#⁺✧⠀⠀`⠀reply⠀﹕⠀❪ wrath claws at your chest. ❫

[ragesin]

“ nehhh,   i  found  this  garlic  bread  recipe  and  i  added  some  cheese  and  mayo!   wanna  try? ”

► BREAD, BREAD, BREAD

         Distinctive scent hit keen senses first. Sensitive nose locked onto the new aroma wafting through the air before the voice's owner materialized in peripheral vision. Meliodas only managed a greeting before the offer's thrust upon him, slight surprise and mild curiosity brightening emerald irises at the small bundle resting between Orihime's hands. His own reached out, accepting it as a contemplative hum tickled the base of his throat.  ❝ Well well, since you're offering don't mind if I do. ❞  Free food was free food. Who was he dismiss the kind gesture ?

         He caught himself leaning forward to get a better whiff, more thoroughly analyze the new, interesting blend of smells, and shifted slightly. For a long moment, an intense stare surveyed the snack as it's brought closer to his face. It's half a loaf, cut horizontally. the length of his forearm and dripping with melted cheese, sticking to the paper it's wrapped in. It's not the first combo he'd think of for bread but maybe that had to do more so with his native palate inherently differing from among the peers he sequestered himself.

         Bread crunched, one third disappearing in single go under the swift, borderline savage chomp of teeth, manners and shame confidently shirked in favour of discovering the unique taste. The snack's silent wail of it's ill fate snuffed out as the remainder quickly followed suit, devoured with gusto. Not bad at all. Shoulders slumped upon disappointing realization that there's no more to be had.  ❝ That was pretty good. Thank you. ❞

         Hold on. Fingers gripped chin and brows furrowed in thought as the crumpled remnants of paper crinkled in his grasp. Could he... use this ?  Garlic bread could be a good addition to his menu, right ?  He's sure with a bit of practice he could whip it up himself.  ❝ If you don't mind sharing the recipe, I'll pay you back with one free of charge. You can even taste test my first one. ❞

@rejekshun

[princesscait26]

Oh Deer

Alastor x Y/n

Summary: What happens when y/n uses Alastors mug.

The morning hummed with the promise of a new day at Hazbin Hotel. Y/n, feeling the pull of caffeine, ventured downstairs to the kitchen, her eyelids heavy with the remnants of sleep. A cursory glance at her array of cups revealed a mountain of unwashed dishes, prompting a tired sigh. Resigned, she reached for the nearest ceramic, which happened to be Alastor's iconic mug emblazoned with the words "Oh Deer." A mischievous grin crept across her lips as she imagined the chaos she could sow with this borrowed cup.

Pouring herself a generous serving of coffee, she indulged in a sinful amount of sugar and cream, relishing the sweetness that danced across her taste buds. With her concoction in hand, she sauntered into the living room of the lobby, her tail swishing behind her with excitement, ready to tackle the day's challenges.

From his post at the bar, Husk's bleary eyes widened in horror as he spied Y/n cradling Alastor's prized possession. Panic clawed at his chest as he approached her, snatching the mug, his voice a frantic whisper. "Are you out of your mind? He'll have your head for this," he hissed, the fear in his tone.

Y/n chuckled, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she defiantly reclaimed the mug. "Relax, Husk. I'm just a doe enjoying her morning brew," she quipped, her smirk daring him to challenge her further.

Husk's expression wavered between disbelief and trepidation, but ultimately, he decided to wash his hands of the impending chaos. With a resigned shake of his head, he retreated to the safety of the bar, determined not to be caught in the crossfire of Y/n's antics and Alastor's wrath

———————————————————————

Alastor, the illustrious radio demon, embarked on his customary routine. With each step echoing a sense of purpose, he descended into the kitchen, eager to fuel himself with the elixir of wakefulness before ascending to the radio tower for another captivating broadcast, replete with reminders of those who dared to cross him.

However, his meticulously planned morning took an unforeseen detour as he reached for his prized mug, only to find it conspicuously absent from its designated spot. A flicker of confusion danced across his features before morphing into a scowl of irritation. The scent of coffee hung heavy in the air, betraying evidence of recent use. How could anyone be audacious enough to pilfer his cherished vessel?

Venturing into the lobby, Alastor's keen eyes swept over the familiar faces occupying the space. Husk diligently tending to the bar avoiding his bosses gaze, Charlie engaged in animated conversation with Angel Dust, and Vaggie brushing Charlie’s hair—all mundane scenes in contrast to the brewing storm within Alastor's mind.

Yet, it was the sight of Y/n, nestled comfortably amidst a sea of paperwork, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands, that drew Alastor's attention like a moth to flame. A devilish grin spread across his lips as he honed in on the object of his suspicion.

Approaching with predatory grace, Alastor loomed over his favorite little doe, his presence casting a palpable shadow over her workspace. With a tilt of his head and a glint of mischief in his eye, he addressed her in a melodic tone that belied the underlying threat. "What have we here, my dear?" he crooned, his voice a siren's call of danger.

Y/n met his gaze with feigned innocence, her lashes fluttering as she summoned her most pure expression. "Just a cup of coffee, darling," she replied, her voice dripping with sweetness as she dared him to challenge her façade.

A tension lingered between Alastor and Y/n, their relationship a delicate dance of affection and provocation, evident to all who dwelled within its walls. Over time, they had forged a bond woven with pet names and whispered endearments, their connection an open secret among the patrons who watched with bated breath as their story unfolded.

As Y/n sat, in the familiar warmth of Alastor's presence leering against her, sending a cascade of shivers down her spine. His voice, a velvet purr, tickled her ear as he leaned in close, his breath ghosting over the nape of her neck. “That belongs to me, cheri.” Y/n was at a loss for words, heart pounding in her chest and her face as red as Alastor’s ears. With deliberate intent, he materialized before her, his proximity a deliberate distraction as he reached for the mug cradled in her grasp.

A pout graced Y/n's lips as she resisted his advance, her fingers tightening around the mug as if daring him to challenge her claim. Alastor, undeterred by her defiance, closed the distance between them, his nose almost touching hers and his gaze locking with hers in a silent challenge. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife, every eye trained on the unfolding drama, anticipation crackling in the air like electricity.

Charlie, her smile a beacon of encouragement, stood hand in hand with Vaggie, their shared anticipation mirrored in the gazes they exchanged. Husk, his expression a mixture of concern and resignation, braced himself for the inevitable fallout, while Angel Dust held his breath in rapt anticipation, his eyes fixed on the unfolding spectacle.

With bated breath, Y/n awaited Alastor's response, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of apprehension and desire. As he took the mug from her grasp, a triumphant smile graced his lips, the thrill of victory evident in his crimson gaze. He went to retreat as he thought he had won but, Y/n seized his hand with a surge of newfound confidence, pulling him close in a bold display of affection.

“This belongs to me” she says and their lips meet in a fervent kiss, the world around them falling away as they surrendered to the undeniable pull of their attraction. For a moment, time stood still, the only sound echoing through the lobby the soft murmur of their mingled breaths.

As the kiss lingered, a resounding crash shattered the fragile stillness, the sound of breaking glass punctuating the moment jolting them back into reality. Alastor, his resolve crumbling like the shards of his shattered porcelain cup, returned Y/n's embrace with both hands and a passion that ignited the room, their connection transcending the confines of words and gestures.

In the aftermath of their impulsive display, the patrons of the hotel stood in stunned silence, their shock palpable as they beheld the wreckage of Alastor's beloved mug lying in ruins upon the floor. Yet, amidst the debris, a newfound understanding dawned, as they witnessed the depth of Alastor's devotion laid bare in the wreckage of his shattered mug, a sacrifice made in favor of a love that defied all expectations.

Amidst the scattered remnants of Alastor's shattered mug, Nifty, the ever-efficient maid of the Hazbin Hotel, sprung into action with characteristic zeal. "A mess, I'll clean it," she declared, her voice ringing with determination as she swiftly gathered the fragments littering the floor.

[tickly-tufts]

Evil Mutants

happy @tickletober! mutant power counts as a “favourite tickle tool” right?

inspired by raven’s ler potential, sibling moments in FC, and the shortcomings of “mutant and proud”

—

“Raven, look, I didn’t mean it like- Wait! Raven, be reasonable! We’re far too old for- No!”

Erik barely processed the words before Charles barreled into his chest, forgoing eye contact and explanation in favor of scrambling behind him. He stood there stunned until Raven followed, poised like a predator mid-pursuit.

“Really, Charles?” she scoffed when she saw them. “You think Erik’s gonna save you?”

Charles didn’t answer, though he did cling, grip tightening on the back of Erik’s shirt. He’d intercepted Erik right at the doorway, effectively using him like a blockade.

“Save him from what?” Erik finally asked, curiosity piqued by the odd exchange.

Mere moments later, Charles’ cufflinks betrayed him, commanded by his equally treacherous friend.

—

“You know you only have yourself to blame,” Erik remarked once Raven recounted his insult. An unintentional insult, to be sure, but an insult to mutants nonetheless. Charles likely would’ve disagreed, had he still been capable of doing so. It was, however, difficult to argue when one was nearly in hysterics.

“NohoHO!” He tried to twist away when Erik pinched along his left side. Unfortunately, it only brought him closer to Raven’s nails clawing at his ribs. “Wait! WAHAHAHA!” he protested when she thought to tug up his shirt, cackling at the raspberry she then blew against his unprotected skin.

“This wouldn’t be so bad if you had scales,” Raven commented, cheerfully petty.

“Thahat’s not fahahair!” Charles countered, once they’d eased up to let him breathe.

“She’s not wrong, though,” Erik chimed in, fingers tracing across Charles’ stomach. He smirked as it trembled beneath his touch. “This is an easily exploitable weakness.”

“Ehehevil! You’re bohoth ehevil!”

“And you’re too ticklish to be running your mouth. But if you really want me to be evil-“

“Raven!” Charles squeaked when her hand shifted.

“Oh, that’s diabolical,” Erik marveled as Raven showed off newly-feathered fingers. It was almost as if she’d put on a glove, scales past her wrist transformed into plumes.

“Don’t!” Charles’ vehemence suggested past experience. “Not in front of-!“ he started, then stopped, face warming.

Thoroughly charmed, Erik tugged his shirt higher. “Well, now I have to see this.” He turned back to Raven.

It was not Charles’ first time enduring the belly rub from tickle hell, but Erik’s presence, even passive, undeniably made it worse. Charles didn’t dare meet his eye, though he could sense the other man observing him. Were his giggles really that high-pitched? Was his face as red as it felt? If Raven tickled him to tears again, would his pride ever recover?

“Isn’t he cute?” Raven teased, grinning conspiratorially at Erik. Her feathered palm tickled across Charles’ torso, frond-like fingertips fluttering lightly.

“Adorable,” Erik agreed, drinking in Charles’ reactions. He held Charles’ cufflinks with ease, feeling him struggle against the metal.

Raven wiggled one feathery finger in Charles’ navel to hear him squeal, then lifted her hand once more, shifting through several different textures. “What do you think? Furry or fuzzy?”

Erik noticed Charles flinch. “Definitely fuzzy,” he replied, gazing straight into pleading blue eyes. Perhaps it was a tad sadistic, but Charles had earned Raven’s wrath on his own… and honestly, Erik was enjoying the sight of Charles helplessly flustered.

Meanwhile, Charles let out a screech when Raven’s hand inevitably returned. She’d only used fuzzy once before, the morning after one of his more drunken exploits. It’d sobered him up like nothing else, the mere threat of it becoming a warning, and now that she was doing it again…

He remembered he absolutely could not stand it.

“EHEEHEEK! R-RAHAVEN PLEASE!” He writhed beneath the maddeningly ticklish fuzz. Further down, his legs kicked, thumping desperately against the floor. “I’M SORREHEHEE!” he frantically apologized.

“That bad, huh?” Erik mused, recognizing the start of tears.

“This isn’t even his worst spot,” Raven revealed, brushing circles on his belly. “Actually… have I ever used my mutation there before?” Her fuzzed hand began drifting higher, up his side, then over his ribs.

“PleheHEASE! YOU DOHON’T HAHAHAVE TO-!”

He felt the fuzz beneath his right arm.

“Oh!” Erik startled when Charles yanked, nearly ripping his own shirtsleeve. He quickly adjusted the corresponding cufflink to re-secure Charles’ right wrist. “He’s fighting me much harder than before.” The ferocity was almost impressive.

As was the intensity of Charles’ laughter, rendering him fully incoherent.

It tickled. He couldn’t speak. It tickled so much. He couldn’t think. The fuzz bordered on itchy, or maybe prickly, terribly ticklish wherever it touched. Charles doubted it could get any worse… until he felt Raven’s other hand.

In that instant, the telepath panicked, finally summoning his own power.

ENOUGH.

Mentally compelled, Raven pulled back, while Erik released his magnetic hold. Erik’s eyes widened when he realized, while Raven tensed, no longer amused.

Charles noticed the new tension. “I… I didn’t… Sorry…” he wheezed. Eyes watering, he looked up at them, something fragile in his expression.

“For what?” Erik questioned before the mood soured. “Defending yourself with your mutation? Really, Charles, it’s about time.” Both siblings stared at him in shock.

“Are you really��� not bothered by it?” Charles ventured hesitantly.

“You’re a telepath. It’s natural,” Erik reasoned. “Though I never thought tickling would force your hand.”

Relief and embarrassment warred within Charles as Erik smiled, lighthearted and playful. Raven watched the interaction, re-evaluating, before making herself relax.

“Like I said, he’s ridiculously ticklish.” She reached out to ruffle Charles’ hair. He batted her away with an indignant huff, though he couldn’t maintain his pout. Unease between them usually lingered, yet with Erik’s intervention, it’d dissolved like sugar.

“Yes, well… can’t help my nature.” He wobbled to the couch with Erik’s help.

Charles dropped onto the cushions with a sigh, allowing Erik’s arm to settle over his shoulders. Raven joined on Charles’ other side, leaning close like she’d done since they were children. They weren’t children anymore, and their relationship wasn’t what it’d once been, but he supposed that moments like this proved some things really never changed.

Before Charles could get too wistful, Erik interrupted the peace. “So, is this a common occurrence? Tickling Charles into submission?”

Raven perked up, devious, as Charles’ blush reignited. He thus became a captive audience to her extended recollections.

[sleepinthrumyalarms]

— good little girl

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!oni!reader

request: anonymous

warnings: angsty with fluffy ending

summary: a small (lovers') quarrel between you and wednesday leaves you sour for the whole day, but you just can't stay away from her for too long

word count: 2.2k

A grunt came from Enid’s left where the blonde was sitting at her usual place in the back of the herbology class, and the werewolf turned to look at her desk neighbor, expecting to see Yoko with her usual morning person frown. There was a frown, but instead of her vampire friend it grazed the face of (Y/n). Her demon friend.

Her brows were furrowed, and, without sparing a single glance at the blonde, she took her books out, throwing her bag down at her feet before folding her hands on her chest with a huff. Enid could swear a small puff of smoke escaped the fuming oni’s nose.

“Good... morning?” The blonde girl tested with a nervous smile, leaning back in her seat to take a look around the class. Her gaze landed on the back of the head of a small ravenette sitting next to Xavier, her posture perfectly straight as she wrote something down in her textbook, completely ignoring the artist’s poor attempts at striking a conversation with her.

(Y/n) never sat with anyone but Wednesday. Ever.

“Mhm,” the demon hummed in reply, putting her elbow on the desk to support her chin by her clawed palm, “Better for some than others.”

“Did... something happen between you two?”

“We had a fight,” (Y/n) mumbled grumpily, her top lip rising over her tusks as she spoke with distaste and resentment, obviously angry.

“A fight? With Wednesday? How are you still alive and in one piece then, huh?” Enid joked, quickly ducking her head into her shoulders at the piercing glare the oni girl sent her way, “Okay, yeah, too soon,” she gulped, watching (Y/n) roll her eyes and turn her head away to stare at the board, then scooched closer to bump her shoulder against the other girl’s, “C’mon. No wrath – wallowing, remember? Talk to me. What was it about?”

There was grumpy reluctance on the (h/c) – haired demon’s face, but she knew better than to resist Enid’s best intentions, “She missed our movie night yesterday. Was out in the forest, as I later found out. Alone,” she growled under her breath, “I was worried. But she told me there was no need to be because she could ‘fend for herself’, and that I was being too overprotective. I keep telling her she doesn’t have to do shit alone, but her stubbornness has me losing sleep.”

Enid nodded, watching as (Y/n)’s downcast gaze shifted from irritation to dejection, “We should’ve talked it out, but I got very angry. I know I shouldn’t have, but I can’t control it,” she turned to Enid, voice suddenly quiet, “Am I too obsessive? Too violent?”

“No, dummy, you aren’t. You’ve got your own screws lose, as we all do, and you’re working on them,” the werewolf assured softly, looping her arm over (Y/n)’s free elbow to comfort the sad demon, “It’s okay to fight. It’s healthy. And, well, you know Wednesday – most social constructs are lost on her. It’ll be fine. You just need to cool off.”

The oni girl sighed, picking a pencil to twirl it with her clawed hand absent – mindedly, not in the mood to keep the conversation up anymore.

Enid was hoping the situation would get better a few classes in. But it didn’t.

The blonde sighed as she watched Wednesday take a sit next to her at lunch, silently placing her tray on the table. Taking a single glance over the small ravenette’s shoulder, Enid groaned – the oni demon was sitting a few tables away, head hung as she sulked over her meal, angrily picking at it with her fork.

“God, you two are still not over this?” The werewolf girl spoke through the chunk of steak she was chomping on, exasperated, turning to watch Wednesday cut her stuffed sweet potato and put a piece in her mouth, not saying a word, “Wednesday.”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full.” The girl deadpanned, her attention still fully focused on her food.

“I can’t believe it. You are, like, constantly inseparable! How can you let such a petty argument get in the way?” Enid exclaimed, swallowing the meat, “Wednesday. You love (Y/n). You can’t just keep ignoring her, it’s extremely childish.”

Wednesday’s back straightened at the accusation, “It’s what she herself chose to do, too.”

“(Y/n)’s a hot – headed dumbass. I bet she’s afraid she’d lash out at you again, too. You really need to talk. You balance each other out perfectly, there’s no way you won’t figure things out.”

Wednesday didn’t answer, making Enid’s shoulders sag, and the blonde turned back to her plate.

“Have you ever been smacked upside the head to unconsciousness, (Y/n)?” Enid asked, a fake tight – lipped smile on her face.

Narrowing her eyes, the demon looked the suspiciously cheery werewolf over, “...No?” She answered, uncertain of where such a question was coming from.

“Would you like me to be the first?”

(Y/n) shuddered, raising her palms in surrender, a water bottle in one of her hands, “Not really.”

“Then why the hell are the two of you still apart?” The blonde girl exclaimed, pointing at Wednesday who was sitting at the bench on the other side of the football field, gaze empty as she watched the rest of her fellow classmates run laps around the perimeter.

The oni’s eyes followed Enid’s hand, then she scoffed, unscrewing the cap and taking a few big, unnecessarily aggressive gulps of the liquid, some droplets trickling down her throat and wetting her jersey shirt, before tossing the bottle to the werewolf, “Because Addams never does anything wrong.”

“Stop being so salty,” Enid rolled her eyes, taking a sip and screwing the cap back on, “You know how Wednesday is. Better than anyone else, actually. And don’t think I can’t see you moping, I know you miss her.”

(Y/n) sighed, her gaze landing back on the small ravenette. She watched as the girl read, a pale hand turning the pages of the book in her lap, and a nauseating feeling of longing washed over the demon.

She did miss Wednesday. She missed her engrossed murderous rants, her critiquing comments and the small gentle displays of affection that were so seldom but oh so welcome: entwining her pinky with the oni’s, sitting closer to each other in class so their shoulders would subtly touch, dozing off with (Y/n)’s head on Wednesday’s lap during breaks.

But did Wednesday miss her? She couldn't really tell - there was the usual small frown on her dark lips, and (Y/n) could see her brows knit under her fringe, but nothing out of ordinary grazed the face of the black - haired girl.

The more (Y/n) stared at Wednesday, the more she realised how badly she wanted to be close to her.

The ravenette looked up suddenly, her grey eyes meeting the demon’s, and (Y/n) turned her head away.

“Think I’m gonna do some more extra laps.” The demon murmured lowly, raising her hands to tighten her ponytail before standing up from the bench, starting off and away from her annoyed werewolf friend.

But she knew she couldn’t run from the heaviness in her chest anymore.

It was late in the evening as (Y/n) walked up the stairs of Ophelia Hall, her steps echoing around the building – most of the Nevermore students were already resting in their rooms, providing silence and tranquility to the usually busy school. But the demon felt far from calm, anxiety pooling inside her heart like water in a boiling whistling kettle.

It wasn’t about resentment, anger or her precious fragile pride anymore – she needed to make up with Wednesday. Neither did she care who was in the right, or what the argument was even about. She missed the girl terribly.

She could only hope she won't be turned away.

Coming up to stand in front of the door, the demon took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the confrontation she was so desperately trying to avoid the whole day. Finally gathering up all her courage, she raised her fist – delivering three loud knocks to the wooden surface, the girl listened. But no sound came from the other side. Feeling bold, (Y/n) turned the handle, surprisingly finding the door open, and let herself in.

The lights in the room were dimly lit, the only lamp working being on Wednesday’s side, as the other resident of the dorm was absent. It smelt very pleasantly inside – an incense stick was burning on the ravenette’s desk, perched on a skull – shaped glass stand, letting the fragrance of sandalwood float around in thin trails of smoke.

The gloomy girl herself stood in front of her closet, sorting and putting clean clothes and laundry in neat piles. She was wearing a black oversized hoodie, big over her shoulders and covering the middle of her thighs, and her feet were clad in matching fuzzy socks. (Y/n) could feel her heart melt – the small ravenette looked so warm and cozy, the demon wanted nothing more than to embrace her tightly and never let go.

But it could wait. She needed to make things right first.

Wednesday didn’t turn at the sound of the creaking door, nor did she turn to acknowledge whoever came inside, fully dedicated to her aim of ignoring the (h/c) – haired oni. She knew it was her coming, of course – she learned the way her footsteps sounded in the halls, their heaviness, the pattern of her knocking. (Y/n)’s presence was unlike any other, too.

“Hey. The door was unlocked.”

Unsurprisingly, Wednesday didn’t reply, and (Y/n) sighed, but chose to keep talking.

“Look, about yesterday... I’m sorry. The way I acted was... not what you deserve. No matter the reason. I’m sorry I got angry. It’s something I’m working on.”

No reply came. The ravenette continued rummaging around her closet, completely ignoring the other girl.

The demon huffed, walking up to Wednesday whose back was still turned to her, and in a slow, slightly unsure movement, she snaked her arms around her waist. Wednesday gave a barely noticeable start, but ultimately didn’t resist, and the oni took it as a green light, locking her hands around the ravenette’s hoodie – clad middle and giving a gentle loving squeeze.

A small grin made its way onto the demon’s toothy mouth. Lightly clearing her throat, she leaned into Wednesday’s shoulder, bending over to settle her chin on top of it snuggly.

“Good little girl,” she started to sing in a voice barely above a whisper, her breath tickling Wednesday’s neck, “Always picking a fight with me. You know that I’m bad,” (Y/n) couldn’t stop a soft chuckle in-between the lyrics, “But you’re spending the night with me...”

Wednesday turned around in the oni’s hold, gently, without breaking it, her eyes trailing up to (Y/n)’s slitted ones as the demon girl’s voice gently drifted through the otherwise silent room.

“What do you want from my world? You’re a good little girl...”

Wednesday’s gaze was unreadable – she watched the other girl’s face silently, prompting her to continue.

“Don't you know I'm a villain? Every night I'm out killing, sending everyone running like children,” (Y/n) murmured with a tusked grin, making Wednesday roll her eyes, “I know why you're mad at me. I've got demon eyes, and they're looking right through your anatomy,” adoration glinted in the (e/c) cat – like irises, “Into your deepest fears, baby.”

The smaller girl moved her hands up (Y/n)'s shoulders, and the demon rested her own on Wednesday’s waist, pulling her closer.

“I'm not from here. I'm from the Nightosphere. To me, you're clear,” she leaned closer to Wednesday, pressing her forehead against the other girl’s as she murmured in a mockingly conspiratorial tone, “transparent. You got a thing for me, girl, it's apparent.”

The ravenette huffed a soft laugh through her nose, a small smile finally appearing on her face, the girl unable to resist the demon’s charm.

“You’re so corny.” She scolded half – heartedly.

The grin on (Y/n)’s face turned cocky, “You know you love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

The two young women swayed for a while, enjoying each other’s presence, finally content.

“I have to apologize, too. For... disregarding your concern for me and taking it for granted. I’m sorry.” Wednesday said, pulling away to look at her demon lover.

“I forgive you. I know I can’t expect you to suddenly get used to certain changes I brought into your life. That’s what I’m here for. To guide you. There are some things the great Wednesday Addams doesn’t understand completely yet, as super intelligent as she is.” The oni girl noted jokingly, making Wednesday purse her lips in a half – hearted frown.

“I can’t tell if this is bullying or you trying to make a compliment,” she said, her palms reaching up to (Y/n)’s face, thumbs tracing her cheekbones gently – she was surprised at how much she had missed the demon’s features, “Also, good little girl? Is that really how you see me?”

“No, ma’am, not at all,” (Y/n) shook her head with a quiet giggle, mischievousness shining in her slitted eyes, “Little, maybe, but– “

“Stop talking.”

[adhdnursegoat]

Reformed! Arkhamverse

cw: fluffy angsty goodness 😊, comfort

note: took a page from @caesariawritesstuff's Cat & Mouse because this Eddie is reformed and is more like Origins Eddie :) also, this was supposed to be for Friday 10/12 but this apparently wants to be posted. So enjoy a day early!!

word count: 2.1k

“I’m going to kill him.”

And you know he’s serious.

Edward stands before you, an embodiment of barely restrained fury, his clear blue eyes blazing with a fire so fierce you almost have to look away. His hands are clenched into tight fists at his sides, the muscles in his forearms bulging against the fabric of his rolled shirt sleeves, straining as though they’re moments away from snapping. You can see the twitch in his jaw, the flare of his nostrils, you can hear the shudder in his breath—he’s holding himself back by the thinnest thread.

It’s a testament to his self-control that he hasn’t already lunged at the man who dared lay a hand on you. His body trembles slightly, vibrating with tension, each breath a calculated attempt to rein in the storm brewing inside him. The air between you is thick with his rage, a palpable force that both grounds you and sends a ripple of unease through your stomach.

And yet, instinctively, you step closer.

You don’t know whether it’s to shield him or keep him from unleashing the tempest stampeding through his veins, but you place yourself between him and the man now wisely retreating, his face pale with terror. You could see it in the man’s eyes—the dawning realization of who he’s offended. He had no idea whose partner he was touching, whose wrath he had summoned. Now he knows. Now he sees. He’s an idiot.

“Edward, stop,” you say, your voice firm yet soft as you press a hand against his chest. Beneath your fingers, you can feel the wild, erratic beat of his heart—each pulse heavy with the weight of his restraint. It’s a force of nature contained only by sheer willpower.

But his eyes remain locked on the man, unblinking, his focus so laser-sharp it sends a shiver down your spine. The man is retreating, inch by inch, but Edward’s gaze is fixed, dangerous, a predator sizing up its prey. You’re not sure if he’s listening to you at all. The world has narrowed to one point, and all he sees is the insult, the violation, the audacity.

You take a breath and push harder against his chest, leaning into the pressure, hoping to anchor him, to bring him back from the brink. “Edward, look at me,” you plead, voice lower, softer, the kind of tone you know reaches him when nothing else can. “Please.”

“I’m not letting him get away with that,” Edward grits out, his voice low and seething. It’s a guttural sound, a primal instinct clawing its way to the surface. You can hear the squeak and grind of his molars, his jaw clenched so tight you worry he might crack a tooth. There’s a dangerous edge to his demeanor, a violent energy that radiates out. He tries to push past you, but you hold your ground, splaying both hands against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“Yes, you are,” you reply, your tone unwavering as you meet his furious gaze with calm determination. You try to find his eyes, to anchor him to the moment, to you. “Look at me, Ed… Please, just look at me.”

After a beat, his lips remain pulled into a dangerous sneer. Then Edward ’s frozen flame eyes flicker down to you, their usual bright intensity now stormy, darkened by rage. For a fleeting moment, you think you’ve lost him to his old impulses, to the Riddler who took what he wanted and punished those who crossed him. There is a glint of something wild and predatory in his gaze that sends a shiver down your spine. You grimace, not enjoying having this energy now focused on you.

But then he blinks, seeing you through the red mist encroaching his mind, and you notice a glimmer of hesitation in his eyes. Finally. It’s the crack you need to reach him, a momentary opening in the armor of fury that surrounds him. You hold his gaze, feeling the intensity of his anger crackling, popping, and slowly fizzling to a smolder between your eyes, much like a fuse burning out seconds from an explosive ignition.

“That’s it, my love,” you coo, your voice soothing as you stroke his chest gently. Your fingertips brush against the fabric of his vest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breathing beneath it. Each breath is a tumultuous wave, the tension in his muscles beginning to ease just a fraction under your touch. “Just breathe, okay?”

He lets out a ragged breath, the sound escaping his lips like the release of a pressure valve. The tension in his shoulders sags slightly, and for a moment, you both stand in a fragile silence, the world around you fading into the background. “He touched you…,” he grits out, his voice husky with anger, each word tinged with a raw, protective instinct. It churns within him, a wildfire ignited every time he thinks of someone disrespecting you, of someone daring to encroach upon what he sees as rightfully his. But when he sees the steady look in your eyes, something shifts; a tremor of doubt flits across his features.

Edward closes his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, as if trying to anchor himself in the storm. When he opens them again, the tempest begins to subside. His blue irises are bright once more, though his brows remain furrowed in concern, a cloud of worry hanging over him like a shadow. “I can’t just stand by and do nothing when someone thinks they can treat you like that. Thinking they can touch what’s mine.”

The intensity of his possessiveness washes over you, wrapping around your heart like a tight embrace, both exhilarating and unsettling. You can feel the heat of his anger morphing into something deeper—an unwavering desire to protect, to claim, to own. And while you understand the danger embedded in his rage, the way it ignites his passion is undeniably intoxicating. The knowledge of how far he’s willing to go for you sends both a thrill of apprehension and arousal dancing down your spine.

Yet, your heart twists at the sight of him struggling, wrestling with his old instincts. Edward is trying so hard to change, to leave the darkness behind, but moments like this threaten to pull him back into the shadows. You lift a hand to cup his cheek, brushing your thumb gently across his skin, grounding him in the present.

“I know,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know you want to protect what’s yours. But you promised yourself you’d do better, remember? And you’re doing so well, Edward. You’ve come so far.” Your other hand finds his face as well, ensuring his attention is fixed on you when you say, “I’m so, so proud of you…”

You smile up at him, your eyes shining with sincerity, trying to mirror the warmth of your words. You continue to pet his cheek, showering him with the tender love and care he needs—no, deserves. “Don’t throw that all away because of one jerk. He’s not worth it.”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he fights to steady his breathing, the rhythm still uneven. “I can’t do this. I need to break his fingers. I need to-”

“Shh,” you interrupt gently, pulling his face towards yours with a delicate touch. You lean in, resting your forehead against his, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin. You can sense his rapid breaths, his body still coiled like a spring, ready to snap at any moment. “You need to use that big, sexy brain of yours and reason with yourself. You can. I believe in you. You are the smartest, most resilient man I know. World’s Greatest Everything—right? You can do this.”

You feel him exhale shakily, his eyes fluttering closed as he leans into your touch. “You’re right…” His hands, which had been hanging limply at his sides, now come up to hold your hips. His grip is tight, almost desperate, as if he’s afraid you might slip away. “I hate this.”

“I know you do,” you say softly, nuzzling his nose with your own. Then you let you hands push back into his hair, fingers threading into the dark strands. “What matters is how you handle it, and you’re handling it right now. You stopped. You listened to me. That’s progress.”

He opens his eyes, looking at you with frustration but vulnerability. The dark shadows beneath his blue irises betray the tumult swirling in his mind. “You make it sound so easy,” he murmurs bitterly, his voice laced with a heaviness that echoes the struggle within him. “But it’s not. I want to hurt him.”

You sigh, your fingers instinctively playing with the dark hair at the nape of his neck, seeking to ground both him and yourself. “I know. And it’s okay to want that. It’s okay to feel angry, to want to protect me. But both of us—even he knows—you could yeet his ass from this mortal coil.”

Edward chuckles at your silly encouragement, the sound breaking through the storm of his fury. It’s a crack of amusement in his dissipating rage, and it makes your soul sing, a warm note of relief coursing through you.

“But you don’t have to act on every impulse,” you continue, your voice softer now, wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. “You’re more than your anger.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to find the truth reflected back. His brow furrows as he sifts through everything you’ve said. You can almost see the gears turning in his mind, letting the gentle tide of your voice roll a wave of calm through his body. He sighs, pressing his forehead more firmly against yours, the warmth of his skin grounding you both in this fragile moment.

Then, finally, he exhales a slow, shuddering breath, a release of tension that seems to echo in the air around you. He wraps his arms around you completely, pulling you into a tight embrace— a recognition of your unwavering support. You can feel the tension in his body slowly easing, replaced by a weary sort of resignation, as if the weight of his burdens is shared in this closeness.

“Okay,” he murmurs into your hair, the sound softening the edges of his earlier anger.

You nod in appreciation, your arms encircling his neck, anchoring him further. “You’re doing your best, Ed... That’s enough for me.” You offer a small smile, one filled with warmth and understanding. “Now, how about we get out of here? Go home? We can sit down, relax, and forget about that asshat. I can massage your neck and shoulders. That always makes you feel better, yeah?” Making your point, one of your hands strokes and squeezes the tight muscles at the back of his neck, feeling the tension begin to dissipate beneath your touch.

A faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he groans, leaning into your caress, and he nods. “Yeah. A massage sounds wonderful,” he purrs, his voice still hoarse but no longer filled with fury. In a sudden surge of affection, he reaches forward, cupping your cheeks in both hands and drawing your face closer to his. “You’re never leaving me,” he declares, his tone possessive yet tender, as he presses in an affirming kiss on your lips. It’s firm, grounding, a period instead of a question mark.

You break the kiss, whispering “promise” against his lips, before kissing him once more, and then his nose, a playful gesture that earns you another soft chuckle from him. You pat his cheek, then take his hands from your face, your fingers interlacing with his. Feeling a warm glow well up in your chest, you give him a soft smile, a gesture filled with tenderness, and then you tug him gently. “Let’s go home.”

As you pull him through the bar, the atmosphere around you shifts, the noise of the crowd fading into a comforting background hum. You glance back at him, giving a warm, knowing smile. “You know, the new season of Love Is Blind is out now. We can watch that when we get home too.”

Edward’s blue eyes widen behind his glasses, and a spark of excitement ignites in his gaze. He starts walking faster, now tugging you along with newfound energy. “Darling, why didn’t you say that sooner? You know I love watching those idiots torture themselves in that sorry excuse for an experiment.”

[the-light-finds-its-way]

A Wish, Kel Tas Ne

The Awoken Warlock's heart weighed heavy within his chest. Walking past his siblings, all chittering and conversing, scuttling around with four arms instead of two, Velliks glanced upon his own form.

No claws. Two arms. Entirely Awoken, not Eliksni.

The man sighed heavily, frowning as he bit his lower lip, and shook the dismay away. Velliks located his Kell, then approached, bowing.

Misraaks turned around and looked upon the captain. "Velliks. You are brave as always. What may I do for you?"

Velliks lowered his shoulders, dropping his gaze. "I... I'd like some guidance, if you're willing, Kel-ne."

The Kell smiled warmly, and nodded. "Of course, Velliks, kir ma sha. Speak your heart, and I will give it Light."

Nodding, Velliks inhaled deeply, thinking for a long moment. Searching for the words to express his mind, he spoke. "I'm... not like everyone here. I haven't been. I never was." The Warlock shook his head, tensing. "You call me captain, and granted me my name as one of you, but I am Awoken walking amongst Eliksni. I mimick your habits, and your movements. Zavala believes me strange because I chitter as I speak, and I crawl around as much as I walk. He sees an Awoken. Everyone does. I see an Awoken... But... I wish I didn't have to..."

"Hmm..." Misraaks chirped gently for a moment, pondering in silence otherwise. Then, he looked upon Velliks, and motioned for him to follow. "We should not speak this matter to the House. They would be afraid, and rightly so."

Velliks stood, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You will know soon," the Kell promised. He began walking away from the rabble of all.

Quickly, the Warlock followed, rushing to his Kell's side as they made way for the outskirts of the Eliksni Quarter.

Misraaks halted, and turned to see Velliks once more. "Have you heard the tales of the Ahamkara?"

Velliks shook his head, puzzled. "...No. I don't believe I have," he replied.

"It is hard to regale one in the stories of what was and no longer is. But still the tragedies of these wish-masters is known by all who lived their wrath." Misraaks glanced to the infinite sky above. "Centuries ago, Guardians made contact with the Ahamkara. Wish Dragons. These creatures were capable of granting anything one sought regardless of what it was. However, the price was grave. That wish would be forced to drive its maker to the bitter end, in that whatever the wisher received, they'd have no choice but to submit to it entirely. If a Guardian asked for power, they'd find themself forced to obtain power by any and all means necessary including that of everyone else. They'd kill, they'd slaughter, and they would not stop until put down. If someone wished for riches, they, too, would seek their fortune at the cost of all, never stopping even if the universe were drained of all its wealth, the very promise torturing its maker to forever hunger for more. But... the wishes were granted nonetheless. Whatever was sought became theirs. And it could not be taken away.

"Guardians feared the power of the Ahamkara, and watched as all whose desires were granted tore apart the universe. The Vanguard began a mission to slay all these wish-masters for the safety of Humanity. Dead Dragons could no longer twist their promises to those whom they granted their will. And since this elimination, none have wished. There are no Ahamkara to speak desires upon. Or so the legends say..."

Shaking his head, Velliks sighed. "Why does it matter, then? What bearing do the Ahamkara have if they no longer exist?"

"I have traveled far, across many systems in this galaxy, and I have seen boundless infinities. I've heard whispers spoken through the mouths of things which cannot be seen. Those voices are waiting. Calling." Misraaks looked Velliks in the eyes sincerely. "I am certain that the Ahamkara have not all been killed. There are few, and they live. Hidden. Waiting.

"It is true an Ahamkara will force the wisher to follow their will eternally, however Guardians would free those bound by promise when the Ahamkara who granted the wish was slain. The dead cannot enact a living will. If you can find one, you can make a wish to become Eliksni. And if you gather your fireteam, you can kill it once your wish is granted. You'll be free as the very self you desire to become."

There, Velliks's mouth fell agape, his shoulders falling as he grew entirely silent for many moments. "But... Who could I even trust to do this?! Who would be willing to go against the Vanguard law to help me?! Where would I even begin to look for an Ahamkara?!"

Misraaks grinned. "The law-breaking part is simple. My partner, Anthem-99, has been dubbed 'The Lawless Vanguard' for a reason. All the same, Magnuskel is a good man willing to give aid to all in need. He is powerful, and it would not surprise me if his might alone could tear apart an Ahamkara. Both their allies are many, and with the Titan and Hunter, you will find an army ready to follow you forth as you make your wish. As for finding one, listen to the stars. Travel in the direction of voices, and seek their sources. If you hear words from something unseen, and they reach not your ears but your mind, you will know. You will find them. Let their whispers guide you. But do not go alone. An Eliksni is nothing without his House to stand by him."

Velliks immediately bowed to Misraaks. "Kel tas ne, thank you. Truly. Thank you."

Nodding, the Kell grasped Velliks's shoulder, gripping it firmly. "You are Velliks, kir ma sha. Brave and strong. You are our captain. And I am certain your unrelenting prowess will serve you well in the battle to come. Light guide you, hatchling." Misraaks smiled, releasing the Warlock, then walked away toward the House once more.

And Velliks's heart lifted, filling him with hope. Standing up, the captain smiled, chirping gently.

A wish... He would make a wish, and become Eliksni.

[written-in-sunshine]

I have received my bingo card for the @badthingshappenbingo thing! I was gonna throw it to my followers first!

EDIT: This didn't really take off so I'm taking most of the leftovers!

RULES:

I will do these as I am able to and other events will take precedence. These count as requests and may even not get done, though I want to try and do them all.

Please only choose fandoms from the below list! This list may change at any time!

I will list ships that I write for each of the fandoms listed and would prefer if you choose one to go with one listed.

Please include specifics if there's something that you really want to see! Examples include: Caretaker!Strahm, Whumper!Lucas, I want to see x happen, etc.

You may reply here, send an ask (on anon or not!), or a DM to request a prompt! No more than five prompts per person, please!

FANDOMS AND SHIPS:

Saw Franchise

Chainshipping

Coffinshipping

Pintshipping

Shotgunshipping

Rustynailshipping

Any ship within Wrath Of The Gods + Adam/David/Specs/My OC Older brother for them Lukas. I have a headcanon for the unnamed members here. I also include Lark, who isn't in this image.

Resident Evil (4 Remake, Biohazard, Village)

Serrenedy

Jackthan

Luthan

Wintersberg

Wintersfield

Blair Witch Game/2016 Movie

Carver/Ellis Lynch

Emmett Lanning/Ellis Lynch

Ellis Lynch/Jess

PROMPTS:

I Have Your Loved One -

Cry Into Chest - Taken By Me; Blair Witch; Carlis

Voice Breaking - Taken by Me; Pirates of the Caribbean; Turrow

Ears Ringing - Taken by Me; Descendants; Uma/Harry/Gil

Anger Born of Worry - Taken by Me; Saw; Coffinshipping

Handcuffed/Manacled - Taken By Me; Resident Evil; Wintersberg

Setting A Broken Bone - Taken By Me; Resident Evil; Wintersberg

Nervous Breakdown - Taken By Me; Saw; Pintshipping

Barely Conscious - Taken By Me; Saw; Chainshipping

Taking the Bullet - Taken By Me; Blair Witch; Elless

You Can Scream All You Want - Taken By Me; Resident Evil; Luthan

Clawing At Own Throat - Taken by Me; Saw; Coffinshipping

Water Torture - Taken by Me; Saw; Coffinshipping

Hidden Scar - Taken By Me; Saw; Cherishshipping

Hurt Caretaker - Taken By Me; Resident Evil; Jackthan

Crying Themselves To Sleep - Taken By Me; Blair Witch; Emis

Crush Injury - Taken by Bug; Saw; Chainshipping

Journal/Diary Entry - Open

Hanging - Open

Self-Loathing - Taken by Me; Blair Witch; Ellis Lynch-centric, Emmett/Ellis

Hallucinations - Taken by Me; Blair Witch; Ellis-centric

Survivor's Guilt - Taken By Me; Saw; Pintshipping

Seizures - Taken by Bug; Resident Evil; Luncy

Isolation - Taken by penultimateagent; Saw; Coffinshipping

Lassoeed - Open

[thomasisaslut]

Lucien Vanserra x Tamlin

Edging — KTober

Word Count: 2k

Includes: Edging, Anal, Anal Fingering, Riding, Mating Bond, Edgeplay.

On Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51015310

On Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1391144248-𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫-𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑-𝐄𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠-𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧-𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐚-𝐱-𝐓𝐚𝐦𝐥𝐢𝐧

Tamlin's depression has only gotten worse, Lucien has been checking in when he could—struggling with the arguments that occur when he is there—they're relationship has been messed up since Feyre's... event. But, that didn't stop either of them from missing eachother.

Today, Lucien was returning from the Band of Exiles. He soon reaches the Spring Court's palace doors. The place scratched up from Tamlin's rage, it made Lucien sad. He pushes open the door, not surprised to see Tamlin's office door open, waiting.

Lucien makes his way to the office, he walks in and see the place in a worse mess than before. "Tam?" He calls out, the blond soon rounds the corner. His eyes green eyes dead and sorrowful.

"Lucien." He replies blankly. "You're back." Tamlin doesn't dare to refer to it as Lucien's home anymore, he didn't have one.

The redhead nods. "Yes... I m- wanted to see you."

Tamlin simply nods before walking back in his office, Lucien follows. The inside of his office was probably the only clean room, well, as clean as this place could be. The walls were still ripped and shredded from his claws, the floor piled with books and paperwork, his desk the same.

"Tamlin..." Lucien steps closer as Tamlin sits down, this draws Tamlin's attention, Lucien never uses his full name.

"What?" The blond snaps.

Lucien sighs. "Let's talk, Tam."

"Then speak, Lucien!" He glares, green eyes narrowing.

Lucien pulls up a chair and sits beside the High Lord. "I understand that you're mad..."

"No! You don't understand, Lucien! I lost my bride, she has a child with... with fucking Rhysand! I have lost my court! People I care about!" Tamlin exclaims, his chair flies back as he stands—claws nearly forming.

Lucien doesn't flinch, he's faced the wrath of a High Lord before.

"I lost people I care about too, Tam."

"You didn't lose Feyre."

Lucien halts, he didn't really, he still had the ability to talk to her, care for her, see her. She didn't ever want to see Tamlin, let alone be in his presence.

"It was her choice, Tam... I can see why that is hard for you but it will be okay... let's try to rebuild your court, yes?"

Tamlin sighs, he picks up his chair before sitting back down. "All of my people have left, the ones who remain are packing up now. There is no saving this place."

"There can be." Lucien insists. "At least try?"

"I have tried!" Tamlin snaps again, his short temper getting the better of his mind. "And every time I try I end up hurting people I care- cared for!"

"I know you cared for Fey-"

"Not her." Tamlin interrupts, his tone still sharp. Lucien halts.

"What?"

"You." Tamlin grips the sides of his chair. "I hurt you, Lu."

Lucien chuckles, nervous. "What? No... I'm fine."

Tamlin's face deadpans. He stands from the chair before grabbing Lucien's hand and tugging him up. "Yes I have."

Lucien tightens his grip against Tamlin's hand. "I am fine." He repeats.

"Please..." Tamlin's voice cracks. "Don't lie to me."

Lucien's eye almost forms tears hearing that tone. "I... I was hurt when Feyre left, I was hurt by her note, I was hurting seeing your reaction to her... I wasn't hurt by you."

"Yes you were! I saw you flinch every time I would break something, I brought up old memories! Even if I didn't psychically harm you I did mentally." A few tears fall from the High Lord's face.

Lucien quickly embraces Tamlin in a tight hug. "Shut up, please, Tam."

Tamlin tenses before wrapping his arms around Lucien's slightly smaller frame. He holds the other close to his chest, resting his cheek against the red-orange locks.

"I'm sorry." Tamlin whispers.

"It's alright, Tam... I-"

Lucien gets cut off as he feels a feeling deep inside of him, a click. He's felt this before... with Elain.

"How?" Tamlin blurts out, but his grip of the hug does not falter.

"I-I don't know... I thought Elain was my mate...?" Lucien then thinks. "She is dating Morrigan... it might've cancelled it...?"

"I don't care how anymore." Tamlin buries his nose into Lucien's hair. "You're mine, Lu."

Lucien's cheeks flush a deep red before he looks up at Tamlin, Steel clashing with green. "Then prove it, Tam."

Tamlin's sad expression fades into a lustful one, he hooks his hands under Lucien's rear before winnowing them into his bedroom—to Lucien's surprise the room was tidy, not a single spec of dust in sight. He even sees a made bed.

"It's clean in here." Lucien states.

"Not for long." Tamlin pins Lucien to the bed, his hands fumble with Lucien's clothes, soon ripping them off of him after not being able to undo them.

Lucien is now nude in front of the Spring Court's High Lord, he spots the bulge in Tamlin's pants. He smirks before hooking his legs around the blond, tugging him closer.

"Lu..." He groans, his cock straining in his pants. "I am not going to hold back."

"Then don't, fuck all of your rage out on me, Tam." He smiles reassuringly.

"Fuck..." Tamlin removes his clothes with a snap of his fingers, High Lord abilities.

Lucien's own cock becomes painfully hard at the mere sight. Tamlin's hand cups Lucien's cock, a bead of pre-cum leaks onto the pale hand. Tamlin gives it a few experimental strokes, Lucien whimpers.

"Tam... I need you..." Lucien moans.

"Oh do you, my mate?" He growls, biting Lucien's throat, sucking a deep, dark hickey there.

"Yes! Please..." Lucien whines.

Tamlin smiles and nods. "Allow me..." He tightens his grip slightly on Lucien's cock. "To repay you..." Tamlin kisses his neck. "For everything you've ever done for me, Lu."

"Please!" The smaller moans as Tamlin continues to stroke Lucien's cock.

Tamlin tugs Lucien to the edge of the bed, his legs now on Tamlin's shoulder as he kneels before him. The High kisses Lucien's inner thigh before biting and leaving a love bite.

"T-Tam..."

"Shh, Lucien. Let me take care of you." Tamlin continues to stroke his mate before taking him into his mouth.

"Is... is this..." Lucien moans as Tamlin moves his tongue over the slit in his tip. "Your first... with a man?"

"No." Tamlin says as he takes his mouth off, causing Lucien to whine. "But it is the first time I've loved the man that I'm with."

"L-Love?" Lucien gasps as Tamlin moans around his cock, sucking harder.

Tamlin nods.

"Is it just because I'm your mate...?" Lucien moans.

Tamlin takes his lips off of Lucien's cock again. "No. I... I loved you before Feyre."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"You were hurting from leaving the Autumn Court still, and we had so much going on, and then we went to the party Under the Mountain..." Tamlin pauses. "When Amarantha first happened... and- then I gave up. And then Feyre appeared and... I saw it as a chance to forget you." Tamlin wraps his hand around Lucien's cock again. "But I don't want to forget. I want to amend, and love you, Lucien. Will... Will you accept our bond?"

“Yes! Yes! Now fuck me, Tam.” Lucien shouts.

Tamlin’s own cock begins to leak pre, he instantly ruts his clothed cock against Lucien’s bare rear. Both males feel the bond snap together.

“Tam… now.” Lucien’s demand comes out more of a plea than anything.

Tamlin, finally, brings his fingers to Lucien’s lips, the redhead quickly takes in his fingers into his mouth, lubing them up with his saliva. Tamlin then brings his hands to Lucien’s rear, teasing his hole.

“Is it your first time with a man, Lu?”

“No, I had sex with this one-“

Tamlin slams his fingers into Lucien, now knuckles deep. “Don’t you dare speak another man’s name while I’m the one fucking you, Lucien.”

Lucien moans at the insertion.

“Tell me how he fucked you so I can do it better.” Tamlin begins to finger the autumn fae, stretching him open for his throbbing cock.

“He…” Tamlin inserts his ring finger, thrusting them in and out. “Only did missionary… and spooning.”

“Oh? And what do you want to do now?” Tamlin continues to pound his fingers into Lucien.

“I… I want to ride you, Tam.” Lucien’s cheek flush more, now a burgundy color.

Tamlin looks shocked for a slim second before standing, he grabs Lucien’s hips then flips them. Tamlin is now on his back while Lucien is on his hips, not yet on his cock.

“Then ride me, mate.”

Lucien slowly lifts his hips before aligning Tamlin’s cock with his hole, he slides down, moaning at the large feeling.

“Fuck, Tam…” Lucien places his hands on Tamlin’s chest to stable himself, Tamlin’s own hands find Lucien’s hips.

“You’re sure you haven’t done this before?”

“Y-Yes!” Lucien shouts as he sinks down fully, bottoming out on Tamlin’s cock.

Tamlin’s grip tightens. “Can I move?”

Lucien nods, Tamlin begins to rock his hips back and forth, causing the autumn fae to scream. “Tam.. Tam!” Lucien says his name like a prayer. “Feels so big…” The scarred man moans.

“You’re clenching me so tightly, you feel so good, Lu.” He moves his hips more, slamming against his prostate.

“There! Tam, There!” Lucien moans, his nails scratching against Tamlin’s pecks.

“Oh? You want it there?”

“Yes! Please, Tam!”

Lucien feels his release building deep in his stomach, his cock aching as he bounces on the High Lord’s cock.

Lucien is on the edge of cumming when Tamlin holds him tighter against his cock, restraining Lucien from moving.

“Huh?”

“Who said you could cum, Lu? I want to take my time with you.” Tamlin smirks.

“No! Tam! Please… please!”

“Please what?”

“Tamlin! Please let me cum!” The autumn fae pleas.

Tamlin smirks then begins to move again, the High Lord makes sure not to hit the smaller’s prostate, one of Tamlin’s hand slide onto Lucien and begins to stroke him again.

“Tam! Tam! Please let me cum!” Lucien begs.

“No.”

Lucien looks desperate, his usual tame hair now wild and tangled, spread out and sweaty. “Tamlin! Please!”

The High Lord finally nods, he adjusts his cock so it hits his sweet spot again, his hand clenches around Lucien’s cock, his other on his balls.

“Cum, Lu.”

In under a second the redhead cums with a loud, “Tamlin!” He moans. His release covers Tamlin’s stomach, the sight makes Tamlin shoot his own load deep into Lucien.

Lucien falls limp, he adjusts his hips—slightly wincing—so Tamlin’s cock slides out. He then falls onto the High Lord’s chest, panting.

Tamlin moves his hand to the tan skin, caressing Lucien’s back, rubbing soothing circles into it. “You were so well, Lu.” He kisses the redheads forehead. “And now you have my scent… everyone will know who’s mate you are.” He smirks.

Lucien hums, kissing Tamlin’s jaw. “Tam…?”

“Yes?” He states, all of the previous anger and sadness has faded into pure contentment, happiness even.

“I love you… and this court, allow me to help you rebuild it?” Lucien looks up at his mate, eyes practically begging for him to say yes.

“As do I…” Tamlin kisses his forehead. “But there is no more rule here, we would be rebuilding for nothing.”

“Don’t.” Lucien slowly sits up, the cum filling his ass leaking onto the bed and dripping down the back of his thighs. “You still said there were people here, if we start with the palace they will see that you are trying! It will take time… but it can happen, Tam.” Lucien smiles, hopefully.

“Yes… we will try, I will try, for you, for us.” Tamlin smiles back, he cups Lucien’s cheek and kisses him softly. “I… I was thinking.”

“Hm?”

“Well, two thoughts.” Tamlin adds.

“Tell me, Tam.” Lucien kisses his cheek in return.

“I want to apologize to Feyre… and Rhysand.” Lucien’s eye widens in shock before he nods. “And, would Jurian and Vassa ever be interested in living here…?”

“With us?”

Tamlin nods.

“I think they would, let’s start on that letter?” Lucien smiles again.

“Let’s.”

[itsgeecheebitch]

Until Darkness descends

CHAPTER: 33

FANDOM: Final Fantasy XV

RATING: Explicit

MAIN PAIR: Ardyn Izunia x Reader

SEC PAIR: Gladiolus Amicitia x Reader

    Ardyn looked through the binoculars, at the blue flames that lashed at the skies like a mad beast clawing at its confines. It was coming from the disk of Cauthess, a destination he knew you and your group would be interested in right about now. 

     With the titan now awake, thanks to the Oracle, the god no doubt plagued his chosen king with visions, drawing him to the area like a moth to a flame. Like the mysterious benefactor Ardyn paraded himself to be, he will be the one to escort the prince and his entourage to the Archaen’s door. 

      The pieces of his plan were falling into place one by one. Before long, all of Eos would crumble under the weight of his wrath. He could almost taste it, envision the destruction that would be his macabre playground till the end of time. 

      Yes, that plan was coming along, but you on the other hand was proving to be a more challenging task. Ardyn was there when your group ventured into the cave, wanting to watch the events unfold with his own eyes instead of from a distance. Disappointment curled his mouth into a scowl. 

       He was also there to watch you fall to your death. Like a fool in love he watched as your body fell apart with a fist in his stomach. Ardyn gritted his teeth, his blood turning into a simmering vat of hot oil, causing his hand to shake when he balled it into a fist. 

      The sight of your body bloody and broken shouldn’t have vexed him, shouldn’t have caused him to come out of the shadows to hold you in his arms. But the fear was a noose around his lungs at that moment, and if he didn’t gather you in his arms quick enough, he was sure he would’ve choked on that rope. It was irrational. He intended to do much worse to you in the coming months, and he knew you wouldn’t remain dead for long. 

      But that didn’t stop him from cradling your mangled body close to his chest, willing you to come back to him, to open your eyes. Ardyn hissed at the memory. How was he supposed to destroy you if he was this weak?  Anger at himself, at you, at the gods, raced through him like black ink, spilling out of its cartridge and onto his lungs and gut until he was drowning in it. 

       He moved on instinct in that moment, an instinct that refused to be purged. No matter how many times Ardyn reminded himself that you really weren’t her, that you were a mere puppet fashioned to mirror her likeness, he couldn’t stop himself from seeing his wife lying broken and lifeless on the ground. Covered in so much red it was like Ardyn was reliving the day his brother betrayed him all over again.

       The sounds of multiple footsteps thundered in his ears and he banished the thoughts to the back of his mind. Now wasn’t the time to languish in his woes. He had a job to do and you will not get in the way of it. 

       Squaring his shoulders, he plastered a relaxed smile on his face before welcoming your friends. “What a coincidence.” He said as he turned to greet them.

       Gladiolus, your boyfriend, sneered at him. “I’m not sure if it is.” He said. Ardyn’s lips twisted into a mocking smirk until he fixed it just as fast. Once he made quick work of Noctis he would be sure to visit the Amicitia next. He could already feel his hand warm with the weight of Gladiolus’ entrails, envision his heart splattering on the ground like a fallen tomato, and his eyes bulge out of his skull like two ripe grapes. They would make the perfect ornaments for a fallen Eos, but only after he drew out the man’s death for as long as he could, afterall, it was what he deserved for touching what was not his. 

      Ardyn replied. “Aren’t nursery rhymes curious things?” He took languid steps towards the wary crew. “Like this one, from the deep the Archean calls, yet on deaf ears the god’s tongue falls. The king made to kneel in pain he crawls.” 

      “So how do we keep him on his feet?” The blond one asked. Ardyn stared into his wide innocent eyes, far too bright for a man with as many secrets as him. And what great joy Ardyn would find in exposing all of them. 

     “You need only heed the call, visit the Archean and hear his plea. I can take you.” 

      A pensive sort of air swallowed the five of them. They huddled around each other to debate amongst themselves. It didn’t matter. Ardyn knew they would accept his aid, after all what other choice did they have?

      Just as he expected, they agreed. He led them to the parking lot while giving them his first name. A strategic decision, give them just enough information to lower their guard and build familiarity. They will continue to distrust him, but not enough to not accept his aid. Soon, he will have all of them right where he wants them, including you.

      Once in the parking lot, Ardyn turned to face them. “Allow me to do the honor of assigning your driver.” He said. “I choose you.”

     The prince folded his arms in front of his chest and glowered at the regalia as though it offended him. “What if I ride with you?”

            “I’m afraid you would find the fee to be more than you bargained for.” 

            “What if I did?” Ardyn turned his head to you. Looked like you finally decided to step out of your boyfriend’s shadow. He arched his brow. This was an interesting turn of events, the girl who was skittish and distant towards him as of late was volunteering to spend time alone with him. 

      You didn’t willingly seek his presence anymore, not since he sowed seeds of distrust in your mind years ago. A mistake he intended to correct. What he has intended for you requires your unwavering trust and open heart. How gracious of you to give him an opportunity to rectify it.

      But your boyfriend had a different thought. “Why would you wanna ride with him?”

             “More leg room, and besides that would mean more room for you and Noct in the back.” You said.

             “No way I’m gonna let you ride in some weirdos’ car on your own.”

             “Come on, babe.” You said, placing your hand on his chest. “It’s only for this drive, and besides, nothing's going to happen. And if anything, I’m more than capable of handling it on my own.”

        A beat past while Gladiolus stewed in his thoughts. Sighing, his shoulders relaxed but he still sported a dissatisfied frown on his face. “Fine, but if he does anything slick you let me know.”

        Ardyn had to fight the rumble of miasma that threatened to spew out of his pours at the sight of you kissing the other man. He looked away, willing the scourge to settle. He’s definitely going to enjoy tearing Gladiolus limb from limb. 

        Snapping out of his thoughts, he opened the passenger door for you before settling in the driver’s seat. After instructing Noctis to follow him without fail, he took off. The three story buildings of Lestallum’s architecture melted into acrid dirt and unobstructed skies. 

        You sat silently in your seat, questions racing through your mind so loudly it was causing Ardyn’s own head to spin. He had a feeling you had your reasons for driving with him. Perhaps you wanted to revisit the question you had for him two nights ago, one he prepared for a long time ago. Or maybe it had to do with your visit to the cave. Ardyn left soon after you revived, so if there was anything you found of interest while you were there he wouldn’t know about it. 

        But after visiting that place a thousand times, Ardyn knew there was nothing of significance, besides the tomb, to be found behind those frigid walls. Whatever you had to say wouldn’t have anything to do with that cave. Five minutes passed when you were finally ready to air your thoughts.

               “I thought about what you said.” You started. “The thing about the gods trying to speak to Noctis. Do you think they’re trying to do the same to me? Maybe that’s why I get migraines.” 

         Now that he wasn’t expecting. His grip tightened on the steering wheel. Ardyn didn’t mean to reveal a piece of the puzzle to you, place the answers in your head that would surely lead you to the truth of your destiny. Of your purpose. In hindsight, he had no choice. It was the only way to bait Noctis into accepting his assistance. But now Ardyn was left with a mess on his hands, one that could turn into a big, big problem if he left it unaddressed.

               “There are a myriad of reasons that could be behind your affliction, my dear. Just because the cause remains unknown does not mean it is the work of the gods.” Ardyn said. 

               “But what about my visions? What could possibly be the cause of that?”

                “I reckon it derives from the same source. You will discover the cause soon, my dear. But there is no point in trying to find answers in things that have nothing to do with you.” 

        You become quiet for a moment, but Ardyn isn't foolish enough to believe that was the end of your musings. That was when a warm fuzzy glow enveloped your hand, morphing into the shape of a book. He stared at it curiously before returning his eyes to the road. A nagging sense of dread bludgeoned the back of his skull. This couldn’t be good. "I found this recently while I was away with the boys." You said while holding up the book so he could see it. "It's about a disease, I think, that fell out of the sky along with a star. And something called Adagium, but I'm still not sure what that is. But here's the weird part, it's written in an ancient language but I was able to read it. I think the gods wanted me to find this."

        Ardyn turned away to hide the grimace on his face. He could feel the tendrils of the scourge wrap around his organs like a sea monster pulling him down into its murky depths. For as long as he knew you, the gods only supplied you with brief flashes of the past, nothing too detailed to suffice as even a crumb of the truth, but this? This wasn't just a crumb, but a full meal waiting for you to gorge on. 

        His anger heated his blood to a boil but you didn't seem to notice. Just like he didn't notice that book was in the cave all along, just waiting for you to find it. The slick games the gods played, but fortunately for him he knew how to play dirty as well. "I believe I'm familiar with what you are describing. It's the black star tale, I assume? It's nothing but an ancient myth to explain away the existence of daemons in our world. It has nothing to do with the gods, my dear."

        You shook your head, "no, it's more than that. It has to be…"

             "I'm sorry, dear, but it's not."

         Turning in your seat you threw your hands in the air, your frustration evident in the way your eyes sparked. "Then why tuck it away in a secret room? Why give me the sudden ability to read a foreign language if it's not important?"

        Ardyn mentally chastised himself for not looking for that secret room you spoke of. If he conducted a better search he wouldn't be having this discussion with you. He wondered where that room was located in the cave. How many times did he walk past it without realizing it was there? Ardyn wasn't a careless man, he wouldn't have raised through the Niflheim ranks and played both nations like a fiddle if he was. There was only one answer, the gods made sure he would never stumble across it.

         Surely if he did he would've burned the place to ash. Ardyn sighed heavily through his nose before stopping the car. The gods thought they could be a thorn in his side and thwart his plans. While it may be too late to destroy the book before you could find it, it was never too late to distort the truth to his liking.

          Extending his hand, Ardyn said, "allow me to have a look at it." You handed it over and he breezed through the pages. Most of the words were smudged, if not completely faded due to age and lack of care. But he saw why it was so critical to the gods for you to find this chronicle. The two most important passages were left unblemished and mostly intact, enough so for you to glean a morsel of the truth from them.

           But if Ardyn was any good at his job, which he was, you wouldn’t glean anything but a fictitious story trapped inside a leather book. "Hmm, this is Proto-Lucian, so not necessarily a foreign language. Its written form is close enough to our modern tongue to decipher some of the text." He looked up at you and delighted in the disappointment that slashed through you. Closing the book, he handed it back to you before delivering the final blow. "And it appears that some of the text remains intact, enough for you to decipher it using our modern alphabet. Nothing divine is happening, my dear, at least not to you." 

          Restarting the car, he barreled down the empty street before the boys could catch up and make a fuss. All the while you were as silent as a mouse, his words taking effect in the frown on your face and the droop of your shoulders. 

          But of course, knowing you, you are never at a loss for words for too long. "But-". He stopped the car before you could finish what you were going to say. The wheels screeched against the hot pavement as the jolt of the car forced stray hairs into your face.  

          Climbing out of the car, he circled around to the passenger side and opened your door. "We will be staying here for the night." He said, as was his plan from the start. It would take another night for the MT forces to reach the disk. He couldn’t have the five of you barreling through the Achean’s door before the stage was set.  

          The frown deepened on your face as you stared at his hand. "But it's only 3 p.m"

           Before he could retort, the regalia’s soft purr greeted his ears. Ardyn looked up to find more angry faces glowering at him. 

                 "What's the hold up?" Gladiolus was the first to ask.

                 "Ardyn wants us to stop for the night." You replied.

                 "Why? we still got plenty of daylight, this is a waste of time."

                 "There's no need to fret, the Achean's not going anywhere!"

                 "And neither are we under your stewardship." Ignis grimaced.

                 "So we make camp…with Ardyn." Came Prompto as he, and the rest of his crew, climbed out of the car. A symphony of protests followed his statement.

                 "Oh, I'm afraid I've never been one for the outdoors. I will foot the bill, so let us stay at the caravan over yonder?"

[xivu-arath]

rkorya, dying

last one!! I have 36 posts of wips and unposted stuff with this one. I'm glad I did it, and especially that I got to the last few on star wars day, haha

“So this is how you repay me,” Vitiate says, and his voice is a croon, a snarl, a furious current battering at her thoughts. It is just the two of them here, in this room that is meant to be a cell, and Rkorya sits cross-legged on the bare floor, a Force conduit in her hands and her lightsaber – thoughtfully sabotaged, in case she were overwhelmed and Vitiate wanted to try to cut through the walls – at her bare feet. There are layers of protections outside, Jedi shielding the cell and Sith channelling power to the conduit, and at any other time this would have been unheard of, an array of power that would stun the galaxy into silence.

But this is a sacrifice and an execution, and Rkorya can spare little attention for those outside. There is just the Force crashing through her, on and on and on, and the whirling void at odds with it, tearing at her with words and intent and sheer presence. As he fights her, Vitiate also claws at the cell itself, scrabbling at anyone he could get a hold into, even for a moment. For once, she’s grateful to have so many Jedi here, because as soon as his attention surges outward to sink into the others, they burn each anchor away.

So she is the only one left to him, and with so much of the Force coursing through her, he cannot get free.

The Dark Council hadn’t protested when she offered herself up for this. It is right, and they all know it She is one of the strongest Sith, and young enough to burn brightly and long before her body fails her. The Empire might mourn her death, but not suffer from it, not as it would if it lost several of the Council.

And she is meant to be here, because Vitiate chose her. If she hadn’t struck him down on Voss, if she hadn’t followed him as his willing Wrath, perhaps Ziost would have been spared.

“I raised you up from betrayal, from nothing,” he says in seething counterpoint to that. “You would be nothing. Torn apart by the allies you so cherish. And yet here you are, willing to give your life for an Empire that would not have spared you.”

Rkorya doesn’t reply. She’s not sure she could if she tried. They’ve been at this for hours now, and it’s hard to think of a time when she hasn’t been sitting here, her every nerve ablaze. Her head and chest ache with pressure, his power eating away at her from within while her own keeps him at bay. She feels dreadfully, terribly alive, and so utterly aware of herself, of every thread of strength that the others are feeding into her – the notes of fierce grief from Jaesa and Lana, a weight both dulled and unyielding from Scourge and quiet desperation from his keeper – and of Vitiate, trapped like some vast decaying thing that rots within her ribs and boils up between every breath. He would be killing her, if she wasn’t doing that already.

But this is the death she chose, and amidst the blood in her mouth and the desperate hammer of her hearts, in that horrific hunger and emptiness there is a sliver of what she would call fear.

“I’m not stupid. Baras thought I was a bludgeon for his enemies. You thought I was your pawn.” She grins, but the pain makes it a fierce rictus. Her laughter turns into a cough, caught between her teeth. “Half the Empire still thinks I’m a savage upstart who should have never been allowed to set foot on Korriban.” Can she trace the path that had led her here? Had her steps been guided to this time, this place? Maybe she had been always preparing herself to burn.

“But I will die here, and you will die with me. I will save us – all of us. I will be found worthy and you... you will have true immortality. The only thing the Empire remembers better than its heroes are its betrayals.”

[ragesin]

“ if  all  i  saw  was  fire ,  i’d  probably  want  to  hit  people  too . ” [from here!]

► DAREDEVIL

         ❝ Now that’d be a sight to see. ❞  A chuckle rose unbidden to unfurled lips as the grumblings of the shop owner reached his ears. She’s yet to strike him as the type who responded in kind with violence, pacifistic leanings and compassionate touch rearing up instead. Discrepancy between the baker’s established image and the notion of eager blows being tossed out clashed, sparks of friction that gave birth to a new perspective: a bunny, wide eyes and fluffed fur bristling. Were she to launch an attack at him it’d probably bounce off like a plush pillow. Pft, perhaps he's already acting as a corrupting influence by encouraging her to violence rather than dissuading it. Grin widened, something more mischief than outright malice sharpening its edges. Maybe by the end of the year he'll be watching her manhandling any punk drawing her ire.

         Despite the laughter, the nonchalance, the cheery attitude, he's in silent agreement. A rowdy knight like him — a prime example of the very thing she groused about — wasn’t immune to the promising allure of violence nor the red glow of rage clouding vision. While a level of compassion directed hands that wielded the blade, assault firmly sat within his repertoire of available options if situations fittingly demanded it of him. The trick was just making sure it's directed at the right targets.

         Burning formed the entire life of a demon, from the beginning to the end. He's more wildfire than person. Indiscriminate destruction. Was it any wonder the only thing he could do was inflict harm ?

         ❝ You won't catch me complaining about well deserved punches being handed out. ❞  Knuckles flexed, fist demonstrating a straight left jab through the air, imaginary foe down for the count.  ❝ Knock them on their ass. ❞

@mielmoto

[protector-ofthe-wilds]

Koda inhaled a deep breath, held it, and then raised her fist to knock. Barely twenty seconds after the last rap of her knuckle, and the familiar door swung half open, revealing a familiar face behind it. Jaledriel blinked eyes of wispy emerald once, his floppy ears fluttering as he peered down to view the visitor. The moment his gaze properly recognized Koda, that trademarked goofy smile sprung to life over his lips.

"Oh. Hey, kid." The door was opened the rest of the way as he properly greeted her, tilting his own body out of the way to allow her room to enter. "Welcome back."

As Koda stepped inside, the interior of Wintermoon Retreat welcomed her like an old friend. Everything was exactly where it had been during her last visit - save for the common area being a tad more messy. Jaledriel seemed to notice Koda's stare lingering on some unwashed dishes, and he giggled.

"You could probably guess, but Liev's been out. She and Ely had business back in Feralas." The man lifted a clawed finger to scratch through the thick lengths of emerald hair, past the leafy vines, and directly against his scalp. "Well, I should say that Er'lynn had business there."

"And they didn't bring you?" Koda seemed only half-invested in the answer, already moving to set her things down upon her window seat. The book she had started reading last time still sat upon a half-folded fur blanket; she shifted both to the side to sit down with a sighed exhale. The sound caught Jale's attention, a bushy brow quirking as he turned to face her.

"Yeah, uh...they had it under control. You alright?"

He transitioned into the inquiry so suddenly that Koda nearly didn't catch it. She looked up to see the gentle concern on his face, before promptly looking away.

"I bring news," she said after a moment, and she could feel the air around them immediately shift. Jaledriel was normally a jocular guy - the complete and total polar opposite to Liev - but when the moment got serious, the man would adapt. Arms folded over his broad chest, his biceps tightening to suggest some trepidation. A nod for her to continue, and she obliged.

"You've probably heard by now about the Dream Surges in the Isles, and the fact that the Druids of the Flame are working with Fyrakk to try and reach Amirdrassil, yeah?"

"Koda, I am a Warden of the Grove, bound to the Dream by the blood of the Green Dragonflight. Of course I'm aware of what's happening." Though he kept his tone steady, the reminder caused trepidation to turn to wrath; the wispy nature of Jaledriel's eyes sharpening into something more akin to flames.

Koda exhaled a frustrated sigh, pushing her fingers up through her hair. "Right, yeah, I know. Dumb question." A breath, and she continued.

"It's not just a threat anymore. They're actually going to be able to do it, Jale. They're bringing the Firelands to the Dream, and now they've got this...Runestone-thing they grabbed from Desolace to amplify their efforts."

Her building frustration boiled over, and the girl was suddenly on her feet, pacing steps back and forth through the room. "We tried to stop them from getting it, but we were too little, too late."

"It's not the only weapon they have in their arsenal," Jale replied slowly, his gaze following the girl. "Nor is it their greatest one."

"Yeah, but they didn't need another one, okay?!" Koda barked back, stopping on her next step to sharply turn and face him. "We could have stopped him! We were right there! Now everything is fucked and the Dream's going to burn!"

"The weight of Amirdrassil's fate is not your burden to carry, so you can just cut that out right now," Jale demanded, in the same sort of tone a father would take. It only served to frustrate her further.

"You're Dream-blessed, Liev's a Night Warrior, Ely's the champion of Aessina, Ryndolyn is the personification of the arcane, and Er'lynn's an actual green dragon!" The girl's voice tremored with the threat of tears, her arms thrown up into the air with exasperation. "What am I? Just a heretic's daughter, floundering about in the face of what I can't change! How can I call myself a protector of anything if I couldn't even do this?!"

"It's that sort of thinking that warped my other self into doing terrible things, Koda." Jale's tone swept into a low, rumbled warning. "Ghost chased after power, spurred on by the feeling of inadequacy and fear until it tore both himself and his family apart."

"Oh, so what? You think I'm going to go insane chasing after some sort of power? Become a heretic, like your alternative or my father?" Koda flashed her fangs in her anger - which was far too much of an affront against Jaledriel. She regretted it immediately, ears wilting even before he started to reply.

"You're putting words in my mouth that I've never spoken," he snapped back, though his tone almost immediately softened as he continued. "...because you're scared and you're lost and you're tired. I can see it in your eyes; hear it in your voice." His head shook slowly, his expression somber. "Talk to me, kid. You don't have to sit with this alone."

Koda liked to think that she had tough skin, but her family (this one - the one she had chosen) always seemed to know exactly how to lance straight through her defenses. And in this moment, where she was so scared and lost and mind-numbingly exhausted...well, his words had been almost too much to bear. Her anger was abandoned, traded for strangled sobs, and Jale wasted little time in crossing the room to wrap her up in his arms. It was a strong, solid embrace - the sort that made one feel like they were being put back together...or, at least, being kept from shattering into a thousand pieces on the floor.

"Trust me, kid, I get it. Probably more than anyone," he offered, quietly. A hand rose to stroke back her hair to get it out of her face as she wept. "So, go ahead, let it out. I've got you."

~~~

Koda sat with eyes bleary and puffy from her crying, a cup of tea held within her joined palms. She had, perhaps, cried a little more than she really felt comfortable with - hence the murmured apology she offered forward when Jaledriel returned from the kitchen with his own tea.

"I'm used to it with Ely," was Jale's teasing reply, that goofy grin back in place as he took a seat across from her. "That woman's cried enough to overflow the sea." His eyes squinted a little, his grin wavering. "Which has been mostly my idiot brother's fault."

"Ryndolyn's not a bad guy," Koda sniffled, and Jale snorted a laugh.

"Yeah, maybe not, but he's done some incredibly stupid things."

Koda's gaze averted down to her tea, and Jaledriel exhaled lightly, his grin settling until it was only a slight smile.

"Did you want to stay the night? You know you're welcome to."

Koda's head shallowly shook from side-to-side. "I've got...someone waiting on me. I have to head back." Jale nodded along, but his expression seemed conflicted - as if he wanted to argue against her decision. But, after a quiet moment, he resolved the feelings with a sigh.

"I know you've got your mission, kid, and I respect it. I do. We all heard the Traveler when he told you about your an'da. None of us question the validity of what you're doing; Thavenar needs to be stopped." The man leaned forward, elbows propped on his thighs as he tried to catch her gaze. She obliged, meeting his once-again wispy stare. "But you alone aren't responsible for saving the world, or the Dream, or anything at all, Koda. Don't allow self-imposed burden to break your spirit. I watched it happen with Ely, and I'd prefer it to not happen to you." He pauses, if only for a breath. "Come home often and recharge among the Wilds that love you. Allow yourself to rest. You can't sustain yourself if you're running all the time."

"Yeah," was Koda's terse reply, but there was something reflected across her expression that let Jale know she heard his words. That was enough to satisfy him, and so he sat straight again, nodding once.

"I'll share the news you brought with Liev and the others once they return, and we'll move accordingly." His tone then lightened as he continued. "For now, share this moment and tea with me, thero'shan of my beloved. Perhaps I'll recite a story before you go, if you'll allow this bard to play for you." A wide and warm grin punctuated his offer.

Koda could do little to stop a small smile from touching her lips, allowing her ears to relax at a comfortable incline as she relaxed into the window seat. The familiarity was...nice. Perhaps she could allow herself a moment to indulge in it.

"Yeah," she quietly murmured. "I think I'd like that."

[warriorskaldkorica]

There was once a dragon, mighty and pale, Who wished to rule o’er the Vale, With fire and claw, he planned his coup, And set out to make his dream come true. But before such tyranny he could instate, Two companies would seal the dragon’s fate, One, the Radiant Omen, so proud and bright, The other, Corpus Corvus, clothed in darkest night. The Radiant Omen, all bold and strong, Sought out the five crows, to set right a wrong. Caltherien the watcher, noble paladin, On a solemn quest to avenge his fallen kin, Next came Urjn, wise in divination, The blood rites he performed, an ancient incantation. Then came Diemthys, with artifice rare, A dragonborn bronze, with inventions to spare, Last was bold Thraund, whose music made hearts thrum, Magic and lightning sprung forth from her drum. Corpus Corvus, five heroes brave and true, Learned the dragon’s plot, knew what they must do. Po the druid, sworn to the Raven Queen, Would soon show her power, never before seen, Nevermore, the kenku, Po's tutor and friend, With his trusty ring, his tricks would never end. Forget not Damae, a monk of strangest kind, With polearm in hand and ever steadfast mind, Cameron, the bard, whose spells once killed in vain, And Scriz the kobold, who found courage's flame. In old Dragonspear the heroes did meet, The paladin’s blade ready, an oath to complete, Cameron was shocked, her heart filled with pain, The blood of a brother, her undeniable shame. The tension was thick, the air electric, The silence tense, fraught with conflict, Caltherien, tears streaming, broke the quiet, "My brother is dead, and I know who did it." Cameron, eyes downcast, hung her head low, The weight of guilt, heavy as a stone, "I do not deny, I was the cause of his end, Intentions irrelevant, t’was my fault, my friend." The bard of Corvus continued to speak, She pleaded for peace and did not critique, “I know my magic did slayer your brother, But this dragon’s wrath will spare no other.” Caltherien, for the Omen, replied in turn, Moved by regret, the knight did not spurn, “To save our people, I will swallow my hate, Against the wyrm we’ll unite, to seal its fate.” With understanding that time was of the essence, The put aside their bitter feud without any pretense, So together they went, swords and shields in hand, To face the dragon, a foe neither could withstand. With all of them united, they headed to the north, To the dragon's lair, they bravely ventured forth, Urjn divined their fate with oracular blood magic, Weal and woe awaited, victorious and tragic. A man cloaked in red, then caught their sight, He spoke words of warning, full and malice and spite, Then he did transform, into a great white beast, Alabaraxes was he, the Pale Prince, unleashed. His scales gleaming white, his eyes burning red, Wicked fangs and talons, a monument of dread, And there upon his chest, lending power to his spells, A mantle wrought from gold, death it foretells. Then from the dragon’s maw came not an icy breath, Instead a wrathful flame, an inferno of death, The dragon's fearsome flames were terrible and bright, But such valiant heroes were uncowed by this plight. Caltherien struck first, with keen sword in hand, With Urjn's blood magic, the future he did command, Diemthys' inventions blasted with great might, Thraund's drum of lightning did cast a shocking sight. Cameron loosed arrows from her enchanted bow, Damae attacked swiftly from shadows to and fro, Po and Nevermore, the student and the teacher, Each cast their spells in turn, against the vile creature. Yet the wyrm was too strong, too fierce to defeat, His scales impenetrable, his breath a deadly heat, But Po hatched a plan, a wild, daring gamble, She assumed a beastly form, and grabbed the golden mantle. With unbridled strength, she pulled the relic free, And the white wyrm seethed, his rage plain to see, With renewed hope the heroes bravely fought on, But the Pale Prince roared he would not be undone. In a flash of burning ash he tore across the room, Try as she might to run, Po had sealed her own doom, The Pale Prince let out a roar loud as thunder, And with tooth and claw, he rent the druid asunder. Alabarxes laughed and turned to find new prey, Caltherien stood his ground, the beast would die this day, Both paladin and dragon clashed in mighty strife, As Thraund used her magic, to restore the druid’s life. With courage seldom seen, the heroes gave their all, But beneath the dragon’s wrath, some began to fall, Caltherien Entaloir, whose sword had shone so bright, Now lay broken and burned, his strength a fading light. Bold Damae and Urjn, both dauntless to the end, In service to the realm, their lives they did expend, Though the dragon was hurt, ever on it fought, The heroes were dwindling, the wyrm would give them naught. Then acted Scriz, the cowardly kobold small, He charged at the dragon, knowing he might fall, Stick in his hand, he hit the beast in its face, The ploy was successful, the wyrm did give chase. With a weapon of his own making, Diemthys attacked, Gouts of arcane power, it boomed and it cracked, Too focused on his aim, a danger he missed, As it swiped with its tail, he met the abyss. Thraund faced the dragon with a song in her heart, But the beast’s mighty claws tore her apart, Those that remained, their hearts drowned in gloom, It seemed the dragon’s lair would forever be their tomb. Then Nevermore, so clever, held out the ring he wore, And in a hushed voice, he spoke the name Lenore, He wove the ring’s magic into a grand illusion, And Po seized the chance, to end the wyrm’s delusion. With a plea to her goddess, she borrowed strength from the slain, And cast a mighty spell, that would be the dragon’s bane, Her spell struck true, the Pale Prince was defeated, A scaled would-be tyrant, decisively unseated. Though the dragon was dead the cost in lives was high, But they had saved Delimbyr Vale from the wyrm's dark eye, A memorial to those lost, now stands in the town, A celebration of their victory, their courage, renowned. I decided to play around with ChatGPT, feeding it the details of a campaign I ran and asking it to compose a poem based on it. I liked the results and kept working on it, end up composing a good portion of it myself, and this is the result.

[lyriumpulse]

31 (@waxedwiings)

31) things you said while I cried in your arms

Anders is a fool and Fenris should not have come here.

What they have -- it's awkward, tentative, still burgeoning. Anders has yet to harm him but the expectation that he will do so eventually is still there, sitting under his skin. Why he agreed to follow Hawke and Anders to the Gallows, he'll never understand.

It was not the first time he had seen the demon that Anders calls Justice. But it was the most frightening.

When Fenris looked upon the little mage girl, cowering on her knees at the feet of something intending to harm her, he had nearly thrown himself into the path of Justice's wrath himself. Here was the proof that he was correct in his initial assessment of the man: that Anders is mad, that the demon controls his actions more often than not, and worst of all, that he's dangerous. It should have been enough of a reason to drop contact with him altogether and insist Hawke do the same.

Instead, like an idiot, Fenris stands in the middle of the otherwise empty clinic, his knees braced as he bears Anders's weight in his arms.

"I could have killed her," Anders is saying, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Fenris has never comforted anybody. He does not know how.

"Yet she lives still," Fenris replies.

"If Hawke hadn't been there--"

"But she was. As was I. I would not have let you harm her."

It does little to console him. He tries to hide it, his face tucked into Fenris's hair -- to tall to properly hide in the slope of Fenris's neck, where his lips had been only a week prior -- but Fenris can feel his shoulders shaking and know that he is weeping. The sudden teardrop hitting his ear confirms this.

Fenris's hands, once fisted into the back of Anders's coat, now simply hold him.

"If--" Anders begins, and his voice catches, thick with tears. "If I... go too far--"

"Do not speak of such things." Fenris doesn't want to imagine it. He has seen the demons summoned for entertainment in Minrathous, demons of Desire, of Gluttony, of Rage. They are nothing like Anders. He does not want to picture Anders becoming something like that, twisted beyond recognition as anything that was once human. "I would not allow it. You would not allow it."

But he nearly had. Please, messere, the girl had said, her voice trembling, like any slave cowering before an unmerciful master. Anders had stopped himself just in time, but if he had been a second later, that girl would be dead. He does not think Anders's willpower is strong enough to survive the aftermath of something like that.

Together, as a team, they have killed many. In Anders's case, none who did not deserve it.

"Stay with me," Anders pleads, and Fenris finds he cannot deny him.

---

Anders is an emotional creature. He speaks so openly of the rage he feels, but also the heartache, watching his people suffer under the boot of a Chantry that has sworn to protect them. He laughs, he shouts, he weeps. He is jealous and sometimes cruel and so full of life that Fenris does not know how he goes through life feeling as much as he does. How it does not overwhelm him to simply be alive.

The Hanged Man sits silent behind him. People on the street pass by and only glance furtively in his direction before quickly averting their gaze, walking faster. Fenris's clawed gauntlet drips with Danarius's blood.

He had imagined it many times. In his mind's eye, he saw himself tear the heart from the man's chest, feed it to him still beating. Behead him and throw his head to a pack of wild dogs. Slit his throat. Crush the air from his lungs.

Danarius had seemed so huge, so daunting, this looming and terrifying presence. Confronting him in the tavern, Fenris had realized that Danarius was just an old man like any other. He died so easily under Fenris's hand.

"Fenris." Anders stands behind him. "I don't think you should be alone right now."

Fenris stares at the dirt. He can see Varania's footprints, red with blood, leading back toward the docks. She cannot afford passage back to Tevinter; Fenris had been sending her money to even afford her way to Kirkwall in the first place. Agonizing over every letter, asking Anders to read and re-read his messy, shaky handwriting.

He's free. The man who held his leash is dead, yet this freedom feels hollow, pointless. How could he have been so stupid?

Anders touches him, carefully, between his shoulder blades. It's such a gentle thing. He suddenly finds himself flipping around and throwing himself into Anders's arms, uncaring for the people around them.

Anders feels things so freely. Fenris had thought himself incapable of feeling anything but blind fury and fear. Anger at his own mistreatment, determination to kill the man who kept him chained, terror at the prospect of going back. He has lived for so long fearing that one misstep would end with him kneeling at Danarius's feet once more.

But now, in the middle of Lowtown, Anders touches him and he shatters. The tightly coiled spring finally snaps and a decade of running, hiding, fearing, and hating pour out of him in broken sobs, which he tries and fails to muffle against Anders's neck. Fenris hasn't wept since Seheron and there is too much built up inside of him that yearns to be freed. He clings to Anders like a raft in the middle of a stormy sea.

Anders holds him. He says things like "I know" and "I've got you" and "It's all right now, you're safe."

Safe. He's safe.

Fenris can do nothing but let Anders's arms hold his broken pieces together. He cries until there are no more tears to give.

[viciouslyfilthy]

Joy and Prosperity.

((What started off as a small dash comm. ic as Sün turned into a whole ass mini OC interaction djdjd enjoy some new year angst (?) Writing with everyone's favourite old man group !! Happy New Year 🐀🐀))

•

•

"It's my... hmm.. what a human would call birthday~ and I've been away far too long from my beloved, loyal guardians and defenders of my flock~" the Summer spirit cheerfully declared as he stomped into view.

The gang's all here! The other six sins sat by a long table, within what seemed to be a cave-like structure; it's 'walls' were littered with human skulls and overall remains, barely lit by torches some of Sün's cult members had set up.

Claude shifted nervously in his seat: they were deep within the Catacombs of Paris. He hated this place. It reeked of death and dread.

"Bring me a glass of water! Immédiatement! (Immediately!)" The aristocrat demanded as he looked over from his seat to where some members of the flock were located, hooded figures hidden within a tunnel entrance, watching from afar curiously.

"With all due respect, My Lord, if we want to get specific- this date of the year would be according to the Gregorian Calendar." Freddy spoke up, his emerald green eyes watching as a sheepish, hooded follower brought Claude his requested drink- which he pompously snatched away from the person's gentle grasp, causing them to flinch and quickly retreating back to where they belonged. Far from the table.

The personification of Wrath continued, "There are many, many different calendars depending on time periods, cultures- old and recent... that mark different dates of when the 'world' would have 'started', in a way. You understand." He said, before Eden quickly chipped in:

"Y-yes! He's right!"

"And even with our oldest recorded calendar... the mesolithic arrangement, dating all the way to back 8 thousand years Before Christ, as you'll know-" Freddy paused again, expecting Eden to continue- to which he wasted no time:

"The exact timing, date of the very 'beginning' of our life, more importantly- yours... fro-..from the moment you begun to breathe o-on this planet... to when you actually became self-aware and concious as an entity... remains to be unclear and unknown, eh.." the priest trailed off, resting both of his bony old hands over his belly, shyly smiling. Happy to share information alongside his best friend.

"Yes?" Sün simply asked, leaning over the table as two of his claws tapped on it's wooden surface.

The rat-priest awkwardly had a staring match with the deity, growing uncertain if he was meant to reply...

"Are you both quite done with your history lesson?" Sün asked once he was met with silence, his tone condescending. The air tensed up a little with this response.

"I've said this before, and I'll say it again: I do not care for date accuracies. What matters is the planet having successfully spun around, completing the three-hundred-sixty-five solar days. Another year... not in celebration of my birth, you fools. My aging is not as limited as a human or an animal, to be celebrated; another year in celebratrion of the very planet WE LIVE ON!" Sün suddenly screamed, his tone abruptly going from calm and collected- to absolute fury as he slammed a clenched, clawed fist down on the table and causing it to shake.

This caught off guard many of the sins- Claude choked on his drink, causing it to spill over his chest a little; Rotgut and Eden flinched back in their seat; Jeremiah simply lifted his head up from his palm and his gaze finally focusing on the angered God, and Willy practically fell out of his chair with a yelp and cowered in fear, pathetically hiding behind Eden's chair, shakingly clutching at his clothing.

Freddy was the only one that remained perfectly still and unphased by Sün's reaction, although he begun to sweat as he nervously looked down at his hands, worrying for his friend's safety.

Silence. Some cult members could be heard whispering amongst themselves.

"I keep this beauty alive. My heart makes it thrive with life. I want what my essence keeps alive to be cared for and praised. And I myself want to be given the respect and acknowledgement I deserve." He rambled as his heavy footsteps echoed, he circled around the table, observing each and every one of the sins.

Willy scrambled underneath the table, fearfully hugging Eden's legs as Sün's walking pace slowed as he approached the rat-priest, until he fully stopped right behind him. Eden didn't dare turn around, he was shaking with dread and fear. His rats within him squirmed and anxiously gnawed on his bones.

"And what do I get instead?" Sün asked condescendingly as a clawed, dark hand gently wrapped around the old priest's neck, "Disappointment. With useless information I have lived through." His warm grip quickly intensifying in heat and tightening around him. The poor man could feel his rats, his precious babies, squeak in fear and worming around his insides in an attempt to get away from the heat.

They would burst out of him. They didn't want to, but they would dig their way out in an instinctive attempt to escape the rising heat, just like that one old torture method...

Freddy's hands clutched together with anxiety, though he kept an emotionless face; Rotgut seemed to want to say something, but he felt... cowardice, he felt his words would hold no value even if he tried, Sün would just brush him aside, no...?

Finally, as if by miracle, liquid getting splashed on the cruel deity's hand caught his (and Eden's) attention; the heat quickly vanished and his grip softened.

Claude held his empty glass before the both of them, it dripped some droplets of water still; he was standing up from his chair.

"Suffit. (Enough.) " He mused, his tone flat and slightly bothered- as if he was watching some high school drama and was annoyed by it.

"Indeed. I think that would be enough for all of us." Freddy chimed in, suddenly grabbing the God's wretched hand and tearing it from his friend's neck with force as he, too, stood up from his chair. Now he did have an expression on his face: frustration, anger.

Eden gulped heavily, his rats still tense but slightly more relaxed; he stumbled his way up, avoiding Sün like the plague as he speed-walked to the other side of the table with Willy in tow, the wild fox-man absolutely terrified still- he couldn't even choke up one word, only heavy breathing.

"Unless you wish to start your new year by starting petty fights in front of your flock, when we're all supposed to bask in your glory, hm?" The scientist added, now using that same condescending tone.

"Wouldn't that be hypocritcal and embarassing, My Lord?" He practically hissed that title between gritted teeth as he stared daggers into Sün's glowing pupils, the ponytail holder beginning to make a sizzling sound before breaking and freeing the man's milky-white locks; his mane growing warm as the tips of his hair became almost flame-like.

"Drama de ano novo... de novo. Exatamente o que eu desejava. (new year drama... again. Just what I wished for.)" Jeremiah mumbled to himself quietly in a sarcastic tone as he rubbed his eyes with two fingers, tired of this already.

"... very well." Sün replied, his collected tone 'miraculously' returning- although he tore his hand away from Freddy's grip.

They both continued to silently stare at eachother for a moment, as if they were intensely fighting only with eachother's gaze. And just like that they parted ways, Freddy going over to be by his friend's side.

"I suppose it would be more of a waste of my valuable time..." the deity continued,

"Such a little thing such as a rat wouldn't be worth the punishment during such an important but short event... even if the year date of our universe never changes...ah, the 'canon', as the modern term puts it." Sün chuckled lightly at pronouncing that 'modern' word.

[versegm]

She can always tell when Senpai is having an episode. It burns at their bond like acid in her soul, more scalding than any guilt or wrath she's ever felt.

"Senpai," she knocks at their door, speaking quietly. It's late at night- these only hit them when they're alone, it seems, and they're only alone when they're sleeping. She'd tried to convince them to sleep with her, and even succeeded a couple times- but they're stubborn, this Senpai of hers. They don't want to be a burden.

As if they could ever be one. As if Mash wouldn't support them to the end of the world. (They don't know what she is willing to do for them, and if she can help it, they never will.)

"I'm coming in." She doesn't wait for permission- she knows from experience that they won't give it. The first few times, they'd physically tried to keep her out of the room, deep in the throes of panic. They know now that she is much too stubborn to be kept out, but that doesn't mean they want her to see them.

Predictably, she finds them in the bathroom; it's either there or under the covers, nowadays. They're standing in front of the mirror. Their hands are holding onto the sink so tightly their knuckles have turned white.

"Senpai." She sets a hand on their shoulder. "You need to stop looking."

They turn towards her. They look absolutely terrible; their hair is unkempt, their eyes bloodshot, their cheeks red with tears. Their bathrobe is open wide, revealing a chest littered with red stripes. They've tried to claw their skin off again. At least they did not have access to anything sharp this time- Mash had spent an ungodly amount of time ridding the room of any knife, scissor, and other nail clipper prior. Senpai had assured her that they did not like pain- but when they're like this, all rationale fly out of the window.

On their left breast, a gaping mouth resides, a long tongue poking out of it, wetting their own stomach. On their right breast, a large eye stares at her, its pupil white surrounded by dark sclera.

At least Mash managed to arrive early, thank (god, she almost thinks, but none of the gods she knows are people she wants to thank for anything) thankfully. They only have a couple more mouths on their arms, and one more eye by the knee. Their skin is littered in cracks and slices, but most haven't hatched yet. This is much better than how it usually goes.

"Come on." She takes their hand. The mouth on the back of it licks her palm, and she represses a shudder. She cannot let Senpai see her disgust. "Let's go back to bed."

They nod, weakly. They're not looking at her. They're not looking at anything, really; unlike the eye on their breast, they seem dead set on looking straight at the floor. Still, they let her guide them back to the mattress. She sits them down, then smiles at them. "Let's look at the photo albums, alright? You'll remember what you're supposed to look like, and your body will follow suit, and everything will be okay. Just like these other times."

She moves to do just that, grab the album she'd left on their bedside table for this express purpose (the only pictures of the Doctor they have left,) when Senpai speaks up: "... I'm human."

It's the first time she's heard their voice tonight. It's a small, pathetic thing that makes Mash wants to hug them time, makes her want to shield them from the world and fine the person responsible and make them pay. (Oh, if only. If only she could. If only it were that simple.) "I... I'm human."

Senpai is stupidly perceptive. They can judge someone's character in a matter of minutes. But distressed as they are, even they cannot pick up the lie when Mash smiles again and replies: "yes. You are, Senpai."

Senpai does not know why this is happening to them. One day, with no preamble whatsoever, they woke up, and just started sprouting extra bits unprompted.

The medical bay does not know why it's happening to them. Sion and the others have thrown a few hypotheses, about the consequences of prolonged servant contracts, about lostbelt food poisonings, about repeated exposure to singularities, but they have nothing certain.

Mash knows.

The thing is, Mash doesn't care what Senpai looks like. They could be a boy, a girl, a demon or a goat for all she cares. But these tongues and eyes still make her uncomfortable.

Senpai can't see through these extra eyes. Medical bay says they're too far from the head to be connected to any optic nerve. Senpai can't control these mouths. Medical bay says these muscles must be moving by reflex rather than intent.

Mash knows.

Senpai does not remember. Medical bay was not here. No one else was here. But here is what Mash knows: the sight of Senpai's body tainting the snow of Russia red. The feeling of screaming her lungs hoarse, begging for anyone to help, calling for god, any god, to have some mercy.

Here is what Mash learned, that day:

If you call loud enough, something will answer.

The eye on Senpai's chest blinks. Its neighbouring tongue slithers. Mash dislikes, resents, hates these eyes and mouths. Every lick makes her violently recoil. Every blink makes her want to hide from that sight. She hates them for what they're making Senpai feel like. She hates them because these are not Senpai's.

There is someone. Inside Senpai. There is something, peering at this world through their body. There is something alien inside of them, something from outside this very realm, a parasite curled so tight around their lungs that they sometimes forget how to breathe-

and Mash was the one to invite them here. Mash was the one to cram there in here. Mash was the one who signed that contract.

There are many things that Mash knows. She knows that a corpse is the best catalyst one can hope for. She knows that desperation is a very powerful motivator. She knows that people die when they are killed, and denying someone their death is an act that can only come with a heavy price.

There are many things that Mash knows. But she will keep all of these deep inside her chest, behind a lock in the shape of three command spells nested right above her heart.

Yeah, but does your Guda have a big eye on her titty?

pay me 80$usd and i’ll consider it.