#I need to be a very perfectly obedient brother

[barknwuff]

What even is the point if an older boy isnt giving me hella weed while he calls me his little brother and fucks me silly

[beetlejuicyy]

Eraser | Ryomen Sukuna x reader

1. Ultimatum

Summary: modern!Sukuna has a tattoo of your name on his chest that he wants to get rid of. Can he, though?

Warnings: gaslighting, toxicity, mentions of cheating

Word count: 2,254

Series masterlist:

1. Ultimatum

2. Wash Away

3. Only Memories

4. Vengeance

Read on AO3

Notes: this idea popped in my head very randomly while I was listening to a song and it screamed modern day Sukuna so here it is

General Masterlist | Divider @rookthornesartistry

“I want it gone.” Sukuna said, already irritated.

“Are you sure? Covering it up would be way easier.” If this bastard kept talking, Sukuna would rather cut his own skin and get the job done faster.

“I want it gone from my skin.” He growled and the guy quickly went back to the computer to search for an appointment date.

“Any other guy wouldn’t have treated you as well as I did!” Sukuna spat back as if that was supposed to fix something.

You sat down on the floor of your bedroom, back resting against the bed. You were tired of yelling and screaming. He would never allow himself to articulate the word love, not even in this fight that was about to end your relationship for good.

“Really? What else is there to be done? Fuck another girl in my own bed?” You replied sarcastically and he groaned in frustration.

You just couldn’t understand. He warned you that the wasn’t he goodie two shoes compliant man going to a 9 to 5 and talking about finance or computer science like your previous flings. He was running an underground illegal business and networking was the most important thing if you wanted to end up on top. Sukuna reiterated these things many times, as if they could overcome the indescribable magnetic pull you felt towards him. He shouldn’t have flirted with you so confidently and insistently if he never planned to let you in. But you eagerly nodded, dismissing all his warnings, all of Yuuji's, his little brother’s warnings that predicted exactly this moment. When you would find out he made out with another woman in a random club at 1:30AM while you obediently ate your vanilla ice cream and binge watched netflix.

“For the last time, woman!” He yelled, his hoarse voice coming from his throat filled the quiet room. “I didn’t fuck her!”

He was sitting in the doorframe of your bedroom, looking at your pathetic form on the floor. Head supported in your hands, your tangled long hair falling over your face. He had been banging on your front door for half an hour before you agreed to open it. He had smoked cigarette after cigarette, trying to relieve some of the stress. When you finally opened the front door to let him in, all the snarky remarks he had prepared faded away. Your eyes were swollen because of crying, the hems of your sleeping t-shirt, his t-shirt, wet with tears. He followed you back to your room, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk in, seeing you like this. Yelling and cursing at each other was easy, but resisting the sight of your pain was harder than anything he had ever done.

“Oh, yeah sure.” He couldn’t see your face because it was covered by your palms but he knew you rolled your eyes. “First you make out with her and then wait until she throws herself at you. Funny thing, worked on me.” Your voice was strained from all the yelling. Your energy had been used up almost entirely. Now all that was left was a bitter, quiet tone.

“I knew that little brat was too young to get involved in these things.” He mumbled more to himself. He pulled at the knot of his black tie. It was already lose enough. He was suffocating.

“Yuuji didn’t tell me.” You laughed. You were so tired of all of it. Your head fell back on the bed and you looked at the ceiling, as if the answer to your problems was written there for you to read. You didn’t need to see his handsome face to know one eyebrow was cocked in surprise. Damn his face and his black shirt and his perfectly tailored pants and his tattoos. “A private number sent me a video.” Sukuna’s tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek in frustration. “You could call it networking.”

He sighed. It was on video. All he could do was walk up to you, crouch down on the floor and try to resist the urge to touch you. You looked so beautifully devastated at 3:42 AM, only in your panties and one of his t-shirts, pretty legs sprawled on the floor, neck exposed just waiting for his teeth to sink in. But you already thought he was disgusting. It would only make things worse to admit that this sight of you turned him on.

“They’re trying to get to me, can’t you see?” Sukuna’s voice had never been so calm, so quiet. It was deep and throaty, coming from the utmost effort and consideration he held in his large body. “They know how important you are to me.” You only half smiled, as if he said something supposedly funny.

How come you didn’t know how important you were to him? How come he never told you how he felt about you? How come anytime you would seek reassurance from him you would end up in a sexual circumstance? He would tell you that you’re pretty, beautiful, sexy. He would make you feel like a goddess when he would touch you. And you would fall for it most of the time. But never, not once, express his feelings, his sincere and most vulnerable feelings towards you. You couldn’t do that for the both of you anymore. Sukuna seemed to understand the lack of trust from your silence, from the curled corner of your mouth forming a sad half smile, from your empty eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

“I needed information, y/n.” The sleeves of his shirt were folded up to his elbows, a strong smell of cigarettes deeply impregnated in the fabric. You raised your head from the mattress to look at him, bloodshot piercing eyes staring at you closely. “It’s the easiest way of doing it.”

“Yeah, actually you’re right. I need a Prada bag I’ll just make out with the security guy and he’ll give it to me.”

“I can buy it for you.”

Slap.

Sukuna didn’t expect it. The stinging sensation your palm left across his cheek burned deeper than the surface of his skin. It burned inside his heart. He didn’t look back at you. He kept his face turned away, so you could see how the skin changed into a pinkish color, more vibrant than the pink of his hair. Sukuna took a deep breath, licking his lips, trying to find a way to contain himself.

“I knew you had been a manwhore before. But I really thought, I really wanted you to respect me.” Your words cut sharper than any slap could. Your voice was getting louder and shakier with every word, anger and misery mixed in a pitiful sound. “I was stupid to think you would really care.”

“I do.” He said between his gritted teeth.

“You don’t. You just proved it tonight.”

“I told you multiple times.” He placed both of his hands on either side of your frame at the edge of the bed. The smell of his musky high end perfume mixed with cigarettes and a slight scent of alcohol as he spoke intoxicated you. You couldn’t avoid him. “This is what I do, take it or leave it. You said you’re fine with it.”

“You’re saying it’s my fault?” Suddenly you became very aware of the fact that you were covered in minimal clothing and the way he was looking at you, that mix of anger and frustration, his clenched jaw, his soft lips, they all made you want to stop fighting.

“I’m saying you’re exaggerating.”

“You really want me to slap you again.”

“Only if you can bear the consequences.”

You pushed your knees against his body, trying to break away from the cage of his muscular arms at your sides, keeping you prisoner. He didn’t even flinch. You kicks became stronger and more desperate, fighting against him while he did absolutely nothing to you. Sukuna looked at you in surprise, not expecting to be pushed away like this. Usually it took him a few intimidating looks and some sugarcoated words to make you forget that you were mad at him.

No more gaslighting.

No more forgiveness without an apology.

No more loving by yourself for the both of you.

“What the fuck are you doing, y/n?!” He asked in a raspy voice, placing large hands on your bare thighs and forcing them flat against the floor. But now you pushed him away with your arms, although your hands weren’t sure if they should cling to his shirt and pull him close or push him away from you.

“You don’t love me!” Your voice broke and you started crying, salty tears rolling down your flushed cheeks.

You just did it. You said that one thing that had been eating you from inside out for so long, that thing that you were so afraid of voicing out loud. You stopped struggling altogether. Sukuna’s heart broke. He always thought he could get away with his way of living, even after getting into this relationship. You would understand. You would forgive. You would know nobody else meant shit and you were the most important person to him.

“I have you right here, silly.” He said, his hand gesturing to his chest. He was referring to the tattoo he got a couple months ago, a small addition to his collection, your name right above his heart. You were never into this kind of things but he came up with the idea and you guessed you were important enough to him to be part of the story on his skin.

“You can always cover it up.” You said, unable to understand that this was his way of saying I love you, his way of carrying you in his heart at all times. “But what about my heart? I can't cover that up.” You brought your knees to your chest, hugging them with your arms, resting your forehead on top of them. You were so small, so frail. Sukuna used to think you were a strong soul but it seemed that you were more vulnerable than you showed. He had just broken you. Continuously hit your seemingly indestructible outer layer, like a glass that cracked more and more with time, until it shattered completely tonight. He wanted to hug you, to comfort you, to reassure you. But you only wanted one thing. He knew the only thing that would give him a chance would be to say three simple words. And he couldn’t bring himself to say them. So he just sat there on the floor with you, while you sobbed your pain away. The strong and mighty Ryomen Sukuna whom so many people feared was reduced to silence by a woman.

“Go away, Sukuna.” You said when your sobs quieted down, your tears ran dry and your mind started to clear out. You rose your eyes to look at him, still standing in front of you. “Go away!” You said, louder this time, like trying to get a dog to stop following you.

“Do you really want me to leave, you brat?” He asked, hoping that you would change your mind in the last minute.

“Get the fuck out!” You yelled, grabbing whatever your hand found closest to you and throwing it in his direction. It was his pack of cigarettes that was now half empty. It hit him right in his chest before falling miserably on the floor. He didn’t even feel it.

Sukuna had been trying to get in contact with you for the past two weeks. Work had him busy and exhausted all the time but not enough to forget that you weren’t answering his calls, weren’t replying his messages. You even got rid of the airtag he had given you to know your location at all times for safety. He pestered his little brother Yuuji to talk to you but he kept saying you weren’t answering him either. The brat was lying, he knew it. These two weeks had passed excruciatingly slow for Sukuna. It seemed like you had given up on him completely. In an attempt to tend to his shattered ego, given that all hope was gone for his broken heart, he decided to get rid of the tattoo of your name on his chest. He wasn’t going to cover it, like you said. He was going to remove it for good.

“You have to sign here aaand here.” The guy at the reception handed him a pen for the paperwork. Sukuna was just about to sign when his phone rang. When he saw the picture of his little brother on the screen his heart skipped a beat. He was so pathetic. He really hoped Yuuji had some news about you.

“I’m busy, what is it?”

“Uhm, it’s about y/n.” Yuuji’s voice was hesitant, like he still wasn’t sure he was supposed to share this information.

“What about y/n?” Sukuna was growing impatient.

“I think… I think she might be going on a date.” Sukuna’s vision darkened. The grip on his phone was so tight his knuckles turned white.

“Not on my fucking watch.” He muttered between his teeth. “Send me the location.” He turned on his heels in a second, walking out of the building with rushed angry steps.

“Uhm, sir? Your appointment?” The guy at the reception yelled, confused.

“I ain’t removing shit!” He yelled back as he reached his motorcycle. Yuuji had already sent him your location.

《previous Ascension | next》 2. Wash Away

True Form! Sukuna x Reader

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (13)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: angst, arranged engagement, violence, swearing, trauma, regret, depression, mention of a suicide attempt ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Daemon understood better than anyone what it meant to be the second son, the one who would inherit nothing. It seemed to him that, in contrast to Viserys, he was a blazing fire like a true dragon, giving warmth, light and shelter to those close to his heart, burning those whom he saw as his enemies.

Viserys was always blind, soft-spoken, lacking strong character and clear opposition when things got too far out of hand.

This trait of his had been carefully exploited by Otto Hightower over the years, putting himself in the role of his friend and adviser, playing his part with an extraordinary devotion from which he felt like throwing up.

He knew it was pure courtesy, perfectly calculated, taking advantage of the mourning of the entire Red Keep and his inattention after Aemma's tragic death he slipped his brother his daughter under his nose.

Looking at her on their wedding day, standing in a long, ornate gown he thought she looked like a child on whom someone had put layers of cloth and precious stones; overwhelmed by it all she looked down at her feet, around her nails the red wounds he had seen on her hands ever since.

On that one day, knowing what was awaiting her, he truly felt compassion for her.

After that, however, he stopped.

She could have built her independence, committed herself to the needs of the kingdom, she, however, in the company of that cunt, Criston Cole, gave herself over to prayer and mortification, obediently following her father's orders.

As a woman, she was in his eyes pitiful, weepy, whiny, merely pretending to be saintly and virtuous, having in fact nothing to do with these qualities.

His feelings about her and her father moved involuntarily to her children.

He recognised the dragon's blood in them and treated them differently from the Hightowers, yet he was unable or unwilling to bond with them, seeing how they were suckled to their mother's breasts, which did not allow them to think or breathe on their own.

He watched from the sidelines, observing from afar as Rhaenyra and Alicent's children trained together, how a divide formed between them. He knew that once they grew up and understood what was really at stake, they would throw themselves at each other's throats.

He knew perfectly well whose right to the throne he would support.

Aegon was a drunkard and a cunt, Helaena was quiet and withdrawn, Aemond was sullen and vindictive − he thought with amusement that each of them had inherited the worst from his brother and their mother.

However, he couldn't help but show at least a little compassion and understanding for his brother's second son, who had been punished by the gods, left without a dragon of his own.

Some part of him wanted to speak to him, to get to know him, to see through him as a kind of reflection of himself, but on those rare occasions when he was with Leana and his daughters in the Red Keep he never made such a gesture, which he later, though he did not want to admit it to himself, regretted.

Perhaps things would have turned out differently then.

He could see with what admiration he looked at him, how much he longed to hear at least one word of appreciation from him, any gesture of interest.

He knew that if he could decide who his father-figure would be he would choose not Viserys or Cole but him, and he pretended not to notice that.

Once though, he noticed something that surprised him; strolling through the cloisters of the Red Keep he spotted his nephew and Rhaenyra's only daughter standing side by side in the square, leaning over the table filled with the various weapons. He smirked under his breath as he walked closer, wanting to listen to their conversation.

They were betrothed.

A clumsy attempt by his brother to avoid what he felt in his bones had to happen.

He saw his niece point her finger at one of the weapons lying on the wooden tabletop, a steel black spiked ball hooked on a chain to a special handle.

"What is it? It looks scary." She said with amusement, her voice light and pleasant; he thought with surprise that his nephew's grim and stormy nature did not deter her.

Alicent's son grunted loudly, lifting his chin slightly in a gesture of superiority and intelligence that he hated so much about the Hightowers, clearly proud to be able to speak on a subject in which his knowledge was extensive.

"It's a flail. A very heavy weapon requiring great strength and agility in its use. It literally crushes the opponent." He said, forcing himself into a low, mature, masculine voice, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his hair in a slight disarray from the few duels he had already had.

"That weapon looks like the kind you die from in agony." Mumbled his niece, tentatively touching her fingertip to one of the spikes – her uncle pushed her away immediately, surprised by her gesture, grabbing her hand by the wrist.

"Are you insane? What are you doing? It's sharp after all, you could have hurt yourself." He said angrily, but she only blinked, surprised by his outburst, and smiled indulgently, showing him her finger.

"I know, silly. I wouldn't want something like that to hit me in the face." She sneered, raising her eyebrows in amusement, joy in her gaze and embarrassment at the fact that he still hadn't let her go.

She took a step closer to him, but he stepped back quickly and lowered his gaze, he noticed in disbelief that his pale cheeks had turned scarlet.

"Not here. Later." He muttered letting go of her wrist immediately. He heard her quiet sigh of disappointment as she nodded and walked away without another word.

He watched as, a moment later, his nephew cursed under his breath, pulling off his leather gloves and moved after her, grabbing her at one of the side entrances by her arm. She turned to him with a smile as if she was sure he would follow her, her lips placing a quick, brief kiss on his cheek.

He let her go, embarrassed and blushing, looking sideways, muttered something, and she nodded and disappeared behind the walls. His nephew returned to the square as if nothing had happened, a lazy, barely visible smile on his face; Aegon looked at him from afar with a look full of pity, as soon as his younger brother came closer he said loud and clear:

"What a twat you are."

He snarled under his breath as he heard Criston Cole immediately respond to his remark by saying that it was inappropriate for a prince to use such vocabulary, his younger brother only gave him a grim look indicating that he himself was torn internally, ashamed of his weakness.

He thought then, moving ahead, amused, that his brother had inadvertently contributed to something that was certainly not his original plan.

These kids really wanted it.

He felt shame because, looking at them, he wondered how he really felt about his wife. He recognised that she was his companion and lover, whom he respected and cherished, but she was not his friend, he could not allow her into the depths of his heart.

Only when he saw Rheanyra did he feel something more; he had the feeling that the air around them quivered when they spoke, he sensed that she understood perfectly the source and reason of his impulsive nature.

Despite this, he found his life peaceful and prosperous, and the death of his wife in childbirth was something shocking and painful to him. He covered his grief with laughter, the thought that he had wasted years of her life, a wonderful, beautiful woman who deserved someone to love her with all her being, giving her something more than a substitute of affection.

Then, however, his nephew lost an eye and everything fell apart like a house of cards, showing how weak their family actually was.

The events that followed wove together in his mind, the closeness of Rhaenyra and their later nuptials brought him a sense of relief, as if two parts that belonged together had been joined.

He watched her daughter from afar, the sadness and grief painted on her after all still so young and innocent face made her seem to him pale and lifeless, at once beautiful, cool and inaccessible, walking around Dragonstone like a ghost, not speaking to anyone despite how much his daughters tried to get close to her.

She was warm, helpful and welcoming when anyone approached her, but did not raise any discussions herself, eating and drinking little at suppers, immersed in her thoughts.

He knew that she was with them only in body.

He decided not to make the same mistake as with his nephew and offer her his interest, his support in the ironic and mischievous form peculiar to him, the only way in which he could show his affection to anyone.

What surprised him was how much she clung to him, how often she cried during their walks together; despite her innate vulnerability she had a strength of character that he appreciated – she was inclined to rash actions or anger, but she was also not docile or naive, she tried to find order in the chaos that surrounded her.

Only he and his niece had been invited to Aegon's nuptials to Helaena; Alicent had expressed in her letter her concern that the meeting of their children might affect them badly and reawaken old wounds, which his wife took as a reasonable argument, and indeed, albeit reluctantly, it was only the two of them who travelled to the Red Keep.

The whole ceremony in the Great Sept dragged on endlessly for him; he looked around, bored, unwilling to stare at the horrified, sad faces of his nephew and niece, testament to the fact that neither of them wanted this marriage.

The wedding supper held in the fortress was lavish with dancing and music, lords from all over the kingdom descended and gathered in the throne room at large, long oak tables filled to the brim with food. Sitting down in his seat next to his wife, he glanced sideways and noticed a figure looking at him intensely, the One-Eyed Prince staring at him coolly, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief and admiration, finding that he looked like a man, well-built and muscular, tall, his hair much longer, a black eye patch covering the left side of his face.

He grinned with amusement and mockery, wondering to what he owed his attention, and his nephew only hummed under his breath, looking away, apparently discouraged by his reaction.

He wondered, looking at him, taking a sip of wine from his goblet, if he had shown him fatherly concern then, taken him under his wing, separated him from Alicent and Otto, he would be a different man now.

Several toasts were made to the bride and groom, during each of which Aegon drank his cup to the bottom, clearly intent on fulfilling his marital duty completely drunk.

"Stop it. You've had enough." Growled his younger brother, taking his goblet from him with an aggressive flick of his hand, setting it impatiently far from his older brother's reach.

Aegon slapped him angrily on the shoulder, mumbling something under his breath; his younger brother stood up, towering over him, showing him wordlessly that if he touched him again he would regret it.

"Aemond." Said their mother, this green whore, who was looking at them in pain, her hands folded in front of her as if to pray.

His nephew rolled his eyes and left the hall by a side entrance, furious, unwilling and unable to look at it apparently; Aegon with a wide grin reached for his cup again and to his despair took the empty seat next to him that had been occupied earlier by his wife, now conversing with the King.

"Uncle! So many years." He mumbled, tapping him on the back in a friendly, masculine greeting. He rolled his eyes, amused, smelling the stench of alcohol and sweat from him.

"As you can see, everything stays in the family. I don't know how I'm going to survive this. After all, she'll surely cry. Fuck." He muttered, taking a deep, catchy sip from his cup, tilting it so that he drank it all at once.

He ran his tongue over his lower lip, feeling discomfort at the thought that he felt compassion for Helaena for what was about to happen to her.

He glanced at her sad, petite figure; she sat gazing off into the distance somewhere, dreamy.

He wondered as he watched her if she realised what awaited her.

"She doesn't seem to fully understand what I will have to do to her. After all, she's my sister. I don't want to hurt her. She's odd and I don't understand her, but I don't want her to fucking cry." He mumbled out covering his face with his hand, his voice breaking with his every word – he drew in air loudly as if he was out of breath, and he looked at him not knowing what to do.

What was he supposed to answer him?

"Be gentle and kind. Make her feel as little pain as possible. You know very well that how it will look lies in your hands. If you want her to suffer as little as possible, stop drinking because it will take you a fucking hour." He growled, taking the cup from his hand just as his younger brother had earlier, and wondered if that was what he meant then, if he knew his condition would only worsen whatever was to await them next.

"You pity yourself and you smell of alcohol and sweat. Go take a bath or do you want to lay on her like that? Give her some dignity for goodness sake." He said coolly, looking ahead indifferently; his nephew swallowed loudly, sitting beside him like a little rebuked child, playing with his fingers.

He wondered, looking at him out of the corner of his eye if his brother had ever spoken to him about it, if he had prepared him and explained to him how he should behave.

"All my life I've envied him. My brother. He had someone of his own who cared about him. I think he really loved her, uncle. Now I barely recognise anyone myself. I'm not sure any of us are the same person anymore. Only Helaena has remained the same − innocent and ignorant. That's because she doesn't step outside her mind. If she did, she would have gone mad like we did."

It turned out that he was partly right.

What he didn't expect was that when they arrived all together as a family after several years in King's Landing to defend Luke's rights to inherit the Driftmark these two would be lying in bed with each other on their very first night.

"If you tell me you still want to marry him, I will help you. I'd rather you be his wife than lead you and him into a scandal that could destroy your mother. Your betrothal has never been called off, the king will easily prove that no other plans for you can be in force against his decision. But if you decide not to, I will personally see to it that you never see him again and that no letter of yours leaves Dragonstone. Make a manly, mature decision with all its consequences, and stop wallowing over yourself."

He told her then, wanting her to understand that they could not stand in the middle, that they had to choose, or their decisions would drag them all down.

Watching them in the throne room audience, however, the greedy, desperate gaze of his nephew fixed on her as if he wanted to devour her gave him no illusions.

What this boy was telling himself was one thing, but what he was feeling was another.

It was this thought that made him decide to question Alicent's decision in front of everyone, wanting to hear his brother's opinion on the matter, the only one that really counted. He had expected nothing but objections from both sides, however, against the desperate attempts of their mothers, his nephew and his niece's daughter made a decision that did not surprise him at all.

It was enough for her to get up from her seat and walk out to make him press his lips together in rage and follow her out, exactly as he had done then, in the courtyard, when he had thrown himself after her, and she knew perfectly well that he would do so, knowing his nature.

He wondered if she had kissed him this time too, if the tension between them had eased.

He thought that this marriage might actually calm the emotions a little, especially as his brother was over his deathbed.

This union was forcing both parties to be cautious, which could be mutually beneficial.

"She has decided that she wants to stay in the Red Keep until I return." His wife said to him, putting her black leather gloves on her hands, walking beside him towards the dragon's lair. He stopped, looking at her in disbelief, furious.

This was not the plan.

"What?" He growled, looking at her as if she had completely lost her mind. "You're leaving my daughter in the care of that whore and her father-traitor?"

He saw that she smiled at his words emphasising that in his eyes she was his child, that he had taken responsibility for her and protected her as any true father should.

"She asked me to do this. I imagine they both want to clarify a lot of things with each other. Since the nuptials are to take place as soon as possible there is no need to fret, I will personally take her back in a few days." She replied calmly, and he let out a loud breath, impatiently licking his lips.

It was a bad idea, he could feel it in his bones, but he didn't protest and that was his mistake.

The next day he lost two of his daughters.

Rhaenyra, his brother's heir to the throne fell with a groan when envoys reported to her that her father was dead, that her brother had been crowned king, that they had imprisoned their daughter.

She cried out loudly in pain, clutching at her womb; at first he thought it was despair, but then he saw the pool of blood beneath her feet, her terrified gaze, her lips parted in agony.

They both knew it was too soon.

Their daughter already looked like a tiny infant, but sadly her fate was sealed; she wasn't moving or breathing, she was cold, looking more like a doll than a human being.

He felt that he had to leave the fortress; he followed exactly where he always went out with her, with one of his daughters, to the sea itself, and he fell to his knees, breathing heavily, not knowing what he was supposed to do with the rage and chaos that overtook his mind.

He wanted to mount Caraxes and burn them all.

However, his cousin and daughters had cooled his ardour, recognising that they needed to prepare, gather an army, make a plan of action.

He recognised that it was only female sentiment, a weakness that kept them from making the risky decision that his whole life consisted of.

When his wife finally recovered from her brief mourning, despite his entreaties, she did not listen to him and decided to send her sons as her representatives, wanting to extract the pledge of allegiance from those who had paid her tribute many years ago.

He had thought it nonsensical, however, when Luke returned from Storm's End it turned out that his step son had been a naive idiot.

"You flew after him? You flew after him knowing he could imprison you, use you as your mother's weakness? Fucking fool." He growled, turning away from the table with fury, massaging his face with his palm, not believing he could have done such a thing.

"Daemon." Said Rhaenyra in a voice trembling with despair; she looked at her son, trying to calm herself. "What happened next?"

"He brought her. Someone hit her, mother, and I think she tried to take her own life. There were cut marks on her wrists." He muttered, forcing himself into a calm tone of voice.

He turned towards him, looking at him with his heart beating fast.

She had done this for them, so they could attack the Red Keep without fear.

She wanted to make a manly decision, to sacrifice herself, his brave daughter, his little dragon.

"Gods." Said his wife, clutching at her womb, apparently involuntarily recalling the moments when she had carried her under her heart, the maternal tears of pain in her eyes.

"And then?" He finished for her, seeing that she didn't have the strength to get anything else out, Luke swallowed hard, afraid to look at him.

"I told her to run away with me, but she didn't agree. She told me to tell you that she loves you and that she remains faithful to you, mother." Said with difficulty, Jace slammed his fist on the table, furious.

"That fucking bastard purposely made her stay. He planned this, he never had any intention of marrying her!" He said red with anger and he glanced at him indifferently, sighing heavily.

"And then what? He let you just walk away? No one else saw you?" He asked further, pretending not to have heard his outburst; Jace pressed his lips together, furious. Luke shook his head quickly.

"N-no, I was surprised, but no. Forgive me, I had to see her, make sure that she is still alive." He muttered, and he sighed heavily, placing both of his hands on the table, leaning over it, and closed his eyes, trying to focus.

He let her see him without any other witnesses and then let him go even though he hated him, even though he could have trapped and humiliated him.

Why?

A memory flashed through his mind, the way his nephew cursed as he fought with himself to finally run after her, her smile full of reassurance as she turned to him knowing he would follow her, his blush of embarrassment and lazy smile as her lips placed a soft, warm kiss on his cheek, her proof of her devotion and affection that he craved so much.

He had never stopped loving her.

This stone-cold, dangerous man had done something for her, surely after she had tried to take her own life.

"Bring me a parchment and a quill. I need to speak with my nephew."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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[animeyanderelover]

Tsukinami brothers and Cordelia Sakamaki fell in love with a human maid girl. ♥

I love your blog and youu <3

Let's be real, none of them would make good lovers.

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, power imbalance, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional thoughts, abuse, clinginess, mocking, humiliation, bullying, sadism, isolation, abduction

Human maid

Cordelia Sakamaki

🟣​As the only human in the Sakamaki estate, you have hell waiting for you since you're constantly either bullied, ignored or disrespected. Even some of the children there treat you rudely but you can't do anything against it. Cordelia is by far the scariest of all of them though as you notice that even the other vampire mothers are afraid of her. You fully understand why as you have been the one to receive her wrath and discontent. So you learn to keep your head low, never speak up against her and silently take everything if she lashes out on you. You make it your job to observe her and know what she wants without realizing that it is this very submissive dedication that manages to catch her eyes. It's been a while since she has had someone paying that much attention to her and listening to her every demand as at one point you can tell what she wants from you without actually having to talk to you. She still sees you as a pathetic, little thing but your effort to please her flatters her as you slowly upgrade to her pathetic yet adorable thing.

🟣​And just like that you become her own personal maid who she expects to cater to her every need. Bellatrix and Christa start avoiding you out of fear to be bullied by Cordelia and if you even do as much as offer anyone else in the mansion your service, Cordelia punishes you. She's verbally and physically very abusive if you shouldn't act like she wants you to. You have scars and bruises all over your skin on such days, dizzy from the amount of blood she consumed painfully from you. She always says cruelly in such moments that you should be glad that she even pays attention to you at all and could easily kill you if she wanted to. Behave! Behave like a mellow and obedient doll and you won't get the worst of her. Follow her always around with your head bowed, only listen to her and she'll be a bit better. Sit perfectly still when she dolls you up with dresses, make-up and jewels as she tells you in a sweeter tone that you need to look presentable when you are with her and don't flinch when her fingers caress the lines of your face gently. Be perfect for her.

Carla Tsukinami

🔮​Carla barely acknowledges you at first but you prefer that over Shin's taunting behavior. As long as you do your job, Carla doesn't care for your presence a lot. You don't even know what it is that eventually causes his golden eyes to be more drawn to you yet you notice it almost instantly. How his piercing orbs scrutinize your every move all of a sudden as you act as submissive and loyal as you are supposed to as a maid. It scares you but when he one day saves you from Shin who was just about to suck your blood again, you're too grateful to think much about it at first. From that day on he lets you spend a lot more time with him in his office where Shin isn't really allowed. He graciously takes care of your wounds as he bandages them and rubs ointment on all scars and open wounds. You're still grateful and thank him multiple times for his kindness to help you, although when you look up you can't help but shiver whilst looking into his eyes who seemingly drill into your soul as he takes in your form, your scent, those innocent and anxious eyes looking into his own.

🔮​Suddenly you aren't allowed to leave his chambers anymore and whilst you initially assume that he just doesn't want you to run into Shin again, the possessive and hungry light in his eyes tells you another story. His presence all of a sudden dangerous and suffocating as he tells you once to head back into his room and you do as he tells you, your body so terrified that it's moving on his own. You are safe from Shin from now on but you have gone from one hell into another hell as you soon come to realize. You're punished for the slightest sign of disrespect as Carla doesn't tolerate any sign of rebellious attitude and so you spend days without food and water in a cold cell, chained to the wall and at the mercy of whatever Carla has in store for you. It's such a stark contrast to when you're instead cuddled up in his arms in his private chambers and he shares his knowledge of the world in a low tone with you. You fear the Carla who hurts you and acts so coldly towards you and do your best to please him so that you only see the gentler side of him. Slowly but surely, you break for him. And that is exactly Carla's plan.

Shin Tsukinami

🐺​Shin makes his disrespect for you blatant as he sees you as little more than a plaything when you first arrive. You're a human after all, know your place. He doesn't let you do your tasks properly as he ruins your work for you. He pushes you around, bullies you, abuses you sexually, scares you and gives you a bright grin when he sees you breaking down in tears before he suddenly grabs your arm and yanks you up, demanding you to clean the mess he just created and prepare something for him. There is never a day where he doesn't give you a break as he is delighted to see your tears, although he also appreciates a bit of sass since it'll make it only more amusing to break you. He is a living nightmare and it is highly likely that you won't even notice that he has developed something for you because he acts exactly the same. He still sees you as a lesser being and you always will be. In fact he seems to be even more persistent now and you initially assume he just wants to torment you more.

🐺​Until one day, he stops. He stops abusing you as badly. Sure, he is still acting like the worst dick you've ever met but there isn't as much abuse anymore. Instead he's clingy and whiny as he yanks you away from your tasks and insists that you spend more time with him. Then the next morning, he's acting like you expect him to act. He suddenly switches back and forth between clingy and entitled to sadistic and psychopathic. You can not predict him anymore as he can seemingly switch from one mood to another within a single second and it makes you paranoid beyond belief. He's unpredictable so you can't even adapt your behavior in hopes of never eliciting his bad side out of him because your own behavior never dictates his actions. It's his own mood and what he is feeling at the moment and you can not influence that. You are adorable like this though as you constantly walk on eggshells around him. You flinch when he wraps his arms around you from behind, his hot breath fanning your neck as you can only wait if he'll bite you painfully or instead just place a kiss on your neck.

[justanothersanjilover]

So I got this idea about a Zosan Soulmate AU and just had to write a little bit about it. I don't know how fast I can update this, but its a start and I’m going to keep writing it 😊

My Name on your tongue

Part 1

Paring: Zosan (maybe Sanzo, too)

Soulmate AU

Triggers: Child abuse, swear words, death

Six years old

“In our world, you get something very special when you turn 18. You get to summon a familiar - an animal, mythical or natural - that will be your companion throughout your whole life. The animal you summon is based on what you need in life and what fits you. No one knows who’s assigning the animal to you, but it always fits.

Now, if you are very passionate and loving toward your familiar and it returns that feeling, there is a chance that it will turn into a human and become your soulmate. But this only happens when there exists such a strong bond that both of you would endure the greatest pain imaginable for the other. The bond has to be so strong that you’d die for each other.

Most people don't put in the effort because why go to that length for an animal? Also, there is no greater need to be with your soulmate unless your familiar turns into it. You can perfectly live without ever getting your soulmate.”

“Is father your soulmate?” Sanji wanted to know, looking up at his mum.

Sora shook her head, her expression somewhat painful, but her son didn't pick up on that fact.

“But…you don't have a familiar around.”

“I know,” Sora swallowed drily. “She…she died. She wanted to protect me and got badly injured. I couldn't help her.”

Sanji looked shocked at her.

“I’m sorry…”

He snuggled against his mother to comfort her. She smiled sadly and brushed a hand through his blond hair.

“When you get your familiar, make sure to protect them. It’s a really bad feeling to lose them forever.”

“I promise. And I will love them so much! I can't wait to meet them!”

Sanji was so different from his siblings, and Sora was thankful for that, but she knew that he would have it worse than them. While pregnant with him and his three brothers, her husband genetically modified them - against Sora’s will. He made them stronger, more durable - as he called it - faster and better in anything. He got rid of their emotions and made sure they would become his best soldiers. In doing this, he also hoped to influence the familiar they’d get. He wanted them to have big, brutal animals - monsters to make their enemies shake in fear. Sora had watched him silently get rid of the emotions and feelings of their oldest child, their daughter Rejiu. He somehow managed to manipulate her into an obedient, emotionless kid, strong and fast, and an expert in poisons despite her young age. She was his first perfect soldier.

But Sora wasn't standing by as he tried to corrupt her other children! So, after learning about Judges doing, Sora took a poison to destroy the modifications. Unfortunately, it only worked on Sanji. On the one hand, she was happy for him; on the other, she was sad and devastated. Sanji would never have any worth for his father; he’d always be the failure, and she was the reason why.

Although Sanji always smiled when he came to visit, she saw the bruises and cuts. She saw the pain behind his young eyes. She knew what his siblings and father were doing to him, and she could do nothing to stop them. So she always tried to give him the best times when he came to visit her. Unfortunately, the poison she took destroyed her body and made her bedbound.

Hugging Sanji tightly, she did her best not to start to cry. She knew that her days were counted…and it would be the end of the night when she would leave Sanji behind to deal with everything all by himself. The only ray of light was that at least on his eighteenth birthday, he would get a familiar that surely would protect him. That was why she told him all about familiars! She wanted him to know as much as possible, as much as humanity found out about them. Sanji sucked everything up like a sponge!

The only thing she wasn't allowed to tell him was how to summon his familiar. Because if a familiar was summoned before the eighteenth birthday, there were terrible side effects. Sometimes, the familiar wasn't fully developed….like the child. Other times, the child couldn't hold the image of the familiar (which was important), and it would turn out deformed. And then there were times when the familiar was an adult and got really protective and possessive of the child - sometimes so much it had to be put down because no one could touch the child without getting attacked, even when the kid was hurt, starving or anything else putting its life in danger. So she wouldn't tell Sanji - even if a protective familiar wouldn't be the worst…she wanted them to have a chance at getting real friends, and Sora hoped Sanji would be allowed to find his soulmate. She hoped he could experience this purest kind of love in the world.

“You need to go,” Sora mumbled into Sanji’s hair. “It’s past visiting time.”

“I don't want to…”

“I know, love. I know. But your father will get mad if you stay, and you know that.”

Sanji nodded, suppressing sobs, as he pulled away from his mother. He lifted his head and smiled at her.

“I’ll come again tomorrow.”

“Yeah, do that. I can't wait to see you again, my little angel.”

Sora hugged him tight and placed a kiss on top of his head. Why should she tell him that she wouldn't be there in the morning? It would only upset him and make him sad and guilty. She felt her spirits leave her body slowly but surely. At the end of the night, she’d be dead, and Sanji would be alone. Before she let him go, she brushed a hand through his hair and made him look up into her eyes.

“Remember that I will always love you, my little sunshine. Regardless of what will happen in your future. I’ll love you every day of your life and after it.”

Sanji looked a bit confused, but as soon as Sora smiled, he smiled back, placed a quick, wet kiss on her cheek and ran out - so his father wouldn't punish him.

~

“Useless!”

“I’m trying…” Sanji sobbed, holding the side of his face - it pulsed with pain, and he was sure his lip was bleeding.

“That's the point!” His father yelled. “You are trying! You shouldn't have to try! You should be able just to do it!”

“But I…” another blow, and Sanji flew backward against a pillar of the training room - he groaned in pain when he hit the stone with full force.

“You are weak! A false experiment! A fucking failure! I should just get rid of you!”

Judge was towering over his son like death himself. And Sanji couldn't do anything different than feel fear and hurt and disgust at his own body. The poison from his father's lips seeped into his mind and planted a dangerous seed. He cried when Judge grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and held him up to his face.

“And that's why you don't have a familiar. You will never get one! Never! I took that ability from you because it would be as weak as you are, and I don't have use for two failures in my kingdom!”

Sanji sobbed uncontrollably. Ever since he asked his father about his own familiar - which was a big, dragon-like creature always lurking behind his throne - he left no chance unused to point out that Sanji would never have one. Sanji didn't understand why he would rip this opportunity from him, why he was such a mistake in his father's eyes. Just because he wasn't as strong as his siblings? Because his skin started to bleed when cut or punched hard enough? Because he cried when he got hurt?

“Get out of my sight before I start losing my temper,” Judge growled and tossed him aside like a back of garbage.

Sanji scrambled to his feet and ran from the training room, hoping his brothers wouldn't wait outside like they did most of the time. His hopes crashed when he closed the door, and laughter sounded behind him.

“Look at that,” Yonji said.

“The weakling is back out,” Ichiji grinned.

“Seems like he still can't handle a punch,” Niji snickered.

His brothers gathered around him, laughing and pointing at him. Sanji felt tears in his eyes but tried to swallow them. He hated to cry in front of his brothers, just as much as he hated to do so in front of his father. His eyes searched for pink hair, and surely, he found his sister, standing in the background but grinning as evil as the rest of them.

“Leave me alone,” he sobbed - knowing very well it would turn in the opposite of what he wanted…but he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.

“What?”

“We couldn’t hear you over all your whining.”

“I think he said we should show him how to fight.”

And a blink of an eye later, he crashed against the wall and slid down to the floor. Lying there, he curled up into a ball to at least try and shield his stomach and face from the kicks and blows that rained down on him like a hailstorm.

In the end, he was beaten bloody, and they left him where he was lying. His eyes stared into nothingness while his tears mixed with the blood and formed little puddles on the floor.

Hours later, he was able to drag himself to his bedroom. Curling up in his bed, Sanji felt tears in his eyes again.

“Why?” He cried into his pillow. “Why am I not like them? Why do I have to be this way?”

He knew why, his mother had told him, but still…There were moments when he hated his emotions, and he would give them up just to see the same smile on his father's face, pointed at him like he was giving his siblings.

He was worthless, and that's also why he would never have a familiar, which made him cry even more. Since his mother died two months ago, he always comforted himself with the knowledge that he’d get a chance to meet his soulmate. But because he was weak, because of his emotions, Judge took this ability, this gift from him. The first time he mentioned it to Sanji, his whole world was shattered. He didn't even feel the hits his father was dealing. He was numb…almost lifeless. The only thing he was looking forward to - the only thing that made his little heart and mind strong enough to survive and not give up - was the reassuring thought of meeting his familiar.

After his breakdown, he thought maybe, if he got better, if he could prove to his father that he was worth keeping around…maybe he would give him the ability to get his familiar back.

“I have to…get stronger…” Sanji sobbed while drifting to sleep.

All he wanted was to be loved and be part of this family…

[deadkraker]

ok had a reblog that awoke the cTommy demons in me so let me just rant for a second about my very specific flavour of cTommy I've made up ok? ok.

you know how like there's stories of kids surviving in the woods by themselves and living among animals? well my ctom is that but with a twist basically.

he spent about his all his early childhood (1 to a 8 year old) in the woods, alone, and like, he was living his best life honestly, I think that he'd sometimes spy on some village kids on the edges of the village but otherwise he was totally content to just frolic in the woods and eat bugs n shit.

but then cwil found him and was like 'oh no whats this child doing running around covered in mud living in a forest' and just kinda picked him by his scruff and carried him home, not really understanding that the kid he just picked up might not be a human child that needed that sort of assistance, all children bite right? like it's totally normal for them to claw at the walls of the home, begging to be released back to the wild for the first week they're inside a home? yeah. and the shiny eyes and claws are just quirks he's sure. this child is perfectly normal and meant to live among humans.

after a while tommy kinda warmed up to wil even when he didn't really understand why he had to do a lot of things, why on earth were shoes necessary anyways? the shirts and trousers he got, they were soft and made him warm in chilly night but god, shoes were his worst enemy. and wil would also develop a fondness for him, and after that they kinda began traveling together.

wil mostly saw tommy's habits as just little odd quirks, and unless it intervened with thing he deemed important he let the boy be.

but then the wars happened and wil became very strict on how tommy should act, how he made the state look bad by climbing trees and walking around barefoot getting his uniform all dirty and untidy, and tommy you have to wear the tie, don't you care what they will think of us if my right hand man won't even dress properly?

and despite all the efforts he made to understand why the things that his brother- no, his general said were important and should matter, the uniforms made his skin itch and the long depatings and peace negotiations made him miss the vague memories of the days where all he had to be was himself in the forest. at least he had tubbo, he'd never leave him.

woops, wil dies, other shit happens, tubbo becomes the president and then exiles him, leaving him, cdream's abuse makes him both regress and progress with his masking, he's never been so much of a starved animal and a obedient follower as he was now, a wild thing kicked and tortured until any form of affection got his complete trust. only for it to be blown up like everything else.

he escapes, finds a safe place, get betrayed, flees again, holes up away from everyone else, because apparently this people thing that everyone seemed to be so in on just wasn't his thing.

some people offer to try and help him, and he accepts. once again.

they say he needs closure, which sure, he'll get closure, dream's in prison now right? it'll be safe right?

one cracked skull and revival and he's proven wrong.

but is it just me or is he kinda..odd now? a boy that once couldn't stand still to save his life, now just watched in the background, with those creepy dead eyes that were nowadays covered by those bangs of his. he seemed more like a ghost than ghostbur ever was.

he just wanders around in the woods, and the claws that had been clipped short by wil now were untrimmed, I swear I saw him hunt a bunny and kill it with his hands alone one time!

he doesn't really talk to people like he used to, mostly he sticks to chatting with tubbo and cranboo, cphil's tried to talk to him, tried to apologize for how things turned out..but he doesn't really get anything back from tommy. he seems more busy with collecting bugs and skinning small rodents for their skulls to try and unpack years worth of complicated feelings towards everyone in his life, maybe things would've been better if he'd stayed in that forest of his, at least he sometimes wishes so.

[valdiis]

FFXIV Site Write #6: Halcyon

(One of the few times I do not plan on actually fitting the word into the writing. Enjoy some halcyon times.)

"Papa! Look!" An eight-year-old boy ran up the creek to his father, who was vigilantly watching his two boys - eight and four - play in the shallow water. Vy'montain (Monty to his wife) was happy to let the children work out some of their restless energy. He wasn't entirely content to leave his very pregnant wife alone for long, but she had insisted he take the bored children out to play before she went crazy.

Little Vy'thanis splashed to a stop in front of his father and held his hand out proudly. "I found a rock!" he declared.

"A rock?" Papa asked. "Is it a special rock?" By the time Vy'thanis was five, he'd begun to display an unusual affinity for rocks. He claimed they sang to him. He would unerringly bring precious stones home and Vy'montain couldn't say the rocks - which were usually sold at the nearest village - hadn't helped the family stay fed.

"It's special, but it's for you," his son proclaimed. "Hold out your hand."

Obediently, Papa did so. The little boy placed a rounded river rock into his palm. It fit perfectly, just the right size for holding when he needed some extra grounding and a reminder of his son's love. His eyes prickled a little. "What a lovely gift, Vyth," he said, managing to keep his voice steady.

Vy'thanis beamed proudly. "I made it just right!"

Vy'montain paused. "You...made...it?"

"Mmhm!" His son held up his hands as if cupping a stone and ran one over top the other. "It wasn't quite smooth enough, so I fixed it. It wanted to be that shape."

This was new. Papa eyed his son for a moment before pocketing the special rock. "Can you show me?" he asked.

"Sure!" Vy'thanis bent his head and searched around in the water until he found a small pebble. "Nuri and me like marbles, right? So watch this! This one needs to be a marble."

He didn't bother correcting his son's grammar as he watched the child run his fingertips over the pebble. Little chips fell away into the creek water as if Vyth was peeling it like an orange. Within moments, the irregularly shaped pebble was perfectly rounded and smooth, a fine marble. His breath caught. "Vyth, my boy," he said gently, "you need to keep this talent between us, alright? The Wailers would use you for ill if they knew about it."

The Wailers were quite rightfully the children's boogeymen and Vyth's teal eyes grew wide. He nodded solemnly. "Can Nurimont and Mama know?"

"Yes, the family can know," Papa said. "But keep it safe and secret."

"Okay!" Vy'thanis nodded again. There was a loud splash from about fifteen fulms off and the little boy turned at the same time his father's eyes shot to the sound.

His other son, four-year-old Nurimont was sitting in the water, face screwed up as he visibly fought back a wail. Even at four, he'd learned the valuable lesson that one did not make loud noises in the Shroud. It could bring the Wailers around.

Father and elder son both rushed to the little one's side. Vy'thanis crouched down and reached a hand out. "Did you fall?" Nuri nodded. "Take a deep breath then. That's it. Now let it out slowly. Good! Do you hurt?" Nuri nodded again, his blue eyes watering. The elder brother placed his outstretched hand on Nuri's shoulder. "Here. I can carry you home if you want."

"Can walk," the littlest said.

"Okay," Vyth responded. "Let's get you home. We're both wet."

Vy'montain chuckled. "That you are. We need to check on Mama anyway. You can play marbles in the yard for a bit." He smiled as Nurimont pushed himself to his feet and reached for Vyth's hand. The two boys joined him as they walked the quarter-malm back to their ramshackle house deep in the Shroud woods.

[ramskay]

The story of the Winchesters' little sister.

Dean and Sam's childhood is killing me.

Mary Winchester, daughter of John Winchester.

On August 12, 1984, just a year after his mother's death, he brought her with him. He left a small bundle on the bed at another motel and just left. This unidentified object was making sounds that Sammy had once made. Now another child has fallen into the arms of a five-year-old child. She was sweet and small, just a baby. She had the same green eyes as Dean. He was just waiting for his father to come and explain everything. All night he wondered who she was, whose she was, where she came from, who her mother was. The child was crying for attention, but Dean wanted to, but couldn't. Sam was sleeping on the couch, how could he not hear that crying?

It's already five o'clock in the morning, and my father is still not here. Dean needs to get up because Sam is going to wake up soon and he needs to be fed. The bundle, somehow tensely silent, no longer cried. Sam obediently ate his cereal with milk, and Dean just watched. The tension felt too much.

— This is your sister and now, Dean, you have to take care. I'm going away for a week, do you understand? Mary and Sam are your responsibility, if something happens to them, you will be responsible.

Sister, but how, why? Mom died, how could she be born then. Why did he call her Mary? Just like Mom.

— I can't hear, do you understand me?

— Yeah, I get you.

Turning around, the father went to the small package and opened it. She was wearing nothing but a diaper, which was obviously full.

It was only now that Dean noticed the grocery bag his father had brought.

— Get out and bring me a diaper.

He's like a good boy, of course, he'll bring it.

And her father will change her diaper. He has a sister, he perfectly remembered how his brother asked his parents to play with him.

She is very small and defenseless, like Sammy, and he has to protect them, because he is older and stronger.

He promised himself that he would never leave them and would always protect them.

Four years later.

Dean is already an adult, he is nine years old, he has even already gone to school in the town where their father left them. Sam is five years old and he just loves reading books, which Dean considers too boring.

Mary is four years old and she remains just as small and defenseless. He is afraid of bed monsters or big dogs. While Dean is at school, which he clearly does not like, but what can be done to study. The younger ones are sitting at home, completely alone. It breaks his heart, but what if Mary drops something on herself or gets burned? Will Sam fall and hit himself or get stuck somewhere? This is clearly not something a child should think about as a child.

There's not much left until the end of the lesson, a little more and he'll look for home. To his sister, to his brother, who are looking forward to him. But before that, he needs to get money for food somewhere. The father is once again delayed for another week, and the money he left will not be enough. He was already trying to eat less so that Sam and Mary wouldn't be hungry.

So he started stealing a little, he just had to feed himself and the younger ones somehow. People probably won't get poorer from this. Of course, he didn't steal from old ladies, but he stole from the store. I came in after school, quietly took all sorts of bars, just to please them. Sometimes he took money. He knew it wasn't right, but they had to survive somehow.

***

Another cold night in

a motel was no longer surprising. There were only two beds in the room, Sam and Mary sleeping on one and Dean on the other. There was a heavy downpour outside the window, you could even hear thunderclaps. An even more childish voice attracted the children's attention.

— Dean, I'm scared.

Mary rubbed her sleepy eyes while trying not to cry from another lightning strike. He looked at his sister expectantly, not knowing how to help her. Sam was never afraid.

— And what do you want from me?

— Can I sleep with you?

Now she was looking at him with an expectant look. Dean weighed the decision, because as his father said, they are no longer small and should sleep separately. But she was scared, and he had to protect her.

— Okay, lie down.

Squealing happily, just like a kitten. Mary climbed into Dean's warm bed. Hugging him with her small arms, comfortably laying down on the pillow.

It was then that something clicked in his nine-year-old heart and he felt somehow strange, but at the same time fine. He couldn't explain what was happening to him, but he liked it. It was the first time he had a good night's sleep, the first time he had had a good night's sleep.

[mamuzzy-creates-stuff]

@trudemaethien Exactly!!! You understand me.

I love Prudii being the eldest of them, but Ordo is the bravest, most responsible and most protective, that's how he ended up as the leader so early and then later the Ori'vod.

There is so little information about Prudii so creating a personality for him is quite challenging, but I tried it anyway based on the books and Odds, sprinkled it (the lid fall off so the whole thing poured into the pot) with my HCs :))) Also a little bit about the Alpha ARCs too.

Under the cut, there is an OrdoMaze mention, skip this post if you don't want cloneship!

-- NOT AN ORI'VOD -- Being an Ori'vod among the clones was more earned by deeds and based on behavior than being born into the role. You just know if someone is an Ori'vod. Prudii is not one. He is the most patient one compared to his Null-brothers, but that means he takes time to step back and analize situations before making decisions and this often left him stay behind, never in the spotlight.

-- HE IS SHY WHEN IT COMES TO AFFECTION -- That's why he is also the shyest when it comes to affection. While he is perfectly aware he is damn good at what he does, and confident in his abilities, he won't assert himself to be the first in line when wanting affection and kind words from Kal'buir, but when he gets the attention he secretly craves, he is the happiest man alive.

-- HE LOVES HIS CLONE BROTHERS -- The sentiment of loving all his brothers (even the Alphas!) came so much later after the end of their cadet years and a direct consequence of the Battle of Genonosis.

++ PRUDII SAW THE ALPHAS' HIDDEN DEPTH ++ It's really inconsistent and depending on continuity whether all the Alphas were put in stasis or just the few of them, but in my wordbuilding they were all locked up. Prudii will never forget those microreactions on their faces: the Alpha ARCs were told they are insufficent, they are too independent - they are defective and cannot be trusted to serve the Republic. Their pride was hurt. Their hard work meant nothing after all. It almost broke them. Almost.

++ NULL vs. ALPHA CONFLICT ++ Kaminoans had irrational expectations for them, comparing them to the Nulls was considered the absolute insult but also a great motivator: they will be everything the Nulls couldn't be.

The Nulls didn't give a shit about being better than the Alphas, they KNEW they are better than the Alphas, it was that simple. It was even simpler: "Nyenyenyeeehhhh, Kal'buir said we are the most perfect verd'ike in the whole universe, you can't compete with us, nyenyenyeeehhhhh!!!!"

The Alphas proved to be loyal, obedient and dutiful, but despite their efforts, they were just as diposable as the Nulls in the end.

The Alphas never forgave the Nulls for participating in the Battle of Geonosis while they were held in stasis. And when the same fate threatened Nulls as well and Kal was there the second time to save their lives, Prudii realized that no one was there for the Alphas. Jango Fett never returned after all. It took a direct attack on Kamino to release them from their sleep. (do clones in stasis have dreams and nightmares? :(((()

The others are teasing Prudii for being sentimental about the Alphas, calling them brothers, but Prudii still thinks that Nulls and Alphas are just the same. Failed products.

-- PRUDII IS A LITTLE SHIT -- Prudii doesn't take part in the constant cockmeasuring between the Nulls and Alphas, but he actually finds funny how their brain freezes when he says something nice to them, so instead name callings, he affectionately start to tease them.

-- KNOWER OF SECRET LOVE -- -- Prudii is the only one who doesn't freak out when Ordo reveal his boyfriend one day: Maze. Ordo sulks a bit because of course Prudii knows it before he tells him, but since then Prudii is his confidant in this matter.

-- HE NEEDS A MORAL COMPASS OTHERWISE HE IS EMPTY -- -- Prudii is very much aware that he is not alright in the head. His coping mechanism is deliberately choosing a moral compass beside the way of the mandalorian: His undying love for all of his clone brothers and placing their lives above everyone else. But showing his care and actually feeling this love is not the same for him. Even when he feels disconnected from his own self and body, remembering his own code of morality helps him to stay in the right path when he feels nothing at all. --

-- HE HATES NATBORNS -- -- But the same sentiment didn't include natborns (Kal'buir is an exception obviously). For all he cares, they could all die miserably. He was the least accepting about Jusik being a part of their little family. If I want to use canon ships, then he had hard time to adjusting that there are natborns living with them at Kyrimorut, including his brothers' wives. (the hate toward natborns actually affects his sexual preferences too but that maybe in another post :D)

-- HIDDEN AGGRESSION -- -- I think there is so little about the actual crazyness of the Nulls, so I took the opportunity to fill this gap too. He is not as hot-headed as his brothers, but occassionally snaps to clones rather agressively who don't respect his wish to not be called lieutenant after repeated asking. "DON'T CALL ME LIKE THAT, I TOLD YOU I HATE IT!!!" A friendly gathering with the regs quickly can become cold and awkward after such outburst. He immediately feels shame and regret after that.

I hope you enjoyed my blurb about Prudii. ^^ Nulls deserve more attention and love.

[user-needs-new-hyperfixation]

Did I literally click the "follow" button instead of the "ask" button and then have to quickly follow you again because of that? yes.

oops.

👉👈Do you have any super awesome Louis headcanons that are burning on your chest?

Ahahahaha better than all the times I've accidentally followed pornbots for two seconds while scrambling to block them 😂😂

Louis headcanons!

I think it's kind of a fandom headcanon in general/arguably just canon, but I see him as by far the least suicidal and the closest to mentally healthy of the brothers. He's still got issues though.

While I don't object to seeing him other ways (you know I very much enjoy your Sherlouis fic) in my own fics and headcanons he's always entirely aroace. I really like the idea that he is entirely fulfilled by the relationships he has with his friends and family, and they all love him back so much, and he just doesn't need or want anything else.

He just...he's just really awesome. I know I'm a broken record about this, but I think he is THE natural leader of the three. I think he is strong and smart and brave and practical and inspires loyalty and fits perfectly into his position as M. I think he knows when to challenge Mycroft and when to obey him: and I think he knows when he needs to let his own subordinates challenge him and when he needs to insist on simple obedience. I think that balance allows him to ensure the absolute best outcomes on all missions, to make sure everyone is as safe as they can possibly be.

Similar note, I firmly headcanon that he and Mycroft became friends during the timeskip. I think they bonded over quiet grief, but also that they are just similar enough to get along. I think they sometimes just hang out reading in the Diogenes Club together. Louis lowkey ships MycAl, because if he has to get the annoying Holmes as a brother-in-law he might as well get the cool one too.

I don't think he's inherently as neat a person as he might seem. I think he's thoughtful of Albert's needs when he's around, and that like Liam, he hasn't given much thought to his own likes and dislikes pre-timeskip, as his thoughts about his barren room at the start of The Remains suggest. He's also managing basically a pack of overgrown toddlers, so he has to be really tidy just to keep up. But I like to think his own space, once he's invested in living and when he doesn't feel it will unsettle his brothers, has a cozy lived-in clutter to it. Not dirty, just...comfortable.

Post-timeskip he secretly actually kind of likes Sherlock but shhh don't tell anybody about it.

I think he and John will get along really well if they get to know each other.

I also think he and Billy will get along really well when they get to know each other, though I think it might kinda surprise them both!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Mind Control

Let's kick the darker part of December off with Námo having an idea, Irmo enabling his brother, and Fëanor having a very bad time because of it...

Please be advised that this story, as all stories, are on the fringe of consent and good taste at times.

Please proceed warily! Take care of yourselves, loves!

Prompt: Mind Control

Characters: Námo, Irmo, Fëanor x Nerdanel

Words: 2 210

Warnings: Minor Manipulation, confusion -> dubcon, NSFW, nudity, reference to potential incest, vaginal sex

“Brother!”

Irmo looked up in surprise—it was rare that Námo came to see him at work for the eminently dignified Lord was usually entirely absorbed by his own tasks.

Curiosity and earnest affection gave the Ruler of Reveries wings as he rushed over to the dark shadow’s side, basking in the air of cool efficiency emanating from his older sibling.

Where Nienna was warm and soothing, Námo was the blessed, fresh breeze on a sweltering day, and Irmo loved them both more than words could describe.

“What can I do for you, oh Lord of the Dead?” he asked teasingly—he was too attuned to the desires and impulses of those around him not to notice the discreet thrum of unspoken wishes in his brother’s soul.

“Punishment,” Námo replied calmly.

Sucking his teeth, the Lord of Dreams and Desires shook his head. “That is not my purview, as you well know, and I am sure that my wife would not approve.”

The heavy cowl dissimulating a pale face of heart-wrenching, soul-destroying beauty shifted as Námo cocked his head in disbelief.

“I am the judge of all things—I am the law and the right—and you think that I’d come to you behind Estë’s back?”

It was now the older one’s turn to cluck reprovingly.

“Your wife has given me quite an interesting lecture on the bodies of incarnates—she agrees that, once an impasse such as the one I am facing is reached, one must consider more drastic therapeutic measures.”

“Very well then,” Irmo gave in. “Am I right in surmising that it is one of those pesky Ñoldorin kings of yore who is to suffer terrible nightmares?”

Pride and affection shone in tangible waves from the deep, dark recesses of Námo’s obscuring cloak as he nodded slowly. “Curufinwë Fëanáro himself,” he admitted. “And—ah! Come and see for yourself.”

Irmo followed that exhortation obediently even though he was already perfectly aware of the confused and torturous labyrinth of half-formed wishes and reluctant desires smouldering in the Elf’s soul as embers in a neglected forge.

“Methinks, he doesn’t need any of us to make himself laughably miserable,” he remarked upon sliding up beside his impassive, motionless brother when they finally reached the cell of one of the most notorious of the Children.

“He needs guidance,” Námo started decisively.

“He’s always refused it,” Irmo reminded him gently.

“Yes.” A hint of supercilious humour tinged the Judge’s voice now. “That is why we won’t give him any choice this time.”

Fëanor stared despondently at the wavering nothingness surrounding him when he was quite overcome by a sudden wave of fatigue—he instinctively knew that there was nothing natural about it, but he could not shake off the blinding mist obdurately flooding his leaden mind.

Everything around him seemed to blur into a maelstrom of melting time and swirling events, and he could do nought but bear it, in hopes that sooner or later the sickening vertigo would subside.

When he finally managed to blink and clear his sight, he was standing in a bedroom he had not seen in an eternity. In front of him, stood a young maiden with whom he had once exchanged a few flirty, inconsequential quips in the halls of his father.

“’Náro,” she sighed, undoing the laces of her tunic and laying bare beautifully youthful, pert breasts that were screaming for his attention and tenderness.

“No,” Fëanor muttered. “This is not what happened—we have never…”

He could feel strange, inquisitive eyes burning into the back of his neck, and he rolled his shoulders uncomfortably to brace against the pervasive influx of corrupting madness some evil power was pouring into his befuddled mind.

He had always known, he reminded himself adamantly. Even in the most foolish years of his unsullied youth, he had been painfully aware of his duties, and she had been but the daughter of a minor courtier. He would never have risked her reputation and his hand for a fleeting tryst.

Before his very eyes, however, she now undressed further and extended her pale, soft arms to him, and he found himself unable to withstand the alluring call of her self-forgotten willingness. Too long had he abided in solitude and darkness, condemned to mull over his crimes in utter isolation, and so he could not forego the chance to feel another body’s heat chase the ubiquitous chill that had crept into his immaterial bones.

At the very moment that his body was about to collide with her firm, nubile flesh, though, the whole scene shifted once more.

“Brother,” Ñolo, his half-brother, turned around and gave him one of those tender, slightly awkward smiles that did nothing to distract from the impressive shapeliness of his bare chest. “Have you come to reprimand me for being late? Which one do you like better?”

Fëanor shrank back as the old-familiar burn of illicit, morally abhorrent desire made his thighs clench and his mouth go dry.

Indis’s first-born had ever been as compellingly gorgeous as infuriatingly oblivious of that fact, and he had hated him with a fervent passion for fear of what other feelings and yearnings might be hidden just underneath the thin veneer of his hurt pride.

While Fëanor was battling his baser instincts, Fingolfin was holding up two shirts—one of a subdued eggshell colour and the other one a mesmerizingly deep blue—as if he was truly expecting his seemingly not-all-too-surprising visitor to help him choose between them.

“What do I care?” Fëanor barked so he would not pounce upon that naked flesh and sink his teeth into the bulging muscles to make the other squirm and squeal with pain and rapture alike.

The disappointed, injured look spreading across Fingolfin’s soft, sweet face made Fëanor’s heart clench, but his involuntary reaction of relenting tenderness only gave rise to another slew of all the more vicious snarls and aggressive gestures.

This was just a dream, he tried to tell himself—none of this was real, but when his half-brother’s mouth, soft and desperate, was pressed against his own taut lips, he could not suppress the very real shivering sigh that escaped him.

Endless training sessions in the study as well as in the courtyard had left the younger one’s sensuous fingers strong and unexpectedly calloused, a hidden feature of which Fëanor had not been aware until slightly rough palms slid under his tunic to trace the outline of his well-honed, frantically clenching muscles in a caress so corruptingly naïve and eager that he had to force himself to stay still lest he do something unforgivable like succumbing to the torturous onslaught of shameless seduction.

“This didn’t happen,” he whispered. “I would never have dishonoured our father and his house so.”

“But you wanted to,” an insidious voice, incorporeal and wavering, susurrated, telling Fëanor that he was definitely not alone. He bristled—he had never allowed anyone to know about the strange tension between his half-brother and him, and he was loath to let down his walls even in death and desolation.

“That is of no consequence—what is this? A compilation of all the opportunities I’ve missed? It was a conscious decision, and it does me credit,” Fëanor spat resolutely even as the hands of one who had no reason or right to be here moved in tantalising circles across his trembling skin. “Leave me be! I shan’t submit to your ludicrous corruption!”

Irmo cocked his head at his brother. “He certainly is a fiery one,” he commented, a hint of amused fondness in his voice. “He knows that you are toying with him.”

Nodding, Námo pointed at the edges of the vacillating soul—they could see the ignominious former King of the Ñoldor such as he truly was through the sheer veil of a body his memory had merely conjured up, and it now became evident that Fëanor’s essence had grown more solid already. “Naturally, he persistently misunderstands my purpose, cursed be his defiance, but it’s working.”

“Love does that,” Irmo agreed pleasantly. “That is your design, isn’t it? After neither friends nor family could move him sufficiently, you thought to skirt the brittle, dangerous boundaries of modesty by digging into his more depraved memories? Devious, but effective!”

There was no judgment or reprimand in those words; Irmo was veritably impressed by how ruthless and determined his brother was in the pursuit of the questionable goal of getting Fëanor ready to be returned to those who awaited him most patiently.

“Shall we get on with it? Maybe we should let him…consume the act this time? He seems to grow rather…impatient,” the Lord of Dreams then remarked lightly, nodding at the flickering cluster of bright, pulsating light radiating from the core of Fëanor’s quickly firming silhouette.

“Her then,” Námo relented immediately and smiled when the scene shifted yet again.

“Nerdë!” Half-scream, half-sob, the name of his lost wife sprang from Fëanor’s tingling lips.

“Hush, I’ve only just gotten Káno to stop yowling,” she chided him softly as she sat up in a bed he remembered all too well.

Her smell—clay dust and wildflowers—filled the room, and this time, he did not hesitate to hasten over to let himself be embraced by those impossibly strong and yet incomparably soft arms.

A remnant of doubt lingered in his mind, but he could not say whether this torturously tender scene was a fabrication or a bona fide memory; there had been so many evenings just like this, sitting in bed and talking, while their sons slept down the hallway.

Nevertheless, Nerdanel, the Wise, seemed to have different plans for she pulled him closer to her alluringly freckled chest and sighed when his lips closed around her right nipple through the thin chemise she was wearing. He had married her out of love and folly, and he was sure that none of the chronicles of his terrible crimes would even bother to mention how unconditionally and desperately he had wanted her.

Of course, the staggering number of sons as well as their relative youth on their wedding day were clear signs, but he still hoped that these scheming ink-smeared liars would have the decency to pay homage to Nerdanel’s beauty and his devotion to her appropriately.

“We have to be quiet,” she whispered again, and now, he thought that he recognised her conspiratorial, youthful tone.

As her thighs fell open around him and her broad, nimble fingers tangled in his unbound hair, a surge of compounded darkness made his head spin and his blood boil. Here she was, his one true love, opening up beneath the unyielding pressure of his heated flesh like a blossom in spring, and he might have wept for joy and relief.

Mouthing the name of a child not yet conceived, he closed his eyes as she shifted ever so slightly to steer him resolutely towards the voracious heat of her desire—everything about her touch, her almost mocking smile, and her tiny gasp as he slid into her was so painfully familiar that—for a single, precious moment—Fëanor entirely forgot that none of it was genuine.

How could he have thought of the Valar and their senseless games when Nerdanel’s flesh was writhing—warm and tight—around his cock? Could anyone have faulted him for losing sight of the unfathomably convoluted games of destiny and retribution when he was losing his mind, his heart, his whole self in the velvet abyss of her burning gaze as she met his every thrust halfway?

Her body was strong and glorious, and he worshipped at the altar of her lust as the inexorably increasing pace made his hips stutter against her—Nerdanel laughed breathlessly and surged up to capture his lips in a searing kiss, greedily drinking every tiny moan as she had once lapped dew off green leaves at sunrise.

Nothing mattered besides her—the softness of her breasts against his heaving chest, the clenching ripples of her cunt as her own climax threatened to overwhelm her, and her throaty moans that spurred him ever on—and Fëanor, ever a slave to the fatal flaw of impatience, grabbed her waist possessively to lift her just a fraction before bearing down in frantic movements of unbridled rapture.

Teeth clenching mercilessly around her slender wrist to keep from waking her precious babies, Nerdanel arched into his punishing thrusts one last time; seeing her come undone once again was an image so exquisite that it burned itself through Fëanor’s eyes straight into what was left of his soul.

Throwing his head back in a soundless scream of deliverance, he exploded within her.

Just as he was about to bend down to kiss Nerdanel’s sweat-sheened brow, though, he was whisked back to his cell, alone and shivering. “Come back, you coward!” he bellowed, blind anger and devastating loss ravaging his tortured soul. “Take me back.”

“It actually worked,” Irmo muttered as if he was surprised himself by how successful his brother’s hare-brained plan had turned out to be. “I shall come back soon then?”

“Thank you,” Námo said, bowed, and retreated.

Had he not known better, Irmo would have sworn that the Lord Judge, ever serious, was skipping merrily down the wavering halls of Mandos.

-> Masterlist (by @tolkienpinupcalendar)

Lots of love from me, please take care of yourselves!

[heavensentofficial]

Hello Miss Lettie.

I was wondering if you'd be willing to discuss your religion and the way you feel about the temple itself with me? I know you're a busy person, of course, so I'm happy to work around your schedule.

If not, that's perfectly fine as well.

Thank you in advance,

- @code-dread

Hello there!

Of course! I am busy, but I would consider this exactly the kind of thing I am busy with. By which I guess I mean my job? Hehe... And it is an interesting question... Somehow I'm not sure I've really been asked before...

I did notice you speaking with Jordan, by the way! It's always heartening to see new people take interest in the temple c:

As for your question,

I think I may have a different perspective on the temple than most people here? Mostly in that everyone else here has made vows of their own volition and experienced other things, while I've always been here! And in that I have a lot of information that the others here don't. I even need to keep secrets from Brother Jordan ahaha ^^; I'll have to be careful with that sort of thing when I'm sharing my opinion, come to think of it.

...

You know, I'm not sure where to start! The temple is all I've ever really known, so as much as I'd like to give you helpful, concise information, it is a bit of a case of trying to explain how I feel about my life as a whole ^^; ... I hope you will forgive me if this is a bit all over the place!

Hmmmm... Firstly, I think I have to make the disclaimer that this is an organised religion, right? I'm not sure there really is such a thing as organised religion without flaws or corruption - and because of my position, I tend to see a lot of it quite up close, which makes me really sad. :< I have a lot of affection for this place and the people in it, so seeing certain individuals use it in such a way truly hurts. I often find myself wondering just what it is about the temple that seems to be enabling the sort of exploitation I keep seeing, but I'm not sure it's something I'm brave enough to bring up to anybody. Maybe one day... I do what I can to make things easier for people for the time being. ^^; The safety of our flock is of the utmost concern, after all. (hehe. flock...)

That aside, I think the temple does a lot of good! In my own experience, I was raised here, so I'm naturally thankful for that. I've been kept very safe from the various dangers and corrupting influences in town and had lots of opportunities to learn and to help people because of it. ^^ (Besides, from what little I've heard of the alternative outcome, I'm not certain that someone with my constitution would cope very well at all.)

One of our main rules is obedience to our elders... I choose to take this to mean that we are allowed to privately question them, but to we are expected to only act on this after the fact. (Unless you find someone older still whose age-authority cancels the other person's out! That's why I have learned the exact ages of everyone at the temple, to avoid those with unclean intent ^^) While there are those who would take advantage of this, in theory, the idea is that we should look up to and respect those with experience - and in the same vein, have a responsibility to guide and care for our juniors. And I think if everyone did that, it would be a lovely world. ^^ So in that sense, I'm quite blessed to have so many elders here.

We also place a heavy emphasis on sexual purity... To my understanding, this temptation is a constant plague that humankind suffers from greatly - especially in this town. I've heard frightful things of what happens outside, perpetrated by those overcome by their sin, so perhaps we are onto something. I myself believe that everyone can grow and improve so long as they truly desire it, so I try to be kind even to people that do bad things, but the temple as a whole is uh... Quite firm in their treatment of sinners as a whole. This is probably good, though ^^ To grow and become pure, people need both harsh correction and balm for their wounds. Otherwise my approach would just be coddling, right?

Ummm... I hope this has been helpful? It's hard to know what to include and what not to! This being my whole life and all. If you ever see me, feel free to approach me to talk, if you should so wish! Or to just ask more questions here, I suppose? Whichever you prefer if you need to.

[terastalungrad]

BB20: Wednesday 11 October

"You don't have to be clever to be in a boarding school, it's all down to your parents, what they can afford."

Big fan of Farida explaining this to Zak in front of boarding school-educated Henry.

Shopping task is to pretend to be a company. Yinrun, Trish and Henry become bigwigs, so they're in charge. And they wear big wigs. Those are two Steff faves, and the Tory himbo.

Four days in, Hallie continues speak directly into the cameras to address Big Brother. Iconique. We have no choice but to stan. Etc.

Bigwigs get to decide who will be middle management, and who will be the Bottoms (language that reassures me that ITV haven't forgotten Big Brother's core demographic of filthy queers).

Instinctively, I feel like the right choice is to make middle managers out of the housemates most likely to sulk. Olivia, Chanelle, maybe Kerry. I bet that's not what they've done.

Okay, wow, the only one of those three they've picked is Kerry. This will cause discord, you mark my words.

Dylan, Zak and Paul will be solid Bottoms I reckon. Yep. I said what I said.

Aw, I'm so right about Zak. He's been amazing so far, actually. Very good for morale, very good at ending conflict before it begins.

Oh no, the power of middle management has gone right to Kerry's head. Calling a meeting when there's nothing to discuss - except for her disapproval of Zak's approach of being nice to the Bottoms so everyone's on side. Kerry favours an approach where the middle managers make every decision and force the Bottoms to do what they say.

Meals are provided - more luxurious food for those higher up the food chain. Kerry complains about her perfectly lovely middle manager meal.

Kerry's going to cause a lot of conflict this series I reckon. On the first night, she was asked to pick the worst-dressed housemate. She picked Jenkin, who lost his suitcase, and I thought she'd failed to understand the premise of the game - that the housemate she picked would face a punishment.

Now, I've changed my mind. I think she knew full well - and it simply didn't matter. She's a no-nonsense person, by the book. You ask her to pick the worst-dressed housemate, that is exactly what she'll do. She won't pick a second choice instead, even if her first choice has already been given multiple punishments.

Kerry's told to be a middle manager, and that's what she does. Doesn't matter that this isn't really a company - that this is just a task within a TV show. The moment she's given that role, she expects absolute obedience. Not only from those underneath her, but from her fellow middle managers too.

Henry has a Big Brother mug with the new logo on it. Let me be very clear that I want one of these mugs.

I wonder who wins this sort of Big Brother? I'd love it to be Hallie. I reckon Jordan stands a very good chance.

People on the internet hate Olivia, so I'm automatically on her side. Not fun seeing her clash with Zak, though. The Bottoms are all doing a tedious job - sorting hundreds of paper clips by colour - and Zak comes to keep up their spirits.

Olivia's annoyed by his presence - but that's unreasonable, so she needs to think of a good reason to resent him. "I know you love being in charge," she says. But - he isn't here on a power trip. He either wants people to be happy, or he wants to be liked. Either way, he's absolutely not motivated by wanting to rub people's nose in his status.

Tell you a video game I like - KeyWe, which Tumblr recommended to Elanor. Co-op game where you play as two kiwis who get a job in a post office. You obviously cannot single-handedly do the job of an actual human, but with two of you, you can get basic tasks done. Anyway, the task where Paul and Zak sort through post IS this game, down to the final detail. It even has troublesome animals, in the form of pigeons who shit on you.

Interesting - Yinrun feels like nobody except Trish and Henry speak to her very much.

Now listen. I love Farida and Kerry. But I would not stay in a job where if they were my managers.

"I honestly thought we were going to be bored," says Farida of the show so far. She really hadn't banked on the ITV version being so full of action.

Aw, Hallie checking in on Kerry is adorable.

A really sweet generational thing. Hallie wants to offer physical comfort, but only on Kerry's terms. So even as Kerry starts to tear up, Hallie doesn't hug her - but holds out her arms, which Kerry can choose to take or not.

And Kerry doesn't take Hallie's arms, because she's a different generation. Instead, she says, "Have you smelled this?" and offers Hallie a nice-smelling product. And then Hallie DOES hug her.

Ahh, Hallie has absolutely clocked Farida's need for control.

Fair play to Kerry - she has the idea to let the Bottoms decide on the shopping if they win the task. That's really nice.

Oh no, but Farida is dead against the idea!! Actually, maybe I've been too quick to judge Kerry's management. She's really good here.

Zak comforting Hallie. Steff faves unite! ... oh, is Zak a Steff fave now? I suppose he is!

The bigwigs talk about demoting Farida, since she wants to do the Bottoms' pointless busywork. But that's not going to work, is it? Farida's not going to become easier to manage when she feels she has less control.

Who gets voted out in a show like this?? On Channel 4, we'd lose the most-hated housemate. Sources of drama would be in trouble - probably Farida, since Olivia's immune.

On Channel 5, we'd lose the least-loved housemate. Someone who's failed to stand out. Noky could be in trouble, just because she's not been especially prominent.

Farida thinks Kerry is conniving! She isn't, Farida. You're annoyed about Kerry wanting to let the Bottoms choose the shopping. That is ... the opposite of conniving? Right? That's Kerry wilingingly conceding power and control to reward the hardest workers. The most cynical possible reading is that Kerry wants to be liked.

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Okay, after some more thought, for android Crowley au, if you are looking for prompts; Don't remember whether they are in hiding or not, but Crowley and Aziraphale, whether in the shop or out and about, meeting, maybe not Crowley's old owner, but someone from that person's circle, someone who aaaaalmost recognises Crowley but not quite, you know? Feelings that might inspire?

Crowley and Aziraphale are meant to be hiding in plain sight, so being spotted can be... dangerous. :)

Warning: future au, human/cyborg Aziraphale (uses the fake name Ezra), android Crowley

On with the fic!

--

It was a date, that's what this was.

It wasn't the first, there have been several between this one and the first, but it was still all so new and amazing to Crowley. He smiled at Aziraphale, who happily thanked the waiter who placed their food down on the table. Crowley wouldn't eat much, he only had the very basic need to 'eat', it'd have to be something liquid, a bio-fuel, but Aziraphale would happily finish off the miso soup for Crowley.

The android smiled as he watched Aziraphale mutter to himself at the tray of different sushi pieces before him, not sure where to start. "How about the spicy tuna one?" Crowley suggested. "I know you love those ones."

"Ah, I do." Aziraphale smiled, taking his chopsticks up and using them with an ease that came from many years of practice. Crowley felt his inner fans burr with life at the nearly orgasmic moan the cyborg made when he popped the sushi into his mouth.

If it wasn't for the dark clothing and gloves he wore, Crowley was sure his see-thru parts would wash this restaurant in pink lights.

He decided to distract himself with his miso soup, taking a small sip, before nearly dropping the spoon when his eyes spotted a familiar figure further in the room. He must have made a noise because Aziraphale asked if something was wrong.

"N-nothing, don't worry. It's just... hot soup."

"I highly doubt that. I know you have pain sensors, but not on your tongue." Aziraphale said quietly, the other patrons didn't need to hear that Crowley wasn't human.

Crowley made another noise before lowering the volume of his voice. "Angel. Someone is here."

"Who?" Aziraphale asked and turned around to look and Crowley hissed.

"Stop, stop! Don't-!" He clicked his mouth shut when he saw a glance of ice blue eyes look in his direction. Fuck.

Aziraphale looked worried. "Dear?"

Crowley felt his insides going too fast, his core temperature rising when the figure rose from their seat and excused themself from the table with whoever it was they were with. Despite their smaller stature, Crowley knew from experience how dangerous they were.

The figure stopped at the table and glanced between the two of them, Crowley was doing everything to avoid eye contact. He hoped his shades and the wig he wore would hide him well enough.

"Can I help you?" Aziraphale said to the person next to them. "We are trying to have a lovely meal right now."

Crowley glanced at the person, who was glaring at Aziraphale. "You're that wanker from Heavenly Industries' brother, yes?"

"Depends... on who is asking. I am Ezra Fell."

"Hm. Bealze Prince."

Crowley could see Aziraphale's body tense, just for a second. Bealze Prince was the vice president of Ninth Circle Inc, the company that teamed up with Heavenly Industries to make Crowley's model.

A model that is not really avaliable to the public.

A model that was meant to be perfectly obedient, but Crowley didn't exactly follow protocol.

If Prince recognized him, he'd be taken away. He'd be brought back to be reworked, decommissioned, scrapped!

Or worse.

He'd be returned to-

"This is my date, Crowley, and we'd very much like to be left alone." Aziraphale scoffed, clearly irritated. "I understand that you and my brother like to do business sometimes, but I am not involved with the company, I run my own business. If you wish to discuss bureaucracy, you'll have to call up Gabriel."

Prince glared deeply at him, if looks could kill. "Crowley, eh? Ah, so the rumors are true. Or, at least, the nonsense your brother was spouting about you having a girlfriend."

They looked Crowley up and down. "No offense, Fell, but you could do better." Then they paused, smirked, and snorted. "Nah, I think she could do better. Enjoy your dinner."

The two watched them return to their seat and resume whatever discussion they were having. Crowley slumped in his seat, if he felt hunger, he was sure he would have lost his appetite.

"The nerve of that-!" Aziraphale huffed, inhaled, then slowly exhaled. "Crowley, dear, are you alright?"

"I'd like to go home, if that's alright." He mumbled.

"It's quite alright. I'm sure we can enjoy our dinner together in peace at home. I've got a delicious sake to go with this at home, no need to get a bottle here." He waved down a waiter and politely asked for to-go containers and the check, something had come up and they needed to leave.

Crowley frowned, he'd ruined dinner, the date, hadn't he?

"That's enough of that, darling." Aziraphale tutted.

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to. I can see it as clear as day on your face. It was not your fault our dinner got interrupted. We can have a lovely time at home where we are left alone and kept safe." He reached out, taking Crowley's hand.

His smile was gentle with understanding. "You're alright, Crowley."

"I..." The android shut his mouth, nodding, giving Aziraphale's hand a small, careful squeeze.

He was alright, he was safe with his angel.

But for how long?

--

In case you're wondering why Beelzebub called Crowley a girl, it's due to Gabriel having met Crowley in a previous one-shot when they presented as a woman. He assumed Aziraphale had a girlfriend and seems to have bragged about this to other people (he's rather homophobic in this au, but he's a villain of sorts, so yeah).

Also, once again, I must influence you all to associate Crowley with pink because that would be such a good color on him (and a number of other DT characters).

[borgialucrezia]

#the fukken....the IDEA. that cesare would be dissatisfied that micheletto isn't...in juan's place??? UMMMM...#sometimes I feel like i look at things like this and am just FASCINATED by the sheer canyon in perception #that must exist between me and the interviewer when we perceive this story #it's wild to me that they would perceive cesare as putting JUAN and MICHELETTO in the SAME CATEGORY bc they manifestly AREN'T #that OBEDIENCE is something cesare even realistically EXPECTS from his blood family however much he may WANT it #from the very BEGINNING the borgias in this vision were characterized by the ambition that unified them AS WELL AS divided them #while FROM THE BEGINNING micheletto was sui generis - perfectly loyal and perfectly obedient #cesare isn't disappointed that micheletto isn't his BROTHER #micheletto isn't FAMILY at ALL bc to cesar de borgia FAMILY is quite literally a holy concept and quite literally a profane one #cesare doesn't wish that other people were his family even when they legally BECOME his family bc his family are sui generis too #a law literally unto themselves that bear no comparison with anyone #juan is cesare's brother and however much juan may frustrate him however much cesare might grow to hate him #cesare never seeks to put SOMEONE ELSE in his place bc juan is juan. blood is blood. that's why cesare had to be the one to kill him #and micheletto is not and never could be a brother bc even though he isn't a slave in name or law...he is CESARE'S #'so you need MY MICHELETTO' says cesare and never questions it. micheletto is a POSSESSION OF THE PRINCE and neither of them questions it #that's why micheletto offers the knife to cesare and begs to die when he realizes he's been played #that's why he crawls back and offers cesare one last aid before the end #and that's why in the finale that never was micheletto dies in his service #which is NEVER something that any borgia would do for cesare in that same way #bc they are not IN SERVICE to one another they are BLOOD and the way the house of borgia interprets that has NEVER been kind #FASCINATING THOUGHTS HERE. that cesare would be dissatisfied that micheletto isn't his brother. FASCINATING. can't understand it myself (via @takiki16)

(If Cesare is dissatisfied that Micheletto isn't his brother instead of Juan) "Not exactly, because Cesare and Micheletto's relationship is more or less secret, hidden. They don't know too much about each other. Well, Micheletto has absolutely no grasp of what the rest of Cesare's life is, and Cesare is very respectful of Micheletto being so secretive about himself, and I don't think he really wants to know. It's not really a friendship, because there is an idea of hierarchy, but it's not master and slave, either. It's not boss and employee. It's something very complex. It's not equal, but there is a lot of trust. While with Juan, I think it all comes from a very deep place. His brother faces different struggles and is very naive, so Cesare pushes him by teaching him lessons. He also understands how hard it must be to do that, or at least he had good intentions towards him in the beginning, with some sort of really loving brotherly undertone under all of this hard teaching." — François Arnaud

[cattatonically]

Alisatair - Jaclyn Osborn (Sons of the Fallen, book 7)

Synopsis

Pride comes before the fall. Or so they say.

Cursed with the deadly sin of Pride, failure isn’t an option for Alastair. Win at all costs. With the war intensifying, the stakes are higher than ever. Sacrifices must be made. Throw in the awakening of a soulmate bond on top of that, and things have never been so complicated. Especially when that soulmate is an angel with icy eyes but whose touch is surprisinly warm.

What happens when your fated mate is the one person you’re forbidden to love?

Lazarus has lived an obedient life of a celestial warrior. Taking nothing for himself. Tossing aside all desires. Fate has other plans. One kiss. That’s all it takes for the emotions he sealed away to surge forward. But is loving Alastair worth falling for?

War is unpredictable. And as the final battle approaches, hearts—and lives—are put on the line. It all leads to one heart-pounding conclusion.

Book 7 in the Sons of the Fallen series with fated mates, an angel’s first taste of love, a war between good and evil, and one epic conclusion. Each book features a different main couple, but the series must be read in order. HEA guaranteed

My Thoughts

As the avatar of Pride, Alistair has always considered himself the head of his family – and his brothers both love and resent him for it. And it boils down to Alistair feeling like he needs to be the rock of his family. He wants them all to be happy, even at his own expense. And no one knows that more than Lazarus, the angel who’s been tasked with keeping tabs on the fallen sons for thousands of years.

The war is upon them, and there’s more at stake than ever. After all the planning, plotting, battles, subterfuge, twists and turns, we’ve come to the real crux of this entire journey – putting Lucifer down for good. And just like the majority of this series, the final battle gave me so much anxiety. So. Much.

I knew it was going to have a happy ending – the happy ever afters were basically guaranteed (thank you Jaclyn!). But getting to that moment had me on the edge of my seat, and completely amped up. Why? Because Alistair finally found his mate on the man who’s been guiding him for thousands of years. And he wants absolutely nothing more than to spend the rest of his life living a simple life – reading books, drinking tea, and indulging in his mate. But getting that happy, simple life is no easy feat.

As the final twist came into play, I felt my heart shatter. It was so perfectly executed, I never saw it coming. And for a brief moment. I was terrified our boys – all eight of them – wouldn’t get their happy endings with their mates. But they do. And I couldn’t be happier.

This series is going to be one that stays with me for a very, very long time. I’m going to be thinking about the fallen sons for a while to come. But I couldn’t really imagine a better group to stay with me.