#very tall and ripped like an Amazonian woman

[eivor-wolfkissed]

I still remember finding games with pretty women in them and adults would ban me from playing them because “it’s inappropriate” bc a beautiful woman with a tiddies out look will corrupt me apparently 😂

#I’m gay now! congrats! #like I had this fantasy character in one game #she wore daisy dukes and had an button down shirt that was completely open #very tall and ripped like an Amazonian woman #and every time I put her in that outfit my sister would tattle on me for ‘being immodest’ 😭

[wouldpollyapprove]

Jezebel

Summary: Thomas Shelby is a man who is used to getting what he wants no matter the price. He’s willing to play any game as he knows he will be the one to come out on top. But when someone knew walks into his life, he is left with nothing but loses as he is forced to come to terms with the fact that he was not the winner at the table.

Based on Jezebel by Herman’s Hermits

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Alcohol

A/N: I did this as apart of @vicmackeybullshxt songfic challenge. It’s taken me forever to actually get to it, but I love the idea I came up with and am very proud of this, you may need to look at the song lyrics to better understand how the two relate. I believe this is one of my longest fics and I’m really happy with how this turned out. Tommy’s a dumb bitch and I think this would definitely happen (if Grace was smarter, it could have). And this takes place between season one and two.

Masterlist

London was always a drag. Full of business, bullets, and boring meetings. Thomas Shelby may have raised through the ranks of class, but the decadent life gifted to the dukes and duchesses, lords and ladies, those with barely an ounce of royal blood in their veins, was one he couldn’t have with his line of work. Though he tried to do things legally, not everyone complied to his demands and often things had to be taken by force, blood on his hands. Tommy didn’t mind if it got the job done as long as he was no longer the gypsy scum people walked all over. 

Finding himself bored, he took his brothers to one of London’s fanciest clubs one night. All the rich in the city often found their way through the crowded club, reserving a table so they could get a grand view of the club's singer: Y/n Y/l/n. In her cherry red dress and golden heels, she was a siren to the crowd. Pulling them in and stealing their souls with the voice that floated threw the air, tickling their ears. 

Like the masses, Tommy found himself pulled in, dazzled by the woman that stood before him on the large stage, a swing band made of golden instruments creating a backdrop behind her. But none of the performers grabbed his attention like she did. Y/e/c eye’s landed on him, crimson red lips turned up in a smile as the pair locked eyes. Heat raised to his cheeks, making them burn and his heart ceased to beat, breath caught in his throat. Batting her eyes at him, Y/n winked before finishing off the last notes of her song. When the note hit people’s ears, she was greeted with a chorus of applause and cheers as she waltzed off the stage. 

“Tom, what ya lookin’ at?” John teased him as he fiddled with his cigar. His brother blinked, the space that had been filled by a goddess moments ago was empty. There was nothing left but the band and a microphone. 

Reaching for his drink, straight whiskey, the man knew nothing better, Tommy sighed as his heart once again beat against his rib cage. He’d known love, known it in many forms. There was the love for his family, one he believed he was born with. The love he held for Greta… the one that made his heart skip a beat. Then there was the intoxicating love that was Grace Burgess. Even the simple thought of her, a whiff of what smelled like her perfume, had him spiralling all day off a momentary high. But none of those loves, not a single one, compared to how he felt when his eyes locked with Y/n Y/l/n’s. 

The world around him was lost, devoured by a dense fog that had surrounded him. The gangster didn’t care about the next act, the entertainment he knew wouldn’t compare to what he’d witnessed moments before. “I'll be back,” he said, discarding his glass and standing from the table. 

He had to find the siren. 

Y/n sat in front of her vanity mirror, brushing her curls. They bounced back into form with each stroke, glistening under the heavy lights. Staring at her own reflection, she ran her tongue across the top of her lips. Growing up a shy and tucked away child, never had she thought she would spend her nights stealing men's hearts, but there she was. It was a thrill, really, power she never believed she’d possessed in her life. The woman that stared back at her was mighty and tall, what she imagined a modern amazonian would be depicted as. 

A sigh parted her lips as she rested her elbows on the counter, turning her brush over in her hands. Y/n hadn’t been in London long, but it’d been long enough for her. Not one of gypsy blood, the fact didn’t stop her from dreaming of wide open fields, the heart of a song bird in her soul. She dreamed of traveling in the dead of night or the heat of the day. The young woman didn’t care where she was to go, anything was better than staying put in a forgein city. 

But there was a job to be done, one Y/n thought would have been done sooner.

Moving on from her hair, she opened her makeup bag and pulled out her favorite lipstick and reapplied it for her next act. Glancing at the mirror, Y/n smiled at the man who was leaning in the doorway. She’d caught his eye before fleeing from the stage, thought he was a looker if she were to be honest, but never thought he’d think the same of her. At least, she thought that was the reason he’d abandon his drink to visit her. “Enjoy what you see,” she smiled, meeting his eyes in the mirror as she closed the tube of lipstick.

The man nodded and pushed himself into the room. “I believe everyone does when their eyes land on you,” he shrugged as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his dress suit. 

Y/n hummed, turning to face him and laid her arms on the back of her seat. Getting a full view of the dark haired man, Y/n could tell he had deep pockets. Now, she was no tailor, but she knew an expensive suit when she saw one and that’s what the stranger wore. With his sharp features, she could look at him all day, get lost in his ocean eyes and run her hands through his hair until her fingers hurt, but then she wondered… what did he look like without his posh suit? “May I ask what you’re doing here…”

“Tommy,” he indulged, striking a match, a thin trail of smoke traveling towards the ceiling. 

The singer nodded with a satisfied smile, “Tommy?”

There was silence as Tommy lit his cigarette and shook the flame off the match. Once he took a drag, he peered down at her. “I would like to buy you a drink. If that’s alright with you, that is,” he added and waited for her response. 

She wanted to scuff, she really did. From how he held himself and the boldness of his words, it wasn’t hard to see he came from a world where no one told him no. Y/n wanted to be the first to deny him what he could almost have, but… the words wouldn’t leave her tongue. Thinking of the world he would surround her in, she couldn’t pass the stranger’s offer up. Not only was he lovely on the eyes, making her yearn for his touch, but he would do wonders for her wallet and that mattered more than anything. 

“My last session in ten minutes,” she informed him, biting her lip. “How ‘bout after?” The man seemed content with her suggestion, nodding, but Y/n wasn’t sure if it was more for her or himself. 

Leaning forward, Tommy placed his hands near her’s, their faces inches apart. “I’ll be waiting,” he whispered with a smirk.

Y/n barely suppressed her gasp as he turned on his heels and vanished from sight. Cheeks hot, she fanned herself with one hand as a laugh escaped her lips. 

It would be nothing short of an entertaining night, that she knew.

Polly groaned as her nephew came into view, the perfect nightmare dressed as daydream by his side in a golden dress that clung to the woman’s hips. Tommy had been infatuated by Y/n, the singer who never strayed from his mind, but he was that way with all women. Any woman intrigued him so long as she wasn’t like any that had passed him on the streets of Small Heath when he was a child. A man desperate for the finer, more exotic, things of life, Mr. Thomas Shelby wanted no village or dirt caked woman. He wanted what others couldn’t have and that was what Y/n was.

Of course, Tommy loved her. 

It was evident in the glint in his eyes when she walked in the room and how his breath caught in the back of his throat, like it had when he’d first laid eyes on her, when he thought of her. But not all love is good, that Polly had learned the hard way. Just as her nephew would have to.

“This is lovely,” Y/n mused, hanging onto her boyfriend’s arm. She’d been to only a handful of gala’s, but nothing could compare to the one the mayor of Birmingham had invited the Shelby family to. Though she wasn’t their kin and their last name wasn’t her own, Tommy insisted she accompany him. It would be dull without her, that’s what he’d said when he asked a few weeks earlier. 

Tommy hummed, eyes on her, watching how the lights danced on her skin, making it glow. Since the moment he’d laid eyes on her, it had become hard for him to rip them away. No matter what else deserved his attention, Y/n deserved it more. It drove his family mad yet he didn’t care. 

“Tommy, are you even listening?” she asked, looking up at him with a pout.

“I’m always listening to you, love,” he told her with a smile, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “What were you saying?”

She huffed, feeling the eyes of his aunt on her from across the room. “You’re aunt doesn’t like me, I don’t think it would go over well if I went to the family meeting with you,” she confessed, spotting a handsome man from across the room who was eyeing her up.

The words that jumped off her tongue were all to save face, Y/n didn’t care whose feathers were ruffled with her appearance at the next Shelby family meeting. She’d wiggled her way into Tommy’s heart and she would make her place in his life nice and comfortable. That, of course, had become a challenge once his aunt stepped into her way, putting her foot down. No matter the hold she held over her boyfriend, her candy sweet words weren’t always convincing when Polly was in the room. The two didn’t necessarily butt heads, but they both detested each other, leaving a foal taste in each other’s mouths once either left the room.

When Y/n convinced Tommy to let her work for him, he’d been on board, willing to move Lizzie to the betting shop so she could be his secretary. Internally, Polly was up in arms about the idea, but she didn’t dare voice her true opinion, remember the defensive man that was her nephew. Instead, she convinced her nephew that if he truly loved Y/n, then he would want her out of harm's way. Her wellbeing was more important to him than anything, so Y/n ended up spending her days in his lavish house, a beautiful sum of money left to her in place of a paycheck. There was little to complain about, she was still bleeding him dry, but it simply put a dent in her plans, no matter how small it was.

Guiding her through the crowd, the man came to a stop at the bar, ordering himself whiskey and her wine. “Don’t worry about Polly. Or any of them for that matter,” he assured her, taking his drink before placing a glass of wine in her hands. “Soon you’ll be a Shelby like the rest of us; My wife and a part of this family. They’ll have to accept you.”

Tommy didn’t catch the groan that escaped her lips at the thought of marrying him. There was nothing else that could make her last meal reappear better than the thought of being his wife. That title would be chains around her ankles, keeping her in the walls of his home. No matter how much he claimed to love her, Y/n didn’t feel the same and couldn’t stand the thought of being weighed down by him. 

“When do you leave for London?” she inquired, wishing her glass was full of something stronger as she changed the subject and that she was hanging onto the arm of the man she had seen earlier.

Tilting his head, he sighed, “Tomorrow. I wish you could come with me.” Y/n leaned against him, resting her head against his arm.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Two days.”

From across the room, Polly caught the devilish grin that spread across Y/n’s face. She didn’t like the woman, viewing her as a snake, cut from an almost identical cloth as Grace Burgess, but she had to hand it to her. Whatever Y/n was planning, she was doing a wonderful job of getting the stones rolling. The bitch had Tommy wrapped around her finger. Being one of the most powerful men in the United Kingdom, second to the king, nothing would be out of her reach for long with the tight hold she had on him. But Polly Gray would be waiting, like a wolf in the night, she would be waiting for Y/n to take a risk and end up with a broken neck when she was caught, sharp teeth clamped around her neck.

The day Tommy was to leave, Y/n made sure to have her day filled, no room for error or abrupto events. There were to be no interruptions and no suspicion. Deciding to spend the morning shopping, Tommy dropped her off before he set off to London, giving her a kiss that wasn’t returned before she stepped out of the car. Y/n waved as he drove away, wearing the diamonds he’d given her that morning. A little going away present, how sweet.

Turning on her heels, cold daggers replaced her warm orbs, and she began to browse the shops, spending all the money she could, wishing to leave her purse empty. It would be full once again come nightfall. Y/n picked out a couple evening dresses, one red and the other green. To match, she bought a few heels, it couldn’t hurt to have options, now could it? Moving on to a jewelry store, she threw Tommy’s hard earned cash on the desk and demanded to see the most expensive item they had.

A diamond necklace with an emerald center sat on her neck, a matching pair of earrings in her ears, as she walked down the streets of Birmingham to the filth of Small Heath. Now, she had grown up in a similar place, but working her way up in the world, Y/n couldn’t understand how people could sit in such filth, growing older without trying to better themselves. Get out of the hell they had been born into. The sun was on the brink of setting and from what had been divulged to her the night before, everyone would be at the Garrison celebrating a big transaction. 

Things couldn’t be more perfect.

Just a shadow in the night, Y/n unlocked the betting shop door with the key Tommy had given her once she’d moved into Arrow house. Even if she wasn’t to work there, he wanted her to be a part of every aspect of his life, a mistake on his part, and that meant letting her into places that she didn’t belong. The lock clicked and she turned the nobb, the door creaking as it opened. She was hit by the pungent smell of cigarettes and whiskey as she stepped into the building, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. For the first time, she was glad Polly didn’t trust her enough to want to work for the family, who would want to smell like a drunk without having touch a drop of liquor? 

Setting her bags by the door, Y/n navigated the small building, trying to picture the verbal map Tommy had given her once of the building’s layout. With his words as a guide, she passed desks and walked through doorways until she stood in front of the thick door of the company safe. Never had she been told what it contained, but she wasn’t a child and needed no explanation, her wildest dreams were behind that door.

Before her was a vault that held her freedom. The ticket to a world she missed, the people she longed for, and the person she wanted to kiss and never let go of. It was everything that would set her for life, let her live like a queen until the day she died.

With a grin on her lips, she dug threw her pocket for a tiny piece of paper, holding it in her hands, she unfolded it to reveal a set of numbers. Carefully, Y/n turned the dial on the door until she heard the heavenly sound of the gears click into place and she was able to pull it open, revealing stacks of bills and cloth bags with the same items. Rubbing her hands together, her eyes darted around the vault, what was she to grab first?

Shrugging, Y/n waltzed into the small room and started pulling the bags off the shelve and threw them onto the cold wood floor. “What a fucking fool,” she laughed, it was foolish of Tommy to give her the vault code. The fact he never raised a brow when she asked, never questions her motives or reasons. His lover didn’t work for him, there was no need for her to possess the numbers, but Thomas Shelby was a fool. And in a fool’s fashion, he jotted the numbers down for her, never questioning the destruction that could be caused with such information as he handed it to her. 

Polly tapped her foot violently against the floor, hands on her hips with nostrils flared. She’d been the first in the office that morning, putting on a pot of tea and getting everything in order before the rest of the office arrived. Pulling out a few files, the woman placed them on her desk before going to fetch the log book. With that tucked by her side, she went to open the vault, smiling when a click hit her ears and she was able to pull it open. The smile was whipped off her face as if a train had passed by at the sight in front of her.

“What are we going to do, Tommy?” his aunt asked him as he racked a hand through his hair, standing in front of the empty vault. 

The man, supposed to be the leader of the family, was at a loss for words. For once in his life, Thomas Shelby didn’t know what to do. He’d arrived back at Arrow house happy to see his girlfriend, hoping to surprise her with an expensive ring he had tucked in his back pocket, ready to make her an official Shelby. But every nook and cranny was searched and she was nowhere to be found. Francis said Y/n had plans the evening before and probably stayed with Ada. Ringing his sister, Ada was home alone with Karl, having received no visitors the night before. And then… Polly called and he was forced to deal with the mess in front of him.

“Well, Thomas, are you going to say something or stand there like a frightened child?” the woman threw her arms up, wondering what mess his cock would get the family into next.

“It wasn’t her… it couldn’t have been,” he muttered, noting that over two hundred thousand pounds were missing from the shelves. Sucking in a breath, Tommy knew who had taken the money, whether he wanted to admit it or not, Y/n was the only one unaccounted for and he’d made the mistake of giving her the vault code.

Moving from her place behind him, Polly walked to the nearest desk and picked up the phone. “Who could it have been, the fucking King of England? Don’t be naive, boy,” she spat and picked up the ear piece. Placing it against her ear, she announced, “I’m phoning the police, they’ll be more help then a fool in love.”

The words stung Tommy’s ears, being nothing but the cold hard truth. He’d ignored any harm Grace had done in the short time they were together. He wanted to believe that love meant more than anything and that no harm would come to him with that mindset, he was mistaken. There would always be harm whether he was a gangster or a lovesick boy untouched by war. Willingly, Tommy had let Y/n in, given her the whole fuckign world, his heart with it, and let her break everything around him until it all came crashing down. He was a fool, plain and simple, what he would always be when it came to love.

Unbeknownst to the Shelbys, Y/n would never be found, neither would the money. Hopping on a train to France that night, suitcases full of money by her side, she set off for Greece, arriving four days later.

Stretching her arms out, she made herself a cup of tea and made her way through the quaint house she had settled in. Standing in the doorway to the balcony, a smile spread her lips when she caught sight of the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

“Happy to be home?” Cora asked her with a smile as she continued her latest sewing project, the wind whipping her hair around.

Coming to sit beside her, Y/n rested her head on the woman’s shoulder. “I’m happy wherever you are, love.”

Cora hummed, missing the touch of her lover. She didn’t want Y/n to leave, ever, no matter how long it had to be for. But people paid her to do their dirty work and the couple needed money. If she had to watch her girlfriend leave for a few months for them to get a month or two together then she would watch her go.

Y/n pushed a strand of hair behind Cora’s ear, peppering kisses along her exposed shoulder and neck. “You know, we could take a trip to Rome, like you’ve always wanted, with the money we have,” she suggested, the sea gently hitting the rocks below. 

Seagulls flew above, creating a beautiful landscape before them. How the two had found themselves on the coast of the Mediterranean was a mystery to them. But they had made the place home and Y/n didn’t know anywhere she’d rather be. It wasn’t by any means like the home of Thomas Shelby, only one story with a view of the sea, but it was worth more than his. 

“I would love that,” the woman smiled. “Imagine all we’ll see, it will be wonderful.”

Y/n sighed in content, happy to be home, away from the misery of Birmingham and the Shelby family

*~~*~~*

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[donnajons]

Leave Paris, Move to Gotham Chapter 2

So, this is over due, but it’s here and it’s alive! I couldn't  post all the tags, it was a fully mess. Please tell me what you think about. it

It was too late to change her last name.

 Her landlady registered her under that name, so the bills came under that name. Her boss, Miss Prince, wrote her checks under Marinette A. Wayne, and she got a fake ID under that name and her photo. 

But why the last name Wayne was such a bad thing? 

Well, turns out that the last name was well known in Gotham thanks to an eccentric playboy billionaire, whose company hold the 87 percent of the jobs in the Gothic city. At least twenty people asked her if she was related to Bruce Wayne last week. Even Miss Prince asked her if she was one of Bruce’s children. Apparently, the man had adopted a dozen children with black hair and blue eyes like her. 

Well, she couldn’t change her last name, but she had the option of change her appearance. That was one of the reasons why she changed her hair color to a pastel pink. She kept her bangs just to divided in two and hold them with pins, so she could show her forehead. The pink was a good choice. It made her look like a totally different person. The only thing that didn’t match were her black eyebrows, but she didn’t want to dye them too. 

After paying and say goodbye to Selena, Marinette still had more than a hundred dollars in her pocket, and it was still early, so after a whole internal debate and some encouragement from Tikki, Marinette went to a Hobby Lobby and bought a bag of embroidery thread and some needles. She felt guilty when she gave the money to the cashier and walked home with her knew embroidery set. A strong part of her wanted to go back to the store and return the threads, but Tikki was stronger than that part of her. 

“Remember, Marinette. You deserve to have pretty things and hobbies. You can buy embroidery thread and not feel guilty about it. Think of all the pretty pattern that you can sew in your clothes! Tell me one.”

Marinette smilled. What would she do without Tikki?

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 Marinette was nervous, and this time it wasn’t because of Char Noir, the miraculous, or money. 

The Pink haired girl was about to ask her boss if she could use the sewing machine in the back to fix some of her clothes in her free time. It wasn’t that her clothes were ragged. The thing about her clothes was that they were too plain. She bought them in the discount section of Walmart in the men’s and women's section. Some of them were way too big for her, and others were just… not her style. After she came back from the store and checked the miraculous box, Marinette started to decorate her clothes… well the ones that fit her. That’s why she wanted to ask Miss Prince if she could use the sewing machine, so she could fix her clothes. 

It was lunch time, and Marinette was as ready as she could be.

“M-miss Prince.” Her voice lacked confidence even though her boss was kind to her.

A tall woman with black long hair turned around to see her.

“Oh, Marinette. You change your hairstyle! Pink suits you well!”

The girl shyly moved a piece of hair from her face. “T-thank you, Miss Prince. Miss Prince I-I was wondering if you are okay with it, but of course if you don’t that’s fine. I would totally understand, and I don’t want to bother you…”

For someone that wasn’t a native English speaker, Marinette knew how to bladbling like a pro. 

Miss Prince put a hand on her shoulder and said “Hey, breathe. You can’t ask me what you want if you don’t breathe, breath, Marinette, breath.”

And she did. 

“Good. By the way, your English is getting better. You’re speaking more fluently.” Her boss smiled, “Now, tell me what you need.”

Marinette took a deep breath, “I-I was wondering if you could let me use the sewing machine on the back. I want to fix some clothes that I bought, b-but of course it would be in my lunch break and only if you let me.”

Quickly, Miss Prince smiled to her. “Of course, you can use the sewing machine but not at lunch time. You are a young woman still developing, so take your last hour to fix your clothes.”

Marinette opened her eyes in surprise. “B-but, Miss Prince, we have some clients at 3:00. You told me that you want me to take measurements and star the pattern for their suits. I could fix my clothes tomorrow if you let me.”

Her boss choked her head, “And you will, but you will only take measurements. I have seen your work. You are quick and precise when you take measurements. It would take at most ten minutes per customer. The pattern will take you less time. Now, don’t argue with me and eat something.”

As Marinette walked to the back store, she couldn’t help but be grateful for having a great boss like Miss Prince. She was always comprehensive and kind to her like the time she forgot her money lunch. Miss Prince bought her favorite sandwich and didn’t took it from her paycheck. Oh yes, Miss Diana Prince is an excellent boss by caring about her employees, well employee.

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Bruce Wayne was a patience man… most of the time. 

There were just a few things that could make him lose his cool. One of them was getting gala clothes for his oldest sons. Tim and Damian, his youngest, were easy to dress because they had a style. While Tim liked a more classic suit, Damian preferred a little bit more extravagant style and yet elegant. This was what made easy to dress them: they had a good taste in fashion. His oldests, for the other side, had not taste whatsoever. Dick was too extravagant for his own good (If it wasn’t for his father and Alfred intervention, he would be planning on buying a pink suit with falcon feathers. His next son wasn’t better. Jason’s concept of a suit is a clean letter jacket, jeans, and a bow tie. 

There was only one person who could help this fashion disasters, and that person… wasn’t, Bruce.

Diana Prince, AKA Wonder Woman, has a boutique with pretty high standards, and by God’s sake, the warrior was the only one that could tame his sons and at the same convince them to use a fucking tuxedo.

“On other news, there has been another victim from the mysterious serial killer, The Jewel Panther, this time on the city of Nice, France. The victim was a nineteen-year-old Japanese girl and was found on a local jewelry store in the same way the other victims of the Jewel Panther. We recommend all young ladies from the age of thirteen to twenty-two that have Asian heritage, fair skin, prominent freckles, black hair, and blue eyes to take precautions in France and neighboring countries…”

Bruce turned off the radio.

It was bad enough that the league didn’t want to take that case, but to hear it repeatedly was just tiring. The league didn’t consider this Jewel Panther to be a menace worthy of them. He was “too normal” for they, but what could be normal about a fucking serial killer that some how ripped off all the organs from the thoracic are of the victims without making an insertion of any kind just too leave their skin flawless.

That wasn’t fucking normal.

Bruce finally arrived at Diana’s boutique where his oldest sons were waiting for him.

“Finally, you are here. Two more minutes and I was going to leave.” Jason, his second oldest, reclaimed the three men got inside of the boutique. “For somebody that preach about responsibility, you’re late.”

“Knowing that you two aren’t a bit punctual, I told you two to be here by two thirty. You will probably arrive at two fifty. We have an appointment at three.”

“You know I would be offended if it wasn’t true.” Dick said as he sat down on one of the chairs. “So does Diana have the suits?”

“No, she is going to take your measurements to make them from scratch.”

“Do we have a saying on the style” Jason asked without hope because he knew that answer would be:

“No.” Unexpectedly, this answer came from Diana Prince, who got inside the room with a small, very small girl.

“As long as I am alive, you two will dress properly… at least just for the gala. For what you two are wearing, I cannot do miracles.” Diana said as she looked like them like if she was judging their appearances (Little note, she was.)

She got an offended hey from the brothers at what she only smiled.

“This is Marinette. She will take your measurements in the changing room. Marinette can you take them there?”

The small girl gave a shy nod “I-if you could follow me.” She said with a thick accent that neither of the brothers could identify came from. Dick and Jason followed the tiny girl.

Once his sons were gone, Bruce asked Diana “Since when do you hire help?”

“Since the business grow up” Diana knew that tone. It was the I-know-that-you-doing tone.

“Not likely, you like to do your clothes by all yourself. The only people that you have ever hired is a few Amazonians, and she has a French accent. Her physique is not anywhere near an Amazonian.” He gave her the look again. “So, what’s her story?”

Diana signed. He wasn’t the best detective just to don’t live it up.

“It’s good that you bring up the topic because I was going to tell you anyway.” She stood up closer to him “Three weeks ago, she came up looking up for work. You should have seen her. She looked so lost and even thinner than she is today. She told me she needed a Summer job, but by Artemins’ sake, she looked like she was starving for weeks. It was obvious that the money was for food and a place to sleep.” She bit her lip. “Her story had holes like how her parents haven’t move from France yet because they were busy or how she couldn’t give me her ID because she lost it in the airplane, but what gave it away was her last name.”

Bruce lift an eyebrow, “Her last name?”

“Her full name, or the name that she gave me, is Marinette A. Wayne.”

Marinette A. Wayne. What are the chances?

Bruce was about to ask when Diana interrupted him.

“I asked her if she is related to you. I mean at the time she had all the Wayne’s characteristics: black hair, and blue eyes. She seemed like one of your children, but she told me that she wasn’t related to you. She didn’t even know who you were until I told her that Bruce Wayne was a rich influence man that basically rules Gotham, which makes it even more weird.”

“There is a lot of people with the last name of Wayne, what would be weird?”

“Because, not offence, but anyone knows that the last name Wayne bring problems in Gotham. Nobody in their right set of minds would move to Gotham having that last name.”

She had a point. The Wayne family had a lot of money and prestige, but they also had an immense number of enemies. Having that last name was dangerous, and more for a teenager without supervision.

“What are your theories about her?” Bruce asked her.

“She is an immigrant, maybe illegal if she didn’t want me to see her ID. Probably from France, her accent gives her away even though she tries to sound Chinese. She is running away from somebody because her parents are not in the picture. She is always alert and ready to hide. I have seen how she shakes and jumps every time something makes a loud noise. She cries in the bathroom sometimes. She is trying to survive, but she can’t do it alone for more effort she tries to put in.”

Marinette had another characteristic of the Wayne family: Psychological trauma.

“You said you were going to tell me eventually, why?”

Diana stopped for a second.

“I’m leaving for France after the gala for two weeks. If the League doesn’t want to do something about the Panther, I will. Those girls didn’t deserve that end, and their sisters don’t deserve to live under all that fear,” For the look on his face, Diana could tell that he was with her on this. “and that’s why I need you to ask you a huge favor.”

She put her hand on his shoulder.

“I need you to keep an eye on her while I’m not here.”

“You want me to babysitter her?” Bruce asked her.

“Not babysitter her, I just make sure that she is fine without letting her know. I will leave Gotham with more peace knowing that you and your sons will keep tabs on her.”

“And what would be the excuse to come to your boutique for three weeks? Another suit?” The trillionaire asked her. He was on board to keep an eye on this girl because somehow this girl reminded him of her other daughters… I said somehow.

“The boutique will be closed, so I’ll give her three weeks in advance and the materials, so she can work from her apartment. I also will talk to her about a mandatory Summer fashion course in Gotham University that will began a week before I go. I understood that your son, Damian, is taking Summer classes there to get ahead. So that would be a good excuse to keep an eye on her. Don’t you think?”

Bruce smirked. Diana was a sneaky woman.

“You planned this pretty well, didn’t you?” 

“I like to be prepared. You better than no one should know it. So, can I count on you?”

Diana offered her hand to him, and Bruce willingly accepted.

“You can go without worrying about her.”

Diana gave him a small smile. “Just please, don’t adopt her before I come back. You have enough children.”

 Bruce was used to this constant running joke about his obsession, as Jason liked to call it, but never tease Bruce Wayne about adopting more children because it would end in him preparing the adoption papers.

“You are very funny.” Diana could swear that she saw a little smile on his face. “Lets go, before my kids start bothering your ward.”

The two of them started walking to the changing room. “I wouldn't be worried about her. Under that shy face, I can see a ferocious warrior. I kinda want to teach her how to fight when I come back.”

“Carefull, you may end up having a daughter” This time she could swear over Athermis that she saw a smile on his face.

Diana just smiled. “That wouldn’t be so bad.”

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Diana was right about her; Marinette was good at taking measurements.

It took her eight minutes to get Dick’s and another eleven to finish with Jason. It could have been eight, but the man was too ticklish and too tall. She had to stand up on two boxes just too get the measurements of the two men.

“Soo, do you like working with Diana?” Dick said trying to break the ice. Noone have something since they arrived to the changing room, well except a few reprimanding words from the little girl with pink hair. 

Marinette finished taking the last measurement from Dick’s waist. She tried not to look at them in their eyes. The less attention she got, the better.

“I-it’s good. Miss P-prince is a kind boss.” She said as she wrote down the measurement on Diana’s notebook

 “How long have you been working with her?”This time it was Jason who asked.

Was this an interrogatory?

“N-not long. Three weeks I think.” 

“That’s good. Does she gives you a discount in the store?” The man with a few white hairs asked again.

“I-I don’t think so. We have never talk about discounts, but she lets me use the sewing machines to fix some oversized clothes and finish the embroidery. She also buys me lunch most of the time and doesn’t take it out of my paycheck. So I guess that’s better than a discount.” She kept her look on the notebook even though she finished writing down on it. 

Dick and Jason shared a look. The way that she said the part about the lunch was, sad and full of gratefulness. Both men look at the girl more carefully. She was thin, at the point that they could see the bones or her hands. Maybe they should avoid that topic.

“You said you put embroidery on your clothes. Are those like the ones that you have on your blouse?” Dick asked pointing at her.

She looked down her clothes. She was wearing an orange blouse with pretty blue patrons on the collar. 

Marinette gave a shy nod.

“Did you used a sewing machine?”

She shocked her head.

“No? Well, I’m impressed. This is a pretty good job. Do you think you can put something like that on my suit for the gala?” 

Marinette’s blood cold down and her heart almost stopped. The idea of disobeyed Miss Diana terrorized her. 

“I-I don’t think that Miss Diana would let me. She already has your suits figured out.” She passed to them the photos of the suit. They looked really formal, elegant, and expensive… and boring for Marinette’s taste. 

“In your opinion, what would you change about the suit. In the hypothetical case that Diana ask you to make some adjustments for the suit.” Dick asked her. 

“I don’t know if I should. I-I may get in a problem.”

“You won’t. That’s the beauty of the first amendment. Tell us your thoughts, Stephanie. It’s not like Rovin Rotten it’s gonna appear.”

Marinette didn’t understood the reference, but somehow it gave her the it gave it the valor to tell what was on her mind.

“I-if was unto me, I wouldn’t change the design of the suits, but rather the materials. Like for example for you uhm…” Marinette pointed at the tallest.

“Jason”

“Yes, Jason, Sorry. I would change the material to a more shining, like the leather jacket that you are wearing, but it’s not actually leather. It’s lighter. And you…”

“Richard, but call me Dick.”

“Right… W-well Dick, I’m t-thinking that you would look good with some metallic blue embroidery pattern on the lapel, and...and the pockets…. But I-I guess the original design is more proper for that kind of gala.“ She could feel how her face redded at the look of the two men.

“You know…” Dick said as he gave her a polite smile… “your ideas are pretty good. Maybe if we tell Diana about it, she could put ‘em on the suit.”

No, what if she gets mad? What if Miss Prince gets so mad at her that she decides to fire her?! How could she keep the miraculous box safe if she didn’t have money to sustain herself?!

“N-no. I-I don’t want to disrespect her. S-she worked so hard in those designs.” 

“Never be afraid to speak your mind if you think that you can improve something” Marinette’s blood cooled again. She quickly stood up and bowed. It was forced habit that she did every time she apologized.

“Hey, Diana. We were just takin’ with your talented girl. She has great ideas.” Jason said.

Diana crossed her arms and gave her a sneaky smile. “Is that so?”

Marinette wanted apologize, but before she could even open her mouth, Dick spoke.

“Yeah, she is talented. Like the ideas she has for our suits. I bet that you heard them?”

The woman nodded. 

“I did, and I think they are really good ideas. You have a lot of future in the fashion field so much that I want to talk to you about a great opportunity to improve your career. We can talk about it after  our guss are gone, which remind me did you finish taking their measurements?”

Marinette couldn't believe this. It was too good to be true. Maybe it was true, and miss Prince wanted to talk to her about something good, but there was also the chance that she wanted to be alone with her, so she could fire her in private and not in front of her clients. 

“Marinette.” She turned at the Diana and the other. Their faces seemed concerned. “You okay?”

She spaced out. She should stop doing that.

“Y-yes, I just got lost in translation. I finished taking their measurements.”

“If we are no longer needed, my sons and I will leave.” Bruce stepped up avoiding to look at the girl to not make her uncomfortable.

“Of course, we will have your suits for the first fit in by Friday.” She and Bruce shaked hands.

Marinette saw his two sons stand up and cme closer to her. Maybe, this was the last time that she would see them again.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Pinkie Pie.” He put his hand up waiting for a high five. “Pss, this is the part you high five me back.”

The girl shakingly high fived him.

“Hey, I want a high five too.” Dick put up his hand, and Marinette awkwardly high fived him.

“Dick, Jason we got to go. Alfred is making dinner.”His sons left the room while saying goodbye to Diana. Then Bruce turned to Marinette to shake her hand. “Miss Marinette it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope we will meet again.”

“L-likewise, Mister…”

“Bruce Wayne, but call me Bruce, Miss Wayne.”

Marinette opened her eyes while open. Bruce Wayne as the Bruce Wayne, and he knew her last name. 

“P-please, c-call me Marinette.” 

The man just smiled and left the room letting Diana and Marinette alone.

So the worst things that could happen today may happened at the end. She may lose her job and get sued by the Bruce Wayne for taking his last name, and lets not forget that she is using a fake ID. Scratch that, she is an immigrant. Marinettes has seen enough news to now that that country is in thin line with immigrants She was in soo many problems.

“Marinette,” The older woman took her purse. “What do you think if we go out for dinner?”

Well… Marinette didn’t expect that.

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

Marinette couldn't say no to miss Prince. She was just too nervous to reduce the offer.

The restaurant was fancy and expensive. Only the beverage was worth more than three months of rent. The people there were dressed in fancy outfits from Versace to Oscar de la Renta; it made Marinette feel underdressed with her orange T-shirt and cheap jeans. 

“So, Marinette, you told me you are interested in the fashion field.” Miss prince said as the took a sip from her glass of wine. 

“Y-yes miss Prince. I do ever s-since I was a little girl.”

“And what do you plant to accomplish them?”

Marinette froze. What were her plans?

Months ago, she had a prosperous future. She commissioned big pop and rock stars like Jagged and Clara. She won many design competitions from Gabriel Agreste. She was building a name, but now, all her work and effort was worthless. She had to start all over again, but the difference now is that she didn't have the same motivation. Before Gotham, she did it because she has her parents supporting her. Today, she did it to hold to the little sense of normality in her life of chaos.

“I-I don’t know ma’am. Maybe I could start by designing clothes and maybe sell them on Etsy. I h-hadn’t have the time to think through it. Moving here was too time consuming.” The girl said as tried not to shiver. If Miss Prince was going to fire her, Marinette hoped that she did it quickly, so she didn’t have to live with this fear any longer.

Miss Diana put her glass down. “Marinette I’m am gonna be sincere to you. You have talent and dedication. Those two qualities can get you somewhere good, but that can bring you to the glory, to your golden dream is passion. And by Arthemis’ sake, you have more passion than a hundred people together. I have seen how you enjoy creating new clothes and fixing them like if it was a way to get away from everything. That’s why I want you, if you allow me, to support you to become a fashion designer.

Okay… okay.... That took Marinette by surprise. She expected miss Prince to fire her for over speak, not to offer her support. 

“I-I.. Y-you want to help me?”

Diana smiled. “Of course, in fact, I have a proposition to you.” 

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

Marinette locked the door of her apartment, put her key pack at her purse, and started happy dancing.

Diana (she insisted to be called by her first name) told her that after the Wayne’s gala she was going to close the boutique for three weeks. While this made Marinette sad because she would have to live from her saving can, what Diana told her next made her really happy. Diana offered her to work with her not for her. 

Here was the deal, for the next three week after the gala, Marinette would be working on her usual tasks but at her apartment while she attended a course about fashion design in Gotham University, fully paid by Diana. At the beginning, Marinette refused telling Diana that she felt that she would be abusing her kindness, but the older woman said that she saw this as an investment. Paying for her education was an investment so Diana and she would sell her clothes on her store under the girl’s name. They both would win. Marinette gets an education, and Diana a new brand for her boutique.

For Marinette this was like a dream come true. In fact, this was the best thing that has happened to her since… well since she defeated Hawkmoth. She will be studying in one of the most prestigious schools of fashion in the world, and if everything goes well, she will sell her clothes at Diana’s boutique, which is one of the most prestigious boutiques in the US.

“I still cannot believe it, Tikki!” Marinette said to the goddess, “this feels like a dream come true!”

The Kwami giggled, “I’m so proud of you Marinette! You deserve this!”

After putting her pajamas, Marinette let her body fell on her hard bed. She smiled like in a way that she hasn’t in the last month. “Tikki, please tell me that this is not a dream.”

The Kwami turned off the light and put a blanket over her body. “You aren’t dreaming, but you should do it soon. Diana wants to hear your ideas for the suits tomorrow morning.”

Marinette closed her eyes while she smiled. For the first time in a long time, she felt that she could just fall asleep and worry about nothing.

“Hey, Tikki?”

“Yes, Marinette?” The kwami said as she lay beside her hodder’s shoulder.

“Thank you for everything.” 

The kwami gave her a kiss on her cheek. “You don’t have to thank me for everything. You deserve the best.”

Eventhught her apartment was cold, sink in the kitchen dropped all night, and her neighbors screamed like if they wanted to kill each other, Marinette felt more at peace for the first time in ages… 

Sadly this wouldn’t last long.

@cyborgcandy 

@mikantsume @cyborgcandy @northernbluetongue @mystery-5-5@livpc @serina-leigh @tazanna-blythe @blue-peach14 @justarandomtumblerblog@fantasticfourintraining@indecisive-mess-named-me @xxmadamjinxx @ captainmac6 @luckysouleaglenerd@sidefrienda@mindfulmagics @komaedasnatched @adrienne7698@akira-daiyamondo-suta @raingirl0135@kittyotakunoir666 @a-cat-with-a-knife l@thebananathatwrites@howtoshuckatlife @dolph1nch1ca1@spicytacos @re-side-this @emocinamonroll@mystery-5-5 @spicybelladonna a @salladanne @mjisntme @lunar-wolf-warrior @tazanna-blythe @yin-390 @constancetruggle @celestiacq @laurakinneylance @roseinbloom02

@literallytryingmybestbutok @ellerahs @felicityroth @liawinchester67 @octoberscorn @eliza-bich @chrismarium @captainmac6 

#damien x marinette #daminette #ml x dc #maribat #lpmg

[twitchesandstitches]

Voraciously Loving Raven Comm

Commission for a friend, who asked for something with a huge punky Raven with a massive butt affectionately gobbling up Starfire after already filling up on some criminals!

Featuring extreme size difference, Raven as a bottom-heavy dumptruck-type and Starfire as a (proportionately smaller) amazon, safe vore for Starfire, regular vore for the criminal prey, extreme amounts of piercings.

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The gigantic figure of the superheroine Raven drifted up from the beachfront property of Jump City, carrying a considerable reduction in the city’s plummeting violent crime rates. Magic poured out around her and crystallized into the physical form of black pseudo-fluid, so that she flew freely, towards home. Magic gushed out from it, telekinesis buoying her upwards so that she actually flew. To a massive tower shaped like the letter T, she went, floating into an open balcony and dropping down with a nasty thud like a truck slamming down.

It had been many years since Raven had begun her career as a superheroine. The image of her as a small and slender young lady was very outdated.

The embers of magic around her body fluttered like a cloud of black feathers caught in an updraft and winked out. It seemed they’d been supporting her whole body, as she sank even deeper to the floor, tiles cracking around her immense weight; unconcerned, she walked onwards.

The building was the T-Tower; both headquarters and residence of the superhero team called the Teen Titans, though the name was rather inaccurate given that now all of them were over twenty. It was built to resist the constant villain attacks it had suffered in older days, but it hadn’t accounted for Raven’s physical power: as she walked down, the floors creaked in protest, her heels making tiles shatter when she stepped down too hard. She did her best not to, wobbling with an ungainly stride, her body now so large and her hips so wide that they touched both ends of a hallway even while she walked in the middle of it.

She came into a sideroom where someone was waiting for her. Raven’s belly preceded her into the room, greatly distended by the mass of today’s meals, and she was only marginally aware of anything but the rapturous pleasures of digestion. Certainly she didn’t notice the glowing green eyes of someone floating near the ceiling, watching her adoringly.

Raven seemed distracted, perhaps by the huge belly that preceded her into the room, or the pleasures of her digesting meals; her sexual appetites had grown intertwined with her physical hungers, and few things were as pleasing to her as feeling things melt inside her. Her digestive processes were loud, the gurgling of various internal chambers mixing with the wet and pulsing shifting of her gut, and yet it was strangely soothing all the same.

Raven waddled, her head almost rising clear to the ceiling, more than three times taller than a normal human and impossibly wide for her height too; her hips especially had so much girth that it affected the way she moved, wobbling about in a clumsy pseudo-gait that was honestly rather cute. It might have just been her not being used to walking with heels, or that between her massive breasts, her huge gut, and her enormous hips, she had multiple centers of gravity conflicting against each other and unsteadying her all over.

In all honesty, and perhaps especially from the perspective of the woman watching the giant stride through, it was awe-inspiring watching her move. The woman was massive, easily standing fifteen feet tall at least without heels; a nearby counter rose somewhere around the level of her plump knees, and she was broader across at the torso than most doors were wide. For the most part her body would have been considered amazonian (tall, broad shouldered, and her hips the single largest part of her, all tending towards a heavier build), but even a side glance at the sheer amount of wobble in even the slightest movement made her extremely soft and well-fed body a fairly obvious sight.

From the impact she’d made, it was clear she weighed over four metric tons; more than a couple of trucks, and much of it from her bones being far denser and heavier than a human’s would be. The rest of it was from her girthy frame, and certainly a lot came from her breasts, and they were so large they defined a huge chunk of her entire silhouette, sticking out from her body by several feet, and spreading out sideways too.

In normal circumstances, those breasts would have spanned from throat to navel. But her belly was huge, a round and jiggly mass that served as a support platform for her breasts, propping them up nearly to the level of her shoulders, while the round slopes of that belly dipped past her groin, resting against thighs so big that several people could have been lost between them.

And there were bulges against the skin. They looked distinctively human-shaped; a lump that may have been a hand pressing for grip, perhaps. A more angular swelling where someone’s leg was pushed out. All of them were in constant motion, her gut twisted and heaving with muscular action mashing up her meals with demonically-enhanced digestive fluids, and if you listened close, you might hear faint words or shouting from inside her, mostly muffled by by thick flesh and the loud roars of her digestion.

As she walked, she placed her hand on her gut. Something in there moved against her, scrabbling desperately against her, and she cooed with very loud and obvious pleasure, a faint blush on her rounded gray face, her lips smacking with an echoing pop. Other feelings were stirring, the pleasures of digestion mixing into other pleasures, and on reflex she slammed her massive thighs together, both rows of eyes closing as she imagined someone pinned between them just as her foot got goopy…

Daydreaming to herself, she walked onwards, and the unseen watcher took her in with a faint sigh.

Raven’s hips moved in an unstoppable and patient sway with her every movement, a good portion of her overall weight contributed by them. They were wider than she was tall (and given that she was at least fifteen feet tall, this made them capable of swallowing up cars if she sat on one). Even with her coat designed to flow over them, it didn’t do much to conceal that her pants were but remnants, her enormously chunky thighs ripping through the fabric and leaving behind only enough to resemble panties at a distance. Actual panties were visibly stretched across her hips, soft and lacey things that had probably once been a rather cute and modest design until the pressure of her hips had stretched them into a distended psuedo-thong.

She moved carefully, her hips and thighs so much larger than the rest of her that she looked like a ship buoyed on a swelling tidal wave; they were so broad that she couldn’t really move her thighs apart. They touched, regardless of how wide she tried to spread her legs. And those thighs were massive; they weren’t toned in the slightest, more like chunky saddlebags carried on her body; rather than the smooth and firm bubbly thighs expected from more active heroines, Raven’s thighs looked exactly as heavy as they actually were. They didn’t wobble so much as had their own ponderous tides, and to place a hand in them would certainly get that hand sunk in deep, but there was no telling if you’d actually hit muscle before you ran out of arm to keep sticking in.

This was easier to appreciate given that, in the fashion of pantyhose, she’d worn chain-nets (which were like fishnets, but a lot more badass); heavy metal links, small but strong enough to support her enormous thighs and give them some more defined shape. Her thighs were simply too heavy without more architectural support, though, and many of the links had surrendered to the tide of flesh and busted straight off, leaving big gaps where her thighs bulged out. In any case, the chainnets sank deeply into her thighs, causing a lot of x-shaped patterns and chunks of thigh pushing out like cookie dough through a cutter.

She wore knee-high boots, of the kind that wouldn’t go amiss at a revolutionary punk rally or perhaps a biker gang greatly concerned with style. Her thighs bulged up hugely around them, fitting into them a bit like an unusually fat cat trying to force itself into a tube a third it’s size; they fit, alright, but there was a lot overflowing it. Rounded bulges swelled out from pretty much every direction, shaking heavily with particularly strong steps and motions, and the sight of it would put a speculative thinker in mind of muffins.

Those boots (imposing and made of black leather, the metal caps resembling a fearsome beak) probably contributed to her walking difficulties. They were high heeled elevator boots, the heels tall enough to raise her height by half a foot, and given how much smaller her calves and feet were, it was putting over four metric tons of weight into some proportionately very small areas; with the spike of her high heels, no wonder her steps were breaking up floors.

Her butt was very big; not as large or deep as her hips and thighs might suggest, and it was dwarfed by them, but it was still very big. The watcher noted this with some great interest, her red hair curling around her more excitedly as she drank in the sight.

The gargantuan mass was obvious even through the massive leather coat she wore; it was a magnificent affair, a hooded trench coat of dark leather and a feathered mantle across the shoulders and back all the way to the bottom, so that she rustled faintly as she walked cautiously around.

It was a lovely coat, a physical paragon of punk aesthetic given a very stylish form. Over a dozen spike piercings extended through special holes, the sleeves brimmed with the mystical runes of Raven’s mysterious home realm, and the front of it was specially adapted for someone who had a chest that would pose a normal threat to any normal coat or shirt (or hadn’t been modified to hide bean bag chairs, for whatever reason). People could hide underneath it, clinging to her legs and vanishing beneath its purple folds (and probably into her thighs), and it was every bit as dramatic as the cape she’d worn as a younger woman.

Even so, while it was incredibly thick and perfectly capable of functioning as actual body armor, it did very little to conceal her butt; it was just large enough to render that a moot point, even if the thighs’ swell was more notable. The watcher in the dark looking on lovingly, her own hands clenching as if longing to sink them into that massive, glorious backside.

Raven raised her hands to the hood hung low over her head, shaped to give the distinctive silhouette of a raven’s beak. The hands were soft and pudgy, not so much fat as just rather big, the nails longer and thicker than a normal human’s, black nail polish outlining something more like claws. The fingers didn’t wear rings as much as they were encrusted with them; gold, bronze, silver and more, locking together in a shining carapace, some with spikes, some with befanged monster designs, some linked together with chains. With a deft motion and a faint scratching sound, she flipped her hood off.

Purple hair fluttered, cut fairly short. It might have been careful styling that made them resemble feathers; possibly not. She had not just the usual pair of eyes, but two rows, stacked above the other, and both sets glowed a faint and inhuman red as her eyes adjusted to the light, and the woman waiting for her in the dark studied the fine details of Raven’s face, taking in the softness of cheeks filled out with years and calorie-rich meals, all her eyes gently curved and half lidded with her satisfaction.

There were also the piercings, the studs, and the jewelry. Over the years, as Raven’s control over the emotionally-influenced aspects of her powers had gotten better, she’d felt more comfortable with expressing her taste in fashion, drifting from gothic vibes to genuinely punkish looks. Raven wasn’t just a punk now; she was the counter-cultural paragon of shock and awe, and she was covered in so many piercings that she was genuinely nervous around magnets.

Her thin eyebrows were a clustered mass of glittering studded chunks of metal, curling ladders of rings linked together by small chains, and more of those chains linked to the masses of elaborate rings in her ears, curling underneath her short hair. Her nose glittered from every angle with the studs and piercings set into it. Her lips were very heavily piercings, with a wide assortment of rings and studs of various sizes, and right on her lower lip, there was a ring piercing that was far too small for her, her lip bulging around it and folding over it as she worked her mouth about. It was fair to say she had dozens more piercings all over her body, unseen but still suggested by her tight clothing. Some in very intimate places indeed!

She paused a moment, and an enormous red chakra gem upon her forehead glowed faintly. It was easily as big as her fist (which was entirely capable of swallowing someone’s arm with a faint grip), and covered most of her forehead. From it, many pounds worth of intricate jewelry fanned out, fabrics and gossamery metals fluttering around her face, and the regal assemblage gave her face the faint impression that she was wearing a very splendid veil.

Raven smiled faintly, and then seized up; she clapped a hand to her mouth, the clanking of rings not enough to stifle a rich burp that had its own force; the onlooker nearly was knocked into a wall and had to float back up, and Raven’s massive belly rumbled, several distinctly human-shaped bodies shifting desperately until her stomach churned them into obedient stillness. The constant digestive rumblings from her gut, already serving as a soporific theme around her, grew loud enough to drown out voices if there’d been any then.

She certainly enjoyed the sensations; placing her hands on her heavy belly, Raven moaned in soft pleasure, rubbing her hands over a few distinctive bulges where her meals pressed against her stomach wall; it just felt so good feeling them move, and she felt massively lusty, feeling them slowly digesting and melting away into her body, becoming part of her…

Raven smacked enormous lips nearly as thick across as her hands were wide. Dark purple lipstick gleamed softly with a faint metallic shine, contrasting sharply against the gray of her face, a fact that the onlooker never failed to be intrigued by.

In fact, the onlooker drifted a bit closer, seemingly unable to keep herself away from Raven’s immediate presence, and knocked over a small table with a muscular leg drifting too low.

The human response to an unexpected noise in the dark would have been surprise. A little bit of fear, even. But Raven was not entirely human, and operated on a different set of instincts. She did not flee, she would always charge, and that had been true even before her indulgences and growing gluttony

Raven launched herself across the room, catching the mystery figure with her hand wrapping around its face and a cloud of hair. It didn’t seem that someone so big should move so fast, but her telekinetic powers gave her a turn of speed like a cannon firing, and her thighs were mostly bulky with fat, but there was a lot of muscle there. More than twice as big around as her entire body, folds dipping above her knees and chainnets dipping deep into them.

Raven’s mouth worked, her jaws distending inhumanly wide, enough to swallow multiple people whole, and then she worked them into a more human configuration. “How dare you-” She stopped, the sudden surge of rage and the various hungers that were now always at the forefront of her mind draining away into a soft warmth. “Starfire!?”

The woman now pinned against a wall by Raven looked positively delighted to have that massive writing gut pressing against her; her skin glowed faintly with an orange-red light, her eyes pools of soft green, and her hair a massive mane of red curls that looked very much like a living flame. She stared up into Raven’s eyes adoring, her face flushed and her gaze doing its best to be respectful.

Raven stepped back, pressing her fingers together apologetically and Starfire stood up. She looked tiny compared to Raven, her head somewhere around her waist, but most people came up far shorter than that. Starfire was genuinely a very large woman, a muscular and buff amazon who would have been imposingly gigantic compared to anyone but Raven. But then, even seven feet’s worth of massive breasts, big muscles, and raw sexual magnetism still fell short compared to Raven.

Raven’s entire persona shifted instantly; from an enraged and inhuman threat she shifted gears into something a lot cuter. In an awkward stagger, she took a tottering step back and struggled not to trip on her heels, or get dragged to one side or another by the weight of her jiggling thighs. “Oh… I’m sorry…” She mumbled, looking carefully down at her enormously swollen breasts, apparently very interested in the sloshing sound of their milk.

“It’s not your fault, dear friend!” Under her own power, and buoyed by the delight Raven always woke up in her, Starfire flew up into the air. She’d taken to wearing something like the traditional battle armor of her people, and it emphasize the massive swell of her hips, the bulky muscles of thighs broader than her torso, and served as ample support for breasts more than several feet across; the solar energy she absorbed tended to be absorbed directly into her body, making her larger and stronger as she’d mature.

Starfire kissed Raven softly on her gem, her lips brushing deeply against both gem and skin. Raven’s blush got a lot brighter, and her fingers twiddled more fervently. Starfire drifted lower, about half a head’s height, and this time their lips met.

For a moment, Starfire simply kissed her, taking the lead. Her body lovingly met Raven’s again, her breasts docking atop Raven’s far larger pair and sinking in, a slosh of maternal liquid from beneath her. Starfire deepened the kiss, her stomach sliding into the bed of cleavage beneath her, her thighs sliding against her stomach so that she was finally resting entirely on Raven, and kissing her with the kind of passion she put into everything she did.

Raven was not used to passion, or being able to be so… direct. She could do so now, more or less safely, but she always needed a route there, a little bit of encouragement. Here and now, Starfire gave her what she needed, and slowly she carefully took hold of the much smaller women, cradling her, and kissed her back.

She could feel her meals digesting, the slow churn of her stomachs processing them into biomass grist, and it played with other appetites; her hunger and her sexual lusts seemed intertwined now, one and the same. Being horny made her hungry, and vice versa, and now she was feeling ravenous.

She kissed Starfire, first with timid and fluttery little assays at affection. As these were recieved with greater enthusiasm, Raven got a little bolder, kissing her more intensely until Starfire grew into a more passive figure, simply enjoying Raven’s attentions. This encouraged Raven, making her more fierce, until her massive lips were mashing against Starfire’s face and her jaws extending, reshaping and flexing so that her lips were sliding over her entire head. She wasn’t aware of herself doing it, but she simply wanted it, and as much of Starfire as she possibly could.

She deepened the kiss. Her tongue, an enormous and heavily pierced inhuman length, filled up Starfire’s mouth. Inside Raven’s mouth, Starfire’s cheeks bulged with the weight of a tongue thick around as her own arm. It kept sliding down her throat, and now Starfire’s throat swelled up massively, distending out like a frog in mid-ribbit, and for Starfire, it wasn’t enough; she sucked on the wet slab, her thighs sliding against each other longingly as dozens of studs and ladder-piercings pressed into Starfire’s expansive throat with a delicious friction.

They continued like this, moaning and panting lovingly into one another, and soon the passion abated, and Raven reluctantly withdrew her tongue and opened her mouth, allowing Starfire to emerge, her face and hair sopping wet.

Her eyes glowed with desire and adoration. Starfire said nothing at first and just hugged her tightly with all the strength capable of crushing a car with a single figure. Raven squeaked as droplets of milk threatened to soak her shirt, but she allowed Starfire to keep doing it. She just had to indulge her.

Starfire rubbed Raven’s full belly with her thighs, flexing her body against it in an exploring way, and smiled knowingly as she felt the people moving in there. “Ah… you filled up on criminals, lover Raven!”

Raven blushed, looking around awkwardly. It was an open secret among her friends that Raven wanted, or perhaps needed, to devour people; it was her greatest vice, and her greatest pleasure, and perhaps in some ways she needed to do it to survive. Her entire body was engorged with the mass absorbed from her villainous prey, and over the years, their entire rogues’ gallery had become inches on her body and frame. Doctor Light, the Brotherhood of Evil and the various monstrous servants of more fearsome foes had all long since been melted down, their consciousnesses extracted and subjected to harmless lives and serving out their sentences.

Nowadays, more ordinary criminals satisfied her cravings. Purse snatchers, would be muggers, people who refused to move aside for pedestrians… Raven would simply open her mouth on patrol and inhale, or knock them down and swallow them in a single gulp, or pull them in with shadowy tentacles from her mouth. And nothing, nothing, made Raven more pleased than feeling people inside her, squirming and wriggling.

It didn’t have to involve digestion, either.

Starfire leaned forward, kissing her again, but chastely. Affection, without physical desire.

“I’m, um. Not completely full,” Raven said, sheepishly, but desire for her smaller lover compelling her to say it.

Starfire tilted her head. “Oh?”

Raven couldn’t help but smile. “How close do you want to be to me?”

“As close as possible!” Starfire hugged her tightly.

“How about… inside me?”

Starfire looked up at her, blinking, and squealed with delight. “Oh, absolutely, Raven! At once, if you can!”

Raven smiled, her body trembling in expectation and anticipation, and some urge for predatory behavior mingled with genuine affection and desire, and she couldn’t hold it back any longer. “All, all right!” Her head ducked, kissing Starfire again.

The warmth bloomed, between them, a hot flash where their lips met. Starfire clung to her, a wide but tight hug, her body beginning to sink into Raven’s fat body.

Raven’s jaws widened, slackening just enough. Starfire purred with expectation, wiggling her face into the wet hotness pressing on her, as that long slab of a tongue slid beneath her jawline and neck, tilting her head forward. Starfire made herself float upwards, to make it easier on Raven.

Raven pushed her mouth forward, her lips forming a sort of suction seal over Starfire's head and then her hands as Starfire pushed her fingers in. She sucked in, intending to savor her, and the smaller heroine slid in, with such excitement (Starfire eager to please her, Raven craving her in this most intimate fashion) that Starfire’s head and shoulders were already inside her body.

Hold it, hold it! Calm down! Raven thought desperately, even as her throat pulled at her of its own volition, various organs rearranged themselves in expectation, and her body rumbled impatiently.

Starfire’s head and her massive hair slid down the wet tunnel around her, every inch of it curling around her and trying its best to be as close to her as possible and funnel her downwards at the same time; it was a fine metaphor for their relationship, perhaps. She wiggled in pleasure, a single thought pulsing in her mind: she was truly inside lover Raven, completely engulfed on all sides!

A warm and fuzzy feeling, distinct from the usual minglings of sexual obsession and hunger, made Raven feel strangely content. Those other feelings were there, a part of it, but not the whole of it as usual.

She tilted her head up as Starfire’s shoulders slid down, and allowed Starfire to slide down like the world’s most intense and slow, soft kiss. It was different from the normal way she devoured her prey; there was no force, no wild predatory surge.

Starfire’s weighty breasts squashed past her lips, sinking into Raven’s tongue and then descending down into her, along with her midsection, abdominal muscles engulfed by her throat.

Then, her hips; her butt. They were so much wider than her usual prey, so much thicker and heavier that for a moment Raven felt alarmed at the sheer mass, a more wild part of her regretting that she wouldn’t digest this meal; she was just so thick, she’d make so much food! She stifled the thought, instead savoring the sensations of Starfire’s backside filling her up, and then her thighs slid down. By now, Raven’s throat was a massively defined bulge in the shape of Starfire’s body, her entire neck distorting around it. Again and again, a pulse of warmth came from the weight in her body now, wild thoughts racing in her mind: Starfire’s inside me, oh, OH, i can feel her moving, feel her breathing, she’s in me!

Then there were her feet, and those two descended into her grip.

Starfire went down, her body gradually descending deeper into Raven’s guts, but not into her digestive chambers. Raven had rotated her insides in preparation, and now a completely different set of organs was waiting for her, welcoming her with a soft and cushioned interior. Starfire slid gently onto something that felt like a very big, wet bit, little tendrils and longer tentacles extending from the walls and curling patiently around her.

Bit by bit, all of her came down, the bulge in Raven’s thrown growing fainter as she swallowed Starfire entirely. More and more of her slid down, until with a very faint gulping sound, she was gone, and entirely inside her.

Raven had to steady herself as she felt Starfire happily squirming in her, various tentacles securing her and finding their own ways to please the new occupant, and it mixed with the sensation of her other prey being genuinely digested. There was so much moving in her, some being melted down and some loving her, and her belly was swelling outwards, sinking past her knees with its new precious occupant.

Pleasure flooded her, so heavily and violently that she had to sit down.

“Ohhh…” Raven murmured, stroking her belly and letting herself fold as closely around Starfire as possible. “I think I want more of this…”

#/ #// #/// #//// #///// #queued #commissions #my writing #fics #twitchy!raven #twitchy!starfire #twitchy!teen titans #twitchy!dc

[noonanoowz-blog]

Bloodlines-Chapter 3

Warning: Violence and Kickin’ Ass Folks.  

Jay motioned for the two men in front of him to open up the back of their truck.  “What?” he said  when the foreman gave him A Look.  “You didn’t think I wasn’t going to check it out before you brought it into the club?  You’re from County General. Word on the street is you’ve been ripping people off.”

“People?” The foreman scoffed, wiping his wired rim glasses.  “You say it as if you were human.”

“You saying I’m not?”

“I ain’t sayin’ nothing.  Just that I couldn’t imagine myself living your life.  Dealing in blood, pretending all the time.  You’re an abomination, you know.”

Jay shrugged. “Think what you want, but this was a human idea.  Because you didn’t feel safe. And now we don’t feel safe, but keeping us safe keeps you safe. Screwing me over, by the way, will negate that.”

“Yeah, yeah.  I get it.”  

The man set a crate down in front of him. Jay pulled out and inspected the packets of blood inside.  Ever since the virus went rogue, extra precaution had been needed and, using his sensitive sight, Jay was able to examine the shipment to see if there were any cracks in the seal.

“So this is coming straight from your blood bank, right? And the only people who have access to the bank are the ones on the list that you gave me?”

“Yes. I followed all the instructions to ensure the safety of your ‘food,’” the foreman said.  “Is there anything else?  This place kind of gives me the creeps.”

Jay was about say no and dismiss them, but someone barged out onto the loading dock, butting in before Jay could speak. “Boss,” he huffed. “We have a problem. You…you got to come quick. She’s already taken out one of the guards.”

“Who?”

“I dunno.  But you gotta come.”  

“Oh, Christ, all right. You— pack everything up and put it in storage. I gotta go see what the problem is.”  He motioned for his man to follow him inside. Behind him, the foreman and his crew exchanged looks.  But Jay didn’t notice because he was soon face-to-face with the Amazonian woman hell-bent on tearing up his club.

“It’s about time, Jay.”  

She turn to face him, and Jay’s eyes widened. It had been a while, but some things never changed about her.  The curly hair. The thick lips. The presence of a queen.  “P…Phoenix?” he stammered.

“Um, yeah.  Were you expecting someone else?”

“I…no, it’s just been a while. And you didn’t tell me you were coming!”

“Surprise,” Phoenix said without humor.

Jay cleared his throat.  “Indeed,” he said.  “So uh, should we catch up? Sit and talk?  Have a drink?”

“I’m not here to catch up.  I’m here so you can help me with something.” Phoenix seated herself on a barstool. “I wish I had a better picture than this, but I know you.  You know everyone that comes in and out this joint.  Who’s this?”    

She pulled out her phone and it up.  On the screen was a very tall, astute man coming into JPEX, Jay’s club.  She swiped left to show Jay the rest of the sequence of pictures, the ones that showed him walking in, looking down, hiding all but his profile.  

“I’m not sure who that is,” Jay said, barely looking at the screen as he signaled his bartender for a drink.  “I wish I could help you, but guess I can’t.”

Pheonix sighed.  “Why you lyin’, Jay? Do we really have to do this? I mean we can if you want. I’m in a fightin’ mood, just so you know.  But before we fight, I’m going to show you the pictures one more time, and you’re going to take a very hard look.”

Jay pressed his lips together.  “Funny you should think that I should know who that is,” he mumbled.  When Phee asked him to repeat himself, however, he decided to keep that to himself and gave her a fake smile.  “Sorry, still no idea,” he lied. “And why should I know anyway?  This place is pretty big, Phee.  I can’t keep track of every single person that walks in.”

“Jay.”  Phoenix’s tone was taking on an edge.  “Come on.  These pictures are taken one after the other.  In succession.  And, if you notice, the doorman doesn’t check his ID.  He just lets him walk right in.  Which tells me that he’s a regular, and probably a very important one. Now, are you going to start talking or do I have to start breaking shit?”  To make her point, Phoenix smacked Jay’s glass onto the floor.  “Oops,” she said when it shattered. “My bad.”

“Jesus, Phee. Really? “Really.”  Pheonix spotted another glass and, like a cat, shoved it to the ground. “Oops! Sorry again! God, I hope broken glass isn’t hard to clean up with all that beer sludge on the floor.  A lot of pretty girls have open toe shoes on. It’s the hottest style this season. Hate to see bloody toes on the dance floor…”

She watched as a bar-back came over with a broom to clean up the mess.  Jay shooed him away.

“Okay fine, fine!”  Jay said.  “If I get him here, will you just leave and take your personal beef with you?”

“What makes you think this beef is personal?”  

Contrary to Jay’s hopes, Phee caught his little slip of the tongue. “Just a guess?” he tried.

It didn’t work. Without any warning, Phoenix grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.  “What do you know?  Start talking.”

Security appeared out of nowhere, making their way toward the scuffle. Jay put his hand up to stand them down.  “Don’t touch her.  Don’t do anything.  Just give us some space.”

Phoenix grinned. “Sounds like you’ve come to your senses and you’re ready to help a girl out.”

Jay rolled his eyes.  “His name is Zico.”

“Zico? Great.  And you can get Zico here?  Do that and I’ll take our fight elsewhere.”

“Alright.  Alright…but let go of me, would you?”

Phoenix let go and put her hands up to let him know that she wasn’t going to try anything.  Jay quickly sent a text to Zico and was glad when he responded right away.

“Just a suggestion, you might want to let ya boy explain things to you before you just start staking people.” He wasn’t sure why he thought this was the best thing to say to her, but Jay wasn’t great at thinking before letting things came out of his mouth.   “And while we wait, how about we have a drink? We can catch up on old times, Phee.”

“Phoenix,” she corrected as a wide-eyed bartender set down two tumblers. “No one has called me Phee since high school.”  She tossed the cherry stem aside after plucking off with her teeth. “I have to say, though, I’m surprised to see you go down this route after I warned you not to.”

“What route?” Jay asked.

“Getting yourself involved with thugs.”

“Thugs? Phee, look around you.” Jay waved his arms around as if he was conducting a symphony. “Chicks dig fangs. Like, really dig fangs.” He grabbed the arm of a sexy brunette walking by, and spun her around so she was pressed up against him.  “They also dig the bank I make off hanging around with other guys that have fangs. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

The girl blinked her wide, smoky eyes in Jays direction. And Phoenix dry-heaved a little when the doe-y eyes were followed up with an obnoxious giggle.  Jay whispered something else in her ear.  

Phoenix knew him well enough to know it probably wasn’t an endorsement for the Jay Park School of Propriety.

“You know, you were suppose to be the smart one, Jay.” She downed her drink in one gulp and slammed the glass down on the counter.

“Jesus, Phee. Enough with the rage issues on the barware. Tumblers are really expensive, okay?” The girl tottered off as Jay returned his attention to Phoenix.  “Also, I didn’t blindly follow anyone.  I know what’s up.”  He knew that she was giving him a look but he was over playing dumb about the situation.  “Okay, I kind of know what up. I don’t know all the details but…”

Jay was cut off by a commotion behind them.  Phoenix turned around just in time to see a tall, icy blonde walk through front door.

The man removed his sunglasses.  “All right. I’m here,” he declared.  “What do you want, Jay?”

There was no question as to who the new arrival was, and the rage that had been simmering inside Phoenix swelled.  This was the man who had taken her friend.  The man responsible for bringing her back home.

Forgetting about Jay, Phoenix leaped at the newcomer, kicking him square in the chest, sending him flying backwards onto the floor.

“Where is he?” Phoenix demanded.

Even though he was surprised, it didn’t take long for Zico’s fangs to appear and his eyes turn solid black.  He got to his feet.  “Where’s who? Do I know you? I don’t even know you. And I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Jay snickered.  “Did I forget to mention who was asking for you?  My bad,” he said.  “Zico, this is Phoenix.”  

“Phoenix? Phoenix the…..augghh!!!” Her fist made contact with his nose.  Blood spilled across the front of his shirt, and Zico staggered back, holding his face.  “Fuck me, what the hell was that for?”

“Answer my question,” Phoenix said.  “Where’s Mino?  I know you have him.  And I know he and his friends need help.”

She took another swing at him.  Wiser now, Zico ducked, getting around behind her so he could try and pin her arms. This wasn’t the best maneuver because she used the back of her head to crack it against his already-swollen nose, sending him back down to the floor.   “Jesus,” he cursed again. “I can’t answer you if you keep hitting me in the face.  Stop for a second, would you?”

“No. I won’t.  Because I don’t have time to play games!”

She came at him again.  Zico put his arms up to protect his face and when she slowed down, looking for an opening, he punched her in the side of her stomach. Phoenix gasped, doubling over, and Zico kicked her legs out from underneath her.  She hit the ground hard, attracting the attention of all the nearby club goers, including the two members of Zico’s crew, who had come to his side to see why the hell he was picking a fight with some girl.

“Look, I came down here because Jay told me to, not to tear this place apart,” Zico said.  “I don’t know what crawled up your ass and died, but it’ll be a lot easier on both of us if you just tell me why you’re here, and what me having Mino has to do with anything!”

“Mino is not your responsibility.  He’s mine.  You’re not turning him on my watch!”

Zico looked over at Jay.  “Really, dude?  Why don’t you just broadcast our plans…”

Jay held up his hands, the smirk on his lips belying his attempt at feigned innocence.  “Hey, man.  I just brokered the meeting. Not my fault you two decided to fight first and act reasonable later.”

Zico snarled.  Phoenix got to her feet.  They stared each other down, the tension palpable, but it was a henchman who moved first.  It could have been harmless, but Phoenix was having none of that, and yanked a stake from her boot to point at his chest.

“Whoa.  Whoa whoa whoa, no stakes!” Jay shouted, running into the fray. “No stakes in my club!  This is a stake-free environment. Bad form!”

“Butt out, Jay.” Phoenix produced a second stake, smacking Jay’s side hard enough to crack a few ribs. Jay crumpled to the ground, wheezing, as Zico and his boys looked on, startled enough to close ranks.

“Sit this one out, Jay.  We can handle it,” Zico said, bracing himself.

Phoenix laughed.  “Oh, am I’m supposed to be scared because it’s three on one?”

“Are you?” Zico asked.  

“Not a chance,” Phoenix replied.  “I’ve fought teenagers with more skill than you.”

The taunt was a clear blow to Zico’s pride.  Especially when one of the onlookers jeered, egging Phee on despite Zico’s home field advantage.  

“Just because you can take a punch doesn’t mean you’ve got skills, ” Zico said coldly.

He charged her.  Phoenix charged back.  The one thing Zico had going for him was that his grip was strong, but so was hers and they wound up holding onto each others shoulders, tussling around the room. As more things broke, Jay groaned.

And then, because the current chaos wasn’t enough, Tablo, Misty and The Twins came running into the room.

Jay went to meet them. Phoenix used the distraction to give Zico a boot to the crotch.  Zico fell to his knees groaning.  

“If you don’t tell me where Mino is, I’ll just kill you and comb the city myself,” she threatened.

“No, Phee. No, don’t do that,”  Jay said.  He had one arm outstretched toward the new arrivals, and the other toward the quartet brawling next to his bar.  “Please.  Don’t do <i>that</i>.”

“Give me one good reason not to,” Phoenix demanded.    

“Because that’s Jiho, Phee.  Woo Jiho. You know from the block. ”

“What?” Phoenix paused midstrike, giving Zico a much-needed reprieve.  “What did you just say?”

“I said, that’s Jiho,”  Jay repeated.  “Jiho is Zico.”

Phoenix did her best to cover her surprise and steady her breathing.  With a grumble, she stepped back, letting Zico take the henchman’s—Jaehyo, according to Zico’s thank you—hand and stand up.  He looked a mess, but already some of the cuts and bruises were healing.

Phoenix squinted her eyes a little and opened them again.  “Uh.  Your nose got smaller.  And blonde? Really?” “I like blond,” Zico responded.  “Also, let’s not pretend this has anything to do with my hair.”

“Your right.  It doesn’t.  It has to do with <i>you</i> fucking up.  I thought the last thing I said to you was please take care of each other?” She looked at each of the men in turn.  “How in the hell is turning into vampires and turning your friends into vampires doing that?”

Not liking the idea of being overheard, Jay cleared his throat.  “Why don’t we take this up to VIP and have some drinks,” he suggested.  “All of us.”  He motioned for Tablo, Misty, and the Twins to join them.  “This isn’t something we should discuss in the middle of the floor.”

With some reluctance, the newcomers and Phoenix agreed, and the entire party made their way up to Jay’s personal ‘lair,’ a second-floor booth toward the back of the club.  Jay grabbed two bottles of scotch and some blood for his new vampiric guests, and everyone sat down.

“So I’m not sure where to begin.”  Phoenix dabbed a cut on her lip with a napkin.  “Part of me wants to know how all this happened, the other part doesn’t care and just wants to know where you’re keeping Mino.”

Zico reached for the carafe of blood to pour into his tumbler, but once he heard her voice, he put it down and reached for the scotch.  “It’s complicated,” he said. “I didn’t mean for it to go down this way, but Mino was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  This was the only way to keep alive.  In fact, this might be better for him in the end.”

“I’m shocked that you care,”  Misty jumped in before anyone else could speak.  “The way you’re all being slaughtered, what’s one more casualty? Buys you time, doesn’t it?”

Zico rolled his eyes. “Can someone get the cat a drink?  She needs to relax.”

“No, thanks,” Misty said. “Knowing you, you’ll probably try to poison me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Zico shot back.

Jay, in need of some more alcohol himself, downed some scotch and set aside his tumbler.  “Believe it or not, Mino becoming one of us gives gives him a fighting chance, Phee.”

“Oh yeah? And how is that?” Phoenix asked.

Jay grinned and flexed.  “Vampire powers,” he said.  “Gives you some supernatural muscle.”

“And what exactly does he need supernatural muscle <i>for</i>?”

Zico took a sip of scotch and coughed.  “Because there’s this thing,” he said.  “I don’t know what you want to call it, but it’s like an infection or something. And it’s bad.”   Beside him, the second of Zico’s henchmen poured a glass of blood, and snorted.  “Not that it’s any of your business,” he said.

“It’s okay, Kyung. Phee is family,” Zico said.  “I’ve known her since before I turned.  I trust her.”  

Kyung rolled his eyes.  “If you say so,” he muttered.  Kyung drank his blood and then excused himself to the rest room.

Jay poured the scotch drinkers another round.  

“Don’t mind Kyung,” Zico said.  “It’s his job to be the skeptic.  Anyway, there’s this thing, and we don’t know much about it. I don’t even know where it all began to be honest with you.” “Zico…” The tall one, Jaehyo, jumped in. “Maybe this one time, Kyung is right.  It’s not her business. None of this is.  Mino made his bed and he has to deal with it.  Phee it was great seeing you. We will pay Jay for the broken glasses and you can be on your way.  Or have another drink if you like, though we understand if you’re busy and need to get going. In that case, you can just down it like a shot…” Misty and Pheonix both stood up. They were meeting for the first time, but they could already agree that they didn’t like being pushed aside.

“What they’re trying to hide from you, is that there are monsters running around town and they can’t get them under control,” Misty announced.   “Okay, monsters?”  Phoenix turned to Tablo in confusion. “I didn’t get anything about monsters. Why didn’t I get a notice? How long has this been going on?” “Probably because these things don’t have a classification,” Zico said.  “They’re not demons, and we’re pretty sure they’re not coming from hell. The only thing we can conclude from all the information we have is that they were once vampires and that they are born on earth.” “Say what? How…” That was all she could say before she was interrupted by a sudden, horrible, blood chilling noise.  “What the hell was that?” “Oh no,” The twins said in unison.  They looked at Zico, ready to deliver the bad news, but Kyung, rounding the corner from the corridor that housed the restrooms, beat them to it. “You know what,” Kyung said. He started to pant as if he was gasping for air, and stopped to grab on the side of  the booth. “You know what? It’s not okay.  We don’t work with them and they don’t work with us.”  He took a staggering steps toward the group as he wiped the sweat from his face.  “And when we try, look at the results.  This one wants to have his cat back,” he said pointing to Yukwon.  “And his brain twin gets dragged down with him and they’re both useless.  And you…you get into a fight with this bitch and almost lose, but still think it’s fun to sit around the table like it’s a campfire.”  Kyung let out a growl, which caused the rest of the vampires present to jump up and get into a defensive formation. “You’re all weak, pathetic, insignificant wastes of earth, and I’m over it.”   Even though Zico wasn’t sure it was the best idea, he thought maybe he could reason with Kyung.  “I get why you’re pissed but maybe we can work this out. Just calm down.  Let’s talk.” “Oh, now you want to talk? Don’t you think it’s too late? We both know how this ends, but let’s face it we were never equals in this relationship.  There was always a power struggle, but now I’m better than you. I’m more powerful than anyone in this room and I’m going to enjoy feasting on your flesh. Every single one of you.” Everyone watched as Kyung cracked his bones and his jaw to contour into the most horrific monster they could imagine.  His eyes were beginning to bleed and he had this manic laughter that escaped his lips. “Oh, my god,” was the only thing Misty could whisper as she saw his finger nails grow into black talons and another claw broke from his wrist. “What is he?

Jay couldn’t take any more of this freak show and went straight into survival mode. “Get everyone out of the club!” Jay shoved Misty and Tablo at the twins. “Tell the DJ “Code Black. “ He’ll know what to do. Zico and I will hold him off.” “You mean the three of us will hold him off,” Phoenix said, watching the creature. “I think I’ve proven that I can hang.” Park let out a growl.  His jaw became unhinged, making room for an extra set of teeth. Phoenix heard Misty gasp, then squeak as she was dragged away from Kyung, who was now looking like the missing link in the chain of evolution. Phoenix grabbed two stakes out of her boot.  “Any tips before we begin?” “Don’t let him bite you or scratch you,” Jay said, breaking a barstool to use as a weapon. “Don’t get his blood on you either,” Zico added. “And we’ve got to try and keep him up here so he doesn’t spread his infectious ass.” “Got it.”   “What is that thing?” Misty asked as Yukwon pulled her toward the stairs. “Are they going to be all right?” “Don’t worry about them,” Yukwon said.  “Worry about getting the hell out of here.”

“But…” “Misty, focus!” Yukwon grabbed her shoulders.  “Take Tablo with you and go! That thing upstairs isn’t a joke.” “Okay.  Okay.” Misty followed Tablo out the emergency exit just Phoenix’s body came tumbling down the stairs, causing a crowd of drunk girls to scream and scatter.

“I’m alright,”  Phoenix said jumping up from the floor and wiping at the gash on her forehead.

“Good for you,” Zico said, running past her with Jay hot on his heels.  “Get back in there cuz he’s not going down!”

“And we’re running out ideas,” Jay added.  “Yukwon! Min! Get these people out of here!

Kyung stomped his way down the stairs, jumping over the railing and on to the top of a table.  More people screamed and ran, and Zico took Kyung’s brief distraction by the fresh meat to knock his legs out from under him.  He reached for his hair, ready to bang it against the table with all of his strength, but Kyung was able to use his feet to kick him in the stomach first, and jump to the ground on all fours.  He lashed his tongue out toward a bystander.

Jay was just barely able to tackle her to the ground so that Kyung missed.  

“We need a better plan than this,” Jay panted.  He released the girl from underneath him, allowing her to follow her now-screaming friends to the door.  “Phee?”

Phoenix took this opportunity to jump on the creature’s back, and wrap her legs around his neck. “Working on it!”  she yelled back.  

Using her stakes as a bit, she crammed them into Kyung’s mouth far as she could.  Kyung raged, doing his best to knock her off his back, but Phoenix held on.

“Come on, break!!” she hissed.  “Break you asshole!” Using the last bit of adrenaline she could muster, she pulled with all her strength, breaking Kyung’s neck with a yell.   She let out a tired “thank God” as Kyung’s body crumbled to the floor.

“Get away from the body!” Zico yelled, stumbling towards her. “Move away, now. Hurry!”

“Why?” Phoenix asked.  “We won.  It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine!” Jay stumbled towards her. “You have to get up! We have to run...we have to go! He’s going to…”

Before he could finish, Kyung was already starting to move and struggling to get to his feet.

“What?” Phoenix turned around and saw his body was moving again.  “Holy shit, are you kidding me?”  Desperate, she looked around until she noticed Jaehyo had a sword on him.

Without thinking, Phoenix grabbed it from his holster.  

Not paying attention to their screams of no, Phoenix ran at the reanimated problem child, using his disorientation as a chance to slice his head off his body.   Kyung crumpled again, and this time, did not rise.

“There,” Phoenix panted.  “That should do it.”

The vampires stared at her.  Mistaking concern for some sort of messed-up bro loyalty, Phoenix rolled her eyes.  “Oh come on, what did I do now?  There is no way he’s getting up from that, where’s my high five?”

She raised her hand.

Jay and Zico backed up.

“Phee, you have his blood on you.  On your shirt,” Jay whispered.  

“What? How?” Phoenix looked down. “Oh god, what do I do? What do we do?”

“Take it off,”  Zico commanded. “Take it off and don’t move.  Min, Yukwon, call Taeil and P.O.  Wake them up if you have to.  Tell them to get to the club and bring all of their equipment.  Jay, take off your shirt and give to her.”

Jay didn’t give it a second thought, taking off his shirt and tossing it to Zico.

Zico handed it to Phoenix.  “When the guys come, they’re going to need to examine you head to toe.  You have a lot of cuts and bruises on you, and we don’t know if anything got on your skin.”

“I’m fine,” Phoenix said, because she wasn’t going to panic.  “How long does the transformation take? Wouldn’t I know by now if I had been infected?”  All of their faces worried faces told her the she was asking the wrong people.  “You don’t know.  You don’t know anything, do you?”

“No,” Zico said.  “We don’t.  I’m sorry.”  

#Bloodlines #block b #block b zico #jay park #jay park aomg #kpop fanfiction #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfic #tablo #epik high #block b park #vampire au #angels and demons au #kpop au

[onceabluemoonwrites]

Decay (Of What the Gods Know)

Summary: There’s a man hanging from the chandelier, candle grease dripping onto his dress coat.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Katekyo Hitman Reborn

FF.net | AO3 

This was written for a ‘’wish you would write’’ ask by the lovely @metronomeihear ! You can find it here.

You can find my fic master list here.

The lovely poem at the end is by @icarvus and  you can find the original here. Thank you so much for giving me permission to quote it! 

Tsuna runs his fingers along the line of the (body) doll's cheek. "So pretty," he muses softly. "You would look even better in red I think." (like the blood you wore in battle, splattered along your clothes, woven from pure hatred) He turns away from the table it lay on with a flourish and throws the closet open. Where was that little satin number? The perfect red dress.

He did so love his Kyoya, after all.

It’s time for dinner.

Tsuna’s mama was a witch. A very fine one, indeed. She drew lines of power across his stomach, drew sigils of love around his throat, carved beauty into his bones and breathed life into his stone. A statue come to life.

(Do you want to know about the child who was born to the Amazons? For there were only two, and both were made of clay. The Gods blessed it, gifting them with powers each. Godkillers- the last gods created.

The first was a daughter, all as it should, made of poison and acid, of dripping flowers withering in her leave. They called her Persephone, as she fed off decay, the picture of death in life.

The second was a son, but no man may dwell among the Amazons, not even if he were a god. The Queen took him from his mother’s arms and put him in a boat where the child cried so pitifully the sea reached for him. Love me, love me, the loveliest creature on earth he was.

It was no wonder Nana Tidechild dove after him- she would bear anything for the son she formed from the ground herself. It deserved the chance to take to the sky.).

It is not all his mama gives him. She teaches him how to be polite. How to be terribly rude. How to be a man, how to be a woman, how to be nothing and everything at once.

‘’All you are,’’ she whispered in his ear, ‘’Is what you decide to be, my darling. Ask me not to give you gifts, ask me to teach you how to have gifts, and you will have the world.’’

Tsuna is not a fool, so he listens.

His clay-sister sits across the table. Her pink hair falls across her shoulder- it’s shorter than his, at the time. Ruby red liquid glistens in her glass, crystal teardrops catching the low light. Candles all around them, rich velvet drapes covering the windows. Dolls lined up on the fireplace mantle, the fire long smothered.

‘’How have you been?’’

‘’Excellent. Black suits me.’’ Tsuna smoothes the widow’s veil down over his hair.

‘’Oh, how nice to hear! I like what you did with the place, by the way.’’

Tsuna smiles.

‘’Thank you, Bianchi.’’

There’s a man hanging from the chandelier, candle grease dripping onto his dress coat.

Once upon a time, the Greek goddesses put all the women murdered by men on an island. The amount of them was so large that it looked like a continent, and their Queen, Lavina, was the most peaceful of all.

Her daughter, however, wasn’t. She left.

‘’I believe I have something of yours.’’

Bianchi scoffed. ‘’Please, I prefer heels, darling brother!’’

‘’But winged sandals are so useful when you’re getting creative! Honestly, sister, giving away your uncle’s present, Hermes won’t be pleased!’’

‘’…What did your husband do?’’

Tsuna wrinkled his nose. ‘’He saw my rendezvous with Kyoya in the yard. I wasn’t about to let that go down.’’

‘’Why not just use him as a toothpick?’’

‘’And get that from between Kyoya’s teeth? Please! I know how to take care of my Hound, thank you very much!’’

‘’If you say so, Aphrodite.’’

Tsuna is not a fool, he knows how to accept teachings. Bianchi’s path simple and yet complex. The way of falling- Falling in love, falling from grace, falling into Fall after summer, falling to your death. From an extraordinary height, by preference. It’s her trademark, just like the elegant poisons that boil her partners’ brains out. Petals crushed of flowers in full bloom, rot from roses, snakes’ venom, for snakes venture to warmer pastures, so they always follow Spring.

Persephone is her name, and she is Death to man.

(Tongues lolling, drool dripping, eyes rolling up as the poison makes its way to their hearts. Bloated bodies floating in fountains, heads on pikes on the docks. Sirens singing them down the waves, sailors willingly jumping overboard. There is no escape, not when it comes-

Comes down, down, down to it)

Tsuna wants to try it out, and her little present gives him the perfect opportunity.

‘’Bermuda, sweetheart, won’t you come with me?’’

It’s like taking candy from a baby. Slip on the sandals, grab the man, and soar. Higher and higher, a thousand miles above the city, lights twinkling beneath them, the moon full above. Clouds whirl around them like smoke, wetting his skin, his hair, his everything- even his victim.

Bermuda struggles and Tsuna lets him, gleefully watching as- he slips, friction wavering, falls and falls and falls and-

Splat.

Another doll to add to his collection.

(No more young boys will fall victim to this man)

The siblings like to get creative.

Once upon a time, there were two children. They were the offspring of the murdered, the ones killed in cold blood. The ones that cried and raged, hid away and loved. The Amazons and Gods both. It was all kept contained, until one day, a woman left, for she had committed a sin that could not be forgiven. Birthing a male child.

Bianchi watched her go- the child, the sin, the brother of earth- cradled in the crook of her arms.

There was a time when she wondered whether her mother had been right. Whether that child was a sin because he was a man.

She wondered. She wondered. She wondered and wished to know and went to the world she did not know. The world outside the sphere. The world outside the paradise. The world outside the island especially made for them.

She strode out, Amazon pride. Tall and wide, and proud and bright, so she stalked to Rome. Pounding the earth with her very feet, looking for the creature called Man.

She found it. It was everywhere.

Women were familiar, yet not. Heels were cumbersome inventions. So were dresses so tight it made your knives cut into your skin when you slipped them into the pockets- if they had those, that was. (…Heels crushed fingers easily. The gave height, inspired fear. Corsets  pushed breasts so tight together that the vial of acid between them would never be found until it was too late).

Men, she had not known before. The Amazonian island was void of the bearded, the hatred great for them- but they were like women and yet not. Men were sweet, sweet and horrible. Came in all varieties- big and small, wide and thin, double-lidded or single-lid, what did it matter if they spoke so daring? What did it matter if they said something she did not like?

Everything mattered- for Romeo was no Romeo unless death was involved, and Bianchi was no Juliet. Romeo Bovino’s parents had chosen an unfortunate name, and Romeo himself had made unfortunate choices. (Suicide! The people said when they found his body. One more rapist dead whispered the milkmaids. Victory! Crowed Bianchi, high up in the tree).

It tasted like more- so much more, that even Death came to court her. ‘’Marriage is not my thing, Hades. Nor is romance, really. I was made from clay- I leave the fertile, the tongue-tangling, the love-making, to my brother. Give me stone hard. Give me scorching hot. I have been baked, I am clay no more.’’

Hades grinned, souls wailing in his mantle as he spread his arms. ‘’Call me Reborn, Persephone. I think you’ll enjoy the fires of Hell.’’

‘’Sounds like the place to be, my friend.’’

Her arm through his, she meets the furies. Lovely girls, really. Her kind of people.

Before all of this, before the sun rose quite so sadly, right after Bianchi’s first murder, she’d found him. Crouched over a corpse, tears dripping off his face, a snarling Hound bowed over them, as if to protect.

He had raised his head and she knew this was who she had been searching for. Clay-brother, earthen-kin. Sea-born Sky-child. Aphrodite. Tsuna. The only other amazon child ever made.

‘’It was his stepmother. He just- He wanted to belong.’’

Pushing the Hound aside, the man easily going, moving around the boy as if he was the only thing that mattered. Drawing closer, Bianchi gasps.

A child. It’s a child, fingers trampled onto the floor. Stomach ripped open. Small face still scrunched up in pain, silver hair dirtied by the mud.

No- it is earth. He is not dirtied. It is perhaps, trying to clean this boy of all it’s earthly troubles.

It’s a boy.

(Men are not inherently evil. Neither are women. Humankind, in general, is not. All things are good- or have the potential to be, just as they have potential to do evil. There is no such thing as being born a sin- to live is never a sin.

To kill is one.

The boy’s name is Hayato, and he was killed by a woman, and Bianchi cannot reach further than that- it is when the rage overtakes her.

She is Persephone, Spring, the one who blooms on top of the bones of seasons long gone. Who flourishes because of death.

…Mankind is not evil, but Bianchi cannot bring herself to care.

A child was killed)

Dear mother,

Mankind murders. A child called Hayato perished in my brother’s arms.

The letter lies crumpled between Lavina’s sheets as the warhorn calls. Her mortal son (so small in her arms, when she still lived. So small, behind the piano. So small, too small to remember her. Too small to miss a woman who simply came to teach him how to play. Too small- too small, Lavina was, to fight to keep him. Hayato- Hayato- oh, she loved him so.

He’s dead.

His stepmother killed him).

Bianchi wants to fight and Lavina lets her.

‘’Why? Kyoya, please, why do I keep doing this?’’ Staring down at the body before him, caressing the corpses face, fingers gliding over lips as if he can still feel the life slipping through his fingertips. The light leaving red eyes as he looked into them.

Too late to beg.

Too late to ask for forgiveness.

Too late to save Enma from himself.  

‘’Because you hate.’’

Staring down at eyes bugging out, compasses dulled. Wild red hair curled around his face at last- Enma’s beauty was in his expressions always. Broad shoulders painted with bruises- the largest of them all on his neck.

Shaped the same as the hands Tsuna hides his face in. ‘’I was asleep, Kyoya.’’ Breath speeding up. Voice high, high, high as the heights he’s let his victims fall from. Knives twisting, skies falling, torn apart like Ouranus was by his own children. Hacked into pieces, like the ones Nana had made him from. Aphrodite is choking on her own habits, love like the legends the sacrifices falling down.

Teacups shattering, faces painted, hearts breaking as prophecied.

Another doll to add to his collection and Tsuna hates himself.

He calls Enma’s doll Enyo, with his wild red hair. A doll, naked, dressed only his wild lust for vengeance, his compass eyes giving away the location of those who needed to be torn down.

(The more Tsuna loved them, the more powerful the doll)

This is the thing about Aphrodite- her marries and marries and marries, and… Kills his husbands and wives. Significant others do not survive once he slips a ring onto their finger- and his one living love forever remains an affair.

Ares, his Hound, the Dog of War. Kyoya, his lovely, painted in blood.

They call him a Black Widow, and isn’t that true? Love is everywhere- marriage is such an entertaining way to kill.  Tsuna likes the betrayed faces just before he hangs them. (He hates the ones he did love. He hates the hands he cannot stop from strangling. He hates himself, he hates everything, but he loves it as well. There is beauty carved into his bones, and he knows it is everywhere. The world is too beautiful not to love, and lines of power cannot stop him, but love he can).

He loves War, is entangled with him the way fishes are with water. Starved for him, the same way War always hungers for Love.

From time to time he meets his sister, asks her about her latest trail of bodies, and laughs as she drinks the blood of her enemies in crystalline glasses meant for wine.

Dinner is delicious that night. Nothing tastes better than the crushing defeat of your enemies, after all. From their place on the fireplace mantle, the Dolls of Decay watch War and Love dine. (Blood still fresh, the insects moving in, Gods know everything about decay).

when the gods overthrew the titans it was with the hope of a future they would never see

- instead the gods became what they feared most (l.e.h)

- by @icarvus

#hibari kyoya #Sawada Tsunayoshi #Bianchi #KHR #fic #Reborn #OnceABlueMoonWrites fic #fanfiction #fanfic #my posts #deity au

[powerdadbatman]

JL thoughts

Just came back from the cinema. Spoilers under the cut!

That very beginning!!! It felt so perfect and so painful. 

SUPERBAT IS REAL OMG OMG OMGGGGGG

No really, Bruce is the most tsundere bitch to ever dere.

Seriously, “It’s not like you like me right? :)” and that fucking look on Bruce’s face I FUCKING CAN’T. 

Like really, the entire movie feels like Bruce has a crush on Clark/Superman and I’m dying, I’m so blessed, it’s too much I’m not worthy.

“Looks like you have a date, miss Prince. Someone here has to have one.” A L F R E D, don��t you see Bruce isn’t dealing well with the death of his boyfriend? 

Speaking of, motherfucking Sassmaster Killatron aka Alfred Pennyworth. He literally murdered Bruce multiple times on screen and each time I screeched with joy.

“Do you bleed?” ahahahahaha you tell him baby.  

Although I admit I was a little underwhelmed with Clark’s return but it has more to deal with how I imagined it than the movie itself.

Glorious Kryptonian tiddies, you were missed. 

ARTHUR CURRRRRRY, badass from start to finish, owner of some nice tiddies as well. 

I’d like to thank whoever decided to show that Batman’s undersuit is indeed a two piece, it will come in handy in fic writing. 

I don’t know how Ben does it but he’s so fucking hot every time he shows up on the screen. He’s so tall and beefy and has excellent shoulders to waist ratio... My friend said he looks exactly like the DCAU cartoons and... Wait, where was I going with this? 

Oh yeah, I remember now: I don’t care what anyone says, those first minutes of Batman action in JL feel more Batman than the entire Nolan trilogy and Batfleck continues to shit on Bale Bats whole life. Fight me. 

Gosh that Lois Lane plot device, I didn’t see it coming and teared up a bit. 

Ray!!!!!!! I think Cyborg was handled really well, definitely a highlight.

I’m not sold on Ezra’s Barry tbh. My friends loved him and I see that he was designed for the “normie” audience but he doesn’t really speak to me. It can change though because Ezra is a tremendous actor. After watching JL, I really think he can become a movie star of his generation. 

Amazons have some incredible action, I think it’s my favorite sequence of the movie. 

And I love beefcake Amazonians and their sick abs of steel okay? I don’t fucking care if I lose my feminist credibility over this. 

Movie was too jokey for my liking but eh, I can live with that. 

Also I’m not mad at the soundtrack: it’s definitely not up to MoS, BvS or SuSq and more like something from Wonder Woman but it really doesn’t bother me that much. 

It did feel too short: 10-20 more minutes wouldn’t hurt. I’m expecting WB to deliver 3 hour cut with more of Batman’s bare ass. 

I know everyone’s currently busy with ripping Whedon to shreds but to me it still feels and LOOKS like a Zack Snyder movie. 

Overall it was SUCH A RIDE. I saw people saying that it feels like a DCAU movie and I totally agree. BvS remains my favorite because I love muh dark and gritty aesthetics but JL is a solid flick that shows more lighthearted side of comicbooks. Definitely more kid friendly, too. 

Here comes pettiness: I’m soooooooooo glad the rumors about wonderbat were untrue :) Don’t get me wrong, their relation is still very will they-won’t they but at least it wasn’t explicit. 

“How did you get the house from the bank?” “...I bought the bank.” MY BABIES 

Barry’s and Clark’s rivalry. I snorted, it was fucking cute. 

THE FINAL AFTER CREDIT SCENE. FUCK. FUUUUUUUUUUCK. 

And oh yeah, I want my missing scenes from the trailers WB. 

#jl spoilers #justice league spoilers

[buckyismyaesthetic]

Punk (Chap. 11)

Summary: You’re head over heels for your best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.

Word count: ~2500

Warnings: Language, mission/war related violence and gore, shooting, battle related injuries/casualties/mayhem

A/N:  My sincere apologies for how long this has taken.  I’ve been dealing with some personal things and, quite frankly, it took away all desire to write.  I hope you like this chapter, the photo with the shield later on in the story is actually the inspiration for the entire series.  So you can get inspiration from anywhere :)  I want to thank everyone who stuck around waiting and who has been so helpful and kind to me.  Also, I’m very excited to continue writing more chapters!  Thank you for your continued patience.

As always, feedback is always appreciated.  Please let me know how the ‘action’ plays out as I am always looking for ways to improve my storytelling.  Thanks!

Your face fell in horror, but you seemed to be the only one moving, the rest of the world seemed to be stuck in some sort of time lapse.  Bucky was still just crouching there, holding the boy, with that stupid, beautiful smile still plastered to his face, not yet seeing the danger, not yet registering your alarm.

No no no no no no NO!  Your mind was screaming the words as you tore your gaze away from the scene.  The man was getting closer.  NO!

You bolted forward, shoving the woman into the alley screaming for Bucky to run, ripping your vocal chords in the process. Your legs felt like they were trudging through molasses, like some force was pulling you back, weighing you down. And each step on the pavement felt like an elephant stomp making the ground shake.  But it was as if you weren’t moving any closer.  But you had to.  You had to.   Because what was about to happen could. not. happen.

“Bucky!  Run, get outta there!  BUCKY!” Were the words even coming out right in this crazy, frozen time-loop?  Could he even hear you?  Run! Why isn’t he running?  Get up get up get up!

He still had hardly moved.  Why hadn’t he moved?  

And then you saw it, lying face up in the middle of the road.  The sun’s rays reflected off it softly, making it glitter with golden light.  It was calling to you like a beacon.  Like a lighthouse guiding you to shore.  Steve’s shield.  And you knew what you had to do.

And then someone pressed ‘play’ on the world again.

You took off like a racehorse as all the sounds of the conflict came clamouring back in. Redirecting yourself towards that beautiful, shining disk of freedom, you slid on your side like a baseball player, down and out in the bottom of the ninth with two outs and two strikes desperately trying to grab that winning run, to save the game, to get the rest of the team to home.  The road bit and tore into your pant leg and the road rash on your arm was akin to having taken a cheese grater to the flesh.  But you didn’t care.  It wouldn’t stop you.

That same bloody and now rock infested arm glided smoothly through the shield’s leather straps.  Got it!  It was lighter than you remembered.  But, then again, perhaps the guilt from stealing it from Cap all those times had weighed it down.  

You somersaulted into a crouch, the shield sang through the air, a high pitched ring cutting through the wind.   Blood, warm and sticky, trickled down your arm and dribbled onto the pavement.  The gash in your leg ached as you ran, the skin on your calf stretching and ripping further as you charged your enemy.  But you would not falter. You could not falter.  

The man with the gun loaded a rocket into the launcher. Each twist and click of the device was a taunt to your ears.  This fucker is gonna use this on Bucky?  My Bucky? If you weren't about to lose your mind from sheer panic, you’d laugh at the audacity.  Nobody was ever going to hurt Bucky Barnes ever again.  You had made him that promise the day you’d met him.  And you intended to keep it.

But God, did you hate running.  Your lungs were screaming in protest as hot air burned your throat with each wheeze.  You mentally chastised yourself for being so unathletic, berating yourself for not working harder to get in better shape.  You could not let Bucky die because your fat ass couldn't move fast enough.   Your body had let you down, failed you, so many times before.  But not this time.  This time you were going to push it beyond any and all limits.  You had to.  For Bucky.  Your body, this body, well, it might not be feminie enough for Bucky, might not be smooth enough or sexy enough, but it was good enough for this. Good enough to save him.  Strong enough to face whatever the enemy had to throw. It was good enough for this.  It had to be.  There really was no other choice, because Bucky was not going to die. You were enough to make sure that at the end of this day, the world would still have Bucky Barnes in it.

A few metres away the man, tall and slender with jet black hair and a heavy step, settled the weapon over his shoulder and took aim.  His arm shook slightly under the weight.  Maybe he’s a shitty shot, you hoped.  Maybe he’s just a lackey, a noob, a wannabe gangster.  It didn’t matter either way.  You wouldn’t leave Bucky’s fate up to ‘maybes’.

Beads of salty sweat stung at your eyes as you raced down the block.  Gunfire continued to erupt around you but it barely even registered.  Tunnel vision had set in and the only thing that mattered was getting between Bucky and the dipshit stupid enough to threaten his life. Bucky Barnes did not suffer for seventy years at the hands of a bunch of demonic, scalpel wielding, psychopaths and then break free from their binds to reunite with his best friend only to have this fuckwit shoot him in the face with a bazooka!

The thought alone made your blood boil and a red haze settled over your eyes:  bloodlust. An animalistic snarl built up inside you, clawing at your chest, viciously ripping its way up your throat. And then you were roaring with rage and hate.  You'd never felt so murderous in your entire life, you’d never wanted a kill so badly.

Your ferocious, Amazonian war cry caught Bucky’s attention.  The smile vanished from his face as he turned, horror-struck to see you racing towards him, wielding Steve’s shield like a knight in battle.  And then he saw it, the rocket launcher.  You caught his eye for a fraction of a second as his gaze flickered from you to the broken little boy in his arms, and back.

You grit your teeth and shook your head sharply, hoping that he understood.  That he would not have to choose.  That you’d made that decision for him.  

The sound of the rocket firing made your heart stop, but not your legs.  It only spurned them on.  The missile flew across the street like a comet across the night sky.  But where comets had tails of brilliant, glowing light, this weapon, geared only for destruction, erupted from fire and gunpowder, and left the world shrouded in dust and smoke.

You had three steps on the rocket and, with a leap worthy of an Olympic medal, you landed in the middle of the street several yards in front of Bucky, directly in the missile’s path.  You planted your feet firmly, tensing your muscles, and raised the shield with your bloody arm.  Your free hand went to the long knife on your thigh.  You made the hilt dance across your fingers, testing the weight, and took a deep, steadying breath.

The rocket streaked towards you, closing in at an alarming pace, but you had just enough time. Come on, come on, come on!  Lowering the shield, you saw it; you had your opening.  That sad excuse for a human being would never get the chance to reload. You threw the knife with all of your might and brought the shield back up for protection, trusting that, like it always had been before, your aim was true.  

The pain was unimaginable.  The rocket collided with the shield with devastating force. The impact sent a jet of white hot pain straight up your arm that it was amazing that the force hadn’t knocked it clean off.  The bones cracked and may very well have been liquefied as the vibranium overpowered the missile and made it explode, sending an eruption of fire, smoke, and shrapnel into the street, and shattering your ear drum in the process.

And even though you had done your best to brace yourself as you’d seen Steve do countless times, you were no match for such a weapon.  The combination of the collision between missile and shield mixed with the shockwave from the explosion knocked you off your feet and sent you careening backwards.

You landed on your hip and the side of your head connected with the ground with a sickening crack but not inhibiting your momentum as you continued to roll sideways along the road.  Each turn sent jolts of pain into your shoulder and hip as you tumbled and skid along the pavement.

Steve’s shield fell away once you finally stopped moving.  A high pitched ringing filled your head as if someone had blown an amplifier at a rock concert.  The ringing only grew louder as you picked your head up from the ground; all other noise was dulled, as if you were hearing it from underwater.  You touched your ears gingerly and your fingers came away coated with warm, sticky blood. 

Suddenly, a wave of nausea overtook you and you turned your throbbing head to the side and vomited violently.  You tried to push yourself up and away from the mess but your arms wouldn’t hold you and you cried out in pain.  Everything seemed to be broken.

You threw up again.

Everything hurt.  

Gently, you laid your head back on the ground, breathing heavily, trying to calm down.  When you opened your eyes little dots danced across your blurred vision, the edges of which growing blacker and blacker by the second.  And you were pretty sure you were seeing two of everything. Two broken right hands, two discarded vibranium shields, two pairs of dusty black combat boots walking closer to you.

No.

You tried to push yourself back up to fight—ignoring the searing pain—managing to get one foot on the ground before falling over again, and bumping your chin on the ground cracking a tooth in the process.

How could you have missed?  You never missed.  That man had to be dead!  

Bile rose up in your throat again.

You whipped your head around wildly which was a bad idea as you were already nauseous and completely disoriented.  You squeezed your eyes shut as you scooted backwards along the ground, attempting to get away from the approaching figure. “Bucky!” you called out wildly. “Bucky, run!  Get outta here!  Run”

Could he hear you?  Your own voice sounded funny to your ears, as if they’d been plugged up with cotton.  As you inched away your fingers dances across your jacket searching for a weapon.  Had you used all of your secret knives?  Was there really nothing left?  The footfalls were getting closer; you could practically feel the ground shaking.  “Bucky, run! RUN!  GO!”  You screamed out, hoping he’d hear.  Hoping he’d listen.

Yes!   A jolt of elation surged through you as your finger taps wrapped around a throwing star; a gift from Stephen Strange after a neurological conference in Tokyo after you’d warned him not to return without a shiny souvenir…which was now responsible for several holes in the living room wall that you hid behind picture frames and a well-placed fern leaving Tony none the wiser.

Ripping the razor sharp weapon from its confines, you brandished in front of you like a sword, ordering the approaching threat to get back, and calling out over and over for Bucky to get to cover.  But your body was getting weaker with each passing second.  Your arm burned with pain as you swiped and slashed through the air, and eventually, your muscles gave out, the exertion becoming too much.  

“Get back!” Bile rose up in your throat again and blood was dribbling down your face.  Death was coming, you knew it.   There was no way you could fight off anyone in such a state.  The dark shadow that had crept across your vision eclipsed the world, plunging you into darkness.  Your body was failing.  “Bucky! Please!  Run….Run….Bucky…”  You could no longer hold yourself up.  Your head was too heavy, your arms hung limp at your sides, and your back could no longer take it.  You tipped over onto your side, grunting as your hip and shoulder, once again, collided with the road.  “Bucky,” you wheezed.  Please hear me.  Please run.

The scrape of boots along the asphalt signalled the arrival of the man that should’ve been dead.  The man you should’ve killed.  The hand holding Strange’s present twitched in the direction where you presumed the man stood, wishing more than anything that you had the strength to shred him to bits.

Your only consolation as you waited to die was that Bucky was probably safe.  He’d seen you running with the shield, he would know of the threat by now.  Maybe he’d even come and do what you couldn't and finish this guy off in the end.

A smile crept on along your lips at the thought. Perhaps you had saved him after all.

And your only regret, as you laid in the road waiting to die, was that you couldn't tell him how sorry you were for the things you had said the night before.  That you loved him so much even if he didn’t love you back.  That you were sorry you’d wasted the last few days avoiding him just because you were so mad at yourself.  That you wished you’d spent that time laughing at stupid jokes, hanging out in the park, watching the same movies you’d seen a hundred times, and running mundane errands around the city.   You should’ve appreciated it more—your time with him—because it was over now.

A short series of dulled metallic clicks sounded from above.  This is it.  A muffled sob passed your lips as you thought of all the things you’d wanted to tell him—tell your friends.  Their faces flashed across your mind before finally settling on his.  His soft brown hair that bounced in the wind, his gentle blue eyes that sparkled when he recalled his adventures with Steve in Brooklyn, and brilliant smile that erupted in those moments when he was truly happy….like he should be…His face was the last thing you saw as you felt your body jerk and twitch sending radiating shockwaves of pain up your spine and to your brain. 

Bucky’s image flickered and faded away…

…….

………

…………and so did you……

*

  *

  *

……Death is….bright?….and….loud?....and fucking painful….. 

You groaned, opening your eyes and regretting that decision immediately, as it felt as if you had looked directly into the sun and subsequently fried your retinas.

Blinking rapidly, the world slowly came into illuminating focus.  So death’s a tiny hospital room?

“Hey,” a warm, familiar voice called.  “Welcome back to the world.”  

“Now, would you like to explain exactly what the fuck you were thinking?”

Uh oh…not dead…

…damn.

TAG LIST:  I do my best to remember and write down everyone who asks so if I forgot to add you, it’s not intentional.  

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#punk #bucky x reader #bucky x reader fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #Bucky Barnes #bucky fic #bucky fanficiton #bucky angst #bucky #Winter Soldier #winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier fanfic #winter soldier x reader #mcu #MCU fanfiction #mcu fanfic #bucky x insecure reader #bucky x chubby!reader #avengers fic #avengers x reader

[ajumamezthis]

Light of the Island Sun

The man facing her at the back of the cave had cold, glittering eyes. There was very little human in them, which made perfect sense all things considered. The cave itself was richly furnished and she inwardly sighed. Something about evil people always made them go for opulence. "So. The Vigil found me, did they?" His voice was like chips of ice as it crackled out from beneath full dark lips. He was either bald by age or by choice, but Ajuma suspected it was more thanks to what he was. Undead, or on his way. Filthy creature. The medallion swinging from his open-throated jerkin's unlaced eyelets spoke everything she needed to know. A crescent. One with a skull carefully embossed. It bore some resemblance to the old discs of the sun which the Elonian Sunspears had once so proudly borne, and that, really, was the point. The Mordant Crescent. Palawa Joko's answer to the Sunspears he'd purged from the three kingdoms he conquered. The amazonian Istani guardian regarded the minion of her peoples' uttermost enemy. She prowled a pace nearer, as coy as a stalking panther. Her enemy's hard muscles visibly coiled. "Halt, Vigil fool." He ordered, and her smile deepened in her own dark face. Eyes as hard as his lifted to lock with the fallen creature's, but where his were empty of humanity, Ajuma's sparked with all-too-human emotions above her high cheekbones. Her armor was, typically, doing exactly what she intended it to. She tilted her head, feeling braids slither along plate mail shoulders. Stretched in a show of utterly casual buffoonery. Marketh al-Razthar fell for it. Perhaps he wasn't undead enough yet to have forgotten the pleasures of the flesh, but for the time that the sleekly muscled young woman took to deliberately stretch, her bared sides flexing, the light caressing over skin like the richest dark honey, the most highly polished mahogany... he hissed in a breath and for a moment, let his guard down as he let his hard stare do what his hands suddenly ached for. Ajuma was statuesque. She knew exactly her effect on men of a certain stripe. It was pride of course, and blood that gave her what she used every bit as deftly as her weapons. The second was all it took. His weight had shifted imperceptibly to the left, hip sagging just a trifle to her hawklike stare veiled behind seductive eyelashes. Another swaying step, mimicking dewy intrigue. The Vigil's rank and file were notorious for their appetites, and being more muscle than brain left a Vigil trooper a fine lusty beast.. or so the rumours went. To Ajuma's absolute disbelief, Marketh continued to buy the act. She'd expected to fence with words, to cross swords even, but this was absolutely unbelievable. She inwardly shrugged and wet her lips, feigning shy fascination. She was within a yard of him, and the tool of Joko groaned suddenly, openly. "I mustn't.. no pleasures of the.. " It was the sound of a damned soul inside the frozen shell of corrupt flesh. He'd been a man once. He remembered that time, and if he hadn't, she wouldn't be this close. In visible and completely unexpected anguish, Marketh moaned again and clenched his eyes as if fighting some hideous compulsion. It was all she needed. The towering Istani beauty lunged the last few feet and drove her gauntleted fist into his face. Joko's defiled Sunspear roared in outrage, his baffling confusion of heart vanished in the face of an outward attack. Ajuma's weapons were by the mouth of the cave where she'd placed them. Her brief advantage of surprise wouldn't last long. In and amongst the cushions and tapestries, she glimpsed her salvation: a greathammer. Eyes flicking back down to the former human under her, she drove a few more punches into his unprotected face for good measure, until the necromantically strengthened tissue gave way with a ripping sound under metal-shod knuckles. Malachi had always hated her fists. She spared a brief internal smile of memory for the only man who'd broken her heart, before she ducked at a bolt of lurid green that pulsed out from Marketh's hands as the undead finally rallied enough to lash back. The first bolt bubbled on the stone ceiling, and he followed it up with a second and a third and a fourth in quick enough succession that the Guardian knew she might be in trouble. He was considerably older than she'd estimated. Also more powerful. Ducking and rolling, she bent like a salmon and then jacknifed her way erratically toward the pile of cushions where she'd seen the hammer. Screaming flashes of black and green lanced past her, narrowly missing only by dint of her unpredictable motions. Every nerve in her was howling as the stinking bolts flew past. Her hand closed on the haft of the hammer, and Ajuma spun without warning, changing course, trusting only in her superb conditioning to keep her alive. A cushion disintegrated behind her as she faced Marketh. His face was torn open, dull yellowed bone revealed under the dark flesh which was ripped like a roll of waxed paper over it. A fairly macabre sight. no question. Good thing she had a strong stomach. The second generation Istani glared at him. He hissed again, seeing her, something impossible to read in those inhuman eyes. An incoherent mumble, and he leveled his hands for another barrage. Ajuma met it this time with great swings of the hammer, calling forth the protective power of her own magics into warding against which the necromantic bolts were showers of iridescent green, like a million exploding beetles. Step by step she advanced, employing an old pattern of strikes, each of which left a warding veil between them. He didn't move to avoid her, and seemed surprised even when the head of the huge hammer drove upward into his ribcage, shattering it with a devastating force. Another blow to the toppling necromancer's face, pulping his head, and it was done. Ajuma spat down at the ended undead, battle-fury still singing in her veins. "The Order of Whispers sends our best, honey." It felt wrong though. This whole damned thing felt wrong. He hadn't remotely reacted predictably. He'd let her destroy him. Casting the hammer's haft down to fall with a clatter, Ajuma swore violently. Turning, she stomped to the various riches adorning her fallen enemy's cave dwelling, booting aside half melted pillows or waterpipes which had been in the way of his attacks. And kept swearing as she rummaged for some clue, any clue, to why Marketh al-Razthar had let her defeat him. She could have done it properly without a question, but had been expecting to emerge with a scratch or bruise at least. He'd let her do this. That was what was so maddening. Nothing. Spitting in her fury, the Istani turned and stomped back to the shattered body of the necromancer, and bent to heave up the hammer she'd used to crush his heart and brain. She brought it down once more on the crescent glittering in the oozing hole in his chest, leaving a puddle of wet flesh and ichor and worse as she stomped out of the cave toward her comrade Aziz, who'd accompanied her to the lonely cave. Behind her, in an alcove over the necromancer's well concealed bed, hidden by shadows and a natural curvature of the rock face, a very old oil painting hung. It showed a tall, beautiful dark-skinned Istani with high cheekbones and dark warm eyes, and beside her, a bald smiling Vabbian man with full lips and a cooler stare. They were arm in arm, each wearing Sunspear pendants, each in the armour of their order. It looked old, almost as old as the beginning of Palawa Joko's conquest of Elona. Almost as old as the family Mezthis, whose children had fled upon the murder of their Sunspear matriarch by her partner and fellow Sunspear, his name struck forever from the ranks and lost to time and memory.

#old blog #reposting #all roads lead to elona

[kalamitis]

Semaphorism

All my sins, I’ve been tripping, I’ve been tripping, my god Brand new life I’ve been looking I’ve been looking lately All these nights they’ve been cooking, They’ve been cooking me raw.

Cam was… well. They weren’t exactly sure precisely what it was they were doing.

Observing, they guessed it was. Sitting on the stoop outside the coffee house slash dive bar with a cigarette between their fingers, elbow resting on the bent knee bared by torn denim. Their hair was heavy and dark, a flat inky black that came straight from a bottle, their full bottom lip marred by a thin silver ring that disappeared beneath their tongue every few moments, the tick a new one. Then again, there was a lot of new things about them.

Their wardrobe had taken a darker tint, and everyone had noticed. They were fond of layered black shirts and trench coats, dark jeans that’s rips were a bit too artful to be from wear and tear, black sneakers or boots that could make a pair of balls curl in fear at a hundred paces. Kohl around the eyes, with only the barest hint of a sinister wing on the edges. Today they had forgone the trench coat - it was one of the warmer days at the end of winter, it would have been too heavy - and replaced it with a black and gray flannel, kept open to reveal the black Angst Band tshirt. Even though the band had gained a new member, the image of Geht on the shirt hadn’t been changed.

The drummer could hear the former one man band’s voice wafting in from inside as he finished up the sound check, his voice decent despite the fact that he warbled just on the side of off key from time to time. Cam’s singing voice stayed dormant, like a bird curled away for winter within the cage of their chest. They didn’t get the urge to sing anymore, which was why it had been easier to look around at the instruments during the audition and choose the drums. They could keep a beat, and really that’s all a drum required. The dark haired nonbinary had been just as surprised as anyone else when they’d gotten the part. They’d never played a drum set in their life.  Then again, Cam had never failed an audition either.

Dark eyes tracked the people hurrying past on the street. Across from them was a convenience store, a drugstore, and a diner. They could just make out those sharing meals through the large glass windows, and leaned back slightly on their elbows to look closer. A tall blonde boy was sharing an ice cream sundae with a hijab clad girl who seemed tiny in comparison, the two of them smiling. An asian boy with long dark hair was sitting across from a tall dark woman with hair cut close to her skull, the two of them looking peaceful and content. At the convenience store they could see Geht’s on-again-off-again fling Del stocking up on twizzlers, Ziggy in her shadow speaking earnestly with lots of gestures that seemed to do nothing more than show off his rings. Watching the two of them made Cam’s stomach turn slightly, and their eyes quickly tracked to the drug store, where they could see Caez in the headache medicine isle, and across from them, Kylo and the youngest Arthuus, seemingly unable to see each other as they grabbed condoms. The girl from Cam’s geology class chose that moment to turn the corner, hand in hand with the tall, amazonian exchange student that she was dating, even as the redhead from their art class speed walked along the sidewalk across the street. That was the beauty of living in a college town, the drummer figured, leaning their head back to look at the sky. Everyone was always out and about.

The cigarette twirled between their fingers as the ex theatre kid sighed. The world was turning the colors of autumn, the air a gold, the sky a red, the sun a lazy, low hanging orange. A warm breeze jogged up the street, pausing to caress their cheeks before running on, For the first time in months, Cam missed their hair.

“Are you still out here?” Geht’s voice was rough, like he’d been halfway on the way to a laugh before he’d caught sight of them. Camren’s gaze didn’t waver from the sky, from the deep pink and stringy clouds that were turning purple and blue as the sun dipped lower and lower down the horizon. Darkness was creeping in from the east, and in its wake came the hum of streetlamps, the buzz of the diner’s purple neon sign and bright blue outlines, the grone and pop of convenience store spotlights illuminating its logo.

“Cam?” The boy- young man, really, - looked almost concerned when they finally raised their head to look at him, his dark eyes unreadable as their own, shaggy hair falling loosely around his face.

“Just enjoying the sunset.” The drummer said finally, returning their own gaze to the sky, watching the all encompassing blue of twilight start to descend. The color would last only a few minutes, but in that time it would take everything, the golden hues of the sun, the speckled light gray of the sidewalk, the darker gray of the street, the green of the grass and leaves, the brown of the bark, even the whites of Geht’s eyes, and twilight would replace it all with blue.  Blue for the trees, blue for the stones, blue for the sky, blue for the light and blue for the shadows. It filled Cam with peace, for peace, too, only lasted a few minutes.

Across the street, the blond was finishing off their sundae while the hijabi laughed, and the ding of the entrance bell signaled the asian and his date leaving. Dark eyes tracked them as they went, walking so close their shoulders brushed, the dark skinned girl pulling her hands from her pockets to intertwine their fingers. Caez and Kylo had found each other, and were bickering even as they walked off in the other direction of the couple, the boy defending himself heatedly as his companion simply smirked. The Arthuus boy was shoving his purchase into his backpack as he walked past the convenience store, only to be hailed by Del before he could get more than a few paces beyond it, the tall girl catching up to him and talking excitedly, even as the boy clutched his backpack shyly and nodded. They fell into step easily, Ziggy resigning to walking a few paces behind them as they went.

It took Geht sighing for Cam to realize he had sat beside them, his eyes tracking the three as they piled into Del’s brother’s truck. It was odd to have someone sit so close without them noticing their presence, without an urge to put a proactive five inch gap between them, just in case the boy decided to get touchy, but Geht didn’t do more than lean backward, mirroring Cam’s earlier pose as the nonbinary leaned forward.

They wanted to ask, as their gaze slid over his pensive expression, what it felt like when he saw Del with other people. If it was a turn of the stomach, like you’d just drank one shot too many, if it was more in the way of a roller coaster drop, like you’d left your stomach behind at the top, or if it was something else entirely, like you’d been full of warmth only to be kicked out into the cold, left hollow for the wind to blow through. Like he’d been looked over and found wanting.

“Geht?” The singer turned his head, and for a long moment, they simply looked at each other. He hadn’t shaved, his hair hadn’t been washed in what had probably been a week and a half, and he had perpetual bed head from the single mattress in the back of his van that he occupied. They knew for a fact that his hands would be rough, calloused and sure from playing guitar, that his arms would be strong from carrying his own equipment in and out of gigs. The thought was doing something odd to their stomach, twisting it around like they’d eaten something slightly past its expiration date.

“Yes?” His voice sounded hushed, suddenly, and when they actually looked at him, they realized that there was something… different, about him. Something slightly off about his eyes, the emotion the dark orbs were conveying foreign and soft. Dangerous in the way a venus flytrap was. Unwittingly, their gaze dropped to his lips, catching on the motion of his tongue moving across them before they were looking at his eyes again, something warm and fluttering taking over their chest as they tried to get their brain to work again.

“You guys ready?” The door opened, and Geht and Cam were suddenly very far away from each other, the lead sitting up to look up at the barista that stood in the doorway, bright orange hair cascading in an unruly waterfall from beneath his hat. Oli looked from one of them to the other, curiosity clear on his face. “The sound check is done, everything’s set.”

“Thanks Ol.” Geht said, the easy companionship on his face causing the drummer’s lips to twitch as he rose to his feet, stretching his arms over his head and ignoring that it caused his tshirt to ride up and reveal a very happy looking trail from his bellybutton and into his jeans. “We’ll be in in a sec.”

Cam tilted their head back to look at the sky one last time as the door closed behind the redhead, noting the blue of twilight had been replaced with the oncoming dark of night, the last golden hues of the sun lost behind the diner.

“Come on, number two.” Geht said, pausing in the doorway as the drummer got to their feet. “You can have another smoke break after our gig.”

A half rueful smile twisted across Cam’s lips as they nodded, their tongue playing with the thin silver slip of their lip ring as they turned to head inside.

The unlit cigarette slid back into the pack with the rest. Not a single one had been lit.

Appearances from: @caezsucksdangs - Caez and Geht @foolish-dame - Vinn, Del, Ziggy, and Rux @fef-x-kan - Kii @originalcrazystrange - Navii @curtisgrahamcracker - Oli me - Kos, Cam, and Triis

#there's a whole lot of cameos in this but guess what #it's all to distract from the fact that this is embarassing #thor writes #kosmik #c: nothing has changed #otp: cupid's chokehold #i'll figure out a tag later

[mikeconphoto]

"MY LAWYER - JOHANNA HESS - WBFF PRO DIVA" - By MikeCon Photography

Being a Photographer has a lot of perks because as you grow you begin to network and associate yourself with some phenomenal people. As I woke up this morning I kept saying to myself, “Damn, I wish I could go out and shoot in the rain, however I’m still awaiting for my household goods to ship here, I don’t have my license yet, and I don’t have any fitness clients (models) to go out and test with. I’ve gotta be patient because I have to ensure that I’m doing all of this right while I’m here in Germany. So, I want to make the time to talk about my lawyer and client WBFF Pro Johanna Hess.

Bare with me…this is going to be a little hard to swallow because I’m going off of my own memories. It all started on May 27th, 2016. I was in Kansas City at the registration for the WBFF show on the top floor of the hotel. I decided to go downstairs and take a small break from being around the athletes. As I was entering the lobby area, I turned my head to the right and there standing was this tall (1,80m 5'11) , gorgeous, Amazonian looking woman sporting #125 on her waist. She looked fierce, and more than ready to win. I’ve got an innate instinct for selecting winners, and Johanna fit the mold. Now be advised, I don’t have a problem walking up to anyone to strike up a conversation, but this time, I was a little taken aback from all of her fierceness. She was seriously sporting the, “Eye of the Tiger” (cue up the Rocky music!) Me being me, I was thinking, ‘Well, she’d definitely look amazing in my portfolio (I was still building it at the time), and it’s rare to have a tall woman that ripped and beautiful.’, so I walked up to her and introduced myself. She introduced herself, but didn’t smile, no laughter, no emotion at all…I honestly thought she was from the planet Vulcan! I recall then asking her if she’d like to do a photo shoot with me, and she said something to the effect, ‘I don’t know, but what’s your social media information, and give me some time to think about it’. We exchanged information and I never heard from her again that weekend. I do know my instincts were right…she won her Pro card that night.

Most people with fragile egos would have been like, “Man forget that lady!”, but me…NAH!!! She’s German!!! German’s aren’t all, “over-hyped” and “over-emotional” like American’s are. I grew up in Heidelberg and Bamberg Germany, so I had a good clue as to why she seemed so standoffish, besides, she was focused on her show and not doing a photo shoot. Also, I strongly believe in, “Let your work speak for itself”. As time grew, we spoke and interacted a little more and more on social media and got to know one another.

Now that I’ve spoken all about her physical features, let me get down to the brains behind this beauty. Johanna is HIGHLY intelligent!! She has attended the following schools:

University of Passau Queen Mary University of Law for her first masters in law (LLM) University of Leicester, UK for her second LLM University of Kansas City, MO for her third LLM

Johanna is qualified to practice law in Germany, England and the United States!!! In Germany it takes at least seven years to get a law degree. That’s no easy feat! She’s currently practicing law in the UK.

In December of 2016, I had put on my travel schedule to make my way back to Kansas City, MO to do photo shoots. The WBFF wasn’t doing shows there any longer, however I reached out to Johanna via social media if she’d like to shoot together on my visit there. Sure enough on 29 July 2017, we made magic!!! I coordinated with my Muse Tessi Conquest to do Johanna’s makeup for this shoot. This time, I knew that I had progressed a little more in my style, and I wanted Johanna to be showcased as amazing as she is.

As I’m shooting with Johanna, I noticed something. Something very unique about her than I had only seen once before with another client. I noticed during a quick 5 minute break that you can get better shots of Johanna if you just let her be herself and not pose her. Like, just let her be natural and you just have to quickly capture the moments as she moves around.

We did our photo shoot at the Historic West Bottoms. That’s one of my all-time favorite places to shoot in. There’s a lot of gritty architecture and great natural light that just flows throughout the area. In July, it’s definitely a hot month, however I believe we made it even hotter that day with the work that we produced. I’m blessed to have worked with Johanna, and we’re going to do a lot more since she lives closer to me now that I’m located in Germany. Eventually, I’ll be shooting with more fitness athletes here in Germany and telling their story as well. Thank you Johanna for allowing me to tell ours.

#wbff #ifbb #wbff pro #germay #europe #dbfv #ukbff #npc #fitness pro #fitness #fitness model #fitness motivation #fitfam #fitspo #fitphoto #germany #German Fitness Photographer #German Fitness Photography #mikecon #mikeconphoto #Rheinland-Pfalz #Mainz #Berlin #Cologne #Converse #Nike #nike europe #deutschland #muscle #munich

[ithappenedinadreamcomic-blog]

It Happened in a Dream! Part 2: Senpai Noticed (Finally)

Keywords: emo soldiers, the manic pixie dream girl trope, Star Wars, Star Trek references, shenanigans

Genre: Crack fiction, Comedy, Original Story, Original Characters in Canon Universe

Characters: Kylo Ren, Captain Phasma, General Hux, Supreme Leader Snoke, OCs

Rating: PG to PG-13

Trigger Warnings: Cursing, violence sometimes, sexual innuendos

Captain Phasma gave Melanie the option to return to her quarters to “freshen up” before reconvening for lunch. Phasma may have suggested as such because Melanie was not dressed to impress anyone, in her t-shirt and worn-out jeans (particularly not higher-ranking officials like Commander Kylo Ren), regardless of their being authentically Terran. Melanie took the hint and returned to her room to change.

Rather than deck herself out in her finest Elegant Gothic Lolita frillies, however, she opted for an even worse outfit choice. If the First Order thought they could control Melanie's behavior in any way, they had another thing coming. Somehow Melanie had escaped a Trump presidency, but she was not about to bow to another fascist government in his absence!

Melanie selected an oversized purple sweater with a giant cat face patch plastered to the front, a pleated skirt colored with a pink and purple space pattern, ripped and faded pink leggings, and black combat boots. She put on her best 90s accessories, mussed her curly auburn hair with a spritz of hairspray, and forwent makeup entirely.

“Whoa, gurl, you a hottie,” she said to the mirror, shooting finger guns at herself, and departed for the mess hall.

A pair of Stormtroopers passed Melanie punch-dancing down the hallway, and glanced to one another in confusion. Melanie Vasquez was sure to make some lucky scientist's research dissertation, hands down, a bestseller. In the end, it took Melanie about fifteen minutes of aimless wander-dancing to find the mess hell.

“What'd I miss?” she asked Frank, scooting her butt onto the surface of a table rather than sitting in a chair like a proper Terran lady.

Frank sighed. “Melanie, you are quite late. We are lucky that Commander Ren has not yet arrived, or you would have gotten all of us in trouble.”

“Relax, Darth Prozac isn't going to get mad. Trust me.”

“Who?”

“You know, Villain McNiceHair.”

Frank stared blankly.

Melanie snorted. “C'mon, Frank. You just mentioned him. Commander Ren.”

“That is not my name,” Frank stated. “Melanie, in all seriousness, you cannot call Commander Ren such names. You cannot. We have political immunity for the most part, yes, but if you truly offend him, it will all be for naught. He can easily ask for your head.”

“Oh, he can have a whole lot more than my head,” Melanie said.

“Excuse me?”

“What? I didn't say anything.”

As if on cue, Captain Phasma sidled up to the seated Terran and the perplexed Ethereum hovering next to her. “I have just received word that Commander Ren is on his way. He should be here in a couple of minutes. Prepare yourselves for a brief introduction upon his arrival.”

“Haha, brief,” Melanie laughed.

Captain Phasma raised her eyebrow.

“So, Captain Helmet, tell me a little about yourself,” Melanie said. “Have you been working for the Order long?”

“I grew up in the Order,” Phasma said, ignoring Melanie's new nickname for her.

Melanie considered asking if she had been abducted from Coruscant as a child, but thought better of it. She nodded instead.

“Captain Phasma is a very decorated officer,” Frank said, “She is third in command, under General Hux and Commander Ren.”

“Right, that is an accomplishment,” Melanie said with a grin. “You go, girl.”

Phasma appeared to be on the verge of smirking, but she battled with the angle of her mouth in an effort to maintain neutrality. Perhaps she often wore a helmet because she was more emotionally expressive than Armitage Hux or Kylo Ren, and as such, was far less immune to Melanie's antics. That, or she could hide her biological sex under the silver armor and flashy cape.

“I hear that you are a chemical engineer on your planet, Ms. Vasquez,” Phasma said. “You must be intelligent...For a Terran.”

“Ouch, so close to a compliment,” Mel laughed. “I guess I have to try harder if we're going to be friends.”

Phasma blinked. “Friends?”

“Well, obviously. I'm going to need friends if I'm going to be in Sky River for a while.” Melanie smiled  brightly at the Amazonian soldier, who was taller than her even while sitting on a high table.

“I am not sure if that is...allowed.”

“It will be.”

“Oh?” was Phasma's simple response. And she did not have time to add to it, as the metallic doors to the mess hall slid ajar.

Melanie's heart skipped a beat, but she did not glance over her shoulder to see who entered the room. She already knew. The game had started at last. It was happening. Oh Emperor Palpatine, it was finally happening!

Captain Phasma straightened and saluted with one hand. Her other hand clasped her helmet to her side. “Commander Ren, welcome.”

No response. But Melanie heard the rustle of fabric moving up from behind her. She sat awkwardly still and rigid, but her lips split into an enormous grin. As Commander Ren approached, she felt the tendrils of an invisible force prodding her mind suddenly. Or, more accurately, the Force. It was a bizarre sensation. Midichlorians were not a part of her biology because the Force did not exist in the Milky Way, so she wondered how it was possible for her to feel it at all.

“Captain Phasma.”

Melanie shivered. She glanced furtively to her right, amber eyes falling to Kylo Ren's dark boots, and looked away. So close. It took all of her willpower to keep her mind from plunging straight into her fantasies and revealing everything. Instead, Melanie considered manatees. What is it like to hug a manatee? Also, do fish dream? Did thoughts linger behind their cold, dead eyes?

Kylo Ren bristled at the sight of Frank. Frank appeared none too pleased as well.

“Faseemke'Sahndhran,” Kylo Ren's robotic voice said. “It has been a while.”

Frank's wispy head inclined. ���Commander Ren. I hope you are well.”

“I am sorry to make you wait. I have just returned from a mission,” said Ren. There was a drawn out, pensive silence. “Is this the Terran?”

Every nerve of Melanie's body sang triumphantly.

“Yes. Subject #347. She arrived here three months ago, and we have been preparing for her debut ever since.”

“Hm.”

Melanie bit down a smile, keeping her eyes firmly glued to the ground. What about jellyfish? They didn't have brains. Did they think?

“Melanie, please introduce yourself to Commander Ren.” Frank's voice wavered. He sounded nervous.

Captain Phasma tilted her head, regarding the frozen Melanie. “It is possible she is frightened by the mask,” she offered.

Kylo Ren hesitated, but a mechanic hiss a few moments later alerted Melanie to his decision.

“What is your name, Terran?” asked Kylo's deep, humanoid voice.

Melanie summoned up her courage, and stared straight into Kylo Ren's ultra-broody, yet glorious face.

He was incredibly pale, and extremely handsome despite his too-big noise and various moles dotting his skin. His thick brow was furrowed at her, forehead wrinkled deep with thought, or maybe frustration. And God, his hair. He had sultry, ebony waves of hair down to the base of his neck. He met her gaze with coal-black eyes, and held it with an effortless, immense power. Melanie nearly swooned clear off of the table. She immediately snapped her thoughts away from his appearance and to... Eels! Weren't eels technically snakes?

“Melanie...” Frank nudged Melanie's shoulder with an airy arm. “Please answer Commander Ren.”

“Melanie Vasquez,” she said abruptly. “My name is Melanie Vasquez.”

Melanie tried to remind herself that none of this was real. As hot as Kylo Ren seemed, he was only a figment of her imagination. It was just her coma fantasy, trying to indulge her with fan service.

“Melanie Vasquez,” Kylo repeated. He kept staring--no, glaring--at her. And God, was he tall. Taller than Phasma by a couple of inches, at least. Melanie was only, like, 5'3”!

“Call me 'Mel',” she said. She suddenly grinned.

Frank was clearly taken aback by the drastic change in Melanie's behavior. He tried to carry the conversation further. “Do you have any questions for Melanie, Commander Ren?”

“Has she been questioned?” Kylo asked, turning to Phasma. She nodded.

“Then, no. I have other matters to attend to. After I eat, I will be on my way.”

“What do you like to eat, Kylo?” Melanie asked.

Kylo Ren did a double take of Mel. He frowned.

“Please ignore her, Commander Ren!” Frank pleaded, floating in front of Melanie and raising his ghostly arms in alarm. “Terrans are very chatty, and her, especially so. I admit, it can be obnoxious! Go eat, please. Pay her no mind.”

“No,” Mel said. She crossed her arms like a petulant child. “I want to talk to him.”

“Subject #347, stop. Commander Ren is very busy. He does not have time to entertain you.”

“Yes he does.”

“Melanie!”

Kylo Ren held up a gloved hand abruptly to silence Frank.

“What?” he asked, fixing her with his dark eyes once again. “What is it that you wish to say?”

Melanie Vasquez immediately broke into song. She held her arms out on either side as she raised her voice. Everyone in the mess hall stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the impromptu Terran songbird.

She was not particularly good at singing, either.

“Hey little mooonster, I got my eye on yoouuuu~

Where are you gooooing, where are you running toooo?

I got love on my fiiingers, and lust on my tooongue!

You say you've got nooothing, so come out and get soo~oome.

Heartache to heartache, I'm your wolf, your woman!

I say run, little mooonster, before you know who I am!”

Phasma and Kylo Ren's jaws both dropped, even as the song continued Frank's would have, too, if he'd had one. This crazy Terran was actually serenading Commander Ren!

When Melanie finally finished, Kylo Ren said nothing. The astounded onlookers noted that it was the first time they had ever seen their commander rendered speechless.

Melanie took advantage of Kylo Ren's muteness and pointed her index finger directly in his face. He flinched back an inch, but otherwise remained dumbfounded.

“KYLO REN, I'M YOUR BIGGEST FAN!” Melanie yelled. “AND THAT'S WHY I, MELANIE VASQUEZ OF THE PLANET EARTH, CHALLENGE YOU--”

The entire room gasped.

“--TO SURVIVE ONE ROMANTIC DATE WITH ME!”

The room gasped louder.

Captain Phasma stared blankly, shell shocked. Frank, despite having any facial features whatsoever, appeared to be on the brink of fainting. The other Ethereum some tables away huddled closer, whispering among themselves. Every other soldier and First Order official in the mess hall could not seem to decide whether to laugh or cry. No one, Terran or other, had ever openly flirted with their genocidal commander before.

Was this a moment for the Sky River history books?

Maybe. Maybe!

Kylo Ren's eyelids fluttered in confusion.

Oh, no! Had the Terran successfully broken him?!!

“I....I do not understand,” he said finally.

First this 'Melanie Vasquez' had sung nonsense to him, and now she was...Asking to court him? What?

“Just think about it,” Melanie said, “I mean, I'm only the least threatening person in this room! It's not like you have anything to lose!”

Kylo Ren staggered back a couple of steps. His right hand flew to his forehead. He rubbed his temples, trying to formulate a response. He had been challenged many times before, but this? This was different. What were her intentions? Should he attempt to probe her mind with the Force again? He had only seen absurd images and content there so far, but surely there was something logical underneath all that!

Commander Ren had been quiet too long. He had to say something. Anything. And so he attacked the first flaw that came to mind: her appearance. Tacky, whimsically-colored clothing, frumpy animal tunic. Unladylike posture, sitting disrespectfully on a First Order table. Short stature, pudgy build. Sunken, tired eyes. No makeup. Unkempt, boyish hairstyle. Somewhat adorable—wait, what?! No!

“...And you challenge me to this...'Date'...While dressed like that? How dare--”

“Hey, it's better than what I was wearing yesterday!” Melanie said.

Kylo Ren paused. He lowered his hand.

“...What were you wearing yesterday?”

“A tiger onesie.”

Kylo Ren narrowed his eyes.

“What is...a 'tiger onsie'?”

“Oh, it's a jumpsuit you wear while sleeping, shaped like a cute animal from my planet!”

'…What?'

Frank immediately blocked Melanie from Kylo Ren's sight. He addressed her frantically.

“Subject #347, I believe we have overstayed our welcome. We should return to our research vessel now. Besides, you need to rest! Today must have been an ordeal for you.”

“Ugh, really?” Mel asked. “Boooooriiiinnnng. Ohhkaaayy... If I must.” She glanced towards the fourth wall and winked.

Melanie hopped off the table and made a show of dusting herself off. “Well, Darth Prozac, it's been real. We will meet again, since I need to get that answer from you soon.” She headed for the exit with Frank and a cluster of worried Ethereum on her tail.

“W-Wait a minute,” Kylo Ren called after them, in a voice too weak to be heard.

And with that, Melanie Vasquez and her alien entourage was gone, leaving everyone in the room to wonder what had just happened...Including Commander Kylo Ren.

#It happened in a dream #it happened in a dream comic #it happened in a dream fic #crack fic #crack fiction #Star Wars The Force Awakens #star wars #the first order #melanie #kylo ren #general hux #captain phasma #it is just a joke guys