#“did you know he wanted a pet worm when he grew up?”

[applespider]

I love watching through Fuga and being like “They don’t know he’s gay” “they don’t know they’re raising a son together in the future” “they don’t know he might have a long lost twin”

[giggly-squiggily]

The Laziest Of Days (My Hero Academia)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY NYM!!! (@intheticklecloset) I come bringing you a classic but eternally lovely pair of Shindeku! :D Thank you for always being such a wonderful friend to me; I hope this brings you lots of joy on your special day! :D

Summary: It's a lazy day, and Shinsou decides to tickle his boyfriend. Lazily.

“Mmm..” Midoriya made a noise of annoyance as he glared at his phone, the tiny All Might dying once again to a large troll-like villain. “This boss is way too difficult to show up this early! I’m nearly out of health items too.”

Shinsou didn’t know much about video games and had nothing to add. Instead, he continued watching him play, enjoying the way his nose got all scrunched when he got serious. They were having a lazy day together, but the book in his hands suddenly lost all appeal the moment he realized he could openly gawk at his boyfriend without him realizing it. “Try a super move.”

“Can’t- I gotta build it up.” His determination grew, as did his serious face. Now the tip of his tongue was sticking out like a cat, further worsening Shinsou’s temptation to grab his face and kiss him right then and there. Why did he have to be so cute-

“Ah! Nuts!” Midoriya cried in defeat as he died once more, falling back into Shinsou’s open arms with a low groan. “That’s all the tries I have in me, today. Anymore and I’ll end up quitting.”

“You have more self-discipline than most.” Shinsou leaned into him, smiling against his hair. Yet another feature he loved; it was soft and feathery, tickling his nose with its woody scent. “Mmm..”

“Eh-ehehehee! Hitoshi, cahhareful! You’re tihihihckling me!” Midoriya squirmed in his arms when he got a little too close to his neck, lips twitching. “Yoohohu’re so affectionate today!”

“Like I said, you have more self-discipline than most.” Giving in, he leaned forward and pressed a sweet kiss behind Midoriya’s ear, making him yelp with laughter. “I greatly lack it.”

“Ahehaha! Gehahahhaha! Whahahait, Hihihihtohohohoshihiihieee!” He tried to worm away, but Shinsou’s arms came around him from behind, locking him down as he carried on kissing his neck and ears. “Cohohome ohohohn, thihihihs iihihihsn’t fhahahair! It’s lahahahazy dahahhahy!”

“I know.” Shinsou smirked against his skin, gently nibbling at his neck and making him squeal. “I’m tickling you lazily.”

“Oohohoh, hohohow on theheheme!” Midoriya tried twisting around to fight back, but then Shinsou started tracing his sides and stomach. His defenses? Shattered. “Ahaehhaahha! Whahhahat hahahhapened to beihihihng lahahahhzy?”

“This is lazy.” Shinsou grinned as he pressed his face into Midoriya’s, resting their foreheads together as he drank in his smile. “If I really wanted you, I could go for all those tickle spots that really get you going. Slowly rake my fingers up and down your sides, zoning in on that terrible spot along your ribs. Or maybe I’ll form claws and dig into that cute belly of yours until you’re as red as a strawberry and can’t think straight.” Shinsou’s grin grew at Midoriya’s deepening blush, kissing his warm cheeks sweetly. “You’re lucky I’m so nice.”

“Wohohohohohw, cohohohohlor me hohohohonohohohored!” Midoriya giggled back, muffled some by his boyfriend’s lips as he kissed him once or twice more. “Whahahaht a gehheehntleman- Ehehehehehek ohohohkay ohohohkay I tahahahke it bahahahck!” He practically shot up when his ribs were pinched at, increasing the feeling tenfold. “Lahahhahazy tihihihickles! Pleahahhahahse, be lahahahahzy!”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” Laughing against Midoriya’s smiling lips, he returned to just barely tickling him, tracing his arms and torso just the way he liked it. “You’re really cute when you behave, darling.”

“Nohoohhohooho!” Midoriya all but whined at the pet name, burying his face into Shinsou’s shoulder to hide his tittering lips. “Sthahahap, nohohot thahahhat!”

“What? You can use pet names and I can’t?” Shinsou leaned in to kiss his ear, dropping his voice low. “Now be a good boy and let me tickle you.”

“GAH! Thahaht’s it!” The green haired hero cried, grabbing onto Shinsou and launching forward. A short bout of wrestling commenced until Midoriya had him pinned to the couch, looming over him as he giggled. “Yohoohohu’re done. Yoohohohou’re so dohohone!”

Shinsou squirmed back until he was comfortable, grinning ear to ear as he watched Midoriya compose himself. “Fair enough. I’m enjoying the view anyway.” He reached up, cradling his boyfriend’s cheeks within his hands. “I can see my whole world right here.”

Midoriya’s freckles were even more prominent when he blushed. Softening at his words, he leaned into Shinsou’s hands as he gazed down at him lovingly. “You’re so unfair.”

“Hm.” Shinsou shrugged with little remorse, welcoming the feeling of his boyfriend laying against his chest. “I know you love it though.”

“Shush before I lazily start tickling you.” He gave Shinsou’s side a pinch to really make his point. He settled soon after, closing his eyes and practically melting into him. “You’re so lucky it's a lazy day.”

“I really am.” Shinsou smiled against that feathery crown, pulling him closer as he felt Midoriya relax in his arms entirely. “I’m the luckiest guy in the whole world.”

Thanks for reading! And HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL!!!

[misseviehyde]

KEY HOLDER

"Pleeeease," Sean hissed as you applied a another layer of lipgloss to your full sexy lips and pointedly ignored him. "Please take off the key now."

He looked at you pleadingly, but you refused to meet his gaze - not because you were ashamed - but because you had no intention of contaminating your eyeballs with his embarrassing display of subservience.

You could feel the key nestling sexily above your cleavage like it belonged there. You had no intention of removing it.

Cleavage...

That wasn't something you ever thought you'd have, but there they were on your chest, two full rounded firm titties that were all yours to play with and dominate boys with.

"No."

You were almost shocked at how good your voice sounded. So full and sensual - the voice of an entitled brat. Like poison honey. You almost wanted to say more so you could hear it, but that would be going too far.

There wasn't a need to say more. You didn't need to explain yourself. Brats like you NEVER explained themselves, just expected boys to obey.

If you had been minded to explain to Sean, you would have told him that removing the key would turn you back into a boy.

Your beautiful hair would shorten, your long sexy black nails would retract and your beautiful pussy would seal up as your useless boy cock grew back.

The key had set you free, unlocking the bratty potential within you and making you a Goddess. You had transformed into a rich, popupar, beautiful girl and it seemed that Sean was the only one who even remembered the original you.

"Please," he begged again. "Goddess, my cock hurts... please set me free."

You sneered and tossed your hair contemptuously, enjoying how the silken wave moved effortlessly over your shoulders. Adjusting the hem of your satin skirt, you casually turned and reaching down grabbed Sean by the balls.

He squealed and you grinned, your perfect white teeth flashing. "It only hurts because you've been trying to take off your cage again. I told you - I'm the only one who can remove that now."

The key round your neck and the cage on Sean's cock were magically linked. It could never be removed without your desire to do so and unfortunately for Sean you had no intention of doing that.

You squeezed and he groaned. With a flick of your will you made the cage tighter and you also strengthened the sense of devotion and worship he felt for you. Through the cage you controlled everything about Sean. You could make him do or believe anything. So far you'd left his mind relatively untouched, after all it was far more fun to break him manually.

You knew it was the key doing this to you. You never used to be this cruel, this manipulative, this sadistic. Wearing the key had made you beautiful and popular, but it had also rotted your soul and turned you into an evil bitch.

You smirked as you saw the light of worship blaze in Sean's eyes. "I... I'm sorry Goddess. I should be punished for trying to undo what you did to me. I am a worm."

"You ARE a worm Sean," you sighed, "but you're my worm. Goddess forgives you - but there does need to be a punishment. How about you eat another creampie?"

You saw Sean quail and it made you laugh. "Oh yes my little pet. The reason I'm putting on this lipgloss is we are on our way to Shane's house and once there I'm going to suck that big fat cock then get fucked. You can eat his cum out of my freshly fucked pussy as your punishment."

"But Shane was our bully... you wouldn't..."

"Shane only bullied me when I was a loser like you. Now he's all over me like a rash. He's not very sophisticated, but he does know how to make me squirt. Now come along loser - it's play time."

The magic key that had turned you into such a bitch bouncing on your chest, you walked off - high heeled boots clopping as with a snap of your fingers your pet followed.

Being a keyholder felt so fucking good.

[crimson-calligraphyx]

We sat in silence for what seemed like forever after I dropped that bomb on Noah. He looked at me in disbelief, his brows scrunched as he shook his head at me, but didn't say a word. I felt sick to my stomach, the anxiety bubbling within me as I waited for any sort of response from him—whether it be anger or denial, I just needed him to say something.

"That's impossible," he finally says. "She's only three; it's been five years since we've seen each other, Amelia." "I lied," I whispered, turning my attention to my trembling hands and began picking at my nails. "She's turning five in February." "Are you serious?" his tone was sharp, angry.

I nodded and squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for what was to come out of his mouth next. "How could you keep something like that from me?" he shouts, and I flinch from the hostility. I deserved it, though. "Why didn't Nick ever tell me?"

I swallowed the lump that was growing in my throat and looked over at him while still picking at my nails absentmindedly. He was scowling at me, his jaw clenched and his eye grew dark with betrayal. "You never contacted me, I just assumed...you wouldn't care," I whispered the tail end of my sentence. "That's bullshit, Amelia, and you know it!" He stands up and distances himself, hastily scrubbing a hand down his face in aggravation. He winces, but continues, "I respected your wishes when you said goodbye and left you alone, but I did ask Nick how you were doing. I cared about you, and a part of me always will. I absolutely would have cared if you had told me you were pregnant with my child."

My eyes began to fill with tears as the guilt festered inside of me. All I could do was tell him that I was sorry, as if that would smooth things over, but I knew that it wouldn't. There were no words left to be exchanged—he was right. I should have told him from the very beginning.

I wanted to hug my knees to my chest for comfort, but I couldn't with my leg mangled the way that it was. Instead, I played with the dirt beside me, digging my nails in and scooping out small piles. I smiled sadly to myself as I reminisced, once again, the memory of helping Leora pick worms out of the soil. How I wished I were with her right now, placing worm after worm inside Tupperware with dirt and grass to 'keep as pets', followed by chasing after her to rinse her hands off with the garden hose before going back inside.

I missed the way her pig tails would bounce as she ran, the sound of her laugh, the sparkle of joy in her eyes when I finally caught her and held her to me, peppering kisses on her face. I hoped to God that I'd be able to experience that again.

"How are you holding up?" Noah asks out of the blue. I looked over at him; he was slumped against the wall adjacent to me with his arms folded over his chest, just staring up at the ceiling. I shrugged, "Fine, I guess. You?" "I meant with your leg," he answers flatly. "Oh," I mumbled, glancing down at my bloodied jeans. I didn't have the courage to look at the damage, afraid of what I'd see. "I'm trying my best to ignore it, honestly, but it hurts like a bitch."

He nods shallowly, then unfolds his arms and pushes himself up with a sigh. "Let's take a look at it," he mumbles, making his way over to me and crouching by my leg. "No, Noah, that's okay," I say in a panic, putting my arms out to stop him. I really didn't want to see it, knowing it would overwhelm me and I'd probably pass out or at minimum vomit from the sight. He sighs with a roll of his eye. "Don't look then if you're gonna be squeamish," he grumbles, reaching for my pant leg.

He starts to pull it up, and I immediately take in a sharp breath, looking away. I hiss as he peels the denim from my leg, having to tug it some as it got stuck to the blood from my wounds, surely reopening them—if any had began to close, that is. I cursed, gritting my teeth while tears pricked my eyes from the pain. He mutters a quick 'sorry', still working away at pulling the pant leg up.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" I suddenly yell, sitting up straight when he moves my ankle, sending a flare of pain up my leg. I grit my teeth and panted, the shock going straight to my head and leaving me lightheaded. "Shit, I'm sorry," he apologizes, and continues to hold my foot in place, supporting the weight with his other hand under my calf. "It's uh...definitely broken," he informs me. "We gotta figure out a way to set it in place." "There's literally nothing here to do that," I whimper. "This is fucking hopeless." "No. We're getting the fuck outta here once we brace your leg," he says sternly.

I looked at him through teary eyes; he had that look of determination set in stone. "I'm gonna lower your leg now, okay?" I took a deep breath and nodded, bracing myself as he placed my leg back down as delicately as he could. I chomped down on my lip and groaned as he did, him shooting me an apologetic expression before making his way to the now boarded up window.

He tried to remove one of the flanks, clawing and pulling at them aggressively, but to no avail. He sighs, giving up and making his way to the door where he starts to bang on it profusely, hollering for Charles to come down here and help me—like I had when Noah was ill. He was persistent though, and kept beating on the door, screaming profanities, trying to egg Charles on to get him down here. I sighed and leaned against the wall, rolling my head back and forth and accepted the fact that no matter how hard Noah tried, our captor would come down only when he felt like it.

“Noah, just give it a rest already. You’re going to exhaust yourself, and we haven’t eaten in at least a week,” I tell him. He groans with frustration before moving away from the door, returning to his original spot on the ground. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he sighs, closing his eye and resting his head against the wall. “Maybe he’ll feed us soon.” “I hope so,” I mumbled as I resumed burrowing my fingers in the dirt.

I kept digging until my nails bent backwards unexpectedly, connecting with something solid. I hissed, shaking my hand out from the uncomfortable sensation, and peered into the hole. I saw what I originally thought was a rock, but it was too broad, too smooth, having no impurities that a rock would have. I furrowed my brows at the item and resumed digging around it, hoping I could pull whatever it was out of the ground.

“What is it?” Noah asks, causing me to look over at him. He stared back at me in curiosity, head slightly tilted with his brows pulled together. I bring my attention back to the dirt, “I’m…not sure,” I mumbled, trying my best to brush more dirt away. “It’s not a rock, I can tell you that much.”

He shuffles against the ground, making his way over to me and places a hand on mine, having me halt the excavation with my fingers. I bring my hand into my lap as he takes a look at what was in the ground. The crease in his brows only deepens, uncertainty painting his features as he tries to dig around the object. “It’s some sort of tool, or something,” he mutters as he begins to unearth more of it, revealing a prominent, flattened edge. “That makes sense,” I nodded slowly, remembering the scenery from when I momentarily escaped. “Looked like we were on an old farming compound from what I saw while I was out there. What kind of tool, you think?”

He shakes his head back and forth with a shrug, still working at loosening the dirt around it. He eventually exposes a part of it that was hollowed out and wedges his finger through it, trying to wiggle it free from the earth. It wasn’t moving much, but Noah was determined to get this thing into our possession for one reason or another. He only stops when the sound of heavy footsteps start to descend the stairs, quickly positioning himself so that his leg is covering up the hole.

I shoot him a quizzical look but didn’t have time to ask him why he was hiding it as Charles barges in, causing me to jump out of my skin. I reached for my ankle with a cry, the slightest movement sending pain right up my leg.

“Oh, dear,” Charles mutters as he crouches by me and drops the water and crackers he had in his hand, “what have you done to yourself, Alice?” “You did this,” I snapped, glaring daggers at him. “Me?” He puts a hand on his chest, genuinely seeming offended that I blamed him for my injuries. “Now, now Alice, you know that isn’t true. This was caused by your foolish actions,” he chuckles, shaking his head in dismissal. “I did not cause this, you sick fuck,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “You set out a fucking bear trap in hopes of—” Charles’ hand was now clamped over my mouth as he scowled at me, bringing his face unbearably close to mine.

“Listen here, you little bitch. You escaped again, you got yourself hurt because of it,” he digs his fingernails into my flesh, bringing tears to my eyes as I panted through my nose from the panic settling in. “You can figure out a way to fix your leg yourself,” he spits, throwing my head away from him, my body folding into Noah.

“You fucker!” Noah tries to stand, but I tug on his shirt to stop him. “Amelia, let go of me—” “No, Noah. It’s not worth it,” I begged, letting out my cries. “Just…just let me deal with him myself, okay?” He remains silent, his chin trembling from how hard his teeth were clenched as he searched my eyes for an explanation. I couldn’t pinpoint an exact reason, I just knew that I couldn’t let him get hurt because of me again, when it’s me Charles wants, not him.

I can see the pain, the fear, the rage in Noah’s eye—the same eyes he shared with Leora—and in this very moment, I knew what I had to do if I ever wanted a chance to be reunited with her. I had been so reluctant towards Noah's suggestion originally, but I accepted that this was the only option we had left.

I loosened my hold on his shirt, my eyes lingering on his face for a moment longer before I turned towards Charles, who had since begun walking back towards the door. I took a deep breath to compose myself. “Charles…Charles, my love,” I called out to our captor, swallowing harshly as I waited for him him turn back around. “I’m so sorry for running from you, but please,” I gesture to my leg and let out a feigned sob, “I’m in so much pain; I need you to take care of me. I-I promise I won't try to run again.”

I held my breath as I waited for his reaction, praying that this tactic would work. When he finally turned around, I saw that it was like someone had wiped the scowl clean off his face and replaced it with genuine concern as he made his way back over to me. “Oh, dear Alice,” he says gently, crouching by me once again, sorrow bleeding from his eyes. “Yes, of course, you need my help.”

He runs the back of his hand down my cheek, and my skin crawls regardless of how tender his touch was. I close my eyes and take an unsteady breath, trying to calm my rampant heart while he snakes an arm behind my back and the other behind my knees. He picks me up bridal style, leaving me no choice but to wrap my arms around his neck to hold myself up, and I holler in pain from the lack of support my ankle now has. “Shh, don’t worry. I’ll take good care of your leg, like the good husband that I am, dear,” he coos while bringing us towards the door.

Through blurry eyes, I caught the look of unease on Noah’s face as I’m brought through the doorway, the door shutting and locking shortly thereafter.

|Chapter 9|

[whitedragoncoranth]

Life on Knowhere 4

I remembered the horrible words the Skrull in the guise of "Old Rocket" - prisoner Rocket - had said to me. "I AIN'T A FUCKIN' ANIMAL! Do you even SEE me as sentient? Or am I just yer fuckin' pet?! Why– WHY do you touch me when you FUCKIN' KNOW I HATE BEIN' TOUCHED, ya useless piece o' shit bald-body? Do ya even see me as a person?!" Erroneously thinking that this was the real Rocket, I'd been about to answer the foul shapeshifter - that yes, he wasn't an animal, that I acknowledged him as a sentient person, that I was deeply sorry for petting him the way I had been, that he wasn't a pet - but then, the Skrull's plans were utterly undone. Rocket Raccoon - the real Rocket Raccoon - strolled into the same alley carrying some packages; he'd been out running a few errands here and there.

He deduced the situation in microseconds. The packages dropped to the ground; the legendary Quad-Blaster came out… and then the Skrull was … everywhere… gore and viscera splattered all over the alleyway, as Rocket snarled and fired again, and again, and again. By the time he was finished, there wasn't even enough left of the Skrull for the foul alien to even revert to its original form; only the gore reverted, the blood and viscera turning purple. Teary eyed, Rocket spat on the ground, holstered his weapon, then tore over to me. I thought to flinch away at first -- but Rocket had told me of Skrulls; and this was the real Rocket, I knew it! He wormed his way into my arms, and I hugged him so tightly as we both wept for a moment, my body shaking from adrenaline. Then, "Are ya okay?! What da fuck happened?! What'd he do to ya?! Are ya hurt?!" he asked

"Nah, li'l man, just…" I took a moment to get my breathing under control - tried, and failed, to still my trembling body - then continued, "just shocked. You… you told me about Skrulls but, I never thought… I never thought I'd see one here; hell, I never thought I'd see one at all! He didn't hurt me at all, but he did say some pretty awful things in regard to how I treat you, like, like he was trying to drive a wedge between us, ruin our relationship, this thing we have. This is my fault--" Rocket grimaced, shook his head, but I continued, "nah, man, it is; I shouldn't have gone out without Cosmo. Fuck…" Rocket still shook his head and hissed - it was still no one's fault. "Let's… let's just get your packages and go home, yeah?" Rocket nodded, his expression dark, muttering curses under his breath. Together, we picked up his dropped items and headed home -- but not to my apartment; we only stopped there to pick up Cosmo, then immediately went to Rocket's apartment, which was far more secure than mine.

Later, as Rocket sat with me on his battered old couch, I told him the horrible things the Skrull imposter had said… and as I talked, his expression grew sadder, and sadder… Suddenly, Rocket abruptly stood, closed the apartment shutters and shucked off his uniform even as Cosmo helped me undress, too. Now clad only in our under-garments, Rocket and I settled into his bed, pulling the duvet over us, the bed quickly warming as Cosmo gently heated the sheets up a little with her powers before curling at our feet. Gently Rocket took my hand, deliberately placed it on his head, then rested his head on my chest with a shuddering sigh - he really, truly wanted to be cuddled and petted - and as the tension left my body, as he trilled softly and began to purr… it was a relief; all was well. "I have always acknowledged you as a person, Rocket," I started gently as I ran my hands through his thick, fluffy fur. "I have never thought of you as a pet, or not sapient--"

Rocket shushed me gently, nuzzling over me as his purrs filled the room. "My name," he started, "is Rocket. Rocket Raccoon, and... I am an animal. An animal that the High Evolutionary turned into a person -- somethin' I never wanted an' didn't ask for! Until I found out that I was a raccoon - an animal first - I always thought the opposite was true, that I was a man first, forced into the adapted body of an animal. You… don't you dare take on board anything that fuckin' asshole who wasn't me said to you! In all the time I've known you, you've always tried to acknowledge both sides 'o me -- that, yeah I'm a person NOW but I'm still a raccoon, and… oftentimes I do… raccoon things." At this, we both giggled, remembering how I'd played with him for hours with a simple laser pointer; how he'd hollowed out a Den under the middle seat of my couch (for which he'd apologized profusely), and how he still ate with his two li'l hands and without closing his mouth! He grew serious again. "Because'a you, I ain't afraid of touch no more. You taught me that touch can feel good, and I like being petted by you; helps me relax and calm down when I'm angry about stuff or when a mission goes all shitty cos Quill's still an idiot!" We laughed again, and even Cosmo joined in.

[ask-joachim-armster]

Joachim! You most likely heard about BDSM, but is a common practice within vampires as well? If yes, then who introduced and how you learn about it?

(I don't know why and please forgive me for saying this but I feel that Bernhard and Succubus did it at one point)

Bonus: Did you and Isaac tried to do BDSM?

I think that Joachim, who lived in the XV century, would have found it difficult to answer this question.

XXI Century. Somewhere in Japan.

Joachim sits on the sofa, hugging a huge plush cat.

Joachim: Actually, Dominance and Submission are the bread and butter of vampires. This is our nature, so in ancient times vampires practiced BDSM without knowing it, heh!

Spanking, tying up and bondage are not popular among vampires. A vampire's body is different from a human's, so such practices do not bring the desired effect and pleasure.

But hierarchical «belonging», dominance, submission, discipline — this is what most vampires and demons instinctively follow. From the very beginning, the old worm wanted to make me an obedient pet, obeying his commands.

I was honestly a kid who trusted my «father,» respected him, and tried to do what he said. Fortunately, over time I grew fangs and claws and became aware of my nature. I am my own master, I do not obey anyone. Even if during love games I give up the reins, I still control the situation one way or another.

Joachim grins.

Joachim: Succubi are by nature prone to masochism. They enjoy being subdued by another demon or vampire with brute force and pain. The old bastard loved to force and inflict pain. They were the perfect couple!

At times, I had to take part in their fun. But this has nothing to do with BDSM… When you are forced and coerced, this is violence���

At the mention of Isaac’s name, Joachim reaches for the crystal that hangs on a long chain around his neck and smiles sadly.

Joachim: Isaac was an inquisitive young man prone to experimentation in bed. I think in the modern era Isaac would be called a switch. Someone who combines the desire to dominate and submit.

I trusted Isaac, and this hissing Kitten trusted me, so during our love games we tried a lot. I guess you could say we were practicing BDSM. Mmm, certain directions.

[windalchemist001]

Taking a deep breath I step out of ramshackle, since I was feeling rather antsy and I needed to move. So that founded me outside just walking about but doing a bright light seemed to be above the building and I had to cover my eyes to keep from being blinded.

But I wanted to scream but settled for a curse as I wonder what now because of course I keep being screwed over in this world.

Only when the lights seemed to fade away did I dare open my eyes and decided I would try to make sure that the building wasn't going fall, though maybe I should go to the hearts dorm because I rather not be murdered.

Movment from the side eyes drew my attention as dreaded flutter in me, after all I hadn't had the chance to run and not be killed.

I watched where I had thought I seen the movement as I waited for the other shoew to drop, if I was killed I feelt no one would think to look for me. At least not for a whole anyway.

The Bush rustled a bit as I took a step back, as if I could save myself by walking backwards. If only I had pepper spray, since that would be better than nothing.

The rustling grew louder and soon it stopped and I decided to get the heck out of here and turn to quickly moved to run back inside, unfortunately life really decided to be a jerk and after running a bit my ankle gave out causing me to tumble. My eyes shutting and hands going out to hopefully brace for impact.

Though said impact didn't happened as I noted the stop and the lack of hitting the ground I opened my eyes only to see an adorable stuff animal looking back at me. Or I thought it was a stuff animal as it seemed to blink and than I was put back on two feet. "Uh....hello?" I looked at the odd creature. This world surly had so many strange things.

Though this one looked familiar, sort of like Horton what with the horns and all. Oh maybe it was like a ditto? I hummed and glanced back behind me still worried about the rustling from the bush from before.

"Thank you for helping, though something unsettling is out here, so we should seek shelter, before it gets us..." though logically this cute little guy could be the scary monster too.

"If I take you with me, you or nothing will try to kill me right?" Honestly I didn't know why I was asking it questions since I didn't known if it understood me, though I did watch it sort of answer me and decided to take that as the truth and held out my hands so it could hop over to me.

"Alright than let's hurry, and get to safety, ill carry you so let's go." I glanced behind me to make sure nothing was there and once the little one had hoped closer I lifted it into my arms and held it close mindful of its horns and moved to the dorm, also making a note to wrap my ankle which was aching, but nothing I couldn't handle till I would be able to deal with munis the bit of throbbing pain.

Quickly as I could i opened the door and locked it behind me making sure all the locks were set since I hadn't wanted to do i had added a few extra locks just in case.

Sighing I made my way to the living room and plop down on the couch and set the little guy in my arms down on the coffee table.

"So what are we going to name you?" I moved to lightly pet its head giving the little guy a scratch on the head. My head going though many ideas and throwing them away because it was dumb or to odd after what would feel like forever a lightbub turn on and I knew I had it.

While I had been thinking the little guy had manged to worm its way onto my lap as I pet and loved it, almost like one would with a cat on their lap.

"How about the name Grayson?" The little horn creature looked up at me and seemed to tilt its head. Maybe it wanted more details on the why?

"Well... I think its a good name because you remind of a fri-end" I doubt the little one would notice the odd way I said friend as I glanced away to the side even if he did not like it'll bother him.

"And I meet him at night and he's sort of really cool and handsome. Plus he's like super tall! And I don' know he sort of reminds me of a character called nightwing whose real name dick Grayson but I don't want to call you dick cause thats mean, so Grayson it is" I nodded at my reasoning because it made perfect sense to me.

The little creature that I have now dub Grayson. Still seemed confused but its fine and decided to ask if it was hungry, which it seemed to nod and thus I stood up to get him food, though like all cats grim came running though and demanded food almost making me trip and I had to move to avoid him.

I scolded the feline and moved to feed the two of them before moving to take a shower cause honestly this was going to be something I need to talk about, but man this world has such odd creatures, makes me wonder if it was like a ditto. Either way its rather cute, but hopefully I could help garyson go home, after all I know how it feels to be lost from home.

[sonicanvas]

Alright, time to open some can of worms.

I love Tekken, I grew up with the series. But I really have to address this when it comes to how they fumbled in the way they don't have an overarching themes and aesthetics for their character.

So this is gonna be a lot of rant.

It happened at the day I watched the Tekken Talks and they revealed each character's concept arts. I remember Harada tweeting that Victor was created because he wanted to have "the coolest character ever" in his roster of, already cool characters.

Then I heard that in order to achieve such thing, Harada(later translated by Michael Murray mentioned) "adding Karambit knives".

And I was like

Now, hear me out.

Tekken has been lacking of SEA representation and the last time they did with Josie Rizal, whose fighting style was "Eskrima-based" was not given Eskrima sticks, leading to people just brushing her off as "the lame version" of Bruce.

I'm not even Filipino, but that's the closest to SEA representation I can get in Tekken.

Whoever saying "who cares? It's still fiction and this is Tekken, you shouldn't take this too seriously", this is you and I'm the jaguar.

I was too fucking desperate for anyone to try an Indonesian representative in other piece of media I enjoyed, and the first thing came to their mind was that Karambit is very cool for a white man.

Not that it is a bad thing, but if you want to appropriate somebody's culture, can you at least do it right?

Especially with the fact this game will gain profits from regions with diverse cultures they represented. Why would they care so much about Reina representing an obscure style of Karate with a Mishima hybrid, while giving two shits about other reps and brush it off as "Yeah, those looked cool, Imma use that on someone else."

It feels like if the devs are saying the culture is cool, the design looks cool, the weaponry and martial arts look cool.

Everything is cool,

Except you.

You can't profit yourself off other people's cultures, without giving credits to the people who made this happen.

This is the equivalent to Golden Kamuy film having everything crafted by "Native Ainu/Ryukyuan artisans", while not putting the people from that native region to join in and be proud of their own craftsmanship to be shared with the rest of the world.

That is also what I feel about Karambit. Though it is a weapon shared by SEAsians, you can't deny it was also heavily associated with Pencak Silat, an Indonesian martial arts, known to be banned from MMA for how deadly it is to perform for sports, but actively used in the military for that exact same reason. And it will be my biggest pet peeve, for the people to see these things as nothing but cool accessories.

And sometimes...

I wish people were seeing it that way. I wish the voices of the underrepresented minorities were heard. I know it is gonna be an uphill battle for us but I will be with you guys.

[izroulia]

Three fun facts each about my OCs to get you interested in them

Aries (siren)

First word was boat, because their crib was shaped like a boat

Going on T actually changed their tail colour slightly, the blue patches thinned out a bit

Had a lisp as a child because of a gap in their teeth

Icarus (mermaid)

Has a pet Pomeranian called Vivi

Has to do the hand thing to tell which is left and right

Had freckles as a kid, grew out of most of them

Pandora (mermaid)

Favourite flavour of drinks/lollies etc is blueberry

Her scent for perfumes, creams etc is vanilla bean

Her hands and feet are always cold

Zagreus (merman)

Knocked a baby tooth out in a kiteboarding mishap

Has been stung by a jellyfish once

Realised he was gay because of David from Lilo and stitch

Haru (dragon hybrid)

Sometimes growls in his sleep

Played the drums for a while as a kid

Favourite food is tiramisu

Micha (demon)

Didn’t talk until he was 4, suddenly woke up one day and started talking which gave his parents whiplash

Broke his ankle learning to ride a bike as a kid

Never barefoot, he HATES feeling his feet touch the ground. Always in socks

Styxx (Naiad)

Started learning harp at age 5

Was a very sensitive kid, he cried over everything

Very flexible, can do various intermediate gymnastics skills

Willow (human)

Silvermist from the Disney fairies was her gay awakening

Was a faction caption in primary school

Has a scar on her scalp from a gash she got hitting a rock while surfing

Agnemetra (Pheionex)

Before going batshit insane with power, she wanted to be a court judge

Family are Helios worshipers

Surprisingly good at soccer

Ankhamen (cat spirited)

Caught an asp as a kid and bought it into the palace not knowing how dangerous it was

Was Kopesh and archery trained

Would often sneak out of the palace disguised as a civilian

Carmen (angel)

Is a ballet dancer

Loves cinnamon in anything

Has a bad nail biting habit

Sage (gorgon)

The first hair snake he named was Addy, after a death adder.

Wears a bonnet to sleep in winter to keep his snakes warm

Was raised understanding he was intersex and no gender roles were forced on him, he very quickly decided he was definitely a boy

Momo (fae)

Can sew, knit, crochet and weave

Despite owning and working on an orchid, she hates worms. They give her spine shivers

Was a known prankster in high school

Lucky (fae)

Wants to be a ballerina, asked Carmen for lessons

Natural hair is actually light brown. Her birth parents (and later Haru and Micha) are just cool enough to let her keep dying it green

Calls all the castle staff her aunts and uncles

Wren (Naiad)

Hecate devotee

Hates sour things, like an unreasonable amount. DESPISES them.

Has three sisters, only in contact with one of them after major family drama.

Zimri (ghost)

Can play piano

Never learnt to drive

Knew they weren’t cis when they stole their mother’s nightgown as a kid and put it on ‘just to see’.

Bes (scorpion spirited)

Collected scarabs and made them little houses as a kid

Can read super fast and retain all the information

Regularly draws blood by accidentally scraping his lips with his fangs

Naddaha (siren)

Was never actually a child, he was created with the body and brain of an adult. But he did have to learn to be a functioning person

Fought a crocodile and won

Can drop his voice spookily low.

[sigmaelxgr]

"I remember the time I used to be in the Mage Guild. We were young and naive, both fascinated and repulsed by the great elves that, with many disgust, granted us lessons. Auridion was full of those "Altmers". We shared the same traits except our skin; their is from an immaculate gold I used to be jealous of. How can you be so tall your own body becomes one with Magnus..? Envy, because we were so dark, so coal, we only were made of soil and ashes. At least, our eyes were like stars in the deepest blackened sky. We followed one of our favorite Altmers all around Auridion; Cyriel. He used to be our beacon in those troubled periods...

Yet, as I grew up, I discovered ourself to be gifted enough to concern those Altmers. Cyriel, who was as sunlike as we were still storm incarnate, used to carefully manage us - worried about ideas he made himself regarding our nascent aptitudes, he wanted to bridle them "to preserve us". He was deeply concerned about what was coming from Oblivion, as many of his kind usually are, but his first reaction has been to try in vain to shift our interest towards something else to study; Alchemy.

And you know what..?

The more he cancelled my lessons, the bitter I grew. I wanted more, because I knew that I could do more and was so eager to get at least the slightlest of recognition from the golden elves that I became elusive once again. I fled other Mages like their opinion became a jail then left the Guild when I understood that they could not and would not take a moment to listen to the painful babblings of an uncivilized ashlander like me (I barely knew how to write at the time). They had no hope for me, for I was not capable to speak a decent Tamrielic. They maybe thought I'd be the stupiddiest s'wit they would ever take advantage of. They, even, were not expecting me to become someone more than just an assistant. Assistant is the Altmeri polite way to call a pet, whose social ascension is but impossible. And, years before the Aldmeri Dominion forced the Altmers to express their disgust for lower races in private, we became to their eyes even worst than a rat. Nebarra is the equivalent of N'wah, including the slave aspect; because only were given to us the tasks no other people would have accepted.

When I got in touch with what will become our next guild, years later, I acknowledged how much the Mages had restreigned me to forms of teachings that were not absolute. Whole parts of our understanding of the Mundus and further were severed. The nature of godhood. The truth behind myths. The blood of Nirn. They did not tell me about the Flesh. They did not tell me about the Breath, about the Bone, that will become my specialty. They hid those unwanted subjects and researches behind a convenient veil of both silence and disdain. They did what they could to never make of me something else than an alchemist, only good at harvesting and purchasing powders, salts and mushrooms (because Altmers thought our Dunmeri features made us capable to detect fungii), whereas, within the Worm I used to visit from time to time, I was just about to become a promising Conjurator. The Mages astreigned me so much that this single shred of acknowledgement in my researches unleashed my frustration and precipitated me into what you would smugly call desastrous decisions without even having the slightest idea of what you are talking about.

This is why, with all due respect I today may have for you as the sorcerer I became, Archmagister, you should think twice before censoring whole aspects of Magic. You create your own enemy doing so.

The Worm Cult alone is the only place you could really meet interesting individuals, where books were in fact secured and preserved even when their content was not appropriated with traditional religions (it is my role), real places with scholars entertwined in the same hunger for science and truth, pushing themselves forward again and again... Yes, we practiced necromancy. But how many discoveries could change surgery for ever into safest options and better understanding of flesh and bodies without the Worm to initiate the movement? How many of our newcomers emerged from your Guild and only expected support and companionship before you expelled them into our arms, like you did for me when I was still, to your opinion, barely able to babble correctly and so, I guess, vaguely sentient? How many despaired souls just wanted to feel relieved and became outcast because of how strictly you bend them in a new shape, that suited better your own culture? You, too, have comitted many sins. Do never forget them.

I have the gut-feeling that our dearest King may have taught you this lesson already. Don't try to trap minds you can barely reach...

Once yours, back then, - Xangr"

Do you think it would be possible at all for someone to attempt at changing your views on what could be considered necromancy (it's just a form of restoration honestly. Just a little bit... late?). Because I look up to you I really do (I suppose considering the time period it would make sense you would have your reservations) BUT if one makes a mutually beneficial agreement with the deceased it couldn't be all that bad! Ethically sourced necromancy is possible! Not all necromancers are evil!

Absolutely not!

There is, without a doubt, no such thing as “ethical necromancy”! Not only that, but to relate such a vile and twisted study to the arcane art of restoration is an appalling sentiment to be sure! There is nothing similar between healing one who is injured, and wrenching a soul from its body, in order to raise its mindless, deceased corpse under your own control!

I once had an old Psijic peer of mine attempt to argue for so-called “ethical necromancy”, as well. She believed that if a necromancer only used previously deceased bodies, it wasn’t doing any harm! She forgot to take into account the ethical boundaries that would need to be crossed in order to even attempt to desecrate a grave or tomb! Do the dead not have the right to their rest, after they have gone? What about the families of those deceased? I, for one, know full well what it is like to see one close to you risen as a shambling, rotting thrall, their lifeless eyes glazed over and their skin like leather. There was nothing ethical about it.

Or perhaps we should speak on her sigil geodes, instead! Modified soul gems that were created specifically to trap a soul for a short period of time, so that one may speak to it after death. What she regrets to mention is just how traumatic soul trapping is for its victim— and yes, they are victims— no matter what method is used. These souls must be torn from their newly-deceased bodies, must be confined in a miniscule crystal prison, inside which has been stated by released souls to be “worse than Oblivion”.

While not every man or mer that practices necromancy may be doing so for the sake of “evil”, death magic is a slippery slope into madness. The study corrupts your mind, winds its putrid tendrils around your very thoughts and constricts until you are suffocated, until there is nothing left of you but a husk of your former self. There is no way to practice “ethical” necromancy, or “safe” necromancy, or anything of the sort.

Leave the dead to their rest. Study something else.

[obsessive-ego]

Jack it to a jacket nsft

Masterbation, voyeurism, you know how I am

Musical beetlejuice x fem reader (reader has a vagina but uses they them pronouns)

Beetlejuice forgets his jacket and you use it while he's gone

Beetlejuice had announced to you he had to spend a few days in the netherworld for bio exorcist meeting or something, you really didnt get it, it's not like he actually had a job, all you knew is that he's been complaining about it since day one. That he had to leave the world of the living for a bit.

The day finally came for him to head out for his little business trip, you could tell the ghoul was less then thrilled to go, slight purple streaks graced his hair, you knew he wasnt too keen on being in the netherworld, the demon had such a fascination with the living, an adoration for living with you, going back to the netherworld, even for a few days was like heading back to work after a long period off, soul sucking.

"Alright Sugar" he starts adjusting his tie, his jacket resting on the arm of the couch "I'll be gone for a few days, try not to miss me too much~"

You give the ghoul a soft smile "itll be quieter for sure"  you try to joke

"Yeah..." he trails off, his playful teasing voice dropping along with his grin.

"I know this is gonna suck, but the sooner you get it started the sooner it's over with" you try to cheer him up giving the demon a light punch in the arm.

Beetlejuice's hue was now completely purple, you frown at the sight.

"You know doll, I'm being awfully selfish here, but, how bout ya give me a little sugar before I go?~"

You flinch at the suggestion, you wouldnt say you were shocked at this request, but you were.

"You're stalling"

"Come on babes, humor me, I gotta fill out paper work and deal with my mother, could REALLY use a pick me up~" he nudges you gently and gives a wink, hoping it'll soften you up, it does.

"Fine" you huff out, you grab the demon by the suspenders, yanking him to you level giving him a quick peck.

"No tongue on the first date?~" he snickers, as pink patches pop up in his mossy beard.

"...have a good trip" you utter trying to hide your embarrassment

"Oh doll I will, thinking about your soft lips~" the demon's voice drops to that low growl that never failed to make you warm in your lower areas

"Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice! Bee-"

You could NEVER make it to 3, the ghoul was always quick to slap a hand to your mouth, pulling you into a side hug.

"Trying to kick me out so soon sugar? So mean~" he chuckles, the ghoul pulls his hand from your mouth and you sigh.

Beetlejuice pauses holding you in this awkward side hug for a few minutes

"Bee?"

"I know" he grumbles, he begrudgingly pulls away

The ghoul makes his way to the empty wall and draws his entrance.

Knock

Knock

Knock

Your living room wall opens up to the netherworld, it was always a rare sight to you, a little anxiety inducing, you freeze for a moment, but as the demon steps into the world of the dead you shout

"Wait!"

Beetlejuice turns to you

"You forgot something"

The demon's eyes light up and in a flash he was infront of you, his hands cup your face as he slams his lips into yours, you jolt in surprise, as the ghoul pulls away he purrs "almost forgot my second goodbye kiss, thanks doll" and just like that he was gone, the netherworld was out of sight and you were alone.

"Your jacket" you whisper still alittle dizzy from his kiss.

...

The jacket he left behind spent a few hours folded neatly on the couch as you go about your alone time. Everytime beetlejuice was away you always took the opportunity to get some chores done, you liked the demon yeah, but he always got under foot, or he would be creepy while you tried to get things done. There were times where you were just doing the laundry, and the demon would just stare at you, no words, he just sat atop the dryer watching you like a hawk as you loaded the washer, it made your skin crawl and your stomach turn to have that much attention put on you, hell, you'd rather him be lewd and annoying then that.

As creepy as he was, that was just who he was, and you loved him, his awful charms, his terrible jokes, and his over all handsome, to you, look, wormed it's way into your heart and refused to let go.

Every kiss, every grope, every pet name he gave you dug you deeper into your affection. Though you were too terrified to confront him about your feelings, he was a literal demon, could he even share these feelings, let alone would he like you the same way, all in all you didnt want to ruin what the two of you had, friends, good friends.

You missed him, you really did, so what was the harm in wearing his coat, just around the house, and maybe smelling it every now and again, that wasnt too weird right? And it would be fine if you were to fall asleep wearing it right? There was no harm in it, but if beetlejuice was to pop in unexpectedly and if he say you wearing it casually youd never hear the end of it, and yet you never took it off.

It's been a few days since beetlejuice left for the netherworld, you were relaxing on your bed looking at memes trying to ignore how much you missed a certain undead bastard, hell you were wearing the jacket he left behind and stealing a small sniff here and there, beetlejuice never really gives you a time frame as to when he'd be back whenever he goes to the netherworld.

'Time moves differently when you're dead, and boy does it move, but it slows down when I'm with you babes' you shiver and try to swallow the lump in your throat that memory caused, the undead bastard was such a flirt.

You grew a tad lonely without your favorite dead guy, yes you used to live alone before beetlejuice barged his way into your home, but you have gotten used to him, you miss him when he's not with you, especially his no concept of personal space, how the ghoul's hands always found a home on your body, your hips, your waist, your shoulders.

You feel a familiar pulse between your legs, you try and ignore it, though your mind was reeling with old memories of beej touching you, you werent even scrolling through your phone anymore, just staring at the screen, thinking of the demon's strong callused hands running up and down your thighs.

"You win" you grumble sliding off your bed and crouching next to it, you pull out a little tool box. Opening the little box and revealing an average sized bright green vibrator brandishing a nice bulbous tip. You push the button on the toy's base and it buzzes to life, you smile, glad to see the barriers were still alive, it was too late for you to run out and get replacements.

You shimmy out of your pajama pants and panties before you hop back up on the bed. You remove the jacket giving it a deep inhale of its scent before placing it down next to you.

...

Your living room walls silently open up, letting in a thick fog of green reavling your demon friend, the ghoul knew it was late, late enough that his sweet little y/n should be dead asleep, as your living room rearranges itself back to normal the ghoul floats to your bedroom, excited to come snuggle up to your soft warm body after what felt like an eternity with dealing with his mother and newly deads with no sense of humor.

"Ah!"

The ghoul freezes at the sound, standing in front of your closed bedroom door, you could be? He presses an ear to the door, the faint sound of buzzing and muffled moans could be herd.

In a flash Beetlejuice's hair and moss on his face turns electric pink.

"A welcome home present? For me? Oh dolly~" he whispers before snapping his fingers and camouflaging himself. Beetlejuice fazed through the door and froze at the sight of you, yes he has seen you touch yourself before, but this?

There you were Laying on your bed, propped up by pillows, shirt pulled up exposing your breasts, bottom half completely bare, pumping the vibrator he got you (as an apology for messing with your old one) in and out of your leaking pussy, with your face buried in his jacket, muffling your whining.

The ghoul could have blown his load from the sight alone, yes he knew you liked him, and yes he knows you want him, but this? This was dirty, this was naughty, smelling his clothes and jerking off? You were just as horny as him, not really, no one is, but he'll take this.

"And here I thought only I had a scent fetish" he chuckles making his way to the end of the bed, plopping down to get a good view of your soaked vigina, he was fixated on the speed you pumped the toy in and out of you. Beetlejuice fumbled with his fly, pulling out his semi, the ghoul licks the palm of his hand, coding it is a nice layer of saliva before wrapping it around his cock. Beetlejuice starts off slowly, but it isnt long until his pace matches yours, imagining the toy between your legs was him, god slash satan he envied that peice of silicon.

"Beetlejuice" you whine bucking your hips up to meet the vibrator as it slid back in, you take another deep inhale of the jacket's scent and whine, beetlejuice groans in response.

"Such a dirty little thing, fuck- I expected to come home and see ya sleeping it in, ah- but this? Oh babes, I would have left it behind months ago to, oh god- to see you like this" the ghoul babbled, he really didnt want to finish before you, he wanted to enjoy this show for as long as possible.

You were absolutely lost in your little activity, using you non dominant hand to hold the demon's jacket to your nose, the scent drove you wild, you could imagine beetlejuice driving his cock into you over and over again, the idea of him fully dressed fucking you while you were completely naked made you tremble.

“Oh my god Bee, fuck, yes, please, fucking oh my god I want you to…Beetlejuice fuck…” you babble as you begin to pick up pace with the vibrator.

The ghoul drools at the show you oh so kindly are giving him, hearing you moan out his name, oh how he loved that sound, it wasnt the first time beetlejuice herd you moan out his name during your 'alone time' but it still made his toes curl as though it was.

Beetlejuice growls through his teeth, he was almost there, seeing you use his jacket in such a way was better than he ever could’ve imagined, yes he dreamed of you using his things for sexual satisfaction, he just thought he'd never see it.

Beetlejuice found that trying to keep the pace with you was growing too hard, he needed to finish, he needed you to finish. He didn’t want to cum before you, he needed to see you cum while using his jacket, he needed the image of you using his things to cum to be carved into his brain.

Thankfully, Beej is good at edging, this wasnt his first day being a peeping Tom, and it wont be the last, it wasnt easy, but he could do it, watching you whine and buck your hips because of him, sure made it a challenge though.

You were almost there, you stop pumping the toy, only for a second, to crank the vibrations to the higher setting, your hips jolt up as you press the jacket against your face muffling your screams, with the intensity up you were ready for the home stretch, you begin to move the toy again, in and out, imagining it was the ghoul you oh so loved. You could just imagine beetlejuice pressing you into the mattress with every thrust, all the dirty things he'd be saying to you, praising you for how well you take his fat cock, growling, biting, you couldn't take it anymore, you felt like you were gonna explode. God you wanted that smug bastard so badly, you loved him so much, you moved the hand holding the jacket against you face and brought it to your vagina, as one hand pumped the vibrator the other played with your clit. You groan through your teeth at the added simulation, if only you could see the demon infront of you.

Beetlejuice sat before you, jaw dropped, tongue hanging, drool dripping down his chin, panting. His cock was throbbing, leaking pre cum, he was ready to burst, honestly he surprised he hasn't yet, watching his y/n go to town on their pussy. Beetlejuice watched ad you hips bounced, and your toes curled, he could finally get a good look at your face, you were tearing up.

"Feels good doesnt babes? Wait till you get the real deal~"

"LAWRENCE!"  You shout as your hips buck upwards, just then, something new happened, you squirted, thought you didnt notice, you were too busy, head lulled back, panting, and using the soft buzzing of the vibrator to ride out your orgasm.

But beetlejuice on the other hand saw, he saw you squirt when you called him, when you called him by his first name, a name you rarely used. The demon blew his load shortly after your little finale, an image that will always be treasured by him. Beetlejuice wipes the cum off his hand on his pant leg, and slides his now soft cock back into his pants. He watches you lay there for a moment before you gingerly sit up, reaching forward to turn off the vibrator and remove it from you, you flinch doing so, still tender. You give out a yawn and toss the toy on the floor mumble how you'll deal with it in the morning, adjusting your shirt to cover hour chest you slide under the covers, in minutes you were asleep, holding his jacket oh so tightly.

Beetlejuice envied the garment, and as much as the ghoul wanted to slide in next you now, he couldnt, you were naked from the waist down. But you did leave him a tasty snack, so he couldnt be mad at you. Beetlejuice snatches up the freshly used vibrator, still warm from your touch, and vanishes

"Good night y/n" his voice purrs in your ears,

"...Lawrence..."

[trensu]

I had a thought about a vaguely Cupid-and-Psyche inspired crack!fic where Elias is a god of Love

(Jon: don't you mean Emotional Manipulation?

Elias: you say to-may-to, i say to-mah-to

Jon: ... I say to-mah-to, I'm not American, what does this have to do with anything?)

Jon is obviously Cupid. Elias took a shine to him and made him immortal against his will and keeps him as his servant or smth. Idk Elias is a douchebag, okay? ANYWAY, Elias is also a petty bitch and so he gave Jon Love arrows

(Jon: it's mind control.

Elias: they inspire passion, Jon. Just bc you don't experience it, doesn't mean--

Jon: No. Me being ace has nothing to do with it. They're mind control arrows. These people wouldn't have done all that if they weren't being influenced.

Elias: you have no romance in your soul

Jon: ...i find your interpretation of love and romance extremely suspect.)

Whenever Elias feels jealous or neglected or just plain bored tbh, he sends Jon out with to shoot whoever's caught his ire with one of those love arrows and has them make fools of themselves. Jon does it (he's bound to Elias for handwavey reasons so he can't really disobey) and it usually gets him in trouble. It's how he's gotten all those scars. (Jane Prentiss falling in love with worms and attacking Jon with them when he accidentally stepped on one while trying to make an exit was pretty tame in comparison to Jude Perry's reaction when she realized Jon struck Agnes with an arrow so she'd fall for some no-name mortal boy).

Such is Jon's life. Being immortal is not all it's cracked up to be when you can get injured and scarred. So when Elias started muttering about Peter's wandering eye, Jon knew it was only a matter of time before he'd send him out with those arrows again.

Peter, apparently, had been showing too much interest in a mortal boy named Martin, whose Loneliness tasted as bittersweet as dark chocolate (or so Peter claimed as he boasted during his dinner with Elias while Jon slowly sunk further into his chair the more irritated Elias's scowl grew).

"make him fall in love with something hideous and embarrassing," Elias had seethed at him, practically throwing the quiver at his head. At least two of the arrows pricked him so he was quite grateful that he was immune to their mind control (Elias: don't be ridiculous, Jon. Having you susceptible to the magic you're tasked to handle would be a stupid move on my part. You could get compromised and be completely useless to me!)

Grumbling, Jon set out to track down the mortal boy. He was not prepared for the the way the sunlight glinted off of Martin's light hair or his warm smile. He was not prepared for the twinge he felt in his heart when Martin's pale eyes glimmered with tears after receiving his mother's harsh words (the pain, worryingly, felt all too similar to the slice of the arrows he aimed at people).

He didn't want to shoot Martin with one of the mind control arrows. He wanted Martin to be happy. So he persuades his good friend Daisy to get her gf Basira to fake a prophecy. To her credit, she did a fantastic job delivering a fake prophecy. But there was some sort of miscommunication (or Martin's mother deliberately misunderstood; it could go either way). Instead of telling Martin's mother to marry off her son to a kind and handsome man with a gentle heart in order to avoid the wrath of the gods, the prophecy was somehow interpreted as sacrificing Martin's hand in marriage to some sort of hideous beast that lived at the peak of a nearby and treacherous mountain.

(Jon: how did she get that idea from your prophecy? what exactly did you tell her???

Basira: i can't fake a prophecy, Jon. and i'm not telling you what the prophecy was

Jon: What?? Why not???

Basira: it would violate the oracle-client confidentiality clause on the consent form we have them sign prior to a reading)

Jon was irritated by how quickly and eagerly Martin's mother was to dress up her son and dump him on the mountain. He was tempted to use the arrows on her, instead, but he figured Martin would be upset if something happened to his mother so he refrained. Jon fretted as Martin started his slow procession up the mountain. Martin wasn't made to endure such a harsh environment, and even if he had, he shouldn't have to!! Martin deserves to be loved and treated well and get given all the good things life could offer!!

So Jon constructs a luxurious enchanted castle using godly magic and more favors than he probably should've called in. He puts big obvious signage to Martin knew it would be his castle provided by his non-existent monster spouse.

(Daisy: he's gonna get suspicious when his monster spouse doesn't show up. he'll probably leave and try to find it. he seems like the self-sacrificing type and you know how those get.

Jon: i have a plan

Daisy: .... is this like all your other plans?

Jon: shut up, daisy)

So Jon pretends to be the hideous monster spouse Martin was expecting. Sort of. He only visits after dark, and informs Martin that he can not bring light into the room for if he sees his visage he'd be cursed (or something; Jon came up with something on the fly and was definitely not suave about it but Martin complied and that's all that mattered). He spends his nights with Martin, telling him stories and meekly asking permission to pet his hair and hold his hand while doing his best to ignore the pounding of his heart and the heat on his cheeks whenever Martin softly says yes. He didn't say yes the first time Jon asked, and Jon skittered away from where he had been creeping closer. He respected Martin's boundaries (he isn't Elias, after all) but as he and Martin spent more time together, Martin became less guarded and began to allow Jon close.

It got to the point where they would cuddle in bed and Jon was so content in Martin's arms that he occasionally dozed with him. Everything was great and Martin seemed genuinely happy to spend his days in the castle learning new hobbies and such while spending his nights with someone he couldn't see. Until one day Martin asked if he could have his mother visit. Jon wanted to say no, but the hesitant way Martin asked tasted too much of fear of rejection for Jon to deny him.

(Daisy: why do I have to guide her here?

Jon: bc you're my friend and if you don't Martin will be sad which means I'll be sad and you'll have to listen to me cry about it and you hate that

Daisy: damn it jon)

And because martin's mother is awful and bitter and spiteful, she tells Martin he should find out what his "captor" looked like. his spouse was a monster, after all, he should know what he's dealing with so he could defend himself and her if it should decide to attack them. so one night, shortly after his mother left, he waits until Jon has dozed off before quietly lighting a candle.

Jon wakes when he feels hot wax drip onto him and sees Martin staring a him with a shocked expression. Jon realizes what happened and flees in a panic. He knows what he looks like; short and skinny an riddled with scars of all kinds. Ofc Martin would be disgusted by him. He ends up licking his wounds at Elias's.

(Elias: my poor delicate darling precious boy

Jon: really, Elias?

Elias: can't a father worry about his child??

Jon: you're not my father!! you kidnapped me and immortalized me against my will!

Elias: details, details. anyway, you can stay here until you recover from your grievous injuries. byyyyee!

Jon: where are you going? elias? why's the door locked? elias?? LET ME OUT, YOU POMPOUS ASS)

When Jon recovers and finally manages to escape, he finds out that Martin had been trying to find him but Elias had given him impossible tasks to prove he's worthy of him. Thankfully, Daisy, Georgie and Basira all helped him out, much to elias's displeasure. Since Martin completed the tasks, Jon was able to reunite with him and they lived happily ever after~!

[borkthemork]

Finally cleaned up this draft based on @/popcornbee’s art and it is now officially on AO3 as well, so I hope all of you enjoy!

---

There were numerous pathways for a sparrow to travel. Following their migration patterns, they'd travel down to warmer lands, typically somewhere protected for the nights. In doing so, they'd rest in the winter and return back all new. Refreshed for the upcoming springs and summers.

For American Tree Sparrows, these patterns were necessary to survive.

For Joe Sparrow, the true information depended. 

He liked to flit about on rapid wing beats. He preferred curdled mealworms due to previous battles hurting his digestive system. For migration, he remained stubborn on whether he liked the warmer breezes or if the Newtopian stables were of true home than anything else.

Newtopia had a history of domestic birds. Joe Sparrow was the mixed case when he grew all-natural, got captured and owned by one or more owners who called him previous names, and then found Marcy in the middle of sweltering rain. Where a mission lead to something new and surprising, bold and unorthodox, and the moment Joe saved her — chose her hand of all people — Marcy promised to keep him safe. Safe, protected, cared for.

And nothing had pulled these two away from each other. Not even the fleeting concept of gravity. Or the fact winter threatened his nests.

Anne asked about him before. On one occasion, where Marcy groomed him under Plantar barn shade, Anne looked at his big, round, puffy belly and wondered out loud where the scar above his eye fit in out of all things.

Of course, Marcy had the answer.

“Oh, you know Joe,” she sighed. “He keeps pushing his limits. You won’t believe how many scars this bad boy got during his old career. For the eye one, he actually got that scar back when he was just a fledgling, but this was during the morally ethical times where amphibians didn’t really care for mounts unless they were battle resistant.”

Her hand parsed through his plume, giggling when Joe tweeted pleasantly against her skin. “But now he’s in a morally ethical place, aren’t you, boy? Yes, you are.”

Anne snorted. She ruffled Joe’s feathers too, and the two giggled quietly when the sparrow seemed to lean into the touch. Almost as if the sparrow connected immediately to Anne.

And Anne teared up over the thought. “It’s just like mother nature intended.”

The week afterward reminded Marcy of her sparring days, but instead of swords and smoke bombs, she had worms and patience. Lots of patience as Anne attempted to feed some mesh into Joe’s beak — and ultimately got stuck when she leaned too hard into his mouth.

It was funny how all this bonding time left her blind to anything else on the schedule. Marcy could instruct Anne to direct the mealworms to Joe for hours and still find Anne’s laughter to be the highlight of her day. Maybe Joe would sit on Anne, and leave her yelling and laughing under floof-fulls of bird, and Marcy would sketch that scene than the typical mission schematics Lady Olivia instructed her to look through.

Marcy hypothesized that Joe's love for attention spurned her focus. It made sense for birds to tease if they didn’t get the proper reaction out of people. It made sense for a bird such as Joe to find affection in someone who exuded goodness from their heart. But then Marcy would remember Anne. For Anne had Joe’s affection at the palm of her hands but irritated the bird enough to prefer dipping her into a nearby pond just for the sake of playfighting. And that enough had gotten her intrigued.

Was it another phenomenon she needed to analyze? To understand fully until the cusp of discovery?

Perhaps. Not right now though.

Marcy had found a breakthrough. A breakthrough in Animal-Human Sociology. But her focus lingered elsewhere, came down to how she rested next to a bucket load of dirty feathers — snoring into her best friend’s shoulder until the moon rose high above the Amphibian mountains.

---

When Marcy stared through the sky, and the act alone reminded her so much of Kid Icarus. If she ignored the wings branching out from the corners of her eyes, and only focused on the colors then she thought of herself as flying. Flying through skies that bled yellows and reds like Aivazovsky, framed so well against the crisp horizons that Marcy could almost paint the perfectest picture in her mind.

And when wind buffered her hair, parted the clouds with her hands, she swore that the taste on her tongue was of fresh saltwater.

Navigation. Freedom. The fades from orange to blue to maroon. Marcy loved riding for a reason. She held onto Joe’s reins with the utmost quickness, spelled out her name with short dives and leaps through cumulus tufts. And in the aftermath, she wrung her coat dry of moisture.

At least, until Anne became a priority.

Anne Boonchuy. Friend of ten years. Friends since the term friends became part of the Merriam Webster. Now, the latter sounded silly, but friendship could be a frank concept at times, it was something Marcy had no clue how to navigate, and yet Anne found her and decided Marcy was worth her time.

So they were here now: One readying an avian saddle, the other petting Joe’s tufts with the heaviest affection. And aw, Joe seemed to like it, what with the amount of cooing he’d been doing for the past hour.

Not like Marcy didn’t want to get in on that action. She just needed to finish clipping on the latches — and when she did that, it would be go-time, her a-game.

“Anne, can you push me that satchel?”

“Sure thing, Marce.” With ease, Anne somehow lugged a chair-sized bag over to where Marcy was, and they remained silent afterward as she finished the remainder of preparations.

What preparations? Well, the kind that remained out of her league.

“Sooo, where are ya’ going, exactly?” Anne asked. She had the same perturbed look to her ever since she whiffed the scents from the bag itself.

Marcy couldn’t help but rub her neck, not knowing how well to respond. “Well, I’ve been planning to scout an area somewhere high up in the Southern sect of Amphibia. I got wind that some bandits plan to use a route to jump ambassadors from here and there on the pathways, and I just wanted to make sure that doesn’t happen again, you know?"

“For sure, dude. I mean, you are the boss after all. That stuff’s gotta be pretty important if you’re getting loads of homework for it.”

“Well,” Marcy puckered her lips. She was right in some sense. Chief rangers plopped themselves into some high category up in the Newtopian ranks. It made sense. “Correct, kinda. I don’t really call it a boss position, more so a job. A very fun job, actually. You’d be surprised at how many prefer office desks to infantry, it’s nuts.”

Although, the more she thought about it, being able to stay safe in a big ole’ cube than getting skewered by bandits did sound appealing. Less probability for harm, sure. But Marcy loved the hunt way too much for her own good.

If Andrias gave her another objective, she might as well do a little dance at this point; there was always something exciting to partake in.

And with Joe, the fun always doubled with him.

At least, until she remembered that Anne had been staring at her, snapping her fingers in front of Marcy’s nose. “Marbles, you good? Another zone-out moment again?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Thanks, I was about to get worried, the internal dialogue I had was getting way too extensive for my taste."

"Well, now that you’re out of your internal dialogue stuff, I got to ask.” Anne peered at Joe again. “Can I get on your bird?”

Marcy blinked at her. “Oh. Of course. You don’t really need to ask me if you’re curious about riding him.”

“I know, but he’s a big softie, really wanted to make sure I got your permission before anything else.” She coughed. “Plus I’m not gonna take any vehicles without permission. Tried that once. Didn’t go so hot.”

Somehow, Marcy found herself giggling. She couldn’t pinpoint why; Anne’s honesty must’ve just been that funny. “Well, if you want to jump on the SS Joe Sparrow, I’d be happy to show you around and get you a front-row ticket to some action.”

“For real?” Anne beamed, only for her expression to melt into a frown, scratching her chin at the thought. “Aren’t you on ranger duty though?”

Okay, she had a point there. “I mean, yeah, but I’ve mainly done this stuff solo. Sure I’ve got Joe to accompany me but it’ll be interesting to have a second person on board for the ride.” Without a skip in her beat. “And why wouldn’t I have you go with me? Of course, I would. You’re always the best on road trips.”

And with that, Anne’s smile grew tenfold. Oddly beautiful. Oddly hard to describe. Weirder to even have herself think those things in the first place. “Count me in, then. Let’s go, Marbles!”

Oh well. She’d think about that later.

---

Joe softened his landings in-between. And at certain points, when the mountains dipped to valleys he rocketed around and buffeted the gales just for the heck of it. He had the heart of a little kid sometimes, every moment he swooped through some current or plummet forward if he got the chance. He liked to make himself seem so grand when he cheeped. And Marcy confided in the idea that no matter how aged this sparrow would become, he’d still be the softest avian around.

Always there. Always playful. Always…eager for potential mates. He was the total package for best mount in all of Amphibia, and Marcy didn’t want it any other way.

So with Anne, Marcy became delighted when Joe kept that same kindness. It wasn’t just Marcy doing rough landings against solid ground or her zipping through the air. There were two people, two people to consider on the back of his saddle.

And Joe never disappointed her. He pivoted, swerved on command, and coaxed giggles from the girl behind her, whose arms pressed tightly to her waist until their hair puffed out from the wind.

“Keep your arms locked in, Annie B!”

Marcy’s hands whipped the reins, whooping at the top of her lungs when the dive pushed oceans of air into their faces.

The straps and belts dug into their laps when Joe pulled up, braced them in a loop-de-loop that had their eyes rolling when they finally exited out to a steady level.

And Marcy could hear the laughter behind her.

The laughter spoke of so much joy and happiness, of a symphony that Marcy had heard so many times before, and Marcy leaned into her warmth when they passed from the hallowed groves to the shimmering Newtingale creaks.

All throughout the Southern sect, all throughout the faint rattle of Marcy’s heart.

---

The ride home had been a lot darker than Marcy expected. For most of her trips in and out of the valleys, a lot of her path-finding culminated in something one could describe as an adventure. If one described her and Anne beating up an entire bandit group disguised as a clown posse to be an adventure, then yes. That was what happened.

They went head-to-head, toe-to-toe. All while decked out in white makeup and smelly rotten clown noses. This all sounded ridiculous, but out in Amphibia, one should never ever underestimate a theatre group.

For entertainment was their cruelest weapon.

Anne had been the first to ambush the bandits during the mission. With the agile reflexes of a cat, she deflected each oncoming slash with ease while Marcy took aim, calculated her crossbow trajectory until the enemies all knocked unconscious in the mud.

If one ignored the clown get-up, then what she talked about seemed like a typical day for Marcy. Always saving someone. Always doing her best. Always making sure no newts got chewed up by some toad or frog dressed up in rogue wear.

But the difference today was that she had someone to accompany her. Or how that same someone jumped onto Joe and gave that feisty bird a few scratches to his feathers, trying to wash her face in the water bucket they stored earlier today.

It all seemed domestic-like. The kind that Marcy dreamed about in fantasy stories, where the protag had a close ally to travel the world until their dying breaths.

And gosh, it was so cool that Anne became that friend.

She seemed to enjoy it too, what with the close embrace when they finally took off for the night, her chin propped on her cloaked shoulder, or the fact her exhales drifted in crisp Amphibian air.

A sign that she was enjoying everything. Everything from the swoop of Joe’s wings, the purple haze of the night, or how the moon cloaked their forms in red lighting — masking the landscape in darkness like a blanket over bedding.

Anne sighed contently. Her face nestled close to Marcy’s neck. She didn’t show that she regretted being here.

Not one bit.

“I’ve never been this high up before,” she mumbled. “The only times I did were when some creature flung me up into the middle of nowhere.”

Marcy hummed to that. Anne's fingers ghosted the triceps of Marcy's arms, left goosebumps to form and bristle in the cold, it made everything feel weird. Comfortable. Safe. “So is this less traumatizing and more exciting then?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Her voice rang, all charmed and sweet. “By a long shot.”

And Marcy was glad about that. Ever since she found Joe, a lot of her adventures had gotten easier to deal with. From zooming over to the Dry Swamp to the many forests hidden deep underneath solid canopies, one of the many pros of having a steed like Joe was of the view.

A view that made scouting ten times easier. The kind that entangled her in clouds, the song of avians, and the dance of the breeze. The kind that chilled her nose, left cumulus droplets on her thumbs, and when she settled down from grazing the upper layers of oxygen her body’s equilibrium warmed her up like it always intended to.

To have Anne feel that same experiences — the same elation — made the trip all the more worth it. Especially when Marcy’s skin grew warmer under non-equilibrium circumstances. All due to the cuddly contact.

Oh, Anne.

“If you want, I know a froggy pitstop nearby that sells slushies twenty-four-seven,” Marcy said softly. Joe went into a descent, already maneuvered by Marcy’s quick hands at the reins. They weren’t going to land yet. At least until Anne said so. “Wouldn’t hurt to take in the view on a full stomach.”

“That sounds amazing.” Anne pressed closer, and Marcy tried not to think about the murmur, how low it rumbled against Marcy’s ear. Gosh, she must be really relaxed by now. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m ready for some grub.”

“Well, they aren’t really grubs more like a mish-mash of every insect on the palette.”

“I try not to think about it.”

With laughter escaping them, Marcy directed Joe into the forest space below, her heart synced with the beat of sparrow wings.

[gnocchighoul]

Operation Hot Potato

Summary: 

“See? She’s just a baby~” you coo, gently wiggling the kitten in his face.

Lucifer grimaces. Takes another, larger step back. “If a baby is what you want, I’d rather give you one myself.”

(You bring home a kitten and try to hide her from Lucifer. Unfortunately for you, nothing gets past the House of Lamentation’s resident pet-hater.)

Word Count: 3.6k

AO3 Portal

You found a kitten.

Well—kind of. It’s debatable.

You think it’s a kitten. She certainly looks like one—fluffy little thing with snow-white fur, blue eyes, a poofy little triangular head, and the most perfectly pink toe beans you’ve ever had the pleasure of squishing. 

The reason why you’re so hesitant to call her a kitten? 

She breathes fire. Hiccups fireballs. Sneezes flaming hot streams of… well, flames.

You learned that firsthand ten minutes ago, when you nearly got your eyebrows singed off by a particularly dangerous sneeze. All you wanted to do was give her a smooch on her wittle pink nose, you weren’t expecting to get blasted in the face with an orangey-red inferno.

But you know what? It doesn’t matter if she’s a little strange. You’ve sworn your everlasting love to your newfound daughter—your secret daughter that the demon brothers can absolutely not know about under any circumstances whatsoever, because you just know that Lucifer will make you put her back in the wild where you found her.

Your fire-sneezing, bouncing baby girl wouldn’t last another day out in the harsh wilderness (aka the dumpster that you retrieved her from). In the forty-seven minutes that you’ve had her, she’s grown accustomed to belly scratches, sleeping in your bed, and gnawing on only the finest tortilla chips in the Devildom. 

Her name is Tater Tot.

She sticks out like a sore white thumb among your colorful assortment of pillows. Not that she cares. She’s living it up in the lap of luxury. Tater Tot stretches—turns around with every paw in the air, proudly showing off her rotund little baby belly, and mrrps at you.

Its the cutest thing you've ever fucking seen. You just wanna SQUEEZE her. Ugh, who would've guessed that a little trash fire baby would steal your heart so quickly?

And it’s not like you broke the rules and brought home a pet on purpose. Tater Tot had chosen you. By choosing to rummage around in that specific dumpster that you just so happened to walk past on your way home from RAD, Tater Tot had effectively decided that you were to be her new caretaker. 

It’s fate. Kismet. You’ve wanted a pet for so long—dog, cat, dragon, gremlin, doesn’t matter. You’ve spent hours upon hours bitching and moaning to anyone that’ll listen about how badly you’ve wanted a pet to smother with your love. Nobody has been able to escape your woe. Everyone—the brothers, the angels, Solomon, and even your good buddy Diavolo (somehow, Barbatos has managed to evade you) have all been forced to listen to your lamenting about the pet-shaped hole in your heart. 

But finally—finally—your prayers have been answered.

With a fire breathing kitten. 

Oh yeah. Kismet.

You’re fairly certain that Tater Tot has never lived in a house. She had been perfectly content to snuggle up in your school uniform like some kind of tiny, pouch dwelling, heat seeking creature, until you had snuck into your bedroom and closed the door behind you. 

The second you set her on the floor, it was like a switch flipped. Tater Tot had shown off her unnatural strength by flinging her little puffball body around the room like a possessed tumbleweed, spastically crashing around the room and knocking over furniture and keepsakes alike.

You had finally cornered her under your bed and sat peacefully nearby, humming quietly to calm her. It didn’t take long for you to coax her out with snacks—she liked the chips, but passionately disliked the gummy worms—and within twenty minutes you had Tater Tot lounging with you on the bed, rubbing her soft little cheeks into your palm for rubs and scritches. 

You need to come up with a plan to hide your beloved child ASAP. It’s only a matter of time until either Lucifer hauls you off to his room or one of the brothers decides to camp out in yours for the night, and if word gets back to Lucifer that you’re harboring a fugitive animal… Well, favoritism or not, it won’t end pretty.

Though perhaps there is one person who can help you with this little secret.

Satan. The cat-loving fourth brother. 

Man oh man, he’s going to be thrilled with sweet little Tater Tot. You have to be careful though—you reckon that there is a 96% chance that he’ll try to steal her away from you. Trying to juggle custody battles and harboring your secret daughter from Lucifer all at the same time sounds like such a pain.

But… That would still be better than having to put Tater Tot back on the streets.

With the threat of big-meanie-Lucifer looming over you like a particularly gothic and pet-hating phantom, you come to a final decision. You’re just going to have to pull on your big girl pants and accept the soul crushing truth of the situation.

Satan is your only hope. 

But how are you going to sneak your daughter all the way over to his room?

You look around your own room for something, anything that can hide your beloved dumpster pet and—ohohoho.

 ~

“Darling?” 

You freeze midstep.

Busted.

“What’s up, Lucifer?” You try so hard to keep your voice calm and normal. So hard. 

Judging by the way Lucifer looks at you, you’ve failed. And you were so close. Satan’s bedroom is literally right there! Only a few yards away! If only you’d just had ten more seconds to yourself in the dark hallway... Alas, the warden your beloved Lucifer aka the resident pet hater stands between you and the dusty salvation that is Satan’s library of a bedroom.

You shuffle your feet a bit nervously. Readjust your grip on the cardboard box. A bit warily, Lucifer eyes it.

“What’s in the box?”

You panic. “What box?” 

Fuck.

Lucifer cracks a smile, though it doesn’t meet his gaze. He gestures to the cardboard box that you are currently holding near to your chest like some sort of ugly, cubic liferaft. 

“Oh!” You laugh. It’s too high pitched. Suspicious. “This box? It’s just some books for Satan, it’s nothing—”

The box sneezes.

Your mouth snaps shut and you thank all the fucking stars in heaven that this sneeze didn’t flambé you.

Lucifer’s eyes narrow accusingly. Tone icy and sharp, he says, “Books? Is that so?” 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck—

You wilt a bit under the intensity of his gaze. “They’re… cursed books? Yeah, so cursed and dangerous and only Satan knows how to nullify the evilness of these books so I’m gonna just slip past you—”

Lucifer takes a step to the left, planting himself firmly in your path and effectively thwarting your desperate grand escape. A single blade of moonlight cuts through the curtains and slices through the shadows, Lucifer now caught in the spotlight and—oh that fucker did that on purpose. Ugh, what a drama queen.

Red eyes practically glowing in the dark, he nods menacingly at the box. “Go on then. Open it.” 

“I dunno, I really shouldn’t because of the curses and—”

Clearly not in the mood to entertain your scheming-slash-rambling, Lucifer takes matters into his own hands. Before you can twist away, one of his hands darts out to knock the lid off of the box and—

Books. It’s filled with books.

He frowns. Lifts one up and—nope, there’s just more books underneath. “...What?” 

“Happy? Now if you don’t mind I really should get—”

“Let me help you with that.”

Your reflexes aren't fast enough. Before you can leap back or Sparta kick him away, Lucifer plucks the box right out of your arms… and reveals a squirming lump beneath your sweater, right inbetween your breasts. The box hits the floor. Lucifer stares at your newly acquired mass with a very particular sort of horror that you’ve never seen before. 

You panic. Again.

“...I grew a new boob. I think the Devildom air is toxic or something, but it’s okay! The more the merrier, right? We can still—gET YOUR HANDS OFF MY TIDDIES—”

Lucifer presses one hand to your lower back, trapping you, and yanks down your zipper, revealing the purrito that is wrapped kind-of-securely to your chest with a scarf. He recoils backwards, looking equal parts horrified and peeved off.

Time for Plan B.

93% sure that you can still recover from this situation that is rapidly soaring downhill, you stuff your hands into your pockets and then throw them outwards, flinging fistfuls of rainbow confetti into the air. “Surpriiiise! You’re a daddy! Say hello to our daughter.”

“No.”

“Her name is Tater Tot. Personally, I think she takes after you.”

The Tater in question shimmies out of her silky prison and tumbles nose first into your palms. You hold her right up to Lucifer’s face, grinning like a goddamn sociopath when he takes an alarmed step backwards. Little puffball paws desperately try to swipe at his nose. Lucifer looks downright offended by the assault of pink toe beans.

“See? She’s just a baby~” you coo, gently wiggling the noodle-limp kitten in his face.

Lucifer grimaces. Takes another, larger step back. “If a baby is what you want, I’d rather give you one myself.”

“As fun as that sounds, we have a perfectly good one right here!” 

“That thing is not a baby. Where did you find it?” 

There’s a concerned little scrunch in his brow that you wanna smooth over with your thumb, but when you try to close the distance between you two, he moves further out of reach. Frowning, you hug Tater Tot to your chest. She snuggles her face into the crook of your neck and purrs like the smallest biodiesel engine in all of the realms.

“I found her in a dumpster!” you say, perhaps a bit too proudly. 

Lucifer’s eyes widen. “In the city?”

“Why is that so shocking? Does the Devildom not have stray cats?” 

“That’s not a cat.” 

“Well yeah I kinda figured, what with the whole fire breathing thing and all, but—”

“It’s a chimera.” 

You stare at Lucifer. Try to gauge how serious he’s being. Tater Tot nibbles on your thumb with little needle-like teeth. 

Surely he’s joking. 

“...Like the lion-goat-lizard thing? That chimera?” 

Lucifer nods. 

Like you’re in some twisted version of the Lion King, you hold Tater Tot up in the beam of moonlight that Mr. Doom and Gloom had previously been occupying. Examine her totally normal kitten-features. The distinct lack of goat hooves. Miss Tater licks her nose. A Chimera? Her?

Surely he’s fucking with you.

But… it would explain the whole fire-breathing thing. Kind of. You’re not fully convinced he’s lying, but the truth doesn’t make much more sense.

But if she is a chimera… that’s so badass.

If Lucifer thinks for one second that Tater Tot being a nightmarish Hell creature is going to scare you into giving her up, then he is sorely mistaken. (You did choose to date him, after all. You're an expert at loving on Hellish beings.) At the end of the day, whether Tater is a chimera or a cat or whatever the hell else, you’ve already bonded with each other. She’s your baby and you are not going to let him get rid of her. 

If he gets Cerberus, then you get your funky little Tater Tot, dammit.

Lucifer watches this journey of emotions play out on your face. His eyes narrow. He says your name slowly, strained—a thinly veiled warning in his voice.

The grin that overtakes your face can only be described as evil. 

“We’re keeping her.”

“Absolutely not.” 

 ~

“You can’t be serious.” 

From the depths of your blanket fort, your hand emerges to flip Lucifer off. He scowls. 

“This blanket fort is only for Tater Tot and me.”

“Then perhaps you should relocate to your bed.” Lucifer growls.

You snuggle further into the black sheets cocooning you. With impressive speed, you had raced back to Lucifer’s room and stripped every piece of fabric from his bed in record time. From there, it was simply a matter of combining the dark sheets with a bunch of pillows and voila. You had created your very own anti-Lucifer fortress, right in the middle of his bed. 

Tater Tot army-crawls across your thigh and worms her way into the sheets, vanishing like a ninja.

"What?" You peek at Lucifer through a small opening in the fabric. “But then you would just ignore me and Tater Tot.” 

“Yes, exactly. I’m glad that we’re on the same page.”

“No! We’re not on the same page at all,” you scowl. “I’m not moving until you bond with her.” 

“Then I suppose you’ll be stuck there forever.” 

“Maybe I will!”

You can’t see him right now, but you know in the depths of your heart that Lucifer is rolling his eyes at you. 

Which, y’know. Fair. You are being a little bit ridiculous. But what choice do you have? The confetti didn't work and Lucifer needs to form an everlasting bond with Tater Tot. He needs to experience how lovely and precious and wonderful your little baby is, so that he won’t make you put her back in the dumpster where you found her.

You have one last tactic. It is by far the absolute worst. 

Talking to him. Like some kind of functioning, responsible adult, because apparently that's what you're supposed to do in a healthy relationship. Blegh. 

While you agonize over stooping to this final resort, Lucifer climbs into the bed without a word and settles himself in like he owns the place. Which he does. But that’s beside the point. 

One of your arms emerges from the blanket shield to poke at his pajama clad thigh. He doesn’t react. So naturally, you poke him again. And again. And again, until finally he sighs, “What?”

You squirm your way out of the stuffy blankets, gulping down air once you're free—sweet baby Jesus, fresh air has never felt so good—and Tater Tot flies out after you, rocketing across the mattress at the speed of light and tumbling around like a little white pom pom. While she does her own thing, you worm your way into Lucifer’s side so that you’re halfway on top of his chest. He huffs and lays there like a board, refusing to hug you, so you grab his arm and wrap it around your shoulders yourself.

Here goes nothing. 

“Why are you so against having a pet?” you ask, dancing the pads of your fingers over his chest.

Lucifer cracks one eye open. “The first and last time I allowed pets in the house, Satan brought home 48 cats. In one hour.” 

...You really should have seen that one coming.

“Oh. Well, I mean… Is that reallyyy a bad thing—ow! You jerk, I was just kidding.” You pout. “You didn’t have to pinch my butt that hard.” 

Lucifer snickers and pats your butt consolingly. “Mmm, no, I didn’t. But I wanted to.”

Briefly, you consider headbutting him right in the chin. But alas, that wouldn’t solve anything, so you settle for pressing a kiss to his collarbone, then reach a hand up to play with his hair, just how he likes. It’s not very ~vengeful~ buuut it’s bound to put him in a better mood. 

You trace cutesy little heart shapes on his right pec. “You know what I want?”

Lucifer closes his eyes—lets his head fall back onto the mattress. “We’re not keeping her.” 

You snuggle into his chest with a happy little hum. “Yes we are.”

“...Just for the night. Tomorrow you're putting her back where you found her."

 ~

You wake up in agony. 

It feels like you’ve had a lung ripped out and replaced with serrated knives. Or shark teeth. Each breath drags oh so painfully at your—just kidding. 

You wake up well rested and tangled in the bedsheets, your head hanging off the side of the mattress. You’re a little hazy-brained and your skull feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, but that’s probably because of all the blood rushing to your head. When you roll over and haul yourself back up onto the bed, a noise escapes you that is definitely not fit for polite company.

The murky depths of slumber threaten to take you again, so you pat around the bed with your hand, looking for your favorite demon-slash-body pillow. You pat. And keep patting. Where the hell is Lucifer?

You crack one bleary eye open, trying to find Lucifer and—

Where the hell is Tater Tot?

Your heart jolts in your chest as you realize a few things all at once.

One: Lucifer is missing. 

Two: Tater Tot is missing.

Three: You slept through breakfast, but that’s less important. 

You’re off like a shot, wrestling yourself out of the sheets and flinging them to the floor, then stumbling across the room to get to the door before your brain can even fully wake up. It’s fine, you don’t need 100% brainpower, you just need to find your baby. 

You’ve barely taken four steps into the hallway when you slam nose first into Mammon. He catches you, saving your face from becoming acquainted with the floor, and you grab him by the leathery lapels of his jacket. 

“Where’s Lucifer?!” you hiss.

Mammon desperately tries to squirm out of your feral grip. You shake him like a polaroid picture.

“Geez, knock it off would ya?! He’s in his office, what the hell is up with you? Wh—HEY! I’M NOT DONE TALKIN’ TO YA!”

Whatever the Weenie has to say to you is less important than finding your child, so as soon as you acquire Lucifer’s location, you haul ass to Lucifer’s study.

 ~

In a raging fury that could rival Satan’s existence, you fling open the door, ready to tear Lucifer a new one for not even letting you say goodbye to your beloved kitten and—

And your heart melts into a warm, gooey puddle. 

Lucifer is sitting at his desk. Tater Tot is draped across his shoulders.

Lucifer glares at you, but there's no real bite in his gaze. “Keep it down, Phobos is sleeping.”

You blink stupidly, your brain racing at a thousand miles an hour to catch up with whatever the hell you’re currently feeling that has you all mushy and moon-eyed. “Phobos? What the hell? That’s not her name at all.” 

“My love, we are not naming our daughter after potatoes. Her name is now Phobos. She and I came to a mutual agreement that it is far more fitting of a name for a creature of her pedigree.”

...You’re so torn. On one hand, you want to argue that Tater Tot is a lovely name for your dumpster kitten-chimera-thing, but on the other hand… he called her ‘our daughter’. As in your guys’s daughter. This can only mean one thing, and you clutch at your heart when you realize what’s happening.

They bonded.

It damn well might bring a tear to your eyes.

You make your way over to Lucifer, shove aside the papers on his desk, and perch your happy ass right on the hardwood.

With a bone deep sigh, Lucifer leans back in his chair. “Why do you always do that? My lap is available, you know.”

Tater Tot wakes up and lifts her heavy little sleep-addled head to meep at you.

You grin—hook your ankles around the armrests of his chair and pull him closer. “So… does this mean we’re keeping Tater Tot?” 

“... Yes, we’re keeping Phobos. But that’s it, no more pets.”

“Okay, wait. Hear me out. What about a dog?”

“Absolutely not.”

Lucifer plucks another white hair from his RAD uniform and holds it up to the moonlight, scowling at the offensive thing. Why in all the realms did you have to find a white cat? The damned thing has only lived with you lot for two days and yet somehow its hair has already gotten over every article of black clothing in his wardrobe. It’s infuriating.

His gaze wanders across the courtyard to where you’re sitting pretty on Beel’s shoulders, clawing at his face with your fingertips and screaming in terror at how high up you are. He grins. 

He can put up with the shedding fur, so long as he gets to see how your eyes shine like the stars when you see Phobos.

Still though. Why couldn’t you find a black kitten? 

“Lucifer! There you are!” 

Lucifer flicks the cat hair—lets the breeze catch it and float it away. Before he can even get a proper greeting in, Diavolo is pulling him in for a bone crushing hug.

“You’re here a bit later than usual. How’s life with the new kitten treating you?” Diavolo asks.

Lucifer steps out of the hug and eyes Diavolo warily. “Just fine, thank yo—wait. How do you know about the cat?”

Diavolo blinks innocently. “Surely you told me about her, didn’t you?” 

No, he definitely did not—oh no. 

Lucifer stares, slack jawed and horrified, because in that moment, he realizes something that he refuses to accept.

No.

No. It can’t be.

Diavolo would never do that to him. He would ne—oh fuck, he absolutely did.

Diavolo planted the cat. He knew that you would find her in that dumpster and take her home.

Lucifer has never known a betrayal quite like this. Diavolo says something about heading off to his office, but he doesn’t hear him over the rushing in his ears.

“Diavolo.” 

The demon prince in question pauses in his escape to look back at Lucifer. “Yes, Lucifer?”

“Why did you have to pick a white cat?”

And oh, Diavolo laughs. A full belly laugh that quite honestly kills Lucifer. Just a little bit.

[poptod]

Pull the Stars Out of the Sky (And Gift Them To Me), (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: The new Pharaoh has a bit of an obsession problem.

Notes: i suppose this would technically be yandere but i really dont want to admit that i wrote yandere fanfiction about a childrens movie WC: 4.6k

+

He called himself a savior. His people called him a God. Thus he acted as a sort of savior God, decked in gold, more powerful than the kings of a hundred foreign lands. He kept his friends close as he had no enemies, those in power too afraid to stand up to his might. 

It was not as though he was undeserving of this title––quite the opposite. He dug his country out of a dangerous recession that followed an invasion by the Hittites. He defended his status as Pharaoh against his tyrannical elder brother, who had attempted to claim his rightful place on the throne. He brought great prosperity to his people and maintained his image of regality, the untouchable air around him, as though the Gods truly did walk the earth in the form of him. 

Here he was, the most powerful man to walk the earth, coddling you as his fingers ran through your hair.

The decisions that brought you to this moment were poorly thought out at best and downright shameful at worst. Your home in the southeast of Africa now lay what felt like eons behind you, hazy memories of chains and scuffing, bloodied feet whirling in your head. Even in your village you knew of him––not by name, of course––and had already grown to fear him. By the time you got out of your home village and began going market to market, you knew to stay clear of him at all costs. But his dirty soldiers were everywhere, and constant vigilance brought you back-breaking stress that had your steps faltering. 

Your stumbling was what brought you here. Stumbling into prison, stumbling into a palace, stumbling into a King's chambers.

"Aren't you just gorgeous," he cooed softly, petting your head. 

The rough, uneven pull of your breath was the only disturbance in the peaceful room, bathed in warm light and Egyptian paintings. Every nerve in your body screamed to get away, to worm yourself out of his touch, but with every attempt he just held you tighter. 

"What's your name? You look hungry," he said, eyes scanning your panicked face. "Would you like something to eat?"

Punch him. Talking to you like a dog.

You shook the thought out of your head, but the Pharaoh took it as a nod of confirmation. 

"We'll get you some food," he decided with a smile, separating from you long enough to stand and pull you up with him. 

He did not part his hand from yours, instead leading you through the long, tall hallways and their arches that painted scenes from stories you didn't know. Your past excursions to Egypt had hailed no such royalty, nor did any of your other travels. Most of the time you stayed in hostels and taverns. The grandeur and sanctity of churches and temples were as close as you got to this, standing on the cusp of a garden that stretched further than you could see, the white alabaster pillars lining your vision. 

"Come," he said, and you thought it best to try not to disobey him. "This is a food garden. You can eat anything you like."

It had been a while since you'd gotten a good meal. The last thing you ate was hardtack from a tavern about a six-hour walk down the river from here. 

The Pharaoh followed closely behind as you moved forward, constantly looking over your shoulder as you scanned the different vines and bushes. It was the color that caught your eye––most of the plants along the Nile sported an olive-type green, dull and yellow-ish. Many of the leaves in this garden were a bright green, more so than moss and grass, lively and soft beneath your fingers.

Only after scanning the whole of the garden did you decide on what to eat. From blossoming flowers in the water that lined the walkway to the figs hung high on the trees, you chose plums sprouted fruitfully from a short tree.

You sat right where you stood as you began gnawing at the flesh, tangy juice dripping from your bite marks. After a moment of watching you the Pharaoh lowered himself to your height, earning a chary side glance from you. 

"What is your name, lovely?" He asked again, much softer, as he once more began to pet your hair. Most other times you would've shaken the hand off, but most other times it wasn't Pharaohs touching you. 

"Amoke," you said through a rough throat and full mouth. Your voice had remained unused since you stepped foot in jail, and it was only now that you were reintegrating its' use.

"Amoke," he repeated, nodding. "A western name. Is that where you're from?"

You nodded.

"Do you like it there?" He asked quietly.

You shrugged.

"I should like to keep you here, then," he murmured, gaze flickering to every feature on your face. You watched his interest closely.

What came to mind was that you didn't want to stay here––that you wanted to keep on the road, stay away from the permanent and escape the inevitable routine. You couldn't say that, though. Not to his face. With nothing on your mind but leaving him and his touch, you remained silent in the wake of his request. 

The sun soon set behind the garden's walls, casting long shadows that consumed the both of you without fail. When the residual light of the sky began to fade, he took your hand, paying the stickiness no mind as he led you back into the palace.

"I shall keep you in my room," he said with a firm confidence in his tone that stewed in your empty chest. "If ever you need something, just tell me. I can give you anything you desire. During the day you should stay in my room as well––it's safer that way. I'll be able to keep you safe."

From what?

Fifteen years travelling the world on your own and now you're forced into a single room for your 'protection.'

"My name is Ahkmenrah, though most call me by my title. 'My King,' and such. You may call me what you wish. I don't mind," he said, a smile crossing his features as he opened the door set in front of you. His eye only tore from you for a second before his attention was back, scanning the way you stepped nearer to him and into the room. 

The once-bright light of sunset had vanished in his bedroom, replaced by the eerie purple of a late dusk. Outside the balcony arches, the sky bore an ombre of plum and blush, reaching up into the dome where stars had already come to see the world.

"I know your name already," you murmured, staring out to the city. His eyes remained ever on you, burning the back of your neck. "I know you freed many of your slaves but kept worker camps in Kush. I know you intimidated every nation so severely you can do anything you want now. It's not like anyone will stop you."

"You're knowledgable," he said, taking a seat on the floor.

"Is that what's happening here?" You asked, but he didn't quite understand. At his confusion you sighed but continued. "Am I supposed to be intimidated enough by you that I will stay here of my own free will?"

He furrowed his brow, tilting his head ever so lightly to the left.

"You... don't want to stay here?"

"No. I have a life that I'd like to get back to." Much of it being avoiding you.

"I don't understand," he said after a beat of silence. "You want to leave? But – there is nothing in the world I cannot give you here. Any riches you want, yours. Any delicacies are yours."

Ahkmenrah collected things. Already it was clear enough to see––collect and retain an image that prevents any fight against him, collect the riches of the world to give to his people and himself, collect the respect of those around him, and collect you. He will share with you everything he has gained if only you join this ever-growing, ceaseless collection of belongings. There is nothing stranger than being offered to become a toy.

"I prefer to keep moving. Meet new people," you said.

"You'll be safe here," he said, reaching for your hand. You instinctively pulled your hand away, but a sudden poisonous glare overtook his eye, and your heart froze in its' place long enough for him to gracefully lead you to your knees.

With you now raised on your knees, he met your height, nuzzling your cheek with his nose. 

"I don't need to be –"

"You will stay here," he said, his intensity thrumming in your nerves. Once again there was no thought more comforting than leaving this place.

He must've noticed the panicked look on your face, as his expression softened.

"Do you understand? Oh, lovely," he said in a hum, fawning over you as his touch overcrowded your senses. His nose rubbing up beneath your jaw as he nuzzled into you, his hand holding your hip tight as the other tangled in your hair. He took in your scent with deep appreciation. "Sweet darling.. pretty one."

His mumbles grew less coherent the longer he held you, dusk fading into midnight as the silence of crickets resounded in the distant flora. The tension in your chest never fell, leaving you exhausted with your stiff breaths, bags beneath your eyes begging you to fall asleep, even if it was in the possession of another.

From waking up in an underground prison to mistakenly entering a King's chambers, the day weighed heavy on your mind with little solace at the end. Still, the body has its' cravings that will never relent, and you fell asleep to the rhythm of his praising murmurs and stroking hands. 

Even hours later you awoke to arms still twisted around you, keeping you pressed tight to the warmth of the Pharaoh's chest. Hunger bit at your stomach, acid burning around the empty walls in a sweet reminder of your recent diet. Two-ingredient crackers and two plums in the last two days. You supposed that you wouldn't have to worry much about that in the future, so long as you stayed in his graces. While you doubted he would withhold food from you as punishment, you wouldn't put it past him, as it was a common jail tactic in many cities.

Wandering had been your sin for many years before this moment, and it would continue to be so whether or not you gave into the urge. Being stuck in any place––even one so comfortable as this––itched at your skin, tugged at your motionless legs and pulled at your scattered fingers. Despite your original insistence that you should stay still, your foot began to gently bounce as your fingers fidgeted restlessly. Your eyes darted every which way.

"I see you're awake," he mumbled, voice barely there in the first dregs of morning. "Stay a little longer."

Not that you really had a choice. His legs were all tangled in yours and you could barely move.

For what seemed to be another hour and a half you lay there, wondering when he would wake again and finally release you. He couldn't keep you here forever––not sleeping with him, not in this palace. It was clear he would not willingly let you go, so in the meantime ideas stirred in your head, plotting out ways to escape without his knowledge.

A knock came from the door when rays of sunlight began to touch the bedroom floor, flooding in through the arches. You wriggled when you heard the sound, disturbing Ahkmenrah from his sleepiness, which at last led to the loosening of his grip. The moment he went lax you tore yourself away.

Breath finally returned to you, the long hours of night fading away as your chest heaved an even up and down. The blankets around you fell as the Pharaoh stood, making his way to the large doors, where he removed the lock to let in a lean servant.

"Good morning, my King," he said, his gaze naturally coming to you. He stared at you but addressed Ahk, his words concise and posture straight. "You have a meeting with the embalmers of Thebes this morning, on the false accusations. After that you have –"

"– to overlook the temple building in the markets, yes, I know. My memory isn't that bad," Ahkmenrah grumbled, sighing deeply as he rubbed his face with his hand.

"Apologies, I just..." the servant's eyes flickered to yours, "didn't know if you.. drank last night."

"Just a glass, Naguib," he said with a slight smile, one that fell once Naguib began to root through his wardrobe.

You watched from your spot on the floor; the glint of gold in the closet, the mirror perfectly reflecting the King's standing position. His reflection yawned, dreary eyes meeting yours with a gentle delight. Instantly your vision darted away. 

"Amoke, this is Naguib," he said, and in that moment you forced yourself to turn back to him. He was smiling expectantly, the servant behind him waving a polite hello. You returned the wave and he appeared to be satisfied.

Naguib picked the King's clothes and donned them on him, from the lapis beaded collar to gold cuffs on every wrist and ankle. The cape that streamed from his shoulders was a light all its' own, as though Ahkmenrah wore the sun upon his back, the silk drifting in gentle waves towards the marble floor. Only the crown was more regal than that, but above all was the man himself. The sweet coos and fawning words of the previous evening had faded into a stone face, pride on his puffed chest, and cunning on his parted lips. 

"I'm afraid I'll have to leave you here for the day," he said as he stared at his reflection, smoothing out the wrinkles in his sleeves and the unevenness of his necklace.

"But –"

"No," he interrupted you before you could truly start, voice dipping low as half-lidded eyes turned to you. 

There was something about his stare––something about the way he looked at you, as though he knew every thought in your head. This must've been the look that, in part, earned him his reputation. 

"Stay here, pet," he said in a softer voice, bending down to kiss your forehead.

His lips were warm and enviously soft on your skin, but you had little time to process it before his cape whipped behind him, leaving you alone in the room. Naguib had left with him and locked the door. Now the only sound to calm the incessant ringing in your ears was the incredibly distant murmurs of an early-morning market, filled with birdsong and calling voices attempting to sell their work. 

Fumbling to stand, you padded with bare feet towards the open arches. From here you could see the Nile and the many temples sprouted up throughout the city, their towers marking themselves distinct from the houses cluttering the twisting streets. It wasn't all unlike the other cities you'd seen––a different architecture style, of course, but similar nonetheless.

The arches had no railings of any sort, so as you peered over the edge, you kept both hands on the pillar beside you. Right beneath the Pharaoh's room was a garden, smaller than the one you had visited the night before. 

It wasn't too far down, either.

You darted back into the room, pulling the thin blankets off the bed and off the floor, tying the ends together with frantic hands. Even your breath hastened to match your heartbeat, speeding dangerously in your chest as apprehension filled you. There was no time to waste––you needed to escape now, before he came back, before you had to memorize his routine; before this became more than a two-day problem.

Guards in their uniforms passed by outside, circling the palace with spears in their hands. You glanced out at them as you worked, trying to find the rhythm in their marching, and having little luck before you realized there were multiple groups passing by the arches at different times. A soft groan left you as you bit your lip in irritation. More things to calculate.

Although the ground didn't seem all too far away, it took a decent amount of time before the makeshift rope could reach the ground. Several hours of rearranging the types of knots and their placements finally wrought good results––the lowest blanket could now touch one of the trees near the garden's entrance, which you could use as a way down.

The sun had to be around midday, going by the shadows, and you assumed the Pharaoh would not be back to his bedroom until later in the evening. Before you could stay to see that time, you tied one end of your blanket rope to the arch's pillar and casted the length of it below you.

Hesitation caught you as you attempted to climb down, the sheer height of the building catching you off guard. What once seemed a short way was suddenly a means of death––not that it wasn't ever that before––and you could barely breathe with how tight your throat became. Your shaking hands gripped the cloth tight, sweating with the tension building in your muscles. Gentle breezes only accentuated your sweat, but it was not of import to you. All that remained on your mind in the overcrowding of fear was the need to escape, and thus you returned to your task, carefully scaling down the palace wall.

Nothing but silence dared make a sound in your thoughts as you climbed, breath evening further with every step you took downwards. The anxiousness only faded once you could see the individual leaves of the tree below you, and the design of the blanket stretched out on its limbs, crimson red and gold in the sunlight.

The moment you could reach you did so, clambering onto the thin branches in hopes of swinging towards the thicker ones. As you reached for the next branch, another hit your wrist, pain instantly shocking your left hand out of its' grip. Fortunately you caught yourself; just barely, and a second later you dropped to the ground with a huff.

You ran.

Without thought you ran, as fast as your feet could take you, as far as your lungs would allow. Air began to sting in your lungs, wind biting at the back of your open throat as you bounded through the halls, praying you wouldn't meet anyone on your way out.

The Pharaoh and his power was intimidating, no one could deny that, but your fears remained centralized in the idea of being known. You scarcely gave your name and hated living on in memory. Your own world was perfectly fine and you found no need to exist in anybody else's, no matter how much Ahkmenrah wanted you to.

But of course your stumbling would get you. As your thoughts were occupied, you paid little attention to the road in front of you, toppling over a railing you hadn't noticed yourself barreling towards. You tried to catch yourself with bulging eyes, but the ceiling was fading with mortifying speed. Bile filled your mouth as a sickness invaded your stomach.

Cool water splashed around you, soaking your clothes and skin alike as you sunk into the pool. Vines entangled you, the legs of lily pads separating in your wake, their flowers naught but silhouettes above you. A shadow appeared above you, but before you could make any decision it grabbed your upper arm and forced you out of the water.

"Ohh, dearest," sung a voice, accompanied by the close cradling of your body despite it being soaked. The sick feeling in your belly grew into a poison as recognition came to you. Your muscles tensed again in his grip, every nerve fighting against a fleeing instinct.

"My King, isn –"

"Quiet, Gyasi. My poor, sweet love... what are you doing here?" He asked, his hand coming up to stroke the hair away from your face. "I told you not to leave the room."

You shivered, leftover adrenaline sending shakes throughout your body. It left a tense silence where you would originally reply.

"You feel cold," he said, though you didn't feel at all cold. "Let's get you cleaned up, hm? I ought to do it anyway, since your clothes are a little torn."

He brought you to your feet, keeping an arm around you as he patiently led you away from the pond and those gathered there. Most everyone stared at you as you left, but you could barely notice, your vision blurred and hazy.

Steam filled your senses in the room he led you to, warm and scented with honey and lavender. Your eyes opened there, head raised to see the servant women working, stoking the fires and heating the water. Beside you, Ahk motioned to one of them, mumbling something in her ear that sent her out the door. Though curiosity did come to you, you kept silent in the unease of the Pharaoh's presence.

He had yet to accuse you of trying to escape, but it was only a matter of time. The rope in his room was still hung off the balcony. That fact kept you wary as much as it kept you jumpy, something Ahkmenrah unfortunately noticed.

By the hands on your shoulders he led you to a bath dug into the raised floor, the water inside steaming pleasantly with the scent of honey. Reluctantly you began to peel your clothes away, all too aware of his eye on you, memorizing how you stripped yourself down. As you dipped into the water, you attempted at removing the sick irritation you connected with him staring at you. It would happen quite a lot more (whether or not you wanted it to) before you could leave this place.

"Do you have any injuries?" He asked as he moved to sit beside you, his golden robes dirtying on the floor.

"I don't know," you said hoarsely.

"I'll have one of our physicians look over you. That was a long fall," he said, leaning forward to kiss your forehead again, before standing and leaving you to the care of the servants.

As promised, a physician visited you shortly, scanning over you while one of the women scrubbed at the dirt beneath your fingernails. The heat of the water calmed your muscles, untensing your anxious grips even as you were bombarded with questions.

By the time the servant women had dried and dressed you in new clothes, the Pharaoh had yet to return from whatever excursion he had left on. It didn't bother you, considering you didn't especially like being around him, but it did leave you wondering as you lazily watched the servants. Even if you wanted to leave you couldn't; you had no idea where in the palace you were, and there was a fair amount of guards wandering around outside the room. You bit at the inside of your cheek.

A good while later––far past the midday when you'd first fallen––he returned with singed clothes, ash covering his face. Your eyes widened at his appearance, and he was quick to notice your mild alarm.

"Incident at the, um, Bastet temple. One of the new priests really likes working with fire," he mumbled in a dazed voice, shaking his head as though he was trying to shake himself back into his body. "Are you alright?"

You nodded.

"Good. I've got most of the rest of the evening free, so let's get you back to my room, yes?"

It took quite a lot of self-control not to spit in his face, and much more willpower to slowly nod. He would accept no other answer and the suggestion of such would land you in unknown terrain.

He led you back down the hall, and each step you took burnt your regret into the ground beneath you. If one could identify the scent of fear, it'd be coming off you in floods, obvious in your panicked eyes and hastened breath. He would find the rope, and he would no doubt be angry. None of this would have happened if you had just watched where you were going.

Panic saturated your heart, functionally marinated it, as Ahkmenrah reached forward to open the door in the middle of the hallway. Every click of the latch had you flinching, till the door swung open and the light of late-afternoon hit your eyes.

The rope tied to the arch was inconspicuous, but the absence of nearly all the blankets in the room was not. Slowly the cogs in his brain sped up, and in each passing second you could see further recognition in him, till his eyes turned to the rope knotted around the pillar.

He said nothing––simply moved forward, glanced out and down the balcony, and turned back to you.

"You were trying to escape?" He asked you, nothing behind the tone of his voice, which might as well have been as bad as any anger he could've unleashed.

"I told you I could keep you safe here," he continued, and you, in your head, connected dots that suddenly appeared. He would never let you outside his room now––now that his point has been proven. "See what happens when you disobey?"

You blinked and he was standing in front of you, close enough that every inhale of his chest brushed against your shirt. At first you tried to step away, but he moved to cup your face, keeping you frozen in your spot. Your terrified eyes stared into his.

"The next time you try to leave here without me, I shall have to intervene myself, if you do not hurt yourself on your own as you so often do. Do you understand me?"

You nodded. There was nothing else you could do, not with your throat so tight you could barely swallow.

"I obviously cannot trust you," he said, his gaze flickering between your eyes.

He left you standing in the middle of the room as he went to one of his chests, pulling and unlocking the latch before the creak of hinges sounded in the room. You turned to watch in both interest and worry, patiently waiting for his reveal, before he turned back to you with rope in his hands.

As per usual, your first instinct was to bolt out the door. Your feet practically itched with the tension stored up in them, but you stayed perfectly still, terrified into submission as he pulled you forward. You almost stumbled, but before you could fully do so he pushed you onto his bed. Quickly you moved from your stomach to your back, creeping backwards on the bed as he drew nearer, the rope drawn taut between his hands. Kneeling on the bed with his head held high above yours, he was an opposite from the lovesick King you had first met.

He tied your wrists to the bedpost and you let him. He pulled the knots so tight and intricate there was no hope you could get out without breaking the rope, and you let him.

"I can keep you safe here," he murmured, lodged between your legs with his lips against your temple. Your heart stormed hell in your chest. "You will stay here. Any attempt on your behalf to leave and I will have to punish you. Understand?"

"Then I am a prisoner," you said, your voice hoarse and broken.

"You are what you make yourself," he said in a much more stern tone, looking down at you with knowing, wary eyes. "If it is a prisoner, then so be it. But you will be, throughout all actions and situations, mine."

"I..."

"You belong to me."

[palaceofpassion]

Dom Weiss!

So Weiss is totally a bottom, but have her being a dom for once!

Weiss could only smile as she looked down upon her victim, a strapping young lad bound to the floor below her.  He was clad in nothing but a black leather collar and tight… oh so tight latex speedo that… well it accentuated his figure quite well.  Their arms and legs spread wide, a golden ball gag forced into their mouth to prevent them from… screaming.  It had taken a lot to get here, but here she was.  “You’ve been a very bad boy… you know that don’t you?”  

The only response she received was a gurgle of gagged muffles and restrained attempts of fleeing.  Oh how much joy this brought her!  For once SHE was in control, no longer at the beck and call of her… friends.  She finally held power over someone else, power that she RIGHTFULLY deserved.  So, she was going to make the absolute best of it, make use of the time she had.  

She’d prepared long and hard for this, had gone out of her way to find the best clothes, had even… shamefully put her name out there in order to get these… custom designed.  

She had to admit she quite liked leather, the dark material accentuated her slim pale form quite well if she had the say so.  The harness and garter belts had been the hardest to come by since she was… petite.  That was the word she’d use, and the only word anyone else would if they knew what was good for them.  

Well she digressed, she was getting quite off topic.  Turning her attention back to the boy… no the man below her she couldn’t help but flash her pearly whites.  “Aren’t I fabulous in this?  Gorgeous even, you should feel proud of yourself that… that a lowly peasant such as yourself would be allowed to gaze upon my visage… truly you are blessed.”  

When there was no response she simply gazed down at the tall… muscular… figure below her.  Gnashing her teeth her grip grew tight around the riding crop in hand.  With a loud smack, one that proved to be more sound than impact, she forced the boy’s attention to herself.  “I said, aren’t you the lucky one?  You understand your position do you not… peasant?”  

“Uhhuuuh.”  Was the muffled response she received.  Her icey blue gaze fell upon him.

“I don’t think you do…”  Stepping forward onto the platform that the young man found himself bound.  She placed her glossy black heels upon his stomach.  “Must I discipline you?  Do you truly not understand how… fortunate you are to be in this situation.”  

Once more she received no response, instead she noticed the… mongrel… staring at her long thin pale legs.  “You do not!”  Applying force upon his stomach she dug the pointed end of the heel down.  She smiled as she watched him squirm beneath her heel, yes this was where he belonged where EVERYONE belonged!  Placing her hand below her chin she couldn’t help but have herself a gleeful laugh, “O~hohoho!”  She was in true control, and there was nothing he nor anybody could do about it.

When he didn’t respond again she applied more pressure, as he squirmed below her like the worm he was, she couldn’t help but shudder.  Excitement building inside of her core as she really let the dominance of the situation sink in.  She could do anything to him, anything she wanted… so why shouldn’t she?  She was about to step off of him when her eyes fell upon his nether regions.  “I see at least one part of you was paying attention…”  With a quick smack she slapped the tip of her crop against his bulging manhood.  As he flinched under the slam she could only bite her lip in an attempt to control her own excitement.  Removing her foot from the man below her she stepped around, coming between his legs.

“This… disgusting thing…”  With another loud slap she gave it another good smack, the bulge twitched beneath his minimalist clothing, if one could even call it clothing.  Once more she gave it another smack causing him to twitch, “This is the only worth you have~  The only thing that gives me a reason to keep you.”  With a flick of her fingers the thin material came undone, revealing to her his throbbing shaft.  

“It’s disgusting… unsightly… yet it gives you worth… if I could find a better one I’d have no need for you.”  She heard a sound coming from his gagged mouth but she could neither make it out nor care.  She was in charge, her pet had no say in the matter.  

“Though… I suppose you could do your best and properly give the service that I require.”  Licking her lips she moved closer, pulling down on a zipper located in her own lower region she revealed her glistening slit already moist in anticipation.  With practiced patience she slipped her hand into her braided hair and with a single tug she pulled upon a silver ribbon.  One that would have otherwise gone unnoticed had she not pulled it from her own icey silvery hair.  

“I’m going to enjoy myself, so try not to ruin my fun… would you?”  She waited for no response as she began to tie the ribbon around the base of his thick heavy rod.  Tying a perfect little bow she made sure to give it a tug making sure that he wouldn't be able to cum unless she gave him the say so.

With her machinations finished she moved upwards, finally getting to the meat of the night.  Pressing her already slick slit against his throbbing manhood she let herself go.  In one fell plunge she took his mighty manmeat all the way down to the base.  Closing her eyes she allowed herself a moment as her body shivered in ecstasy.  “Ahn!  Tru...truly!  The only good thing about you is this… this monster of a cock!”  She could feel her toes curl in her dark black stockings as she took the moment to catch her breath.  

“Move.”  When he didn’t she simply stared at him, if he was going to be difficult… well she had a plan for that.  Leaning forward she pressed her nails across his broad chest.  “I said move…”  Once more he didn’t comply, “I see… you are such a disgusting masochistic pig.”  With what started as a gentle streak, she moved her fingers down his chest.  With every centimeter she began to apply more and more force till she could see his flesh grow red as her well manicured nails dug into his flesh.  

She stopped just before the point of drawing blood, “Now move!”  And this time he did, his hips bucked against their restraints as she felt her body pop into the air.  His mighty thrust nearly took the air out of her lungs as it had taken her by surprise.  “GOOD GOOD!”  Heat consumed her core as he continued to buck widely, using his uselessly stupid strength to bounce her up and down his shaft with out the need of his hands.  

She couldn’t help but close her eyes and wrap her nails around his thighs as he continued to slam himself in and out of her.  “MMMN!”  He hit her every which way, his mighty cock slammed into her walls, pressing against her womb over and over as he continued to batter into her small form.  He was so much bigger than her, her small figure shouldn’t have been able to contain such a… such a massive thing!  

But practice after practice had gotten her to this point, and she wasn’t going to let down.  Forgetting herself for a moment she couldn't help but rock her hips back and forth.  His cock wiggled and bounced inside of her, slamming into her walls and pressing against her depths in no way any other cock could.  “SCHOO GOOD!”  Loud moans escaped her lips as he continued his advantage, but she wouldn’t let him have it for long!  

Burying her nails into his legs she made sure to find herself stable.  “FASTER!  FASTER YOU FILTHY PIG!”  His hips bucked harder, the tip of his massive rod slamming into her womb nearly forcing it wide open.  “NNNGH!  IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?!  MY FATHER WAS RIGHT YOU’RE USELESS!”  Faster and harder, over and over he slammed into her, she heard the restraints on the ground break as he continued to struggle to remove himself.  “PATHETIC!  I BET MARROW WOULD BE BETTER!”  That had nearly done it, he’d slammed into her so hard that she’d nearly bounced right off his dick.  

The thrust had been hard enough to send her over the edge, her climax hitting harder than ever before.  She felt her pussy spasm as her juices flowed between their bodies.  “Good good!”  She could barely speak but she needed to keep this up.  She could feel him twitching inside of her, begging for release, “You deserve a reward~”  Slipping her fingers around the ribbon beneath her she pulled it apart. 

Her womb was flooded with his thick hot seed, her toes curled as the sensation of being filled overtook everything else.  Finally he’d stopped bucking his own strength exhausted from his wild attempts.  “Good… good…”  

Once the post orgasm clarity hit, she felt her face burn hot.  “Oh!  Oh!  No no!”  Quickly she bent over, reaching for the gag on the boy's mouth then removing his restraints.  “Jaune!  I’m sorry, I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“Hah… hah… ha…”  The boy's breathing was ragged, obviously exhausted from the wild night.  “Not physically…”  She grew nervous at the pause, “You didn’t mean any of that did you?”  

She in fact had not!  This had been their first attempt at BDSM, at the behest of Blake, who’d lent her a book.  “No!  No no!  I love you my knight!  I promise you none of that was real.  I just… uhm.”  She could practically feel the crimson on her face, “Got really into it.”  

“Ah… okay…”  Instinctually she pressed her lips across her one and only knight.  

“I promise.  I love you and only you, and Marrow would definitely not be better.”  

“Okay cool.”  

“So… did you have fun.”

He paused, “Yeah… yeah I did.”  

“Can… can we do this another time?”  

“Yeah… yeah I’d be fine with that.  Just Weiss?”

“Yes my Knight?”  She felt herself being pulled towards him and then flipped on her back.

“You’ve been a naughty bandit… and as a Knight… well I have to make sure that you’ve been properly disciplined.”  She gulped at the predatory glance he passed her way.

“... please.”  Tonight was going to be a long one.