nothing sinister


HE DIDN’T START THE FIRE… But Inferno will sure finish it! With his niece in danger, Dante will stop at nothing to find Sinister. But can his team keep up with him, or will he play right into Mister Sinister’s hands? And Karnak’s long play finally comes to fruition–what has the man who can see all flaws found in the Inhumans’ legacy?
32 PGS./Rated T+ …$3.99

Man shouldn’t be able to see his own face – there’s nothing more sinister. Nature gave him the gift of not being able to see it, and of not being able to stare into his own eyes. Only in the water of rivers and ponds could he look at his face. And the very posture he had to assume was symbolic. He had to bend over, stoop down, to commit the ignominy of beholding himself. The inventor of the mirror poisoned the human heart.

Fernando Pessoa 


A/N: I know, I know. I’ve done a Peter Parker x Stark!reader imagine, but I wanted to take a different approach and form an actual story instead of one imagine. Peter will not take be in this imagine since this is purely exposition between the reader and Tony Stark. I’m not sure when Peter will show up, but he will before Civil War. This is set during Iron Man and for the sake of story telling, Iron Man, Iron Man 2, the Avengers, and Civil War will happen in a year or so

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

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Down For The Count: Jungkook

Prompt: New series ’How he goes down on you’ - They will be posted youngest to oldest. Jungkook/Taehyung/Jimin/Namjoon/Hoseok/Yoongi/Seokjin

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warning: Smut, oral (female receiving)

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Down For The Count: Jungkook

Prompt: New series ’How he goes down on you’ - They will be posted youngest to oldest. Jungkook/Taehyung/Jimin/Namjoon/Hoseok/Yoongi/Seokjin

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warning: Smut, oral (female receiving)




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Wren (pt 1 of?)

She calls herself Wren, after Two Things. One is the bird. The small, plainly colored, ball of feathers, sometimes called house wrens, that often flit about unnoticed. Two is another girl. This Wren, who spelled her name Ren, isn’t real. She’s Ren-from-the-book Found, the first–and still most favorite–post apocalyptic story Wren-with-a-W has read. There are others, but that one is closest to her heart.

Which probably makes the Choice a Stupid One, but she makes it, nonetheless. Maybe the Gentry will think she likes birds. Maybe–though that, likely, could have its own consequences.

Unlike some of the others, Wren-with-a-W–like Anne-with-an-e, but without either the fiery hair or tendency to babble–likes the rules at Elsewhere. She likes Rules period. Her life–and her brain–is often chaotic, though she won’t acquire the alphabet soup of abbreviations that explain why till years later.

She doesn’t know, at eighteen, that she has ADHD. All she knows is she’s disorganized, easily distracted, and loses everything she touches. She also doesn’t know that she’s probably Autistic. All she knows is that she has trouble with conversations–starting them, stopping them, keeping them going. She has trouble with loud sounds and her clothes feeling Wrong. And when she loves something, it consumes her.

Sometimes–before she learned better–she thought she might be a changeling. When she was very young, she lost herself, deliberately, inside her mind. She spent hours and hours daydreaming, blocking out the world. When she was a teenager, her bubble popped, and she found herself suddenly in a world that was strange, confusing, and much too loud.

So, Wren-with-a-W likes the Rules. They’re comforting. Follow them and you’ll be safe. Don’t follow them, and there are no promises. And so she follows them. She hoards packets of creamer and shakers of salt and iron nails like they’re going out of style. She carries each in her pockets–and she’s found that the nails double as stim toys.

A few weeks into the fall semester, and Wren has found herself alone in her dorm for the first time. Her roommate has gone. Not Gone, not Replaced, no, nothing so sinister. She’s simply gone home, to visit family. Wren has not. She loves her family, but she doesn’t miss them. Not the way other people seem to.

Alone for the first time, Wren crosses to her bed and pulls out the old chest. Her great-grandmother, Agnes, gave it to her when Wren was twelve. Great-grandmother Agnes was a lot like Wren. She was shy and spacey, quiet and scattered, and she didn’t seem to know what to do with people, either.

As she opens the trunk, the smell hits her first. There’s the sharp, burning-in-her-nose smell of mothballs, and under that, something even more bitter, salty like blood, like iron. Like the sea.

The blanket at the bottom is dark brown, like mahogany and chocolate stirred together. One side is rough. When Wren pets it, she’s reminded of Boris, her old mohair teddy bear Mom made her leave home, because You-know-how-college-kids-are-you-don’t-want-anything-to-happen-to-it. The other side is smooth. When Wren touches it, she’s reminded of her favorite suede couch, the big brown one at Grandma Ruth’s. She loved laying on it and running her hand up and down the arm while she watched My Little Pony The Movie for the million and first time.

Wrapping the blanket around her, Wren shuts the trunk and slides it under the bed. Great grandmother made her promise not to show either trunk nor blanket to a living soul, and so far, Wren has kept her word. Mom says that Great-grandma-was-getting-senile-before-she-passed-it’s-a-shame-really. Wren knows different, but that, too, is part of the secret.

There are other trunks, other young women in Wren’s family with blankets like these. But Wren has never fit in with them. Those girls, to a one, know how to get along in the world. They don’t lose things the moment they set them aside. They don’t misunderstand a look, a gesture, an implied demand. They know how to follow all the unwritten Social Rules. Not Wren. Not now, and maybe not ever.

So, blanket wrapped tight tight tight around her, Wren hoes to the couch and curls up. She turns on the TV, then the DVD player. Pressing play on the remote, she settles in, sighing happily, as My Little Pony Tales begins playing.

The blanket isn’t the only reason she waits till her roommate leaves before watching tv.

To Be Continued.


Here have some thoughts™ about IT.

1. Wow I haven’t had that much fun at a movie in a long time. I went with four other friends and it was a blast. I’m surprised no one kicked us out for being too loud bc we were laughing, talking, knocking stuff over and everything…

2. LIL GEORGIE WAS A PRECIOUS BEAN. He’s so cute even if he got like 10 or so minutes of actual screen time as himself. WE SHOULD HAVE PROTECTED HIM. HE DIDNT DESERVE WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM.

3. Neibolt House was really neat!! I wish the one in LA was up and I was there because I’d love to walk through it. Everything was the right layer of evil but nothing too sinister that you wouldn’t find in a normal haunted house.

4. THE LOSERS WERE ALL PRECIOUS BEANS. PROTECT THEM. Also Richie and Eddie are in love. Bye.


6. I just I loved this movie a lot. It was a fun time and I can’t wait for round two!!!

Turning Verbal Traps into Honest Questions

You’re almost there. You can feel the thrill of victory. It vibrates in the keys under your frantically tapping fingertips.

You’re sure, you’re sure, you’re about to convince another blogger that doorknobs exist! 

Tumblr user the-knob-is-a-lie has argued hard, across dozens of reblogs, to prove their thesis that doorknobs are nothing but a sinister myth. But they’ve slipped. There’s a flaw in their logic. A contradiction. And you’re about present that flaw to them and prove yourself the victor of this ideological war, once and for all.

“If, as you say, twisty things don’t exist at all,” you write, “then how did you unscrew your water bottle just now? Huh? HUH?????

You post the reply and take a moment to bask in your genius.

The trap is sprung. The day is yours. The only thing to be done is sit back and wait for your opponent to come crawling over and kiss your feet, to thank you solemnly for making them see reason.

The response is not what you expected. There is no kissing your feet. No groveling.

The victory strikes oddly hollow. You’ve proven something you already know, that the-knob-is-a-lie is wrong. You’ve proven it to yourself, and you’ve proven it to the other people who already know it. You’ve won, and you’ve won precisely nothing.

Want this situation to go differently? Want to communicate rather than alienate? Let’s look at your question again:

“If, as you say, twisty things don’t exist at all, then how did you unscrew your water bottle just now?

The phrasing implies that you expect your question to come as a shock. That… might come across as condescending. Consider, instead, assuming that the question you are asking is a question the other person has thought of, and working forward from there.

Firstly, take a moment to set aside your incredulity and think about possible answers to your question. How did they unscrew their water bottle without twisty things? Do they define the word “unscrew” differently from you? Or “twisty”? Were they exaggerating a bit when they said twisty things don’t exist? And will you come across as pedantic when you use that exaggeration against them?

Assume there are reasons why a good, earnest, intelligent human would say things that sound crazy to you. What might those reasons be? If you’re trying too hard to be in the right, it’s harder to make your point. It’s harder to understand where the other person is coming from so you can communicate your points in a way they will understand. 

Okay, now you’re ready to start your question over. Own your subjective perception of the conversation, and inquire openly about theirs:

“You said earlier that twisty things don’t exist. My understanding of the screw-top lids on water bottles is that they are a kind of twisty thing. Do you see them differently? Or did you mean ‘twisty thing’ more specifically than I interpreted it when I read your earlier post?”

Now the conversation can move forward, because you’re talking like you care what the other person has to say. Like you know that there are limitations to your own understanding.Your goal now is not to be right, but to understand where the other person is coming from so you can communicate your points in a way that they will understand.

You’ve set a tone of respect. That doesn’t guarantee you anything, but it does make it much easier for the-knob-is-a-lie to admit that they might be wrong, or might have communicated badly.

You’ve created room for them to say, “Well now that you mention it, I’m not sure how I reconcile those things. Maybe you’re right. I’ll think about it,” or, “Oh, yeah, I didn’t really mean that there are no twisty things at all. I was talking about a certain kind of twisty thing.”

Remember, if you’re arguing, then someone else is involved. Even if your argument seems rock-solid to you, if that person doesn’t see it then you haven’t proven anything to them. Maybe you just wanted to prove to yourself how right you are, but if you want them to understand and believe your point of view, trying to spring traps for them is not an effective strategy. Demonstrating an attempt to understand where they’re coming from works a lot better. 

The Thing Under the House

It wasn’t long after an investigation into the disappearance of Steve Bowman was launched that my partner and I ended up at the home of Anne Deering.

The house sat atop a hill, away from everyone and everything. It was in need of work and the crawlspace under the house appeared unnaturally dark which made no sense to me but that’s all I could think when I saw it. A strange thought to have but it invaded my mind and stayed there until my partner parked the car.

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Doctor Who/X-Files AU: The Doctor needs help from his old companion Dana Scully, but he accidentally drops in on Agent Mulder instead. (Who, let’s face it, is a huge Doctor fanboy.)

Calgarian Gothic

You’re driving in a labyrinth of deep suburb. You’re lost. You are always lost. You look down at your phone to pull up a map, and when you look up again, 26 new houses have appeared in front of you. They are all painted grey. You rub your eyes, and more houses emerge from the aether. Small children peer out at you from the windows, unblinking. There are no trees here. You keep driving.

The chinook winds blow in. The People tell you with benevolent smiles that it’s a good thing, and yet, the city is plagued with headaches. The birds are acting strangely. You find you can’t quite remember your name.

It’s the long weekend, and everyone is going to the Mountains. The city is empty, and it’s deeply unsettling. Once, to escape the overwhelming sense of dread, you tried to go to the Mountains on a long weekend, too. How foolish.  

For ten days in July, you must eat the free pancakes every morning. You’ve been eating the pancakes your entire life. You want to trust that there is nothing sinister in the batter. The People all wear plaid.

You’ve seen Nenshi in the flesh. You don’t remember when, or where, but you know in your gut that it happened. You just know. You update your Facebook status. 85 people like it. 

You’ve been driving on Deerfoot for an hour. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. You don’t want to think about how much time has truly passed. One by one, the radio stations are turning country. You seem to be the only one that notices.

You hate the Quebecois. You don’t know why you hate the Quebecois.  


Eric tells about a day he was going to go shooting in the mountains. He had his shotgun in a gym bag: it was in his “terrorist bag, sticking out.” When he walked by his mother, she saw the butt of the gun but she assumed it was nothing more sinister than his BB gun.

Harris: I could convince them that I’m going to climb Mount Everest, or I have a twin brother growing out of my back. I can make you believe anything.

anonymous asked:

Quin gets more character growth than Joseph does.


If you go through all the different dad routes you get to comfort him over the divorce with his wife and learn that he’s currently taking on all these different jobs to try and support himself after the fact.

It’s such a complex story that really makes you feel for him…And he’s a side character?? Not the dateable dad??

Like, I 100% believe that they started writing this game with the plan to actually be that you get the queer Christian man out of his toxic marriage. Then, they started writing his wife, and they gave her some funny jokes, and then…They completely changed their minds because they wound up liking her more. That would certainly account for why Joseph’s route is completely normal right up until after his second date. Like, literally, there is NOTHING SINISTER about Joseph until AFTER you finish his second date and you talk with Mary. Then, if you get things right, Robert will intervene, and then at the very end both Robert and Mary shun you and Joseph dumps you right after/has a VERY OOC moment of “hey I wanna keep up appearances but I’d like to keep dat ass ;)”

And then they had to find a way to defend the way they ended it. So they came up with ‘putting a twist on the dating sim genre’, a twist that like…You can’t make the twist that you didn’t do the entire point of the game, guys. Again, it’s like having a FPS where you have to defeat the final boss using only your melee attack. Sure okay it sounds ‘neat’, but uh hey there’s a reason that no one’s done it before.

Robert’s ending was exactly the kind of twist the game needed. Hell, all of his endings are. Two of them border on sexual manipulation/abuse, one of them is just incredibly depressing, and the last is “hey, I gotta fix myself but I still like you.”

A suitable twist for Joseph would be the same sort of thing - “hey, I gotta focus on this whole divorce thing but I still like you.” And it would have been perfect. You wouldn’t even have to change his bad ending! Him sticking with Mary is a great bad ending! It’s fine.

But just…Fucking hell. It’s not only something that catches you completely off guard, but it’s completely out of tone of the rest of the game, like…Every other dad is super wholesome and great. Robert and Joseph could have been left as the two ‘morally grey’ choices - Robert because he forces you to drink and can and will sexually manipulate you on his bad route, and Joseph because, well, he’s a married man. But nah, you get a game that’s 90% perfect but then the last one is a ‘fuck you’.

You can’t tell me this was planned when every single other dad in the game aligns its self perfectly with the Dating Sim formula. If you really wanted to make a twist on the dating sim genre, every single one of those dads would have ended poorly. Craig would have dumped you because he’s still not ready for a relationship/he only values you as a friend, Brian would have been too hurt by the competition to truly want to stay with you, Mat wouldn’t be mentally prepared to hold a relationship he’s so anxious…Just. ARG. This is so stupid??

anonymous asked:

Drabble of Severus tickling Hermione when she's in a bad mood?

“UGH,” Hermione growled.

“Ugh?” Severus asked, one eyebrow arching as he looked up from his book.

“Yes.  Ugh.” Hermione crossed her arms over her distended belly as she sprawled out on the couch. “It’s decidedly hard to be cheery when your son has apparently decided to take up kickboxing in the womb.”

“Oh, so he’s my son now, is he?” Severus replied, pursing his lips as though trying to hold back a grin. “I seem to remember that getting on one’s last nerve was one of your…more innate talents.”

“Do you hear that?” Hermione said in a theatrical voice to her bump. “Your father thinks you’re talented.”

“I did not-” Severus stood up, a sudden glint shining in his eyes, and walked over to where Hermione was sitting.

“What are you-?” Hermione looked up at the looming figure of her husband just in time to see him wiggling his fingers in undulating waves above her as his expression grew playfully sinister.

“Oh, nothing,” Severus replied, his grin suggesting the opposite. “I just thought that I might assist in cheering you up after all.”

With that, he launched onto his wife, his fingers tickling at her various sensitive spots, many of which had grown more sensitive due to the hormonal shift of pregnancy.

Hermione was practically rolling around on the couch under his fingers, her head thrown back as she screeched with laughter.

“You absolute git!” she gasped, finally, when he was done, even though the words held no malice. “With the way you were carrying on, I could have gone into early labor, you know!”

“Oh, I think our little ninja knows that he’s got to stay inside and make his mummy miserable for as long as it takes him to arrive on time,” Severus replied, kissing her belly and then rising to kiss her on the lips softly. “Besides, he’s your son too.  He wouldn’t dare show up early without fully preparing for his first day, just like his mum.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose as he kissed it, grinning shyly up at him, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

“You always know just what to say, don’t you, Severus?” she said, her voice containing a sense of affection and wonder that made his cheeks go a bit pink.

“Practice makes perfect, my love,” he purred back. “I’ve buggered things up so many times that I’m rather surprised that you still put up with me.”

“That’s because I love watching you splutter but soldier on despite the awkwardness,” Hermione said playfully, poking the tip of his nose and rising up on her tiptoes to kiss it. “It’s just one of the many reasons I love you.”

“And I you,” Severus mumbled into her hair, smiling at the sensation of her belly pressing against his ribcage before a particularly painful jab assaulted him right in the solar plexus. “Ow! He kicked me!”

“That’s just his way of saying he loves you,” Hermione snickered. “I’m well versed in this particular form of painful Morse Code.”

Severus ghosted his fingers over her belly in a ticklish, tapping motion.  “I L-O-V-E Y-O-U, Y-O-U L-I-T-T-L-E B-A-S-T-A-R-D.”

SEVERUS!” Hermione pulled away from him and shrieked in mock outrage. “Besides, he can’t be a bastard because we’re married.”

“You’d be surprised,” Severus said. “After all, my parents were very much married when I was conceived and yet look at me.  My levels of bastardness are legendary.”



“Why would you even say that?”

“I thought we were calling each other what we are.” Severus was grinning outright by this point.

“I’m still in a bad mood.” Hermione said, hiding a smile behind her hand.

“Oh, yes, I can tell from all that grinning,” Severus replied sardonically. 

Hermione shook her head. “No fair.”

“I never said that it was,” Severus said, his eyebrows arching dangerously again. “But you do have to admit, it is rather effective.”

anonymous asked:

yooo glad to hear you're feelin' better and ready to accept requests again ^-^ So could I request how Sombra, Reaper, and Widowmaker would do if a young child was brought into Talon, either because they have exceptional combat or tech related skills Talon wants to exploit or they're being held there as a long term hostage to ensure someone's cooperation? Like how would they interact with the kid, if at all? (sorry if the asks a bit long ;-;)

An agent picks the child up from kindergarten, but it’s Widowmaker who sits in the back of the car, a small handgun cradled in her hands that the girl eyes both frightened and awed.

“Do you work for my mama?” she asks as she fastens her seatbelt as if she’s being picked up by random men in black suits every day. The words stranger danger evidently mean nothing to her.

“It is more accurate to say that your mother works for us.” Widowmaker says. At least now she will, she adds silently. The agent lets the autopilot drive and while the car pulls out of the school’s parking lot together with half a dozen of other parents with their children, he turns around and waves his phone.

“Lets take a photo so your mommy won’t worry, alright?” he suggests and whatever else the child may be, camera shy she is not. She makes faces at the camera, makes the agent snap picture after picture, usually with Widowmaker somewhere in the background although at least once she sits on her lap and pretends to brush her hair.

“You could braid it,” the girl says and Widowmaker, whose patience for people who are not targets or her handlers runs low at the best of times, yanks her hair out of the child’s grasp.

“I don’t want to braid it.” she says and hopes that is the last of it.

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Punished: Minseok/Xiumin Scenario

A/N:Happy hump day!! Enjoy! -admin A

“I’ll be home in ten minutes. Wear my favorite outfit and be ready. You’re in for it after the shit you pulled on me earlier.” He growled into the phone before hanging up. I knew I was in for it when Minseok got home.

It started as an innocent photo exchange. I sent him a picture while he was on the plane and told him I missed him. Nothing sinister, just a simple selfie.

He told me he missed me and he couldn’t wait to see me but he had to go because they were about to take off. I told him I loved him and I’d see him later.

About ten minutes later I started getting bored, and to be honest, a little turned on thinking about the things we were going to do once he got home.

I’m still not sure why I decided it was a good idea, but I started sending him some more photos.

I started by sending him a photo of me innocently biting my lip, then I sent one of me biting my thumb and staring into the camera.

After sending multiple photos, it progressed into a video of me sitting on the bed playing with my clit, moaning his name over and over, telling him how I couldn’t wait for him to fuck me.

I was hesitant to send it, afraid of the punishment I’d receive once I got home. I thought it over for a moment before hitting send, preparing myself for the reaction I’d receive once his plane touched down.

I received the call about an hour later, and I answered the phone acting completely oblivious.

“Hey baby!! Was your flight okay? I questioned, trying to suppress a chuckle.

“I think you know how my flight was Y/N. What the fuck are you trying to do to me? He mumbled, trying to be quiet around the other members.

“What are you talking about Min? What did I do?” I replied with a smirk.

Without hesitation, he responds. “Wipe that damn smirk off your face. You know exactly what you did! I had to excuse myself and go to the bathroom just to compose myself so I didn’t walk through the crowded airport with a fucking hard on.”

I tried to hold back a laugh but failed miserably. “I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to turn it into a big problem”

He faked a laugh, “You didn’t mean to huh? Well you better be ready for me when I get home because you are in so much trouble baby girl.” He said sternly.

“Oh shit.” I breathed. I knew that once he called me baby girl I was in big trouble.

“I’ll be home in ten minutes. Wear my favorite outfit and be ready. You’re in for it after the shit you pulled on me earlier.” He growled before hanging up.

I knew I didn’t have much time so I hurried to get ready, putting on his favorite black lace lingerie and waited patiently on the bed until he got home.

I heard the door open and I desperately wanted to run to him and greet him, but I knew better. When he was in Daddy mode, you did everything he said or you got a rough punishment.

I sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed waiting for him to enter the bedroom. I could hear him walk into the bedroom but refused to look at him until he told me to.

Without hesitation, he tucked a hair behind my ear. “Look at me baby girl”, he ordered.

I lifted my head slightly, looking up at him through my lashes. He cupped my face and brought my face up to meet his dark gaze.

“Do you think what you did earlier was funny?” he questioned, his eyes searching my face for a response. I shook my head no, my face expressionless.

“Answer me properly baby” He quipped, his eyes never breaking contact with mine.

“No daddy It wasn’t funny”, I pouted quietly.

“I hope you realize that you’re going to be punished for this. You do realize that, right? he inquired.

“Yes daddy, I realize that I did was wrong. I’m sorry daddy.” I responded.

“Good, because you’re about to be punished. Get up, on your knees on the bed.” He ordered sternly.

I did as I was told and sat back on the bed and got on my knees,waiting for the next order.

Slowly, he stripped and sat on the bed. He motioned me over to him and I crawled over to where he sat. He positioned me and I’m on my hands and knees overtop of his lap.

Rubbing a hand over my ass, he questioned, “So after the shit you did to me earlier, how many spankings do you think you deserve babe?”

I shuddered under his touch. “As many as you think I deserve, daddy” I whimpered.

His hand stopped for a moment and he considered his response before finally stating “I think ten should be enough.” And before I had a chance to reply, he raised his hand and brought it down on my ass abruptly.

I winced at the initial sting, but he carefully massaged the area after each slap.
He counted out loud every time his hand came in contact with my ass, and after the fifth one I felt my wetness soaking my black lace panties.

I whimpered after each encounter, unable to hide my arousal any longer. After the tenth slap, he massaged my ass before moving his hand over my panties.

“You’re soaking wet for me already baby.” He bragged before moving my panties to the side and inserting two fingers, moving them in and out slowly.

“Fuck” I moaned loudly and turn to look at Minseok.

A smirk played at the corners of his mouth as he increased his speed. “You like that baby girl?” he asked.

“It feels so good daddy. Please don’t stop.” I whimpered. He continued moving his fingers in and out of me, bringing me closer to my release.

I squirmed under his touch, on the brink of orgasm when he removed himself from me completely.

I whined at the loss of contact, but within seconds Minseok grabbed my hips and pulled me onto him, lining himself up with my center.

He kissed me hard and entered me quickly, leaving me breathless. I try to take control but he tightens the grip on my hips and controls the pace, moving slowly at first.

“Fuck baby girl you’re so tight.” He moaned, his lips ghosting my neck.

He increased his speed and began kissing and sucking on my neck, bringing me right back to the brink of orgasm.

“Daddy please don’t stop. I’m so close.” I begged.

Seconds later he snapped his hips up into me hard and bit my neck, both of us reaching our highs simultaneously.
He fucked up into me a few more times, breathing heavily as he rides out his orgasm.

He let go of my hips and I rolled off of him and snuggled into his side.

Kissing my forehead, he breathed “I think that was punishment enough, what do you think?”

I simply nodded in agreement, resting my head on his chest. It was more than enough.

Dating Problems

There’s blood under Harry’s fingernails that don’t wash away no matter how many times she washes her hands.

It’s nothing sinister, like murder, but through exposure. She loves using blood as a medium when summoning and the color has stuck on to her nails. She doesn’t believe that using brushes helped, because then she’d have to factor in what kind of hair in the summoning.

So no, Harry paints her circles with blood and her fingers.

The red colors on her fingers are distracting and sort of not conducive for dating life, especially when her date asks her, “So your fingers are red. Do you paint?”

She could lie and say yes, she paints, leaving out what she paints, but that had already backfired on her once, when she’d brought the man home and he’d seen the spell books on the wall, the talisman and charms hanging from her ceiling and the cat playing with a skull.

Harry tries dating, evading mentions about what she did for a living and why it translated to red fingers. Keyword: tries. Because all three attempts fail miserably and Harry gives up after number three ran screaming from Fifi toying with her mother’s skull.

“I give up,” she sighs, scooping up the cat and picking up the skull. She puts it back over the mantle after making sure that Fifi hadn’t scratched it. Not that Fifi would, since she was conscientious like that. “I guess I’ll die a virgin. And alone.”

The skull vibrates Lily’s disapproval and Harry sighs again.

“Shut up, mum. You don’t have my problems. You don’t even specialize in necromancy, so you can’t tell me you’ve done something about it,” Harry points out.

The skull buzzes in that specific manner that Harry knows. “I’m not skulking.”

The problem with a family line so steeped in magic is that death really isn’t a barrier. Harry ignores any other buzzing and goes to her room to gloomily contemplate summoning herself a boyfriend. She needs to get laid at least, because the family line needs to continue.



The Evans Family are all witches, going back a century. They are also all women with the father’s suspiciously dying at one point and or becoming suddenly pregnant without a man.

Harry is pretty sure that she’s got a lot of inhuman mixes in her, because when she opens the family spellbook, the spell to summon, one night stand is bookmarked and pretty much annotated with a lot of commentary.

One grandmother even adds, “be sure to be specific about their looks, because mine is pretty hairy.”

It’s mortifying and hindsight is really twenty-twenty. All those unexplained, sudden pregnancies make sense. (Also, it makes her feel better that it’s not only her that had a problem about getting a date.)

“Am I really doing this, Fifi?” she asks the cat.

“Meow,” says Fifi sternly.

Harry nods, setting down the spellbook and flicking fingers red with drying human blood.

At the first sentence, the circle starts to turn a molten color, gold flecking up the edges of the circle. It’s a good response and she continues, closing her eyes against the brightness and chanting in a soft, unwavering voice. She can feel the world start to warp in response to the summoning, a tear opening in the reality of the world.

By the fifth sentence, the air is heavy and it makes breathing difficult.

By the seventh, the air is freezing and her breathe fogs with every exhale.

When she finishes, it’s like dragging a stone over a steep mountain and she’s gulping in air desperately. To complete the ritual, she slams her bloody hands on the floor, red smearing on the wood. Like a response, the lights dim so suddenly that it hurts and in the aftermath, only the sound of her heavy gasping breaths are audible.

Then another person breathes, right inside the circle and Harry snaps a hand to light the candles.

Despite how man shaped the creature inside the circle is, Harry does not mistake him for a man. No man would have black eyes that sucked in the lights, reflecting nothing back. His teeth are a hint too sharp and his ears are slightly pointed.

Still, it’s easy to ignore all those signs because he is the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life. So far.

Sharp cheekbones, tanned skin and spiky black hair, all of that mashed together to make a very handsome specimen. Look alike. Harry had to remind herself that he is not a man.

“Summoner,” he greets, naming her.

Harry knows she doesn’t look particularly witch-like, with her vivid t-shirt and sparkly headband. She smiles at him, a wicked smile that’s probably hereditary.

“Hello,” Harry answers. She’s in no rush and she waits while he reads the runes written in blood.

When he gets to the part of getting her pregnant, his eyes go wide. Then he turns to look at her, deadpan.

She knows she doesn’t need to explain herself to him, but the need is still there. “It’s hard to get dates when I’m a witch. And some human men are just so huffy about unprotected sex.” Never mind that she can’t catch their diseases anyway.

He smiles. “So, witch. Are you letting me out of this circle?” he asks and his tone of voice makes her want to shiver. “Unless you prefer to do this standing up, we can’t exactly lie down in the space you’ve drawn.”

Harry knows she’s as red as her mother’s hair.

“C - Contract,” she squeaks. “Let’s make a contract, then I’ll let you out of the circle. For the love of Morgana, stop wiggling your eyebrows!”

He gives a wicked laugh and Harry groans, absolutely mortified.



The contract is an airtight unbreakable piece of paper that bound a summoned creature to the witch until everything is fulfilled.

Harry is somewhat amazed that she could write a contract down with how much blood is rushing to her face. The summoned creature had introduced himself as Reborn, a rather incongruous name for what she suspects his species really is.

“Sign please,” she says, pointing to the dotted line.

Reborn reads everything, even the fine print. It had been a bit simple to come up with a contract, there had been a template stuck on the back of the summoning spell as an afterthought. Almost like one of her ancestors had realized contracts were necessary for letting summoned creatures out of circles.

He gestures to her pen and signs it, careful and very deliberate. He puts down a rune that sparks and threatens to light the paper on fire. Harry holds her breath and lets it out when it doesn’t.

Harry holds the paper carefully, feeling the weight of magic that had been absent earlier. It’s a careful magic albeit an incomplete one. She holds the pen and signs just as carefully on her part, completing the contract and turning the paper unbreakable and solid.

They complete the contract that night, a lovely intense thing that made Harry so grateful thing that she puts silencing sigils on her walls.



The problem comes nine months later, when Harry gives birth and realizes exactly who she summoned.

The babies are too beautiful, with sharp teeth and pointy ears.

The lack of bellybutton confirms her suspicions.

“Oh my god,” she says, more of a sigh of exasperation than anything. “I have the worst luck.”

She had summoned a demon prince.



Harry has Summoning Problems ™

Please give me feedback! First thing I wrote in … a couple of months. To break my depressive streak…

Thanks for the support, peepz!