doesn't even hear the explosion. She closes her eyes. An when she opens them she in the air, weightless and flying. She has food she hasn't eaten in a long time. She tells Bobby not to worry, she happy now. Only to feel a swift kick to her shins. As Bobby takes her hand and she gets to tell him about all the thing she did after his passing.

She finally get to go back home.

[fushipurro]

Our Hopes in Death

☆ Synopsis: Nanami had many regrets in life, something that haunts him even in death. Nobara, a life taken too soon, is one such regret he wishes he could take back.

☆ Content: major character death, spoilers for shibuya incident, hurt/comfort???, grief/mourning

☆ Notes: not an x reader, but shoutout to my poopynation oomfies for making me suffer with this thought so much that i had to write it (don’t kill me please!!!)

The last thing Nanami saw before his sight turned black was Yuji’s sorrowful expression. He was yet another person ─ a child ─ Nanami failed to keep safe. It’s one of the biggest regrets he’s had in life, one that he knows now followed him to his grave when another of his students is now in front of him.

Nobara Kugisaki.

Last time he saw her, she was safe ─ alive, and in the flesh. A large part of him hopes that the apparition before him is just that, but at his heart, he knows this is the real deal.

“Sensei?” she says with confusion evident in her speech. She puts a hand on her hip, taking in what can only be described as an airport, or a mirage of such. “We’re dead, aren’t we? Why the hell are we in an airport and not some cloud in the sky.”

Nobara was never one to sugarcoat her words, something Nanami always admired about the young teen. He wished he had her confidence, her will, her everything that made her the fighter she was in life when he was her age.

Maybe Haibara would still be alive if he did something different, or the many others that slipped through his hands.

She raises a brow at his silence, but it doesn’t stop her from flopping down in the empty seat next to his own with a heavy, frustrated sigh. “That rat bastard tricked me,” she snarls, closing her eyes with clenched fists. “I would’ve had him if I was faster! Poor Itadori; I’m sure it wasn’t pretty watching me go.”

Yuji.

From her words, Nanami feels the pain of his regret more than ever before, comparable to a time before when he left the world of sorcery behind. From Gojo getting sealed, to watching Nobara and himself be killed before his eyes… that boy’s life is hell on earth.

He hopes Megumi is safe after that mystery savior from Dagon’s domain disappeared with him.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you,” he finally says, pushing off his seat to kneel before her. He looks just like how he did that last time he saw her, alongside Akari, when all three of them were alive. “I should never have left you alone. None of you children should have been in Shibuya today.”

A gentle smile appears on Nobara’s face, though her eyes read a solemn note. “It’s alright, Sensei. Like I told Itadori, I’ve had a pretty good life.”

His eyes fall from her face to his hands ─ hands that could’ve stopped or delayed the inevitable. She’s a child, she shouldn’t have had to die. He should have been more careful, maybe kept her by his side or made sure she got away.

Mahito was too much of a wildcard for anyone their age to have had to go up against.

Junpei, Nobara, countless other innocent lives, and the painful thought that Yuji is likely fighting him at this very moment. He has to believe Yuji will pull through and win, or at the very least hope Sukuna interferes like the first time around. It’s unlikely, but hope is all Nanami has right now.

“Where do we go now?” Nobara asks, standing upright again. “Does this place even have an exit?”

Outside the large glass windows, the roar of a plane can be heard taking off. Perhaps this airport is a purgatory where the options of where to go are of your own choosing, or maybe your tickets are predetermined ─ signed and ready to go whenever you board.

“There should be a directory board around here that might help,” Nanami tells her. What airport or building of this size wouldn’t have something like that? If he can’t find that, then he’ll stick with her until they find someone else.

Her eyes light up with realization, and near child-like wonder. “Ohh, good idea! I wonder if there’s any cafes or vending machines around here, like those cake ones that sing after you order from them!”

In another life, this is all Nanami would have wanted. No battles, no bloodshed, no curses ─ just children and adults, eager to enjoy all the good life has to offer.

If he does get another chance, he hopes his next life is easier even if he feels it to be a selfish thought. Maybe then he could marry the bakery girl or that one close friend from his days in school. Given the choice, he’d gladly become a parent as well, and hopefully to a daughter.

He hopes that with whatever children he may have, that he’s able to give them the best chance at life ─ one that won’t end before they’ve even lived. This time, he’ll be there to protect them, and to assure he lives a life without regret this time around.

“Why don’t we go looking then?” Nanami asks, holding out his hand to Nobara. “I won’t leave you alone, not this time.”

She graciously accepts with that same smile that seems to light up the airport sky. The two of them now walking hand in hand, like a father and his daughter. If this is all he can have in the next life, then he hopes to have this. And should he ever have that daughter he dreams of…

He would name her Nobara.

[ravenw1ngs]

WIP Wednesday

The thing about Purgatory is that, at its core, it is all about surviving the extreme. The mobs are deadlier, the terrain is unforgivingly rugged, and the weather is terrible at best and terrifying at worst. Every new natural disaster catches them off guard, often at the cost of their lives, and even when they outlast it, they still lose something. 

It goes like this:

The morning sun is normally just warm enough to chase off the chill that had settled into their skin overnight; today, they’re in the midst of their usual start-of-day preperations when the gentle rays sharpen into something scorching. Their M.D.R.s chirp, the sound a little too cheerful for the warning it carries, and they scramble to get under cover before the blazing heat becomes painful. It’s still unbearable, even in the shelter of the normally-cool cave, and within minutes they’re all drenched in sweat. 

Their tea farm is even more unlucky.

“Have I mentioned how much I hate this island?” Tina huffs. It’s hard to tell if she’s more angry or upset as they stand there, watching her crops burn. There’s nothing they can do to save them; there’s never enough time to do anything but keep themselves alive. 

“I know. We’ll help you salvage and replant when this is over,” Tubbo says, swiping his sleeve across his forehead. Their communicators chime, then, marking another death. Someone on the red team, clearly, since his M.D.R.’s display immediatly beeps as the point display shifts. Once, Tubbo would have checked who it was, maybe typed a sympathetic message in chat. Instead, the number just filters into his ever-constant calculations of their scores.

(Sometimes he wishes he could turn off that part of his brain. Other times—most of the time—he knows that it’s a skill that’s keeping them going, keeping them alive, because if they know the odds they have a better chance at beating them.)

“Well, a little bit longer and you won’t have to worry about your farm so much,” Pac calls. He’s halfway in a chest a few blocks behind them, digging through their meager supplies for anything that could be useful in their latest project. Tubbo sees a brief flash of moss as his friend shoves it into his inventory. 

“It’ll be so great, Tina,” Bad adds, grinning from where he’s repairing a diamond pickaxe, which reminds Tubbo that he needs to go mining as soon as the sun stops trying to kill them. “Just think: no more people trampling or stealing your crops, and they’ll be totally safe from disasters like this.”

Tina hums, still staring out at her dying farm, but Tubbo sees a bit of the tension ease from her shoulders at the thought of the new base.

As soon as they had decided to mostly ignore the event, Soulfire had turned their collective focus to more productive ventures. In between fulfilling quests and scrambling to claim the missions at the Global Hub, they’d began preperations to move to a better, more hidden base. The beach just wasn’t protected enough—not from the disasters, or the mobs, and especially not from the other teams—and the more respawns they could avoid, the better. It was simple logic: they don’t have enough skilled fighters to protect their existing base, therefore they need a base that doesn’t have to be protected.

Pac had been the one to put the idea forward; it had definitely been a fleeting thought in everyone’s minds these past few days as their supplies got stolen and their team got killed, but he’d rolled out of bed that morning with a plan in mind and a location picked out. Tubbo is more than happy to delegate this task, staying focused on his usual excursions for resources and treks to the Global Hub. It’s an exhuasting, never-ending job, but he’ll do it for as long as it takes. 

Eventually, the sun stops burning. The glare reflecting off the ice loses its intensity, and the temperature rapidly drops. They exit their shelter slowly, just to be sure, and survey the destruction. Only a few of the plants survive, so they arm themselves with hoes and help Tina turn over the dry dirt so that she can start over. They have enough tea to keep them going through the rest of the day, but they’ll be feeling this setback tomorrow morning, Tubbo knows. 

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

Some bits of Visions of Violet definitely don't follow the exact details of Purgatory (sometimes for plot reasons...sometimes because I don't feel like scrubbing through hundreds of vod hours lol), but the exhaustive repetition of rebuilding, replanting, and replacing resources needs no real exaggeration. Tina has more patience than me, I fear.

Anyways, this is from the start of chapter three; I'm hoping to get most of the way through chapter four by next Wednesday, but we'll see. Pacing is putting up a fight.

[what-if-i-just-did]

Part One

Trigger Warnings: kissing, implied feeling unworthy of love, and mentions of a handjob, having a nightmare, sexual attraction, and casual suicidal ideation

(this is not smut)

(Is this over a year late? Yes. Am I finishing it anyways? Also yes.)

Space For Two

Dean was lying in bed. When they came home, Sam had had a bit of a freak out. It was fine now- Jody had texted with a hunt, and Sam decided to go it alone and leave Dean and Cas to figure themselves out. They'd been practicing with switching control and co-piloting, and if that had ended up with Cas giving Dean a handjob while they were in the same body, then, well, that was their business.

Maybe it had been smart of Sam to leave.

Dean sighed. Cas? Yes Dean? (what does he want?) (He's so adorable) I can't sleep. I miss you. (I know he's right here but I want to kiss him and I can't even if I'm allowed now) I know, Dean. I wish to kiss you too. Dean sighed. (I miss you so much right now) (wait a second- ) If I dream, can you come into the dream too? (can we kiss? please please please tell me yes) Yes! Yes, we can- we can kiss. In your dream- how did I not think of that before? Yes Dean, yes. Elation radiated off of them, indiscernible who from. (I get to kiss Cas I get to kiss Cas I get to kiss Cas) (holy shiiiit) (fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck) (yesyesyesyesyesyes) (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) (Dean is so exitable-adorable-exited-happy... I did that) okay okay okay I need to freakin' sleep then. (wait no way I can now) can you mojo me asleep? Of course, Dean. And the next second, they were in a dream. It was Purgatory, and Dean was gripped with a sense of instunctual fight-or-flight. Of course. Of-fucking-course is it a nightmare (does he have nightmares often?) Don't worry, Dean.

The scene changed. It was a forrest lake, now. Dean turned around just in time to see Cas morph into existance. "Cas!" He yelled, running the two steps towards him and smashing his lips into his. (CasCasCasCasCasCasCasCasCasCasCasCasI'mKissingCassssss) (He smells the same he looks the same (still pretty) (he still looks like Jimmy Novak) he feels the same he's the same I love him so much) (Dean Winchester wants to kiss me / is kissing me) "Cas" Dean breathed. "Dean", Cas breathed back.

"This is weird. I still have your thoughts, but I can see you." Jezus Cas I missed you.

I love you

"Hello, Dean."

(ohmyfucks his voice is so hot I wanna die) (it's still the same voice- still Jimmy Novak) (I get to fucking have this? I get to kiss-him/love-him????)

Cas raised his eyebrow and tilted his head. "This voice is attractive to you?"

"Uhm." Dean stared at him. (that expression is too) (YES!!?! Duh???!)

Cas chuckled.

I can definetly experiment with that...

[saynomorefic]

June!!! i am so very curious about 'of angels and demons, you are mine' (beautiful title btw)

Hi hi hi! I answered this before (part 1 here)- because I have more to share and this is helping me world build hehe

Sooo I give you fallen angel Simon and soul-being inspector Wille

“Yeah, um. About that. You can’t exactly get up. Not until first inspection.” Simon narrowed his eyes and took in the information. He looked from side to side desperately, and back to Wille. “Please, Simon paused, surveying Wille up and down before continuing hesitantly, “...sir. I need to know that my sister is safe. Her name is Sara. She was in celestine with me, the highest rank, and I just need to know that she is okay.” He was panting now, diverting tactics to try and persuade him. “Can you do that for me?” It wouldn’t work. Wille had dealt with many difficult cases, and has seen every tactic from crying, pleading, begging, insulting, berating, soliciting, seducing, and the rest. Despite the fact that this Simon was noticeably very outspoken and yes, beautiful, Wille did still possess his human eyes, he would not compromise his position. Maybe Simon would be the final case for the jury, and if he played his cards right he could get out free. “It’s Wille.” He looked down at the boy, now sitting up on his knees to talk to him. He must’ve been on the shorter side, normally the bed barriers aren’t tall enough to even sit up high for someone like Wille. “And I cannot provide you with the information or status of other soul-beings. It is prohibited.” Simon shook his head, marveling at the words Wille just spoke as if they were a shock. Surely the angels knew about purgatory, especially those in the celestine level. Why did he seem so surprised? Simon slouched his shoulders and drew in a deep breath. He looked up at Wille defiant, but the resignation began to show. “What do I have to do?” “We have to get you inspected. One second.” The box relented as he shifted into the bed. His DNA sample had been encoded so that he could enter and exit as he wished. Despite himself, Wille felt a bit guilty when Simon jumped back at the sudden movement, clearly not expecting Wille to join him in the bed. “Relax, relax,” Wille rushed. The last thing he needed was for Simon to slow this process down, and the more at ease he would be the better. “I’m not going to hurt you. We just have to do some assessments, and some scans, and then I will leave you alone. Okay?” Simon nodded warily, but made no move to uncover himself from the blanket or shift any closer to Wille. He sighed. Somehow they found a way to give him the most difficult cases, which for Goden’s sake was the main reason he was still here. He pushed back up from the bed and wandered over to the light wood armoire. He opened it and pulled a long black robe from the closet, tossing it at Simon. “Here.” He rejoined Simon on the bed. “I am going to have to look at you at some point, you know.”

[duckymcdoorknob]

My friends and I just watched (a few of us for the third time) The Amazing Digital Circus before class. We analyzed it heavily, and here’s what our predictions are:

⚠️Spoilers (duh)

The whole circus is representative of Purgatory, and the six are being tested.

This one seems pretty self-explanatory

Caine seems to be some kind of guardian deity, given the fact that he can snap away Ragatha and Pomni’s glitching in an instant

Bubble seems to represent some kind of Guardian Angel that is there for support.

They are given daily tasks, multiple places to go, and are always under watch from every angle.

Not to mention that the abstractions look like biblically accurate angels…

The photos on the bedroom doors are also seemingly symbolic.

Those who abstracted have large x’s over them, and multiple rooms have wooden toy pose dolls (like the ones that artists use) on them.

We think that those abstracted represent those who failed their test and were damned, the wooden dolls are those who passed their test and have done whatever necessary to save their souls.

Caine seems like he is the one who controls that damnation or repentance, given that he can open holes in the floor and teleport and such.

This brings me into my next theory

Kinger has premonition, or has been through the whole show before.

Okay so listen

His very first line is “did someone say insect collection?” (Or something like that)

When he sees the Gloink queen, he repeats that exact line, almost as if he knew it was coming..?

Also, when Zooble was freed from its stomach, Kinger asked if Zooble had “participated in a game show” (again, ballparking these quotes)

Is this something that he knows that we don’t? Is it something that will happen in the future?

Did he have a vision? Or did he already experience that game show?

Maybe he’s a soul that was damned and was given another chance?

ANOTHER THING I THOUGHT OF-

Maybe he has had premonition of Gangle’s abstraction.

Hear me out- he jumps EVERY time Gangle is near him, almost as if he can’t see her until that moment.

My theory is, he shuts her out because he’s seen her abstraction and doesn’t want to be too attached and grieve when she goes.

Pomni may have been responsible for Kaufmo’s abstraction/Kaufmo responsible for Pomni’s arrival.

Kaufmo didn’t show up the day that Pomni arrived

Obviously we know that this is because he abstracted

But the question is, was it caused by Pomni?

This may be farfetched, but hear me out.

Pomni’s whole design is of a court jester/clown. Her color scheme is directly opposite of Kaufmo’s

Her base colors are red and blue with yellow accents. Kaufmo’s yellow with blue and red accents.

Perhaps Pomni’s arrival was because of Kaufmo’s abstraction, or maybe Kaufmo abstracted when the role of the clown was replaced?

Pomni became self-aware

In the beginning, she fell prey to the circus. She thought she was dreaming, forgot her real name, and longed desperately for an exit.

But as the episode progressed, she seemed much more comfortable in the circus.

Naturally, this is probably because of her adjusting to her surroundings, but this is where I started to pay attention.

For starters, Pomni’s name is the Slovenian word for “remember” What’s the story behind this?

When Jax swung the key above her head, she flinched and ducked down. Was this out of fear he’d hit her? Or maybe out of habit?

If out of habit, weren’t they supposed to lose a good chunk of their memories?

When she was being chased by abstracted Kaufmo, she stopped to look in the mirror. She looks deeply into her eyes, realizing that she can see her reflection.

A person cannot see their clear reflection in a dream. If they can, it’s a warbled image and not a true reflection of them.

It’s at this moment that Pomni realizes she’s not dreaming.

When she enters the exit labyrinth, there is a famous scene with her looking at the computer setup and laughing maniacally.

My friends and I think that it’s at this point in which she realizes that she is there for a reason and remembers said reason.

That same computer is revealed at the end after the camera pans out of everything. That is Pomni’s computer (we think). Maybe when she saw that computer, she became self-aware and all of her memories came flooding back.

Thinking back earlier, when Ragatha first got glitched, she had an internal dilemma of saving her new friend, or surviving without a hitch. She left quickly, choosing herself.

Perhaps it’s because she has a mission to carry out?

The scene at the end is symbolic of the Last Supper in Christianity. Pomni is in the center where Christ would have sat. Christ knew that he had a mission to carry out, and now Pomni does too.

The question is her creepy smile.

Is she smiling at the chaos that will ensue?

Or has she finally realized that’s she’s stuck for good and has no way out?

There is more past the void, which is why Caine does not want them to go out there.

Caine is seen in a restaraunt with bubble, one that was not shown during his tour of the grounds.

He’s surrounded by the wooden pose dolls.

As soon as he gets an alert on his watch, he teleports to grab Pomni almost immediately.

He does a shitty infomercial about his watch, complete with pop-up information. Maybe this was for comedic effect, or maybe he did it to let her get a good look of what she wasn’t supposed to see?

Caine lies about the exit, and does everything in his power to keep the six of them stuck in the circus (always keeping an eye on them, alerts to their movement, etc.)

Jax knows more than he leads us to believe

I mean obviously

It’s always the most cocky ones that have the darkest secrets

He’s obviously been in the circus for a while, for he has a great understanding of the lay of the land.

He’s calm when the Gloink queen materializes, and even calmer when the abstracted Kaufmo comes to kick the shit out of it.

Maybe Jax was some kind of caretaker in his real life and is trying to keep everyone calm by putting up a facade of some sort?

“Ladies first? Wait, no, why am I saying that?”

Zooble asks where Pomni is since the mission is for her, Jax shuts them down immediately, giving the excuse of “I can’t hear the escalator.”

That’s probably just for comedy and his cockiness, but what if Jax knew that something was happening with Pomni?

Spy on the inside??

When he pairs up Kinger and Gangle, he claims they’re the two most “mentally stable”. Is this because he’s seen Kinger’s premonition? Or perhaps he’s seen Kinger do this exact mission once in the past..?

I think the seven (including Kaufmo) represent the seven deadly sins.

Okay I’m still trying to piece this one together and I may be cooking nothing BUT LEMME COOK

Oh my god this is so farfetched I love it.

Pride will have to be Kinger/Ragatha. No idea which yet.

Gluttony will also have to be Kinger/Ragatha. No idea which yet.

Lust is DEFINITELY Jax. Not for sexual reasons, but for the fact that he is trying to cause mayhem at any given minute. He strives off of being as unbearably annoying as possible.

Envy may be Gangle. She’s stuck in a perpetual sadness, with her comedy mask being broken every time. Her emotions depend on her mask, and maybe she longs to have

Maybe Kaufmo is wrath? Not sure if it was to protect his friends, but homie was SWINGING on that Gloink. When Gangle questioned, Jax said “Calm down, that’s just Kaufmo, it’ll be alright.”

Sloth is Zooble, with no desire to take part in the activities.

Greed will maybe be Pomni. With all of my previous Schpeels about her, she is very focused on number one. She abandons Ragatha out of “fear”, and she kept trying to exit even though she knows she can’t.

Okay wow that was long- GIVE ME YOUR PREDICTIONS OR EXPANSIONS OF OURS IN THE COMMENTS OR REBLOGS!!!

[arakhnesreiyr]

Enter the Black ~ Part One

The sky in Fellinor was the brightest shade of blue I had ever seen. The water was like a shiny turquoise - to the point where when I looked overboard to peer into the water, I could see my own reflection, even so high up on the deck. The air had a salty, almost magical touch to it.

Our ship docked, and the men onboard hooted and hollered, clamoring to get off and explore. Fellinor had become a den of thieves, so to speak - a place for people to hide, to become forgotten.

To become invisible.

Laws didn't exist here. The pirates had laid down some general rules, but Fellinor was out of jurisdiction for all known governments. It was, completely and utterly, a purgatory. An in-between.

In-between what, I wonder, I thought as I hung back from the exit. Was I ready to take this plunge? Nothing was waiting for me back in Eorzea, that's for sure.

Even less, Hingashi.

My heart throbbed a little at the thought of my old home. My master had betrayed me, my fellow students not believing the corruption at hand. I felt unseen, unheard, and unvalued.

Fellinor would only escalate those feelings, but at least no one knew me there.

"Where ya heading, lass?" a dockmaster asked me as I disembarked and stood on solid ground for the first time in days. Wobbly, I leaned on his arm a little, and he chuckled, patting my elbow. "It's a'ight, sweetheart. Them sea legs o' yers will grow with time."

"I need a place to lay low," I said to him gently as I stepped away from his touch. "I'm catching the first ship to Tulliyolal. I have my ticket."

"Aye, I don't need yer ticket, lass," the man snorted. "The Escapade leaves in two hours. That's the next ship to yer city. Until then, perhaps a drink? We have several spots for a good lunch - you can maybe pack on a pound or two - you're thinner than paper, ye are."

I ignored his comments about my body. It was nothing I hadn't already heard. I was a skinny, redheaded, green-eyed, freckled-bodied, tiny-footed mess of a woman, and I knew that about myself from a very young age.

"Just a sandwich would be nice," I said firmly.

"Help yerself!" he said with a smile, gesturing to a small wooden structure off the dock. "Head in there and ask for Yyelexi. She makes the best sandwiches in the whole of this island, she does."

I smiled at him, grateful for the advice, but I was still a little wobbly as I walked away, heading to get some sustenance.

The crowds were insane at the dock, but they dispersed nicely as I walked further away from them. The roads were made of gravel and mud - far cry from the civilized places I'd called home before.

Pack animals were abound with their owners, hauling goods from all corners of the world. This clearly had become a hive of pirate trade - stolen goods, most likely. I wrinkled my nose at the sight of it all.

The building the dockmaster had mentioned was in truth a small cafe. Small and intimate, but clearly not lacking in charm, it seemed to be an older building, and well-loved. Patrons littered both the outdoor picnic tables and the indoor low tables with cushions as chairs. A fire roared in a brick fireplace, despite the tropical heat outside. A couple waitresses walked around, tending to the customers, but only one person grabbed my attention and held it: the bartender, a woman.

In my 25 years of life, I had never seen a female bartender. I knew they existed of course - but I personally had never seen one before. And on a pirate island, where drunk and touchy men ran rampant...I could not imagine bartending anywhere, but especially on Fellinor.

"I was told I could find Yyelexi here?" I asked the woman as I approached her. Middle-aged, with eyes that were a piercing shade of gold, and garbed in the darkest clothes I had ever seen, she emitted a sort of prickly, yet calm, attitude that I myself had never been able to master.

"Well, you've found her," the bartender replied with a tiny smile curling her lip. "What can I do for you, girl?"

The nearest occupied stool was three stools away, so I sat down at the bar across from Yyelexi, smiling in relief. "Just a sandwich, please. I'm so famished."

Yyelexi smiled a little wider. "You say that like there is only one type of sandwich."

"Any sandwich will do," I chuckled, realizing that she was right. "I just got off the Witherwind. If I go a single day without hearing a grown man throw a temper tantrum, I just may die of joy."

Yyelexi let out a laugh at that, writing something on a piece of paper and handing it to one of the waitresses, who took it through large swinging doors, where I could only imagine is where the kitchen sat. "You've come to the wrong island for that, my dear," Yyelexi said. "I don't think I've gone a day without seeing an angry man in my six months here on the island."

"Only six months, and running a cafe?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "Consider my curiosity piqued. Are you a pirate too?"

Yyelexi laughed. "While angry men may be easy to come by here," she replied gently as she cleaned a glass, "forthcoming women are far less so." She filled the glass with iced tea and raised her eyes to meet mine. "I'm sure you would say the same, would you not?" She slid the tea to me.

She was right yet again. I smiled a little at her, taking a sip of the tea. It was unsweetened - just the way I like it. Which seemed incredibly surprising, because only in Ul'dah did I come across people that liked unsweetened iced tea.

"It's not often that I am served unsweetened tea," I said, my eyebrows raised yet again as I looked at her. "Do you prefer it as well?"

"You have an Ul'dahn accent," Yyelexi said, cleaning the next glass and not looking at me. "Ul'dahn citizens hate sweetened tea. You tried to lose that accent with your time in Hingashi, but it's still quite audible."

I was officially surprised. "How did you know I lived in Hingashi?" I asked quietly, staring at her. "I'm not even Doman."

Yyelexi smiled a little wider. "That confused me, of course, but then I remembered that Hingan samurai went to Ul'dah to conscript orphan children into samurai. There were a few of them, if I recall. You must have been one of them."

All of that, simply from hearing my speech. "Impressive," I admitted, shocked.

Yyelexi continued, moving on to refill the drink of the patron a few stools down, and leaving me to my thoughts, until she returned, her golden eyes shining at me. "So what is a samurai doing here on Fellinor, hmm? And where is your weapon? I thought katanas were sacred to the samurai."

"It's my turn to ask a question," I said firmly. "What did you do before you came to Fellinor?" I tried with great difficulty to nail down her accent, but I was only getting hints of a Gridanian accent, and Gridanian could mean she was doing anything at all.

Yyelexi smiled. The waitress returned with a wooden platter upon which sat my sandwich: a large combination of tomatoes, lettuce, bacon, sauce, and onions piled onto toasted white bread. It looked absolutely delicious.

"Thank you, Talena," Yyelexi said to the waitress, and then went to make a refill for another patron. I found myself so interested in Yyelexi - being able to nail down a person's history like she had was simply a gift. I opened my mouth to try to get her attention again, but at that moment, the door swung open, and all heads turned as a group of three pirates headed to the bar. All men, with the middle one not much older than me and carrying himself like he owned the place. With bright blue eyes that glistened in the dim light, he looked around the cafe before spotting Yyelexi at the bar, and gestured to his companions. All three of them sat down near me.

"Captain," Yyelexi said to the blue-eyed man, her voice light. "I've told you numerous times, the Dark Horse is an institution that is better suited for your kind."

"We just want some sandwiches, Lex," the captain chuckled at her. "Help a fella out. We're starving."

Yyelexi snorted. "I'm not serving you rowdy things here. This is where the more civilized ten percent of Fellinor eats their lunch, and I'd prefer to keep it calm and peaceful."

"We'll be good," the captain said earnestly, and the other two pirates nodded. "We just want some sandwiches." His eyes traveled to mine. "Like that! Give us three of those."

"Let's see the coin upfront," Yyelexi demanded. "And don't pester that girl. She's been through enough."

The captain's eyes met mine. They were beautiful eyes, and I found myself lost in them momentarily while he smiled a little, holding eye contact and saying, "Yes, I can tell. She's too pretty to not have trauma." He piled coins onto the bar to prove to Yyelexi that he had the money for sandwiches.

Yyelexi sniffed disapprovingly, handing poor Talena another three slips of paper, and after the waitress went back to the kitchen, Yyelexi said to me, "Pay those boys no heed. Pirates are rough on the outside, but on the inside, they're just little children who found wooden sticks shaped like swords."

"You wound me, Lex," the captain sighed, and then offered his hand to me. "My name's Kyantis. Kyantis Dekar. I'm captain of, well, most of this island. I haven't seen you around these parts."

"That's because she just got here," Yyelexi said firmly to him, and then looked at me. "You don't have to talk to him, dear. He's not worth your time."

"Hurtful," Kyantis responded.

I took his hand and shook it, but said nothing to him, instead biting into my sandwich. It was the single most heavenly thing I had ever eaten in my life. Letting out an elated sigh, I sat back in my stool, admiring my situation: an unsweetened iced tea and a delicious sandwich. All my problems seemed to melt away, but for some reason, my legs still felt wobbly.

The soft, slow passage of time made it easy to feel relaxed. The ruckus of the general crowd could be sensed, but it seemed to be largely happy ruckus. Kyantis seemed immersed in conversation with his buddies, and while Yyelexi didn't talk to me much more after that, I felt comfortable around her, like she was willing to help me and protect me from hooligans like Kyantis.

Before I knew it, it was time to head back to the dock, for the Escapade would be setting sail for Tulliyolal within the hour. I set my coins on the bar, making sure to tip Yyelexi generously.

"Where do you think you're going?" Kyantis teased me, sitting up straighter. "This is the type of establishment you can stay for as long as you like!"

"Says you," Yyelexi snorted.

"I'm going to Tulliyolal," I replied to him. "My boat is docking and ready to set sail soon."

"Splendid!" Kyantis said, rising to his feet and shoveling a fistful of coins onto the bar for Yyelexi. "I shall join you."

At that, my lips wrinkled into disgust as I stared at him. "I don't need a traveling companion," I said firmly.

"Don't pay attention to him, dear," Yyelexi snorted. "He's got enough duties here. The second your boat is on the ocean, you'll be safe from his stupidity."

"Again, hurtful, and rather uncalled for," Kyantis said to her with furrowed eyes. He then turned to me. "I can escort you to the ship if you like. You're riding on the Escapade right? That ship is a great one."

I inhaled at that. "I guess an escort wouldn't be unappreciated," I muttered.

"We'll stay here," Kyantis's buddies said with a snort as the sandwiches arrived, and they dug in. Kyantis, on the other hand, took my elbow gently and steered me out of the establishment and towards the docks. People regarded him with a sense of respect, tipping their hats at him or calling him by rank.

He seems to have all the respect that a pirate could possibly earn, I decided. Which isn't a lot, but still.

"It's nice when we get new people who like to leave the docks and explore a little," Kyantis said to me with a smile. "Most people who are here temporarily simply stay on the docks, but you made Yyelexi smile, which is a FEAT, let me tell you."

"She was nice," I said with a smile. "I like her. She doesn't take shit from anybody."

"Yeah, she's a real one," Kyantis said with a smile. "For a second, honestly, I wondered if you were one of her students."

"Students?" I asked, but before Kyantis could answer that, we arrived at the Escapade, where I handed my ticket to the dockmaster I'd spoken to earlier.

And suddenly, much to my horror, I realized why my legs felt wobbly. A very familiar heaviness started pushing onto my brain as I stared up at the gangplank onto the ship. I began to walk onto it, trying desperately to get onto the ship.

It felt like my brain was becoming a liquid - it felt like my ears were trying to crawl inside of my skull.

It happened so quickly.

It always happens so quickly.

My blood sugar crashed, my heart sped up uncontrollably.

And I fainted, falling into the turquoise ocean below.

[mech-a-nical]

What This Prison Has Done

Composition: Omnium Gatherium + Decontamination

Word Count: 1,621

Characters: (Hunters), (Syndromes), Eugene Roche

A short-term ceasefire between the Hunters and the Syndromes kept them from stabbing each other in the back while traversing through ruins taken over by the overgrown foliage. Cities gone to waste, this was a post-apocalyptic world full of silence, without a visible exit, not even an ocean in sight.

The more they walked, the island seemed never-ending, from forests, plains, and ruins, as far as the eye could see. Samar, the Shapeshifter Syndrome, had flown to the highest altitude she could. She had flown far, and returned with news that further proved this island was an infinite purgatory.

Fed up, Erythro moaned from boredom, stretching her arms and wiggling in her Mist’s hold, “Oh please! We have been walking for hours and no one has said ANYTHING. Thanks to Manacca that we are stuck here in the first place, but that doesn’t mean I have to be punished with this silence too!”

Plum, the Mist holding her remained silent, but she did smile down at the Doll in her arms. Erythro did see her roll her eyes when Valuria piped up in agreement, held in the arms of Neody.

“We already have to deal with the zombie group over here not speaking every single day, since they literally can’t, but no one else capable of speaking even managed to use their voices at all until WE did. If I’m going to live the rest of my miserable infinite life here, the very least we can do is TALK.”

The Dolls began talking with each other, to the suffering of the Hunters not used to the chatter. That group walked further apart, still distressful.

The undead, or the “zombies” as the Dolls had called them, trailed behind, with Meitner carrying Anthemon so that the Undead could use his hands to sign with the rest of their small group. They had been talking all this while, but it was not their problem that the rest did not understand.

Their walk continued, with the Dolls successfully bringing in the rest of the Syndromes and some of the Hunters into the conversation, until Luteci and Berke, their Lycanthropes, snapped their attention in sync to the left, where a forest began. Berke growled, and Luteci turned to the groups,

“...I heard…buzzing, coming from over there,” she pointed at the darkness made by the trees.

Arsenikos, one of the Hunters, unsheathed his swords from his wrists, his words drawled and guttural deep within his throat, “Ohhh, finally. We have something good now.”

Their path rerouted, with the Lycanthrope and Arsenikos leading this time. The Dolls settled down, trying to find the buzzing in the silence.

It was their Sanguivores that parked up next, slowing down as they tilted their head up to the air. Lanthana hummed in consideration, and Ervia grinned, “There’s fresh blood nearby. Too much blood for one single creature.”

Lanthana shook her head, wrapping a hand around Ervia’s throat to stop the younger sanguivore from running off towards the smell, “It is not fresh, at all. It’s very much a lot, but it feels…sick? Tainted and cloying.”

Everyone looked at each other, silent, as they considered. The rest still could not hear the buzzing, nor could they smell blood.

Samar took flight, weaving through the trees, until she disappeared into the darkness. The rest of the group continued walking, until Lanthana brought them up short again,

“Now…that would be fresh blood…”

Volth, the Syndrome’s Doctor shook his head, laughing, “You’re diagnosing that we lost a little bird?”

“Maybe it would be better if one of us went ahead, to see what happened.”

The groups looked behind them, to stare at Meitner. As a Revenant, he was the only undead who could speak, and everyone watched him shrug, placing Anthemon on the ground.

“Anthemon will travel through the trees. Dypros, Holm, and Lauda will be on the front line, and I will try to be the messenger of whatever happens up ahead.”

“I will take to the trees too.” It was Ceriak’s turn to be the center of attention, as she wiggled her spider legs behind her, “It’s stupid to leave Anthemon all by himself to cover the high ground. If Samar, capable of shapeshifting, was more likely than not killed. I can also protect myself better than Anthemon. I,” She sent a pointed look at the undead, “can use my legs, for example.”

Meitner nodded, glaring at Ceriak, “Ceriak and Anthemon will cover the high ground then.”

“I’m going too.” There was a smack, as Mendelev hit Arseniko, shaking her head.

“The fuck you are, we do not know what happened or what might be giving off the blood scent or the buzzing. We need to be prepared, and staying here will let us do that once Meitner comes back with news.”

Arseniko glared down at her, “I won’t be waiting around for the zombies to maybe come back. We have better chances fighting now, since we have no element of surprise to whatever is here. We can’t afford to sit idle and become sitting ducks. I’m going, and that is final.”

Mendelev hit Arseniko again, swearing at him. The Dolls looked away from that show to stare at each other. Erythro ran a hand through her black hair, “I’m perfectly fine waiting.”

Valuria nodded and whistled, looking back at Meitner as he kissed Anthemon. It was brief, before Mon and Ceriak were climbing the forest trees, followed by the undead and the Hunter on foot.

Berke tilted her head after a little while, “I can hear the buzzing…it’s…getting closer?” Her body began to change, twisting and twitching until a wolf stood in her place. Standing on its hind legs. Luteci followed suit.

“The smell of blood is stronger too.” That statement from Lanthana was accompanied by another short laugh by the doctor.

Everyone capable shifted their positions, ready to fight. Those carrying someone moved towards the back.

“It’s Meitner.” Rhodono, one of the defectors, carrying Terbiat, the sculpture, hissed.

It was Meitner, but there was something wrong. His steps sounded off, heavy, off-patterned. When he was close enough to see, there were tumors, necrosis, and dry lacerations all over his body, and the buzzing noise seemed to come from inside of him. His skin was flushed red, and when he met eyes with Manacca, he screamed, running towards her.

Manacca screamed back, slashing at him with her chains.

The chains struck true, bringing Meitner down to the ground, but instead of the expected blood to ooze out from the Revenant, flies exploded out, bursting from the wounds and the lacerations, expanding the holes. It left the body of Meitner ripped and torn, and through the swarm of flies and mosquitos, Erythro could see his body beginning to rot, and his limbs detach, spores beginning to release from the dead limbs.

She screamed.

The flies and mosquitos swarmed and attacked them. Terbiat, the Dolls, the Mutants, and the Mist were the only ones unaffected by their stings and bites. They could only watch in horror, as the rest succumbed to whatever diseases those bugs carried. The skins turned red, brown spots growing throughout them all, and necrosis.

Cadmia, one of the Mutants, looked down at her own body, mounting the horror for the rest of the survivors, “We are also infected with what has fallen the rest. Heat, there’s too much heat. They are burrowing eggs inside. Larva.”

Erythro could not identify anything else, but as the bugs began to worm inside the skins of the others as well as the Mutants, she came to one conclusion.

The rest had not only become contaminated hosts. They were also breeding grounds, their blood sucked dry to feed the pests inside of them.

Alba, the second of the other three Mutants, looked up and gasped.

Erythro looked away from Cadmia, to see a…man? It looked like it had once been a man, but now tumors, necrosis, scabs, and surrounded by bugs, made him look like a mutated, infected nightmare. He limped towards them, some of his limbs too weak to handle his weight with the necrosis and spores that covered them.

He smiled. Her infected friends and Hunters turned around to view the group yet to be infected.

Plum swore and water begin to gather from the ground and the sky, creating a wall that could veil the rest of the team from outside. She sent the water crashing towards the infected, pushing them back.

The man did not move from his spot, as the wave crashed into his body. The rest of the infected did, washed further back, but as the water receded, the infected began to run straight for them.

They would not be infected, but they could very well be ripped apart.

The Mists would be overwhelmed, and even if Erythro or Veluria summoned the two remaining Mists, they would be easily killed alongside the rest of them. She could not summon them, knowing the futility of it.

Looking at Veluria, Erythro mouthed a quick apology, whipping her head away and up to scream to the sky,

“YASADA!”

The ground shifted underneath their feet, throwing everyone off balanced, even the mutated man. An ominous crack that Erythro swore she could feel deep within her own soul resounded through the air, and far away, a black slithering serpent, dotted with yellow flashing stripes, enormous in size despite the distance, broke through the ground.

It arched through the air, and when it’s head pointed at the ground, it shot towards them, opening its mouth wide.

As the darkness descended over them, Erythro could only hope being eaten by the Leviathan would be the answer to bringing them back to their world, purified and decontaminated.

[siren-of-fire]

Was thinking about how Tr!Bad and Tr!Pili knew each other before this Realm and decided to come up with a little maybe headcanon plot for a fitting backstory.

When they first meet Mocha directly mentions dead by daylight and how he saved Bad that one time and this other time in that game, also using that as a way to make Bad help him with the kills. It is true that we did see Bad and Pili play DBD way before the Realm existed so what if that was their past. Just thought about expanding a bit more on that.

"DBD is essentially a one-versus-four game in which one player takes on the role of a Killer and the other four play as Survivors. The Killer must hunt and impale each Survivor on sacrificial hooks to appease a malevolent force known as the Entity, while the Survivors have to avoid being caught and power up the exit gates by working together to fix five generators. Each match is referred to as a trial. "

So what if that was exactly the scenario they both met in, as survivors being chased by a killer and had to work together to escape. But that isn't just it- "In order to continue this hunt, the Entity blocks off the gateways of death and puts the Survivors into a dreamlike state that leads them back to the Entity's of purgatory-esque world to get hunted again." So it wasn't just one trial but many where they both worked together maybe at times failed or were successful in escaping the killer.

But that also isn't just it. There is way more to this lore, the trials aren't them always being survivors but also sometimes playing the role of killer and being the hunter instead- "The Entity, an eldritch horror that exists between dimensions, is attracted to actions of great violence and malice. The majority of Killers, most of whom are serial murderers or victims of terrible tragedy, are pulled out of reality by the Entity and convinced or forced to do its bidding."

Maybe that was it, Bad and Pili were two creatures pulled out of their realities to be part of these trials. And they both have a very well known past of being killers, Bad notoriously known from purgatory and Pili who in Halls smp killed everyone in the Banquet and both of them are a victim of really terrible tragedy some might say. Quite literally perfect for playing the role of killer and survivor. Even as a survivor they both have a ability to be insane with all the tools they have got. Scraping by with bare minimum has never been a issue for them, also their special Immortal abilities- with Bad not dying by the same thing twice and Pili's death only happening when "time is up" and there is nothing left for him to do in that world.

"In order to maintain its existence, the Entity requires sacrifices and demands from killers that they hunt and kill the Survivors so it can feed off their emotions and steal a piece of their souls upon death." - both Bad and Pili have been seen working with be it a evil red egg or purple corruption. Bad is a chaotic demon who does seem to appreciate "practical yolk" here and there while Pili has said he would let himself get manipulated on purpose just for the fun of it. Again another perfect reason why they both are excellent for the role of a killer/hunter. They both do love a good killing, chaos and stirring the pot.

Connecting this all to Realm context of how they both are somehow never in a team but still great at working together, and maybe that trait directly comes from playing as survivors in these trials. Maybe they had played so many of these that now collaborating with each other is a muscle memory. They don't need to be in the same team to even achieve that level of companionship. Survivors aren't teammates or friends because selection is random but in order to escape in the set time they are forced to work against the clock with a killer chasing after them.

Maybe another reason why Mocha chose to go up to Bad for helping with kills was because in DBD trials he had seen Bad play a amazing killer, so he decided to go to him at the cathedral. He had seen Bad's capability firsthand and maybe even trusted him a little from there time when they played as survivors.

Another headcanon of mine is that Bad was orignally pulled by the "entity" for the role of a killer and Pili as a "survivor". Bad thrives in purgatory events and with his strategies and knowlege would be a great killer, while Pili on the other hand chases Death and has been known to exploit his ability of not dying for fun. This is specialy true about Ace who flaunts his non-mortal nature and for him being hunted down would be literal enrichment, his nature would just revive him again. He would even at times let himself be caught on purpose to be sacrificed on a hook while smiling in the face of the killer. In a way being a survivor is something he would enjoy very much no doubt. It's not about winning its about the adrenaline and having fun, something this cursed immortal clearly enjoys.

And even the roles are reversed Pili woundn't be a killer who plays to win but is more so focused on being scary and having fun with it. He would focus more on terrorizing and spooking while manically laughing at survivors being scared of his insane nature, he might not be the best/successful killer but definitely will prioritise FUN and giving the survivors a experience they won't forget (Maybe the word is psychological horror). Whereas Bad being the way he is would be focused and locked the fudge in survivor, knowing all the tricks and hiding spots, doing comms, etc.

This brings me to another line that was said a couple of days ago- "were we ever enemies/op's"

They both despite having differences have never been enemies, it was how Ace called simply a "chase" between them but never open hostility. This directly connects with how their dynamic would have been in DBD, even if in a trial one of them was a killer and other a survivor it still wasn't hostility but simply a nature and role assigned to them that would instantly switch up in the next trial. Maybe this level of unspoken close relationship they have stems directly because they both have killed each other, escaped together, worked together, escaped alone while other wasn't able to kill them and maybe even failed together during many trials. At some point the lines of being enemies just blurred and everything was simply them both having fun, which is also not that far from what does happen on the Realm between them. Tr!Pili's priority is somehow always having fun and Tr!Bad being a creature made of purpose in a way does help them get along with each. [It kinda feels like jobless silly elderitch horror cat with no purpose and demonic angel ancient elderitch horror who has a job he was directly made for]

Either way all these trials were so much harsher that the Realm shenanigans just seem like child's play. After every trial when all the players in DBD gather around the fire just waiting for the next trial to begin that's when Bad and Pili/Mocha must have chatted together, discussed strategies, teased each other about there failure in previous trial, maybe even blamed the other for making them lose, celebrated wins together and in general just bantered. Which is also what they usually also do on on Realm. Just yapping and teasing and poking the other for funnies.

I don't think both Bad and Pili are the type to get scared or feel fear from a killer hunting them down (it would mostly be adrenaline) maybe due to there nature or maybe due the millions of years they both have lived. A loop of purgatory like trials would have simply been a game of having fun for them. A loop of trials just like how both their lifes also are. Simply a infinity sign.

[rocksaltandmountainash]

Waking up in Beacon Hills - pt. 28

Chapter summary: Kara gets back to work, but an interruption from Beacon Hills makes it tricky. Set in the gap between Teen Wolf season 3b and 4, and Supernatural season 7 and season 8.

Series masterlist: can be found here.

Word count: 5.9k

Warnings/notes: swearing, canon (TW and SPN) typical violence, gonna be honest - it's just pure smut, peter hale is on my brain, but! the sex is safe - that's something? Gif sources: Deaton | Peter 1 | Peter 2 | Peter 3

“As in Bardo?” Deaton’s eyes belie his concern; “Why? Is Stiles okay?”

“No, no!” you cry, “It’s not him - he’s good.”

He relaxes and drags a stool over to the exam table for you. Dumping your bag on the ground, you sit across from him as he sips his coffee.

“I mean actual Purgatory. Bardo is, like, um, a state of being?”

He nods, holding the cup lightly in both hands, displaying all the patience and calm that makes him such a successful vet and mentor; “That’s right.”

“But I need the place.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There’s here, right?” you gesture around the room, “And Heaven and Hell. And Purgatory.”

“Okay,” he nods again, following your logic, but not sure where you’re headed with this hypothetical discussion.

“So…how do I get there?”

Deaton is stunned into silence, expecting you to laugh and admit this is a joke. It has to be a joke - the breezy way you’ve asked, like you’re requesting he direct you to the nearest gas station.

“Doc?” 

“I…I don’t know.” 

Although Deaton finds he’s surprisingly accepting of your rambling assertion that Heaven and Hell are real, he has no clue how it all works. 

“Why would you want to?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you shake your head. He’s right, he doesn’t understand. 

You’re discovering that Bobby and the Winchesters have spoiled you, giving you insight into parts of the life that apparently even Deaton hasn’t seen. It would scare the shit out of you if you were still the same woman you were a year ago. 

Once you learned all this was real - monsters and magic and angels - it blurred together. Doesn’t help you’ve lost most of the people who could provide you some perspective. And you’re loyal to your core, possibly to your own detriment. So all you see in front of you is the puzzle of pieces to figure out. The how, the maybe this, the A that can lead you to B, which might unlock C. 

The work - research, fighting, hunting, helping - has given you so much. More than you’d hoped for when you packed up your flat and turned up on Bobby’s doorstep, telling yourself to keep your expectations low. You’d never been happier to be proved so wrong.

It’s granted you friends, a sense of family. Sam can’t see it, or doesn’t want it, you can’t blame him, and you’ll respect his choice. 

Dean - he’s gone. But after all the good the Winchesters have done, someone should get him back so he can make his own decisions about how his life will play out. Fuck knows how you’ve gotten here - where it appears you and Samandriel will be the ones to bust him out, but finding him has stopped feeling like a task to feeling like duty. Morphed from a want to a need.

Painting on a fake smile, you chat with Deaton a while longer as you finish your coffee. Eventually the bell chimes, signaling another patient for him.

“I better get going.”

“I don’t think you should do whatever you’re thinking, Kara…. It’s risky... and…” 

His voice trails off as he walks you out or you just don’t hear the rest because you’re mentally fixated on the next step. You thank him for the advice, grateful for the distraction an overexcited bichon puppy brings and ignoring his pointed looks as you exit the clinic. ****

Nevada:

There’s a loud knock that makes you jump, because Samandriel never knocks. He doesn’t even use doors, just pops up without warning, making your heart fall into your ass every time.  

Taking a peek out the window, you scold yourself for not checking the porch light was working - you can’t quite make out who’s standing there.

Opening the door a crack, you grip your gun tight behind your back. When you spot Peter, your nerves dissipate into confusion that tints your greeting.

“What…how…what are you doing here?” 

Pushing the door closed, you remove the chain before opening it to allow Peter to stroll in. He glances around the room and drops his keys, wallet, and phone on top of the TV.

“You told Stiles where you were.” 

“Yeah, I told Stiles,” you rake your eyes over him.

Judging by his disposition - confident, arrogant, acting like he owns the place - nothing is amiss. He’s not here to rush you back to Beacon Hills because something is horribly awry. So you ponder what he’s here for, why he’s shown up ten hours from his home. You think you may know. But it will be much more fun to hear him say it.

“Let me guess, you were eavesdropping around Derek’s like a stalker?”

He grins as he wanders over and lays his palms on your hips; “Maybe.”

You remove his hands, not forcefully, but enough to console yourself that you’re not this easy, that he might need to jump through a few hoops, do more than merely turn up. It’s dismal how happy you are to see him, and you do your best to not show it. 

“But I didn’t tell him where, just said I was in Lovelock.” 

Keeping your tone light, you search for something other than Peter’s body to occupy your hands, because he’s looking at you like he can feel the excitement that’s pinging its way through your body. You grab a beer from the fridge, throw the cap in the sink and take a long pull to calm yourself. 

Peter studies the subtle way you’re sucking down deep breaths and pretending you don’t want him as he gauges the most efficient way to get you naked. Like this wasn’t inevitable, as if he was going to let you leave town and never see you again.

You raise an eyebrow, waiting on him to answer your question.

“I just found the motel with the most bed bugs.” 

“Hey! Fuck you Hale.” you defend your choice of accommodation though you’re smiling as you tell him off.

Peter laughs, circling around the small table to pluck the bottle from your grasp and set it down. He slips his arms around your waist to hold you in place; “This town is small. There are only two motels.”

You try for a witty remark or sassy retort, but your defences are slowly being eroded by the warm cradle of his arms around you, the pressure of his palms resting on your ass. 

 A sly smile tugs at his lips while his eyes dart from yours down to your mouth and back. He holds in a sigh when your hands find their way to the front of his shirt.

“Okay.” is all you manage, because his eyes are twinkling and maybe you’re a bit lonely and maybe you’re a lot weak but he looks good and his chest is so firm that it seems like a pointless waste of time to act like you don’t want this.

Peter dips his head, “Okay. Happy? Can we fuck now?” 

The raspy way he asks sends electricity down your spine and you press yourself closer, feel him stiffen against your thigh, “Yes.. please.”

Not even embarrassed that you’re whining, and Peter forgets to feel smug that he’s won because as soon as the plea leaves your mouth, he kisses you. You let his tongue delve into your mouth and give tiny little whimpers that he swallows down.

This shouldn’t be turning him on this much - he’s a grown man who enjoys sex in its plentiful and varied forms, so why is the simple pleasure of your lips on his driving him crazy? Fully clothed, with your fingers threading into his hair, how do you make it so there’s no air in the room? Peter’s thoughts are halted when you moan, and it becomes a flurry of lips and tongues and you rubbing against his crotch as you fumble with the buttons of his shirt. 

Squeezing the back of your thighs, he urges you up, craving the crush of you on him. He can’t get close enough upright like this. Needs access, needs your scent filling his nose and your skin sliding along his.

“Wait…wait,” pulling away, you shake yourself free of the horny daze Peter put you in, “I don’t have a condom.”

“What?” 

The abrupt change of pace tilts Peter off balance, and his arms flex automatically, wanting your warmth back. Then it occurs to him you hadn’t insisted on protection the other times. That fact, combined with his recent discovery of Malia, has him suddenly worried, 

“I thought you were on the pill?”

“I am. But, you know,” god this is awkward, “That just covers pregnancy.”

Peter annoys himself by asking, “Are you seeing other people?” 

You shrug - you aren’t, but he’s missing the point, “None of your business. Besides, it takes two.”

“And you don’t know where I’ve been?” he chuckles, breaking the tension. 

You laugh too but are adamant, “If this is happening again - condom.” 

“Right,” Peter agrees with a quick nod before re-buttoning his shirt and smoothing it down, then focuses on dealing with his hard on. You grin at his desperate attempts to rearrange himself so it’s not so obvious and he grunts at you, “Your fault.” 

Throwing your hands up, you step back to give him some space, not wanting to make matters worse.  But Peter, this shook up, is too delicious, feels a bit like giving him a taste of his own medicine so you can’t resist -

“Bet this is the first time you wish you weren’t so big.”

He stills, closing his eyes as his hand fists around his cock and groans, “Not helping, Kara.”

“Sorry! I’ll just…” you make your way to the bed and find the remote, but hesitate before turning on the TV - should ask if he wants company, it’s your request that requires a run to the store, after all. 

It’s only polite.

“Peter? Do you want me to come?”

By the sour glare he throws over his shoulder, he’s not amused. 

“Just wait here,” he orders, shoving his wallet and keys into his pockets. He’s halfway to the door before he switches course and stalks over to you, leaning down to grab you by the chin and plant one more kiss on you, “You’re trouble.”

You beam up, basking in his discomfort.

“Don’t start without me, sweetheart.” with that, he slams the door behind him. ****

Peter always selects a high end rental when he travels, but he’s too preoccupied to enjoy the ride when stuck behind a line of trucks. Apparently he has hit the dinner traffic - every person in this ridiculous town is queuing at the intersection for Main Street - and the drugstore is at the other end. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he checks the clock - if they close early, he’s gonna have to hurt someone. 

He sighs, thinking he could have just told you the condoms are unnecessary. He’s clean, prides himself on it, in fact. If you didn’t have such a bug up your ass, he might have tried.  Maybe he should tell you he’s not fucking anyone else. He’s irked to learn he doesn’t like that you are. Didn’t think he had anyone - anything other than the shadow of Argent - to contend with. But you’re young, and sexy, and probably spend your nights in bars flirting and taking your pick, so now he feels foolish.

“Hurry the fuck up.” he mutters and gestures at what must be the oldest man alive, who is incapable of parking in one swift movement.

A perplexing flush spreads through his chest at the idea of you waiting for him, which he attributes to the heated seats, jabbing at the button to turn them off.

“Fucking finally.”

There’s just enough space for him to maneuver around yet another idiot who can’t drive and pull into the Walgreens parking lot, breaking into a hurried jog as another image of you pops into his mind. **** After taking a quick shower, you sit cross-legged on the bed, watching TV as you dry your hair. The tepid stream of water did nothing to quell the daydreams of what Peter had in store for you. You cannot hide your eagerness when you hear the ‘click’ of his car locking and him busting through the door.

He tosses a plastic bag to you then undresses at the foot of the bed.

“Why’d you get all this?” you ask, digging through the assortment he’s returned with - a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of body wash, candy, some beef jerky, aspirin, and stashed at the bottom - a large box of condoms.

You laugh, holding up the items, imagining him all flustered, ashamed of his intended purchase, like a teenager.

“Thought you’d like ‘em.” Peter shrugs, joining you on the bed, his hands going to your ankles and tugging to encourage you to uncross your legs.

“I do. Thanks,” you tell him, moving so he’s positioned between your knees, slowly running his palms over the soft skin of your inner thighs. 

Ripping open a bag of gummy worms, you twirl your tongue around one and suck it into your mouth, feeling his fingers squeeze into your flesh as he watches you. You dangle another in front of his mouth, “Want one?”

“I’m having something else.” With a wink he buries his head between your thighs and when he has you quaking, a few minutes later, you have the sticky sweet taste of fake raspberry on your tongue.

Peter stays, keeping you up till dawn. When he leaves later in the morning, he tells you to text when you have a night or two free.

Colorado:

“Any reason we’re not going in?” you ask quietly, blowing into your hands.

“There’s at least ten of them.”

“There’s four of us…” 

You’re working with a father - Darren, his son - DJ, and his nephew whose name you don’t remember, and hating every single minute of it. 

Despite the weak afternoon sun breaking through the trees overhead, it’s cold out, and if you have to stand idly by as they take turns with the binoculars for one second longer, you think you’ll scream.

“Too risky.”

You back down after one boy gives you a judgemental stare, “Your call I guess,” and stamp your feet to stay warm.

“We should wait for nightfall.”

“When they’re awake? Yeah, that makes sense,” you comment sarcastically.

“Hey, this is our job. You don’t like the way we run it - you can leave.”

“Okay.”

They nod, glad you know your place and unaware when you turn on your heel and head back toward the road. 

You’d taken an instant dislike to the men - not sure if it was sexism or because you just didn’t command attention like Sam or Dean, but you’ve had enough of them bossing you around. 

You type an angry text to Clyde, then delete it before coming up with kinder wording as you crank the heater on and wait for your windshield to clear. 

Eventually, you settle on telling him you’re working on your own thing and won’t be available to help anyone for a bit. Not his fault these fuckknuckles are complete amateurs.

The entire day has been a total shit show. For starters, Samandriel turned up in your passenger seat with no warning, causing you to drop the overpriced Starbucks you were holding. 

Already frustrated, cursing as the hot coffee dripped down your lap, Samandriel looked at you all prissy, which just set you more on edge.

Then you’d accidentally revealed you knew Sam wasn’t in Purgatory along with Cas and Dean, and Samandriel badgered you for close to forty minutes, implying you were being childish and acting stupid.

“But he could help us.”

“If he wanted to be here, he would be.”

“I can ask him - you wouldn’t even have to see him.”

“Fuck! Just drop it, okay?” you hit the steering wheel with your palm, sick of going round in circles. “I’m not dragging him into this.”

“I could make you tell me where he is.” Samandriels voice is icy, but you’re too pissed off to care.

“Fucking try then!”

You peel your eyes away from the road, but he’s gone, and you sigh miserably.

****

Replaying your argument as you drive only winds you up, and you can’t stop yourself from becoming more and more annoyed. You’d only agreed to help Clyde’s buddies ‘cos you were itching for a fight and you can’t understand the point of calling in reinforcements if they weren’t gonna use them. If they wanna hang around the woods and watch a farmhouse all night, well, they can fuck right off and do it without you.

So you’re agitated, boiling with pent up aggression by the time you arrive at the motel and see Peter waiting at your door. Distractedly you press a kiss to his lips, ignoring his affections in favor of pacing around the room, fuming, as you tell him all about the job. 

“They didn’t even read the case files!”

“God, stop.”

“Excuse me?” 

“I said stop. Stop being such a brat.”

“What the fuck, Peter?” you round on him, taking offense and on the verge of exploding.

He strides over to you, pinning your hands behind your back and pressing you against the counter with his full weight, “You don’t need anyone’s permission.” 

He stares at you, daring you to disagree, to push him away and make believe this isn’t exactly what you need.

“If you want to kill something… just go do it,” Peter slides his hands under your shirt, fingers coasting along your hips and the tiny touch anchors you in the moment, “Hell, we can go now.”

“You’d do that? Work with me?”

That’s touching.

“If it would get you out of your head for five minutes?” he reaches his hand up and grabs at your breast, “Yes.”

Maybe not so touching.

“Are we going?” Peter steps away.

“No!” you yank him closer by his jacket, “Later. Tomorrow.” 

Doesn’t matter, just not now - not when he’s tweaking your nipple and you can feel him hard and ready, a willing distraction you desperately want. Winding your hands up his chest, you apologize. “I’m sorry.”

“Good.” 

“Do I…oh…” your voice falters when Peter pops the button of your jeans and brushes his fingertips along the skin of your belly.

He stops, nodding for you to continue.

“Do I need to make it up to you?” you ask sweetly.

It can stay a suggestion, just loose preambling banter if Peter doesn’t pick up what you’re laying down. But there’s a version of you that’s dying to be set free. You want to stop your mind whirling, to be fucked out, empty-headed, and Peter’s a solid bet to give that to you, even if you can’t come right out and say it.

He feels a twist in his gut at the tremble of need laced through your playful tone, your big innocent eyes tilted up to him, filled with curiosity and longing. 

“Hmm,” he pretends to consider it, like a shiver hadn’t just run through his cock, “Maybe you need to be punished?”

There’s a devious glint in his eye as you swallow thickly and give the faintest of nods.

“You’d like that?” 

He slips his hands into your underwear, moaning at the wet he finds. “Shit…yeah you like that.”

****

Peter abandons you to remove his clothes and lay back against the pillows before beckoning you over. Your legs move of their own accord, though stop short next to the bed, unsure of what to do next. 

“Take your jeans off,” he orders, sounding gruff and almost cold.  

He’s clearly done this before, from the smooth way he’s eased into control and how his lips twitch up into a smirk as he watches you.

Complying with his request, you’re suddenly nervous you don’t know what you’re getting into. Can’t help but wonder about Peter’s other partners, spiraling into self doubt as you compare yourself to the imaginary women, maybe men. They’d no doubt have more experience, be more confident than you could ever be. Sexier, you think, self consciously tracing the scars on your abdomen. 

Peter sees you nibble the inside of your cheek and play with the stitching along the bottom of your shirt.

The first time you’d been together you were covered in bandages, and the second you’d gotten fully, gloriously bare, but distracted him with your mouth when he went to turn the lights on. Aside from those exceptions, you always keep a shirt on when you fuck. He’s noticed, but never mentioned it, though it drives him crazy that there’s a part of you that you’re keeping from him.

“Shirt?” he tries his luck.

Freezing, your face clouds with an uncertain expression.

“Never mind,” he says, more gently, “Just come here.”

He tugs you by the wrist, splaying you out across his lap. Impatient to get his hands on you, even if he can’t get all of you.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, darling,” he uses a hand to part your legs, “You’re getting ten because you deserve it for being rude.” 

“Ten what?” you ask, your voice muffled by the blankets your face is buried in, and Peter chuckles before he answers by swatting your ass firmly. You gasp at the sting and squirm in his lap.

“Ten of those. And you’re going to count them, okay?”

Nodding your head against the crook of your arm, you pray he can’t spot the flush spreading across your skin. You’re sure he does, you’re ass up over his thighs after all. 

Turning to risk a glance at Peter’s face, you find him staring down at his palms running over the curves of your cheeks. He slides his eyes to yours, and you’re pleasantly surprised that he looks as excited as you feel. He looks hungry for you and your thighs want to press together but he keeps a hand in place, holding you open.

“Have to say it, doll…. I need to hear you.”

It feels wrong to ask for this, to want it, resembles walking a tightrope. But mostly you only feel his hands, kneading and squeezing, and your cunt clenching around nothing, and it just feels good.

“Yes, yeah - I’ll count.”

He grins, immediately landing a hand on your other cheek, and you cry out “One!”

“That’s it.”

Another smack to your left side, “Two.”

“Good.”

Again, “Three.”

You make it to five easily with Peter talking you through, before he pauses to let you recover while he runs his hand between your folds, gathering up your slick and using it to ease his fingers inside, “See what happens when you’re nice?” 

He strikes - six and seven - in fast succession, one hand still pumping away at your pussy.

“Poor little slut, so stressed.”

You bite into your own forearm when he gives you another, harder, spank.

“What’s that?”

“Eig - Shit! Eight!”

“You know what I think?” he teases you mercilessly, moving his hand away. “I think you needed this.”

When you say nothing, can focus only on your cunt throbbing, and trying to wriggle over the hard bulge in Peter’s pants, he grunts out a command - “Words.” 

“Yeah - I” he cuts you off with another whack and you scream, “Nine.”

“Doing so well for me, darling, just one more.”

You’re shivering, anticipating the last hit, keening for him to touch you again. He takes his time admiring red handprints while he rubs his thumb over your clit in tiny, torturing circles. 

Waits while it builds, witnessing you shake and arch your back and he raises his hand to give you a final slap. You swear you hear when his palm makes contact, but he presses his thumb down on your clit and slams thick digits into you and then it’s only your own moans and sobs in your ears as you come, ending up a writhing, panting mess. 

When you’re able to see again, breathe again, you turn over, carefully - so you don’t squish him, 

“Fuck Peter,” you sigh, then giggle, practically glowing with bliss, “Ten.”

****

You purposely close the bathroom door louder than is required and shoot Peter - sleeping soundly - a death stare. When he sighs, you roll your eyes and finish fixing your hair into a tidy bun. You’re mad, regretting every choice that led you here. 

After your spanking last night, Peter toyed with you for hours, but didn’t fuck you, wouldn’t let you orgasm again. He declared, standing behind you where you knelt on the bed, “Rude sluts don’t get to come.” 

You begged and whimpered, tried it all as you watched him stroking himself over your shoulder, but your frustration only made him worse, meaner. 

He only barked out orders, “turn over,” “touch yourself” “stop” and you did everything he asked, desperately bending yourself to his will for just the promise he’d make you feel full again.

Then he’d laid down his rule - that when he’s around, you forget about hunting, pay attention to him, only him - and you’d agreed instantly, though you would have said anything at that point. 

He’d finished himself off with a satisfied groan, shooting ropes across your stomach before turning over and promptly falling asleep.

Peter ignored your incredulous threats, pretended not to notice when you chased an orgasm on your own instead. He hid his grin, and his erection when you failed, too over-stimulated with his body next to you but off limits, too empty, to reach your release.

“Fuck you.” You hissed at his back before you gave up.

Now he observes you stomping around the room, looking gorgeous in an outfit he’s never seen before with a face like thunder.

“Morning.” 

You huff - busy packing your laptop into a handbag, and taking out a mirror to check your makeup. The lighting in the bathroom was shit, and you’re not the greatest at blending. 

“You look nice,” you look fucking edible in a knee length skirt, pantyhose, and dress shirt, “Where are you going?”

“Sheriffs….” using your pinky, you tidy up the edges of your lipstick. “Working, remember?”

Peter smiles. You’re pissed off and testing him. He can feel the reflexive instinct in you to pull back. A woeful attempt to regain control. It won’t work, you’re in it now, but this is a part of the game and he’ll play along.

“Course. Give me five minutes.”

“Wait, you’re coming?” you stare after him as he goes to brush his teeth.

“Said I would.”

You think of reasons he shouldn’t, but can’t find many, it’s always smart to have backup and he could be useful if you run into Darren and his lot again. 

“Do you have a suit? Or a jacket?”

“Think it’s my first time in a police station?” he digs fresh clothes from his bag and gets dressed, grinning at you.

“I’m sure it’s not…” you say dryly, “What about impersonating federal law enforcement? You alright with that?”

“Not a concern.”

Of course it isn’t - nothing is for him, you think bitterly, hating the way he moves around the room casually, how he exists so comfortably. Acting like last night didn’t happen, that you hadn’t humiliated yourself and he hadn’t been cruel.  

“ID?” you ask, trying to rein in your emotions.

“What for?”

“Need to make you a badge,” holding out a hand, you sigh impatiently, “License… or something with a photo.”

Peter plucks a plastic card from his wallet and hands it over. “Will this do?”

Reading the ID, “Montana State Livestock Commission”, you wonder if it’s real, and why he has it, but won’t give him the satisfaction of asking. 

You scowl when you see the picture. Fucking typical, even in the grainy, low contrast photo he’s handsome. 

“This might work actually, there’s been some cattle deaths.”

He smiles proudly, irritating you further.

“Come on. You’re driving.”

Your wall of disinterest remains up during the journey to the Sheriff’s Station and you stare glumly out the window, opening your mouth only once, to advise Peter that when you go in, he should take the lead, introduce you both and ask to speak to whoever is in charge of the case. He gawps at you, can’t believe what you’re saying.

“You’re older, and you’re a man - they’ll expect me to defer to you.”

You despise it, but it’s the truth and it’ll get you in and out fast.

****

Peter’s far too proficient at being dismissive. You had told him to take the lead, even so, might have been nice if it felt like more of a struggle for him to talk down to you in front of the Sheriff. 

“Where to now?” he asks, thoroughly enjoying your simmering rage perfuming the air.

“Morgue.”

“Why?”

“Wanna see the bodies, something’s not right. Plus, I need to restock.”

Peter reminds himself to pull up, tread light, you're moody and he wants to break you. But he wants to do it slowly. 

“Restock?”

“Doesn’t matter, just drive.” You snap, reading through the reports from the Sheriff, the headache of Peter temporarily forgotten as you try to figure out what’s vexing you.

****

Handing Peter the syringes you’d filled from the bodies at the Coroner’s, you switch out your sensible, professional flats for your boots.

“What’s in here?” he sniffs, his nose crinkling in disgust.

“Dead man’s blood. Won’t kill them, but slows ‘em down.”

He senses the shift in you as you prepare, an almost visible change while you flick through the report one more time and mutter to yourself. You sit up straighter, eyes narrowing while you chew on a nail.

“Hey,” he moves your fingers away from your mouth, “What are you thinking?” 

Before you can snatch your hand out of his, you catch the worried way he’s looking at you. You appreciate him taking this seriously, and manage a small smile. 

“The first body was a vamp.”

“So?”

“They’ve probably been here for months, feeding on livestock.”

“Right,” the Deputies had mentioned the local farmers were up in arms about the number of cows going missing from their herds, “And?”

“And…shit…I don’t know.”

You shrug - don’t know why it bothers you, why you feel such an obsessive need to have every little detail before you jump in. If you wait any longer, you’ll be as useless as Darren, staking out the nest while townsfolk keep turning up dead.

Peter seizes on the opening. “C’mon, sweetheart, you’ve got a theory.”

“Just thinking - this could be retaliation, you know? Maybe - if they’d been left alone…”

“They might’ve stuck to beef?”

“Yeah.”

“But they haven’t.” 

“Nope,” you smile again, but it’s conflicted and Peter wants to slam the car in reverse. 

“Let’s go” you hand him a machete.

Pieces connect and it starts to make sense, coming at you full speed when you’re halfway through the nest. The son, DJ, he’d been limping, and the other guy - the nephew - was the one who shot down all your ideas about how to handle the job. So the encounter, the fire thrumming through you which should have lifted your spirits, had you buzzing with adrenaline for a few hours after - does nothing. 

Logically, you should be grateful for Peter’s help, you know this, but he’d proven too helpful, too nimble, and you hadn’t gotten to hit enough, hurt them enough, for your liking. 

“You were good in there,” he tells you, rinsing the blood off under an outside faucet.

He means it as a compliment, but your brow just knits in confusion.

Because - no shit, you’re good at this - it’s the only thing you are any good at. 

You’re undeniably not good at casual sex or at being alone and seem to fare just as badly when you try to live differently, indulging in the delusion that you deserve something else. 

Can’t he tell? Doesn’t he see?

That you’re achingly, transparently bad at stopping bright, shining boys from getting possessed by Nogitsunes or from saving your almost-boyfriend’s daughter. 

You turn your back on Peter to change into a fresh t-shirt. You didn’t sign up for this, you don’t need this.  Don’t need angels berating you when all you’re doing is trying or idiotic men picking fights they don’t finish with vampires and leaving you to clear up their messes. Don’t need Sam’s silence while he plays house and pets his dog. You don’t need anyone, definitely not Peter goddamn Hale and his infuriating mind games.

****

Peter stews as he drives back to the motel, not comprehending why you’re still angry, why getting your hands dirty and tearing up the vamps hasn’t calmed you. It helped him - provided an outlet for his rising frustrations. Watching you land fists to faces, swinging a blade, getting your pretty little blouse drenched in blood and sweat was enough to soothe his misgivings about accompanying you. 

He’d woken up with other plans for the day, but you had ruined them. Working with you was him making the best of an unpleasant situation, wouldn’t kill you to be more appreciative. You should thank him. 

Your phone pings, and you chuckle scornfully, reading the message from Darren.

“Assholes. Get this,” you pivot to share with Peter, “Last chance if you want in - meet at the farmhouse at 7.”

He’s relieved to no longer be the target of your ire, “Gonna tell them?”

You tap out part of a text before deciding to call. A girl has to get her kicks somehow.

“Hello?”

“Don’t bother. Vamps are dealt with.”

Darren scoffs, “You took out a nest by yourself?”

“No, I had help.” You smile at Peter, a crack in your armor he intends on exploiting.

“You’re not supp - “

“If you got a problem, talk to your nephew. Ask him why they started chowing down on locals.” 

Waiting a beat, you revel in the gratification as your meaning dawns on Darren, “Burn the bodies, and don’t call me again.”

Feeling better after laying into Darren, you talk yourself down to something approaching normal while you smoke a cigarette.

“So, what now?” he questions after you return to the room. You stare at him blankly, the late night and exhaustion of the day creeping up on you. Peter, still clad in his "work" clothes, looking deceptively clean cut, moves forward, hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“After a hunt - what do you usually do?”

You picture it - used to be Sam or Dean would get burgers and beers and you’d chill out, rest. Other jobs - ones that didn’t go clean - you’d take off, Dean putting as many miles between you and the case as fast as Baby could manage. 

Lately, on your own, you pretty much drink and smoke and drink and rattle around until the sun comes up. Vamps are different, it’s better to hit during the day, so you don’t really know how to fill in the evening.

“Not usually done this early,” you tell him, his thumb brushing down your jaw has you weakly deciding - you’ll give him one last shot to salvage the day, “Thanks for the assist.”

“It was fun,” he admits, pulling down a deep breath. He smiles when he can’t smell bristly prickles of fury any longer, and it stretches wider when a yawn bursts out of you.

“How ‘bout I go pick us up some dinner?” he loops an arm around your waist, “Then you can have your reward.”

Trailing your hands over his broad chest, you lace your fingers behind his neck, impossibly cute as you ask, “Reward?”

“Think I’d leave you hanging, doll?” he tuts, and tips your chin, making sure you’re looking him in the eye before he continues, “You took your punishment,” he drops a leisurely kiss on your waiting mouth, “You’ve earned a treat.”

[skittikyu]

Stiltikyu? You good there, buddy?

Explanation for hypothetical abstraction under the cut!

When Stiltikyu first entered the circus, she practically skipped all stages of grief right to acceptance in a day. She was still freaked out of course, and it’s not like she likes the situation any more than the rest of them just because it became the new normal. They just..it never actually occurred to their brain that there was any other conclusion to reach. Heck, they’re half convinced they’re just dead and in some kind of purgatory now, so whether or not their body is rotting away at her computer, preserved in a comatose state, or just vanished leaving their conscience no place nor method to return, the result is the same as it would have been if they’d been isekai’d to hell by truck-san.

So are they immune to abstraction, then? Alas, just because their personal coping is different than the others doesn’t make their psyche any more resilient to stress in general, even if the source isn’t the idea of an exit just out of reach. Stiltikyu’s “what’s the point”/“nothing matters” moments are mostly interpersonal. She’s never been desperate to leave so it’s not something she can be disappointed by when she had no expectations in the first place. How can they lose the hope she never had?

What drives them to her near-breaking point is how isolated she feels despite being surrounded by other people in an identical situation. 

Maybe the situation made her desperate for connections, or maybe she was always the type to try and make then maintain social bonds. Could be both, the former exacerbating the latter. 

As an introvert she’s fine being on their own, so it’s not like she’s trying to be best friends with everyone, but they’ve got no choice but to be stuck here together so they might as well tolerate one another, right? 

So yeah, when they interact with the same group of usually-less-than-10 people every day, for years, possibly forever, she gets attached even to the ones they’re not particularly close to.

So losing them is already hard. And then feeling like the only one who cares makes it even worse. She tries to not resent anyone too badly for it, whether they’re repressing the grief for their own stability’s sake, are desensitized or mentally too far gone themselves to really process, or actually legitimately Do Not Care. 

(Besides, they’re technically not dead. Just in the cellar, indefinitely. Possibly permanently, so not much different than death, but the same could be said for their human lives regarding the circus, and you’ve already read her outlook on that.)

And oh boy do they have to try. 

The news that Kaufmo had abstracted was broken the same moment as the ceiling he came crashing down through right in front of them. Upsetting as that is already, wouldn’t it at least catch them off guard, draw out a reaction from it being so sudden and jarring?

And yet, Jax was dismissive, Kinger and Zooble didn’t even acknowledge it, and while Gangle had some of an expected reaction, that didn’t stop her from calmly taking the escalator up and away with everybody else.

Then when Caine had put him away, Kaufmo’s name was mentioned only in an incredulous comment from Zooble- mostly a jab directed at Kinger -before the conversation moved on like it was nothing. 

Just another day. 

Which yeah, here, it was. 

That’s the problem.

Maybe she’s the only one here whose ever been to therapy, but Stiltikyu genuinely believes they’d all be better off if they were more open with one another. They should be leaning on eachother for support, but the lack of vulnerability indicates an even deeper lack of trust.

(Well, maybe that’s unfair to Ragatha, who puts in the most effort compared to all of them, but she’s walking proof of the point about therapy, just in the opposite direction. Even Stiltikyu, with all her “hang ups” about compassion and connection, knows that being what you think others want or need never guarantees you’ll get what you want or need from them in return, only that they’ll eventually take it for granted (unintentionally or otherwise).)

They’re used to- expect, even -a lack of care from Caine. She understands he isn’t human and doesn’t think or feel like they do. What’s the other’s excuses? Even if they don’t have the energy to empathize, are too tired or scared or whatever to want to risk letting anything else happen that will just end up hurting them more, isn’t the fact they cling so much to their remaining humanity proof of its existence?

Either they no longer see that same humanity in those who hit rock bottom, or they’re pretending not to if it means putting off the same fate for themselves.

She’s not sure which would be the sadder way to be living.

Well, no. Surviving isn’t living.

That’s the heart of it then, huh? Everyone is too busy surviving to live.

And she can’t take it. (But she has to.)

Whose going to care, let alone miss them if they fall into thoughts they can’t come back from? They’ll just be another soul lost to the cycle with the only ghost of proof that they were ever there an X on a door memorializing them.

They don’t remember much of her life before coming here but they’re certain that at least their friends and family would miss them, even if they stopped (or never were) looking.

And maybe, in small moments, their “friends” here would think of them from time to time. Not enough to mourn or reminisce, though. The last their “name” would ever be said would probably be some semi-sarcastic remark about weakness, then they would go on like she’d never even been there to begin with.

Obviously she doesn’t wish devastation on others, especially in a case where it could become their own undoing, but the idea that she might have no impact/impression if- probably when -she slips up, is a terrifying source of motivation to keep going.

So, she survives right alongside the rest without ever really feeling like she’s “with” them.

(The disconnect is worse some days than others.)

(Let’s see how long she lasts.)

[car-sounds]

Valentine's Baking

Simeon x (GN)reader

1020 words

Summary: Simeon and Mc do some baking the weekend before Valentine's Day.

Simeon and you were walking towards each other through the halls of RAD, Simeon ended up being the one to start your conversation “Oh, Mc. I had something I wanted to talk to you about, do you have a minute?” 

“Yeah, go ahead.”

The two of you continue walking to the RAD exits while Simeon explains what was on his mind “I thought since Valentine's Day is coming up the two of us could bake some cookies together. I know that the brothers will probably be hogging your attention throughout that day, maybe we could get together this weekend to make some sweets that way we could also hand them out to everyone else as their Valentine's gifts.”

“Of course, I would love to!” Simeon looks delighted with your answer, and continues to explain what he had in mind “I’m sure Purgatory Hall already has all the ingredients we need and I remember both Luke and Solomon said they would be out most of the day on Sunday. If you can make it then, it would be easier to keep the surprise from them.”

“Sunday works for me. Are you sure you don’t need me to bring any ingredients?” The two of you stop when you reach the corner you usually part ways at, to have a bit more time to talk. “No, don’t worry I’ve got that covered. Let me walk you the rest of the way home, It’s nice getting a moment alone with you.” You agree and catch up with what went on in your day.

—

It’s the weekend before Valentine's Day, Simeon texted you the day before telling you the time Solomon and Luke should be out of the house, around one in the afternoon with them coming back before dinner. Hopefully that also left time for you to air out the kitchen so the cookie surprise isn’t immediately obvious.

When the wait is up Simeon picks you up from the House of Lamentation, the two of you discuss the cookie decoration ideas you both had in mind. Setting up the cookie making starts pretty much right away, Simeon had already gotten out the recipe you’ll be using, it was decided over text that making heart shaped sugar cookies would be the most on theme dessert for the holiday. He starts reading out the ingredient list directing you to pull them out so they’ll be ready to use. Once that’s done Simeon tells you to get started while he grabs something from his room, he comes back after about a minute holding a present wrapped in pink heart shaped wrapping paper. 

You feel a little guilty when you first see what he has, you didn’t have anything on hand to give to him since you were going to wait until the actual holiday. “Oh, what’s that?” He gestures the gift towards you and responds “It’s one of the gifts I have for you today, I thought it would be best to give this to you now rather than later given what it is.” 

“Thank you Simeon! You should have told me that you were going to be. I could've brought some of the things I had for you.” You say while starting the unwrapping. “Well, that would have ruined the surprise wouldn’t it? So do you like it?” It’s a Valentine’s Day themed apron, pink and covered with heart prints. “Oh! It’s so cute! Thank you” 

“I’m glad you enjoy it, I even have one here I bought for myself so we could be matching. With that out of the way let’s actually start baking. Oh, let me help you tie up your apron?” 

Once both of you decided who was going to do each step, you and Simeon got to work chatting more about whatever random things that came to either of your minds. Once the cookies were cut into their shapes and thrown into the oven, the two of you got started on the icing, it was divided into separate bowls and dyed one red, one white, one pastel pink. Simeon was helping you learn how to properly flood the icing and both of you were trying to make as many different designs as possible using some of the sprinkles the kitchen had on hand and the different coloured icing. 

Not all of them ended up original but they were still super cute. Simeon had even made some extra preparations and bought little boxes to give the cookies in, boxing the cookies was relatively quick, although there was some debate on who to give each cookie to.

It didn’t take as long as you expected and there was still a bit of time before Solomon and Luke came back. Simeon expressed interest in you staying for dinner tonight, since that's the plan there’s you have extra time to hang out with Simeon before everyone else gets back. It’s an hour before they come back enough time to make dinner together and than clean up, it goes pretty smoothly and by the time Luke and Solomon are back the kitchen is as clean as it was when they left and the cookie scent was gone from the room which would keep them from asking questions and ruining the surprise for themselves. Dinner was nice and once it was finished there was a bit of chatting before Simeon pulled you to his room. There was a cute pink box sitting on his bed.

“I said there was going to be another gift, didn't I? Go ahead, open it.” You pull off the top of the box and inside is a small heart shaped cake, it's decorated with pink frosting as the base and white frosting as decorative piping with those large pearl sprinkles carefully placed on it. “Oh, it’s so pretty! Thank you.” 

“I made it yesterday, I’m glad you like it. ” He prepared a knife and plates that were placed off to the side. It’s a delicious vanilla cake with strawberry flavoured buttercream frosting, it’s a wonderful moment between just the two of you…

Until Solomon and Luke come barging in and interrupt the moment.

Masterlist

[novankenn]

Coco's Search for a WAIFU or The Purgatory of Jaune

= Seven = (Master Chapter List)

Pyrrha: Jaune what happened? You're all...

Nora: Gooey.

Jaune: Coco, happened.

Pyrrha/Nora: Coco?

Jaune: Yes Coco.

Ren: Any idea why?

Jaune: None. She just showed up, slimed me and ran away.

Pyrrha: That is rather unlike her.

Jaune: To be honest, when it happened, I had a déjà vu moment.

Pyrrha: What do you mean?

Jaune: Well, it feels like she's done this to me before, but I can't remember, exactly, if she has.

Ren: Well, we can wait for you to get cleaned up before we head to Vale.

Jaune: (Rubbing the back of his head) About that. Can we get a rain-check on the trip? Maybe do it tomorrow?

Nora: Why Fearless Leader? Why?

Jaune: I just feel off. I'll make it up to you guys, I promise.

Pyrrha/Ren: It's okay, Ja...

Nora: HOW?

Jaune: I know a great buffet place that has all-you-can-eat pancakes. It'll be open tomorrow. We can go there, my treat?

Nora: Apology accepted.

Jaune: You guys might as well go get something to eat while I shower. I'll meet you at the cafeteria after I'm done.

The rest of team JNPR nodded, and exited, closing the door behind them as Jaune moved to get a clean change of clothes and headed into the bathroom. As he stepped under the hot spray of water, his mind rolled back to the fifteen minutes before. Back to the time when Coco slimed him. He thought about it, and he could swear it felt like it had happened before. Shaking his head, he dunked it under the spray while reaching for his shampoo/body wash.

Twenty minutes later, Jaune left the bathroom and proceeded to find some clothing to wear.

Jaune: Argh! Too tight and not cute enough.

/=/

In the cafeteria, Nora was relaying what happened to Jaune to the members of JNPR's sister team, RWBY. Blake for the most part was disinterested and continue to focus on her book. Weiss just shook her head and focused on her salad, while Yang watched Ruby growl in annoyance.

Pyrrha: So we're thinking we should stop by CFVY's dorm and see what is going on.

Ruby: I'll come with you.

Weiss: How scandalous! Look at what that... that... that woman is wearing! This is a school!

Everyone and the table turned to look at what had Weiss so bent out of shape over...

Jaune: (waving at them excitedly) Hey guys! Like what's good, to like to have for lunch today?

Pyrrha: (Noticing some similarities between her crush and this young woman) Do we... know you?

Jaune: (Pouting) Pyr-Pyr, like that hurts, like totes, you know. It's me Jaune.

RWBY/-NPR: JAUNE!?!

Nora: What... what happened to... you?

Jaune: Like, what do you mean?

Nora: You're a girl!

Jaune: Like totally.

Nora: No, you used to be a boy! Now you're a girl! What happened?

Jaune: That's like, silly! I've always been a girl.

Weiss: Can you put on some real CLOTHES, please?

Jaune: No.

Weiss: WHY NOT?

Jaune: I must have, like, had a growth spurt or something. Nothing, like, fits, anymore.

Pyrrha: (Getting out of her seat and gently placing her shaking hands on Jaune's bare shoulders.) Jaune, listen to me.

Jaune: Like okay.

Pyrrha: What's the last thing you remember before coming to get lunch?

Jaune: Ummm... like, I'm not sure? Like everything is a jumble up there right now. If I, like, had to guess... it would be how bigger my, like boobies are, then, like yours.

Nora: (As Pyrrha looks down into Jaune's impressive cleavage) Is that one of my bras?

Jaune: Like, yeah.

Nora: Why?

Jaune: Like, I couldn't find mine, and Pyr-Pyr's were too small. (Reaches down and does some adjusting) Like this one is tight too.

Yang: (Cluing in before anyone else) Ruby, go to our room and get one of my spare uniforms! NOW!

Ruby: Yang?

Yang: (Pulls off her jacket and tosses it to Jaune) Jaune, put that on and sit down! Ruby, go!

Ruby takes off in a whirlwind of rose petals.

Pyrrha: (Also now cluing in) Jaune, quick sit. Sit!

Jaune: Why? You're all acting like I'm nakey. I'm not, I have underwear on!

Weiss: *Choking on air

Blake: (rolling her eyes) Jaune underwear is not proper clothing.

Jaune: (Pouting) Is to!

Yang: We are not having this discussion here! Put on the jacket and sit down!

Jaune: I don't wan... oh, he's cute!

Pyrrha/Nora/Yang/Blake: *Gagging

Weiss: Are you a complete air-head? That's Cardin!?!

Jaune: Cardin? Hum, I'm going over to say hi.

Jaune shrugs away the hands of her friends and starts to make her way towards team CRDL's table.

Coco: OH NO! NO, YOU DON'T ANGEL!!

Those members of RWBY and JNPR still at the table blink in confusion as Coco Adel appeared out of nowhere and scoops Jaune up, tossing her over one shoulder and racing out of the cafeteria.

Jaune: WEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

[moseslikellamas]

Cinders in the Dark

Chapter fourteen

Pairing - Benjicot Blackwood x Whent!OC

Summary - Lucinda returns to the present to find Benjicot gone. Benjicot argues with the lord Paramount, Elmo Tully, about engaging in the war brewing outside their door.

Warnings - Magic, delusions, trickery, frightening imagery, forced marriage, mentions of death, blood, mention of suicidal ideation,depiction of burns, depictions of panic attack, anxious thoughts, grief, violent fantasies, not canon, Kieran Burton fancast.

Word count - 2.2k

Writing this story is so genuinely fun.

Lucinda’s heart was pounding, or at least she thought it was. It was impossible to tell in this half alive form. Someone had seen her. They’d seen just the barest hint of her but they’d seen her all the same. Looking like a half dead fire and hiding in the shadows of rooms, she hoped would be enough to convince the woman she was imagining things. But people in the river lands were superstitious folk in her day and with good cause. She didn’t think that the sixth sense for danger came out of nowhere. Her ancestors had honed the skill, likely due to atrocities being levied against them. Ones like Harren the black. There was no doubt in her mind that the woman would not write her off as just a trick of the light. She would likely run to tell all of her staff friends and then soon the whole castle would be alight with talk of a shadow woman haunting the halls. That was not to mention her companion, Obyn, who had to sneak into the kitchens to obtain food at night. She knew it was only a matter of time before he was seen by someone who recognized him. They could not allow that to happen.

“Please,” His voice was so panicked as he begged her. “Let us go back. I’ve been gone too long already, I can suffer through it. You shouldn’t be cursed to this fate as well.”

She listened in frustration. Going back wasn’t safe for them either. She did not want this man to be stuck forever in a burning purgatory. If there was one positive she was determined to pull from this, it was Obyn. He deserved to be free of this cursed existence and she was going to do everything in her power to help him. So reluctantly, she relented. She approached him unsure of how to take them back. He had just embraced her the last time. She held her hand out for him, relishing the feel of flesh against her own skin. As the two embraced, their arms wrapping around each other, she felt the familiar dizzying sensation from before. The walls around them collapsed and rebuilt, blurring into nothing before pouring them into the present. Darkness enveloped them beneath the castle.

Lucinda gasped, falling to her knees and shivering at the cold wind blowing down the hall. Her dress had burned up in the transition, she was completely naked and alone in the darkness. She didn’t know where Obyn had gone but the burning knight was absent from the hallway where she kneeled, freezing. Taking several deep breaths, one hand on the wall, she dragged herself upright to a standing position. She remained half hunched, arms wrapped around her middle as she began to shamble back towards the upstairs. Her feet quickly became numb from the cold and occasional snow drift that had blown in through one of the various cracks in the stone. She walked for so long it started to feel like she was walking on two bloody stumps where her feet used to be. Unable to see to check, it grew harder to verbally reassure herself the longer the walk went on. Her fear grew in tandem with the pain. Maybe the castle had rearranged like the time it had when she was walking with the body double of Lord Benjicot. Maybe it didn’t want her to find her way out, or maybe this was his way of punishing her for leaving. Maybe he was keeping it unnaturally dark in here so she was forced to wander around looking for an exit he had sealed up.

At the thought of these halls becoming her eternal tomb she began to panic, all rational thought leaving her mind. She began to run, stumbling over broken bits of wall and scraping her legs and hands up when she tripped. She took care not to run head on into a wall but she managed to clip her shoulder on one so hard it spun her around until she was facing the other direction. Wheezing she had gripped her shoulder as she continued on, her other hand trailing along the wall as she limped. Despondent and terrified, she tripped hard on the stairs in front of her. She could have worshiped the steps if she hadn’t been too busy vaulting up them two at a time. When she finally busted through to the ground floor she was sobbing, vision blurry with tears. She swiped at them desperate to see the light of the hall around her.

The castle was empty, just as it always was. Though it seemed,if possible, even emptier than before. She stood there a moment trying to catch her breath as she surveyed the room around her. It was dimmer than usual, with only two torches still lit. The main source of light came from the roaring fireplace in the entrance. She could feel the heat of it long before she could see it. Lucinda walked, still naked and barefoot, towards the swirling flames down the hall. It grew warmer as she approached the massive fireplace in the entryway. Usually it was unlit, in fact she could not recall it ever having been lit in the years she had lived there. It was the first thing anyone saw when they came into the castle. She glanced behind her, checking to see the main door closed and barred. She was relieved at the sight even if both posts beside it remained eerily empty. The lord usually had guards posted at the exits if nowhere else. So where were they?

She turned her attention back towards the beautiful and mesmerizing fire. It roared, flames licking up twenty feet. Sparks floated through the air up high enough that they were simply ash by the time they floated down to her. She watched half fascinated and half aghast. There was a good reason this fire had never been lit. It was of course notoriously hard to keep most fires lit in the damp castle but it was nearly impossible to start one large enough to fit the raging inferno required here. Which likely meant this fire was achieved through magical means. Where was Benjicot? Why had he not come to find her? She hadn’t been quiet in her climb up the stairs and she was still openly sobbing.

She left the entryway and started up the stairs. She didn’t understand where the knight had gone. Vaguely she wondered if wherever he was he had the sword as it was absent from her person. Each step up the stone stairs was torturous, her feet were bleeding heavily enough to leave a trail of bloody footprints behind her. The stone floor beneath her was sharp and hard, the corners of the stairs catching her skin when she stumbled caused new cuts to appear. With no rail to lean on to support herself and the lack of lit torches meant she tripped a lot. But she kept peeling herself up off of the steps and continuing on towards her room. She needed to get to work, start researching. If Benjicot hadn’t come for her by now, maybe he would spare her the whole night.

When she finally crested the top of the stairs she found the hall dark, only a singular torch remained lit. It was the torch outside of her room and she didn’t pause to consider why it was the only one lit. Throwing her door open, she shivered as a blast of cold air hit her. The window was wide open and the wind had blown all of the papers off of her desk. She made her way over to shut the window as quickly as her feet would allow and after considerable effort, managed to slam it closed. She cast her eyes immediately towards the fireplace and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of smoking coals. She could work with that.

After stoking the fire back to a blazing inferno, she boiled water for a bath and nearly melted in the tub from sheer exhaustion. She felt boneless and weakened. Worst of all she felt cold. That deep restless void was back inside of her. The call from beyond, of a watery grave waiting for her, was wailing inside again. Inside the scalding hot water she still felt the chill of that depthless horror. Whatever Benjicot had done to her was beyond reckoning. Half dead, half burned and somehow still here. Still inside this cursed blackened castle, she was just a new ghost to haunt its overcrowded halls. She would never be whole again, at least not in this lifetime.

When she finally managed to pull herself up from the pit of despair she was in, she climbed out of the tub and put on a nightgown. She was not sure it was nighttime, it could be early morning. It didn’t matter anyway. She had somewhere to be. She had bandaged her feet up nicely and took care to grab a sturdy pair of shoes this time instead of the usual soft slippers she wore inside. Her hair was still dripping but she couldn’t wait any longer. She had surmised by this point that the new lord of the castle was not here at the moment. She knew he practiced magic and undoubtedly he would be alerted the moment she returned. Unless of course, he was not here. Her second hint had been the fire downstairs. Benjicot was okay at creating fire for lighting purposes, keeping the various torches and candles going for days. But she knew he struggled to keep it warm inside. Her fathers study was notoriously drafty and Benjicot had struggled just the same to keep it warm. Whatever fire magic he knew, he lacked warmth.

The fire downstairs had been large and fantastical, sure. But it had been so warm, so cozy. It encompassed the entire ground floor that she had walked through. A feat she would have said was literally impossible if she had not felt the heat against her skin. That’s why she was currently walking alone, torch in hand, across the castle to the tall tower. She wanted to see the witch there. She was the only person who could have lit that fire. And Lucinda desperately wanted to know how and more. She wanted to ask her if she knew about the old mage and Obyn. If she had seen the burning knight and knew where he went. Most importantly she needed to know if she could free them of this curse.

***

“And what of when Borros Barathon’s host starts marching out this way? Do you expect then that the river lords will care much about a royal decree?”

Benjicot kept his voice even and calm. He did not want to seem out of control. Grover Tully was not dead a moon's turn yet but Elmo was reluctant to mobilize. He’d turned a blind eye to the movements of Raventree’s host as best he could. But Benjicot was on his doorstep now and he was not leaving without the full support of the lord paramount.

“And what makes you think they’ll march against us?”

“You’ve met the man, belligerent fool. He doesn’t respect women, he’ll never accept a queen. If he hasn’t made a move yet, it's because he’s gathering support first. The man can’t read but he’s plenty good at rallying blood thirsty crowds of men.”

“He’s right! We should march, father, it's our duty to protect the riverlands!” Elmo’s eldest son and heir, piped in.

Benjicot knew it was taking all of the young man's energy not to berate his father into accepting. Both him and his brother Oscar were eager to prove themselves. He also knew that was his best shot at getting the lord to move on this issue.

“And you would know all about duty, wouldn’t you son?”

A silent exchange was taking place between the heir and lord, one Benjicot was not privy to. After a beat of silence, Elmo spoke again.

“We still need the queen’s approval and as it is, are we sure she even is the Queen? We’ve not heard of the coronation news.”

Benjicot frowned at that. “You mean she hasn’t been anointed by the faith.”

“Or any of it. There’s an order to things. She is not queen until the realm has seen to it that she is sworn in. And we cannot move a single man against another house until we have word from the Queen.”

Benjicot rocked back in his chair, throwing back a cup of wine as he thought about the situation. Perhaps if Elmo wrote in, maybe they would have a better chance at a response. Deciding quickly, he made up his mind to stay here a while. He had left Robb there in his stead until he returned. The troops could not move either way until he worked out a deal with Lord Elmo so Robb had no need to return to the front right now. His cousin, Tavin was second in command and more than capable of keeping the men together.

“You’re right, of course.” He agreed with the lord begrudgingly. Or that’s how he came across, inside his head he was thinking gleefully of how he could make this work for him.