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vampiric-hunger · 3 months

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⊱─ 𝕥𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕦𝕤 𝕙𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕫𝕠𝕟 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Cazador Szarr x f!reader the vampire spawn

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - E, POV second person, mentions of torture, fear, canon-typical violence, fear play, smut, dubcon, hand job, vaginal fingering, praise kink, cockwarming, corporal punishment, spanking, blood play, anal, blood as lube, masturbation, no aftercare.

➺ 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: Master Cazador wants to see you and that rarely means anything good. You dread going to him, but as his spawn you have no choice, disobedience is not tolerated in Palace Szarr after all. Yet you can't help but wonder what he has in mind for you tonight. Another punishment? Another torture? Something worse that even your frightened mind can't come up with? You will learn soon enough, you know that as you stand in front of the door and knock.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 8,663

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: this has been sitting in my drafts for so long, unfinished, until lo and behold - i finally finished it! i'm delighted to finally share this, i enjoyed writing slower pace and different approach to Cazador, dipping my toes in writing Master/Spawn dynamic. sign of things to come, perhaps? haha, i won't tease, but please do enjoy♡

When Chamberlain told you that Master wants to see you, you didn’t know what to think. Usually he compels you all, a swift command striking through your thoughts and your very brain, making absolutely sure that you go where you are needed. But not this time and that makes you scared more than anything. What could it be? Did you do anything to be punished? Oh gods, not the punishments again. Last time Master made you pull out your own fingernails with your teeth, simply because you started gagging when he served you a putrid rat. His type of a joke that got only him laughing. He has many of those.

As Chamberlain pushes you out of his room, you slink through the corridors, feeling the walls around you squeezing the very air out of your lungs. Not that you need to breathe being a vampire spawn, but this is one luxury you allow yourself among the bricks of the palace and the bars of cages – last shred of mortality in a form of a memory you keep repeating again and again, making your chest rise and fall. It gives you comfort, except for when you scream.

You keep your eyes down as you drag your feet towards Master’s study room. You know you should hurry up but you can’t. Cazador, your vampiric master, has turned you only seven months ago but those seven months already have been filled with lessons you don’t think you will ever forget, even if you fail to follow them sometimes, which leads to even more brutal reminders who you are and who you serve.

One such reminder came early one night when Master Cazador invited you to one of the empty rooms and told you to strip. When you did, he had you lie flat on an empty table, face down, and with candlelight assisting him, he proceeded to carve a sonnet onto your back with an enchanted razor, the sun-like magic burning and not letting you heal, making sure that the scars will remain for eternity. You held on as much as you could, but apparently the more you screamed, the more mistakes he made. And the more editing was required. You experienced different horrors before that night and after, but that specific night has carved itself into your memory just like the razor did into your body. The tender touch of your Master’s fingers against your skin and the sharp, mind-numbing pain that made your head swim.

You dread another such artistic endeavor as you trudge towards the study room with your feet made of lead. You swallow hard and breathe, trying to soothe yourself, trying not to imagine what other poems Master Cazador could carve into you and never let it heal. At least the one on your back is merely more than a collection of scars now and despite your luxurious diet of pests, you still heal faster than a mortal would, thus you feel at least grateful for that, but being your Master’s canvas to mutilate at a whim because of it, is the downside of immortality and eternity.

When you reach the door your feet stop on their own. You’ve come this way many times but was never let inside. You spoke to other spawn and seems no one but Master Cazador himself and his victims are allowed, yet here you are, nearly shaking with fear to knock on the door and enter, if permitted. But you can’t just stand here like one of the statues adorning the ballroom. Master doesn’t like indolence, he will punish you if you’re not obedient enough. So you rise a shaky hand and rap your knuckles against the hardwood door.

A pause, silence follows. You wonder if you should knock again but then you feel a wordless permission entering deep within your brain and you sigh.

As you take the door handle and push it down it feels like years are flying by. Your terrified mind slows time itself for you alone while you watch yourself open the door and enter, as you rise your eyes and see the open door at the end of a short corridor, the maw of the empty frame feeling like a mouth of a dragon just waiting for you to sacrifice yourself on the altar of blood and jagged teeth. Your legs move and you get closer and closer, beginning to see more of the room. The elevated platform upon which Master Cazador’s massive desk sits upon, the bottles of most likely blood on one edge, a candleholder on the opposite. A quill running across the parchment with swift, precise strokes and then you stop as you are just past the entryway, finally witnessing your Master.

You swallow dryly if at all while your eyes take in the figure behind the desk. He doesn’t raise his gaze, focused on the parchment, and you study his expression that would look almost relaxed if not for his knit eyebrows and the glow of his ruby-like pupils, giving a visage of a Lord. He is one, after all, a Lord of your very life and death, until he releases you. Or destroys you.

Not uttering a single word and not moving even a muscle you stand there as if planted, watching Master Cazador write whatever it is he is focused on writing. Steel noses of his boots under the desk and a royal coat he’s wearing tonight are making him look particularly imposing, especially with the sleeves split at his elbows, creating an image like he’s wearing a cloak, like he’s dressed for battle. You just hope that you’re not here to be the duel he may be looking for.

At last Master Cazador stops his hand and lifts his eyes to you, red embers of them burning into you immediately and with such force you nearly waver and step back. You try to swallow again but this time your throat is completely dry.

“You asked for me, Master.” You say with your tone polite and with your words measured, you won’t make a mistake of disrespecting him.

Your presence, however, seems to delight Master Cazador and he smirks at you, lowering his quill onto the desk and leaning back in the armchair, the backrest of it rising tall behind him and making him look as if he’s sitting on a throne. And he is a master of his home, patriarch of his coven, governor of your very being. He is all powerful in his domain and you’re just a small trinket among the vast amount of his possessions.

A pause, it’s like he’s thinking what to say or, rather, what to do with you now that you’re here and you keep standing still, trying not to show emotion. Sometimes even as little as a frown or expression of sorrow will end up with him losing patience and letting his fury descend upon your trembling form in a form of a fist, a staff, a dagger. Sometimes in a form of his teeth or claws ripping at your throat, making sure that what little blood you manage to keep in your starved body is spent uselessly, forcing you to grovel and beg for seconds. But Master Cazador rarely gives anything supplementary, unless it’s pain.

As he gazes upon you with cold cruelty in his smile, you wonder if you should speak up again, but thankfully you don’t have to. You watch your vampiric overlord slide his right elbow onto the desk and prop the underside of his jaw with a relaxed fist.

“Undress.” A simple command but said with enough authority that he doesn’t need to use his link to you to enforce it. He knows you will obey.

And obey you do.

You hesitate only for a split second, this is all you and others like yourself are allowed in Palace Szarr, just a fraction of a moment before fear gets treated as disobedience, and disobedience gets disciplined. Until it sticks – the Ruler of Kennels likes to say as he too works hard to please the Master. Master is most pleased when he hears screams. Sometimes you wonder if they drown out echoes of the sins he has committed, but you do not linger on those thoughts. It’s not for an ant to question reasons of Gods.

So you undress. You don’t just drop your clothes, no, that’s not permitted. You fold each garment and place it neatly on the floor next to you, continuing to do so until you’re naked. You still feel a degree of shame when your body is exposed to a man who sees you as nothing but a tool, but this is not a place for pride or dignity, you can’t afford any, the price is just too steep.

“Put the clothes on the chair, child.” Master Cazador commands with a wave of his unoccupied hand, gesturing a specific chair for you to put your unworthy clothes on and you do as he wishes. “Come closer.” You don’t pause and don’t hesitate, you simply walk to the desk even if your knees feel weak, even if your brain is conjuring sensations of life: a sound of a heartbeat in your ears that stopped months ago, a rush of blood to your face that your starving veins would crave to absorb if given an additional drop. Still, you stop by his side on his left and Master Cazador watches you with chilling amusement. Maybe he senses what you’re feeling and thinking, but you don’t dare ask.

Another moment passes and his burning gaze slowly slithers down your body, taking in everything that you are in this very moment, and you can swear you can feel the heat of his eyes on your skin. It’s both pleasant on your cold, famished for warmth body, and deeply unsettling at the same time, making you live through sensation of insects under your skin. You just pray to whatever Gods that might listen that Master Cazador doesn’t turn these imaginary impressions into a memory that will threaten to slice your sanity into shreds.

“Turn around.” There’s a strange softness in Master’s voice now but you don’t allow yourself to linger on a vain hope that this night might not end up with your screams splintering your vocal cords. Instead you turn around, feeling exposed not only in flesh but in soul as well, and your throat contracts again in an attempt to swallow saliva that is not there. “Back to me, child.”

When you turn back to your Master, you still see the same mildly amused expression playing on his sharp features, the same satisfied smirk making him look almost humane and you may wish to forget what a monster he is if not for the cutting reminders circling in your mind like eels that are waiting for a morsel of hope to drop so that they can devour it without delay.

“Your hand.” Master Cazador lifts his arm, palm upturned, awaiting for your hand to be obediently placed there and you do as he wishes, raising your hand and hoping that he doesn’t see the tremor in your fingers, yet you know he will feel it once he touches you.

With your fingers in his palm he grips them gently like a lover and it gives you a pause, your eyes now looking for any hint in his face of what his mind has brewed this time, but Master Cazador just holds your hand for a moment longer then guides it towards him, and as your mind reels in attempt to prepare yourself for whatever is to come, your hand is pushed against the hardness of his crotch. Your eyes widen before you can stop yourself and you glance down, then up to his face again, seeing the sea of red nearly engulfing your senses completely.

A moment passes, a tik of a clock somewhere inside the room, and you manage to return your expression to neutral once again, too scared to show more emotion than you already have. Master notices this and grins, his mouth displaying his sharp fangs that more than once found their way into your neck before and will again, for as many times as eternity lasts. You manage to stifle a tremble threatening to wash over your body and Lord Cazador raises an eyebrow at you.

“Good. You learned how to control yourself.” He rubs your palm over the hardness in his pants slowly, near teasingly and you move your clenched jaw ever so slightly as you watch his face, looking for any hint to help you guess once again what your cruel Master has thought of tonight.

Master Cazador releases your hand but you keep it there without command. Everything you do has to be predestined by his words so you wait until his arrogantly smug expression instantly turns into a frown.

“You impotent idiot! Undo my pants!” He snaps with tone as sharp as a dagger and you flinch as if hit.

Near panicked now you move your trembling fingers to lift the edge of his shirt and find the belt there. You struggle and fumble with the buckle, feeling your anxiety rising with each passing moment. Suddenly you are hit, a slap on the side of your face so hard it sends you reeling backwards at least two steps before you collapse to your knees. Your head swims, everything becomes shades of red and black, the lines of all around you double as if they are being haunted by ghosts of selves and you raise your shaking hand to your cheek. It hurts so much, but every touch Master Cazador inflicts in rage hurts, you just learned to appreciate that nothing will hurt again like dying did.

“Finish what you started and you better hurry, girl.” Your overlord commands and you crawl on your hands and knees to his chair, scuttling not unlike a rat to perform your duty.

But what duty is that exactly? You don’t know yet and you are afraid to know, not being able to hide the tremor in your hands and fingers any longer as you reach for the belt buckle again, your gaze downcast with obedience but also shame – you made a mistake once again, despite trying your best not to. You were lucky that he only hit you once, usually Master makes sure that you remember your every transgression and the lessons that follow with excruciating precision.

With your cheek throbbing and your fingers still trying to disobey you and the Master, you tackle the buckle again, this time succeeding in being faster and more precise and you hear Cazador push air through his nose, indicating that he was about to strike out again but won’t have to anymore, you earned yourself this small mercy. You clench your jaw and unbutton the fly of his pants now, your eyes watch your own fingers and your mind is blank as you try not to waver anymore, not pause yet again, letting your mind focus on the task and the pain in your face that is quickly dulling to almost gentle beats of ache.

Pain that is common in your life now, like a whimsical lover that comes and goes as he pleases but always reminds you that he will forever remain with you, even if he occasionally leaves you. A constant presence with a ghost-like soreness that you’ve come to anticipate and sometimes even appreciate. Most often it feels like it threatens to cleave your mind in half, but sometimes it’s the only thing that anchors you, grounding you to your body, grounding you to your reality even if you would sacrifice everything to have a different one.

Still, once your fingers finish unfastening the buttons, you pause again and glance up, meeting Master Cazador’s eyes looking down at you with fierce fire in them and his expression a familiar frown.

“What?” He suddenly chuckles, making your insides clench at the sound. When Master is angry - you witness his fury, when Master is happy – you experience his cruelty. “Your task is not done, child. Take it out. You know what to do.” Lord Cazador says and his voice is almost relaxed, almost cheerful, as if he’s finding joy in seeing fear permeate every cell of your body.

You quickly and curtly nod back to him and lower your eyes again as you carefully part the fly of his pants and slide your hand in, grasping at his hard cock and maneuvering it from beneath the fabrics he’s wearing. Without delay you first use one hand to begin stroking him, then add the other hand, feeling your knees become quickly painful from kneeling because the thin carpet is not cushioning the hardness of stone underneath it.

“Good, keep going.” Master Cazador’s voice is a satisfied coo and your mouth contracts in yet another attempt to swallow, your nerves so taunt you feel like they might snap any moment, like a bow that has not been properly strung.

With your eyes focused on Lord’s length you see every little detail. The veins that snake around the shaft, the color that changes slightly near the smooth tip of his cock despite his undead state, the tip itself, velvety and soft when you pause to gently rub the pad of your finger against it until a drop of precum escapes it. You swiftly lean in and swipe at it with your tongue, knowing already that Master Cazador doesn’t like messes, even his own.

“Such a well behaving child you can be.” He expresses the closest thing to a compliment he ever bestowed upon you and you relax just a little bit. Maybe not all is lost tonight, maybe you still can please your Master and make him spare the cruelties he could have in his mind that are meant only for you. Maybe, if you try hard enough, if you obey quick enough, all you will have to do tonight is pay attention and submit, which you have already been trained to do well enough, like a dog beaten into obedience until it knows nothing else.

You proceed to stroke his length, knowing from experience what pace and strength of your grip he exactly prefers and you consider yourself succeeding in this because another strike doesn’t come even after his approving comment. Your eyes wander over his cock, so close to your face, but you know that if he wants you to take it into your mouth – he will tell you so, or more likely grab your hair and force it deep into your throat without a warning, because if you gag or sputter then you give him another reason to make sure that you won’t do that again. Your eyes wander to his balls, sitting in the nest of his pants and underwear underneath it after you pulled his cock out, you see the smoothness of them, wondering if you should touch them, fondle them. Master Cazador does like that sometimes, but you’re too scared to take initiative, you are sure he will give you permission for that too if he feels in a mood.

“Stand up.” His voice is like a strike of thunder because you were distracted by your thoughts and you immediately stop your hands, then release his cock, seeing it waver without the support of your grip and then rest against his shirt.

When you stand up and look at him, you see a small pleased smile tug at the corners of his lips, his eyes showing actual satisfaction with your performance and you wish you could sigh with relief, but you stop yourself before you do, you stop before you even inhale. You won’t ruin this, the rare occasion when he’s willing to show patience with you, you don’t know when another such occasion will happen, if at all.

“Hm.” Master Cazador hums to himself as his gaze sweeps over your naked body then he finally moves one hand, you see a flash of red and silver of his family ring as it reflects the candlelight for a brief moment before he turns his palm up.

You watch the movement and stiffen, your mind reeling with million possible outcomes, most of them predicting pain, but no, Lord Cazador’s fingers simply graze over the mound of your pubis and then slip between your legs, two of them pressing against your folds and sliding up to your clit. You don’t react at first, too stunned by his sudden touch that is nothing but gentle. A soft touch, so rare, so precious, and your lips part to ask a question but thankfully you stop yourself before you do.

Master’s eyes narrow as he smiles wider, gloating at you while his fingers quite expertly begin to massage you, fingertips parting the folds to dip inside of you for a moment only to return to your clit and rub it. There’s silence between the both of you as he does this and you know he’s waiting for your body to respond to his ministrations, to give in to the sensation and leap at the smallest promise of pleasure instead of torture. You feel yourself drowning into the crimson sea of his eyes as you do begin to relax, your muscles losing their tautness, your jaw unclenching and your lungs expanding as you allow yourself to slowly inhale through your parted lips.

Your body gives in, you feel it succumbing to Master Cazador’s touch the next time he dips two fingers into you, deeper this time because you’re becoming wetter. When he pulls out his digits he smears your arousal on the outside of your folds and teases your clit again, gently flicking the underside of it and eliciting a smallest gasp, a suppressed half of a moan, out of you. He grins widely, showing you his teeth and his fangs as his eyes become burning gems, focused on your face only.

“You are here to accompany me tonight, child. You are to sit in my lap and not move until told so. You are to remain silent until told otherwise. Is that understood?” Master Cazador asks and you quickly nod as you try not to moan again because his fingers are still moving between your thighs with ease, your clit beginning to throb with need to be attended to with appropriate attention, something you do not expect to happen at all but crave for anyway. “Good girl.” he hums and even though you know better, even though you know how Cazador likes to toy with people, your chest still swells with yearning to hear his praises again, urging you to do everything you can within your limited power to make him speak the honeyed words again.

But before you can even begin hatching a plan of how to make this night a night of reward instead of punishment, Master pulls his fingers away from your body and raises them to your face. You immediately know what to do and lean over them, taking them into your mouth and obediently sucking on them, cleaning his digits from remnants of your body’s surrender. Master Cazador is still smiling as you do so, his eyes locked on yours and not shifting from them even for a second, then he moves his hand away and for a moment you make a smallest step to follow the journey of his fingers through the air with your tongue but stop yourself. A surprise chuckle escapes Vampire Lord’s lips and you look at him again, finding his expression relaxed and amused.

“Such an eager pup. I’m satisfied to see that the lessons are finally sticking. Maybe I will even reward you with privilege to reside in Favorite Spawn Room next month.” Master speaks as he wipes remnants of your saliva from his fingers onto the skin of your chest. His words - a promise so sweet to your ears that your stomach recoils from sudden anxiety and nerves gripping you.

A reward, an actual reward if you please him, a chance to sleep without other spawn wailing their laments every dawn and a bath, all for yourself. You know you have to keep a gentle touch on this fragile bird-like opportunity lest you release it by accident or crush it by yearning too strongly. You have to be careful and you cannot let this chance slip away from your grasp, because you have so little in this existence as is.

“Come now.” Master Cazador turns in his seat, fully facing his desk again and he pushes the chair he’s sitting on from it just enough to make space for you.

You lick your lips, still tasting remnants of your arousal on them and your eyes move over his form, watching him rest his arms on the armrests. Again you hurry to obey his command, even if this time it’s soft like a feather brushing against a bleeding wound. Throbbing in your face is gone entirely now and you forget the heavy hit as the promise of prize lures you with hope.

Slowly and carefully you begin to move your naked body. You step closer to your vampiric overlord, moving conscientiously as you place one knee on the edge of his chair and pause just for a second, your eyes finding his calm gaze while he waits for you to position yourself upon him. Your throat clamps on itself when you rise your hands and place them upon Master Cazador’s shoulders, allowing your fingers to clutch onto them through the soft fabric of his coat. You notice him rising an eyebrow at you in response and fear grips at you again. You quickly begin to worry that you’re taking too long, that another strike is coming, that his rage once more will etch itself into your body and flesh in form of bruises and lesions.

The terror of possibilities urges you and you pull yourself into his lap, feeling so stressed that you could throw up if your stomach was full the moment you come face to face with your Master. He lets out a small, irritated noise and you feel his palm on the small of your back, pushing your body against his.

“Take it in.” He says simply and you can’t help but pause, trying to understand what he wants from you, what is this command exactly, while you settle into a straddling position upon his seated form.

Then it dawns on you.

Your lips part with a tremble and Master Cazador grins.

“Hurry up, girl. I don’t have all night to wait for your meager thinking capabilities comprehend even the simplest of tasks.” The tone of his voice is slightly irate and your stressed nerves nearly scream with panic that threatens to overtake your senses.

Without any more delay you grab Master’s right shoulder with increased firmness and lift your hips so that you can use your other hand to grasp his still very much hard cock at the base before you bite your lower lip and guide it to your seeping cunt. The moment you nudge the tip of his length against yourself you have to stifle a moan, your starving for affection body and desperate for praise mind working against you in most excruciating way, making you crave for this in a twisted way, telling you that your Master can be kind, that he picked you because he appreciates you. All the lies that sound so sweet in your head right now, burying the reality underneath them.

When you begin sinking upon Master Cazador’s cock you let out a small whine, at which you feel his fingers twitch as they rest on the small of your back, but he says nothing, letting you proceed until his whole length is inside of you and you’re biting your lip so hard you’re nearly breaking the skin. Then you lift your eyes to his face once more and see his expression - serious, but calm.

“Keep yourself close to me and out of my way.” He orders and you immediately press your chest against his, wrapping your arms around his neck and squishing your mouth against his shoulder just in case your throat decides to compromise your chance at pleasing your Master. “A little closer.” Lord Cazador’s palm on your back pushes your hips closer to him, letting his cock bury itself even deeper and you move yourself over him until you finally feel his palm leave your skin.

You look over his shoulder at the curtains and the stained glass peaking from behind them, intricate lines and colors distracting you for a little while after your Master picks up the quill and begins scribbling again. At first you feel your cunt clench upon the bittersweet intrusion but as minutes tick away your body relaxes, making you think that this is going to be easy if this is all he wants from you tonight.

But you are not so blessed as you wish to be. Maybe fifteen or so minutes later, when the stained glass is not as interesting anymore as it was at first, your brain signals your muscles to move. You can barely stop yourself from doing just that and your eyes widen with shock that you allowed yourself to forget your situation. Your body shudders and in your embrace you feel Master Cazador tense for a moment, his quill falling quiet. He’s waiting for you to tremble again, he’s waiting for you to fail.

“Master-“

“Not a word from you, girl.” Your vampiric master immediately stops you with a tone that’s near as punishing as a whip on your flesh and you wrap your arms around him tighter, trying not only to stop yourself from speaking but from shivering as well.

The sound of a quill on parchment resumes and you close your eyes for a second, trying to soothe your nervousness, but then your eyelids snap open when you feel Master Cazador’s left hand moving, leaving the armrest it is on, and land on your naked thigh. His grip is firm as he squeezes your flesh, his nails digging into your skin and breaking it, but he only does it to adjust you upon his lap. Despite you clinging to him you have started slipping off it seems, or maybe he just decided that he wanted you positioned slightly different. He adjusts your body, your hips moving and making you grind against him ever so briefly, your clit pressing against a bunched-up end of his belt under the shirt and you clench your jaw because you find pleasure in it.

You can feel your cunt squeezing Master Cazador’s cock and you shut your eyes, pressing your eyelids hard and waiting for another correctional command or maybe another brutal grip on your leg, but as seconds pass nothing happens. If anything, Master’s grip on your thigh relents but stays there comfortably like a touch of a beloved partner.

Yet when you open your eyes again you realize that you cannot distract yourself anymore. Neither the curtains or the windows can draw your attention and nothing else exists in your narrow field of view, worthy of even a glance.

Instead you sense Master Cazador’s hair against your left cheek, you feel his body against yours suddenly making you realize that he’s simulating breathing just like you. Chest to chest like this with him, snuggly close as if you are entombed in a single coffin, you again are barely in time to stop yourself from moving, your body instinctively demanding that you ride his cock, grind it deep inside your cunt, stimulate the spots that are begging for attention.

No, you can’t allow yourself that, your instructions have been clear and you know all too well that this relatively pleasant task can turn into a brutal lecture about failures of your very nature. Some of the past ones still sting despite having healed without a trace. Now with desperation you try to think of something else, your mind wandering to his resting touch on your thigh and a pain that already faded from when his sharp nails dug into your skin. You try to think of what he must be writing, why he wanted you here, in this position, you try to think of nothing else but questions you will never be permitted to ask, but Master’s cock twitches inside of you and all the feeble attempts to keep yourself focused crumble down immediately.

Your muscles begin tensing again and this time you cannot relax even if you shout at yourself inside your skull. The strain you are starting to feel would send your heart racing from panic if it still beat in your chest. But instead you just try to remain as still as possible, your eyes widening as you begin feeling an approaching shudder and know with cruel clarity that you won’t be able to stop yourself this time.

Then it comes, the shiver that starts at your hips and runs up your spine like a tickle of a mischievous tongue, trying to get you in trouble. As it reaches the back of your neck you can’t help but throw your head back, your lips parted and ready to let out a moan that’s been stuck in the back of your throat since your Master shushed you last, and your cunt rubs against his belt, stimulating your clit again ever so briefly but so deliciously.

You can’t stop it.

You can’t help it.

“Be still, idiot!” Master Cazador’s words cut suddenly and sharply, making you immediately freeze before any sound leaves your mouth and you turn your head just enough to see his profile, so near for the first time ever. He never let you get this close before.

So for a short moment you let your eyes study the side of your Master’s face. You examine his dark furrowed brow that peaks with a sharp angle near the end; his vermillion eyes with a ring of deep brown around the iris which never stops glowing as he keeps spawn like you in his thrall; creases around his eyes telling you about the life he lived before he was turned into a vampire himself; the imperfections and spots on his skin make you wonder who he was before he became a Master but at the same time, in your eyes, they also make him look more like the elven man of his ghostly past than a sadistic Vampire Lord of your present; you closely see his nose that has a gentle curve in the middle and yet it still doesn’t make his features look any softer, on a contrary – it emphasizes the angles of his face; finally your gaze lands on the bend of his upper lip, resting calmly against his bottom one, making you realize just how alluring his lips must be when he’s feigning honesty and flirtation.

You only notice you’re taking too long staring at Master Cazador’s face when his jaw moves, briefly pushing his strongly round chin forward for a moment, and you swiftly burry your own face into the crook of his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Master.” You murmur against the fabric of his coat.

SLAM.

You near jump in Master’s lap when he slams something against the desk.

“Get off!” Lord Cazador commands with anger in his voice and you can’t stop your entire soul from shrinking within you. You failed.

Youfailedyoufailedyoufailed.

Too terrified to upset him even further you lift your hips, releasing his cock from your body with a wet sound, making you chew on your bottom lip as you proceed to move off of him and find your footing before you let go of his shoulders. There’s not much space between your Master in his chair and the desk, so you hurriedly try to move away, scuttling away like a pest that’s about to be squashed if it’s not fast enough, but before you move even one step Cazador grabs your left wrist with such force you feel your bones grind against each other.

With a wince and horrified eyes you look at him, being near his face level even though he’s sitting, his imposing figure not letting you forget about it even now, and you see rage in Master Cazador’s eyes as his nails dig into your wrist, drawing blood just like they did with your thigh earlier.

Wordlessly he stands up, pushing his chair across the carpet behind him and you near whimper when he suddenly is towering over your naked form. You want to shrink, to disappear, to become just one of the specks in the stone that’s under the carpet at your feet. Suddenly he releases your wrist and smirks, the expression cold and cruel. Master raises his finger and points.

“Turn around and bend over.” Despite his explosive anger just seconds ago, Lord Cazador’s voice is level again and you obey without delay.

When you turn around you see the parchment, quill and inkwell he was using until now. The quill is broken and the inkwell has tipped and spilled over the parchment, probably when he slammed his fist against the top of the desk, and you shrink at the thought that your little mistake cost him a whole letter. From quickly catching the amount of words written on it, you realize he was writing the same thing the entire time. You fear the punishment that you are sure you will receive because of this.

Yet you have no other choice but to bend over the desk. You try not to press yourself against the spilled ink, carefully placing your palms on the desk away from the puddle, but your nipples threaten to dip into cold liquid if you lean down any lower.

Your attempt is wasted anyway as Master Cazador suddenly digs the heel of his right palm between your shoulder-blades and forces you to lie flat on the desk. You gasp, partially from pain and partially from the wet, uncomfortable feeling of ink immediately coating your skin, but you make no sound.

“As you can see, idiot girl, you caused me to ruin my letter.” Lord Cazador says behind you, his palm leaving your back because he knows you will remain as he put you no matter what. Disobedience is the first thing he beats out of every new spawn, after all. “At first I just wanted to teach you a lesson in patience. Which you failed like a mongrel bitch you are.” A sound of a slap followed by a sharp sting makes you wince when Master Cazador’s palm connects with your rear. “I keep trying to teach you all the important things, to make you better than what you are and how do you repay me?” Another slap and you whimper as tears gather in your eyes. His hits are hard but you are just relieved he’s not using his left hand for them, where the Szarr family ring rests on his fourth digit, because you know the platinum of it would split your skin faster than his strikes. “But it is clear to me now that without my constant corrections you are still less than nothing.” And another hit connects, making you cry out this time and you feel your skin not withstanding this attack, it begins oozing blood that you quickly notice dripping down your skin.

“I’m sorry, Master!” You respond because you can’t keep silent any longer. Sobs choke you when you try to speak but you get the words out anyway as your tears erupt onto the desk surface where the side of your face is pressed.

“Yes, I know you are sorry, but have you learned anything? I very much doubt that.” Yet another sharp hit, this time even more painful as your blood makes his palm connect to your flesh much stronger, the impact of his strike making your knees buckle and you scramble to grab the front edge of his desk before you crumple to the floor, because you know that you will be punished even harder if you don’t remain as he propped you up.

“I’ll do better, Master! I promise!” You can’t stop yourself from openly sobbing as you plead for mercy and you expect another hit, another pain that raises from your backside to the very roots of your teeth, but nothing comes.

Instead of another correction in pain you feel Master’s fingers trace ever so gently over the spot he hit, smearing his fingertips in your blood.

“Hm. You always promise.” He muses and his touch leaves your skin but when you strain to listen you hear the softest sound of his tongue against fingers as he tastes your blood on them. A heavy silence falls while you try to stop your sobbing, forcefully ceasing your breathing to prevent your throat from contracting until Master Cazador confers his ultimate mercy: “Fine then. I will forgive you this one time. You are trying, this much even I can see among all your failures.”

Immediately you sigh with relief and your body relaxes upon the top of the desk but then your eyes widen as you feel something against the burning flesh that sustained considerable abuse even from as little as his palm striking it. Something soft but firm rubs against it until you realize that Master is coating his hard cock in your seeping blood. You bite the inside of your lip and try to remain quiet as pain radiates at every stronger nudge and sigh when you feel it retreat. Whatever warped satisfaction he got from that – it still felt like a caress compared to how he touched you just moments ago, with force and brutality.

“Tell me you’re sorry again, child.” Master Cazador demands and you obey.

“I’m very sorry, Master. I will do better. I’m deeply sorry for my mistake.” Words spill out of your mouth faster than you can string them together in your mind but you don’t care if it allows you avoid the pain.

“Do you think you still need to be reminded of your teachings?”

You pause now and not only because you hear sinister gloating in Lord Cazador’s voice, but because you thought he has forgiven you, he even said so, so why…

“Y-yes, Master. Please remind me.” You hear yourself say, your words coming out with ease of a childhood prayer.

“Good girl. I do have such high hopes for you.” Master’s grin is evident from his tone and you immediately grit your teeth as you feel his length press against your hole, making you understand why exactly he was coating it in your blood. Sickeningly twisted but you just close your eyes and accept it. “Your instructions were clear and they remain. Do not move.” Last command before Cazador begins pushing his cock into you against the resistance of your body. He has used your body in variety of ways before, even this one, so the sensation of being filled like this is not new and it’s somewhat easier to bear when your blood eases the invasion.

“Yes, Master, I won’t move, Master!” You hear yourself babbling before you cut yourself off with a moan as he thrusts himself deeper and the side of his hip presses painfully against your right buttock, the one that you suspect is still bleeding. Yet the cold touch of his skin against yours that is achingly painful feels soothing, almost comforting.

“I expect you not to.” Master Cazador’s tone is irritated but that doesn’t matter because you feel his strong hands grip your hips like a vice, his thumbs press into the small of your back and then he begins thrusting.

You squeeze the edge of the desk again as he begins to fuck your ass, right from the start his pumps are hard and unrelenting, showing no mercy either to your hole or your sore flesh that he keeps slamming his body against, making you wince and moan consecutively.

“If I didn’t know any better I would think the only lessons you truly remember are the ones taught with my cock.” Lord Cazador grunts as he rams into you again and again, it’s like he’s trying to get back at you for ruining his letter, for making him angry, for failing him yet again.

“No, Master, it’s not-“

“Only sound I want to hear from you are your cries.” He snaps at you and you swallow your words before they threaten to emerge again. Instead you let your voice punctuate his every thrust with a loud cry.

Pleasure is quickly becoming bigger than the pain but that’s not enough, you want more. Forgetting yourself, forgetting your Master’s rages and disciplines, you release the grip on the edge of the desk with one hand and begin to move it, twisting it and maneuvering it as you try to avoid touching items on the desk even though it’s hard, with your eyes heavy lidded from increasing physical gratification that your body is granted. Then you hear a mocking chuckle.

“I see what you are trying to do, you greedy little pup.” Master berates you while you keep moving your hand unless you’re told to stop, you take the risk despite having perfect knowledge of what will happen if his mood suddenly shifts. “Very well then, touch your harlot cunt, you slattern.” Cazador’s words do not relent as he keeps fucking you, granting you yet another mercy that he hasn’t before.

For a moment you even think it’s a trap, to test your resolve even in this situation, but again you take the risk and let your slender fingers slide to your side, over the bend of your hip and between your parted legs, finding your soaking folds and you finger them for a moment before you are permitted a second of stillness to focus on your throbbing clit.

“Yes, touch yourself and let me hear you, let me hear how your Master is merciful to you, child.” Lord Cazador speaks in strained words and you know you are running out of time before he spills himself inside of you.

He won’t wait for your pleasure, of that you are absolutely sure, so you frantically move your fingers over your clit, moaning loudly and frequently as his cock in your ass makes your body shiver and tense. You rub and circle, massage and stimulate, until the heat begins to spread all over your body. You can’t deny it – it rarely feels this heavenly when Master lays his hands on you, so you allow yourself to indulge in this pleasure to the fullest. You deserve it, you need it. Were you not good to him? Have you not tried with all that you have?

Suddenly you realize that you hear your Master’s voice, strained and barely above a mumble and you glance over your shoulder at his face, seeing sweat on his face and his eyes on his cock as it impales you again and again in increasingly erratic rhythm. His lips are parted and he’s speaking to himself, language you don’t recognize, language that you guess might be Kozakuran but you have no way to be sure and it doesn’t matter either way. Master is pleased and when Master is pleased then you don’t suffer.

You close your eyes and let the sensations engulf you. Your fingers are beginning to get tired from the straining angle you have your hand positioned at, but you don’t want to stop, you’re so close. Suddenly, with a groan and a fierce grip on your hips with sharp nails digging deep into your flesh Master Cazador comes, his few final thrusts having so much power behind them that you hear his desk scrape against the stone floor as it moves. As he spills inside of you, just as you expected him to, you rush few more rubs of your fingers against your clit before you climax with a cry and a shudder of your whole body. You move your fingers as your orgasm rips through you, clenching around Cazador’s cock and making him spend every last drop of his cum inside your hole before his thrusts finally stop.

As Master stops you stop too, letting your arm drop limply while your other hand remains desperately grasping onto the desk so that your knees don’t betray you once again. You pant heavily, letting yourself a precious moment to enjoy the aftermath of your bliss but serenity doesn’t last.

Not before long you feel Master Cazador grunt again and pull out of you, then his nails slide out of your flesh and you hear him stepping back. You’re about to gather yourself up from the top of his desk, but you feel his hand grip your left buttock and pull it to the side as if he’s inspecting just how well he filled you. And well he did indeed fill you because you feel moisture beginning to seep out of your hole downwards, dripping over your soaked folds.

“Hm.” Is the only thing you hear and then he releases you. “Get up.” Lord Cazador commands and with shaky muscles you begin picking yourself up from the desk.

As you push yourself up you find your footing, then you slowly lift yourself on your palms, seeing front of your body completely painted in black ink. Yet this is not a reason for you to do anything else than obey his order and you finally straighten your back and turn to face him. It looks like while you were doing all of that, Master already made himself presentable with his clothes fully in order as if nothing happened.

His cold eyes sweep over your body, noticing sweat, blood and ink mixing on your clammy skin and he raises an eyebrow before his gaze meets your still cloudy one.

“Go clean yourself up. You disgust me.” He snarls and you bow your head, then in silence step away from Lord Cazador’s desk when he moves to the side, permitting your exit.

With your feet shaky and unstable, you almost forget to gather your folded clothes, and you sneak a glance back at your Master, noticing his mildly approving look that you remembered this detail, then his attention turns to his ink-covered desk.

“Go to Dufay. Tell him to come here immediately, girl.” His voice is calm and not even a hint in it of what just happened.

“Yes, Master.” You respond and turn, walking to the door as quickly as you can, knowing that your presence is no longer needed or desired.

As you open the door and slip outside, you turn back to close it and at the end of the corridor, the one that made you feel much like marching towards the gallows just earlier when you arrived, you see your Master picking something off his desk, casually inspecting it, then tossing it aside, seemingly not a care in the world.

You sigh and close the door carefully, trying to be quiet, not unlike a mouse hiding from a predatory cat. Among all the cruelties that Master Cazador has and will do to you whenever he desires – at least this night was the best you had in his usually unwelcome company so far.

A small hope begins to bloom in your dead heart. A hope that you know you shouldn’t let grow, one that you know you should immediately snuff out like the last ember in the firepit. And yet it grows with each step you take across the ballroom towards the massive metal door.

Maybe this night is a sign of possible better future under Master’s boot that is pressing onto your neck for every moment ever since he turned you. Maybe if you obey well enough, just like you did tonight, he won’t punish you as harshly or torture you so sadistically.

Hope.

Before he snatches it away.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #reader insert #cazador szarr #cazador szarr x reader #female reader #x reader #cazador szarr smut #cazador szarr x female reader #cazador fic #my fics

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fairytale-poll · 1 year

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ROUND 1B! MATCH 3 OUT OF 8

Propaganda Under the Cut:

Ylfa:

She just went through so much and so much growth and i love her very much.

She becomes a big bad wolf

She met Death and Death wanted her to live.

Great depiction of a teenager by Emily Axford. A lot of scenes get really emotional with her being a symbol of the cycle of life and death and eventually she will always become the Big Bad Wolf.

she faced off with Death and he told her to live. this Death, who was much older than the Death she was supposed to meet, stared off with Yilfa for days until she succumbed to hunger and ate him alive. other iterations of death apologized to her for the story she was forced to suffer through, for the punishment she had to endure over an unrealistic and unabidable rule she was destined to break. her corrupted story turned her into the big bad wolf, into death itself. she sacrificed the beloved memory of her grandma, her namesake, so that her friends would be able to save their world. even though she gained it back in the end, she was willing to live the rest of her life as the wolf, a harbinger of death, and when she was reminded that she was just a child, that it wasn’t her responsibility to guide the dead, she cried, and separated from the wolf. she was able to grow up normal and happy after suffering from the looming presence of death. i’m gonna make me friend also submit yilfa bc they’re smarter than me and can make better propaganda

my mutual really likes her

Her narrative arc about growing up and life and death is so beautiful and her being a werewolf is so cool. Emily Axford gets girlhood like nobody else.

she is the bravest little girl in the world she met death and death wanted her to live she split his skull and ate the innards of death himself she is just a little girl!!!!!!!

PRIMO Red Riding Hood adaptation. Ate the wolf who ate her gramma. Is a werewolf and a metaphor for puberty. Loves her friends. Can break her bones to reshape her body into various animal forms.

Not only did she have to lose her grandmother, but she also nearly dies of starvation and exhaustion until The Big Bad Wolf, aka Death, convinced her to live, by her killing him and eating his flesh, therefore making her Death

Ylfa has a snazzy orange top hat given to her by a very attractive fairy. Three Blind Mice is her favorite story. She brought her grandma lollipopcorn and threw the broth in the river halfway there. She first developed a crush on Pinocchio when she saw him use his nose as a stripper pole and didn't kiss him until they were twenty-one and having an awkward conversation about her grandma's death and Toy Island. She fought a baron with a spoon. She wants a bra. She jumped into The Terrible Dogfish’s stomach to save her friend. She has pinkeye and grandma hobbies. She fought off a shit ton of homicidal tables at once. She is pals with Little Miss Muffet. She killed her family. She sacrificed the memory of her grandmother to become Death. She was basically adopted by Mother Goose (who is a cool old gay dude). She Wildshapes by horribly contorting her body into animalistic forms. She is a Barbarian who acts as a support character. She is the bravest little girl in the whole world.

Behold, 3 minutes of the weirdest and best little girl! [Link]

Her weirdgirl swag is off the charts :) [Link]

Ylfa Propaganda: [Link]

Little Red Riding Hooded Mercenary:

come on just look at her shes so fucking cool

SHES SOOOOOOOO FUCKING COOOOLL ok so like. Lobotomy Corporation takes place in an SCP type facility where a bunch of abnormalities are living. She is one of them. She is a mostly undying humanoid creature that lives for the sole sake of hunting down the Big And Will Be Bad Wolf. She lives in your facility and will BREAK OUT of her containment if she feels that the wolf is near (or if too many people are dying). You can also hire her to assist you in taking down other abnormalities, and she's actually super good at it. And her outfit is just so sooo sick? She's so cool. Please play Lobotomy Corporation it goes on sale for like $7 every Steam Sale

She's red riding hood if red riding hood had a gun. Also she kisses women

Monster based on human subconscious aka an Abnormality based on the story of Little Red Riding Hood (duh). In this story, she was mauled by the wolf (Big And Might Be Bad Wolf) who is based on all fairy tale wolf villains. Little Red then got to work plotting her revenge and making Bloodborne-esque gear for herself and the two Abnos are locked in eternal combat of hatred for one another

She's literally the coolest, just look at her. For people who might not be so familiar with her: She's one of the abnormalities that remain locked in the Lobotomy Corporation. Her past is somewhat unclear, but she has some horrid scars on her face due to the Big Bad Wolf and she swore vengeance upon him because of that incident. This lead her to become a mercenary and she looks 1000% scarier and more badass than the wolf lol. Also, asides from the fact that she may kill half of your team if she escapes containment, she is quite chill and will even help you take care of your problems if you pay her.

little red riding hood but consumed by vengeance to the point of becoming an anomalous creature hellbent on completing her eternal battle with the wolf. intense desire for revenge. baller as fuck design. will help you kill other escaping abnormalities but you gotta pay her to do it. gets pissed off every time someone escapes containment except for that one annoying bird for absolutely no discernible reason. if you let her kill the wolf she gives you bonuses but if someone else kills the wolf she goes fucking bananas. truly an inspired feral creature of a woman.

Go girl!!! We love your unrestrained violence!

She is literally the absolute coolest!!! I mean, just look at her design! Everything about it screams fucking cool! Not to mention that her story has themes of vengeance, rage, and grief!!! And Lobotomy corporation is just the fucking best and soooooo underrated.

She's starting to fall behind so GO ON AND VOTE MERC WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR! (and buy Lobotomy Corp on steam it's not even that expensive!)

Vote for Riding Hooded Mercenary she's an Abnormality serving as a hired merc that means shes a hunter of her own kind and she WILL chase them to the ends of earth lest she dies herself or knows that damn Wolf is nearby. The cursor for sending hits on something is a wanted poster. She's WAW-classed too, a step below the most dangerous category for her ilk. she shares the class with things such as insane-ass magical girls, an eyeless flower horse turns people into wisteria gardens, fucked up and evil Little Prince, a bird judge that hangs its victims, the now-animate poisoned apple that killed Snow White, and of course the Wolf itself.

#red riding poll #round 1 #round 1b #ylfa snorgelsson #dimension 20 #dimension 20: neverafter #f-01-57 #little red riding hooded mercenary #lobotomy corporation #red riding hood #little red riding hood #polls #character polls #poll tournament #poll bracket #battle of the 'idk they just sort of had similar vibes to me based on the propaganda but i havent consumed either of these medias'

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moki-dokie · 1 year

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the year is 2002. i am 13 years old. I've been rping wolves on this humble little website aptly named rpgwolves for about a year and it's great wonderful fun. (I am still friends with some of the people I met there!). many of the people there were the same people who created and played on wolfhome (which i am very surprised is still up and running to this day.) but thanks to a little thing called geocities, many of us have learned how to build our own websites and run our wolf rps the way we want rather than having to abide by rpgwolves rules. this was the golden age of wolf rps, the cringiest era to ever cringe. and i, my friends, was front and center for nearly all of it.

see, i'd made a name for myself on rpgw. i can't recall much of that time other than i'd managed to become one of the Cool Kids. so logically, i had to create my own place for people to follow me to.

behold and marvel at my first ever website.

beautifully atrocious. fucking bless the wayback machine's bots for crawling this at the time. this exists only in archive form now that geocities is gone. most of the links don't work. but a few do. and they're all just as horrible.

most of these had some extremely basic java-based chats, although i guess that code doesn't work anymore or else it wasn't captured.

most of my allies pages looked pretty similar too lol we definitely had a theme. dunno what it was. but it was something. (also i was in several of these packs. hi it's me ironpaw in case any of you were here)

bummed that some of the places i was most active at don't have any entries i can find in the archive. anyway. i miss this version of the internet more than you can possibly imagine. before it was taken over by corporations and billionaires. it was a hell of a lot more fun for younger people. hope you enjoyed this trip down a niche part of memory lane. and remember, to be cringe is to be free :)

#old internet #2000s web #old web #wolf rpgs

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rel124c41 · 5 months

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THAT IT. DICK OUT. SCHISM ENDING EXPLAINED IN DETAIL!

alright!! behold my genius ୧⍢⃝୨

ghost camera and it’s ability is established part 2: “Memories can slip out of the photograph and take on corporal forms.” and with Ace, Floyd, Malleus — it is established they can move, touch objects, and talk!!

part 3: it is established that Jade has a photo of them (himself and the reader) on his desk, photographed by the ghost camera, and it is established that Jade oddly enough heard the reader crying “same volume and manner” makes no sense until you connect it back to the ghost camera

i took some creative liberties with making the subject in the photo corporal form lack warmth — i figured hey, no matter how much magic it probably can’t replicate a human body’s warmth

so zoom all the way down to the section of reader talking with Ghost Camera! Jade, it proves the fragments are very lifelike, very intimately their own soul speaking

Now there’s this line: “Your soul may fiercely want both options, impossibly greedy.” & this line: “It does not matter if Floyd was a deep sleeper — which he isn’t, Jade is the deeper sleeper of the two — one should be able to sleep through this.” and all the numerous times it is stated how cold the reader is — drum roll pls

The ending that happens with a memory fragment of Ghost Camera! Reader — they’re corporal and reflective of their soul but ultimately, the Reader has ended up staying in TW.

my bf suggested i started making fucking spark-notes for my writing and i was like no, let the people suffer!!

#re l rambling #for some reason the notes are going up on schism so i’ll explain it here

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void-ink-studios · 10 months

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Gala of the Gods (Part 1)

A few people suggested some stuff with Scarab and Nightmo, I've become obsessed with some of the art I've seen of these two in fancy clothes, so I'm going to combine the two.

Behold, my attempts at describing fancy clothing!

I am an artist as well, so if there's anything from this fic series you might wanna see me draw, just let me know.

Also, this is multi-parter! So y'all are gonna have to be patient.

Enjoy y'all!

Part 1 -You Are Here- | Part 2 | Part 3

Word Count: 2,200

Mail was not something Scarab expected when he first came to live in the Time Room. He figured anyone with something to say to Prismo would just take it as an excuse to show up and hang out for a while.

But, as with many assumptions he had, Scarab was wrong. Well, kind of.

The mail was never frequent, and it was almost only from the higher ups, but it had happened enough time with nearly missed important updates for Scarab to add checking the Time Room's make-shift mailbox to his routine.

And it was a good thing he did. Because they had mail. Fancy looking mail. And the beetle felt sick to his stomach when he began suspecting what this was about.

"Prismo! Mail! Letter from the Organizer."

Prismo made a rather undignified noise as he snapped awake from where he was dozing off in his hot tub.

"The Organizer? Ooooh, is it that Gala thing?"

"I suspect it might be. It's addressed to both of us, shall I read it?"

"Knock yourself out, Lovebug."

Scarab rolled his eyes a little but smiled regardless. He broke open the seal and unfolded the letter.

"To the Wishmaster and his assistant,

You are both cordially invited to the bicentennial Cosmic Gala. Attendance is compulsory, however you are not required to stay for the duration, should your godly duties require you to return to your posts.

The Gala will be hosted in the Judgement Hall, and will begin 340 time waves from now.

You are expected to be on your best behavior. There will be no physical altercations within the Judgement Hall. Please leave any and all grievances with coworkers at home. Snacks and drinks will be provided.

We look forward to seeing you there.

-The Organizer."

Scarab had suspected for a long time that that last paragraph was pointed at him specifically. It's not like he started fights, it's just gods get aggressive at him for doing his job.

"Oh, I haven't even thought of the Gala... Man, a lot has happened since the last one..."

Scarab clicked in agreement. Then was struck with a sudden thought.

"Wait a moment. How are we meant to attend while in this form?"

Prismo raised an eyebrow. "Have you never seen me attend before?"

"I always left early. I made excuses that my job as Auditor required my attention, so I arrived as it started, stayed for perhaps one Time Wave so my boss could see I showed up, then I left. It's not fun sticking around a party where no one likes you."

Whoops, that came out more bitter than he had meant... It's not like he minded not attending more of the party, parties were never his scene to begin with...

Or, was that another thing he convinced himself he didn't like so it wasn't being taken from him?

Hmmm...

"Well, you can come with me this time. We'll stick by each other's side. I think you'll look nice on my arm, Lovebug."

Scarab's mandibles snapped up.

"O-On your arm... Are you suggesting we attend as... as a couple?"

"I-I mean, if you want..." Prismo looked uncharacteristically flustered, smiling nervously at the beetle.

"I think... I think I would like that, Prismo. But, you still haven't answered my question."

"Oh, yeah, the form thing. Well, how it works is the Organizer gives us authorization to make copies of our corporeal body that we can inhabit. Like ghosts or some deal. They last for a few days, and then we get returned to the wall."

"Our... corporeal bodies..."

"Yeah, it's pretty much the only time I get to exist as 'Old Man Prismo' and not cease to be me. I think it's pretty neat. And you get to be taller than me for once."

Scarab barely responded to that, a far away look on his face.

"Can we... modify these bodies at all...?"

"I mean, you can make them look different colors, I guess, or make yourself look younger but why do you..." Prismo's expression filled with sadness. "...You can't restore limbs, if that's what you're asking. I'm sorry, Scrabby."

Scarab sighed. "It's... fine. It was worth asking."

He made a few clicking chirps as he thought.

"...I suppose I should dress up for once? If I'm attending with you and lingering longer?"

"I mean, you could. I like to, since I don't get the luxury of clothes very often, and I'd rather not show up to a Gala as a naked old man. But it's not like you have to."

Prismo watched Scarab's expression. He was deep in thought, that was obvious with how much his mandibles were twitching. Then, his expression lit up.

"...We can conjure almost anything in the Time Room, yes?"

"I mean, anything not sentient, pretty much."

"Hmm... Would you mind if we arrived separately? I think I'd like to... surprise you. You know the lobby outside the Judgement Hall? Wait for me there. I will meet you there."

Prismo was intrigued, to say the least. "A surprise? Just for me? Well, let's do it then. I'll wait for you."

"Perfect. Thank you, love." Scarab nuzzled his cheek sweetly. Prismo giggled, returning the favor with a soft little kiss.

"I can't wait to see what you come up with, Scrabs. I know you'll look gorgeous."

Scarab's elytra clicked as he purred, smiling softly. He'd been doing that a lot more recently. Prismo decided to take pride in the fact he's made the unflappable Scarab smile and blush like a goof.

The days leading up to the Gala were at the same time quiet and buzzing. Scarab was very clearly cooking something up, as he had carved out a little room in the basement that Prismo was explicitly forbidden from entering.

If you had told the Wishmaster he'd be okay with Scarab, of all gods, having a secret room he's not allowed in in the Time Room, well... well, you'd be given quite the strange look, that's for certain.

"Scrabby! Can you come out of your lair for a moment?"

"For the last time Prismo, it's not a lair, it's a work room!" Regardless of the terminology of whatever was going on in Scarab's little private room, the beetle acquiesced and emerged into the main chamber. "What is it?"

"Our uh... Bodies are here."

It was always just mildly upsetting to Prismo when they just... appeared. It unnerved him to see his own sleeping body at the best of times, but seeing it completely still, not even breathing, was... strange.

"Ah, okay. Is it almost time for the Gala then?"

"We have I think 3 More Time waves before the party officially starts, so we should probably start getting ready now."

"And how long are these good for?"

"Uhhh... I think 50 Time Waves?"

"Why do they stick around so long after the party?"

"I don't know, actually. Maybe they're being nice?"

"I've never known the higher ups for being... Nice. Regardless, how does this work?"

Prismo stretched his arms a bit, examining the two empty shells on the ground. "Don't worry, it's easy. Alright, so all you've gotta do is touch it, and imagine yourself waking up. It's not super nice feeling when you first wake up, just as a warning. Watch."

Prismo slid across the floor, positioning himself completely covering his body, and closed his eyes. He felt himself fade, almost like he was disappearing, but sensation quickly returned as he jumped into his body. He pulled in a gasp of air, everything tingling as his senses caught up with him.

"Prismo? Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah..." His voice sounded dry. He needed some water. He ran fingers through his long hair and beard as he sat up. "See? Easy."

"Are you certain you're okay?"

"I'm fine. It just... takes a minute for me to adjust. I'm not 3d very often." Prismo laughed it off, but it didn't stop him from holding a hand over a now beating heart and breathing lungs. "Your turn."

Scarab hesitated, looking between his body and Prismo. Slowly, he crawled over, letting himself overlap with the shell. The blue shadow faded, the body shooting up into an upright position, breathing heavily.

"Oh, that felt wretched..." The beetle could only describe it as similar to that falling sensation one has that jars them awake.

Scarab looked as he flexed his own fingers, claws lightly clicking together. It felt... strange to be in a body like this again. His senses buzzed. He felt the weight of his shell for the first time in months. The weight of his mask...

Slowly, he rearranged the mask to tuck behind his head. He would be going to this party as himself. Proudly.

"Heya gorgeous."

Prismo had scooched a bit closer, taking advantage of new senses to hold his love for the first time in a 3d space.

Scarab's breath hitched. He was not prepared for how... warm and soft Prismo's touch would be. He had gotten used to the Wishmaster's touch in their wall forms. But... touch in the third dimension... gentle touch, touch not meant to harm him, it was... new. Alien. His mandibles thrummed as he leaned into the hold, purring, claws experimentally touching the soft, coiling gray hair nearly covering his partner.

Prismo, meanwhile, was fascinated. He explored the texture of Scarab's shell and face. The fine grooves separating the plating reminded him of polished armor. But it was warm, alive, he could feel the beetles muscles moving underneath, the thrum of blood and life. And his pink face, while prickly at the edges, was soft to cradle.

"There you are... That's my pretty Lovebug. Look at you..."

Scarab preened under the touch and praise. He was beautiful. Prismo made him believe it.

"I must say... I think you're quite lovely in this form as well."

Prismo's cheeks flushed a lovely pinkish red color, Scarab chirping in pride. He nuzzled at him, marveling at the feeling of it with a physical body.

"I'm going to go get ready, Prismo. I'll meet you at the Judgement Hall lobby."

"Alright, Scrabs. I'll be looking for you."

The bug purred one more time before sequestering himself in his mystery room once more.

Prismo chuckled as he himself got ready.

Brushing his long, unruly hair was a task in and of itself. He pulled part of the mop into something a bit more elegant, a waterfall of gray tied neatly with a pink and gold ribbon falling down his back.

Prismo wasn't much for formal clothing, but he did like robes. Something soft, light, breathable. And had amassed quite the collection from these Galas in the past. He did like his pinks and golds, but who could blame him? He liked how he looked in them.

The robe had layers of color to it, a light pink similar to his shadow form on the inner most layer, slowly shifting out into a dark, rosy red. There were imagery of gold eyes and hands cascading down the back and sleeves, giving way to constellations and stars on the long skirt that dragged a little on the floor.

He accessorized with bracelet and rings and necklaces and pendants until he glittered like the stars. That was always his favorite part of these events, the accessorizing. He wasn't one to care much about looks, but he did enjoy making himself sparkle.

He looked into a summoned mirror, checking everything from head to toe. His golden orange sash was tied nicely, his sandals looked good, everything was in place. Perfect.

"Scrabby, I'm heading out now! I'll see you there, Lovebug!"

In lieu of a proper response, he heard a loud chirp echoing from down in the basement.

Prismo couldn't help but be curious about what Scarab was doing. All the more reason to be excited, he supposed.

In a rainbow of fragmented light, Prismo deposited himself outside the lobby of the Judgement Hall, other gods already milling about and conversing.

"Prismo! Sho-Hoot man, I always forget how nice you clean up for these events."

The Cosmic Owl flew over to him, dawned in a cloak of gold and silver feathers of starlight. Death also joined him, in a simple, but sharp looking white robe. In the distance, Prismo could spot Life, in a beautiful flower and coral dress, chatting with some other gods.

"Aw, thanks. You two look nice too! It's nice you got to bring Life with you this time, Death."

"We both needed the night out."

"Where's Scarab? He's coming right?"

"Yeah, but he wanted to arrive separately. Said he wanted to surprise me, so I'm indulging. He wouldn't even give me a hint, man."

"Well, consider me intrigued."

The three chatted for a while, Life soon coming to join them, after giving Death a peck on the cheek of course.

"And then the dude just... just tried to pluck one of my feathers out! Like for a good luck charm or something. Do people not get that dreams aren't physical?"

"I don't know, man, people just don't know how to act around you, I guess," Prismo chuckled. He was about to add on, when the doors opened, and a hush fell over the lobby.

Prismo looked toward the entrance, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"...Sho-Hoot, man."

And in walked Scarab.

#prohibitedwish #scarab x prismo #scarab the god auditor #prismo the wishmaster #cosmic owl #death #prohibitedwish fanfic #wrath of the wishmaster

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asksavel · 1 year

Text

"Yes, I can. Go talk to them on the solstice."

"You misjudge Lucky. That would be a fatal mistake on your part. But then, you did not see his soul, nor his previous lives. Makes sense that you wouldn't understand a thing about him."

"Anomaly? You're odd to say such things. I am no anomaly. Maybe to you, I suppose. But I am just me. A leader doing my job."

"The only thing I resemble with Mew is a similar body style and similar size. I am bigger than a Mew, and my skill set is the complete opposite of one of those. If anything, I am the Universe's mythical Pokémon, in a way you'd understand."

"Otherwise, I am as you say. The Goddess of Spirits, even if the 'God' part is not yet official, it makes no difference in the end. I'm strong enough as I am."

"Er, no. Soul Matter, that is to say, the energy that Souls are created from, was created at the dawn of the Universe along with matter and antimatter. So, just as the Universe was born, so were billions and trillions of Souls."

"As you have understood from me - Souls can also be destroyed through the Red and Black Gates. Also, I can destroy a soul if I so felt like it. But, that is not my job. As it stands, Soul Matter will eventually run out in the Universe as everything falls to darkness, until the next Big Bang."

"So, to answer your question - yes. New souls are born sometimes. You've already met the holder of a brand new soul: Savel."

"Heh. You're funny. You're mistaken on one thing. I didn't see the Beholders reincarnate on Earth..."

"... but it was I who sent them through the green gate, at their request."

"... 'Sempai', the Kantonian word for 'teacher' or 'respected elder.' I don't mind it, though you should ask permission before calling someone such. I shall digress on this occasion, but I recommend asking in future."

"The best way to learn how to reap souls is to become mortal. The lifespan I have as an immortal was not always as is - I was once mortal, and before that, I was a spirit myself."

"I was born unto the world, as a mortal Mingle, and lived as one for 2 billion years. I suppose I wasn't exactly 'mortal' if I kept coming back, but alas, I had to deal with everything a mortal also has to. I had to survive. I had to feed myself. I had to live among society. I had to endure wars. I had to learn how to live amongst those whom I would someday judge. In that time, I had left my post in the hands of another."

"20 years is barely enough time to scrape the surface of mortality, let alone the position you find yourself in. I worry for the state of your Universe in that sense, yet I suspect if it is as unstable as you say. Therefore, I would suggest forming allies among the spirit world. Make a reaper corporation. Those that show neutrality. Those that can judge fairly and without bias."

"I wish you luck, strange one."

"It doesn't really matter how you came into existence. All lifeforms have the same basic physiology: A mortal coil, and a soul. Your kind have souls, for I've dealt with one of you in the past."

"While I don't know your lifespan as you do not exist in my home universe, however, you will live and die the same way as any other mortal."

"Hmm, a mortal tasked with the role of a reaper? It's not uncommon. Most of the reapers in my corps were once mortal, but are now mid to high ranking spirits. In any case, I won't answer your question because there is no point."

"Your universe is your universe. My universe is my universe. My advice to you would be to investigate it yourself."

"Simple. It was similar enough to Lucky's current body that wouldn't cause excessive discomfort, and also would live long enough for him to carry out his punishment."

@a-shy-mimiktwo , @docmenlonhead , @askazutheshinymew , @fugamsemidei , @kornstreif , @iamyour-peace, @seraphic-dark , @ask-a-learning-ai

#mingle #18:06 #nine of ten #plot #asksavel #a shy mimiktwo #docmenlonhead #askazutheshinymew #fugamsemidei #kornstreif #iamyour peace #seraphic dark #ask a learning ai

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spacevixenmusic · 1 year

Text

One thing I don't think we appreciate enough about old "bad" video game to cartoon adaptations is just how wild the sheer concept of these cartoons is nowadays. As a kid with no access to The Internet and with no idea what The Source Material ever looked like, it was already kind of mind-blowing seeing characters from a video game expanded from little pixelly Guys In A Video Game into fully-formed cartoons. These were no longer just enemies for Mega Man to shoot and dodge, now they had voices and mannerisms and frequently got put in Situations. In an era before "extended universes" were the corporate-driven juggernaut they are today, this alone was absolutely BUCK WILD to behold.

You can read more of this review on my new website! [YES IT'S FREE TO READ AND THERE ARE NO ADS]

#mega man #mega man 1994 #when the jokes all boil down to simply Knowing The Reference without bringing anything new to the table it gets old fast for me #that's why I have zero interest in watching the modern Mario Bros movie #gimme that fucked up live action Mario movie with Bob Hoskins any day of the week #this Mega Man is pretty goofy for the most part but in a very lovable way for me

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desultory-novice · 1 year

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Got your reservations, eh? (Feel free to DM or disc if you'd rather not air 'em in public)

Oh no, I'm HAPPY to talk salt about the novels!(1)

(1) Prepare to find out why my nickname is "Salty Dess"

...Now, I probably shouldn't be. I really hate to complain about someone's work when I know that alllll sorts of stuff go into the creative process. Including real human stresses about life and deadlines and having to meet various corporate imposed standards. Writing in accordance with reading levels, brand image, etc, etc. Even with all those piled on top, we're not yet in the dark future where AI writes everything and that should be celebrated! Even an author with flaws/hangups means they're still human and it's human-made art I want to see discussed, studied, and cherished!

Though...

...Man, just WHAT is up with Takase-sensei's treatment (or lack of??) of Magolor and Kirby's friendship! Why is it like this?? Where is she GOING with this for three, or really, five books now!! (2)

(2) I mostly ignore Dreamy Gear and Kirby Clash in this lengthy rant, but those don't treat Magolor much better.

Actually, before I get started, brief tangent:

Probably the thing that gets the most groans from me is Takase-sensei's Meta Knight bias. Back when everyone was speculating if we'd get a Magolor Epilogue novel or not, I was so CONFIDENT it wouldn't happen I would have put real money down on it, because there was no way for her to work Meta Knight in. And Takase-sensei always works Meta Knight in. Usually in a leading role. Lo and behold, the Magolor Epilogue novel didn't happen. Now, I'm not the person to talk bad about having a character bias :cough: Marx :cough: Magolor :cough: so I won't, but I also won't hesitate to note that she is showing a pretty obvious bias there.

So, back to Magolor and Kirby. By now, it should be clear I'm someone who thinks really highly of their bond. I've always thought of (the original) RtDL as a tragedy. I just refused to believe that the takeaway of that game was supposed to be "And that's why you should always be cautious around strangers, kids!"

I suppose there was always the turn-around that Magolor seems to be in trouble but it was actually the ship that was in trouble the whole time, but that "rescue the princess" narrative went out the window a year later when Magolor and the Lor are depicted as loyal partners again in Dream Collection. A bond that is staunchly re-affirmed in Star Allies.

If the point is not to save the Lor from Magolor, what is?

Now, I also think that RtDL DX's many (subtle) changes to the narrative were informed by a desire to grow Magolor's character after a decade of fan speculation and brand growth. And I think he was consciously MADE into more of a tragic figure as a result.

...True Arena...

But there always had to be something to inform that growth. And even in the original, he has that "Let's always stay friends!" line.

So, RtDL gets adapted in book form and Takase-sensei seems to do her darndest to like... write Magolor out of his own story? Which becomes especially weird when you take into account the Labyrinth novel, where Magolor is a villain all the way through.

Now, unlike most other Magolor fans, I actually kind of like that book. I thought the idea that everyone calls Magolor out on being sus in the beginning was pretty cute coming so soon after his villainous turn.

I think the joke where he uses the mirror to become all powerful but just becomes a giant, funny-looking squeaky toy is hilarious. I think the fact that Takase-sensei highlights that Magolor does.not.know. the different between fighting Kirby and playing with him is probably the smartest thing she's ever written about him.

It is, in fact, something that informs my own characterization of Magolor. At least, the implication that he's been too alone for too long to know how to socialize with people properly.

And there's his breakdown in the end that it's not fair that he lost because he's never had any friends! (Marx: "......") The fact that this appeal causes Kirby to spare him and then he runs away and steals Kirby's cake was also cute in a Saturday morning cartoon freeze-frame ending.

It wasn't an amazing novel (what I really dislike in it is how Takase-sensei characterized Claycia. What the HECK was up with that? She's just...crazy and mean about art to the point that she leaves her girlfriend best friend in tears randomly every other week, I guess?) but it was fine on it's own...

"If only the story ended there..." to quote Smash Bros (EU)

So yeah, Starcutter and the Lying Wizard once again gives Magolor like one or two moments of interesting pathos, generally involving the Lor. But then Takase-sensei refuses to let Magolor build any bonds with the mains or let the mains bond with him.

Nope, we have to spend an unnecessary amount of time in Raisin Ruins with Meta Knight explaining to Kirby about how dangerous that mysterious new power might be when, oops, it never actually turns out to be dangerous! 'If you put the gun on the mantlepiece in act 1, someone has to fire it in act 2' is one of THE oldest pieces of writing advice in the known universe...!!!

And it's not just the wasted time on red herrings. (Or skipping Egg Engines....) It's the the whole concept of her leaving Kirby and Magolor becoming friends on the table that I just.don't.get.

If your heroes have no emotional stakes involved in fighting the big bad, that's... bad. Everyone knows one of Magolor's keywords is "betrayal." He "betrays" Kirby and the others. But not in the novel. They barely know him. He used them, but he didn't betray their trust or their friendship. Because he didn't HAVE either of those things to begin with. (Anyone remember the scene where Magolor calls the others "friends" and NO ONE responds to him? Because I do.)

Heck, I'd go so far as to say that the Lying Wizard barely LIED to them there. (Especially if you buy into him possibly being a secret descendant of the Ancients, born off-world.)

His offer to have Kirby be his lackey comes so out of nowhere. His offer to Chilly to rule the galaxy at his side in the manga, despite being based on a joke relationship, came off as so painfully sincere there that there are dedicated MagoChilly fans to this day!

And Kirby doesn't engage with him during the fight either. He responds to the things Magolor says with this "eener-neener nuh-uh" tone that is just... weird. I think most people have noted that Kirby comes off a little more mature in the novels than in other media. Still a "youth" by definition, but he talks and is capable of deep thoughts. But in the fight with Traitor Magolor, Kirby almost slips back into being an anime-esque infant. No thinking, no willingness to engage or even look at what he's fighting. (His one comment about the eye is almost embarrassing given the lack of everything till then.)

...Oh and DO NOT get me started on the fact that Takase-sensei specifically make the gang fight Magolor Soul and then changes his last words so it is now a meaningless groan of defeat?! I was SO upset at that choice (why not stick with his regular form in that case) but I told myself, hey... it's not like we know with definitive proof what Magolor Soul is actually saying...

...

Oh, NEVER MIND, WE DO. And we know via the end-of-book text that Takase-sensei had access to everything she would have needed to write an informed Magolor Soul battle.

No. For whatever reason, making Magolor unrepentant in Labyrinth, making Kirby disinterested in the person who would later go on to say (... in the remake) that he hoped to be Kirby's most reliable friend in this or ANY dimension, and, oh, lest we forget...

There's the Samurai Kirby novel...

So, I mentioned above that I knew there wouldn't be a Magolor Epilogue novel. But I had to admit I was a little surprised we'd get an adaptation of the Samurai Kirby game to go along with the release of RtDL DX. It felt like an odd choice at the time.

Slightly less so once you know the plot so, okay... Here's what's weird about Samurai Kirby. And I'll try to keep it short and vague but talking about Magolor's role in it necessitates SPOILERS.

...

Magolor is the bad guy. Again. Yes. And he makes a passing attempt at getting Kirby to be friends with him this time too and Kirby once again refuses to engage with him and then, Magolor says to himself that he could never imagine being friends with Kirby.

...

I just want to point out once more that this novel came out two weeks after RtDL DX. We go straight from a game with Magolor using his vast magic powers to help Kirby out of pits and bring him food at regular intervals, a Magolor who, at his worst, begs Kirby for help while Kirby's own inner voice encourages him to "...save a new friend" and also a Magolor fighting through a hell-parallel to get back to "...his friends." And just...

Why would you write that, Takase-sensei?! Why would you write that book NOW?

And now we come to the present. And I've gone from upset to...mildly curious. Because the most interesting things about Magolor in the Samurai Kirby novel is that A) He says he gets the feeling maybe he and Kirby knew each other in another life and B) His goal is to get to a place that is OBVIOUSLY Halcandra. It's not written in Katakana but the place name and the methods Magolor wants to use to get there make it really, really obvious. It's either Halcandra or the Samurai Kirby equivalent. Except that I think he really IS trying to get to THE canon Halcandra.

DX has now canonized Magolor as "the dimensional traveler." So it's not strange at all if these curious AU worlds and events start to occur around him/because of him.

While I'm currently pretty apathy for the way Takase-sensei writes Kirby and Magolor's friendship currently, I can't help but wonder if this dimension stuff isn't all building up to something...?

At the very least, canon Magolor built Magoland for Kirby and friends, so either this novel will HAVE to acknowledge that or...no one will mention that and we'll have another book where Magolor is the villain (...because come on, he's probably going to behind everything in this book too. After being consistently sus through all his novel appearances, it would be weird and jarring if he were completely innocent this time) and it'll end with him and Kirby coming to an "agree to disagree" relationship.

Or maybe this time, things will be different and it will end with Novel Kirby and Novel Magolor actually becoming friends in a way that mimics their game selves.

I really can't say for sure. But those...

:pauses to take a breath:

...are my reservations.

Brief Bonus: So, before you file everything I wrote up above as the ramblings of a crazy aspie, I am not the only one who has taken notice of Novel Kirby + Novel Magolor's non-friendship.

A couple of fanartists I follow on Twitter have even begun drawing humorous comics about things like "...threatening Magolor with Novel Kirby if he doesn't behave and it working" or "...Novel Magolor complaining to Game Magolor that he just can't get Kirby to like him." So, the vast difference in the treatment of their friendship (or lack of one) is something others have taken note of.

I'm not going to say anything like "I expect this novel to let me down too" in regards to Magolor. Nothing of the sort, really! I've come to terms with what the novel is, and I mean it that I'm curious if these Novel Magolors who continually fail to make a connection with Kirby will build up to something. Maybe something truly fascinating!

And hey, in lieu of (ever) having Marx appear, I can enjoy a villainous Magolor just in the meantime. (But seeing other people make fun of "Novel Magolor" definitely helped take the sting out of it.)

Phew...

I didn't realize I had as much to say about that as I did, but apparently, it was something I needed to get off my chest!

...Before everyone goes, just because I don't know when I'll next have leisure to rant about novel-verse problems but...

I want to say that I'm also a little :side-eye: about Takase-sensei having Meta Knight give us "word of god" evidence in the novel that the Master Crown wasn't evil, it was just Magolor's OWN inner wickedness that made it that way when A) even Star Allies casts aspersions on that theory and B) the remake brings out some credible evidence for the theory that the Master Crown is, in fact, AMAZINGLY EVIL. There is even reason to believe it was brainwashing Magolor almost from day one!

...But that's a story for another essay.

#Kirby #Magolor #Kirby novels #Dess Text Post #Long post #Really long post

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