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azrielsmommy · 1 year ago

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Dark Paradise (Part 2)

Pairing: Azriel x Fem! Reader

Summary: Never in the existence of Prythian had there been a rightful heir to two courts, much less a female, but there you are, in the flesh. With war upon the lands, and questionable family dynamics, a certain shadowsinger takes it upon himself to make your life just a little bit more interesting.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: sexual themes, mentions of assault (not towards reader)

a/n: Hey y'all just an fyi this is set right after the end of a court of mist and fury, like where Hybern sends Feyre back to the spring court with Tamlin after the failed attempt of destroying the cauldron, and she's now like plotting an escape. But Prythian is still like at war with Hybern. So shits going down, but she still hasn't made her way back to Rhys and the night court yet.

Cold sweat slid down your body, forcing you to readjust your grip on the broadswords, one in each hand. Licking your dry lips, the saltiness from the sweat coated your tongue. As you twirls the swords, their flared tips catch the suns rays. You huff out a breathe as you keep your eyes locked on your swordmaster.

He has trained you since you were a mere child, claiming that both you and your brother required proper combat training, rather than rotting away at a desk learning about the lords and ladies of Prythian. Over the years you had mastered a variety of weapons, swords, spears, bows, the list just goes on.

Yet you found yourself to be pushed just a bit more harder than your brother, and you wondered for many years why that was. How come Neo had it easier than me, while I was left to endure more? Learn to fight against harsher odds. The swordmaster never answered any of the questions, he didn't have to.

When you killed your first male, that's when you finally understood why. Understood how much physically stronger the average male is compared to a female. Understood that being a female, no matter the the social status was dangerous, you could be nobility or a librarian, males stop at nothing. And in that moment, drenched in blood, you vowed to never let yourself feel weak ever again.

But here you are, panting as you watch the swordmaster stand seemingly unphased. He stands tall, chin held high with unwavering confidence. It pisses you off. Holding a wooden staff, tip coated in metal, sharpened neatly to a jagged point, he gives it a quick lookover.

"Old man," you twist your blades around, getting a proper grip on them hoping the sweat pooling in your palms wouldn't affect the grip on the weathered hilts.

He smiles at that before lunging at you, swiftly swinging his staff down in a wide arch, you managed to avoid the metal tip by rolling out of it's path. Seamlessly getting up on your feet once more, you waste no time in returning the favour as you released a flurry of attacks, swinging your swords in such fervor even he had some difficulty blocking and dodging.

You must've lost track of time as you sparred, the midday sun beginning to set, bathing the sparring ring in pink and orange hues. Exchanging blows back and forth, neither of you sparing each other any leniency. Just as you were to deliver a heavy blow, the sound of your father voice echoed throughout the room.

"Y/n my dear, that should be enough fighting for today, don't you think?" Barely having enough time, you stop your arm mid-motion, gritting your teeth at the abruptness of the action. Blowing a loose piece of hair that had slipped out of your ponytail from your face, you spin around to face your father. "I suppose so." Your words uneven from your panting.

"As much as I relish in seeing you fight with the strength of a thousand suns," he teases as he playfully pushes against your forehead, causing your face to scrunch as you stumble a few steps back. "I'm off to visit the Summer Court." You raise an eyebrow as you stare at him, waiting for him to continue.

"The loss of alliance with that idiotic beast Tamlin, I've decided to gain the support of the Summer Court before Hybern can wrap his filthy hands around them," Helion reaches a patch of sunlight and outstretches his hands towards the light. The warm rays caressing his tan skin in glimmering beauty. "So to not waste time, you will be meeting with the High Lord of the Night Court." He rolls his neck back, enjoying the warm touch of the sun.

You swerve your head around, searching for your swordmaster, taken aback at how openly your father is discussing sensitive information, but he's nowhere to be seen. You snort, surprised you didn't hear his old bones squeaking as he left.

You walk over to the water station by where your father stands and pour yourself a cup of once ice cold water, but now room temperature due to the blistering heat. "When does he arrive?" You take a swig of water, soothing your dry throat as it slides down. "Tonight."

It takes all of your willpower to not spit out the water. Tonight?! What does he mean tonight, you haven't prepared whatsoever. "How soon is 'tonight'?" You ask wiping away excess water from your mouth.

"Eh, in an hour give or take." He nonchalantly responds with the flick of his hand. Without even a second thought you burst out of the sparring ring and run to your room. You clash into many employees, throwing several 'sorry's' over your shoulder as you sprint down the halls. Finally you make it to your room, drenched in sweat, eyes immediately fly to the bath. Practically ripping your clothes off, you wash yourself, scrubbing your skin with lavender milk soap until there was no chance for any remaining grime to be left.

Letting your hair fall in soft waves, you wear a white top, held up by one shoulder, dipping down to slightly show off your cleavage, wearing a matching white skirt, a slit in it's side to show off your leg. Finishing your outfit you don your neck and fingers with intricate gold jewelry that swirl and loop in all sorts of patterns.

Taking a final look in the mirror you place a gold crown on your head, the small spikes protruding out of your head, the sun reflecting off of the tiny gems in the crown. Taking a couple of deep breaths you waltz your way to the throne room, playing with the rings on your fingers as you anticipate your meeting with the High Lord.

As you enter the throne room and approach your seat, a fleeting thought slips past your mind. Wouldn't it be funny if that man from your dreams accompanied Rhysand here, tonight. You snort to yourself as you ungracefully take a seat in the middle throne.

But for now you wait.

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

The ticking of the clock was driving you mad, it felt as though years had gone by, but reality crushingly sunk in when you checked the clock, and only mere minutes had passed by. You had taken it upon yourself to cure your boredom, passing the time by with checking how many cartwheels you could do in a row without throwing up. Which ended up being 57, a new record!

You had even tried to pick up a new skill by attempting to juggle the rings from your fingers, albeit you weren't very good. Loosing one of them as it ended up in some unseen corner. Now here you sit waiting, with a sour expression on your face, and hair in slight disarray.

Before you could even begin to think of abandoning this meeting, the menacingly large white doors begin to open, groaning as they grated against the floor. A male strolls into your view, yet you can't quite make out his face clearly, the sun doing little to illuminate the darkness that surrounds him. It's as if he's made of the very night sky, soaking up that onyx beauty and releasing it with each breath. The heavy thrum of his power reaches you before he does, it takes you aback, having never felt such raw power. Quickly you send back waves of your own powers, both sun and fire emitting from your very being. If he wants to have a pissing contest then so be it.

He stops before the dais, now fully visible as the shadows dissipate in the light, you catch the look in his eyes immediately, those violet hues capturing you, an amused look swirling in them. Besides his eyes, his beauty was striking, you're certain that he's had many lovers in his lifetime, without a doubt. Yup, that's definitely Rhysand.

Rhysand slyly spoke, voice like a cold drink on a hot summer day, smoothly, enticingly. "You aren't Helion."

"Really, and what makes you say that?" Sarcasm dripped from your voice as you propped your chin on a hand.

"You're much to young to be a...high lady." Rhysand carefully crafts his words, but his eyes speak his true thoughts. "My mind is well beyond my years Rhysand," flicking a hand in the air dismissingly "besides am I not just as capable as my father? Or do you wish to speak to a male rather than a female on such matters?" Raising a brow at him.

Slowly but surely a cheeky grin finds a way onto his face, as he raises his hand towards you. "Not at all, I actually find that I prefer you instead of your overzealous father, quite the lovely change of pace really."

A hum of approval leaves your throat after digesting his words, and the insinuation behind them. You begin to descend down the stairs to meet him, eye to eye, on common ground. Yet try as you might, you can't deny that view, having the most powerful High Lord of Prythian by your feet, it's a rare sight. You're feet land on the floor of the throne room, finally being able to see Rhysand up close. Just as you were about to suggest moving your conversation to one of the study rooms a cluster of shadows spiraled together behind him, forming a portal of sorts as a male steps out into view. Your mind short-circuits as you realize who stands before you, clad in swarming shadows.

It's the man from your dreams. Well you're certainly not laughing, as you recall the silly thoughts you had earlier, thinking about what ifs. Instead there you stand, eyes large like saucers, your mouth probably would've been opening and closing like a fish if you hadn't controlled yourself.

There he stands in all his glory, devastatingly beautiful, just one look at his face makes you want to dance. The planes of his face are elegant and chiseled, strong eyebrows furrowed as he stares back at you, seemingly having his own mixed thoughts. His dark hair falls gracefully over his face, curling away as a result from the heat, some strands sticking to his sweat slicked skin. His eyes are nothing like you've ever seen before. Not just green and brown, no. They are breathtaking, shinning brighter than all the stars combined, the calculated coldness at the center drew you in, yet they teem with emotion. His sparkling eyes are irresistibly charming, your skin growing hot wherever he glanced, feeling as if you were bathed in sunlight.

He was clad in battle leathers, leaving nothing to the imagination as they clung to his body so desperately you thought that they would pop just right off if he breathed too deeply. You completely ignored Rhysand as he spoke to you both, bouncing between waving his hand in front of your faces and loudly speaking to you. You paid him no attention as you watched the man before you, studying the way his eyes roved over every inch of your face.

You shoot out a hand towards him, voice coming out strained, "I'm y/n." You watch as his eyes flicker to your outstretched hand, softly he places his hand in yours. It's callused, rough skin squeezes yours as he shakes your hand ever so gently, like he's afraid that if he grips too harshly you'll shatter like glass. The azure siphon rings cool against your heated skin.

"Azriel." His voice rich and sweet like honey, sending a chill down your spine. He holds on for a little longer before dropping his grip, hand returning to his side. Realizing quickly that you've been ignoring the reason of this meeting you quickly clear your throat before turning to face Rhysand, "Where are my manners, I'm y/n, heir to Autumn and Day Court, anyways enough of the overbearing pleasantries, I'm sure you'd be more comfortable in one of our study rooms." Ushering the two of them out you lead the group towards the nearest study room, as you walk you feel Azriel's eyes burning into the back of your head, it takes all of your willpower to not look behind you and meet those intense eyes.

You barely register the sound of the slap followed with a pained grunt as you lose yourself in your thoughts. This time you look back over your shoulder. You're met with a rather strange scene, Rhysand's clutching his chest as he directs Azriel with a shit-eating grin, the latter remains unphased as he ignores Rhysands pointed looks.

You finally arrive to the study room, closing the doors as the three of you enter. You gesture to the two cream sofa chairs that sit across the matching sofa, a coffee table separating you from them. Taking your seat on the sofa, you use your magic to summon refreshments to the table. You watch carefully as Rhysand and Azriel settle into their seats before Rhysand finally speaks.

"Hybern's attacking Prythian, but I'm sure you already knew that," you nod as sip at your water, "we need as many alliances as we can get, without it Prythian will succumb to defeat, cities and fae of all kind will be pillaged and destroyed. I refuse to stand by and watch as everything we have built become nothing but dust, not after her." His voice laced with pure disgust as he sneered. You knew about the stories that were whispered about him and Amarantha, how he had to please her, you felt his pain and sorrow, making the decision to stay silent you urged him on.

"Helion already agreed to unify with us, but we are spread thin, not enough agreements being made, we came to ask Helion to reach out to other courts and see their stances, but we seem to have missed him." Setting down your glass you catch Azriel, from your peripheral, staring at your fingers, fixating onto your rings.

"Summer Court." You quickly respond as you lounge back into your seat. Rhysand gives you a confused look. "He's in the Summer Court smoothing things over, which I recall was your doing." You smirk at him, the High Lord sending you back a comical look, not too amused by your slight jab at his all too recent activities in the Summer Court.

"Well isn't he just a sweetheart," you chuckle at his comment, "since your father is being sooo helpful with the Summer Court, maybe you can too." "How so?" You question.

"Go to the Autumn Court." Your heart drops to your stomach. You haven't been there in over a century, just the idea of entering that cursed land and seeing that swine Beron along with your treacherous half-siblings sends your head spinning in all directions.

"I have no business there, how do you think Beron will take it if his wife's living proof of adultery comes back after decades? It will raise all hell." You seethe through gritted teeth, body tensing up at the image of Berons face.

"If I had anyone else to turn to for this matter, I would, but we have to know whether we have Autumn Court's support or not, and quickly." You huff, not only in annoyance at having to visit your other "home" but also because Rhys's right. We are running on short time, not much wiggle room left. "Fine." So you oblige, agree to attempt to make a pact with the Autumn Court, or at least you finally get to visit your mother after all these years.

Rhys tells you to pack your belongings as you will be staying in the House of Wind, with the rest of his Inner Circle for the remainder of the war. Claiming it's more convenient for you to be close, he winked before winnowing back to the Night Court, leaving you and Azriel alone to get ready to leave.

As you gather your belongings in your room, bringing what you thought was necessary, along with your twin blades, you feel cool whisps by your ankles. You look down and see that some of Azriel shadows are slinking around your legs, some making it up to your waist as they circle playfully.

"Sorry they sometimes don't listen to me." Azriel rumbles from behind you, as he watches you from the door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. Eyebrows pulled together in annoyance at the rare un-behaved nature of his shadows.

You giggle at the chilly feeling of them sliding along your skin, "It's alright really, I think they're quite adorable." You throw a quick smile behind you, showing how easily entertained you are by the shadows.

They continue to swirl around you, even as you finally finish packing the last piece of clothing you deemed absolutely necessary. The sound of heavy footsteps behind you draw your attention towards Azriel. He stops mere centimeters from you, so close you could see freckles that dotted his skin that are easily missed if you don't pay attention. Your breath hitches as he grabs your hand, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out your ring that you lost earlier this evening. "How did you find that?" You question, your voice coming out just above a whisper.

He ever so carefully slides the ring onto your index finger, it slides on smoothly, but he holds your hand for just a bit longer, almost like he yearns for it. "My shadows have an eye for shiny, pretty things, they bring them to me." His voice low, making your stomach do somersaults as he gently lowers your hand, before making his way over to your bags. Silently letting out a shuddered breath you pick up your twin swords and securely strap them onto your back.

You stick out your hand, preparing yourself him to winnow the both of you to the House of Wind, but his hand doesn't meet yours. Glancing into his direction you open your mouth to ask what was wrong, but were immediately met with a jacket flying towards your head. Yelping you just manage to catch it before it smacks you square in the head.

"You'll freeze if you walk around the streets dressed like that." He gestures to your outfit, the thin material of the skirt wouldn't even stand a chance at keeping you even remotely warm. Rolling your eyes you slip the large jacket on, the material engulfing you in cocoon of heat. You catch a whiff of remnant notes cedar and lavender from the jacket. Wrapping yourself up tightly you stretch your hand out. "Thank you." You gently smile, he nods back and accepts your hand, gripping it softly he begins to winnow you to the House of Wind.

Darkness surrounds you, as wind rushes around you, blowing your hair around. As the darkness dissipates, and light filters through the remaining shadows you squint your eyes to get a better view of the city.

There you stand, in Velaris, the city of starlight.

tag list: @dr4g0ngirl @tothestarsandwhateverend

#fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #rhys acotar #acotar #rhysand #azris fanfiction

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sixpillarsofgenesis · 7 months ago

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A Lies of P Character Comparison:

Carlo:

Carlo’s hair is very curly, regardless of whether it’s long or short. He really, really envies Pino for having straight hair. To annoy him, Pino likes to tug the curls and it drives poor Carlo up a wall because he only does it when Carlo is not paying attention, Pino please cease. Pino will never cease he finds it so, so amusing. (Carlo's hair is a paid actor and will fluff up at the slightest inconvenience and Pino has seen it for himself and laughs about it.)

Carlo’s favourite colour is the same as Ergo. It's a comfort thing, he just really likes the colour.

His favourite outfit is actually the Workshop Master’s Uniform - though he hates the little cravat thing and just prefers a tie. Carlo wears an earring with a chunk of Ergo on it as an accessory on one ear. Because of what happened to him, Carlo’s fingernails are permanently Ergo blue. (This is just vital information to me, I hope you understand)

Carlo follows the Path of the Bastard, using rapiers and other light weapons. His Legion Arm of choice is Flamberge. His throwable of choice is the Shot Put (he was quite good at it in school.)

Carlo is an artist! He can play the piano, but that was learned from Pino and through ruthless training when he was a child, and he holds a negative passion for it. But Carlo loves to draw, and sketch, and even drafted some weapon concepts for himself and Romeo, back when they were still in school.

Carlo knows how to look good! It's a self-preservation thing from when he was in school, he says. Bullshit, Pino says. These two bicker about it constantly because Carlo refuses to let Pino make what he calls fashion mistakes and Pino is very salty.

Carlo has scars on the back of his legs from when the nuns whipped his legs with a cane for misreading the scripture as a child. He's never told anyone about it.

Pino:

Pino’s hair is very straight when it’s longer - when it’s short, his hair tends to be on the wavy side, rather than the curly end. Carlo hates him so much for this. His bedhead though is some sort of nightmare situation going on, Carlo can feel great that he never suffers that.

Pino’s favorite color is green! Mostly the bottle green on the glasses, but dark pine green works too.

His favourite accessory is the green glasses, and he wears the White Lady’s outfit the most, but he stole the green shirt from the Alchemist’s Uniform. He also hates the cravat and prefers to wear the tie from the Alchemist��s outfit. He also has their little cape thing - also in white, he’s got a brand. His nails are generally either bright green or pine green, no in between - he saw Carlo’s and wanted to be included.

Pino follows the Path of the Sweeper, using heavy weapons and blunts. His Legion Arm of choice is Puppet String. His throwable of choice is - none, that's for cowards. (Carlo: hey!)

Pino cannot draw. Do not ask him he just can't. He is a talented musician, though, and adores playing the piano. He wants to play the church organ sometime, but never really got a chance.

Pino always has time for gaudy accessories. At some point, Carlo had to drag him away from a glittery feather boa that had rhinestones on it and Carlo is terrified for his fashion sense. Pino would like to object but Carlo has already decided Pino is never allowed to learn how to sew.

Pino has a few scars from where his Legion Arm is grafted because, after some time, Eugenie offered to upgrade it for him. She spent so much time apologising to him, but Pino rather likes having the scars, and he doesn't think it's her fault.

#lies of p #p lies of p #lies of p pino #carlo lies of p #lies of p carlo #carlo geppetto

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penny-for-her-thoughtsdv · 1 month ago

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Penny For Her Thoughts

A Kinder Place

Words: 2200

TW: animal abuse, animal death, alcohol mention, vomit, heavy emotions

When outsiders thought of Pelican Town and its history, they often fixated on its rich (and frequently tragic) mining past. But long before miners from ZuZu City and beyond migrated to the then-village, the valley had a legacy of seafaring folk who frequented the area to sell their fresh catches and enjoy the temperate weather. Even in Mr. Mullner’s youth, while he worked in the mines, he would snack on fish products sold by these fishers.

As the town expanded—thirteen buildings erected on the land, plumbing installed under the soil, a singular public parking spot added, and twenty-six permanent residents calling Pelican Town home—the fishing culture remained an integral part of the valley’s identity. Willy wasn’t the only enthusiast sailing the clean waters in search of the season’s bounty. Commercial fishers contracted by Joja occasionally visited, though not as often as trawlers from Ginger Island, drawn by rumors of relics hidden beneath Stardew Valley's depths.

The early mornings in Pelican Town were busier than most people realized, thanks to the frequent fishers. Each ship docking at Willy’s shop carried about twelve crew members, though only three typically disembarked to refuel or sell their catch. By those numbers, Pelican Town arguably saw more foot traffic than any other area in Stardew Valley—except, perhaps, the Calico Desert during festival season.

Not that Penny kept track. She had no interest in statistics as she sat on a washed-up log overlooking the beach every morning. The salty air, the lull of the waves, and the cries of gulls were a welcome reprieve from the stale smell of alcohol and the strained gurgles of hungover vomiting back home.

Still, her mind wandered. If her calculations were correct, Pelican Town gained nine visitors with each docking, three times a day—eighteen additional people setting foot on its shores daily. That surely outnumbered the participants at desert festivals. Penny chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying to picture the numbers in her head but giving up when the variety of festival-goers muddled her train of thought.

Her emerald eyes shifted to the distant blue horizon, idly noting a boat unloading in the distance. Her gaze lingered on the fishers, though she barely registered how quickly they worked that morning.

“Hm.” She hummed softly in thought, lowering her eyes back to the grayscale pages of The Solarion Chronicles: The Caves of Glass. Though she had read the book countless times since she was eight, its evolving lore and characters never failed to captivate her. Detective Daniel Stryfe’s discovery that his companion was secretly an intergalactic Leko always struck her as humorous. How had Stryfe not noticed? The signs were so obvious.

Sam had once told her the Leko species were the best to play in the board game adaptation of the series because their glassy bark-like skin made them nearly impervious to mortal weapons. Penny scoffed at the thought as her finger marked her place in the book. Closing it to give her eyes a rest, she looked up to find the boat now idling offshore, its lines plunging into the sea.

Curious but thankful that none of the fishers had interrupted her reading, Penny stood and brushed sand from her skirt. She decided to visit Mr. Willy. Leaving her book safely on the dock railing, she trudged across the beach, the coarse sand shifting beneath her flats and forcing her to exert more effort than she would have liked.

Reaching the wooden dock, she hesitated at the shop’s door. Just as her fingers brushed the handle, a sharp rustling sound from a trashcan beside the building drew her attention.

The noise was frantic, irregular, and louder than the usual clamor of seagulls scavenging scraps. Penny froze. It didn’t sound like a bird. The rustling stopped abruptly, as if whatever was inside had sensed her presence.

Her heart quickened. Clutching her skirt, she approached the trashcan cautiously, the early morning stillness amplifying every sound. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the lid.

Inside, atop rotting fish and decayed food, lay a small, twitching rat. Its tiny eyes darted around frantically. Penny gasped and, without hesitation, scooped it up into her hands. Her mind raced. She couldn’t leave it there to die. That would be cruel.

Emerald eyes darted to the fishing boat in the distance, her thoughts teetering between accusing the fishers and desperately hoping they weren’t responsible. She swallowed her rising sadness. The rat deserved better.

Cradling the trembling creature, she pushed open the shop door. “Mr. Bateman!” she called, her voice tinged with urgency.

Behind the counter, Willy looked up from weighing a herring. His salt-and-pepper eyebrows rose in surprise. “Aye—”

“Can you help it?” Penny interrupted, holding out the rat.

Willy frowned. “I’m not sure there’s much I can do, lass,” he said gently. Still, he signaled for her to wait as he disappeared into the back. Moments later, he returned with a dusty old box, likely once used for storing photos.

Carefully, Penny placed the rat inside. Willy sighed and scratched his beard. “Sometimes, even the smallest critters just need a bit o’ care. Maybe Marnie’ll know what to do. She’s got a knack for these things.”

Eyes watering, Penny nodded and thanked him before rushing out the door. She passed the log where she had been sitting earlier, the Harper sisters’ home, and Ms. Jodi’s house before reaching Marnie’s farmhouse.

Her focus had engulfed her to the point that she nearly ran face first into Shane, Marnie's nephew, as he turned the corner between his home and Ms. Jodi's.

"Yob-- fuck!" A very tired, very messy and very unsatisfied Shane shouted as the pair nearly collided.

"Oh! I'm sorry--" Penny replied. Then, she was gone.

Although Shane had been quite hungover and a tad late for work he stopped in his path and watched Penny rush to his home. Whenever they crossed paths she would always ask how he was or where he was going. Not this time though. With the lingering thought of her behavior, Shane continued his morning walk to Hell...or rather Joja Mart.

Marnie had no intention of starting her day as early as her nephew, she relished her morning ritual: several cups of coffee brewed slowly while she stood in front of the machine, watching each cup fill with steaming liquid. She sighed, savoring the calm before the inevitable busyness of the day.

The tranquility was interrupted by a knock at the front door. Rolling her eyes, Marnie moved toward it, assuming Shane had forgotten something again. The house was comfortably warm for a late autumn morning, and she didn’t rush. If it was Shane, he could wait.

The second knock was softer, almost timid. That difference prompted her to open the door, revealing Penny standing on the porch, her face tight with unshed tears and a shoebox clutched in her hands.

Without needing an explanation, Marnie stepped aside to let Penny in. “What happened?” she asked in a raspy voice, the result of years of smoking. Guiding Penny to a small workbench behind the counter, she placed a comforting hand on her back.

“I think…” Penny hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I think it got into something it shouldn’t have.” She placed the box on the table and opened the lid, revealing the still body of the rat.

Years of scavenging scraps on ships had made it larger than the rodents Marnie usually saw scurrying for food around her farm. Its pale body bore a brown blaze running from its small head down its back.

“It was alive when I found it,” Penny whispered, her voice trembling as her gaze remained fixed on the lifeless creature.

“Oh, honey,” Marnie said softly, wrapping her arms around herself. She placed the lid back on the box, then sat beside Penny. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I really thought I could help it. It couldn’t have been there for long.” Penny’s voice cracked.

Marnie nodded, knowing the truth: rat poison worked over days, not hours. The rat had likely spent its last three days in ignorant bliss, feasting on discarded fish and resting under the warmth of ship decks. There was nothing Penny could have done.

“I know you tried, honey,” Marnie said gently. “And I think the little one knows, too.”

Penny’s face twisted with grief, and Marnie could see how deeply the death of this small creature had affected her. Perhaps it wasn’t just the rat Penny mourned.

“What would you like to do with it?” Marnie asked after a moment of silence.

“I’d like to bury it under the big tree in the meadow,” Penny said. “It’s so beautiful—it deserves that.”

Marnie nodded. “The soil’s still hard from the cold night, but we can wait until the afternoon when it warms up.”

Penny hesitated, then said, “I can leave so you can start your day. I’ll come back later for Jas.”

Marnie shook her head, tying back her thick hair with a band from the counter. “Have some coffee with me, Penny. We can talk about the celebration of life. Jas would probably love to help, too.”

Penny pressed her lips together, emotion welling up in her eyes. The simple kindness in Marnie’s offer felt foreign to her—her mother never interrupted her routine for anything, and Penny couldn’t remember the last time someone made time for her.

The two women moved to the kitchen, leaving the box on the counter. Dust swirled in the golden sunlight streaming through the window. The rat, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, was finally at peace.

When Jas woke up and heard why Penny was there so early, she simply sat beside her and said, “Flowers are nice."

“They are,” Penny agreed with a faint smile. “Maybe a poppy would suit.”

The hours passed as the three of them collected flowers in the crisp autumn air. Marnie and Penny took turns carrying the small box as they walked toward the big tree in the meadow. The soil had softened by the time they reached their destination.

Penny knelt and began digging a tiny grave while Marnie and Jas helped shape it with sticks. They lined the hole with berry leaves and petals, creating a resting place that felt almost sacred.

“Mom and Dad had pillows,” Jas remarked matter-of-factly. “But I think this will do just fine.”

Penny watched her with quiet fascination. Everyone in town knew about Jas’s tragic loss, but the girl spoke about her parents with an unsettling casualness. Marnie, her expression tinged with sadness, said, “Maybe I’ll get a few feathers from the chickens to make a pillow.”

“Yes, please,” Penny replied with a small smile, watching Marnie head back toward the farmhouse.

In the background, near Marnie's farmhouse, Shane rounded the corner. It was early but not odd for him to be returning home.

Then came Sam Maddox, his brother Vincent trailing behind.

Penny stood from her spot on the ground and quickly wiped the dirt off her skirt.

“Is everything okay?” Penny asked, her concern genuine.

“Mom burned the pie!” Vincent shouted with a laugh.

Sam grinned. “A little bird told us you were in a rush today, so we ditched work.”

Penny’s throat tightened. She glanced at Shane, who had appeared nearby and was avoiding her gaze, a knowing look on his face. “Thank you,” she managed to say.

Word spread quickly. Soon, more townsfolk arrived, bundled against the chill but drawn by curiosity and camaraderie. Emily and Haley brought warmth with their contrasting personalities, Clint followed Emily dutifully, and Gus came toting his hearty laugh.

Jas spoke first. “We should say something.” Her quiet comment broke the silence, prompting Willy to step forward.

“Aye, it was a good rat,” he began. “Ate the bad fruits and kept the flies away.”

“It got to see the world,” Haley added, surprising Penny with her contribution.

“And eat so many rare foods,” Gus said, his voice thick with emotion.

A long quiet fell over the group, each person finding their own to bury. Emotion hung heavy and eyes set downcast on the ground.

"To a kinder place." Maru said, her voice low. She too buried something and sent it to a kinder place; a place it could be set free and forgotten.

The group shared stories, each person reflecting on small, seemingly insignificant losses in their own lives. The burial became more than a goodbye for the rat—it was a farewell to unspoken griefs and forgotten dreams.

Once the crowd dispersed, Penny stayed behind. Alone beneath the tree, she wept—not just for the rat, but for her own innocence, for all she had lost and couldn’t regain.

Yet her tears were not entirely of sorrow. She cried for the kindness of those who had gathered, for the small but meaningful gestures that gave her hope. They hadn’t come out of obligation; they had come because they cared.

As she sat cross-legged before the tiny grave, looking up at the bronzing leaves, Penny thought to herself, “To a kinder place.”

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cherrybombfangirlwrites · 9 months ago

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Your Kisses Burn Into My Skin (Only Love Can Hurt Like This)

CHOO-CHOO! ALL ABORD THE ANGST TRAIN :DDDD!!! Hope you all brought tissues. This is the potential last chapter I have for draft 0 of The Little Pirate, starring our two favorite sapphic pirates Cassandra and Erica of course. Buckle up folks :))). Cassandra (due to past trauma) thinks that Erica betrayed them, can she learn the truth before it's too late?

Wordcount: 1360

Warnings: fantasy violence, brief gore (someone's hand gets cut off), blood descriptions, major character death :))) (and a very angsty one at that), angst galore, due to trauma there's a little bit of miscommunication but it gets resolved, many feels, also most likely inaccurate depiction of how a volcano acutally works (it's not about realism its about the visuals and drama ok), lack of editing (i only did grammar edits)

The Little Pirate, Draft 0 - Character, Dynamic, and Plot Exploration

Inside the volcano was sweltering hot, visible heat waves rising from the black rock and sand. As they made their way deeper inside, they found the center of the volcano, where a large pool of lava bubbled. The lava didn’t rise or fall, which was a good sign. Across the pool, there were some rocks peeking out of the fiery liquid, creating craggy and unstable paths.

Erica gently grabbed Cass’s arm. “What’s wrong?” She signed slowly, trying to get the motions correct.

Cass stood there for a second, staring at her. Even in the rising waves of heat and boiling temperature, she was beautiful.

Erica blinked, knitting her brow. “Why are you looking at me like that? Cass?”

Salty tears burned in Cass’s eyes. She signed, sharply and deliberately, “Did you lead him to us?”

She stared in dumbfounded shock, mouth slightly open. “What?” Her signs became sharper and more deliberate as well. “You think I’d do that?”

“No, but how else did he follow us?”

“I don’t know how he followed us, but it was not me!” Erica signed the last part again, harder. “It wasn’t me!”

Cass took a step back, shaking her head as tears started to leak out. Her hands started to shake uncontrollably as she signed. “How can I trust you?”

Erica stood there for a moment, staring at Cass with a wounded look. Finally after a minute, she said, “I would never hurt you. I would never lead them to us. I love you, Cass!”

Those words. Those three beautiful, cursed words.

She swallowed, breath catching in her throat like a bubble that wouldn’t pop. “No one loves me. Not like that. No one can.”

Tears streaked down Erica’s face as she stared at Cassandra with a stricken look in her infinitely beautiful dark brown eyes. “I do. I love you.”

“No. I’m not worth it.” Her hands wavered now as she signed. Tears rolled down Cass’s face in burning trails, she couldn’t stop them now. She had to swallow another lump in her throat.

“You are to me.” Erica stepped closer, and this time Cass couldn’t pull away as she reached out and gently cupped her cheek.

“But everyone leaves me, I’m not worth staying around for.”

A big tear rolled down Erica’s face as she signed almost perfectly, “Not me. I won’t abandon you. You are worth staying for.” She leaned forward, gently pressing her forehead against Cassandra’s.

Cass shuddered, wrapping her arms around Erica and pulling her closer.

Then Cass felt vibrations under her feet of quickly approaching footsteps. Lots of footsteps.

She quickly signed to her crew, “They’re here! Get ready for a fight!”

She and Erica both drew their swords and the rest of the crew drew their weapons as well, as they all retreated across the unstable paths over the lava.

Gar Face’s crew exploded into the cavern, following them onto the rocky paths.

Cassandra blocked the first sword that was swung at her, pushing her opponent back and sending them into the lava.

Two more came at her as she felt the unstable path under her about to crumble away. She quickly stepped back, and when the two pirates stepped onto the crumbling section of path, it gave way and they both fell into the lava.

Behind her, Erica took on three pirates, throwing two off the path. Cassandra felt the path under Erica starting to crumble, and grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

The third pirate fell into the lava as Erica leaned against her. They both smiled, and stood back to back as more pirates charged at them from the remaining paths.

Cass blocked swords with hers, and threw one pirate after the other back into the lava.

No more pirates were charging up the paths on her side so she turned to help Erica.

As she did, she saw Gar Face charging up the path at her, lunging with his sword. Cass raised her sword, and blocked his.

They pushed against each other, swords scraping against each other. Cass could feel the scraping vibrations all the way down in the handle of her sword.

His momentum pushed her back until her heels were at the edge of the lava, but not for long. She used her size and strength to push back, pushing him to the edge, ready to throw him off.

He whipped a knife out of his boot, slashing at her legs.

Cass stumbled back, gripping her sword tighter as she glared. She should’ve known he’d play dirty.

He slashed again, too fast for her to counter. Pain flared in her arm as the knife slashed her forearm, almost making her drop her sword.

Cass grit her teeth, determined to keep a hold of her sword, even as the blood dripping down her arm made the handle slick.

He came at her again, and this time she swung her sword in a deadly arc, slicing through Gar Face’s wrist. The now disembodied hand holding the dagger fell into the lava as his mouth opened in a shriek she could barely even hear.

His face became red with pure rage, and he lunged at her, swinging his sword.

Cass attempted to block, but the handle started to slip out of her grasp. His sword connected with hers, and her sword went flying. The blade clattered onto an isolated rock over a river of lava that would be far too wide to try and jump across.

Gar Face grinned maliciously, his mouth moving and saying something that Cassandra couldn’t hear. Probably some prideful speech about how he won, and it was all over- or something like that. Felicity told her they were all the same.

Then with a shark toothed grin, he pulled his sword back to stab.

To her side, there was a muffled yell, and before she knew it, Erica was pulling Cass behind her.

Cass watched in horror as the sword pierced through Erica’s stomach and then back instead of hers.

Gar Face ripped his sword out and threw his head back, mouth open in a wide cackling laugh. The rock under his heels crumbled, and he fell backwards into the lava, mouth open in a terrified shriek. His body quickly disappeared into the lava, leaving only bubbles of molten rock.

Erica stumbled back, hand flying to the wound instinctively. Cass let out a silent gasp as she caught Erica and sunk to the ground with her. Blood was pouring out of both wounds quickly. Too quickly to do anything to stop it.

She desperately pressed down hard on the one in front, trying to stop the blood loss. She cradled Erica close to her, tears burning down her face.

Erica tried to push her hands away. Cassandra frantically shook her head, trying harder to slow the blood, but her hands were slipping and her trousers were already soaked with more blood where she knelt with Erica in her lap.

Hand shaking, Erica signed in broken fragments, “Can’t stop it- no use- too much-”

Cassandra shook her head harder, starting to sob. The last time she cried this hard had been five years ago, on a beach as she watched a boat sail away without her while her throat and legs painfully burned with what she’d given up to get there.

This time was almost worse.

Erica signed again, barely able to finish words, “I’m sorry- I said I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t- leave- I’m sorry- Cass-”

Cassandra gave up on the wounds, cradling Erica’s head with both hands and kissing her, desperately hoping it would keep her tethered to the earth. She leaned her forehead against Erica’s, clinging to her as she cried.

Erica reached up with a shaking hand, and brushed a lock of hair out of her face. Her lips were moving, forming words Cassandra almost recognized.

“I love you.”

Erica’s eyes closed, and Cassandra could no longer feel her breathing, she couldn’t feel her heartbeat.

She shook Erica, trying to wake her up, bring her back. Cassandra’s mouth opened in a silent scream, small noises escaping her throat as she leaned her head on Erica’s shoulder and sobbed.

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whump-me · 7 months ago

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Unseen: Chapter 18

Chapter 18 of Unseen, a novel-length whump story about a ruthless mob heiress and the superpowered assassin she kidnaps and forces to work for her—and the unexpected friendship that develops between them.

Masterpost | the Mind Games universe | Read the complete novel on Patreon

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Yvette was their objective, so they took her away first thing.

Violet knew right away they were going for her. She knew how to spot someone on a mission, laser-focused on a target. They looked at Yvette the way she had looked at every one of the targets Yvette had given her. The only difference was how hard they worked not to kill her.

Violet tried to stop them, of course. But there were too many of them. She had been taught to fight using the element of surprise, and one-on-one if possible. It was what her ability lent itself to.

They handcuffed Yvette and gagged her. Her eyes were wide and scared as they dragged her roughly down the stairs, not letting her find her feet. Every time Violet tried to reach her, there was an arm or a torso or the barrel of a gun in the way. It was all Violet could do to stop those arms from wrapping around her and those guns from aiming at her head.

Then Yvette was gone, along with the echo of her screams. The half-finished bowl of ice cream was melting in the living room—Violet could smell it, sweet and salty against the tang of blood. The faint, triumphant yowl of a vampire kitten room rose in the air. Then a rat-a-tat, add the sound of splintering plastic and shattering glass, and the kitten’s cry cut off. Someone had shot the TV.

Then, for the space of a few seconds, everything was silent and still. No sound except for their rough breathing. No movement except for their hands shifting on their weapons and their eyes locking on her.

Four against one.

She hadn’t done much training for scenarios like this, but she had done a little. Everyone did. She trained six-on-one before. Once, she had even won.

But that had been training. And in that moment of stillness, their faces changed. This wasn’t training, their eyes said. This wasn’t a kidnap operation anymore, either. That shift in their faces said they were willing to kill now, in a way they hadn’t been when Yvette had still been in the room. They didn’t have to worry about her catching a stray bullet now. The gloves could come off.

She knew that look, too. The look of someone who had come prepared to take a life. She had seen it in the mirror.

Violet broke the detente first—because if she didn’t choose how it ended, they would. She broke it by breaking one of the first rules she had learned in her training, and one of the most important.

She showed them what she could do.

With all eyes on her, she disappeared.

Their startled gasps left her briefly triumphant, like she had the upper hand. It was an illusion.

Either they had heard rumors of what Yvette’s pet assassin could do, or they simply knew how to handle the unexpected. Either way, two of them blocked the stairs, cutting off her route to Yvette. The other two spread out so they wouldn’t hit each other, then sprayed the room with gunfire. A bullet whizzed past her ankle, inches from burying itself in the bone. More bullets shredded the cabinets behind her.

The hole in the closet ceiling—she could make it. She was fast enough.

But Yvette was downstairs, helpless and afraid.

Yvette didn’t have anyone else.

She didn’t run. Instead, she called on forgotten lessons from her training. Lessons she had never needed to learn in any of her missions. Lessons she had thought she would never call on in real life.

She darted between two enemies and flickered back to visibility, just long enough for them to aim their guns at each other. She cycled fluidly in and out of invisibility, spending and replenishing her energy a little at a time rather than pushing the clock in her cells to its limits.

While she was invisible, she clawed at their eyes and pulled their hair. She wrapped her hands around theirs just long enough to try to misaim their guns and pull the trigger. She yanked one enemy’s ankle up and back to make him lose his balance, and bent another enemy’s pinky finger back until it snapped.

She needed a weapon. She came up empty. Why were there no decent weapons in this apartment? But she knew why. It was a prison for an assassin. Yvette hadn’t even given her a knife.

But anything could be a weapon. She darted back into the kitchen, grabbed a bowl, shattered it on the counter. Invisible, she slashed a line across one attacker’s face, and drove the jagged point of the charred deep into another’s thigh.

The room was all startled shouts and panicked eyes. “A ghost,” muttered the nearest attacker while she, unbeknownst to him, stood inches away. “We’re fighting a damn ghost.”

She took his measure. Then she took a risk. She grabbed for his gun, twisted his wrist, tried to pull the weapon from his hands.

He let it go—but only to wrap one meaty arm around her and pull her invisible body against him. As she flailed, he felt blindly through the air until his hand found her throat and squeezed.

She brought one hand up, break it down his face. He let go with a yell. She grabbed for the fallen weapon.

But all eyes were on their struggle now. And they knew what she would try next.

Before she could grab the gun, one of the others put his foot down on it. Another lunged for her.

She rolled away a second before the arms could close around her. A familiar strain filled her body—the clock in her cells counting down. She went visible again, and quickly darted into the hallway as their bullets chased her.

She took a breath. Two. Did she have the strength to go invisible again yet? She tried. Nothing happened. She had pushed it too far.

She kept her footsteps as light as possible as she darted into the bathroom. Weapons, weapons… something in here had to be a weapon. But Yvette hadn’t left her with much. Violet had been trained to improvise, but even she couldn’t do much with a toothbrush or a container of shampoo.

“Check the bedroom,” one of them ordered. “I’ll check the bathroom.”

She tried again to disappear. It worked this time. When she looked in the mirror, she saw nothing.

Then a square face with cold gray eyes appeared in the mirror. The man had a bloody scratch from where she had raked a nail down his cheek.

He looked around at the seemingly empty room. He raised his gun, preparing to spray the room with bullets.

Violet stopped looking in the mirror and started looking at the mirror.

She drew her fist back and punched the mirror as hard as she could. It exploded into glass shards.

She caught one out of the air. Heedless of her bleeding knuckles, she slashed out at him. She leapt to the side and rolled half a second before he could pull the trigger.

He missed. But so did she. His reflexes were surprisingly good for someone so big.

He turned toward the hallway, toward her. The other three converged on the empty air where they knew she had to be.

She dropped to the ground as quietly as she could. But even she couldn’t be completely silent. One of them kicked out toward her, caught her hip, drew a cry of pain from her. She rolled away in time to avoid another round of gunfire.

A sharp burst of pain bloomed across her palm. Had a bullet caught her? She looked down. She was still clutching the shard of mirror. It had dug deep under the skin, drawing a diagonal line from her pinky finger to the base of her thumb.

She crept away, holding her breath. She pressed herself tight against the wall and watched the intruders. Their cold eyes swept the room. The barrels of their guns quested back and forth like the muzzles of hunting dogs.

She couldn’t beat them.

The knowledge settled on her like a weight. It squeezed at her like a hand around her throat.

They had Yvette. If she couldn’t beat them, she couldn’t get to Yvette.

But her training had taught her how to recognize a hopeless situation. PERI operatives were valuable assets. Too valuable not to have been taught how to keep themselves alive.

If there had been only two of them, she might have made it. As it was, she couldn’t gain enough ground to go on the offense, even briefly. All she could do was pull out a few tricks to distract them long enough for her to get away, only for the cycle to begin again.

And even that wasn’t working anymore. They knew her tricks now.

The clock in her cells counted down.

She had one last trick. This one wasn’t from training. This one was from the movies she had watched.

She took the glass shard in her hand and threw it down the hallway hard as she could.

When they turned at the sound of the crash, she darted up and ran for the bedroom.

When the closet door was closed behind her, she went invisible. Behind her, gunfire gave way to tense words. They had figured out the trick.

She leapt and caught the edges of the hole. The splinters dug into her wounded palm. She bit her lip shut on a cry.

The footsteps thundered toward the bedroom.

She pulled herself up. This time, she didn’t have the luxury of hesitation. She threw the window open.

The guards down on the ground were dead. Bodies sprawled in unnatural positions with pools of red under them, painting the grass.

She went invisible again. Then she grasped the drainpipe and shimmied down. She paused only long enough to pull the window shut behind her. That would hopefully keep them from figuring out her escape route right away, which could buy her a few extra minutes—or a few extra seconds.

At this point, a few seconds could make the difference between life and death.

She dropped the last ten feet and landed hard on the ground in a crouch. She started for the road. Then she stopped. She remembered how long the road took. How many times the clock in her cells had run out. If the intruders came looking for her, they would catch up to her easily. They would find her. The shadows wouldn’t do enough to protect her against them.

Instead, she circled around the house—quickly, racing the clock inside her body. She knew what she was looking for. She knew from the movies she had watched.

Around the next corner, she found it. A garage.

The door was locked. There was a window; it was locked too. No time for subtlety. She kicked the window in, wincing at the scratches that cut through her pants and ran up her calf. She reached in and unlocked the window from the inside.

She clambered in just as she went visible again. A row of cars greeted her, six of them, sleek and shiny in candy colors. They all looked more high-tech than the kittens’ spaceship. And they were huge. She had seen plenty of cars before, of course. She had written in one on her way to all the missions Yvette had given her. And before then, she had ridden in the van, which was bigger than any of these. But riding in a car was one thing. Knowing she would drive one was another.

She was supposed to control something this size?

No time to think. She spotted a row of keys on hooks, and grabbed all of them.

Did she hear gunfire in the distance, or was she imagining it?

She wasn’t imagining the harsh shouts. Someone had spotted the broken window.

She leapt into the first car she saw—red and glistening and low to the ground. She tried the keys, one by one, until one made the engine roar to life like an angry beast. She squeaked.

She did what the people in the movies did. This knob next to her—it moved. And the pedals under her feet… those were important.

The car lurched forward, then lunged back. The garage door splintered around her. She shrieked.

And then she was moving forward again, hurtling toward the ruined garage door. With a yell of terror and triumph, she yanked the steering wheel hard to the left, and tore away down the driveway.

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Tagged: @suspicious-whumping-egg @whump-kitty @violets-whumperflies

Ask to be added or removed from taglist.

#whump #whump novel #my writing #my writing: Unseen #my writing: Mind Games #living weapon whump #superpower whump #emotional whump

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lonelywriter26 · 1 year ago

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Pssst hey so I'm incredibly mentally ill about this game and it's agents but ALSO I feel like Handlers aren't talked about enough so here we go, I've got four Handler OCs who I'm making all of your problems. They've all got their own little codenames and I love them.

Dragonfly

Place of Birth: Hadong-gun, South Korea

Nationality: Korean

Date of Birth: August 22, 19XX

Height: 5'7

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Brown

Blood Type: AB

Dominant Hand: Left

Status: Alive

Flavor Profile: Salty

Favorite Color: Azure

Zodiac: Leo

MB Type: INTJ-A

Weapon of Choice: Switchblade

Doyun Myeong, now Agent Supervisor Dragonfly, first worked as an agent supervisor at the Agency location in Seoul, Korea after joining from the police force. After struggling to guide their first few agents through their missions, Dragonfly was sent to the Agency headquarters to receive additional training.

They eventually grew in skill, and have led several successful missions, though they haven't been given a single assigned agent. They are typically assigned to newer agents in order to train them on lower-stakes missions.

Dahlia

Place of Birth: Providence, Rhode Island

Nationality: American

Date of birth: April 5th, 19XX

Height: 5'8

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Black

Blood type: A+

Dominant hand: Right

Status: Alive

Flavor profile: Sour

Favorite Color: Cyan

Zodiac: Aries

MB Type: ESTJ-A

Weapon of choice: Baretta

Amelia Madden, now Agent Supervisor Dahlia, quit her job at a Zoraxis-run hospital and joined the Agency as both a doctor and to be part of the retrieval teams. 2 months into her work, a severe arm injury sustained while out in the field left her unable to continue the position.

She agreed to become an Agent Supervisor, though depending on if her injury can heal enough, there is consideration to move her back to the previous position. As of now, she has been assigned to Agent (REDACTED).

Hummingbird

Place of Birth: Oslo, Norway

Nationality: Norwegian

Date of birth: February 23rd, 19XX

Height: 5'10

Eyes: Green

Hair: Ginger

Blood type: B-

Dominant hand: Right

Status: Alive

Flavor profile: Umami

Favorite Color: Pine green

Zodiac: Pisces

MB Type: INTP-A

Weapon of choice: Flash grenade

Jacob Nilsen, now Agent Supervisor Hummingbird, was first picked up by agents after applying for a Zoraxis position. Having claimed a friend by the name of Ollie had recommended the position, and not having been aware of Zoraxis' true nature at the time, he agreed to join the Agency as an agent supervisor.

Hummingbird has proven to be very proficient, leading many successful missions. As of now, he has been assigned to Agent (REDACTED).

Foxglove

Place of Birth: Bordeaux, France

Nationality: French-American

Date of birth: June 5th, 19XX

Height: 5'5

Eyes: Blue

Hair: Black with purple streaks

Blood type: AB

Dominant hand: Right

Status: Alive

Flavor profile: Sweet

Favorite Color: Electric purple

Zodiac: Gemini

MB Type: ESFP-A

Weapon of choice: Butterfly knife

Maya Emery, now Agent Supervisor Foxglove, joined the Agency straight out of college. She was originally assigned to work at Control Point Babadag, though never ended up going due to the events of Operation K'BOOM.

She was reassigned to a different location and ran multiple successful missions with Agent (REDACTED). She has yet to be assigned to a different agent after the agent was reported M.I.A during Operation (REDACTED).

OKAY now that that's over, I'm gonna keep ranting about them. They've all got codenames and stuff and I like to believe that, when you make friends here, you're on a last name basis. They're all on that terms with each other.

They're all part of a huge gossip chain among other handlers, and they all ADORE talking shit about their agents. Absolute adoration. They all really like hearing about the bullshit Phoenix does, and they've all almost called Mr. Crane "Dad" at least once. Thankfully, none have succumbed to the urge.

Myeong is 25, Madden is 28, Nilsen is 24, Emery is 21. They all liked John Juniper until he was revealed to be part of Zoraxis. They, among all the other handlers, pull "pranks" that they claim are tame, but are shit like putting bombs in people's desks. None of them have gotten sleep in the past year, they're all busy doing paperwork, so they rely on drugs, alcohol, and caffeine in order to not die.

There is a "playlist" they have. Aka a record player. There are sticky notes that people put nearby requesting songs or requesting songs be taken off. Someone stole a record because they hated it, somebody else stole another in retaliation. So now there's always a record missing.

Shawn hates Myeong because they never file their paperwork correctly. Myeong put a fish in his desk but he could never prove it was them.

Madden is arguably the most responsible, along with Nilsen, but she's very chaotic and probably has set a few things on fire. She also takes the others to the theatre when they manage to get off work.

Nilsen was really good friends with Ollie before Ollie went off to work for Zoraxis. He always believed Ollie didn't know Zoraxis was evil, and that got proved when Ollie got back because he DID survive and I won't stand to believe otherwise.

Emery gets called "Emi" more often than not not only because of her last name, but because of her initials "M.E." They make a lot of jokes about it. She was a tad bit traumatized after losing her first agent, who she had been friends with, but oh well.

That agent is alive actually, and one of the people I am currently trying to bully in a discord server. She and Emi (jokingly) make fun of the others in front of them, but they can't prove any of that because they're speaking French.

Also in case you wanna see what these idiots look like, have this picrew. (https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/2140077)

#i expect you to die #ieytd fandom #ocs #ieytd oc #these idiots arent important to anything why do they exist #i love them though #i might post more about them later who knows

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lucy-and-rebecca · 2 years ago

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Star Dress

I am very, very salty about the way Yukino getting her star dress was handled. Yukino getting it so easily while Lucy had to work so hard for it just didn’t feel right. So I tried writing a little fic of how I wish things would have gone.

(Also when it comes to writing action scenes I’m worse than Mashima so please don’t take it too seriously.)

From a very young age Yukino has trained herself to be prepared for any and every situation. She just wasn’t sure how much of that was going to help her in this situation.

Sting her friend and guild master made a week attempt to get up but he immediately fell down. Natsu from Fairy Tail was in the same condition. That meant she and Lucy would have to deal with Athena on their own. This wasn’t the first time she was stuck with Lucy in a difficult situation but Athena wasn’t like anything else she had faced before.

She saw Lucy charging towards Athena with her hands on her keys. Yukino called out to her as she followed. Other than Yukino, Lucy was the only person in the world who had contracts with the zodiac celestial spirits. Far more than she did in fact.

‘Lucy could easily summon someone like Virgo and if she summoned Libra…’ Yukino was thinking when suddenly Lucy was engulfed by golden light and when the light faded, she was wearing a rather reveling outfit and a whip. For a brief moment Yukino thought Lucy had left behind celestial spirit magic and learnt requipe. However, the next moment she saw taurus and she noticed the resemblance between Lucy’s outfit and him.

“What technique is that?” she asked Lucy.

“It’s star dress. It’s temporary but it lets me borrows the powers of the celestial spirits” Lucy told her.

Borrowing the power of celestial spirits? She had been a celestial spirit wizard for since she was a child yet she had never heard of it. While Yukino was processing this she heard Lucy yelp. She snapped out of her daze and summoned Libra.

“Help her” she told her spirit. Libra wordlessly did as asked and made Athena lose her balance just as she was about to hit Lucy. Lucy took that moment to get up. As soon as she did, she was engulfed in golden light once again, now in a strange made outfit and used Virgo’s powers to attack Athena. From the way she moved Yukino was sure that Lucy has dome this before a lot.

She closed her eyes for a second and tried to imagine herself wearing a star dress, she tried to imagine what Libra’s power would feel like. She had a good relationship with her spirits. Her sister has told her about the way she and some other celestial spirit wizards used to trat their spirits. Yukino could never imagine doing anything close to that. At the same time, she had also seen Lucy’s spirits opening their own gates to come and rescue Lucy because they cared that much. Did she have that kind of bond with her spirits?

“Libra” she called out.

“Yes, miss Yukino?” Libra replied.

“Can I do that?” She asked as she pointed at Lucy, “Can I wear a star dress and channel your power?”

“I don’t know miss Yukino, it depends on you” Libra said.

Yukino thought she knew the limitations of celestial spirit magic. That’s why she had learnt to fight. Lucy on the other hand had managed to push past that limit. She somehow needed to do the same if they had any hopes of actually defeating Athena. But would she be even able to learn it so quickly?

As if reading her mind Lucy said, “Of course you can do it.”

“I tried but I don’t know how” Yukino said.

Their little chat had given Athena enough time to get back on her feet. Lucy turned around to face her only to disappear into the golden light for a third time and emerge in a form she called Leon Maiden. Yukino knew it was possible to merge the powers of the spirits, but Lucy was doing that without even having to summon the spirits.

As amazed as she was with Lucy’s display of power it wasn’t enough to stop the living, breathing weapon of destruction in front of them. Even before she had to say anything Libra was assisting Lucy. She needed to join them soon. She closed her eyes, clenched her fists and tried to imagine what it would feel like to Libra and manipulate gravity.

“That won’t work” She heard Lucy say, “Don’t force it”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Yukino asked.

“Why do you love magic?” Lucy asked.

What kind of question is that? To begin with Yukino wasn’t sure if she loved magic. It was just something she picked up because she thought it would help her find her sister. She was about to ask Lucy what she meant when she saw Athena about to grab a hold of Lucy. She rushed in and pulled Lucy towards her and they both fell to the ground.

When their hands met just for a few seconds she saw something else. Celestial spirit wizards can talk telepathically with their spirits. Maybe because Lucy was tapping into the power of her spirits or maybe because of something else she didn’t fully understand, she felt like she was getting an answer to the question she was about to ask.

Yukino saw tears. She saw a little girl in back crying all alone in the dark. But the girl wasn’t alone. She saw a mermaid … Aquarius patting the girl awkwardly on the head equally awkwardly say “there there”. That memory shifted to another moment in tears with a much older version of the girl as she was being scolded by Aquarius. She was saying, “Lyla would have left and joined that fairy tail by now”. The memory changed to reveal Aquarius with a tearful face saying “Thank you”. The memory shifted one final time where she saw Lucy once again crying and this time a spirit that has to be Scorpio sitting beside her consoling her in the same exact awkward way Aquarius did.

I love magic because I was never truly lonely because of it. Lucy’s answer was clear.

In that moment Yukino wondered why did she picked celestial spirit magic. The golden zodiac keys are incredibly hard to obtain and yet she had gone out of her way to obtain as many as she could. Her search of zodiac keys had led her to the rearrest black key. Her search for keys however has started because of her sister. Sorano had loved the stars and the sky that love had extended to the celestial world as well. Yukino had convinced herself that if she followed what her sister loved they will eventually be able to re unite. For years magic had been her hope. Magic had helped her retain her connection with her sister for so long. Magic had kept her going.

Like Lucy, her spirits had prevented her from falling into despair and giving up. She closed her eyes and let that feeling wash over her. When she opened her eyes, she Lucy looking at her weirdly. At the same time, she could feel it. She could feel pieces’ power flow through her.

“You did it!” Lucy exclaimed.

“I did. I’m wearing a star dress.” Yukino said with a grin. “How do I look?” she asked.

“Oh ummm … You … You look fine” Lucy answered awkwardly. Although she couldn’t see Libra’s mouth Yukino was certain that she was laughing. She patted herself to get a feel of the star dress. Everything seemed fine until her hand reached her head. Oh.

Her eyes met Libra’s and she burst out laughing. Lucy quickly joined her. Although Athena was still looming over them, ready to attack them at any point, Yukino wasn’t afraid in that moment.

“Well done miss Yukino” Libra said and gave her a hand. Yukino took her hand and got up. Without letting go she imagined herself fighting alongside Libra and Lucy and she knew, even before she saw the golden light that it had worked.

“Take that!” She said as she performs a spell, she had seen Libra perform countless times before with the help of her new star dress. She promptly got a compliment from Lucy. Lucy performed a spell immediately after that and Yukino for a brief moment disappointedly thought that it would take Athena down for good.

Disappointedly?

Yukino didn’t share the same love for fighting as her guildmates and her sister did. She saw it as a necessity. Right now, however Lucy has revealed a side of celestial spirit magic that she never knew existed and she saw so many possibilities in front of her, waiting to be tested. She had rediscovered why she loved magic and she wanted to know where the limits of her magic actually existed, if they existed at all. Yukino was hoping that Athena would hold on just a little longer.

Fortunately, or unfortunately her wish was granted.

#fairy tail #fairy tail 100 year quest #fairy tail 100 yq #fairy tail fanfiction #lucy heartfilia #yukino ft

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katyspersonal · 1 year ago

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Ludwig x Maria always intrigued me. Do you have any ideas on their potential relationship?

Damn... This is a really cute ship ;-; I've been noticing that fandom, likewise, pointed out something fitting about them since the old fandom times xD And it feels so good for me? Whereas Gehrman and Laurence are 'dark' people, leaning on 'ends justify the means' side; Ludwig and Maria, on the contrary, are the knightly, honourable, 'bright' people believing in good and not having the full picture of what they're getting into!

🌙 They would both certainly love horse riding. Even have competition at such! The Cainhurst Knights (especially male ones) seemed to prefer horse-riding, and..... we all know Ludwig was a horse girl xd (source: dude trust me my aunt works at Fromsoft lol)

🌻 Maria would most likely take the lead in relationship. Although Ludwig would be surprised initially, but he would soon become HER horse-girl fdhshfd. Hell, Maria would be the one to plan the dates! AND she would be the one to provide Ludwig some adorable sessions of eating lumenweed/sunflowers past his beasthood xD

🌙 Unlike SOME people, Ludwig would be able to face the struggle Maria had to face upon Adeline giving herself to the research for the Eldrich Truth. More than that; he'd be able to comfort her, having faced the agenda himself. It could have given Maria more of a hope.

🌻 They ABSOLUTELY had friendly sparring sessions. Sorry, not I make the rules xD. Basically, a lot of their meetings feature kicking one another's ass until they can just laugh and forget all of it. They are both very battle-ready types! Training one another to be good at fight was the least they could do for one another!

🌙 They had MANY topics to be salty about; how Healing Church was getting things wrong, how chivalry mattered for the hunt, how Moon was a valid guidance for the hunters, how Laurence was kinda sketchy... You know those friendships when friends have many topics to vent about, but none of them quite drown out the quality of their friendship? That would be Ludwig and Maria!

🌻 Again, Maria would be the one to gift the flower bouquets in relationship. Luwdig would often be surprised by Maria taking up the role of uhhh, provider of romantic gestures in relationship. But he'd accept soon enough, and even think he could never asked for a better partner. Maria LOVES flowers, and Ludwig, with his ass obsessed with simply efficient weapons and nothing more, would learn to love her obsession with gardening!

🌙 They would both take their turns in crying and falling in despair as strong yet very sensitive warriors. They have all the resource to support each other at their hardest, and to encourage one another that the 'Stars and Moon' know the way. They are a weird combination of both having enough of their humanity intact AND enough of devotion to the exterior powers.

🌻 They would often get into the same silly jokes! They just get each other's cringe moments SOOOO much... At times, when they are separated, they think up of the jokes they will tell one another when they meet again!

🌙 Maria is 6'7'' (201 cm) tall, and Ludwig is 7'00 (213 cm) tall!! You could tell the height difference barely has any bearing on their relationship. They are both very tall!

🌻 I believe that Maria, well.... "died" before Laurence unleashed Executioners on Cainhurst. That'd send Ludwig into complete fanaticism over the 'Moon's guidance, believing the very act of following it alone could reunite him with Maria :( Regardless of her relationship status, that was what made him seek his ONLY source of confidenment in "Moon's Presence". Friendship or love, it didn't matter... There was only one power in the whole cosmos left capable of understanding his loss.

#thank you for ask!#ask replies #bloodborne #lady maria of the astral clocktower #ludwig the holy blade #ludwia #bloodborne headcanons #lol love how i have no much to say about them other than: 'they are both-#-capable fighters and they are both holding high value of one another'#'katy stop it we already have arthroriaran at home' fsdhhfhsfd #i sure need more fundament besides 'they just work well ok? source: dude trust me' fdshfds

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valkxrie · 1 year ago

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𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

WHAT DO YOUR MUSE SMELLL LIKE?

honey and tobacco for them both. slightly different undertones though - human brunnhilde more like neroli, valkyrie brunnhilde more like basil or pine. you'd be forgiven for thinking they smelled of the sea after a storm; salty and clean. you'd be right, but you're also probably at an arm's length.

WHAT DO YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE?

surprisingly soft. or, perhaps unsurprisingly because both brunnhilde's like to be clean. this includes using hand-cream. human b wears gloves to fly, valkyrie b wields a weapon - normally a spear - and would have some callouses as a result. clean nails, however.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY?

valkyrie brunnhilde can eat. flying burns a lot of calories, and so does training. she's on a high-protein, whatever-the-fuck-i-feel-like diet. human brunnhilde has a shocking diet that is mostly coffee and cafeteria sandwiches - but because she is in the military and has a fitness expectation associated with that - she does try to eat her protein and greens every day. after her coffee.

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE?

no. well... that's unfair. its fine. it's not awful - but does she have a gift? no.

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICKS?

human b , who is vain about her nails, chews the knuckle of her thumb instead. valkyrie b is perfect and has never had a bad habit ever. i jest. she 100% has bad habits and nervous ticks. for both of them; she paces when uncomfortable. inability-to-sit-still syndrome. if she has to sit, there will be some leg jiggling. running fingers over a cup rim. re-organizing things. this is mostly for human b - valkyrie b has more of her shit together. you should get really worried if either of them go completely still and completely quiet. you have entered shut-down mode. that's probably the worst habit; the walls go up, and she will remove herself from her emotions. for valkyrie b, this usually means you're about to get beat up. for human b, she's probably about to disassociate. their worst bad habit when they're nervous is being a snappy and irritable bitch. again, more-so for human b, but valkyrie b can be a real cunt.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE / WEAR?

human b is a quiet luxury girly, but unironically so. she likes high-end clothing without labels. very clean lines, tailored, comfortable, elegant. valkyrie b is often in black leather with black or gold metal features. valkyrie b will have her sisters paint gold on her wings for special occasions, and will decorate the topline of her wings for battle or events with gold or leather. again - very elegant and understated.

IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE? HOW SO?

in their own way. this reply to @kylo-wrecked probably describes it best.

WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN?

side-sleepers, the both of them. though - valkyrie b will sleep on her stomach with her wings akimbo. a mess of limbs and feathers. human b is a bit twisty; arms under pillows, legs over pillows.

COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM?

probably. unless she didn't want you to; in which case - you probably fucked up and should read up on her bad habits and nervous ticks.

tagged by: @nightmarefuele

tagging: you

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thetantiger · 1 year ago

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doing this 'cause I'm already experiencing art withdrawal from my hiatus I've forced onto myself with light encouragement from my friends so here we go

also I realize "game" likely implies some schmo is supposed to be like "please answer #69!" but fuck you I go by my own rules and have fun with it too

LMAO so this computer is only about a year old, a while ago my other computer literally shit itself and died so I used to have paint tool SAI on there but now on this one I legit only have the one I actually use which is FireAlpaca

Forward, but left is easier than right

I used to have this warriors self-insert OC when I was REAL YOUNG named Moonfeather that I still hold near and dear to my heart but haven't made art of in literal years and don't have a concrete design for. yes she was special, yes she could turn into a dragon (???) But if you mean ideas I currently use, Ray's been around since I was 10 so

EDITH LOL drawing little kid her is easy as fuck 'cause she looks almost exactly like kid-Gray but current/teen her is so aids 'cause she has all that dragon shit going on + her hair is complicated

literally I post everything online (that I can ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)) because I need validation there is not a single piece of digital art that I've made that hasn't been posted on the internet (for the most part ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°))

my own goddamn trauma. literally half the time I look at an arc a character just had and went "yo the way snarky like came back in a new form with blue reminds me of how my current cat acts exactly like the one I lost" and then I mental boom

gouache (spelling?), that shit's so pretty

literally just made a video about this lmao, the Animals PMV. RIP

if it's a finished piece in the form of a png I name it the piece's title, if it's a WIP art program file I name the file something like "ass" and move on

hoodies.. or scarves. belts are fun too

music or podcasts. sometimes vcs

face/expressions, I fucking LOVE drawing expressions SO MUCH

lotta them undertale/deltarune fanartists are fucking amazing but I've never been into that fandom. Also my husband is super into FNF mods and those are neat too

the little fucking ocean wiggles on fantasy maps y'know the ones

my house/desk lol

fuck idk. the shit I've trained myself to get good at is the shit I've really cared about, however my least favorite part of a piece is lineart

dear god no I HAVE to separate food from that shit, I have enough food anxiety as it is. I watch videos while I eat

not a whole lot actually, I don't distinctly remember doing so pretty much ever

literally fucking none actually. like I legit scoured my art and animation for this shit and couldn't find ANYTTHING. I adore drawing characters so much and anytime I have to draw something inanimate that's not directly clothing -on- the character or weapons it makes me want to kick a baby. broken glass is fun tho I guess???

hands. not that it's easier for me but I like how expressive I can be with em

tybaxel is so fucking amazing but that's like my only answer, not that I don't like other people's art that doesn't look like mine either but that's literally the only example I could think of because I don't keep track of this sorta thing, if it looks pretty I follow. that's my philosophy

lol

not sure what this means actually so no

only rarely for like purposes of poses or perspective. almost all the time my reference window is just a wow screenshot

nothing is coming to me off the top of my head but I have noticed characters or concepts I thought of before I found certain media crops up in said media anyway. like Detective looks very Lackadaisy and I'm not tryna say I'm salty about it I think it's neat actually

any piece with amab characters whose design includes being shirtless. like bro, tree is just chillin'

sometimes I scribble cool/dramatic expressions before drawing but only occasionally

i helped paint a mural in my hometown :D

vivzie's creations, a lot of the character designs are too spiky/thin for me but I understand the stylistic choice

LITERALLY the one I JUST posted based off the song Mama by My Chemical Romance I'm literally in love with it and I don't think anybody saw it fucking rip

anyway yeah fuck it I just felt like doing that lmfao

Weirdly Specific Artist Ask Game

Didn't see a lot of artist ask games, wanted to make a silly one.

(I wrote this while sick out of my mind last year and it's been collecting dust in my drafts, I might as well let it run free) 1. Art programs you have but don't use

2. Is it easier to draw someone facing left or right (or forward even)

3. What ideas come from when you were little

4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw

5. Estimate of how much of your art you post online vs. the art you keep for yourself

6. Anything that might inspire you subconsciously (i.e. this horse wasn't supposed to look like the Last Unicorn but I see it)

7. A medium of art you don't work in but appreciate

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in

9. What are your file name conventions

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw

11. Do you listen to anything while drawing? If so, what

12. Easiest part of body to draw

13. A creator who you admire but whose work isn't your thing

14. Any favorite motifs

15. *Where* do you draw (don't drop your ip address this just means do you doodle at a park or smth)

16. Something you are good at but don't really have fun doing

17. Do you eat/drink when drawing? if so, what

18. An estimate of how much art supplies you've broken

19. Favorite inanimate objects to draw (food, nature, etc.)

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways

22. What physical exercises do you do before drawing, if any

23. Do you use different layer modes

24. Do your references include stock images

25. Something your art has been compared to that you were NOT inspired by

26. What's a piece that got a wildly different interpretation from what you intended

27. Do you warm up before getting to the good stuff? If so, what is it you draw to warm up with

28. Any art events you have participated in the past (like zines)

29. Media you love, but doesn't inspire you artistically

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated

#i'm tired

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vivianvaldemar · 2 months ago

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general details.

full name: vivian nemesis valdemar. nickname(s): vivi. ( only those super close to her ) name meaning: vivian - lively, alive. nemesis - greek goddess of retribution. age: 40. / 400. date of birth: november 11th. place of birth: mortal realm. current location: dusk court. ethnicity: cauldron made high fae / white. gender: cisfemale. pronouns: she/her. sexual orientation: straight. romantic orientation: straight. religion: the cauldron. occupation: the spy master for dawn court. education level: high. extracurricular: mastery of various weapons. living arrangements: a house on the very outskirts of the court. financial status: wealthy. speaking voice and accent: low, soft. slightly growls when angry. spoken languages: fae. english. voiceclaim: eva green.

physical appearance, etc.

faceclaim: eva green. hair color and style: dark. straight & down. a braid when in fight or stealth mode. complexion: unnaturally pale. eye color: light blue, bordering on sliver. eyesight: fae perfect. height: 5'5.6. weight: 55 kg. body and build: lean, slender, fae strong. tattoos: no. piercings: earrings. clothing style: leather. always battle ready & mostly in black or dark colours. distinguishing characteristics: very piercing gaze. slightly unsettling. can be still as a marble statue. signature scent: dior poison.

health.

mental disorder(s): n/a. physical disorder(s): n/a. allergies: none. sleeping habits: barely sleeps. awake at night, sleeps around noon - midday. eating habits: normal. sociability: low, but will endure. body temperature: very low. addictions: cigarettes. drug use: no. alcohol use: like a sailor, but without intoxication.

personality.

label(s): the shadow of dawn. the unsettling one. the dark one. the made. positive traits: charming, charismatic, loyal & fierce. negative traits: intimidating, volatile, unpredictable & wrathful. likes: darkness, night, the moon & stars, the smell of incense. dislikes: daylight, open spaces, cheerful laughter & spicy food. fears: open spaces. habits: hermit like. squinting & scowling at people she feels sus about. reading alone & practicing martial arts & weapons training. goals and ambitions: to be left alone to her devices & to someday infiltrate & destroy Gaea. astrology: scorpio. personality type: INTJ. moral alignment: neutral good / bordering closely on lawful evil. element: earth. ( alt. darkness ). primary vice: wrath. ( alt. hatred ) primary virtue: fortitude. weather: cold. stormy. no sunlight. color: black. music: classical. beverage: rum, gin, bourbon, red wine, occasionally water & tea. food: salty. very carnivorous. animal: dragon. season: winter.

family, relationships, etc.

mother: eveline clare. deceased. father: victor valdemar. deceased. significant other: none. best friend: none. exes: a mortal boy when she was eighteen ( deceased ). a fae lover ( deceased ). sibling(s): three sister & two brothers. ( all deceased ) children: none. extended family: various mortal cousins ( deceased & living ). pet(s): black diamond python ophis.

head canons.

tw: murder. It's been a long time since she had forgotten who she was. Once upon a time this story promised a happy ending, but the Once Upon a Time ended it. Born to a mortal family on the Continent, Vivian was never meant to touch, taste or be part of the fae world, of Prythian. But, she was young, barely twenty of age. She was naive and she was easy to fall in love - and easy to love. Having just broken off thing with her lover Erik - who was caught in another's embrace - Vivian sought out entertainment and someone to mend her ailing heart, for Erik was supposed to be her betrothed, her one true love. There's no such thing as true love. Only a selfish one. She would learn that, too, and learn it swiftly. Vivian knew of the faes, knew of their arched ears and their etherealness. Knew of the risks, too. But, when a young male from Gaea stepped in her path, she allowed him to seduce her - and in turn she seduced him as well. It was a fairytale in making, but all things Made must be Unmade. She was Unmade - mortal and fleeting and with a fiery heartbeat. When her lover tricked her and cast her into the Cauldron - veiled to her as a simple bathtub - she became Made and her heart became molten ore of pain and hatred and ash. The Cauldron spoke to her. Spoke to her of treachery, of faes, of all the legends being true and worse. It Made her into a thing of wrath, of retribution and despair, of hatred, and shadow, and fire. It fractured her sanity for a moment - and a moment was enough. When she came to her senses, she held aloft her lover's severed head. NEMESIS! NEMESIS! the Cauldron cried out her middle name, but she left that rotten iron thing in that hellhole where her lover took her, in Gaea. She came to Dawn court without even truly knowing how she got there. Just like that, in a blur of unimportant events, she became the Inner Circle and the spymaster. She was a creature of the Dead and the Dark, a Shadow incarnate though she possessed very little of the shadow abilities - only to blend into it. And now she lays in waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Just like the Cauldron waited for her to be submerged in it's freezing, misty waters, so she wait for an opportunity. An opening. And then her retribution upon the Gaea and the fae realm will begin.

#ofcourtfables:intro #( the spy commander )#about.

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wndrbcy · 2 years ago

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continued from here for @redemptioninterlude ilu ilu ilu

♡ Some of the truth tastes salty. It’s just the rim of it all, a teasing texture to balance the rest of it, but Jade is fairly certain he’ll be left thirsty. That was the complication with their relationship, he’s seeing the cracks now. They knew each other well, too well, layers and layers atop one another-memories and bodies shared and mutual understanding, but never prepared for something real. For a conversation longer than a couple minutes before one of them caught the idea. Truth is, Jade doesn’t always know when to stop pushing and so he rarely pushed at all. Never, with Sookhee. An arrangement that served them both well, but now he’s no idea of her boundaries. Being resourceful and all it seemed far fetched to think she’d stay where there was danger. It doesn’t strike him to consider killing was something Sookhee knew well. He knew her to be pretty, cautious and soft except for when she wasn’t. There was something missing, and Jade could nearly taste it. The lack of risk.

♡ He likes the floor. Something about being low and grounded, feeling the thumps from below-a distant sound of normal. A personal metronome bumped through him, and almost humorous how life was continuing around them, as if his own hadn’t just become entirely up for debate. It’s intoxicating, this amount of grief all at once, like a weighted blanket or a bad hangover. Pangs against his skull, demanding his attention. His questioning was a distraction from the newness of it all, still he finds it impossible to hide how uncomfortable he felt. Pretty green jade, always has to be in control. Peeking through blinds and letting a little bit of himself seep into every stanza, every bass, every moment with her, but always at his own discretion. Without question, Sookhee had now seen him at his absolute worst-had been the only person to. It seemed foolish to try and hold anything back.

♡ “Ok.” he accepts. No cops, no witnesses. Whoever it had been, he apparently wasn’t worthy of things like equity or faith. The man was here one moment and gone the next, an unhappy accident and that was that. Maybe he even deserved it. Sookhee, justice in her own right. All that, Jade can take. But she seems so certain. In fact, the only thing that seemed out of place in all of this was him. He lets her hold on to him, wants to tug her to the ground alongside him. To see her crumbling- that might be just the thing to relieve him of the funkiness. Instead jade slowly brings himself to his feet. She was right, again. A shower might be nice, would cleanse him much more than some dingy train station bathroom would. Still, even when this place only suggested someone lived here, it feels invasive to stink up the apartment with his sins. Walking and talking evidence imprinting on the first thing he’d seen of hers.

♡ “How were you going to kill him, then?” he asks cautiously, uncertain if the question was well placed. Or if the response was something he would even want to hear. It had been life or death, right? him or her? Sookhee must have had some sort of plan. If not the full truth, he would like this much. To imagine for a second that their fate would have been any different. He attempts to picture it. Sookhee’s grip firm around his throat was familiar, but the task of truly squeezing life away was so brutish, so passionate. And weapons seemed something otherworldly. Something bodyguards kept carefully tucked away. He almost laughs again. Still, he likes the implication that comes with being by her side-a sort of trauma bond that was still finding it’s footing. The only thing certain about his future now was that Sookhee was in it and that things had gotten much more complicated. He can’t be blamed for searching for answers, yet it’s crossing that unspoken boundary between them. Gaze shifts from her towards where the bathroom may be, a silent resignation of the topic, worrisome that he may have offended her with such an invasive ask. Jade pressed his lips into a fine line, silently promised that however he’d change, Jade would always be her best boy. A nod towards the bathroom, “Can you join me?”

#no gifs bc i need to be better at making them idk #✧ ・。. ／ 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 ; jade 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 - — ♡#✧ ・。. ／ 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 ; jade ft. sookhee - — ♡#redemptioninterlude

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bokettochild · 3 years ago

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Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones

Angst! My Beloved!

Not a lot of whump here, but I put Wild through the wringer!!! Lots of BotW2 ideas and concepts here, but nothing really cannon.

Also, disclaimer: I think Flora is a wonderful person, a bit harsh and sometimes unkind, but I feel for her a lot. The prompt submitted to me however asked for her as an ass, so that's what's here, for angst reasons. THIS IS NOT HOW I PLAN ON WRITING HER NORMALLY!!!

When Wild left the Chain behind in the woods, it was with a soft smile and a hesitant wave of his right hand. It was with a gentle ‘See y’all later’ that made Warriors shake his head with a sigh while Twilight offered a wobbly grin.

He would join them again, he knew that. After all, Hylia wouldn’t have chosen him to go with them in the first place if he was only supposed to leave before they’d even really started to know what it was that they were meant to be doing.

He’d see them again, and he’d fall back into a routine with all of them, sparring with Warriors and teaching Hyrule to cook and shield surfing with Wind and learning to carve from Sky. He’d go back to sewing with Legend, to exploring with Hyrule, to learning the Ocarina with Time and teasing Twilight about his terrible singing. He could work with Four on the Sheikah Slate and experimenting with different plants he’d gathered. He would see them again, and he’d go back to being busy and smiling nearly every day.

For the time being however, he had to square his shoulders and harden his jaw as he stepped through the swirl of black that had repulsed all the others every time they tried to enter. He had to tame his mind and wild spirit and come to stand before the Princess of Hyrule in all of her stern glory and receive the scolding he was due for wandering off without permission.

He never had time to question what she meant by being gone for ‘two whole weeks’ before she was marching off towards the labs and explaining that there was a new task for them to complete.

Such a task was one that left in his mind no time for thoughts of his brothers save on the lonely nights in the sky when the islands above the clouds were silent save for the birds about him that reminded him of Sky, or when he ran across the forests and was reminded of the wolf that once ran at his side. And, alright, the tiny people in the grass and the fountains reminded him of Four and Hyrule. When the wind sang strong in his ears as he dove towards the earth from the highest places in the sky, he couldn’t help but envision a small hero whose laughter danced like the sea and who’s fingers mastered the currents of wind and sea both.

It was a lonely quest, just like his last before it, but somehow it was more painfully so, now that he knew what it was to have brothers at his side to catch a monster’s blade when he was too slow or to help him patch himself up afterwards. It was quiet when the Princess and he sat around the fires as night, she studying him as he sat still and stonelike as she worked.

The hand that had waved goodbye to his brothers now flickered green and ethereal in the night shades, iron bands clinging to the wisping appendage and acting as a bond to hold its form together. It was nothing like what he’d known or studied in the Sheikah technology, or even what he’d seen from the many worlds he’d traveled with the other, and it earned many a stare and twist of the lips from those he met and traded with during his journey.

The arm was only the first of many changes, it’s power seeping through his body and altering him before he even knew what was happening. He’d hated it at first, disliking how it changed him, made his eyes glow and his hair touch with the same ethereal shades, red bleeding through at the roots and earning him even more wary looks.

Ganon, in all his terrifying power, had been a surprising comfort during the quest, an aid to discovering his new abilities and training them to bend to his own will. The Princess had been wary of their relationship, but had accepted it when she saw what he learned to do, and every evening she would require a report of his newfound skills, as well as the occasional demonstration or examination.

It all came to an end both too soon and not soon enough.

Ganon was gone, as if he’d never been there at all, and the Princess was as cold as ever even after their second adventure at each other's sides. And now there was no use for the abilities that had fused to his soul like the arm had to his flesh. He’d asked Purah if there was something that could be done to restore his body to its normal Hylian state, without the glowing limb that earned his only stares and insults from the village people, but the Princess had overheard it and declared that such a thing should not even be attempted.

“You don’t understand, Link. Don’t be foolish! We have here a scientific marvel ready for our investigation and exploration and you want to get rid of it just because it looks odd?”

He’s shuffled his feet slowly, resisting the impulse to rub at his chest where the Hylian part of him ended and the eldritch horror began. “I can’t live like Hylian anymore.”

“Because you aren’t one!” Her Highness rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Sir Knight, after everything I certainly doubt that Hylian even applies to you anymore! Hylians do not possess the qualities that you now do, and they most certainly do not travel through stone or time or any other such thing at will. Think would you! You’re something else entirely, and I intend to find out what that is!”

Purah had frowned at that, eyes full of sorrow as they met his own with an apologetic sigh. But there was nothing the de-aged scientist could really say against the royal Sovreign of Hyrule, not as a Sheikah sworn to the service of the royal family. The woman/girl had offered him a sympathetic pat on the head later after climbing up to reach high enough to do so, as well as a few dumplings that Paya had sent on her grandmother’s behalf the day before. It was a welcome gesture, but amounted to so little on the grand scale of life. Not when so many others he had once called his friends had so blatantly rejected the mere sight of him.

Bolson and the other carpenters shied away from him with harsh whispers as they spat insults across the distance.

‘Half-blood’.

‘Gerudo Bastard’.

‘Freak’.

‘Demon’.

There were favorite insults spread from stable to stable and up and coming village to up and coming town and slowly all of Hyrule knew of the monster that had once been the hero. Gossip abounded, and he couldn’t even turn to shield his face with his hood without drawing attention to his arm.

It was only the koroks that welcomed him, themselves all too accustomed to the strange and ethereal. Them and the blupees.

Maybe it was the knowledge of how it felt to be shot at for his oddness that allowed him to ease into the graces of the flighty animals. And maybe it was his lonely heart crying for comfort, but when nestled in their midst, it almost reminded him of how it felt to be hugged by the salty veteran, on the rare occasional that the pink-haired hero had let down his guard.

The fairy’s tangled themselves in his hair and the blupees gathered at his feet, koroks dancing around him and flying to his side as if he was some sort of forest god, but the strange rise of his spirits in their presence shattered the instant a traveler caught sight of him.

Arrows and fire, once his favorite of weapons, were turned against him as words in every language of the New Hyrule had burst from the mouths of its people, and like his namesake, he ran before them, darting through the forest and fading in amidst the trees, hiding, incorporeal and translucent within the halls of the forest as those he’d once seen as allies pushed him away.

He’d begged the new Queen for aid, for relief or even just a word to the people that he wasn’t the evil they had come to think he was, but she only waved him aside with a purse of her lips. “You are not meant to be here without first asking.” The Child of Hylia declared, eyes as cold as the Shrine’s waters themself. “And why should I make a declaration on behalf of a man who refuses to even speak to me properly? You come groveling like a worm, yet for years it was I who you ignored. See how it feels, Sir Hero, to be the one left helpless at the hands of the country. Know what it is to be scorned by those who you thought would love you.”

He’d barely made it out of the window before the trainee guards of the newly repaired Hyrule Castle had caught him and Queen Zelda Diana Hyrule had stared after him with eyes colder than Hebra’s tallest peaks.

It was the Father Tree -the Deku Tree as the Queen had called it, but the koroks laughed at him for using the name, so he’d adjusted in kind- who suggested that he hide the changes, and he’d begun to wander Hyrule as much as possible to find the materials he would have needed.

The Queen still required his presence regularly so she could inspect him; her love of science no ways tainted as to stop her from ordering him to appear regularly, as there was now no need or safety in his acting as her guard. The Queen sought her people’s respect, and to employ such a being as himself, not Hylian and not quite mortal, would be to spark fear in the people. Indeed, when he skirted villages, he would wince at word of ‘the queen’s monster’ as gossip was traded. Those who didn’t see him themselves knew him as a beast of feral nature who lived amid the lost woods and destroyed any who came close.

“A specter that glows with the light of the shrines.” They would tell each other over campfires. “It has eyes like a ghost, empty and lost, with no care for humanity or Hylia’s chosen. They say it was once the Hero of this world, but he died ages ago.”

“I heard it’s the body, possessed by a being beyond this realm, a monster escaped from the edges of reality that tried to hide in our midst but corrupted it’s host so that it only scares away others, leaving it roam the earth in a shattered body. If you get too close to it though, it’ll take your instead.”

He’d stayed away from towns after that.

The blupees and koroks had been happy to help him to find what he needed to hide among the Hylians should he wish though, and two in particular guided him; the korok swinging little twigs like they were batons and humming swinging little shanties as it hopped along the path, the blupee snorting softly and nipping at his heels when he wandered too far, unnatural purple eyes staring up at him with something that was fondness and a reprimand all at once, and in their care he’d made his way across the land of Hyrule to find what would be needed to return to his once life.

The fairies and their Great cousins had been welcome help, and in time, he’d been able to walk amid the populace of Hyrule like any other, as long as he kept a long cloak about him and his hair pulled back to hide where the roots would begin showing again in gold and ethereal blue.

Once Hyrule had talked about needing to hide in his world, about the curse that followed him and made the Hylian people afraid. He’d thought it bizarre and ridiculous of the people at the time, but now he understood what it was to live it.

When the portal opened beneath his feet the day that the Queen had reprimanded him for concealing and potentially damaging the strange limb, startling the Skeikah scientists and Queen both, he’d nearly cried tears of relief.

He was going away, somewhere where he wasn’t a science project and where, unless they traveled to his world’s future, no one would know how much he had changed. His copy of the slate had enough hair dye to last him a few months, and he was certain he could make more over time, and as long as he continued wearing the tunics and gloves the fairies had helped him to adjust to hide the glow the others would probably never catch on. Or well, he could extend it anyway.

His brothers greeted him with open arms and teary eyes, and in a strange parallel to his adventure, he found himself thinking of blupees when Legend had curled against him, stiff and cold on the outside, but with fingers that clutched his tunic just a bit too tight to really be reluctant. And Four, Hyrule and Wind’s exuberant hugs and chatter brought to mind tiny forest people and koroks with twigs for batons.

It was good to be home.

It was good to cook for other people again, and they were glad to have him cook for them, even if his fondness for both Gerudo spiced dishes and fae like sweet things had increased exponentially during his newest adventure. It was good to fight at their sides, even if it was strange to once again have to take others into account before he could select a weapon. It was good to sit around a fire and talk with the others too, but that was perhaps the hardest one; it had been ages since he’d had a proper two-way conversation with anything other than a tree or a korok, and neither of those was good at either staying awake or staying focused for very long.

There were some harder things to adjust to though. Fire, for one. Unlike before when he’d have been happy to burn an enemy camp to the ground, now he was wary of using faming weapons or spreading heat further than necessary. The same went for hunting; he couldn’t bring himself to shoot an animal unless it attacked first or they needed the meat it would provide, and even then, he felt a bit bad for doing so. Is this what Twilight had felt like? Is this why the rancher never liked hunting? Because he too knew what it was like to be on the other end of the bow?

But the hardest thing by far to readjust to was his name.

‘Wild’ they had called him again, and after months of ‘the wild one’, ‘wild beast’, ‘monster’ and every other insult, slur or title that had been used on him, it made him flinch ever so slightly at the words. And unlike the other things where his brothers dismissed it as a change caused by his adventure or an increase of maturity, it was something that the others seemed to either not notice or to excuse as situational.

He had adapted though, learned to keep a smile on his face where blankness had once been required in his knightly duties, and the more he wore the mask the easier it was to put on again.

He’d reveled in traveling across time again, in dancing through battles and exploring the world without the Queen reprimanding him in her cold tones to stop wandering off. He’d pushed himself to learn more music in the last adventure, and even if his experience was more with what few instruments Ganon had had time to help him learn, he’d enjoyed sitting down with the others and borrowing one or another instrument to play a tune and sometimes he even got to sing.

He fell to comfortably into his role though, even with the changes, and he hadn’t even noticed when they’d come back to his world. To be fair, it was different in the daytime, and Hyrule had changed so much in the absence of her hero as he hid himself away from the eyes of civilization. Towns and roads had sprung up where there had only been fields before, and the Guardians that had littered the land had all been dug up and hauled to the castle to be either restored or destroyed by the Sheikah, depending on what Queen Zelda decided after she looked at them herself. The world was so different to him, so unlike that which he knew, that he’d failed to keep as alert as he ought to have been when he wandered about an open market with the others, laughing and chattering away with the other younger ones as Time and Legend herded them towards the needed stalls.

It was a traveler that was his downfall, a man who’d seen the Monster Hero and had been among the first to discover the disguise he wore.

No questions were asked when the word spread, and Wild hadn’t caught on to the whispers until a stone had struck his cheek and he was stumbling forwards on the path.

“Wild!” Twilight was at his side in a minute, Time right after him as Legend launched a barrage of insults at the guilty party who’d thrown the thing.

“’m fine.” He was careful to wipe the blood away with his cloak, holding the fabric to the wound to prevent bluish blood seeping down his face and exposing him to his brothers. He wanted to keep them as long as possible and proving himself to be a monster, not even Hylian, would surely have them turning their backs on him.

“Get away from him!” A woman scolded, grabbing ahold of two of the younger heroes while several other shoppers had like ways grabbed Legend and Sky. “Are you dears alright? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“Freaking what?” Legend shrieked. “Who’s the injured party here?”

“I’d avoid that thing, son.” A man huffed through a frankly walrus like mustache, eyes hard as they trailed to where Wild stood, cloak still pressed to his cheek as he attempted to wave off a fussing Twilight and Time. “It’s not natural. Sure, it looks like a normal Hylian, but that’s just an effective ruse.”

Another villager nodded. “It’s one of the Calamity’s puppets, a Gerudo-Bastard set on destroying the kingdom!”

“He’s the freaking hero!” Legend shrieked, barely being held back by a steely eyed Sky. “He saved all your freaking asses and all you can do is insult his flipping guts? Who’s the-”

“Enough.” There were few times that Sky’s voice reached levels worse than Twilight’s growls, but the stern command, regal and firm, froze all present as the man stiffened with a cold nod towards the villagers. “I see we are unwelcome here, and with that being the case it would be wise to spend our rupees elsewhere. Legend,” A tug to the boy’s shoulders. “Let’s join the others and be out of their hair. If they cannot be welcoming and kind to our brother than they will not receive our patronage.” And like a swan gathering it’s cygnets, Sky swept down the street, cape fluttering as he ushered the rest of them out of the town and back to the safety of the wilds. The village stared after them with wide eyes, as if they’d just been judged by a breathing god.

The stiffness in Sky’s shoulders faded as they neared the edge of the forest, and instantly the Chosen Hero been tutting over Wild, gently but firmly prying his hand away from his face with a kind smile that almost set Wild at ease. Almost.

“It’s fine, it’s just a scrape.”

“Still.” Sky crooned softly. “I’d rather we clean it up now and make sure it’s nothing worse than let it sit and get infected later.”

And though he’d tried to fight, his single Hylian hand was no match for the firm grip of the Skyloftian, and within minutes his face was exposed to the shocked faces and flickering eyes of his brothers.

“It’s blue...” Wind breathed as Hyrule darted forwards, hands already glowing softly only for them to stutter to a stop over Wild’s skin.

“It’s... Wild, why is your blood- why is-” The healer’s eyes had flickered golden for a moment, wide as they stared up at him. “What happened to you-”

“What the freak!” Legend had startled, blinking in surprise as he stared. “Your eyes are glowing!”

Shit! The healing properties of the arm had already taken affect and it was making everything act up all weird! He shot a glance down at his arm, one hand raising to tangle in the long hair he couldn’t even see at the moment, praying silently beneath his breath that nothing was showing through. It wasn’t, but that didn’t change how Hyrule had come to fixate on his right arm, or how the healer's fingers hovered over it sparking and eyes twinkling as he whispered softly under his breath.

“Wild.” Time had sighed. “I think this one is going to need an explanation.”

All the breath left his lung in instants.

He’d panicked to say the least and Time had eventually shooed the others away to make camp as the eldest hero had sat at his side, waiting silently for him to regulate his breathing. Touch was too much right now, and any attempts from the others to ease him down or help him level out his breathes had only made him panic more. But when at last his blue eyes blinked back to clarity it was to see Time sitting at his side, a gentle tune wafting from the Ocarina at his lips.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, trying his hardest not to startle Time or otherwise make the situation worse. “I should have said something, I know. I just- missed being Wild and I wanted to come back and be normal and I didn’t want to-”

“It’s alright.” Time’s voice rumbled softly, a single blue eye turning to him with a pained look, even as the man offered him a hint of a smile. “None of us talk about our adventures either.”

“Yes, but you’re people.” He sighed, rubbing the fingers of his glove together. “You’re allowed to choose things.”

There was pain in Time’s voice when their leader answered. “And you’re not?”

“I’m not Hylia anymore.” He whispered. “I don’t count.”

“You count to us.”

“That’s because you don’t know.”

Time shifted, turning to face him fully as the ocarina was set firmly in the grass. “That’s because you’re family and we care. Wild, I don’t care if Demise himself named you the king of the dead, you’re still my kid and Nayru knows I’m not going to let you go without a fight. If that means fighting you, alright, but you’d best better believe that no amount of physical or mental changes will break the bonds we all have with you.”

Something, something damaged and crushed and stitched up and torn open again clenched inside of him, tears pricking at his eyes as he stared up at Time’s royal blue gaze. “W-what?”

“You could be granted godhood, made a monster, I don’t care. You’re ours and you’ll have to deal with that.” Time smiled, warm even with the pain in his eyes as he looked down at him. “So how about you start again, maybe with the facts rather than the insults. Or,” Time softened, brows furrowing lightly. “If you want, we can just sit here and you can choose to talk about this later. We do need to know, so we can help you and keep you safe, but you don’t have to tell us right now. You can take some time to figure out what you want to say if you need.”

And, well, shoot him, but Time’s arms had always been a safe place and there was one thing he’d wanted more than anything since he had come back. Wild threw himself into his grand-mentor's arms with a soft sob, clutching tightly to the other, ignoring the armor and its sharp points and awkward shapes as he tried to hold back all the emotions swirling in his chest.

Time’s arms folding around him broke the floodgates though, and when the man’s hand had stroked through his shortened hair, he’d had to bury his face in Tim’s neck to muffle his sobs.

“There, there,” Time hummed softly, rocking slowly as he held the broken wild hero. “Let it out, little one. I have you, I’ve got you and I’m not letting anyone hurt you.”

#whumptober 2021 #linkeduniverse #linked universe #idiot writes angst #idiot writes whump #lu wild #lu time #lu sky #lu legend #sky is scary when he's mad #wild whump #botw2 #botw2 theories #mean flora #flora bashing #zelda botw bashing #I ACUALLY LOVE FLORE PLS DON'T HATE ME!!!!#father time

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colossal-fallout · 4 years ago

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Cock Canons

Reiner - Porco - Bertolt - Levi - Hange

This is NSFW. You MUST be over 18 to be on this blog.

Graphic descriptions of characters cocks and prefered strap ons. Pics are included (Pictures are as close to what I imagine as possible)

- Feel free to request more characters for the cock Canons -

Reiner Braun 💥

Reiner has a monster cock. It's at least 9" and its girthy too. It slightly curves at the top, rendering it impossible to not have an orgasm while he's inside of you, as his fat head prods at your G-Spot over and over.

Reiner's cock has that clean salty taste. He showers often with all of the training he does so it's never unpleasant to have in your mouth.

When it's errect the veins are pretty protruding; having to keep such a large muscle supplied with plenty of blood as he fucks you into the other world.

His balls a large but not overly so. The skin around them is pretty tight and he likes to shave them because he doesn't like the feeling of being over-grown. And he loves it when you sensually suck on them.

[ This ] is the closest pic I could find of what Reiner's cock would look like. It would be a slighter darker shade but the heads shade of pink is pretty spot on.

His pre cum is super sweet, like corn syrup or something delightful.

His cum is more salty but still not bad. It's extremely thick and ropey. This cock, with all of his testosterone, breeding kinks and his natural pheromones, is just designed to impregnate.

Porco Galliard 🥵

Porco's precious penis is shorter than Reiner's but just as - if not more - girthy.

It's more rounded at the top and oh so deliciously fat. Like his neck.

Porco also showers as often as he can, as he's always pushing himself during training so his dick is usually nice and clean.

It's still a fucking weapon so his also has a strong appearance of veins as it requires a lot of blood flow.

Porco has a hard time dealing with intense feelings of lust, often losing control and letting himself getting too fired up, so you'd better make sure the safety is on for this gun, pal.

The closest pic to Porco's junk is [ this ]. But longer and more girthy. His balls are also larger than that.

Porco Galliard is an absolute animal in bed once he's within his comfort zone with you, and this dick can deal a lot of damage.

His cum is sweeter than Reiner's but is just as thick.

Bertoldt Hover 🌭

Bertoldt's banging baton his like him; long, slender and timid. But awaken it and... My god you'll be sorry. Once this man gets fired up and slips into the mists of madness, there's is no stopping him.

Bertoldt's cock loves attention; start stroking it or touching it in any way, it won't be long until every shy fiber in this boys being turns to cinders and ashes.

There's a few pictures I found that's pretty accurate. Let me know which one you like the best for this beast boy.

[ here ] , [ here ] and [ here ] .

Bert's cum tastes the best out of anyone in this list. It's almost like salt water taffy or sweet and salted popcorn.

His balls are tight, slightly smaller than his fellow warriors but that really doesn't mean a thing. He will still absolutely ruin you with ease. Once he sees the red curtain he's sure to perform well.

His cock is the twitchiest of the bunch. When it's errect it can not stop still, almost like it's trying to hurl itself into your hand or any part of you, really.

Levi Ackerman

Oh boy.

O---h boy.

Levi Ackerman is one with his cock. It's like it has its own consciousness and they meld into one. He knows just how to use it, what to do next to push you to the next level of ecstasy.

Levi's dick is big and thick. Deliciously thick. He's definitely packing down there. It's got a nice shape to it to, and the closest pic i could find to do it any justice is [ this one here ] (except bigger)

If he's not on an expedition, Levi's hygiene practices are second to none. It's always a pleasure to have him in your mouth.

His jet black pubic hairs are trimmed nice and neatly into a cosy little landing strip, beckoning you to descend onto the rolled out welcome mat.

Levi is short because of his malnutrition as a child. But that did not effect the growth of his manhood. It's a nice clue to how well built he would have been, had circumstances been different.

He can go again and again and again with short intervals. He truly is one of the king's of sex in this universe.

Hange Zoë

Hange has a wide range of strap ons and dildos she likes to use on her partner's whether she's being Dom or Sub.

When she's feeling particularly dominating she likes to unleash [ this ] onto your poor, unsuspecting booty.

It vibrates and her womanhood is very sensitive, so when she's unleashing this on you, she's pretty much constantly cuming.

It helps that she has the sight of you being absolutely destroyed by her device .

Hange is loud during sex so with her repeating orgasms, you'd better prepare yourself for Levi to complain about the noise when she's using it.

She's a squirter so sex gets very fuckin messy when she's using this.

She has a name for it too; "Titania"

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disturbedbydesign · 3 years ago

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The Widow and the Wolf - Chapter 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x dark!exWidow!reader

Summary: After Natasha Romanoff took down the Red Room, the former Widows scattered to the wind. Raised to be a killing machine and released into the world with nothing and no one, you decided to use your newfound autonomy to take down the bad guys of your choosing. But now Natasha is riddled with guilt for leaving you on your own. She wants to recruit you, rehabilitate you, make you part of a team again. But the rest of the squad has reservations, and no one is more against you than Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Graphic violence; Mentions of domestic violence, rape, pedophilia, human trafficking, child sex trafficking; eventual Dubcon (not Bucky); eventual smut; slow(ish) burn enemies-to-lovers. [More warnings will be added as necessary but these are the Big Bads.] 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: This is canon-adjacent in that I just decided to pick and choose who I wanted to write for and what parts of canon I wanted to use. Best not to think too hard about where it falls on the timeline because the canon is a mess and we all kind of hate it anyway.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter One

You’ve been tracking him for days, not that it was hard. His patrol schedule is always the same, as is his after-hours routine: drinks at the Irish pub on Reade Street with the other boys in blue. It’s a cop bar but you waltz right in, looking lost even though you know the name, rank, and various misdeeds of every guy in the place. He looks at you, because of course he does—his wife assured you that he has a wandering eye, among his other sins.

You take a seat at the bar. “Double vodka rocks, please.”

The bartender pours you your drink and you take a deep pull, savoring the burn of it. Then you wait, but it doesn’t take long—it never does. Sergeant Thompson sidles up to the barstool next to you.

“Hey darlin,” he says, his breath reeking of cheap beer. “You lost?”

You turn to him with an innocent smile. “Evening, officer.”

“It’s Sergeant,” he says, tapping his badge, “but I won’t hold that against you. So, what’s a pretty young thing doing in a dive bar with a bunch of old men?”

“I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner but she bailed on me. Figured I’d grab a drink before I head home.”

“And where is home?” he asks, not that it’s any of his business, but cops think they deserve answers to any questions they feel like asking.

“Williamsburg,” you lie.

“You’re pretty far from home, then,” he replies, even though you both know that you aren’t. He takes a sip of his beer and the foam leaves a trace like a mustache before he licks it clean. “It’s late. Why don’t you let me drive you? Wouldn’t want you on the subway this time of night.”

“It’s only 8:30,” you say. “I think I’ll be just fine.”

He leans in conspiratorially. “Well, I really shouldn’t be telling you this—open investigation and all that—but we’ve been on the lookout for a guy in the area, serial rapist, real nasty piece of work.”

That’s one thing the two of you have in common at least.

“I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me take you home, darlin.”

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” you admit. “Can’t get much safer than the NYPD, right?”

He laughs and so do you, knowing that nothing is farther from the truth—especially when it comes to this guy.

Sergeant Thompson speeds across the Williamsburg Bridge with his flashers on, headed toward the address you gave him. Of course, that’s not actually your address—you don’t have a home anymore—it’s just one of many rundown warehouses in the neighborhood, variously used for impromptu raves and as drug dens and, in your case, a private place in which you can take care of business without fear of being interrupted.

“This is me,” you say, waiting for him to let you out of the back of the cruiser where he insisted you ride—caged in like a helpless animal, or so he thinks.

“This place?” he asks. “Looks like it’s about to collapse.”

“You’d be surprised what they can do to these places on the inside—gentrification and what have you. My rent is astronomical.”

“Still,” he says, “I’d like to walk you up. Looks a bit unsavory.”

“If you insist, Sergeant.”

The second you get up the stairs to the top floor, you inject him with the etorphine, straight into the jugular, and down he goes. It never gets old—how easy it is, when they think that they are the predator and you are the prey. You drag him into the loft where you’re already set up for a long night’s work.

When he comes to, he’s fixed to the chair with (among other things) his own handcuffs, mouth taped shut and a rag shoved in for good measure. You don’t want to hear him talk; it’s time for him to listen. His day of reckoning has come. He starts to squirm but between the cuffs and the duct tape and the sedative still coursing through his veins, he’s not going anywhere. Even if he did get free, you could take him down easy. It’s what you were trained for. It’s what you were born for.

“Welcome back, Sergeant,” you say, and he screams something unintelligible through the rag which, if you had to guess, would be some combination of “cunt” or “bitch” or any of the other choice words he likes to use on his women.

The tarps are laid meticulously around the room, placed strategically to catch any and all evidence of what you’re about to do. When he notices them, he goes still, because he knows. Part of him knows.

“So,” you say, pulling out the Thompson file, “this is quite the impressive resume you’ve got here, Sarge. Lots of civilian brutality complaints, including a few choice allegations from female prisoners. Oh, and then there’s the domestic violence and marital rape. You’re a real charmer, huh?”

There’s more muffled screaming but you ignore it—the last gasps of a dying man.

“Here’s the thing, Sarge. I know you think that you’re above the law, because you are the law, but you aren’t. Your wife is real tired of your shit, and me? Well, let’s just say that my motto is protect and serve.” You lean in close enough to smell the salty sweat on his brow. “And unlike you, I actually mean it.”

You pull your favorite knife from your thigh holster and slit him from ear to ear. “See you in hell, Sergeant.”

You sit on the edge of the table, swinging your legs and watching him bleed out. It doesn’t take long. The actual disposal is the real work. You set about chopping him into manageable pieces and you find yourself missing the days when you didn’t have to cover your tracks alone, when there was a clean-up team to take care of it for you.

But you’re freelance now. You’re not a Widow anymore. She made sure of that.

Sometimes—like right now, when you’re dripping sweat and every muscle in your body is screaming its exertion as you saw through bone after bone—you hate Natasha Romanoff. You know why she did what she did; you understand that, objectively, it was the right thing to do. But did she ever stop to consider the repercussions of her actions? She got out early and found a new family and became one of the Good Guys. But you? You entered the Red Room with nothing and you left with nothing.

They always said you were born to be a killer. It’s all you’ve ever known. So what exactly did she expect you to do? You may be free of the mind control, but you never had the chance to develop a mind of your own. Killing is all you know. At least now you get to pick your own targets.

Once you’ve got Sergeant Thompson all squared away, you pack him up in the trunk of his cruiser and drive upstate, listening to the 80s station you like. It occurs to you that most people have heard these songs a thousand times—so many times that they know the lyrics instinctively, can sing them without even having to think about it. It’s all new to you, though. You can’t decide whether it makes you sad to think about all you’ve missed or whether you’re lucky that you get to experience for the first time what everyone else is already tired of.

When you get to the farm, you dump Thompson in the holes you’ve already backhoed, then you hop on the Cat and fill them all in. You shoot a text to Mrs. Thompson from your burner—just a thumbs-up emoji—and she replies with a smiley face. It was only so long before he would have killed her; she knows it as well as you do. The only people that will grieve the dearly departed Sergeant Thompson are a bunch of assholes who are one false move from ending up in your web.

You didn’t charge Mrs. Thompson your usual rate—just what she could afford without drawing the attention and ire of the Mister. Sometimes, depending on the circumstances, you even work pro bono. After all, you only kill people for money who you would happily kill for free. You consider it a service, something for the greater good of society. You’ll take money, sure—you need it to live and to continue your work—but not from people who can’t easily spare it.

You have standards. You have a code. That’s the difference between the you that served as a mindless weapon wielded by others and the you that decides for yourself how to use the gifts you’ve been given. No women. No children. No collateral damage. Only Very Bad Men who’ve done Very Bad Things. You don’t see the harm in it, not really, and as you settle into bed you come back to the thought you often have before a fitful night of sleep: who’s the real avenger, Natasha?

*****

Natasha wipes her brow and throws the rag down on the mat, grabbing a bottle of water and chugging half of it before she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Bucky has barely broken a sweat from their morning sparring session, and he doesn’t even try to fake it. He’s in an especially grumpy mood.

“This is a bad idea, Natasha.”

“To some people, maybe,” she says, “but I want to bring her in anyway. I don’t understand how you of all people are against me on this, Bucky.”

“Uh, for starters, she’s a serial killer.”

“That’s a bit of a harsh assessment, considering the circumstances. And do I really need to remind you that the same could be said about the two of us? That a lot of people still say that about us?”

Bucky sighs, because he knows she’s right, but this is different—you are different. “It’s not the same,” he grumbles, but he’s not entirely sure it isn’t, and that’s what’s really bothering him.

“Look,” Nat says, taking a step toward Bucky, “I need to try, ok? I know what she’s going through because I went through it, except she’s completely alone out there with nothing and no one. You and I… we had people behind us, helping us.”

“And what if she says no?” Bucky asks. “Are you just gonna let her go on doing what she’s doing? She’s killed… how many is it now?”

Natasha mutters something under her breath and Bucky looks at her expectantly. “What was that, Tasha?”

“25 people in the last 6 months,” she states, her mouth set in a hard line.

“Exactly,” he says.

“I would like to point out that they were all very bad people. So...”

“Tasha,” he says, and he puts his hand up to silence her. “I can’t help you on this. I’m sorry. I want to, but I can’t.”

Natasha huffs out a laugh. “You know what, Barnes? You’re real high and mighty for a guy who–”

Natasha stops herself when she sees the ice-cold look in Bucky’s eyes. “Go on. For a guy who what?”

“Nothing,” she says. “I’m sorry. I’ll go on my own.”

“Well, good luck to you. Hope you don’t get your throat slit.”

Bucky stomps off and Natasha is left wondering if she’s about to make a huge mistake. She knows you’re volatile, that a part of you must resent her, but she needs to make it right. At the very least, she needs to try.

Natasha grabs her tablet and scrolls through the latest intel on your whereabouts. She’s just missed you in New York, but she thinks she’s got a jump on your next target: some coke dealer down in Miami with a predilection for underage girls. Just a brief glance at this guy’s file is enough to make Natasha’s blood run cold. She knows why you do what you do. If she’s honest, it doesn’t bother her one bit that you’re doing it. It’s the thought of you out there on your own, filled with hate and anger and thirsty for bloody vengeance, that frightens her. Because maybe one day—left to your own devices, lost in the chaos of your troubled mind—getting the Bad Guys won’t be enough for you. Maybe you’ll decide that some of the Good Guys aren’t so good after all. Maybe you’ll even be right.

She contemplates being honest with Steve and telling him where she’s headed but decides against it. Steve isn’t on board with her plan. Natasha doesn’t fault him for it—he doesn’t understand, he couldn’t. Bucky, though... that’s a disappointment, and it surprises her. If anyone knows what it feels like to spend your life as someone else’s weapon, it’s Bucky Barnes.

Natasha waits until nightfall to “borrow” the Quinjet, and she finds Bucky waiting for her when she gets to the hangar.

“I’m coming with you,” he says, “but only as back-up. She’s dangerous, Natasha.”

“Maybe so,” Natasha replies, “but only because she’s afraid.”

*****

You knew that she’d be coming for you sooner or later. Might as well get it over with. Your little stilt cabin on the outskirts of the Everglades isn’t quite set up for company but at least it’s tucked away and difficult to access. You’re surprised she brought him, though—that was a mistake. You and she could have a nice long conversation, but you have nothing to say to the Soldat.

You climb up the tree to your lookout platform and hoist your sniper rifle onto your shoulder, following their slow but steady progress through the knee-deep swamp water, trying to line up a decent shot as they weave in between the bald cypress trees. When you see your chance, you take it, and you put one about an inch from where the Soldat’s metal arm meets the flesh of his shoulder. It ricochets off, as intended, and he jumps forward to shield Natasha. You hear her laugh through your earpiece.

“Relax, Barnes. It was a warning shot. If she wanted to hit you, she would have.”

“She did hit me,” he snaps.

You smile as you descend from the tree to meet them.

“Well well well,” you say. “If it isn’t the Murder Twins. To what do I owe this unwanted visit?”

“You know why I’m here,” Natasha says.

“Yes,” you reply, “but why is he here?”

The man she calls Barnes looks at you with disdain and you give it right back to him. You can tell that shot in the arm really pissed him off and it pleases you to no end.

“He’s just watching my back,” she says. “That’s what happens when you’re on a team.”

“Right, The Avengers. How adorable.”

“Listen,” Natasha begins, but you stop her.

“Let me save you the trouble of whatever little speech you have prepared. I’m not coming with you. I’m not going to Widow rehab and joining your ragtag group of misfits. And I’m not going to stop doing my work just because you come here and bat your eyes and smile pretty at me.”

“Your work?” spits the Soldat. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

“Bucky, don’t-”

“Let him talk, Romanoff,” you say. “He obviously has some… opinions. Now that he’s got the mask off, he can finally speak for himself.” You take a step towards him, your rifle in hand but not pointed at him. “So speak, Soldat.”

He looks flustered and not a little bit angry. You can tell he doesn’t like to be called by that name. “Killing people isn’t work,” he says.

You huff out a laugh. “And what is it that the two of you do, exactly? Run a coffee shop?”

“We are not the same,” he says, and you smile because you know that he doesn’t actually believe that—how could he after everything he’s done?

“I think we are exactly the same, Soldat, with one huge exception: you’re still letting other people tell you what to do, and I’m done with all that.”

“This is pointless,” he says.

“Now that is something you and I actually agree on.” You turn to Natasha. “You should go while you still can. I have work to do.”

But Natasha just won’t let it go. “I should never have left you alone,” she says. “This is my fault. Let me fix it.”

“I don’t need to be fixed,” you snap, and you raise your rifle and point it directly at her head. “Leave, Natasha. And take your little pet with you.”

The Soldat grabs her arm gently. “Let’s go, Tasha. She’s hopeless.”

You feel a pang of something then—some indescribable form of melancholy. You try to keep it off your face but you can tell from the look in his eyes that he sees it. A minute tremble of your lip, the quick double blink—it gives you away, and now you’re really pissed off.

“Leave. Now,” you yell, and it pierces through the sweltering darkness. “I’ll make you sorry if you don’t.”

You watch Natasha and the bionic man make their way out of the swamp. You don’t turn your back on them, not that you think they’ll try to take you by force. That would be unwise and Natasha knows it. Once you’re satisfied that they’re gone, you return to the cabin. The bloodied man in the linen suit lays strapped to the bed where you left him, squirming and shouting around the gag in his mouth.

You have to stop yourself from making this a messy affair, but the anger you feel—at her, at him, at everything—is making it difficult to temper your darker urges. You’re not one for torture, even though this man absolutely deserves it for the horrible things he’s done. You almost give in, but you remind yourself that this is a job—it is work, despite what the Soldat may think—and you have to remain professional.

You grab the man’s file off the desk and pull a chair up next to the bed. “So, Mr. Garcia, where were we?”

CHAPTER TWO >>>

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