#shotgun shells on the ribbon

[morthern]

Pretty

#sketch #doom #doomguy #doom guy #doomslayer #doom slayer #doom eternal #bethesda #id software #maid uniform #maidoom #maido #kek #shotgun shells on the ribbon #probably a ton of guns under there c:

[rubykgrant]

On the subject of what kinds of tattoos RVB characters might have (or if they wouldn't have tattoos at all)...

Grif; we know he's got a Blade tattoo on his neck (I'm imagining it on the back). He'd probably get a few more, but avoid ones that seem too "typical" (he's mentioned several he would DEFINITELY not care for). He might get some on the Simmons-sides of his arm/leg, for the fun of it. I think on the back of his shoulder, he'd get something that matches with Kai, and when they sit side-by-side, it fits together. You just know he'd get a pizza tattoo somewhere (possible even a pizza with a slice missing on one arm, and then the slice over on the other). If he wanted to be all extra romantic about it, he'd find something with Simmons' signature on it, and get it tattooed on his chest, over where the heart is (this is a game, and he's winning). He also might get a traffic cone~

Simmons; he'd be all afraid to do it, but also REALLY wants to seem cool... if he finally goes for it, he'd get something like Pi or the infinity symbol. He might get a nerdy tattoo on his neck to match Grif (the Robin R, since his name matches Dick Grayson, or the Starfleet insignia, or the little up-link patterns from Ghost in the Shell)

Tucker; listen, he's a pain-baby. In a serious situation, when he has to fight or save somebody, Tucker can handle anything, he'll keep going and push through the pain... but in regular situations? Ow, no hurty! However, he'd get something for Junior (like the shape of his handprint when Junior was still tiny), perhaps on one shoulder blade, and on the other he'd get the Alpha and Epsilon symbols (almost left those unfinished, because HURTY, which would have been ironic, since Church keeps dying... but he finally got it done)

Caboose; had to be talked out of getting a HUGE tattoo that just says "I LOVE CHURCH" on his chest. Instead, he got a pale-blue helmet tattoo on his forearm on one side, and a deeper blue helmet tattoo on the other forearm (his and Church's original one), and when he hugs Church, the helmets overlap~

Sarge; never gave himself any down-time for decades, so no tattoos for a long time... when he finally chills, he would get a few for ODST, the Red Team symbol, and a shotgun slapped on him somewhere... maybe something pretty like a sunset scene on his back (he has a sentimental side for things like that). He'd also get a series of lines, in a stripe pattern, of red-brown-maroon-orange-pink-purple, one his bicep (people who see it ask "what Pride Flag is that?")

Doc; not super interested in tattoos... but he might get something like a moon and sun overlapping, like an eclipse, to be all symbolic for him and O'Malley. If O'Malley convinced him to get more, there would be like, a skull next the peace-sign. Doc's also one of those guys who'd get a motivational quote printed on him somewhere (everybody teases him that it's gonna be "Live Laugh Love", but he's not THAT much of a dork)

Donut; an elaborate tattoo illustration of a ribbon and several flowers, maybe on his thigh above his knee, and curves up around his hip, all very PINK~ Also, something that says "God Can't Kill Me" on his arm

Wash; not especially into tattoos, but he might get something on his neck (not over the scars, but around them), like a couple flowers to represent still being alive/growth. On a dare, he might get like, a small road tattoo (black winding stripe over an arm or leg, with the yellow lines down the middle. because it's his armor... and hahaha, car joke). Although he'd like to get something for all his friends he's lost, it feels weird getting a Project Freelancer tattoo (because the program itself SUCKED), or multiple AI Fragment symbol tattoos (it feels in poor taste, after what happened to Maine and the Meta). He would finally pick something like an intricate kaleidoscope pattern full of multiple colors (for the armor of all the friends he's lost, and all the friends he still has) on a shoulder

Carolina; just don't want any tattoos

Church; same. He doesn't care, he'll be the token plain-vanilla one with no ink

Tex; finally got herself that star on her back~

Kai; she's got a matching one with her bro... and also a lipstick kissy-mark on the little dip under her belly, something like cherries/hearts on her chest, small stylized symbols of different drinks on one arm, a crown and the word "PRINCESS" written in fancy font at the small of her back (it was gonna say "Princess Slut", but she decided to be at least mildly considerate to her bro's sanity, since he'd see it any time she had a swimsuit on. prude), "Fuck The Police" on her arm somewhere, and a rainbow that is a gradient- half colorful, half grayscale

#red vs blue #rvb #tattoo

[titanicfreija]

"See, I like this. This is neat," Freija said.

"You realize you have to walk on this, right?"

The stiff yellow ribbons might have been moving in some stretched out timeline, or frozen in this one, but either way, the winding strips hung woven gracefully through the air amongst a warmly lit field of clouds and sky and floating polyhedrons.

"So? I do have an actual ranged gun, right cos I can see some of those pain in the ass sniper Taken with the shield. Marauders?"

"Maybe."

Polaris Lance appeared in Freija's hand and she lifted it to look. "Oh fantastic, thank you. Anyway, yes, I realize that. I don't care. It's pretty. And there's way more room for error correction than our usual adventures."

"You're about to try to sparrow this, aren't you."

"A little."

~

She didn't make the entire trip, but neither death on this part of the venture involved the sparrow.

Instead, Freija noticed someone on her radar and went to investigate. One time, she rounded a corner to find a Knight shielded by a goblin and swiftly received two holes in her chest. The second, she ran right into a room full of Taken to get shot a few times and then flung into a wall by shield explosions.

Both times, she returned and killed them back and in one case found some loot, so it wasn't all bad.

It was, however, a very long trip.

"You know you can stop, right?" Sunny offered again.

"Yep," Freija agreed as she sidestepped an incoming bolt and answered with her own, making the marauder bubble up and leave her alone for a bit. "I think I'm gonna get my crutches out, though, let's get a good look at my kit when we get somewhere enclosed. You thought about shaders?"

Sunny knew Freija could do it, so she couldn't say she didn't think she'd get the shell...

"I know you'll get me the shell... " she started, "but... I want you to stop. It's just a shell. You're hurt. You're tired. The damage is sticking to your armor in ways that Ada will need to look at. Your hands are shaking, look."

Freija didn't look. "It's here or the crucible, cos I'm getting medals from Eva."

"Crucible matches take ten minutes and you take breaks between them. It's not the same."

The Titan sidestepped and shot the marauder dead. "Fine, bad comparison, but I want to get the shell. I've worked too hard to get to this point, I'm not quitting now. I would still come back and try again later."

She picked off another one before it got the chance to shoot her. "I'm not gonna say I've peaked, but I am gonna say that I'm not gonna get better in ways meaningful here. The only way I'm going to get better here is practicing here. Bet I can make that jump."

Freija drew her sword and swung it as she took off, using the momentum to pull her forward and help her land on one of the hovering platforms. She continued merrily until she reached a ribbon good for walking on and finally a stretch for her sparrow.

Loreley's firmly on head, Xenophage in tow, and the trusted combination of her shotgun and grenade launcher, Freija ascended the "elevator" to 'mat into whatever cube this was. Toland wanted to play tag.

First Hall

First Hall 2

Centurion

Centurion 2

Infinity <-

Failure

Last stage

Victory

Hard time (med)

Something wrong (med)

Forced Healing (med)

Admiring (short)

Showing the Chatter Club (short)

Showing Caiatl (short)

Last one (short)

#destiny 2 #d2 #ocs #writing #freija #sunny #scribble #dialogue #prose

[be11atrixthestrange]

The Loft (Chapter 7)

After a bad break-up, Hermione Granger moves into a messy and dysfunctional loft with four single men. What starts as a temporary home until she gets back on her feet becomes so much more, as she learns there's a lot of life - and love - that happens at rock-bottom.

Inspired by the TV Series ‘New Girl’

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Also on A03 | FFN

More Chapters

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Chapter 7

Hermione is so far outside her comfort zone, she might as well have been launched into outer space.

Here she is, standing in a lakeside field, a shotgun slewn over her shoulder as she aims at a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon on a ledge.

Lavender Brown — Ron's 'friend' — stands next to her, close enough to whisper in her ear. "See that can? Imagine he's your ex. Now shoot him."

They're at Shell Cottage, Ron's brother's house, while he and his wife are out on vacation. Although the cottage is nowhere near the ocean, it's decorated (and named) like a seaside villa, supposedly an attempt to make Ron's sister-in-law feel more at home. The blue and white color scheme, nautical theming, and beachy decor look just as out of place as Hermione feels standing next to a sad-looking, algae-ridden lake.

Apparently, Ron has brought Lavender here to 'escape the city' (code for sex) and run a little wild (code for shoot guns, apparently).

Hermione isn't a huge fan of swearing, even in her own head, but regardless, the same phrase keeps floating through her mind.

What the fuck?

"I need a backstory," she tells Lavender.

"What do you mean?"

"Why am I shooting at my ex? What did he do to me?"

"Oh. You need a reason. I got you! Let me think." Lavender studies her for a moment, as if contemplating what Hermione would think is the worst thing a lover could do. The thought unsettles her. "He cheated on you."

"That's awful," Ron pipes in, deadpan. "Sounds like no one we know."

Without her consent, Hermione's mind plays back a memory of Ron and the boys rushing Cormac McLaggen for her belongings, donning musical themed hats and all. The thought threatens to tug her lips into a smile, but she remains straight-faced.

"What else did he do?" asked Hermione.

"You need more than that?"

"To shoot him? Yes."

Lavender clears her throat. "Okay, he doesn't like it when you read books."

Hermione scowls, focusing on that cheating, book-hating can of PBR.

"And he thinks musicals are stupid! Ron told me you like musicals."

He did?

At that moment, Ron speaks up. "Also, Hermione, he doesn't think women should vote."

"Wait, what?" Hermione turns toward Ron. He's grinning triumphantly and she shoots him a glare. "Why did I date him in the first place if he doesn't think women should vote?"

"Woah, watch that gun!" says Ron as he dodges behind Krum.

"Sorry, sorry!" Hermione lowers it from her shoulder.

Ron approaches Hermione and positions himself behind her. He wraps his arms around her shoulders, and cups her hands over the handle and trigger. The gesture reminds her of a date making an excuse to show her how to mini golf.

Krum clears his throat, which causes Ron to drop his arms and back away. Hermione had almost forgotten that he's here too.

Why are they here?

She recalls the events that led them to this point. By the time Lavender and Ron had become a 'thing' as he so eloquently put it, Hermione had been seeing a lot of her. She'd creep out of Ron's room in the morning and help herself to coffee, smiling at Hermione as if they were already best friends. She'd tell Hermione things about Ron, either things she already knew (Hermione was his friend first, after all) or things she really didn't want to know.

When Ron and Lavender started spending time at Shell Cottage, she became curious. If they were just casual, like her and Krum, what would they do hiding in a cabin by themselves for a whole weekend?

Well, she knew exactly what they'd do. But still, curiosity got the better of her. So she invited herself and Viktor along. A double date, if you will.

And that was that.

Now she's in a field, holding a gun, while Ron whispers in her ear.

"So he was a feminist when you started dating, but got caught up with the wrong crowd," says Ron, breaking Hermione from her memory.

"Sure. It happens."

"It started small, you know. He started spending too much time on reddit. Then he began catcalling women on the street. Then, before you knew it, you were watching The Handmaid's Tale and he was like 'Gilead seems nice.'"

The fact that Ron knows Hermione well enough to describe her biggest, reddest flags makes her hair stand on edge.

"Okay, that's it," says Hermione. "He's dead."

"Your hair smells good, by the way," Ron adds matter-of-factly.

Hermione freezes, then feels her finger push down on the trigger. She's not prepared for the recoil, which causes her to stumble back and by default, she clutches onto the first thing her hand contacts, which just so happens to be the trigger. Again.

The second, unintentional shot ricochets off a nearby tree and collides with an electric pole leading to the cabin, causing the lights to spark, sizzle, then go dark.

"Fuck!" she says, before clapping her free hand to her mouth.

"Hermione!" groans Ron.

"What did you do?" says Lavender.

"It wasn't her fault!" Krum says in defense. "She didn't do that on purpose!"

"Now we don't have any power tonight!"

"How are we going to cook our food?"

"We'll have to order pizza, I guess."

"We'll get so cold tonight," says Ron. "Because of you, Hermione."

She wants to be annoyed, but there's a smirk in his tone.

"We can get cozy," says Lavender. "C'mon, this will be fine!" she adds when everyone groans. "We'll make it fun!"

x

Less than an hour later, Hermione, Viktor, Ron, and Lavender are sitting in the living room of their cabin eating pizza. Lavender is practically sitting on Ron's lap, and Hermione can't help but roll her eyes when she tries to feed him a piece of her slice. She wants to laugh when his ears turn pink and he looks away pointedly.

"I think it's time for a drink!" Lavender flops her pizza back onto her plate and rises to her feet. "I've got wine and more beer, and I've also pre-rolled a few joints if you're interested."

Hermione's never smoked a day in her life, so she politely declines. Ron and Krum, however, take up her offer eagerly.

She watches Lavender pass them each a joint, unsure how to feel about it. She's tempted to reprimand them both — don't they know how harmful smoking is for the lungs?

Ron pulls a lighter from his pocket, leaving Hermione to wonder how long he's been carrying that around. Agreeing to smoke is one thing, but having his own lighter?

He passes the lighter to Krum. For some reason, watching Krum smoke bothers her less than watching Ron. Hermione's eyes keep following the joint to Ron's mouth, then to the slight dusting of a beard emerging, and the way his lips gently wrap around…

No. Don't do this.

"What?" asks Ron, smirking. He's caught her looking.

"Nothing."

"You're judging me."

"No, I'm not!" she says, although she's quite relieved that he thinks so. She can't have him knowing what's actually swirling in her mind — that he looks pretty sexy with a joint. She needs to keep that one locked up tight.

"You totally are," says Ron. "Granger, you need to loosen the fuck up."

Hermione rolls her eyes. She's at a cabin, drinking beer, with her casual sex partner, having just fired a shotgun. She's already loosened the fuck up. "No, I really don't."

"All in favor of Hermione loosening up, say aye," announces Ron.

"Aye," both Lavender and Krum chime in.

"The jury has spoken. Let me get you another drink. Red or white?" Ron motions to the two unopened bottles of wine on the coffee table.

"Either is fine."

"Okay. White. Because white wine makes you silly," he says as he begins uncorking the bottle, holding onto his joint with his teeth.

"Why do you say that?" asks Hermione. As far as she knows, white wine doesn't affect her any differently than red.

"It's true. Right Vicky?" asks Ron.

"He's right," says Viktor. "White wine makes you giggly."

"So white wine it is," repeats Ron. He pours her a generous glass and slides across the table to her. "Would you like to try this too?"

Hermione looks at his outstretched hand, his two fingers gripping his fuming joint.

"No thank you, I'm not a smoker."

"You know, smoking is an activity, not a personality trait."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"One puff won't taint your character."

She narrows her eyes at Ron, his gaze constant, challenging. She knows exactly what he means by that — stop being so judgemental.

"Fine." Hermione takes the joint from him and puts it to her lips. It's wet from Ron's mouth, and she should find that disgusting, yet she doesn't.

"Just inhale."

Hermione takes a breath, and immediately erupts into a coughing fit. Ron showcases his teasing, lopsided smile. "You'll get used to it."

"I don't want to get used to that," she says between coughs.

"That's okay," says Ron as he takes his joint back. "But hey, I'm proud of you! You tried something new."

He has the audacity to wink at her, causing goosebumps to break out on her skin. She snuggles closer to Krum to ward off any shivers following the chill that runs through her body.

As if by response, Ron drapes an arm around Lavender, never breaking eye contact.

Hermione reaches for her wine and finishes it off in one big gulp.

As the night goes on, things get blurrier. After a disorganized game of True American, some overly ambitious karaoke, and a few rounds of Never Have I Ever, Hermione's surroundings have begun to fade to the background.

Except for one surrounding in particular. Ron and Lavender.

Hermione's kept an eye on how open they've become with one another. The way Lavender tangles her fingers in his hair while talking to Hermione, or kisses him (with tongue) in between sips.

She hasn't missed how much he's loosened up over the course of the night, now pulling her onto his lap and tracing her breast with his thumb as she climbs toward him.

It's a stark difference to sober Ron, looking pointedly away as Lavender tried to feed him pizza.

And frankly, it's a lot.

Hermione looks at Krum. He's attractive, sure. She's attractive, right?

He's not pulling her into his lap. Does she even want him to?

It's all too much. She can only watch Ron and Lav's public display of affection for so long before her eyes begin to sting. She doesn't want anyone to see that, so she gives Krum's hand a squeeze, stands up, and stealthily leaves the living room for the kitchen, hoping that the party continues without interruption.

Based on the familiar footsteps that follow her, Hermione's quick to discover she's not alone in the kitchen.

"Want to tell me why you're upset?" asks Ron.

"I'm not upset. Just getting some water." Hermione keeps her back to Ron. Her face is probably flushed — hopefully she can blame the alcohol.

"You seem pretty upset," he pushes.

"So I guess you're not too drunk to notice," she snaps back.

"Hey," says Ron as he rounds the kitchen island toward Hermione. "Are you mad at me for drinking?"

Hermione shrugs and shakes her head.

"Or is it something else?"

"Ron, I don't want to talk about this."

"So there is something else."

Ron is right next to her now, clearly able to see her flushed face. "Just needed a break."

"From?"

Hermione's jaw clenches. She buys herself some more time by taking a long sip of water. It sounds like Ron is fishing for something specific, so maybe she should just tell him. "Lavender's a lot."

Ron nods. "She is."

So he agrees. "Then why do you like her?"

Ron takes a step back, clearly confused by her question. "Sorry?"

"What do you see in her?" she specifies.

"You don't like her?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just making conversation."

"You're implying it."

"I like her just fine. Just curious why you like her."

She knows she sounds ridiculous, and that this is none of her business. But her words spill out anyway. Maybe she should blame the alcohol.

"You just don't like me with her?"

Hermione groans. "Forget I asked."

"No, I'll answer," he says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Starting with the obvious: she's beautiful. And friendly. Not to mention fun — I like that she encourages me to try new things."

"Like shooting beer cans? Smoking weed?"

"Sure. Among other things."

"What other things?" she asks, full well knowing she doesn't want the answer.

"I don't think you want to know about those."

He knows her so well. She doesn't want him to continue, so she merely shrugs.

Yet, he continues. "It's casual, you know. Just like you and Krum."

Right. Her and Krum.

"Won Won!" calls Lavender from the living room.

"Speak of the devil. Ready to return to the party?" Ron asks.

Hermione takes another swig of cold water. "Yeah."

The pair returns to the living room to find Lavender and Krum waiting for them. Lavender is sitting on Krum's lap and stroking his hair. Their faces are awfully close. Krum turns toward her and she closes the gap between them, pressing her lips against his.

"Erm… what's going on here?" asks Ron.

Lavender breaks away from Krum and beams. "We switched!"

Hermione narrows her eyes at Krum, who shrugs. Then she turns to Ron, whose face has lit up like a flame.

"Care to join us?" Lavender adds as she ruffles Krum's hair. "We could all be together tonight…"

Hermione looks back at Ron to gauge his reaction, but he's frozen in place, his thoughts hidden behind his stoic poker face. His prior words echo through her mind. Lavender encourages me to try new things. Was this what he meant? Have they done this before?

For a moment, she lets herself imagine it. His hands in her hair, her legs around his hips. Tangled in the sheets, exploring each other. With Krum and Lavender right there. Watching. Participating.

Nothing has ever sounded so wonderful, and so repulsive at the same time.

Looking at Ron, she knows one thing: She wants him. More than anything.

But not like this.

Hermione's eyes well with tears she can't quite explain, and she turns on her heel and leaves the room before anyone can see her. The room becomes deafeningly quiet the moment she leaves.

When the door to her bedroom slams behind her, she tumbles onto the bed and lets her tears flow freely.

How did she let her attraction to Ron get so out of control? He was never attainable in the first place. Dating her roommate would have gotten pretty messy, so why does it feel chaotic already? She has Krum, so she shouldn't be jealous of Lavender. It doesn't matter that Lavender is clearly more adventurous than her, more beautiful, more fun. It doesn't matter that Ron dating Lavender means that his taste in women is so far away from anything she'd ever live up to. None of it matters, so why can't she stop crying?

She clutches the blanket with her fist and uses the pillow to muffle a sob. Her own distressed breathing is so loud that she barely hears the door creep open.

"Hermione?"

Viktor Krum's soft voice doesn't calm her down as much as it should, nor does the feel of the bed sinking under his weight as he crawls next to her and lays his hand on her back.

"I'm so sorry."

His apology catches her off guard. She's the one who should be sorry for ruining Krum's opportunity for a foursome. How is she supposed to be someone's girlfriend if she can't even be a good fuck buddy?

In an uncharacteristically soft voice, Viktor continues. "I shouldn't have kissed Lavender. I didn't know that would upset you."

Caught off guard, Hermione freezes. Yeah, she was upset, but not by Krum kissing Lavender…

"I should have come to check on you before. It shouldn't have been Ron. Obviously he said something to make you angry, and then to walk in on Lavender and me… I'm really sorry."

"Viktor," says Hermione before clearing her throat. How can she possibly explain? "It's okay. We're not exclusive or anything."

"I know," he says, his voice soft. Nervous. "But we could be."

Hermione pauses and looks up at Krum. His eyebrows raised in question. "Wait, what?"

"If you want to. I mean, clearly we get along and have fun together. I know I didn't want anything serious to begin with, but maybe that's changed now. I would have much preferred to be kissing you back there, not Lavender."

Her gut instinct is to tell him no — she wants nothing more than friends with benefits, she never agreed to exclusivity in the first place. It might have been clear before, but it's even more evident now that her motives for being with Krum border on selfish. No matter how much she denies it, she wanted to make Ron jealous.

But obviously, it didn't work. She could tell by Lavender's muffled laughter from the living room and the way she called him Won Won — girls don't just throw out nicknames like that without some sort of positive feedback. Ron clearly likes Lavender, and there's nothing Hermione can do about it.

"Hermione?" asks Krum, his fingers rubbing her back gently, but expectantly.

She wishes she had more time to sort out her options, to make a pro and con list. To be exclusive, or not to be?

"Yeah. I do want that."

The words feel foreign in her mouth, but it has to be the right choice. Things might be great with Krum. He's available, and if things do go south, it won't blow up her living situation. She has to get over Ron, and focusing her energy on Krum is probably the best way to do that. The other option is being single.

Ron's not going to be hers either way.

Krum silences her spinning thoughts with a kiss, and Hermione can tell he's smiling through it.

See, this is good. She would have hurt him if she'd said no.

The kiss intensifies as Krum flips her onto her back, his hands sliding up her sides to caress underneath her shirt. "I'm so glad you said yes."

Me too, she wants to say, she should say. But she doesn't.

Instead, she does her very best to get lost in the sheets with Viktor, her boyfriend, pushing a certain red-haired roommate to the back corners of her mind.

x

The next morning, Hermione awakes to blinding sunlight, a pounding headache, and a dry throat, evidence of a little too much to drink the night before. She turns over and groans, awaking the man beside her, who appears just as hungover and miserable as she. His dark hair is disheveled, there are thick circles under his eyes, and his lips are chapped with dehydration.

"Fuck, I need some water." Krum turns onto his side and snakes a hand around Hermione, pulling her close to him. "Nothing good happens after midnight," he mutters into her hair.

His words ignite a chain reaction of memories from the previous day. The shooting range. The power outage. Then the drinking.

Ron and Hermione arguing. Lavender and Krum kissing. Hermione's emotional outburst. Krum's assumption that it meant she had stronger feelings for him.

She agreed to be Krum's girlfriend.

There's a moment of panic when Krum's lips brush against her forehead and he whispers, "Well, one good thing happened."

His lips travel to hers, capturing her in a kiss that she doesn't return. He pauses, before pulling away. "Are you okay, 'Mione?"

Krums use of a nickname instantly makes her shudder. Not that she's against nicknames, she just never thought she'd hear one from Viktor. It doesn't sound right coming from him. "Yeah. I'm fine. I just need some water."

Hermione slides out of bed and takes a moment to regain her composure. She's still disoriented from the night before and unsteady on her feet, and it takes a few focused steps forward to reach the door without stumbling.

Her heart is pounding when she reaches the kitchen — either her body really wants to be in bed, or she's staving off a panic attack. She fumbles for a glass in the cabinet, paces over to the sink, and fills it up, her hand trembling under the stream of water.

It takes her two seconds to finish a glass, which barely quenches her thirst. She fills it up again.

"Someone's thirsty," comes Ron's familiar voice behind her.

Hermione turns to see her roommate taking a seat at the barstool. His hair is messy, just like Krum's, and his eyes are bloodshot, suggesting he's been awake all night. The image of Ron and Lavender comes to mind, creating a jealous knot in her stomach. Not that she has any leg to stand on, unfortunately.

"Long night?" he presses.

"Yeah," she says. "Too much to drink."

"Happens to the best of us. I'll heat up some water for tea."

Ron rises to his feet and makes his way to the stove, where there's a tea kettle. The power is still out, so he pulls a lighter from his pocket to help ignite the stove.

"Morning, Ron." Viktor Krum has emerged from the bedroom. "Morning, babe."

Hermione's face heats up the moment Krum utters 'babe'; his confident use of the pet name feels like a spotlight on her, even more so when Ron whips his head around to face Hermione.

"Babe? That's a new one."

Krum approaches Hermione and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. "Well, Hermione and I made things official last night."

Hermione looks at Ron, his piercing blue eyes boring into hers. "That true?"

She nodded, slowly, uncomfortable under his intense stare. "Yeah. It's true."

"Well," he continues, his voice stiff. "Congratulations. I'm happy for you."

"Thank you!' Krum beams, oblivious to Ron's stiff tone. "Where's Lavender?"

There's an extended, tense silence as Ron shifts uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the floor. "She left."

"What?" asks Hermione.

"She left," repeats Ron, with emphasis this time. "We ended things last night, and she left."

"Oh no… why?" asks Krum.

Ron shrugs and turns his gaze back to Hermione. "Turns out we wanted different things."

"I'm sorry to hear that," says Krum. "That's rough timing."

"Rough timing, indeed." Ron's eyes never leave Hermione's.

"Well, we better get packed up," says Hermione with a pat on Krum's chest.

Hermione slithers out of Krum's embrace to head back to the bedroom. She needs to get out of here. This cabin weekend needs to be over.

She was so sure that Ron and Lavender were getting on fine. If she had known they'd break up…

No. She can't think like that. It's not fair to Krum. Ron may be single, but she's not. Not anymore.

Even if she was, Ron is her roommate, and he was off-limits from the start.

She ignores the contradicting voice in her head that says her rules are arbitrary, that she can date her roommate if she wants to, that it won't lead to a crumbling disaster, and she doesn't need to be with Krum. That's not her logical brain speaking.

She'll get over him — she has to. She has a boyfriend now.

#be11a loft #romione #ron and hermione #ron x hermione #hermione granger #hpromione #ronweasley #romione fanfic #hp fanfic #ron weasley #romione fanfiction #muggle au #slow burn #slow build

[unhonestlymirror]

Every day I can hardly restrain myself from posting photos of the horror that the russians are doing on our land with our people. Ruined houses merge into one. But not faces.

- Donetsk, an elderly man hugs a lying female figure in a fur coat, beret and a mask. Her face is not visible. He howls in grief.

- The same man is standing, covering his face with hands. The female figure is still lying. In the background, a male figure has his head torn off.

- A woman in a green winter hat holds with one hand a coffee print bag "Jockey - energy for business". Her face is almost invisible, but it seems focused. Her another hand clamps bleeding from an old man's face. His hands turn blue.

- A video of the shooting of a couple of disabled pensioners in their car. The glass is cracked and splattered with blood. The old lady is leaning on the shoulder of her loved one, who still appears to be holding the steering wheel. From their faces, they seem to be dreaming of the same nightmare. I don't want to describe it.

- A very small child in the train window, his hand reaching for the man's hand outside. Behind is a blurry female figure, it's impossible to tell if she's laughing or crying. Her eyes are not visible. The child's face is blank.

- Another man's palms form a train window frame of a little girl's face, like the most worshipped icon in the world. Her face is a little blurry and aloof blank.

- Just earth. On which lies a white women's bag. It could be called fashionable, if not for the knowledge that the blood on it is real. Her owner tried to leave the city through the green corridor.

- Some photos of couples hugging, holding hands, crying, saying goodbye on the platform.

- Bright blue spring sky, sunlight falling on a row of wooden coffins.

- A teenage girl with a yellow-and-blue ribbon in her hair sits on a lounging window frame, looks into the distance and sucks on a chupa-chups. There is black shotgun in her hands.

- The ruins of the once residential building in the background. A man holds and hugs a gray cat, burying his nose in the top of his head. His gaze is empty on the verge of insanity. He just lost his whole family, only the cat survived.

- Broken land. Two lines. One by one, a line of people in volunteer (?) blue uniforms walks crouching and stumbling from the camera to the van. The other line is a moat completely filled with black plastic bags. Somewhere the snow can be seen.

- Subway station. Two children are playing catch up, a woman in the background is photographing them. Two more children are sitting on smartphones, the third is playing the guitar (judging by the pose). Two women in slippers are talking. Lots of things, plates, blankets and pet carriers. Home cinema in the center.

- A ruined apartment, in the center lies a male body. In the foreground: on the left - a baby carriage, on the right - a fallen fern covered with dust and dirt. Sunlight falls on a standing clothes dryer.

- A blown up bridge in Irpin, a military man carries a baby in a pale blue down jacket (?). Next to him, turning away from the camera, a dog barks at an overturned minivan.

- Irpin, the bodies of a family killed during the evacuation. The AFU fighters will soon cover them with blankets.

- Two photos of pregnant women after the shelling of a maternity hospital in Mariupol: one will give birth to a girl, the second will die with the child.

- Video, ambulance workers provide first aid in a green field. An ambulance burns with black smoke in the background

- Children, who died in the bombing. Tanya Moroz, in a shirt with kittens, covered with blood and mud, who was still alive for several days under the rubble, after the instant death of her mother. Skinny boy in a Brawl Stars T-shirt. A girl with pigtails, wrapped in a green blanket with daisies and cubs, covered in grey dust, lying face down in the ground, who died with her grandmother. Since the beginning of the Russian invasion, about 90 children have died, 100 have been injured.

#Today they destroyed the entrance to the metro station #which I used to go to practice #and a house in the area where my aunt lived #stop russian agression #war in ukraine

[lauralot89]

#hey kids ask me about the time a recovered drug addict came to our high school to tell us about meth do tell

Okay so I think I was a sophomore and it was Red Ribbon Week but the high school didn't really do anything for Red Ribbon Week so I wasn't expecting an anti-drug assembly yet we all got called down to the auditorium anyway, and I guess the guy had been speaking at other schools and the word had spread, because some guy warned me of what was to come and I was like WHAT THE HELL

Now at the time, my county was the third worst for meth addiction in the entire United States and so I guess it made sense for them to do this but anyway on stage they had a man whose name I no longer recall, but he had been a meth addict and he was here to tell us all about the terribleness of meth.

I don't remember if he actually told us about the pleasures of meth. I just remember he had a slideshow full of pictures of meth sores and rotten teeth and also photos of the time he got really paranoid while on meth and shot himself in the face with a shotgun but did not die, and I never actually saw any of those pictures because Red Ribbon Week was also Spirit Week and it was Hat Day I just pulled the brim of my hat down over my eyes and never looked at anything

Just hearing him talk about it was bad enough, especially as I was sitting next to a girl whose father used meth, and she was in hysterics

after that I went to health class and everyone just sat around shell-shocked and asked the teacher why anyone would ever do meth and he was like "people do stupid things when they're high on something else" and that teacher was later found to use steroids but I digress

I think the man who spoke to us later relapsed and then successfully shot himself, but I have not found actual proof of that via Google

still better than my school's "sex ed" though

#ask #meduseld #did someone say MY LIFE #oh hey look it's my childhood #meth / #drug addiction / #suicide / #attempted suicide / #gore /

[redlerred7]

Working on, yes, another WIP. The Dust and Eternity version of Mami Tomoe, since I haven't done the insert art of her combat attire yet. Very little was changed from her canon outfit, but I did end up designing shotgun batons and arm guards that hold spools of ribbons. I need to work on the belt harness that holds her spare ribbon spools and shotgun shells.

#pmmm #puella magi madoka magica #puella magi au #rwby au #mami tomoe #tomoe mami #sketch #mouse sketch #redlerred7 draws

[sp00kworm]

Beginnings, Middles and Ends (Shaxx x Gender Neutral Reader)

Archive Of Our Own Link

Pairing: Lord Shaxx/Shaxx x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Reader Death, Injury Description, Blood and Mild Gore. 

----

Warlords were a force to be reckoned with. You watched from the walls of the keep as Fallen clawed at the walls, hissing in their strange language. It was a pathetic attempt at a siege. You peered up as the Warlord of the land you lived on stepped up onto the stone, white and orange armour shined. He stood, burning with the power of the light as the Fallen hissed below.

“Did you forge the weapon I asked for?” He asked with a turned head, horns shined and gleaming in the light.

“I made it but I don’t know how well the detonations will go off.” You offered as you loaded the magazine, “My father wasn’t best impressed I was taking bribes off the Warlord but here’s your weapon.” You grinned and snapped the gun into action, handing the shotgun to Shaxx with a snort, “Try not to break it, yeah?”

Shaxx shouldered the shotgun and tested the weight before huffing, “If I do break it, I know you will fix it, blacksmith.”

“Hey, that isn’t what I am! I don’t shoe horses, Shaxx, I’m a gunsmith. You wouldn’t have a weapon if it weren’t for me!” You joked as he planted his feet firmly on the wall, solar energy burning from his hands as he waved your concerns away.

“Be ready when I get back, little smith, I fear I will have some things for you to look at anyway.” He gave a little salute before you watched him jump from the wall, burning energy on his feet slamming into two Fallen, burning them into ash as he turned the new shotgun on the hoards.

 Fire blazed up the wall as you watched from the top of the mountain. Shaxx moved through the hoard with fire blazing, the shotgun sending molten pieces of Fallen into the others, ending their lives in massive explosions of fire. The fight was short until the slamming of a great siege weapon from the Fallen. Shaxx’s horned helm turned towards the Southern wall as the canons of the Walker fired.

“GET THEM AWAY FROM THE WALLS!” He screamed from the bottom of the wall as he turned to sprint, fire burning from his shoulders as he crashed into a Captain and tore its head from its shoulders. He ripped another’s head free as you sprinted down from the wall.

“WALKER! GET BACK TO THE KEEP!” You roared as you scattered for the bell and let it toll loud. Children and women ran for the Keep as you helped load weapons. The remaining men and women loaded rifles and took positions firing down on the legs of the Walker as you looked for Shaxx in the melee. He was rushing towards the Walker, slamming flaming hammers at the enemies around the Walker.

“Bring it down!” You shouted as fire focused on the legs. The Walker stumbled under the barrage of armour piercing bullets and collapsed to the ground. You turned fire on the enemies as Shaxx tore into the metal, burning hammer slamming through the exposed wiring and head of the Walker. The Fallen around scattered as fire burned through the Walker and Shaxx jumped from the burning hull, hammer held in his hand as he turned on the hoard.

 Looking away from the sights of your rifle, you breathed a sigh of relief as Shaxx walked from the battle ground, looking at the remains of Fallen which were burning away on the autumn leaves. It was fast approaching winter. He peered at the wall and sighed at the huge hole. It would take immense amounts of manpower and resources to fix the wall.

“Shaxx!” You waved from the wall, “We might have a big problem!”

Shaxx peered up and waved one hand at you before entering through the gates, his armour singed a little around the edges as he came back inside, “What is the problem, little blacksmith?” He teased before sighing as you pointed to the wall, “I have seen…”

“Shaxx…We don’t have the resources to fix this. Winter isn’t far off. People will freeze to death.” You lamented, looking up at the damage before eyeing the shotgun in his grasp, “Looks like you broke it anyway.”

“It is not my fault it couldn’t withstand four swords.” He offered you the gun back and peered at the walls. There was a lot of damage.

“We will get through this, blacksmith.” Shaxx promised with a squeeze to your shoulder, “I won’t leave these people to rot.” He promised as you took the shotgun with weary eyes, already assessing the damage as the Warlord hugged your shoulders tight.

 Felwinter had managed to sway Shaxx.

“For an Exo who got his head torn off three times, he still is full of himself.” You snarked as you moved with the column. They were taking you all to safety, the Iron Lord army marching around you all in precise block formations.

Shaxx snorted from the side of the cart you were riding in, “Exominds are brash. He has a point though. I could not have defended my land and kept you all safe. This way is better.” He observed as you fixed the plates of the shotgun, handing it back for his inspection before you moved onto fixing some more of the rifles. Your hands shook with the cold, but you continued on anyway, happy for a distraction among the sadness of your people.

“Shaxx…” You asked quietly.

“Yes, little smith?” He replied, peering up at you from the side of the engines driving the sleigh.

With a smile you tugged on his horn, “Promise me you’ll keep safe out there?” You asked him as you loaded a magazine into a pulse rifle, “Even if you’re now an Iron Lord, you could still fall as easy as any of us.”

Shaxx contemplated the words of worry for a moment before nodding his head, “You have my word, smith. I’ll come back in one piece…” He peered at the start of the column where the Lords rode, “The same could not be said for Felwinter after our last duel!” He laughed and you joined in, remembering the moment Shaxx tore the Exo’s head off in a shower of sparks well.

 The column rode slowly for a number of days before you all met trouble. Shaxx was called to the front and left you in the wagon to speak to Saladin. The mood was sombre and serious as he approached the group. They pointed to the maps as he approached and Shaxx gritted his teeth behind his helmet.

“We cannot split off from them. They will not make it!” He insisted as the Iron Lords drew their plans closed.

Saladin gave him a critical stare, “They will. It’s a days march, Shaxx. They will be in no danger.” He insisted as the others turned their looks on Shaxx, “You cannot be so attached and see them the whole way. We have jobs to do elsewhere.” Saladin insisted, “The last dregs of the Fallen are gathering. We should quash the rebellion before it sparks into anything.”

Shaxx turned from the table, “Then I will escort them. I will meet with you all in the pass.” The Titan insisted as the Lords crossed their arms.

“You will not be needed, Shaxx.” Saladin huffed as Shaxx turned away and headed back to the column of people.

“I have a duty to these people. I will see them safely to this haven.” Shaxx moved back towards the column, ignoring the looks of his new fellows.

 The gunshot burned. You looked down at your gut and watched blood stain the heavy winter clothing, the furs matting under your hands. You reached for the rifle in time to blow the head off a Dreg and sat back as its body slumped off the cart, into the snow below. Pain seared in your gut as you felt hands clutch at your body.

“Blacksmith? Can you hear me?” Shaxx’s words were loud over the remaining gunfire, “I knew you would get yourself into trouble.” He lamented, gentle hands stroking your hair from your face, wiping drips of blood from your chin as you laughed wheezily.

“I didn’t expect it to be me.” You wheezed before reaching up to touch his helmet, streaking blood down the side of it as you bled into his lap, “Take care…of my guns, Titan.”

“I swear I will, little one.” Shaxx promised as your eyes turned glassy against his thighs.

 You were buried under stone before the column left, your shotgun positioned over your small tomb with an orange ribbon tied around the butt.

 Years later, longer than people could remember, a Ghost bobbed over the pile of stones, the purple shell shining in the late autumn gloom as it shivered, pulsing with light. A bright white light exploded from its shell as it span around the stones, bringing back to life the preserved body underneath. The cold had kept them well preserved enough.

“Come on, come on. Get on those…well you might have to dig your way out first.” The Ghost span and watched the rubble move before fingers sprouted from the rocks as the pile rumbled and stones fell away. Desperate noises echoed within as air poured into the cavern. Gasping sounded with tears before an arm broke free. The Ghost watched the stones fall away and a ragged corpse emerge, wrapped in old animal furs, skin pale yet the glow of life returning. Gravel exploded from their hair. The Ghost watched on worriedly.

 Perhaps he was too late. If you had gone mad in your own death, he would be tied to you forever. The Ghost whirred on top of the stones and waited for judgement.

 You shuddered on top of the stones as night set in around you both. Your new friend soothed you with light rays over your shoulder as the cold set into your bones, the old pieces of animal fur dropping from you in matted clumps and broken leather pieces. You had not spoken in hours, simply looking on at the sun as feeling returned to your long dead limbs.

“How long...” Your words were scratchy, dying on your lips half way.

Your Ghost bobbed softly, “I don’t know.” He whispered before rushing over to inspect the gun next to you, the orange ribbon faded.

“I…I don’t remember anything.” You looked at the stars, rubbing your fingers together behind the rotten cloak.

“You won’t. It’s a side effect. No one ever remembers. But I know where we can head to for some answers. A city. The Last City on Earth.” Your Ghost rotated before humming, “I met a great Titan there once. He told me to find my Guardian.” He confessed before looking at your clothes and shivering again. Light poured from him, blessing you with a mild protective armour, the life support system inside beeping as it kept you warm enough to survive getting to the city.

“How far is it?” You asked as you felt warm for the first time in hours, “Can we even make it before Winter?”

Your Ghost peered into your helmet as it burned with light, mending the shotgun to the best of his abilities, enough for it to be usable, “With that gun in working order we might just stand a chance.”

You took three, steady breaths and looked at the shotgun, shouldering the weight intended for a man much larger than yourself with some difficulty, “Then let’s find some parts.”

Gently, the Ghost bobbed, “Eyes up. Let’s go and find some answers.”

 The snow burned cold through your boots as you fell, the weather taking your life once more. Your Ghost gave a dismayed noise, reviving you once more with a flash of light. The hunger returned as you gasped awake again, fingers burning with cold agony in the snow as you pushed yourself upwards. Starving. Cold. You held the shotgun as your guts screamed for food, and walked onwards through the blizzard with the gentle warmth of your Ghost’s light in your armour reminding you why you were still walking onwards.

 “A risen has collapsed by the gates!” A commotion sounded below as people clamoured for a look, others retreating away back inside their homes as the shouting grew louder.

“Get them inside!” Shaxx roared from the walls, jumping from the guard tower as the people worked to open the gates, winching it open just enough to allow for him to reach his hand through and drag the body inside. Grey clothing covered them. The basic functions of life support were nestled inside the armour plating. He reached for their helmet and peeled it free.

“By the Traveller.” Shaxx’s fingers paused over the familiar face as the teams worked to close the gates again.

“Shaxx! Inside!” His communication link roared to life as Saladin asked for updates, thinking there had been an attack.

“Calm yourself, Saladin. It is a Risen, like us.” He confirmed as he glanced down and shouldered the weight easily. A Ghost whirred to life as he held your body in a tight cradle.

“I would kindly like for you to take my friend to a med bay. There’s a lot of bleeding I need help with stopping before I can do anything helpful.” He lamented with a soft whirr. Shaxx nodded and headed back towards the inner city.

 “You are a fool. A stubborn, loud and proud, FOOL!” Saladin roared from the doorway of the medical ward, golden armour glinting as he swept into the room, “How do we know this is not a Warlord sent to our door to butcher us?!”

Shaxx held up the decrepit armour for Saladin to see, “In such garbs? Or perhaps the fact that I know them is more consoling?” He offered, “They…Those years ago when I joined with you. I knew them. They were a gunsmith of the people I protected. A fallen tore open their stomach. I let them die in my arms.”

“That changes nothing Shaxx. They could have been swayed by any faction.” Saladin strode to the bed, looking at the machines monitoring them in bed.

Shaxx stood from the chair by the bedside, “I will stay here then. If they are turned against us, I will quell it before it has begun.”

Saladin sighed, grumbled once more, but seemed to accept that as enough, and turned, cloak swirling behind him as he left, “If anything goes wrong, Shaxx, your head will be on the line.” He promised half-heartedly as he stepped into the corridor.  

 Air rushed into your lungs again as you felt the lingering effects of light leave your fingers.

“Oh, thank the Traveller!” Your Ghost cheered from your palm as you opened your eyes to the shoddy lights of the medical bay, “I was so worried!” He chirped as he pushed the bottom of his shell into your fingers.

Groggily you peered around the room, noticing the tatty curtains and faded white sheets, “Where are we? Did…” You swallowed and croaked, “Did we make it?”

“You made it.” A soothing voice spoke from your right side. An orange and white clad man was sat by your bedside, leaned back in the hospital chair as he observed you talk to your small Ghost, “You were in bad shape. You collapsed by the gates. It was lucky they spotted you, but your Ghost did the rest of the work.” He nodded to your Ghost and sat forwards, resting his elbows on his knees, “I’m here to keep an eye on you and make sure that you’re not going to cause us any problems.”

You peered at the great man and watched him turn his helmet away, “I came here for answers. My Ghost, he said that I could find some answers here about what to do…who I am.”

 Shaxx clenched his fists, “How about I introduce myself?” He asked more of himself than you before nodding his head, “I am Shaxx. Lord Shaxx to some, but for now, to you, Shaxx is fine, little one.”

You nodded and wet your lips, speaking your own name before frowning, “Its all I can remember.” You whispered before looking at the man, “Ghost said you can never remember. I want to know who I am…”

“To know is to feel like another person, like a void.” He spoke solemnly as he watched you, reaching to pour you a cup of water. Gently he tipped your head forwards and placed the cup to your lips, watching as you took a long drink.

After swallowing the water, you coughed and reached to push yourself up on shaky arms, the strength slowly returning from your Ghost’s healing, “Are you saying you don’t have the answers?”

Shaxx felt his stomach tighten, “I’m saying you might not want to know the answers, little smith.”

You scowled at the nickname, “You know, don’t you?” You reached for his armour and tugged on the gauntlets, “Tell me.”

A deep exhale left the helmet as Shaxx looked down at you, “I knew you. You were a gunsmith working with the people I was protecting on my land. I was a Warlord, I had a mountain territory that many wanted. You helped me with guns and armour, anything you could get your hands on. We were attacked. The defences were broken so I took you all with the Iron Lords, up towards their haven. They’re a group of good people, looking to protect others. I…They turned march. I went with our people to make sure you all got to the place safely. You were shot. Fallen attacked us on the way.” His voice was thick and heavy with sadness, “I buried you with the shotgun you made me.”

 It felt like a ton of bricks had hit you. Your body felt like it was cold, not responding as you looked back at the ceiling.

“I died in your arms, didn’t I?” You muttered. You didn’t dare look back at the man at your bedside.

Shaxx swallowed loudly, “You did. I buried you myself as the column moved on. Your father never spoke to me again.” He concluded the tale by standing up, “But you can never be that person again. Don’t sit and wonder how you could be yourself again. It’ll send you mad.” Shaxx walked to the door.

“Could…I will speak to the man in charge. I won’t be any trouble, I promise.” You watched your Ghost spin in your palm as Shaxx nodded and left, sliding the door closed behind him as he started up a communication link with Saladin.

Saladin’s grumbling voice sounded in his helmet, “You’re not dead, I see.”

Shaxx ignored the snide remark, “They wish to speak with you, to prove they are not here with any ill will.”

Saladin was quiet, “You told them didn’t you. You did the one thing you should not burden a Risen with.” He listened to Shaxx’s silence and growled, “You are a fool in a thousand ways, Shaxx.” He hissed before the communication link went dead.

 He paid the price for telling you. With new dark armour and mastery over the element of Void, you left the City months later with no fanfare. Shaxx watched from the wall as you walked away into the unknown, supplies on your back and the orange ribbon fluttering over your shoulder, still tied to the butt of the gun. He never moved to stop you.

“Strength, little smith. Come home safely to us.” He whispered into the cold air as he watched you leave.

 “Take the barrier down!” Shaxx roared as his team was cut off. The others soon joined him, focusing fire on the Cabal tearing towards them. The thick-skinned aliens fell underneath the hails of bullets as their Hero disabled the barrier, letting the force through.

“For the Last City!” Zavala roared as they charged, light burning bright. Shaxx watched for a moment before feeling the fire between his fingertips and howling as he swung forth a molten hammer of flames, burning everything in his path as he blazed forwards. He burned brighter when a Colossus stood in his path but struggled under the heavy-handed punch, his armour creaking as he blocked it and caved to his knees under the weight. The Titan roared back at the Cabal before the weight was gone. He felt the rush of extreme cold and watched void blasts tear the beast open, its armour crunching and curling inwards with the power of harnessed black holes.

“Thank you, Guardian...” He offered before peering up at the scaffolding and trailing off.

“Eyes up, Lord Shaxx! There’s more incoming!” A familiar purple Ghost chirped from the air in front of him before you jumped from the scaffolding.

“Look alive, sunshine!” You tossed him back his gun and nodded your head, “We’ve got too much talking to do for me to let you die in this little siege.” Shaxx watched as you floated upwards in a swift jump and leaped after you, grabbing your outstretched hand, letting you help him up.

“Yes. I believe we do have a lot to talk about, little smith.” He shouldered his gun and slapped you hard over the back, “Later. For now. We win back our last home.”

 You walked through the tattered remains of the old keeps and watched the people cooking over fires, smiling with one another. It had been a long time since you’d seen humans smile so happily with one another. A group waved as you passed them by.

“Guardian! Would you care for a bowl of ramen?” An Exo asked, “Its fresh!”

You waved, smiling behind your helmet, “Maybe another time. I have plans.” The group cooed loudly as you waved their adoration off and made your way back into the beginnings of a new Tower. As you took the stairs, you looked at the new stone and sighed. You weren’t a Guardian. You’d left long before the idea of them was a reality. You were akin to a rogue, coming and going wherever you pleased.

At the top you took in a breath of air and peered at the broken Traveller, gazing at the pieces drifting in the sky as you leaned against the balcony and waited for the hulking Titan to make his appearance.

 “Arcite, make sure to have these distributed before tomorrow. I would like sign-ups to start early in the morning.” Shaxx spoke from behind you before dismissing his assistant and heading towards you. His large hand wrapped around the barrier to your left as he muttered your name in greeting, “You wanted to talk?”

With a smile you turned to face him and reached to take him in a strong hug, arms wrapped tightly around his armoured frame. You were both silent as Shaxx wrapped his arms around you tightly. He pushed himself closer, his chest wheezing with a sob.

“You thought I’d never forgive you, but I never hated you to begin with, Shaxx. Even as…even as a mortal I never hated you.” You whispered as you took his hand, walking him away from public prying eyes.

As you both entered the small office below Shaxx let out a shaky sigh, “I told you it would break you. I…I blamed myself all these years for being an idiot.”

You pulled the shotgun from your back and pulled the tattered, faded orange ribbon from the butt, “I went to find out who I was, Shaxx. I was gone for years chasing the last of my tribe, my people. They remembered me and my family and told me stories, pulled open books I’d not seen since I was little. I found it, and now I’ve come home. Home to the one person I knew I should have stayed with to begin with.” You reached for his helmet and felt the Titan flinch.

 “I…” He was lost for words, large hands clenching before he reached for his helmet and pulled the horned helm free, revealing a dark face marred with scars. Tanned skin and a slightly off-centre nose looked back at you for the first time in many years. His nose looked like it had been broken many times and never set properly. Dark brown eyes gazed at you as he tucked the helmet under his arm and took your hand again, “This time I’ll be the family you don’t have, little smith, I promise you. I won’t fail you again.”

You looked up at the tall Titan and gave him a smile, “And I’ll get back to fixing your armour. It looks like you’ve been doing it yourself for the past…well however many years!” You joked as you banged on the white and orange chest plate.

Shaxx grinned, “You are avoiding something, as am I.” He took a breath, “I…I loved you, back then. I may not have shown it but…”

“You were already three hundred by the time I knew you, you cradle snatcher.” You joked.

“That does not make this easier!” He grumbled, “I…”

You pressed a finger over his lips, “I love you too. It took me wandering endlessly to figure it out…But I love you, Shaxx. I have faint memories. They came as I looked at what I used to do, who I used to be. Everything slowly…It all made sense. I hope we can build something new, together, for ourselves.” You confessed.

“We start at the beginning then?” Shaxx asked, “In that case.” He bowed his back before getting to one knee, “My name is Lord Shaxx.” He kissed the back of your gauntlet.

With a smile you pulled him back to his feet and introduced yourself, kissing his cheek gently, “Now, let’s go and get some food, big guy.”

#shaxx x reader #lord shaxx x reader #shaxx x gender neutral reader #lord shaxx x gender neutral reader #lord shaxx #shaxx #destiny shaxx #shaxx destiny #destiny #destiny the game #destiny 2 #destiny game #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #my writing

[imnotwolverine]

The Englishman JACK - CHAP 3

< Chap 2 | Chap 3 Cocks And Guns | Chap 4 >

Summary: Jack finds himself in a crossfire between friends, foes and silent admirers. 

Author’s note: To the handful of people reading this: I hope you’ll enjoy this one! Have a good weekend my lovelies. ❤️

Word count: 5.105 (18 min. read)

Disclaimers: NSFW - Strong language, misogyny, lots of cigarettes, alcohol abuse, extortion, WWII PTSD, (gun) violence, mobsters

–

Cocks and Guns

--

The woolen uniform itched and Jack was eager for the night shift to be over. With sweat running down his back, he peered into the darkness that surrounded the makeshift war camp. Everything seemed so calm and quiet; it was near strange to think that a few miles from here the Germans lurked. The enemy.

A few months ago he had seen their faces for the first time, the mood grim in the dead land between bloody trenches. It had rained for weeks on end and Jack could have sworn it had been God himself crying for the travesty that was this war. In that moment he had also wondered if these Germans before him truly wanted to fight. He, for one, surely didn’t. He felt the same dread he saw in them. Cheekbones fallen in, eyes wide.

That day the battlefield had remained calm. And not many days later Jack was reassigned, one general impressed with his good eye for detail and sharp mind. It was why he now was here, belly flat on the earth as he peered out into the distance, eyes sharp and back soaking wet with sweat. Behind him he could hear the occasional male voice or thump of sturdy boots. But before him the land was unreadable. All scraggly bushes, haunting tree shapes and the song of hidden cicadas. Jack felt the sound irked him, even though he couldn’t quite explain to himself why. The creatures were perfectly harmless and he had learned that the locals were terribly fond of them.

At first this new job hadn’t seemed so bad. They got more rest than in the trenches, and the men seemed a tad more cheerful. On the odd occasion they had even slept in real beds, made music, met women. And these women, French women, were utterly divine. Jack had never been outside of English territory, so he was near shocked to find how very different the French were from his usual English birds. In a hash he thought that maybe, if ever he’d get out of here, he’d marry one of those pretty brown eyed mademoiselles. Start a life here in the rural lands that usually harvested wine. What a life that would be. Besides, it wasn’t like he missed England all that much. Especially not when that same England sent him out to fight like this.

Scratching at some sweat that was drying on his jaw, he lost focus for just half a second. And though the cicadas continued to sing and the stars to shine, Jack knew something was amiss straight away. The male voices were no longer solely behind him. They were before him. Hushed and part of the darkness that stared back. Had he imagined it? Swallowing harshly he focused on the black lines of branches and bushes. With the wind quiet, any movement would indicate unfriendly visitors. But none moved. None sighed. Indeed, perhaps he had just imagined it. With a coded click of the tongue he signalled the other scout whom lay a few meters up ahead.

The man shot up disturbed, helmet crooked on his head, followed by a thump of lead hitting flesh. Jack’s heart was racing in an instant, eyes noting his dead fellow scout, shortly followed by then a blitz of stars in the bushes. Bullets were being fired and even ducking low he could swear he would be hit. That this would be it. That he would...

Gasping, Jack shot up from the bed. A sheen of sweat stuck to his brow and it took a good few moments before he realised he was no longer in France. The room surrounding him was dark, but he recognised it well enough. He was at the Maniari’s, having just awoken from a bad dream. Sighing, he let himself fall back on the comfortable mattress. Even years after the war, he was haunted by his days in the army. And he felt it only got worse when he was alone, the cold sheets a cocoon that trapped him in the most frightening of memories. Staring out at the ceiling he waited for his heartbeat to calm and breath to steady. But that was not going to happen.

Gunshots fired in the night outside. And before he even realised it himself, Jack had thrown himself off the bed and onto the floor, arms tiger crawling up to the window sill, eyes peering over the edge. The window was cracked open slightly, letting in the cool nightly Tuscan air to relieve the heat after a sunny day. That same heat still remained in the stone ledge he pressed his cheek into, bewildered eyes finding the cause of all this ruckus: Augusto and his men.

Down on the patio on the far end of the house there stood a group of swaggering, loud men. Thick cigar smoke curled up in the air and from the way they had to steady their every move, it was obvious they were well into their cups. In total there were four, faces hard to discern in the low moonlight. It didn’t however refrain the men from clearing their identities with loud laughter and booming voices. With a shotgun in hand, Augusto stood at the front, a cigar hanging over his lip as he looked over his shoulder, hinting at the other men to watch.

‘Watch and learn!’ He growled, body starting to jerk as he cleared a few shots in the dark. Jack noticed that he wasn’t just shooting at nothing; from a tree hung a white ribbon that stood out just enough for even the drunk men to see. Not knowing whether Augusto hit anything at all, Jack flinched as the men started to cheer even more loudly.

Next up was one of the more slender looking men. Perhaps one of the bodyguards. Holding a handgun he outstretched an arm, aim more pure than that of Augusto. With a Hollywood-esque exaggeration he blew the heat from the gun’s barrel, laughing as one of the other men clapped his back.

Like this the nightly banter outside continued. It felt like hours upon hours, and though Jack had forced himself to lay back down in bed, he could no longer catch any sleep. Staring out at the ceiling he watched and waited, and dozed and mulled on thoughts that mixed reality and dream until finally he saw the first rays of sun crawl over the wooden beams above him. The sheer lace curtains drew pretty patterns there, reminding him of his first acid trip. How relieving that moment had been after months of struggling to deal with his post traumatic shock disorder.

You’ve got it bad boy, Lucia had whispered, brushing away his hair when he would wake bathing in sweat.

She was gone now.

Sighing, Jack pushed himself off the bed, head feeling dazed. He hoped that this wouldn’t occur every night, but something told him that he shouldn’t keep his hopes up. This family was mad and he knew it. Stretching himself out, hands above his head, he cracked a few joints before returning to the window sill, eyes finding that a butler had moved out to the bullet shell covered terrace on his left. The man was placing a whole collection of glasses, half finished liquor bottles and crowded ash trays onto a larger tray, face stern and focused.

Then Jack realised there was another person up and about. Just beneath his window, seated at the long end of a table, chair covered in a black and white striped cotton, sat the only daughter of the Maniari’s. Bunny. She was all dressed up to the nines, hair neatly coiffed and body clad in a blue knee length dress. 

From his position, Jack could see everything perfectly. The way her cigarette smudged with lipstick, the way her eyes sometimes moved to the butler who was cleaning up the mess on the other terrace. And he also noted that her fashion magazine was a bit peculiar; either they had started to include an accounting segment, or Bunny dear was holding a secret. The pages looked off. Reaching a little further, Jack tried to figure out what it was she was hiding, but that move betrayed him. The window creaked and with a hurried scowl Bunny looked up, hand closing her magazine.

‘Good morning,’ Jack chimed, smiling warmly. Bunny sucked on her cigarette and stared up at Jack. A moment passed.

‘If you say so.’ She sighed, pressing the half-finished cigarette into a glass ashtray before walking back inside.

Jack contemplated how he had wronged her, but as his eyes wandered over the curves of the misty hills, his mind bleaked. In the far distance, behind the neatly kept gardens, he could see the vineyards, stretching for miles. Most of it owned by the Maniaris, small houses dotted over the landscape, all rented by locals or used by family members. Today was the day he would meet some of them. He wondered if they would be just as mad.

--

‘Too expensive.’ The old nan flared an aggravated hand in the direction of the suit clad man who had come to gather the rent. Her eyes spoke poison, but also intrigue when she noted Jack. For a short moment her trembling jaw quieted, wrinkly features studying the unknown man before her.

‘YOU, you do something about it!’ Her finger directed back at Big. ‘The protection is shit! Last week one of my goats was shot and look at what you do. NOTHING. No-thing. You scum! You..-’

One of the men pushed Jack outside of the small cottage and closed the door, leaving Jack alone. The sun was starting to sink down and with a quick check on his peculiar sundial watch he noted the time. 4.30, just about. And violence..? He listened and heard the muffled whines of the woman inside. Yes. Biting his tongue he started his way to the end of the small garden that stretched around the cottage. Vegetables were growing in long rows of green. Cabbages, leaks and the like; nothing spectacular. But he also noted feet. Or feet marks to be exact. Dragging in the mud and too large to fit the small woman that lived here, alone. Had she had a visitor? Clicking his tongue he turned heel, hearing the front door re-open, men pouring out.

‘Fucking nuthouse.’ One of the bodyguards muttered, lips glueing to a cigarette that was lit with a bloodied hand. Jack noted that too, but said nothing. It was not why he was here.

‘Found some footsteps over there.’ Jack nodded, and the men looked up.

‘So?’

‘Male. Large male. Old, most likely, or wounded. Hard to see through the red stain of this darn mud.’ Jack pointed at the garden and two of the men stepped in, one of them taking notes and photographs of the measurements and findings. They nearly looked professional - were it not for them to be stinking like a brown pub in the wind.

‘Unlikely to be Alfi.’ Big stepped forward, still distrusting of Jack. Luigi hadn’t come along, though he had offered; it was Jack who had refused. At first the idea of having Luigi with him seemed pleasing, but seeing Luigi’s slightly particular behaviour yesterday made him rethink. Perhaps it was better to find the brother’s motivations and relations one by one; in the end they both had been in Paris at the time of Lucia’s demise.

So far though, the young Maniari mostly just seemed like a spoiled brat, who, unfortunately, wasn’t all that clever. Big scowled at Jack, who smiled a fair laugh.

‘Alfonso can’t get hurt, you say?’

‘It can’t be him because why the fuck would he be in some old hag’s shitty garden? He’d come home if that’d be the case. Pfft.’ Big shook his head in disbelief and regarded one of the men who had walked to a nearby tree to take a leak, hand brushing down the pee on his pants before he let out a relieved sigh.

‘Fwoa. You just keep on pissing from that stuff.’ He laughed.

Big smirked. ‘That’s what you do. Drink like a god? Piss like a god.’

The rest of the men laughed, but Jack didn’t. He turned around, watching the distrustful woman who peaked at him through the lacy veil of her curtains. Perhaps he’d return to her later.

--

The sun was sinking fast, but apparently there was one more job to be done. After a short stop at the villa, a small garrison of three sleek cars drove up the ruby red roads. At the front was Augusto’s car, a silver Mercedes, it’s lacquer shining in the last drops of honey hued sunlight. In the far back was the brandless black beast that carried Jack and four square shouldered men. These men were new to Jack, and for a moment Jack wondered if he was brought along so Augusto could keep an eye on him. Of course he had hoped that he would have been just allowed to lumber around alone, but reality was different. In reality even family friends had to join in on the dirty work. Whatever the dirty work would be right now.

After a short drive the cars halted before a small winery, long rows of vines weaving in patterns behind the tall cypresses that stood at either side of the muddy road. The sun was close to disappearing now, leaving long and tall shadows at the men’s feet. The Maniari crew had nine men in total, which seemed excessive for a visit. But then again; perhaps it wasn’t enough. Jack noticed how they all kept a hand close to the insides of their jackets, buttons undone. He was no fool. There were weapons held disguised, ready to be used at will.

Turning on his heel, Augusto was surrounded by his trusty bodyguard number One - a surprisingly small and slender man - and the four jarheads.

‘No words English. Just watch. I need your eyes alone. No funny business.’

Jack nodded, not sure what was about to happen. With confident strides the men walked up to the near abandoned looking winery, an old tractor parked near the door. The yard was muddy, leaving hundreds of tracks of cars, feet and what looked to be dog paws.

‘Nando!!’ Augusto called at a man who stepped out of the front door. The leather faced man was obviously not eager to see Augusto, eyes skittish and hand holding onto the door knob.

‘Good eve.’ Nando watched the many men that surrounded Augusto, eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t want no trouble sir.’

‘Then there won’t be any trouble.’ Augusto smiled broadly - too broadly, his cheeks drawing menacing shadows in the light of the sinking sun. ‘Just business talk.’

‘Right now? I was just about to eat sup--’

One of Augusto’s men pushed Nando back inside, pushing through the narrow hallway until all men were indoors. It was there where yet more visitors were found. More tough looking men in suits, hands staying nervously close to their pockets.

Jack barely got a chance at properly looking at these other men before the situation escalated. Augusto voice boomed with some insult about ‘crooked investors’ and then all hell broke loose. Or, so it seemed. Being pushed back against the opposing wall of the narrow hallway, Jack lost track of movements. Men were rushing back and forth, commands being yelled. The house was too small and it didn’t help that Jack had hurt his head, his vision swimming.

It was seconds later when the calm returned. Jack found himself leaning into the wall. On the ground in the small living room red stains leaked into the carpet. And watching Augusto, he saw those same red stains on his blouse. Had the mobster been wounded? Gasping in horror, Jack blinked, memories flooding him.

RUN JACK. RUN! Harry’s bloody teeth gulped the words, eyes wide.

The memory faded.

Hold! Hold! Hold for the king! Rain clattered on poorly made helmets, the dark night icy cold. Are you soldiers? Or are you weak? Right there the enemy awaits us, but we are ready. Squadron 2, line 4. Get ready to climb!

Jack felt sick, feet stumbling. The whole hallway seemed to tilt a few degrees, like he were on a ship filled with cute picture frames and handmade doilies.

‘Let’s get outta here.’ Big pushed Jack back out of the door, the rest of the men following.

‘What a fucking mess.’ Augusto growled. He didn’t sound as wounded as he seemed. Jack inhaled sharply, the evening air biting into his lungs. Panic and trauma washed over him and he had to try his best to stay afoot. Around him the other men walked out, reminding him of the soldiers in the trenches. The same mud that slipped beneath his unsteady feet had been there in France. Day in day out. Everything had been so wet, all the freaking time. At some point he hadn’t even known anymore whether it was the rain, blood or both. With blinking eyes Jack focused on his shoes, red splatters climbing up his leather shoes. He knew he wasn’t in France. He knew he wasn’t hurt - yet. And yet the ache in his heart seemed to seep in every corner of his limbs, turning his usually sharp mind to muddle.

‘Such a waste of wine.’ Augusto clicked his teeth. ‘And to you.’ He reared his head and looked at the man who looked at him through the small doorway. Jack didn’t know the man, but he seemed like a boos of sorts. His smug face raised a challenging chin, but said nothing.

‘Shame on your pitiful blood.’ Augusto spat on the ground. ‘This was once my father’s land. And now what?! Look at this! The moment some poor man comes up and tries to rebuild it, you take it from him.’

Jack frowned. Before him he saw the same Augusto that had beaten his daughter and threatened his family with the worst of repercussions. And yet that same man now wanted to protect this poor winemaker. Really? It almost seemed absurd.

‘There’s much waste, old friend. But this? I see potential. You see flaws. You hold onto the old. I embrace..the new!’ The smug looking man laughed. ‘And you see, Nando here.’ He turned and squeezed the terrified looking farmer into the door frame. ‘Has become a very, very good friend of mine. Haven’t you Nando? Hmm?’

The poor man swallowed and nodded quickly. ‘Y-yes sir.’

‘No no. We’re friends. Call me Gio, please.’

‘Yes..Gio.’ The man nodded, terror clear in his eyes.

Augusto sighed dramatically. ‘Well, dear Gio, you ruined my shirt!’

‘Oh curse you old friend. Buy yourself a new one. And kiss your wife for me, will you!’

‘Watch your words!’ Augusto wanted to step in and all men were back to grabbing for their pockets, but Big was there to hush his father.

‘Father, let us deal with this another--’

‘Another time? Would you look at that smug bastard with his..’ Augusto waved his hand in the air with disgust, his pretentiously friendly tone gone.

Gio laughed and waved, his skin lighting up with the last rays of sunshine. ‘Let us have proper wine soon my friend. We’ll discuss business, like the old days!’

Augusto spat on the ground and shot one last poisonous glance at the boisterous man in the doorway. It was obvious the two had a history. And Augusto was pulling the short end of the string tonight. With dragging feet he let himself be guided back to the cars. Even now Jack wasn’t quite sure why they had come with so many. Was it to show off? Or had they really been ready for a war? Still feeling a little wheezy, he walked to the last car and got in, his body soon squeezed in the middle of the bench between the two large men.

--

‘You’re hurt!’ Luigi exclaimed. With hasted feet he worked his way through the men who had started to scatter in the large hallway. Some went to the lounge for a drink, others to their quarters for sleep. None were rueful enough to deal with their boss Augusto right now.

The man groaned. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Oh why look at you father.’ Luigi tutted, peeling at the winesoaked blouse of his father. His father swatted his hand away.

Luigi hesitated. ‘Ehh.. I must warn you, father.’ Luigi licked his thin lip. ‘Mom has one of her...moments.’

Augusto turned heel, eyes wild. ‘She..what? Why didn’t you do something?!’

Luigi shrugged in defeat and pointed outside. In a flurry of curse words his father ran out, feet thundering on the loud marble floor.

‘You alright?’ Luigi stepped in next to Jack. The other men had dispersed, leaving the two men standing here alone.

Jack nodded quietly. France still ringed in his ears. Or perhaps it was a mild concussion. Either way he could do with some rest and a meal.

‘Quite a day it was.’

‘Indeed. I heard Mrs. Tuscesi got another beating. What a woman. What. A. Woman.’

Jack nodded, allowing Luigi to guide him up the stairs like he had yesterday. Again that fleshy warm hand found his lower back, but Jack didn’t object. Stepping in turn with Luigi, he told his friend about the little situation with Gio. Luigi sighed.

‘My papa never learns.’

They halted amidst the stairs, where a window gave a lookout over the shadowy gardens. Little torch lights cast a mysterious hue over the greens, where the signora danced, a little 3-legged dog by her side. Meanwhile Augusto was storming through the long lane between sky high cypresses, right at her.

‘Didn’t know you had a dog.’ Jack said. He didn’t want to question what was the matter with Luigi’s mother - it seemed a touchy subject, especially now he was living here with the Maniari’s. For a moment they watched as she waved her expressive arms in the air, before throwing a shoe for the dog toe catch. It hobbled awkwardly on its three tiny stilts.

‘My mother has a dog.’ Luigi corrected, then returned his warm hand to Jack’s back. Jack again, didn’t object and followed as they continued their way up the stairs. This time Luigi got a little further before he halted amidst the hallway, feet quiet on the stone floor.

Jack smiled, knowing exactly what Luigi wished to ask. It seemed near inappropriate, but in a way Jack could use some friendly company at the moment. Besides, he still needed to find out what Luigi’s true motivation was in life. He had changed so much since last they met in person. Not only had he grown in size, also his manners had changed. The Luigi he had met in Paris was not quite the man before him. That Luigi had been an oversized boy who liked to play. This was a man who made the game.

Turning on his heel, Jack looked over his shoulder. With a single nod the affirmation was given; join me. And so Luigi joined.

--

With most of the men gone on their nightly mission, the house was left quiet. Bunny peaked through her cracked bedroom door. On either side of the hallway the lights were dimly lit. But no guards were there to keep watch. No brothers were there to call onto her. All she could hear was her mother on the phone and her brother’s record player downstairs. From the looks of it both were preoccupied and so Bunny took her chance, feet slipping out of the door frame.

The heavy creak of her door made her flinch. Fuck. Holding tight onto the door knob she waited. Perhaps there soon would be footsteps, guns cocking, knuckles cracking. But no, there was nobody here.

Continuing her quiet pitter patter, Bunny made her way to one of the doors on the right. Not far from here her mother was babbling into the phone. Or worse yet; crying into the phone. Bunny again halted her steps.

‘But I need you! I..I need you!’

Her mother sounded positively desperate. But then again, so were all women who lived in this household. Her mother would drink herself to death. Bunny would run herself to death. Pick your poison, they say, right?

Gritting her teeth, Bunny turned her attention to one of the doors on her right. It’s where Alfonso’s study was located. A bunch of mystery rooms that she had rarely been allowed to visit. And the attraction to visit became even stronger when Alfi disappeared. The brother’s had looked inside for a bit, but decided there were no clues worth mentioning to the Englishman. All seemed as it should be, they said.

But Bunny didn’t believe it could be that easy. Alfi always had been a weird brother. Being the oldest of the bunch, he had always felt terribly important with his books and administrational work and numbers. He had always been the precise one, the easily ignited one. One thing out of place would send him into fury, and so it was here where Bunny decided to do some of her own research. Here in his study. Where all her brothers seemed too busy with their gun fights and extortion, Bunny knew that it was unlikely to be just a regular kidnapping. There had to be clues. There just had to be.

With a click of the door knob she opened the study room. And it was exactly what she expected to find. A simple desk set amidst ceiling high bookshelves filled with administration and books. It was kept so orderly it was hard to think this may just be the start of a crime scene. But Bunny had read books herself, too. Agatha Christie had taught her one thing: death is in the details. And patterns are always there. The only difference was that this was no oriental train or desolate island, but home. The home she had lived in with people that could very well star in one of Christie’s books. For they were characters, each and every one of them.

Behind her, Bunny could still hear her mother’s wails, followed by a sharp click of the door. Was her mother going out? Oh no. Oh shit. Quickly closing the door behind her, Bunny pressed her ear against the door, listening to the footsteps in the hallway. It was definitely her mother, and from the way her heels tapped the floor in an uneven rhythm, it was clear that she was drunk. Not that this was such a surprise; each time her mother suffered a setback, she’d fall back into the dirty old habit of binge drinking.

‘Zazoooo. BABYYY where are you sweetieeee.’ Her mother’s shrill voice called as she clambered down the stairs, footsteps fading.

Zazoo hadn’t been able to climb the stairs ever since the incident. A shooting incident. And though all said it had been the Luchesse’s, or perhaps even Gio himself, Bunny knew better. She always knew better. And she was sure that it had been one of the family who had shot the dog’s leg during one of the many drinking fests. One night the dog had four legs, the next just three.

Poor dog.

Turning back around, Bunny let out a sigh. Again her eyes fell on the many small details around her. Having learned from her mystery books, she tried to find clues. The burned candles, the disturbed dust on the shelves, the…Hmm. She walked to one of the shelves that had obviously been disturbed quite recently. With a tug she pulled out some of the folders that were tucked tightly together. She wasn’t sure what exactly she was looking for, the numbers all unfamiliar. But there were names here too. Many names, though unfamiliar in most cases. Only the Luchesse named immediately rung a bell, but then the numbers didn’t clarify much either.

Flitting through the pages, Bunny let her eyes slide over the neatly noted numbers. Prices, codes, phone numbers. They could be anything. Continuing her research, her eyes stopped on one page. A blood stain had poured into the thin paper, dark red, though also still slightly slimy. An unusual type of blood stain when at best you’d suspect a paper cut.

Noises in the hallway made her turn on her heel again. More people. Male. Fuck. Hurrying to get the folder closed and back on the shelf, Bunny nearly let it slip from her hands. Her heart was thundering and fingers slippery. She knew that if she was caught red handed now, this would be last day she ever saw daylight. Her father would not have this. He didn’t like unsubordinate little women. He wanted them meek and mild, not curious and self established.

Rushing towards the door, Bunny already tried to find excuses to tell. Perhaps she had heard a faint noise and since she couldn’t find the guards, went to see for it herself. Perhaps she thought she heard Alfi. Perhaps she..

‘My mother has a dog.’ Luigi’s chuckle reverberated up the stairwell. Bunny sighed and relaxed a little. Luigi didn’t give a crap about these administrational books. He cared more about appearances, self pampering and other slightly dubious male activities. Pressing her ear back against the door she listened, but no further words came. It were two pairs of feet, moving in the same direction. Towards the Englishman’s room, or hers. Oh no. Oh no! You can’t be saying they were looking for her!

Making sure the footsteps were far enough away, Bunny unclicked the door and rushed into the hallway. The men were gone. Though their voices returned, chuckling through Jack’s door.

Bunny knew at that moment that she would be better off if she just went back to her room. She was putting her nose in things she didn’t understand. In things she wasn’t supposed to understand.

‘Oh Jack!’ Luigi exclaimed, followed by a bit of laughter. Bunny quietly moved in closer, ears peaking to pick up the sounds. But no more sounds came.

Then Bunny made another mistake. She watched. Women weren’t supposed to see these things. But here she was, bending over and peeking in through the keyhole. Inside the well-lit room stood the two men. Jackets removed, embracing. But it wasn’t the type of embrace she knew. This was..different. Long lasting. Luigi’s hands were on the Englishman’s buttocks. And it lasted too long. This was..this was. Bunny watched in shock and awe through the tiny keyhole. And then Jack’s blue eyes found hers.

Fuck.

--

Chap 4 >

--

General tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss​ @tumblnewby @magdelen69​ @thereisa8ella​ @darkbooksarwin​ @summersong69​ @madbaddic7ed​ @luclittlepond​ @maroonmolly @just-a-normal-fangirl18​ @hell1129-blog​ @agniavateira​ @tillthelandslide​ @elinesama​ @maddyreads14

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry as jack #the englishman jack #mobster mystery fic #original story #multichap

[thegreatestofheck]

One Small Family *A Secret Santa Gift*

happy holidays @popcsheyward!! I was your secret santa for @ijustreallylovethem ‘s gift exchange thing this year and I had so much fun writing this short gift for you! Just a quick thing, I’ve never written a fic with a protagonist who uses she/they pronouns, but I tried it out and I hope I did alright (but if I didn’t do it right, please let me know and I’ll fix it). I hope you enjoy and I hope your holidays are good and fun (despite or in spite of covid). 

Here it is, your found family fic!

It was Gracie’s first Christmas with the Pogues. 

They moved in with their grandparents after their father got caught in some work scandal and their mother thought it best they be away from all of the drama. For most of the summer, they spent their days alone, working at the surf shop their grandpa ran, until a group of wild teenagers came barrelling through. 

She didn’t even remember how they all got acquainted, or how they all became fast friends. One moment, they were spending their nights alone, and the next, they were partying every weekend and breaking every rule their parents gave to them. 

School started and they felt like they were thrown back into the thick of it once again. With Kie going to school at the kook academy, Gracie suddenly felt out of place with the boys. It took her some getting used to, finding her own relationship with each of them. 

She and Pope really bonded over school work. They weren’t used to the public school system, as they went to private school back in Seattle. But Pope really taught them the ropes; kissing up to teachers, turning homework in on time, every secret behind standardized testing. Free periods she wasn’t with JJ or John B, she was studying with Pope. 

John B taught her how to surf. He took them out to the beach at the ass crack of dawn, before the rooster in the front of his house began crowing. He taught them the basics in the early light and cheered them on when the sun rose. He was every motivation she ever needed to start doing the things she wanted to. He didn’t care what it was and apparently, it didn’t matter. Whatever Gracie wanted to do, she did because John B taught her how. 

JJ was the one who taught them how to live. And I mean really live. He took her out driving in the middle of thunderstorms, dancing with them in the parking lot outside of school when the rain came pouring down, taught them how to roll a blunt and shotgun a beer. Anything and everything that got her adrenaline going, she learned from JJ. 

But Kie kept them grounded. She kept them focused. With the boys constantly pulling her in every direction, Gracie needed someone to keep her mind on the important things. Pass your classes, take care of your grandparents, write to your mom and dad, work hard. Kie was strong and resilient and clever and Gracie loved her for it. 

But the semester had ended and now it was time for the holidays. With everyone being as poor as they were, it was decided early on that they would do a game of Secret Santa and the gifts had to be five dollars or less. Gracie had pulled JJ’s name out of the beat up old Santa hat. 

She had two weeks to get him something and it was beyond her what he could even want. They had a million thoughts at first, but none of them were coherent or even remotely plausible with the funds that they had. For nearly two weeks, she wracked her brain trying to think of something. 

They were walking the beach one day when they thought of it. 

They were up early, before most of the Pogues woke up. It was vacation after all, so most of her friends slept in. But she liked the morning. With the heavy fog still hanging over the land, the cold sand beneath their toes, the gentle waves lapping against the shore. It was chilly, but not cold, just enough to keep her senses awake. 

Her foot knocked into something as she wadded through the soft sand. With a start, Gracie leaned down and fished around in the sand until her hand found the cool glass of a bottle. They unburied it, holding the clear glass up to the sun that peaked through the fog just as it rose above the horizon. A plan began to form in their head and a smile pulled at their lips. 

Gracie tucked the glass bottle into her bag and ran back toward the parking lot where her skateboard was. They raced home as fast as their board would take them without falling and tearing their relatively new jeans. 

“Home so soon, Gracie?” Their grandmother called from the kitchen. 

“I figured out what I’m gonna do for JJ!” Gracie called back as they ran for their room. 

Their grandmother only chuckled, returning to whatever deliciously smelling thing that she was cooking on the stove. 

As soon as Gracie made it to her room, she dumped the beautiful glass bottle onto her bed. Their smile never faultered the entire time they ran around their room, from the rising of the sun to almost mid-day, they rummaged around their small space for any single thing that reminded them of her best friends. 

Shells and rocks that they had gathered, sea glass that they had found, a bracelet they had made, ribbons from their birthday present the Pogues had bought for them, a broken ping pong ball, a plastic gold coin, a ferry ticket, a fake shark tooth, and a dozen or so more small things that each had meaning to them and their friends, specifically JJ. 

It was difficult to deilicately shove everything into the small neck of the bottle and there were a few things that she had to leave out. Once everything was arrayed in the bottle to their liking, Gracie sat on her bed with floss from her collection for bracelet making. With a gleeful grin, they set about weaving another bracelet, specifically for JJ. Shades of green and blue and grey that reminded her of the ocean twisted together, woven together with every ounce of affection and care that they could pour into it. Even though their fingers ached and their palms cramped by the end of it, Gracie still couldn’t stop smiling. It was probably the cleanest bracelet they had ever made. 

The finishing touch of the present was to tie the bracelet around the neck of the bottle. Then, they sat back and admired their handiwork. 

By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, the day that the Pogues had set on gifting their presents, Gracie was itching to give their present to JJ. She hadn’t even thought of the gift she was going to recieve until she saw the fifth present around the campfire. 

They all met at the beach. Kie had her ukelele, John B brought the beer, Pope brought the marshmellows, Gracie brought the graham crackers, and JJ had eaten most of the chocolate. They greeted each other with hugs and “Merry Christmas”s until John B couldn’t take it any longer. 

Kie opened her gift first. It was easy enough to tell that Pope had gotten it for her. He blushed all the way through her opening it, his shoulders slouched and his face lowered to the ground. He had gotten her a loosely knit sweater, just the kind that Kie loved to use to cover her bakinis. She grinned like an idiot as she held it in her hands. 

“There’s also this, but I didn’t know how to wrap it,” Pope said. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ukelele pick. It was small and beautifull painted. 

“Did you paint this yourself?” Kie asked, aghast. 

Pope perked up slightly as he nodded. 

“You left it behind once when you were over and I kept forgetting to give it back. So, it was technically already yours but-” 

“I love it, Pope.” Kie threw her arms around his neck and Pope seemed unsure what to do with himself. “Thank you.” 

Pope opened his next. He looked up at JJ, knowing that it came from him before Pope had finished unwrapping it. JJ was hiding a smug grin behind his hands in an attempt to keep up the anonimity. 

“Dude, seriously?” There was annoyance in Pope’s voice, but he was smiling. 

“Seriously!” 

“Let us see,” John B said, reaching his hand out to snatch the present but Pope pulled it back. 

“No way,” Pope laughed. “No one is ever seeing this.” 

“My turn!” JJ yelled to pull attention away from his gift to Pope. 

Gracie couldn’t help but smile as JJ picked up his gift. They could barely contain their excitment and JJ clearly couldn’t either. 

He tore the wrapping off in one swift motion, his eyes gleaming in the firelight. 

“What is it?” Kie asked, head tilted to the side. 

“It’s us,” JJ said, staring at each of the things on the inside. “The recipit from the first day we met Gracie. Our first movie ticket. Our one trip to the mainland.” 

JJ prattled off all of the little memories, pointing at each thing as he said it. Gracie could have cried. They weren’t sure JJ would remember any of them, but he remembered them all. The others joined in with little side stories about the different things and Gracie couldn’t stop the tears that rolled from her eyes. 

“Awww, don’t cry!” Kie mused, leaning over to give them a hug. 

“I’ve just never had friends like you guys,” Gracie said as she quickly wiped away her tears. “I’m so glad you like it.” 

JJ fiddled with the bracelet tied to the neck of the bottle, still smiling. 

“Can I wear this?” He asked. 

“If you want to,” Gracie told him. 

“Help me put it on.” 

Gracie obliged, tying the bracelet around JJ’s slender wrist. Once it was on, he lifted it into the light of the fire so the others could see. He wore it like a badge of pride. 

“I’m never taking it off.” 

Gracie wasn’t sure how she was supposed to deal with the flurry of emotions that brewed in her gut, so they bent down and picked up the gift with her name scrawled across it. 

She unwrapped it, finding a rainbow of emroidary floss tied together with a thin black ribbon. There most have been a dozen new colors. Their jaw fell open and tears pricked at her eyes again. Gracie looked up at John B, knowing that he was the only one who could have gotten her this gift. 

“I was running low,” she said, her voice quiet. 

John B just smiled, leaning back on his hands, looking as pleased with himself as ever. 

“I know.” 

Gracie gave him a brief hug before he picked up his own gift, the last of the night. 

Kie had gifted John B a picture in a picture frame and even though Gracie was sitting right next to him, they couldn’t see what it was. But John B just stared at it, eyes shimmering with tears and mouth parted ever so slightly. His smugness had faded. He pressed the frame to his chest and looked over at Kie, who was looking on with watery eyes. 

“Thank you,” he mouthed, unable to even form words. 

Gracie leaned over to look and he showed her. 

The picture was of the five of them from a day at the beach. They were happy, smiling, grinning from ear to ear. Gracie couldn’t even remember what day it had come from. At the bottom was a short note written in sharpie. 

“From your family,” it read. “Signed, Kie, Pope, JJ, and Gracie.” 

This was the first Christmas that John B had to spend without his dad. It was the first he would spend without a family. Kie had come to each of them asking for one small favor for their friend. None of them thought it was a bad idea. 

The sappy feelings everyone felt in their gut was quickly replaced by JJ’s plea to go skinny dipping, which they all obliged to. 

After they were soaked through their skin, they returned to the campfire for sining and s’mores. The sun was long gone by the time they were feeling tipsy and a little bit like they should probably head home. JJ would be going home with John B, of course. Christmas was no time for him to be around his dad. Gracie was almost tempted to ask if she could come, but she knew this Christmas was important to her grandparents. Maybe next Christmas. 

As Kie drove her home that night, Gracie knew that every Christmas from that day forward she would be spending with the Pogues. She wanted to do this every year until she was old and wrinkling and unable to see any more. 

After all her time of searching and hoping and praying for a group of friends who accepted her for who she was and who loved her for all of her shortcomings, Gracie had finally found it. It was their own little family, a family that was closer than blood because they weren’t bound by blood. 

There was nothing that Gracie wouldn’t do for the Pogues. And Gracie knew, deep down, there was nothing their friends wouldn’t do for them either. 

#secret santa #merry christmas #happy holidays #happy new year! #obx #outer banks #found family #jj maybank #kiara carrera #john b routledge #pope heyward #gracie #popcsheyward

[ourladytamara]

Utah Beach

by tamara - 2020

Content warnings: blood, violence, NC, watersports, drugs, war crimes

Red. Weeping gusts of deep, vicious scarlet, twisting in the air like ribbons. Poison - no, something worse. The shells bled without a moment of reaction time given to their victims.

With the defense of Mobile Bay a complete bust, the crew of the USCGC White Lamb was ad-hoc conscripted into the infantry. Armed with service pistols, a few spare rifles, and a shotgun looted from the trunk of a wrecked car, they marched like shorn sheep, twitching and nervous, into the ferocious wind and sweltering heat. Their mission: provide enough of a distraction to cover the last of the refugee caravan heading Westward. Whatever the method, however they achieved it - upper brass, what remained of it, wasn’t very clear on the specifics. Should they fail to provide a suitable distraction, human civilization East of the Mississippi was in serious jeopardy.

With a few moments of rough water off the shallow coast of the Florida panhandle, the small defense ship was blown ashore.

The beach they’d run aground was clearly the back of a resort’s more luxurious offerings. Driftwood, hardy grasses, and stones dotted the coarse soil, not an inch of it developed or prepared. Beyond it, a small parking lot, dotted with the husks of the vehicles unlucky enough not to escape the maelstrom of carnage that was the Atlantic seaboard. The sky above shone an ominous shade of gold as the sun struggled to filter through the clouds of ash drifting westward. Rays of jaundice yellow crashed upon the pale sand and blistering asphalt, an uneasy serenity engulfing the women, already on edge. 

Little time to spare. Using whatever implements available, they immediately began constructing a temporary landing shelter to plan at attack. Blair, the field medic, directed her compatriots to build sand berms, a task they began eagerly. Driftwood would make improvised shovels - it had to.

A crash and the turning of necks. Gasps and retches as the fumes gushed forth from the steel canisters like thick, syrupy blood. Each twisted steel shell was embedded into earth like engorged ticks. What little they had to show of their entrenchment efforts were dashed to the winds in an instant; many of the women were simply blown across the craggy dunes by the force of impact, weapons discarded and utterly dazed.

Amanda was the first to crack, sucking down a lungful of the stuff before she was able to find anything close to a respirator; in this case, rather, a leftover facemask from the pandemic a few years back. Flimsy cloth gave little respite, of course. The spice, tingling in the back of her throat in a way she’d never felt before, was the first thing that belied just how fucked she was. Choking, capable of little more than a whine, she fell to the ground.

She’d foam at the mouth. She’d clench her stomach, her throat, her chest, the cruel fate of chemical warfare - that’s what they feared, at least. Somehow, though, the image of her shaking, terrified body beginning to unfasten her belt and rip away her service uniform had managed to scare them even worse.

Because if this wasn’t poison, their enemy wasn’t going to simply kill them.

The others joined her an instant later, the sound of the remaining few guns clattering to the ground and the stifled screams of a half-dozen functionally-innocent women. Whatever it was, the air of musk and incense brought an inescapable paralysis. Not one brought from a direct stoppage of nerve activity, of course; it was readily apparent by now that Demonic strategy was less about efficiency and more about maximally traumatizing the populace of Earth, and this gas was evidently part of the same grand strategy.

Lust was a haze beyond impenetrable. It ate them whole. Every panicked lungful only worsened their condition, their bodies heating up, burning like brimstone and spilling forth from the inadequate, meaty forms they inhabited. Too hot, much too hot; one by one, with faces of indignity and fright, uniforms were tossed aside. Some were more modest, choosing to crawl into the trenches where they might not be as visible - only to fall chest-first into the more highly-concentrated pockets of the gas.

Moans became sobs and sobs became moans again. Under the din of war it was hard to make out the lewd sounds of hasty masturbation, a minor blessing as it was. Artillery roared overhead, jet fighters shrieking before their untimely end in the flak-saturated skies above. Wreckage fell to Earth like dead and dying angels. Amanda, by now, was fist-deep in her cunt. Tanya, the girl from Memphis - she said she worked in a bakery before the draft was reinstated - was on top of her, lapping aimlessly at the other woman’s face. Mud held to tear-soaked skin. 

Not one of the six mariners-turned-marines spared a thought in their mind beyond indulging in every excess the foul chemicals offered. It was a heavy, throbbing ache, inescapable and thick behind the eyes; with it came the tingling, the burning, the itch - it was over, after that.

Joann, first mate and first body up against the asphalt, was too busy fucking herself on the butt of her pistol to notice the mass of infernal might moving towards her. Demons. At least four, with a few possibly lagging behind them. Towering forms of malice and hardened vermillion skin, muscles barely concealed beneath layers of angular-cut black silk and heavy Hellsteel armor; yet despite the inhumanity of their size, they were eerily reflective of Joann’s own kin. Two legs, angled at the knee and terminating in blackened, heeled hooves. Two arms, of course; each section of their bodies were covered in the thick, red, plate-like skin, yet around joints and tender areas they bore black and reflective skin that shone in the vermillion light like iridescent puddles of oil. A head, adorned with long, curling horns, black and ribbed like charred bone. What little could be seen of their skeletal faces bore crude resemblance to Joann’s own: six eyes, each glowing red, sat inlaid in their sockets where, in terms of human anatomy, a singular eye sat. Bony cheeks terminated in a bony chin, ribbed with bizarre indentations and notches the human’s addled mind could barely begin to understand the purpose of.

Adorning them, black silk, reflective in the dimming light like nothing of Earth. It clung tightly to their forms, cut away in places to more easily allow salacious gazing at their toned bodies. Unlike the humans, they bore no rank, no insignia - save for a single black-and-white sigil across their breast, each was dressed almost identically. Heavy Hellsteel armor rattled around as they moved, the angles of the metal complementing the Demons’ physique. Imposing, near-black shone along the ridged steel, and a deep rusted umbre in others. Spikes and rough edges menaced like the grinning teeth of some ancient and forgotten beast.

The Demon at the front of the line fired a burst of warning shots from her enormous squad weapon into the berm beside Joann, to which the brave patriot responded with a whimper and an uncontrolled bladder release. Staring back at her, a particularly angry-looking one of Lucifer’s bastard children; her red form towered nearly eight feet, draped in black hellsilk and human leather, slender and delicate like a finely-crafted blade. 

Joann did little to fend for herself. Her mind conjured a million methods of escape, not a single one even remotely possible while so heavily intoxicated. By the time her grand plans had been reduced down to simply ‘scream for help,’ the unholy thing was practically on top of her - and, a few seconds later, physically on top of her. “Reporting full neutralization, my Imperatrix. This one is mine.” the Demon spoke into the walkie-talkie mounted on her chest, her tone belaying her excitement. To her human onlookers, guttural hissing and harsh syllables, their animal ears unaccustomed to the tongue of their masters. A hand wrapped itself around Joann’s throat and threw her to the ground while the invader tore away her baggy uniform pants.

Laughter, of course, transcended all language barriers. The Demon at the front began to cackle the sick cackle their kind seemed so fond of, clearly enraptured by the terror on her captive’s face as she pulled her twin cocks out. A few more soldiers would emerge from the brush, weapons readied - and quickly lowered, as the state of the so-called ‘resistance’ was found. One of them smiled behind their steel visor and licked their supple lips, eager to join in ruining the freshly-captured Joann. They’d yet to try both of their cocks on a single human...

Few of the human women writhing on the ground could be called conscious, but those that did found resistance more than troubling. Where their limbs could move - a task made progressively more difficult by heavier exposure to the gas, still leaking - they made little effort beyond that which scratched that deep, burning itch. In their most desperate hour, their very minds would be the ones to betray them. The gas took incoming impulses for self-preservation and fear, and twisted them into motions of lust and debauchery. Basic movements became Sisyphian tasks, the labor of those condemned to the windy depths of Incontinence. 

Tanya, the communications lead, was the last to try and muster resistance to the oncoming Demons. She rose defiantly, trembling limbs beating like the wings of a mighty phoenix as it soared from the ashes. Her khakis’ location around her ankles and the slickness of her pussy wouldn’t stop her - triumphant, hand shaking, she pulled the stock of her rifle from between her wet thighs, bringing it to aim...

...and as swiftly as she rose, she was thrown to the floor and mounted by a Demonic auxiliary. The hulking thing cast her pistol aside as she dug her clawed hands into soft flesh like a predatory animal. Tanya was never the most voluptuous of women, her petiteness only accentuating the already-large disparity in their sizes. With a disgusting squelch, her stomach bulged outwards, reflecting her abrupt filling; the hot breath of Hell licked and kissed her neck with sharp teeth and sharp tongues.

With a quick motion of its high-heeled hooves, the Demon mounting Tanya kicked her rifle away. As the scraping of steel across concrete ended, so too did the crew of the White Lamb’s hope for resistance. Distant anti-air rattled off another burst of flak, and wordlessly, fighter pilots turned back, turned West - away. Communications were shuttered, bridges were blown, and they, along with the lives of everyone still East of the Mississippi, were left behind.

And fend for themselves they would not. Steel hoof plates dug into the mud, bloody fog swirling. Emerging from the foliage is the unit’s commanding officer. While an imposing mass of flesh herself, she tends towards the more voluptuous side; her body is soft, tender, rounded, unlike those of her Sisters. Each of her breasts rival the size of her long-horned head, hidden beneath the black helm of authority. On her black-clad hip, a pistol - and a whip, the tips flayed and bloodied.

Dry lips curled into a smile as a gloved hand slipped a flask back into its Hellsilk pocket.

“Another flawless victory, Sister-Cadres.” hissed the Imperatrix, taking a sip of her bloodwine. “Your commendations shall reflect this.”

With her declaration, the cadre let loose. They hissed, cackled, giggled to themselves in delight; the women found themselves pressed against a dirt hill and the sea, boxed in by the encroaching Demonic lines. If chaos hadn't been the word to describe the battleground prior to the looting, it most certainly was now; Demons wantonly gripped and tossed their captures like cheap sex dolls, striking them when their gas-saturated minds managed a scream.

To the bleary and intoxicated volunteers, time came in scattered, disconnected pockets. Human minds were fragile. At once their visions would fill with horrifying, devilish things, unintended for the eyes of mortal men; an instant and a deeper breath of the crimson air later, and the horror disappeared into clouds of ash. A grunt and a moist slap. Twelve inches of Demonic cock pulled out of Tanya’s throat and slapped her cheek, a thick strand of saliva connecting it to her puffy lips. In her eyes, hues of red and black swirled into incomprehensibility, all dissolving like fairy floss in water before the hegemonic will of the gas. Lust was a solvent more potent than any others, eating her mind down to the nub.

“Their throats are so tight, by the Empress!” hissed the auxiliary, barrel-chest rippling as she gripped Tanya once more and braced her for another few slaps into her esophagus. “It’s like I’m about to break it…”

She cocked Tanya’s head upright, and a moment later, the girl’s nose was buried in her crotch. Every inch of it was buried in the human’s throat, triggering her gag reflex and yet offering no hope to dislodge it. What little oxygen was available to suck down in the second or two she was given to breathe only forced more of the gas into her lungs. Clearly, the suffocation was delighting her tormentor, as every time she wheezed for air the auxiliary would snort in satisfaction.

“I want tighter.”

A clawed hand wrapped itself around Tanya’s neck and squeezed, stroking the auxiliary’s cock through her throat. Little if any concern was given to the girl’s wellbeing or the potential fragility of her trachea - the auxiliary, after all, was horny; pumping a few cups of pearlescent, disgusting Demon seed into her stomach was more important than any of the human’s weak protestations. Gurgling, mustering every ounce of her fading strength, the poor girl moved to try and break the demon’s grip… only to find herself weakly fondling the pair of taut, full balls dangling in front of her.

Tanya’s throat-breeding was hardly the worst of the volunteers’ fates - far from it, indeed. Amanda, the first to go down, laid broken and half-nude upon the ground. The poor girl had collapsed nearest the canister, getting the heaviest dose of all of them; whatever they were being exposed to was cumulative, and now, she could do little more than flutter her eyelids and drool as the gas wrecked absolute havoc on her mind. Thought beyond the desire for more pleasure was all but eradicated. Lacking external stimuli, she’d simply revert to a suggestive, inviting pose, waiting for the next Demon in the cadre to help themselves.

Help themselves they did, indeed. Evidently growing bored of sampling their other fresh captives, a Demonic gunner fancied Amanda a urinal. Torrents of brimstone-yellow piss cascaded across her unconscious chest, gushing from the Demon’s rigid, imposing cock and seeping into the ruined earth. If nothing else, it helped to wash away the thick, half-congealed layer of cum and dirt that clung to the remaining scraps of her uniform. Urine spattered up onto the gunner’s legs, the flow slowly ebbing; with a deep sigh and a grunt, the gunner gripped her temporary restroom by the throat and pulled her onto her shaft. There was, of course, no response.

The same couldn’t be said of Joann. As it turned out, there were seven demons to only six women - which meant one of them had to share, and none of the shock troops on deployment were horny or stupid enough to try and get the Imperatrix to give up the raven-haired field medic, Blair. Hastily, they tore at Joann’s jumpsuit, easily shredding the fabric in their feral claws.

Her nude form was hoisted a few feet off the ground by the arms of the twin Demons who’d picked her. She was bent between the arms of the muscular machinegunner, head forced downwards at a painful angle with her arms bound behind it. Gripping her hips were the black talons of another, slightly smaller Demon. This one held Joann’s legs, contorting the limbs to allow easier access to her pink, vulnerable pussy. 

Gunfire ripped through the sky as Joann dropped her rifle, the weapon misfiring. Another hot slug of lead in a sky full of it; the noise alone set her skin on fire, a firestorm of stimulation raging in her already-overstimulated mind. The furthest from the canisters, she’d not fallen victim to the stuff’s more insidious mental effects - and thus, faced the horrors of Hell alone, head-on and sober.

Leathery Demonic skin rubbed against Joann’s scarred and sand-caked flesh. She’d begun to wish that it had taken her mind, had taken her out early and painlessly like her comrades - but it was a mercy she would be forever denied. A mouth full of shark’s teeth grinned back at her harrowed face, six-and-none of its eyes… blinking, perhaps.

“What do you think of this one - fertile?”

Behind her came the rattle of belt buckles and sick Demonic laughter - and even in her state of panic, she’d realized that Demons didn’t wear belts. At least, not regularly.

“Heh - it matters not for me, does it, Sister?”

They shared a chuckle. A pause, the wind howling in the silence.

“I’m going to take it’s ass anyway.”

The girl’s cries fell upon deaf ears. Thirteen inches of Demonic shaft forced their way into her throat before beginning to piston in and out. Behind her, hammering her asshole, ten ornately carved inches of some kind of Hellish ivory, twisted into a lewd facsimile of a Demonic penis. It was lubricated with the Demon’s cum-thick spit and a bit of blood seeping from Joann’s cuts. Neither did a good enough job, but hopefully the pain would get the thing to tighten her throat.

Both enormous Demonic forms completely overshadowed her, their sweat dripping down on her body and practically signing her comparatively-frigid skin. Joann was little more than a sex doll to them - one highly, painfully aware of its predicament.

Despite the agony of her own consciousness, Joann got off relatively easy - especially when compared to her other compatriots, Hannah and Kim. Kim was a short woman, the youngest by far out of the ragtag group; cum-slathered, pixie-cut blonde hair stuck out like patches of snow on a frigid peak of cum, blood, and uncountable other substances. She had been in the Air Force before “emergency reassignment” gang-pressed her onboard the White Lamb a day before it was scheduled to launch. Hannah, on the other hand, hadn’t so much as held a rifle in her life. They’d picked up the tall and fiery-haired woman in the open ocean after her yacht had capsized, apparently shelled at random by Demons on the mainland. As any adult capable of handling a gun, Amanda deemed her fit for duty on the spot.

They were tied together. Kim was arranged so that her face was all but swallowing Hannah’s cock, kept out of her mouth only by her limp and exhausted jaw refusing to close. The poor redhead was arranged as Kim’s opposite; blood trickled out of her broken nose as Kim’s pussy ground against it, seeking a relief to the deep, insatiable itch ignited by the aphrodisiac.

Binding them were several layers of reflective Hellish leather, slick like some awful polymer. Fresh sweat and blood made the uncanny softness of it all the worse, every inch that touched them practically overstimulating them from its mere presence. Across the leather stretched barbed wire sharp enough to dig through thick hide straps and pierce the skin; every inch of them was dotted with repetitive cuts and wounds, the jagged pattern of crude and mass-produced steel clearly reflected where it depressed and bit their skin. The slightest flinch would send shocks of pain through each of their bodies, each instinctive thrash like another volley of punishing spikes in their flesh. Fresh blood, vibrant crimson, swirled beneath the blackened leather and coated their constricted skin in coats of their vitality.

The constant discomfort would ensure they kept moving.

Each woman was gripped tightly and angrily by a muscled Demon, pumping away into them with the abandon one reserved for cheap sex toys. One laid on the ground below Hannah, bucking her hips upwards into the makeshift human fleshlight. Thick ropes of cum coated the inside of her thighs, the lewd squelching almost drowned beneath the rhythmic pistoning of the other Demon’s equine cock. Neither captive was held in a regard higher than that of dirt, the two once-vibrant and independent women reduced to warm, quivering holes. If their minds were still capable of rational thought, the two of them would be screaming. 

What screamed instead was the sharp tongue of a whip as it slammed against raw flesh, Demonic hushing and reassurance below.

“That’s it, you’re learning. Your eager performance excites me, meat - perhaps there is hope for your kind yet.”

With half-lidded eyes, Blair lapped at the Imperatrix’s steel-toed hoof. Each alien syllable of Demonic that graced her ears rattled her brain, yet she understood not a word of it.

Out of the myriad women of the White Lamb, Blair remained the only one to be personally chosen by the Imperatrix - a dignity even the animal’s underevolved mind recognized the importance of - to lead her astray comrades into the welcoming arms of the God-Empress. She’d been chosen! 

It was a strategy that worked again and again. Poor Blair was no different, it seemed; the Imperatrix’s personal collection of subjugated human concubines was growing, in no small part thanks to her deceptive use of restraint. Even the human’s impaired mind could still find horror in the things the shock-troops were doing to her comrades - and find solace in the protection the Imperatrix offered. With a relatively minor amount of coaxing, hatred and fear became undying devotion in the primitive minds of humans. Blair was to be a serpent twisted around her finger, unaware of just how tangled with her Owner its body had become.

Gloved fingers wrenched themselves around Blair’s tender throat, dragging her away from the spit-polished hoof and up towards her pussy. She knew the combination of panic and impairment would do wonders on the underevolved mass of grey matter between the human girl’s ears, accelerating the tiring work of breaking down the remaining vestiges of her dignity; indeed, the Imperatrix did revel in the carnal side of slaving, but Blair’s new role wouldn’t be that of a sex slave. No, indeed, she had something far greater planned for the human girl.

Keeping captives in line once the drugs wear off is always a difficult process. Without the sedation and aphrodisiac promoting submission, the often deeply-embedded fear of Demons in the human psyche begins to set in - but not if one were to give orders through a surrogate human slave-driver. Blair, the one they’d entrusted so much to, would make a wonderful puppet in the Imperatrix’s latest show.

A now-familiar black-gloved hand wrapped itself back around her throat, and with a gasp half-excited and half-mortified, she was dragged back into the heat of war. In her delirium she’d hardly noticed the Imperatrix speaking into her walkie-talkie 

“At attention, slave.” she barked, twisting the girl’s head to the side and snapping a loose Hellsteel collar around her throat. “The front is moving - and you’re being promoted.”

With a quiet chant and the sudden, searing burn of an Anguish flash-welder on her neck, Blair’s collar was sealed shut around her throat. Fear wasn’t given a scarce second to set in before the scarlet air catalyzed it to a breathy moan, her lips twisting themselves into a weak smile. Contempt left the Imperatrix’s face unchanged.

A carved sigil upon the side of the now-permanently fastened collar indicated her status; it was tiny, almost imperceptible, yet stood as the sole barrier between her newfound role as slave-driver and the fate of her former colleagues. Pride, sickly-sweet like decaying fruit, mingled with the build of orgasm in Blair’s rapidly-beating heart. It did little to truly replace what the gas and degradation had stripped from her - but that didn’t matter.

She would be saved. Not Amanda, not Joann, not anyone else - because nobody else mattered. Not to her, and from the scene of absolute depravity surrounding her, not to her new Owners, either. Her pussy twitched.

The Demons had retrieved the mounts. Hellish beasts as they were, Blair’s intoxicated mind spiraled deeper and deeper into horror with every passing second she spent looking at them. Roughly horselike in form and size, the beasts had rippling, muscled skin. It shone a deep burnt umber that glistered in the dying sunlight like freshly-spilt blood. Bone plating covered their intimidating forms, and the bones too sat beneath heavy and well-formed Hellsteel plate armor. Pointy, needle-sharp hooves adorned each spindly limb, the tips white-hot and smoking like newly-cast bronze. Whatever unseen and arcane power source warmed them also coursed through its thick, gnarled veins, flickers of scarlet glow beneath the flesh.

Steam hissed from the nostrils of the beasts as they bit down on their reins. On their sloped backs sat small, metallic cages, round and uneven like spider eggs. Tight, cruel things; they were constructed of rusted, bonelike struts, a seam running through the center of each, facing the ground. Concealed cords of sinew within them allowed the whole thing to pop open at the turn of a winch, spilling their cargo across the ground.

Behind the other nightmares stood the Imperatrix’s steed. It was an imperious beast compared to the gnarled and sickly-looking mounts of her subordinates, standing tall and seething with white-hot blood. Instead of a cage, the Imperatrix’s bore two finely-decorated seats, the rear smaller than the primary rider’s. A thick, knobby dildo adorned it, crafted by a mind palpably sadistic. Blair’s breathing hitched as her eyes traced the lewd contours of it, salivating hungrily from both sets of lips. The Imperatrix- her Owner - gripped her by the shoulder.

“Your hand.”

Clawed fingers locked themselves between tender human digits.

***

“Hurry up. We want those commendations to actually matter, don’t we?”

“Fuck off. I’m backed up.”

Machinegunner Vahaqash furrowed her brow and tightened her rifle sling. Marakh, the auxiliary, was taking her precious time with Amanda. Sun-dried cum and sand stuck to every inch of the latter’s bronze skin, reeking enough to smell from the parking lot beside the beach. Despite her cohort’s distaste, Marakh continued pumping in and out of the human’s loosened asshole. Each thrust drove the auxiliary crazy, her forked serpentine tongue hanging limp and drooling from her open mouth.

Amanda’s holes had been thoroughly ruined by the dozens of other loads dumped inside her, and took the auxiliary’s shaft without trouble. Eighteen inches of equine Demon dick, hard like infernal basalt, pistoned in and out of Amanda’s worn-out, gaping asshole. Her pussy had been stretched far beyond the point of usefulness; humans had yet to evolve suitably elastic orifices to compensate their new masters, unlike their Demon superiors. Syrupy yellow-white seeped from her destroyed cunt, providing a bit of much-needed lube for her slightly-tighter asshole.

The gunner, on the other hand, had already slaked her carnal thirst in Tanya’s throat. A delay like this was unbecoming of her fellow sister-cadre; time spent getting sloppy sevenths in an unconscious slave’s holes was time that could’ve been spent incinerating the innocent for the glory of the God-Empress.

Clouds of ash from faraway fires and atom bombs drifted like tendrils of inky night overhead. The other Demons sat upon their steeds, ready to depart - all but Marakh and Vahaqash. Blair writhed giddily on her dildo, wrapping her meager hands around the strong waist of her Owner. Excitement continuously bubbled up within her, teased and never released. She hated to doubt her superiors, but the delay was beginning to puzzle her.

Wrought iron dug into flesh. None of the cages were intended to be comfortable, and any little relief given was promptly taken. Black leather isolation hoods covered their heads and concealed their identities, a dildo gag lodged in their throats keeping them nice and quiet. A temporary measure before the primary slave sorting facility. That was a problem for later, though. Fronts were moving, villages were being looted, virgins were being taken, and currently, none of the shock troops were getting in on it. 

With one last triumphant slam of her hips against Amanda’s ass, Marakh was finally spent. Her hot breath left her lips as arid gasps, broiling like the thick ropes of Demonic sperm filling every inch of the poor girl’s bloated stomach. Ropes of it... squirmed, almost; the large, overactive sperm cells within her ejaculate moved constantly within the opaque white wads, like all Demons’ cum. Each cell fought eagerly and vigorously with countless others for a chance to impregnate her broken body; it might’ve felt like being filled with Pop Rocks, if she still had the capacity to remember those. For a moment, Marakh knelt in the sand between Amanda’s legs, grinning eyes trained on the visible annoyance behind Vahaqash’s Hellsteel visor.

“Mind your manners or I’ll have to fuck some into you, Vahaqash. Disrespectful bitch.” Marakh spat, gripping her still-erect cock and sliding it out of Amanda with a wet pop, yogurt-thick seed seeping out behind it. 

“Marakh, on your steed. Leave the human.” the Imperatrix shouted.

Marakh’s smug and satisfied eyes widened at her superior’s voice. A gulp broke the stiff silence between the two Demons. Few things in life could manage to frighten Marakh into line, and it just so happened that the voice of her typically-reserved Imperatrix was at the top of the list. Her asshole never quite felt the same after her the first time she’d tried to push back - but she couldn’t simply leave without something to fuck! It was unthinkable - how would she go so much as the next hour, let alone the time it would take to reach the front? 

Vahaqash finished tightening her shoulder straps and hurried back to her mount, bowing submissively towards her mounted commander and fellow sister-cadres.

“What!? This one is mine - I’m not leaving without meat for the road.” Marakh stammered.

No reply. A scowl spread across the Imperatrix’s brow.

“I - y-yes, Imperatrix! Give me but a moment to… c-collect myself.”

From her position atop the gnarled dildo lodged firmly in her ass, Blair furled her brow. It wasn’t Marakh’s insubordination that enraged her, but Amanda’s. The human had been given every opportunity to behave, to obey the orders she was given - and instead she lay tits-up in the sand, festering in the sun and sex that slithered across every inch of her battered skin. She clenched a fist. Ingrate - insubordinate! Amanda was offered the ability to stand on her two feet and she refused. 

An odious smile crossed the Imperatrix’s dry lips as she over her shoulder, six red eyes curling upwards with unsated cravings and misintent. Blair rolled her hips.

“What do you see when you see defiance, human?” she asked, in English, speaking almost silently in the wind.

She wasn’t sure. Her Owner would want an intelligent answer! Blair racked her scarlet-choked mind as best she could.

“I… I see fear. I see fear and hesitation. I see foolishness, fear, and hesitati-”

“Really?” the commander growled, refusing to let Blair finish. “I see weakness.”

Blair gulped. In the distance, Marakh made a flimsy attempt to grab a slightly less cum-soaked patch of Amanda’s arm. Clearly she wasn’t trying, squicked out by the wretched lump of meat she’d just blown a load in. Weakness. Did she answer incorrectly? Her pussy betrayed her fear of punishment, clenching around the cock inside her.

Somewhere beneath the endless miles of bright red anger that now composed her mind, Blair recognized the Imperatrix fiddling with her holster.

“Weakness is a sickness,” the knife-toothed woman continued. “And it is your duty as a slave-driver to purge this sickness. On the ground.”

Legs trembling, Blair removed herself from the girthy phallus and dismounted the Hellbeast. Her bare feet hit the hot pavement, stinging where her Owner had struck her soles for speaking out of line. Pain didn’t phase her - showing weakness was not an option. Not now, not ever again - her Owner demanded it, expected it! To show weakness was a dereliction of her righteous, chosen duty. Pain was a gift which she was given freely.

Blair took her Owner’s whip.

“Prove yourself.”

The wind above howled louder. Every inch of Blair’s skin was lit angry red by the uncaring sun above, filtered through the ashen and choked sky. Moistness clung to her thighs and ran down her legs. All five fingers clenched the hardened leather like a vice-grip. She would perform her duty with delight, honor, and orgasm. Despite her fear, she marched across the blistering asphalt with resolve of steel. Whatever bravery had existed within her bosom was now galvanized by the flames of Hell into unrepentant zealotry.

Beyond the black pavement, shells of cars, and the detritus of sudden flight, Marakh was standing with her hooves in the sand. She was busy grunting, mid-piss, a stream of pungent gold cascading across the damp sand. Black-grey gauntlets, slick with half-dry cum, wrapped around the base of her equine shaft. Marakh turned to the human with a delighted expression, one that fell grim the moment she noticed the whip in her hand.

“What do you think you’re - ”

 Blair struck the Demon across the leg with the whip, single tail flailing with an amateur’s devotion. Her pursed lips stayed silent, contrasting the started yelp from Marakh’s; caught off guard by her own submissiveness, the muscled auxiliary put up little defense as Blair reeled the whip back and prepared herself for another blow.

“Insect! How dare -” the Demon hissed in her mother tongue, cut off again by another strike of the veritable blade of cured leather. Angrily, she lunged for the holstered pistol upon her belt, nearly gripping it completely before the commander, from her steed upon the blistering asphalt, spoke.

“Unless you want to replace her at my heel, auxiliary, you will stand down immediately. You’ve wasted far more than enough of our time - get on your fucking mount,” dictated the Imperatrix, sighing as she finished. The depth of her voice was impressive. Echoes of it wafted through the vermillion fog of sunset and rang like a gunshot inside Blair’s empty head.

“Besides, your punishment is mine to dispense - the human wants the blood of it’s kin, not you.”

More silence, more tension - but in the end, Marakh relented. 

“This Cadre is fucked.”

The auxiliary pulled the wet shaft back under her kilt and stuffed it into her tactical garter.  Whatever retribution was certainly about to befall her wouldn’t be helped with sore knees, the smaller Demon thought to herself. Her reluctance was audible with each heavy footfall as the auxiliary, at long last, started her way up the beach and back to her steed. Blair watched her as she moved, sucking air through clenched teeth. She’d tasted vengeance, savored the tang of discipline. Weakness - weakness was to be rooted out!

Below her laid Amanda’s unconscious form and the source of her righteous anger. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say. Should she spit on her? Reprimand her? Her digits clenched around the whip until they turned white, her face flush. Blood pumped through her veins like molten lead. How was weakness best dealt with, she wondered? Drops of her own slickness fell from her snatch upon the already-saturated sand. This would be her first true test - the first time of so many that she’d be given the chance to prove her Owner’s judgment correct. Doubt’s tenebrous tendrils wormed their way into her mind before shattering. A crooked smile broke the enmity upon her face.

Blair unloaded a flurry of strikes with the whip against her fellow animal’s exposed chest. It wasn’t long before long lines of vibrant red began to glow through the fog of filth and dirt, the same hue of the sun as its dying rays trickled across Blair’s sweaty skin. In the low light, she bore little resemblance to a human at all. Once, she’d been the proud field medic of the White Lamb, a patriotic vessel of the US Coast Guard. Her shipmates - Amanda amongst them - entrusted their health, their lives, to her. In a sense, she still held that trust. It would still be her duty to carry them when they could not carry themselves.

Red. The sky above shone the red of war and freshly-spilled blood. Whatever embers still burned in the smouldering wreck of the USCGC White Lamb were now thoroughly snuffed out, darkness engulfing all but the light of the sun as it filtered through the cumulative ash of nuclear incineration, drenched blood-red as it sank to the earth.

A twitch. Another crack of the whip before the slave-driver realized what was happening, forcing her to stay her hand. Amanda’s bloodshot eyes cracked open.

Above her stood the towering crimson figure of a demon, whip in hand and contempt in its eye. It bore little resemblance to its adoptive siblings. Much smaller, with such diminutive horns - did it have horns? No, not this one. It was familiar, somehow. A word came running to her from the fog.

“Blair?”

Another crack pierced the silence. Twin demons smiled.

[savingthrowvs]

Forgotten Folks: Adu’ja

Disclaimer: One article in, and I’m already changing the name of Forgotten Races to Forgotten Folks. Why? Two reasons. One, it alliterates, and I like that. Two, I find I like “folk” better than “race” as a term. If I ask people to pick their “race” that may not have a bad denotation, but it can carry a bad connotation. For most people, it won’t matter, but for the ones it does matter to, I don’t want it to get in the way of fun. So let’s continue with the Forgotten Folks.

Ancient, nearly forgotten, mysterious folks, who came from the plants instead of flesh. 

Dungeons & Dragons sure does like trying to give us more plant people, don’t they? This was an attempt in Third Edition, in Dragon Issue 317. The Xenophilia article introduced some weird playable folks (and we will get to the others, believe me), and the adu’ja are no exception. They are very much what a Lord of the Rings fan expects elves to be, but a little different. For one, they have a holistic view of the world, and expect things happen because of unrelated things - and that we have little control. This can lead to this ancient and powerful species being awfully naive.

Another thing, they ran away from the world (in their original fluff) because of the elves’ civil war (I assume this was when Lolth became Lolth). So they went into hiding, and only now come out because of goblin and orcish encroachment on the forests they live in. 

Not too shabby so far. Hidden, mystical plant men. Oh, and they taught the elves what magic was, not Correlon. So that’s neat. Also, the main art we have kind of gives me Yoda vibes. Lives in a misty forest, has a cane, super old, weird and green? 

Okay, now for the “weird biology” part of this. Much like everyone’s first OC back in middle school, their “hair” which is really leaves can change colors with their mood. Why pick a hair color, when you can pick ALL THE HAIR COLORS!? Their skin also changes color based on mood and season. 

They’re kind of photosynthetic, and only require a quarter as much food. That’s... fun?

Also, their noses aren’t sniffers, they’re sprayers. They are used to spray out smells to show their mood (which they stole from the dang saurials!).  Oh, they also have this “The Way of the Root” philosophy. They’re basically a species of druid monks. Which, druid monks could be a really fun idea. They believe everything has an innate balance, and that the world must STAY balanced, which is the only reason they leave.

An adu’ja comes back from a journey to the Realms of Man. Adu’ja Chief: You’re back early. Adu’ja Envoy: Going back out. World’s unbalanced. Chief: What? Envoy: *cocks staff like a gun, a single beetle flying off like a shotgun shell* World’s unbalanced.

Can your campaign take advantage of the adu’ja? Do you want a folk whose history runs perpendicular to the elves and their beliefs? Do you want a bunch of asexual Groot-Aang-Yodas? Maybe you don’t want elves at all, and need someone else to fill the forest niche? 

To put them in 5e, I’d do the following - 

+1 Con, +2 Wis. (I know the original was +2 Wis, +2 Cha, -2 Str, but that doesn’t feel in line with PHB races for me.)

Advantage on Stealth checks in forests and wooded areas. (The Woodland Stride ability is now an 8th level ability and I didn’t want to give a character an 8th level power right out of the gate.)

Photosynthesis. As long as an adu'ja can access at least 4 hours of direct sunlight, it only requires 1/4th the normal rations. (It’s a ribbon ability, I took it whole cloth from 3e, it’ll work just as well here)

Photoregeneration. An adu'ja that rests whilst in sunlight and with access to at least a gallon of water can regrow severed arms or legs by doing nothing but rest and perform light activity; it takes 1 month to regrow a limb, half that if the adu'ja engages in complete bed rest. (Technically it’s free regeneration, but compare casting times of 1 minutes, or 10 combat rounds, and 14 days, or 210,600 combat rounds. You want to use this, you better have a backup character so we don’t have to wait.)

Skill Proficiency. You have proficiency in one of the following skills Nature, Persuasion, or Survival. (This is just condensing the weird amount of skill bonuses they have. You get one.)

Darkvision. (Why not?) 

Vulnerability to Fire. When you take fire damage, you take double damage. You have disadvtange on saves against Fire spells and abilities. (Sucks being wood, doesn’t it?)

Speak with Plants. Once per day, you may cast speak with plants as the spell. (I know, a 3rd level spell at 1st level? It’s only one, and its the reason I added fire vulnerability back in)

Enjoy playing your plant people. 

#adu'ja #Dungeons and Dragons #D&D #5th edition

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “A Sunny Day on Earth”

Alright guys, this one ended up a bit more serious than I intended, and I’ll have to do damage control later on, but I hope you like it. I have been loving the comments questions and messages you have been sending, so feel free to send more. Plus the fanart is the absolute BEST! Have a great day, and I hope you enjoy.

It was very pretty, blue and green glass orb swirling with big swatches of white and grey. Sunny pressed her face against the window as Earth grew in her vision. Captain Vir and Krill sat in the pilot and copilot seats as they approached speaking to each other over headsets as the roar of the engines rattled through the cabin. She was forced to buckle herself in as they careened towards the atmosphere. The Captain was a very good pilot though and kept their entry at the perfect angle, breaking into the stratosphere slowing the ship to a coasting speed as he spoke to one of the lading towards through his headset.

The shuttle was rather small, so he was cleared to take it to a designated landing zone of his choice.

The captain turned autopilot on for a moment and turned to look at Sunny, “Look Sunny, I know I promised you that we would do fun things while here, but my family is kind of….. Wary of the Drev after the war, so it might be best if you hang out in or around the shuttle when I’m with them. Can you do that?”

Sunny shrugged, a human expressive gesture she had picked up, and turned her head to look down at the passing forest. It was more beautiful than anything she had seen before. She had never seen anything like these trees, they were so green, and such pleasant colors for a death planet.

They banked over a low rise, cutting over a wide basin. Below her, Sunny could see signs of civilization, roadways cut in strict grids across the lush landscape, small settlements of houses peered up through stands of trees. Small ribbons of water trailed across areas of open grass. Captain Vir called in the position of his landing to one of the towers cutting low over the trees before setting down in a small clearing amidst the trees a few hundred yards away from one of the settlements.

Using two peddles and two joysticks, he lowered the craft to a soft thud on the grass before cutting the engines leaving the group of them in silence. Krill peered out the window likely scanning for something likely to kill him.

Captain Vir moved to open the hatch filling the cabin with a wash of crisp mountain air. Sunny tilted her head back to breathe in the fresh smells allowing the warm breeze to run across her skin. Vir grabbed a duffle-bag and unclipped the dog from her seat allowing the creature to bolt off into the woods. Vir clapped Sunny on the shoulder, “Take a look around stay safe, and I’ll be back in an hour or two, sound good?”

She nodded excited to go explore the forest. Krill floated behind Captain Vir as he cut into the trees leaving Sunny standing alone in the long grass of the meadow. Turning her head towards the sky Sunny took a deep breath and fell back into the grass staring up at the delicate eggshell blue of the sky. The smells were incredible.

She lay there for what felt like hours napping softly in the gentle touch of the star overhead. When she finally decided to roam around, the clearing had enough strange life to entertain her for hours. She found a strange flower behind the shuttle and examined it for a moment before moving around to the other side and then stopping dead in her tracks.

There were three small creatures standing in front of her huddled together. They were maybe about krill’s height with wide human-like eyes but oversized heads and short limbs. Sunny stepped back rising to her full height.

And the creatures let of a piercing scream.

***

They sat outside laughing and talking. The entire family was here ranged around the backyard as groups of children played towards the fringes of the yard. Captain Vir leaned back on the lawn chair enjoying the rays of an earth sun and breathing in the clear mountain air.

A sudden round of cheering broke around the yard and he opened his eyes to see his brother David and his fiancée walking down the stairs into the backyard. David was grinning his fiancée had on an awkward smile.

Vir cheered with the rest of them cupping his hands around his mouth, “It’s about Damn time!”  

The rest of the yard laughed, and he received a rap on the back of his head from his mother, “Adam! Watch your mouth.”

He rubbed the back of his head, “Sorry mom.” But he was grinning when he said it. Krill sat with the children at the back of the yard having been forced there by Vir’s niece. She had recently moved from her princess phase into her superhero phase and was dressed up like Spiderman from the head down. Her mother hadn’t let her wear her mask.

David walked across the yard towing his Fiancée, Jordan, behind him. Vir got up and hugged his brother.

“Glad you could make it.” David grinned

“Glad you finally wised up.” He peered around David at Jordan, “Finally managed to knock some sense into him.”

Jordan was about to answer when, an ear splitting scream rocked the house.

Everyone turned towards the woods as three of the children came screaming from the trees half crying half gasping as they sprawled into the grass.

“MONSTER!” One of them yelled through his tears.

Vir felt his body go cold.

His father was already in motion whipping a shotgun from the nearby shed to storm into the woods engaging the pump with a crisp snap-snap. Vir bolted from his spot next to David and raced after his father. “Dad wait!” Just at the edge of the yard, he caught his prosthetic on the edge of a tree limb and went sprawling. His dad was fading further off into the forest, and the other members of the family were beginning to follow after. Vir leaped to his feet and raced through the foliage keeping his eyes on the ground in order to keep from tripping. He broke into the clearing just in time to see his dad frozen a few feet away.

Sunny stood in front of the shuttle blue metallic armor glittering in the sunlight.

She looked confused.

“DREV BASTARD!” His father roared voice full of more hatred than Adam had ever heard. He pulled the gun to his cheek.

“NO!” He dived forward tackling his father to the grass just as the shot went off missing Sunny by a good seven feet as the two sprawled into the grass. His father struggled underneath him gun lying feet away in the grass. Vir was thrown to the side father rolling on top of him fist pulled back. He paused looking confused to see his son there.

“Adam, what the hell?!”

“Get back in the shuttle Sunny!” Vir yelled ignoring his father.

The rest of the family was filtering into the clearing now just in time to see sunny back into the shuttle and close the door behind her. There were gasps of shock. David stepped in front of Jordan. Parents grabbed children. A barricade of humans formed around their weaker members. Adam shoved his father from him and scrambled to his feet turning his back to the shuttle and his front to the line of assembled humans.

Jeremy stood with his girlfriend just off to the side, “Adam, what the hell is that.”

He squared himself up, “Her name is Sunny and she’s a member of my crew.”

“You let a Drev become a member of your crew.” Thomas growled incredulous.

“Yeah, I did now BACK OFF!”

Thomas stalked forward craning his neck around his brother, “COME OUT YOU F****NG COWARD. LET ME SEE YOUR FACE.”

Vir shoved his brother viciously back, “Knock it off, Thomas.”

His brother’s face grew red, “What if she was in the war, she could have been the one who did it Adam, the one that took your leg.”

Captain Vir went very silent just then balled hands shaking.

“See you know it.”

From behind him Vir watched his mother push from the crowd, her eyes were wide with anger and fear, “Adam…. What aren’t you telling us?” When he didn’t answer she continued, “I remember you telling your therapist that…. That the THING that hurt you had blue armor. Did that creature hurt you, Adam”

He felt his body flush red, “How could you.” He whispered, “THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE PRIVATE.” His voice cracked

The entire clearing erupted.

***

Sunny sat with her back to the door knees to her chest listening.

“YOU MONSTER, YOU RUINED THIS FAMILY.”

She turned her head to the side peering out the window. Vir stood there trying to push away his brothers blocking the doorway from his mother.

Sunny felt her stomach tighten she tried to cover her ears with one pair of hands as their voices echoed and throbbed inside her head.

***

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS AFTER WHAT IT DID TO OUR FAMILY?”

“DON’T YOU THINK I KNOW WHAT IT DID?” Was he really crying? His cheeks were wet with something, but he didn’t care. He grabbed Jeremy by the front of his shirt and shoved him violently from the shuttle ramp. He landed on his back with a gasp wind knocked out of him. Thomas took a step back. David and his fiancée stood almost shell shocked at the edge of the clearing.

“DON’T YOU THINK I KNOW ALL OF THIS…… WHY…. Why do you have to…. Make it so hard for me, when it already was.” He snarled cutting off a sob angry that he couldn’t just keep his cool. He turned to look at his mother, “How could you…. Do that.”

“I did what I thought I had to help you get better.” her voice was trembling with the strength of her emotion.

“And I AM…. I can…. Be with her as a friend…. And I can trust her. Why do you have to take that away from me?” He felt lightheaded. It was just so loud, his heart hammered in his chest. The crowd broke for a furry four legged shape trailing Krill behind it.

He realized only a minute later that he was sitting on the ramp back to the door not understanding just how he got there. Waffles stood in front of him blocking him from the rest of the humans keeping his attention focused on her as he tried to calm his breathing. The moment anyone tried to approach she stepped in their way with a warning.

The clearing was silent.

***

Sunny sat on the floor of the shuttle hands over her mouth to keep from making any sounds. She felt like she was being squeezed from the inside, suddenly the bright blue planet wasn’t so bright anymore. Words shouldn’t make her feel his bad, should they? And to know that, her friend was still scare of her, that probably hurt the worst.

She had never thought of herself as a monster.

She peered out the window. The voices had died down again and most everyone had been cleared back towards the house. The only one left was a dark-haired human who resembled the captain in the face. he walked over and Sunny listened in on the conversation.

***

Vir felt David approach and sit next to him. He kept his arms wrapped around the dog trying to just breathe slowly. Waffles did as she was trained to do, and it helped.

“I’m sorry…. I ruined your wedding.” his hands were shaking horribly. He could see their faces in his head, reproachful, fearful. He held the dog closer.

“Adam, I’m not getting married till next week, and even if it was today, I’m not mad.”

Vir paused, “You’re not?”

David shook his head, “No” A soft chuckle, “I’m actually proud of you.” A hand rested on his shoulder, “To do something this tough, to forgive someone like you have. No one should be mad at you for that. And...., I’d be willing to meet her. If you trust her than I do too.”

A soft tread of footsteps on the forest floor, and another person sat next to them.

Vir looked up surprised to see his father sitting next to him. The older man usually grey, silent and stoic, but now he seemed ashamed. His old grey eyes glistened a little more than they usually did, “I’m sorry son. I didn’t mean for this to happen, and if this is what you think is best, than I trust you too.” A tear trail down his cheek, which he quickly wiped away. 

Vir took a long deep breath.

***

It had been quiet out there for some minutes. Sunny peered out the window… no one.

Hesitantly she reached out and engaged the release mechanism on the door. It hissed open with a quiet pop. Three humans sat with their backs to her, and as she stepped out, two of them turned to face her. She dropped her head a little stepping sideways from the ramp and into the grass. The humans followed her with their eyes as she circled around front.

The humans craned their necks up to look at her.

Captain Vir gave a forced, tired smile “Sunny.” His eyes were red

Sunny slowly lowered herself into the grass, sitting like the humans just at their eye level.

The dark-hair human on the right cleared his throat awkwardly, “Sunny….. That’s a nice name. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The old grey human didn’t say much eyes wide gripping the edge of the ramp with white knuckles.

Sunny paused, and then held out a claw like she had seen humans to for each other, “And you are.”

The human seemed surprised as if he hadn’t expected her to be able to speak, “I uh, David.”

“David, it’s nice to meet you too.”

He took her claw, and they shook hands.

Welcome to earth, Sunny.

#humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #earth is space australia #the drev

[cuz-reasons]

This is every time I could find that any of the boys said they died. Sorry if the audio isn’t the greatest, I had to compress it.

Transcript under the cut because it is very long

[Audio Description: A supercut of every time the Tres Horny Boys and the McElroys say they die, whether in a goof or for real, in The Adventure Zone

Griffin: Maybe the three of you will die, I don’t know

Travis: It kills you!

Griffin: It kills you, you die

Taako: I’m dying. [Laughter, all but Justin]

Taako: I’m literally dead.

Griffin: She kills you instantly. No.

Magnus: He’s going to kill us!

Director: He’s going to murder the three of you. [chuckling]

Director: Thank you for your service, goodbye.

Travis: Magnus’ neck breaks and he dies.

Griffin: Oh, a minus one. Then you die. [laughter] God, Travis, if only you— in trying to discern his fanciness, your nose just starts bleeding, and you fall over and—

Clint: You’re fancied to death.

Griffin: The train de-rails, and everyone on board dies. Three ghosts appear and strangle all three of you to death.

Travis: [providing sound effects, makes a “ka-chunk” noise and breathy exhale]

Griffin: [laughing] …And it depressurizes and you die, I guess?

Justin: I die. I die in fiction.

Griffin: [exhausted inhale] And, I’m dead.

Clint: Uhm… Uh, let’s see. You said 21? I’m, uh, 2 points dead.

Justin: Oh, I’m negative 5, baby. I’m dead as disco.

Griffin: Uh, the three of you walk into, uh, this room singing, uh, showtunes, uh, and everyone inside this building looks at you and kills you. No.

Justin:  If you don’t use a character voice, you lose a hit point.

Travis: [laughs]

Clint: Okay.

Travis: You die.

Griffin: You run up, tear the box open and it explodes, you die.

Griffin: Okay. Yeah, this needle, first of all, passes through your suit-

Travis: And you die!

Griffin: It digests it and shits it out. And the shitty axe comes out and kills you.

Travis: Merle's dead. He bled out.

Clint: I'm dead, right?

Griffin: And— he died between episodes.

Griffin: And you are launched out of the cannon, and, yeah, it’s been a while since you’ve done this.

Travis: And he forgot to open the door.

Griffin: And you die and that’s the end of The Adventure Zone

Griffin: The clock tower snaps at its midsection as it chimes its twelfth chime, and it falls over into that large two-story manor at the end of the street with a loud crash. And the ground, as quickly as it expanded, it just falls out beneath your feet. And you’re falling. And you’re burning. And you’re being crushed by the shattered earth as it compresses down into the ground. And you hear an anguished scream come from something massive and furious, and all three of you have died.

Justin: I pull out a gun and shoot the two of them and shoot myself.

[Riotous laughter]

Clint: [Sing-song] Reboot!

Justin: Starting again.

Griffin: and then just like that, the ground compresses. And it pulls you down in with it, killing you, Magnus, and killing you, Taako, pretty quickly. Merle, you are also subject to this catastrophe, although right before it happens, those rocks— before Cassidy can do whatever she was doing to them, they get blasted out by a wave of force, like buckshot from a shotgun as the ground pulls you under. You are burned. And you are crushed. And you are dead.

Griffin: You pull on the lever to this locker and all three of you hear a horrible sound that lasts, like, a split second. And the sound is like, [explosion noise] and it was actually the sound of this room more or less exploding.

Griffin: And all three of you have died.

Travis: I’m gonna open E next.

Griffin: Boom! The room explodes.

Justin:  Can we just stroll on through?

Griffin: Yeah, sure.

Justin: Okay.

Griffin: It explodes and you die. No, I’m just kidding. I’m just kidding.

Clint: I take the meat and the ice.

Justin: Thank god.

Travis: It explodes!

Griffin: Because all three of you are almost instantly devoured by something as soon as you leave the light.

Griffin: I mean canonically, Magnus did say it, so you do have a trip to heaven

Travis: I cut the black wire.

Griffin: [Singing] To heaven we’re going on a trip together

Travis: I use Railsplitter to cut all five wires at once. [Clint laughs]

Griffin: [Giggling] You’re in heaven.

Griffin: All of you hold hands as both the flame and the purple worm burst through the bubble. The forcefield ultimately giving up the ghost and the room is flooded with fire and you are destroyed by a blast of nearly supersonic force and the last thing you hear is a scream of unbridled fury and you do not live long enough to hear the twelfth chime of the clock above you.

Griffin: I think the cave just collapses on all of you and Luca, and you get crushed by rocks.

Istus: You're going to be amazing.

Griffin: And then the building comes down.

Griffin: It reaches out and taps you on the forehead, and as soon as it does, your vision kind of goes dark.

Travis: And Magnus is dead.

Griffin: And Magnus dies and that's it. Thanks for listening, everybody! And now it's on to the next— no.

Griffin: [disgusted sounds] Oh come on, I’m in hell!

Justin: I'm gonna die, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead.

Griffin: I'm dead and in hell now.

Griffin: But you also see a tear in the fabric of space, and it looks familiar. Because you saw something similar to that during your time in Lucas’ lab. It is a rift open to the astral plane where the souls of the deceased go after their death in the material plane. And you are drifting into it, Magnus. Because you’re dying.

Clint: I’m dead. I’ve just been killed. I’m as dead as dead can be.

Justin: I just killed somebody while I’m dead, what’s up!

Justin: You did die.

Clint: Yeah can we point out— 

Justin: I mean, I don’t wanna get technical about it, but you... you are dead.

Clint: Yeah, your body got destroyed, so you’re dead!

Justin: You’re dead!

Clint: I’m sorry,

Taako: But I’m gonna need Magnus’s blood. He died, and we would just really like something to remember him by.

Griffin: You’re killed by a Yeti.

Travis: Yeah, I’m gonna die.

Griffin: They just—they just tear you apart. They just fucking destroy you.

Griffin: But, eventually like, you're left behind and you only, sort of, outlast the Hunger for so long before you are killed.

Travis: Oh, I’ll die then. That's fine.

Griffin: And so, I guess from the point of view of the rest of your party, who like, take some time, like this has happened a few times now, and it’s tough every time, like you're dead.

Griffin: She literally finds another gun and, like, does it—

Lup: Count the shells! gratatatatata…

Taako: Oh! I’m dying.

Griffin: Based on the rules of the game, Dad… you die. [Travis starts laughing] You tried to put some googly-eyes on a shell and the shell broke and it cut— It cut you to ribbons. And you died.

Griffin: And he extends his hand, palm first, and you see this sort of black fire surround his hand and you feel this incredible pain as black fire spreads throughout your body from your insides out, just killing you in a second.

Griffin: And he kills you. [This is repeated three more times]

Griffin: You take a step. And freeze. And I don’t just mean like, you stop moving? You feel something seize up within you as the dust that you breathed in as you’ve been in this chamber instantly calcifies and spreads throughout your body in the blink of an eye. And you are gone. And the rest of you look over and you just see a Magnus Burnsides statue made of this same white limestone as the walls surrounding you. Just frozen in place.

Travis: Well, see you all next cycle! [hums the Mario Bro’s game over tune]  [laughter]

Griffin: And all of you feel it now. Just for a moment something… something hard just emerges from within you and you are instantly frozen, your shapes frozen atop the dais just lifeless, carved in stone.

Justin: Well, I… put my hand in it, I guess.

Griffin: You’re killed instant— no.

Justin: Then that’s going to do it for the Adventure Zone, we hope you’ve enjoyed this rich tapestry we’ve woven. Sorry I- boned it there at the end.

Griffin: Um, I don’t really have the same offer for Magnus that I did for Taako and Merle, I just have a question, which is, how does Magnus die? [long pause]

Travis: [emotional] You know… I kinda envisioned him from the beginning as like, a guy who was looking for a cause worth dying for, and I’ve always kinda envisioned this like, big Blaze Of Glory moment, and then, somewhere along the lines, he became… I realized that he had found something worth living for, and the relationship between Taako and Merle and all of his friends and stuff and what he was doing, started to trump that, became more important. I wanted him to live, I wanted him to survive. And so, if you had have asked me three years ago when we started, I would’ve said he died epically in battle.

Griffin: He got eaten by a dragon that he tried to fight by himself. [crosstalk]

Travis: [crosstalk] Yeah, something like that. But now, I actually think he dies peacefully of old age. Um. [voice trembling] Calmly, and holding in his hand his wife’s wedding ring. That’s how Magnus dies.

Griffin: And other folks are there too, this is just, like- Taako and Merle are there too, that’s just how dwarf and elf age work, you got old before they did, and they’re there too, and they’re with you, and Lucretia is there with you, and she is much, much older, I think she is sitting in a chair at your side. Carey and Killian are there, and Carey is holding your hand in hers and she’s smiling, and she’s just saying,

Carey: It’s okay, bud. It’s okay.

Griffin: And Davenport is there, and he’s at the foot of your bed, just smiling warmly, and he places a hand gently on your leg. And Angus is there, and he’s all grown up! And, he is… He’s so upset, but he’s trying to force a smile for you, Magnus. Barry and Lup are both there, and they look so happy for you, they are this force of reassurance, all of your friends that you have known for over a century, who’ve been with you, and have loved you for so long are all with you. They’re all ready to say goodbye. You are surrounded by friends as things get hazier and hazier in a way you’re kind of familiar with. And then, in a flash, the world is clear, and there’s Kravitz. And he looks like Kravitz, he’s not in his reaper form, but nobody else seems to see him in this moment, and he reaches out his hand and takes yours, and he helps you to your feet, and he says,

Kravitz: My friend, I think this one’s gonna take.

Magnus: Well, let’s hope so for your sake, I don’t want you getting in trouble with the boss. /end of audio description]

#taz #taz balance #taz spoilers #taako taaco #magnus burnsides #merle highchurch #mcelorys #audio transcript #this took a lot of time and tears #i may have paper i need to write for school #but i couldnt not do this

[geekgemsspooksandtoons]

So I think I’ve convinced myself that the next time when I play my PS4. I’m gonna delete and uninstall the RE1 remake off of it. 

I was playing it on my main computer. Which I actually got through a lot of it. I discarded the first two mansion keys when I didn’t need them anymore. Including here’s a funny moment I took a shot of.

The Crimson Head is stuck there. XD

I will admit I did go to YT to look for certain stuff. Such as what to do with the wooden mount and I was looking for the gold shield. Yet it resulted me well I didn’t watch the videos fully. But seeing this one room where these musical notes were at. It got me thinking and did saw a video about arranging the clock. 

This is the farthest I’ve got in the game.

Gonna admit when I unlocked the webbed up door. I thought I was gonna face the spider boss. So while I had the grenade launcher with me. I decided to bring acid rounds, and just in case my regular shotgun with shells.

But when I got in there and walked a bit further....I literality said, “Oh” that I recall before I took this shot.

This was where Yawn at. So yeah I took out my grenade launcher, I walked, he appeared, then another cutscene played where Richard arrived, I got bit once that I recall. But I did a lot of damage to him. Then Richard got ate by him when he saved me. So after that shot Yawn a bit more and I basically won that round. But after that well I got poisoned and had to haul ass to the medical room. With me saying that I recall, “Are you fucking kidding me?” or whatever when I saw a normal zombie where Richard used to be. But one shot took him down. I get to the medical room and put away my shotgun shells to make room for the serum.

After that because I got the final mask. I put away my grenade launcher which had my acid rounds that Barry gave to me. So for this battle I kept my regular handy dandy shotgun. While I put Richard’s shotgun away. So I went to the place where that grave was at.

I got hit once that I recall(Funny during the Yawn fight I thought healing myself with a green and red herb......I mean yeah that wouldn’t work on poison), and took him down with my shotgun. Opened up the place, got an emblem, and got some extra shotgun shells after that.

After that I think I had enough of some classic Resident Evil. Despite yeah you are taking you're time and those Crimson Heads are freighting when you come back to those older zombies. Also I was surprised to see I got the taser.

But it’s I don’t know if I should say a fun game. Okay fun is a subjective term and the game is a fun experience. Really gets your mind thinking and just me exploring the mansion and all that.

I’m not tagging this by the way.

Edit almost reblogged this with my main blog. I forgot one last shot.

For some reason I by mistake saved on a different slot.

So yeah I saved again and I used two ink ribbons. Which I had 1 in my inventory left. Which is fine because I had a ton more in the safe box.

The first shot is titled, “re1″, 2nd is, “re11″, and the 3rd is, “re111″. Just a fun fact to tell you guys in case.

[pinknerdpanda]

White Elephant

Word Count: 1028 Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, Castiel, Bobby, Jody and Donna Warnings: Fluff Requested by: @amanda-teaches Betas: @wheresthekillswitch & @hannahindie

x White Elephant

“No way! That’s not fair!”

Sam frowns at me from across the small grouping of chairs as I snag the cheerful red and green gift bag from between his hands. It isn’t necessarily that I especially want or need the serial killer trading cards inside, but part of the fun of white elephant gift exchanges is the stealing.

“Sorry buddy, but fair’s relative today,” I grin. “Besides it’s got two more steals before it dies.”

Sam glares at me, before begrudgingly standing and scooping up a small, neatly wrapped box. He stomps back to his seat, ripping the paper unceremoniously and tossing it aside. Opening the box, he frowns harder - if that’s even possible - as he pulls out a small, white, stuffed elephant. He looks up from the creature, confused. The group snickers.

“I think I misunderstood the object of the game,” Castiel sighs, glancing at Sam. “I assumed we were all bringing white elephants.”

I groan, turning to Dean. “I thought you said you explained it to him.”

“I did,” Dean protests, indignantly. “Or at least I thought I did.”

“It’s fine, Cas. It’s cute!” I pat his knee reassuringly. “It’s your turn. Do you want to steal or open something?”

The angel squints at me, his eyes darting back and forth between the remaining packages and the gifts that have already been opened. Jody smiles, showing off the cat butt refrigerator magnets and “My Cat is an Asshole” calendar she’d opened. Donna shifts, obscuring the view of the box of shotgun shells she’d gleefully revealed a few moments ago, clearly hoping her goodies would remain hers.

After careful consideration, Castiel stands and retrieves the stuffed animal from Sam. He blushes, returning to his seat.

“I grew somewhat partial to him,” Cas gives the elephant a small squeeze.

Without hesitation, Sam stands and practically rips the bag I’d stolen from him out of my hands. Jody, Donna and Mary laugh as he sits again, sticking his tongue out at me.

“Dude. You really need a new hobby,” Dean grunts at his brother and turns to me. “Looks like it’s your turn, again, sweetheart.”

I decide to go for the hastily wrapped, irregular shaped package tucked between the two remaining gifts. I slide my finger in the crease of the paper, ripping the tape and revealing a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label.

“Good choice, there, y/n,” Bobby grins at me. “But…” he trails off, holding up a small piece of paper indicating it’s his turn. “Looks like you’re gonna have to pick again.”

“You can’t bring a gift just to steal it back, Bobby!” Dean argues.

“Says who? Quit your belly achin’ and let your girl pick another present.” Bobby snaps as I relinquish control of the scotch.

And so it goes, stealing, unwrapping, arguing and good natured jabs until at last, it’s Dean’s turn - the end of the road for this little holiday game.

“Well, well, well,” he stands, rubbing his hands together. “Looks like I’ve got the final say here. I could open that last present, end the game and send everyone on their merry way. Or, I could steal something and keep the fun going.”

Dean begins circling the small space, clicking his tongue consideringly as he makes a show of checking out everyone’s goodies.

“Oh wouldja just get it over with, Winchester?” Donna groans, still protecting the ammo under her seat with one foot.

“Alright, alright,” Dean chuckles. “I’m not gonna steal your precious shotgun shells, Donna.”

He returns to the middle of the circle and turns to face me, his eyes locked on mine as he bends and selects the last present to be opened. A little current of disappointment runs through me. The evening has been a lovely reprieve from the exhausting reality that is our lives. For the first time in a long time, I remembered what it was like to simply enjoy the company of my friends without some potentially world-ending catastrophe hanging over our heads.

Dean winks at me, pulling out several sheets of tissue paper from the top of the gift bag. He reaches in and pulls out some kind of thin, red fabric. Setting the bag on the floor, he unfolds the fabric. His face flushes pink as he hooks two fingers through a set of loops and holds up what looks to be a very revealing piece of lingerie. A ripple of laughter erupts from the small group of friends and family. Bobby whistles suggestively.

“Well, that is quite the choice, Dean. It’s definitely your color,” Jody chokes between giggles.

Without prompting, everyone begins collecting the scraps of ripped paper and discarded ribbons. Within five minutes the crowd has all but dissolved, leaving only Dean and me behind.

“That was a lot of fun, y/n,” Dean smiles, his hands finding my waist and pulling me towards him. I wrap my arms around him, relishing his warmth. He pulls back, placing a soft kiss against my lips. “Thank you for organizing all this.”

His fingers sneak under the hem of my shirt, his nails grazing lightly.

“Sorry you got the raw end of the deal with the presents,” I run my fingers through the short hairs on the back of his head.

“What are you talking about?” He frowns at me, though his eyes sparkle mischievously. “Everything went as planned. I got exactly what I wanted.”

I narrow my eyes at him, curiously. “Come again?”

He smirks and drops his head, his lips hovering over mine. I feel his breath against my face as he speaks. “It’s your size and everything.” He captures my lips in a heated kiss, his tongue gliding past my lips and colliding with mine in a rush of unexpected hunger. The kiss leaves me breathless and reeling with desire as he pulls back.

Dean grabs my hand, leading me from the war room. He stops, grabbing the gift bag containing the lingerie before resuming his mission.

“What happened to ‘You’re not supposed to steal your own gift’?”

“You know what the say about rules, sweetheart.” He turns, his lips curved in a wicked smile. “They were made for breaking.”

Like what you see? Want more? My Masterlist is here. Thanks for reading! :)

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