#IVE BEEN FUCKING FREED

[lucentshore]

Lucent in ref to your tags abt Phil's boundaries

Join me <- makes jokes Phil has a harem/qpr polycule (Missa, Fit, Etoiles)

ISA IVE BEEN SCREAMING WITH A FRIEND IN DMS ABOUT HIM AND FIT FOR LITERALLY MONTHS BECAUSE I WAS AFRAID TO SAY ANYTHING PUBLICLY

I WOULD LOVE TO JOIN YOU

[isa-ah]

it really sucks that the kind of men I'm attracted to are so demonized. I'm from Appalachia! I like those quiet rugged broke mountain men! fat men hairy men autistic men mute men impoverished men making do- ideally all of the above. but when have ANY of those traits ever been on a man that wasnt a villain? or written to be a freak? nvm in a GAY romance. fucking suckage.

[typheus]

I am a new person (reorganized my room)

[rosemirmir]

The only reason Im not jumping into ryuki right this second is i've got 3 other toku shows im juggling right now but once one of those three are finished. its on

[talaok]

Your hands around my neck

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You choke Joel for the first time in bed, and he likes it... maybe even a bit too much.

Warnings: unprotected p in v sex, choking, premature ejaculation, kind of sub!Joel, dirty talk.

a/n: how ironic that lately ive been the most creative that ive been in months. right when writing should be the last thing on my mind.

You were on top of him, and his gaze was glued to you.

To your tits bouncing with your movements, to your parted mouth emanating desperate sounds, to your eyes shutting as you threw your head back, to your nails clawing at his chest, and to where your bodies became one.

He was mesmerized by you like he always was,

and while he lost himself in the pleasure you brought, in how fucking good you were making him feel, and how fuking perfect you looked doing it... he didn't catch the switch in your expression, the mischievous grin pulling at your lips, or the way your hands were suddenly traveling up his chest, until finally-

His eyes widened the moment your hands wrapped around his neck, putting just enough pressure for him to lose his mind.

A groan loud enough for the entire town to hear erupted from his chest, as pleasure so fucking deep into his core took over his body.

"You like that?" you taunted, biting down a grin as you kept bouncing on his cock

"fuck-goddamn-" he could only grunt, his head tilting backward, his eyes just about rolling to the back of his head as his chest rose and fell like he'd just come back to life.

He didn't know what any of this was. What this feeling, this ecstasy, this pleasure came from.

But god it felt good.

"You like having my hands around your neck baby?" you hummed, tightening your hold just enough to watch a needy cry flee his lips "you look so pretty like this" You smiled,

and fuck him, but Joel was gone. he was in another universe, he was in heaven, and he was-

he was about to come

"darlin-'" he tried to warn you

"shh" you stopped him "There's no need to talk now" you shook your head, lowering yourself until your mouth could ghost his "just take what I give you" you said, taking his bottom lip into your mouth and biting "you're doing so good for me baby"

Good Christ and heaven

His pride went flying out the window. Any shame, any embarrassment that he ever could have felt, dissipated into nothing as he heard himself whimper- as he moaned your name like a prayer... as his cock twitched into your cunt, painting your walls with his come.

"fuck-I'm sorry sweetheart-" he started apologizing immediately once he came back down from cloud nine and realized what had happened.

Only of course you were smiling like a kid as you freed his neck from your hold.

"you're sorry?"

"Yeah" he breathed, watching you closely as you moved some sweaty hair out of his forehead "I don't know what happened- I- I've never-"

"That was the hottest thing I've ever seen Joel" You cut him off "Did you like it?"

And at that, Joel couldn't help but chuckle

If it had been anybody else, he would have been mortified, he realized, but with you... there was no such thing

"I think the proof of how much I liked it is leakin' out of you as we speak, darlin'"

You giggled, your eyes trailing to where your bodies still joined, noticing exactly what he was talking about.

"Oh I'm gonna have so much fun with this" you murmured, both of you smiling like idiots as your mouth crushed with one another.

[dearlymrme]

Hasty

Rating: E

Pairing: Terzo x Reader

Words: 3220

Tags: Quickie, Creampie, Retirement, Enthusiastic Consent, Objectification.

Summary: In the past Terzo would hunt you down before a Council meeting in hopes that you would help him work off some energy. Now that he’s retired and the roles are reversed he is more than happy to return the favor.

Read on AO3, or under the cut:

Your relationship with Terzo is a sexually healthy one, even before his retirement. He often cornered you in the halls, the bedroom, the library, even the confessional once, for a quickie before he had to settle with the Council for meetings. Meetings that could go on for hours at a time, listening to old traditionalists argue about how to better settle a matter that's already been settled five meetings ago.

Old men, pompous and entitled with little regard for how the world works today and would much rather argue on how it used to be done. Outdated, needing the cobwebs swept up and definitely needing some new blood. He believes half of them to be on dementia medication. It’s probably this line of thinking that got him dragged off stage in the first place. Not too much of a surprise but rather an eventuality, he's heard horror stories from Primo and Secondo, and lived it himself since being a boy. Their callousness and disinterest in how they uproot lives and-

But that's neither here nor there.

He's learned since his Cardinal days that a quick fuck, be it with you or into the comfort of his own hand, always turns his brain into a pleasantly flavored jelly after. It makes the meetings more bearable. An orgasm strong and satisfying enough that all their pedantic droning does is jiggle his gray matter to the point it tickles. It distracts him with forging a game plan of how better to repay your kindness once he’s freed, or to find you later for an even more spine tingling fuck.

After his forced retirement though it seems the rolls are reversed. Instead, as both his wife and prime mover, you've decided to saddle the paperwork transitions from III to IV. It's work truly meant for him and he’s told you that he is more than, if not begrudgingly, capable of doing it himself.

You shushed him, pushed a cup of coffee brewed just the way he likes into his hands, and told him that you’d handle it. You explained that you were more than a little bit pissed that they so forcefully removed him, making such a public show of it, and then tried to dog him after with more work as if to say that it’s his mess to take care of in the first place.

You were enraged that the Council even assumed that he would continue performing any kind of duty on their behalf after they axed him. No, they instead made a mockery of him and everything he did for them. You are not going to stand for their hounding. You felt it wrong that they still tried to push paperwork Primo’s way after retirement, you weren’t going to let them do it to Terzo.

“You deserve a break. You were one of the hardest working Papa’s of the Ministry. I know the fans seem to think you’re the player but we both know the truth.” You gently kissed him, his lips, his nose, his forehead. “You let me handle everything and just enjoy sleeping in for once.”

You've been called and pulled from every which way to organize the schedules and new duties for his remaining Cardinals as the rest turned their loyalties from him to Copia. Not all of them favored the new Papa and many of them wished instead to retire. Copia was kind enough to keep the ones who agreed with him and merciful enough to let the others go with no fuss. You wrote up the forms and all that was required of him now was a single last stamp of approval. He was happy for them. A lot of hard workers in his group and he saw a few familiar names on the sheets that made his job easier. He hopes they enjoy their new titles of Archbishop and complimentary responsibilities.

The Bishops, the Deacons, followed lastly by the Sisters and Sons of Sin. Every new hole left behind from the Cardinal’s they lost needed to be filled and formatted. Promotions for everyone. Seeing who’s qualified, who’s been in the church long enough, and most importantly who actually wants the job? Turns out, not a lot of them living in the Ministry itself did. After the showcase with Terzo being removed a lot of people now felt threatened and that gave you a little more work as they sent notes and mail of condolences and concerns.

He feels like everyone was taking advantage of you, himself included. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth but you took to the work like a fish to water. Afterall, you were his secretary before you both became physical. That fact alone better adds a spoonful of sugar to the bitter medicine.

The fact that he knows you're more like a shark than a fish, helps the flavor too. He knows you're making this as much of Copia’s problem as your own. He’s told you to go easy on the man but he also knows not to bait the water with more blood.

Now he has time to settle into the new role as husband. Despite your jab of sleeping in, he’s getting up earlier than you now. He makes breakfast, breaking out a cookbook that smells of bittersweet memories that calls back his boyhood to him. Not much has changed since growing up. Still loved by a woman not afraid to bare her teeth at those who would try to bully him. The whole wing starts to smell of his childhood and sentimentality. Early morning cartoons beat your own alarm clock as by the time he turns on the TV, breakfast is ready.

He’s already sitting on the couch, plate in hand and coffee made. A smile on his face and giggles as you sluggishly stumble and try your best to give him your most appreciative good morning kiss, often missing. You’d watch TV for at least thirty minutes and you’d be ready and leaving before the hour is up. You’d be back for lunch at roughly the same time every day, which he will have ready and warm and almost always something new. After work you’d come back from a meeting and he can almost always expect you to pin him to the nearest wall and attack his mouth like it’s been calling you names behind your back, a bit of opposites; you preferred after the meetings than before. You tell him it’s to make you more optimistic and alarmingly sweet when the old crones droll on. They have no idea what’s waiting for you at home, but you do, and you keep it close like a little secret. You’re near giddy when they seem confused as to how you can stay so happy during the hours-long conference.

He knows exactly what you're talking about. You do it with him too when there is the seldom argument. He dubs it: Hostile Friendliness.

As for what he does in his down time, he’s picked up his old hobbies. Primo has his multitude of plants to tend and the gardens. Secondo has his venture card and a long bucket list of places to go. Terzo himself likes reading and losing his mind in another world of words. Daring fantasies, fighting dragons, befriending monsters.

You’d told him the work is only temporary, that it’ll be done and over soon and then you could enjoy the retired life together but for now, that was the schedule he could expect until it was over.

So, when that schedule is thrown off even by the tiniest of pause, it’s very noticeable.

He glances at the time on his phone, idly browsing for new titles on the couch as you ready to leave. Breakfast is already done and put away. He raises a brow at the half hour mark and you still haven’t left yet.

“Don’t you have a meeting today?” He asks, knowing you can hear him through the open door of the bedroom. It's more of a concerned statement. He knows you do, he also knows that your anxiety for being punctual would usually have you already out of the door by now. That by itself should have had him braced for what you were about to do next.

You appear at the bedroom door, wearing a lovely blue sundress that is just long enough to be considered modest with brown flats. Your makeup is flawless and armed like a knife for whoever tries to talk down your decisions. The dress code for the Ministry is lax unless times of Ritual. But the Council expects professionalism during meetings but that’s exactly what you radiate. He can smell your usual perfume and your hair is already styled for the day.

“Yes.” You huff and take long, promising to the point of threatening, steps towards him.

There is that look in your eyes; viciously hungry, like a starved animal eyeing its prey. He sees your muscles coiled with purpose and itching to spring. The air is suddenly charged, tastes of promise and the sirens of an approaching storm ring in his mind. His body hums with the change of energy, his own instincts telling him that a challenger approaches.

“Take off your pants.” You command, like a boom of retribution, already halfway across the room and by that point his phone is already somewhere else and fingers are playing pestissimo with his belt buckle.

The demand sets off a Rube Goldberg machine in his body, nearly prophesied timing that would kill a weaker man. His blood suddenly ran hot and hellwards, cock already hardening by the split two seconds it takes before he's able to undo his pants, just in time for you to slide into his lap and ensnare his lips into a bruising kiss.

He grasps and clutches at your body like you're his anchor and he's the ship at sea. The storm is already settled upon him, tumultuous waters stirring as you roughly kiss and suck on his tongue. A thrilling amount of teeth nibbles his lip and pulls, ensuring him in a sweet stockholm trap. Were it not for his grip on you his vessel would have already capsized. Rowing and rocking against your insistent hips as they clash against his. He pulls his cocks free from his briefs, you have your underwear parted in less than a second.

“Sit on it.” He pleads, already bleeding for you. Already splitting himself open from sternum to throat and begging for you to feast. “Sit on me. Please, use me.”

You have him. You can have him. He's already yours.

You line up, the lip of your cunt spreads around his shift and it’s more than just the penetration that knocks the breath out of him.

“Soaked!” He laughs, nearly hysterical on the discovery as though he had just found a treasure lost to history. He glides right in as you sink like a rock. It’s a key fitted in place. A cog knocked loose and the gears resumed turning. How long have you suffered? How long did you go this morning without a balm for this need? You need not a moment more before you are slicing your hips, rowing through your own treacherous currents. .

He shakes nearly like an addict, scratching at your thighs for that good fix only you can give him, only he can give you. He pleads, rucking up the fabric of your dress, gliding his hungry hands over your favorite places and basks in the softness of your heated skin. As you take from him he drags tender and sultry kisses up your throat and jaw. You arch your back, grasping at his knees for balance. He watches you with his solar eclipse gaze, memorizing the near blissful and self satisfied expression you wear with pride.

“Yess.” Follow your snake like hiss. Your walls flutter around him, persistently squeezing as if to perfect a mold. He damn near chokes from the feedback of your relief. A devilish itch being scratched with every roll of your hips that has you both purring.

His back shudders as his love turns near revenant in glee. The heat of your core shooting bullets of pleasure through his gut and stirring his insides to knots. He swoops down to track his lips across your neckline and digs in his hands when you run one of your own through his hair, cradling him close before fastening to his shoulder, pushing him back into the cushions before you start a pattern of rocking and grinding.

A breathless and bubbly laugh escapes his mouth as he seeks a hand to the flat of your back to press against him. He slams his hips up and aims directly for your weak spot, like breaking stone with a chisel. The scream that escapes you is loud enough to threaten anyone outside the hallway. But with retirement, damned if he has to keep appearances anymore. The following glee that he can be as loud as he wants makes his cheeks apple a smile.

His body vibrates like a tuning fork, synchronizing all that is him together. Warm and gooey between his joints that melt into his veins and smother his insides in honey. You demand of him; push and pull on him, putting him exactly where you want and how you want. You command for kisses and bites that he savagely provides with no argument. The satisfaction of your praises, your want for more, faster, harder, and flittering kisses as reward. No, he’s not taking orders from the Council anymore. Now, he can worship his one and only matron.

So lost in the righteousness of giving you everything you want, it sneaked up on him. That spring threatens to bounce as it coils tightly in his stomach. There is a zip in his toes that starts to travel up his legs and settle in his core. He’s not long for the world.

“Use me, cara. Get off on me! Use me. Useme!” It's like sin in his veins. Euphoria as you take everything you need from him. Your personal fuck machine to use however you want. All you need to do is tell him how high to jump and he’ll double it. The hold you have on him, invisible strings tangled on your fingertips and him the marionette. He dances to your tune perfectly, wanting nothing more than to put on the best show possible.

He’s already to the point of babbling. Heat melting his core and his balls tightening. He pants, air coming in thin. He watches you, lost in the vision of your unadulterated beauty that would make every tapestry in the Ministry blush.

Your face is one to remember; eyes pinched and brows furrowed. Your pupils have long since devoured the color of your eyes. Your mouth is open, baring your teeth threateningly to the orgasm running to escape you as your gaining ground.

“Your’s! You use me any way you want!” He’s high on the skin contact, as little there is with your thick and strong thighs pinning his own. He’s experiencing sainthood through your body. This is His Lord at work. As close as he can get to divinity by being yours and wholly yours. Your growl, feral, like a beast as you tear into his flesh and rip him apart. He is a feast for your mouth.

One of his hands left your hips to fist at the sofa, like it had a mind of its own. A stupid self preservation instinct kicking in to try and keep him grounded. He rerouted, grabbing his since gone wild hair and pulling, the pinch meant to stave off his orgasm but the pain had the opposite effect, egging him on closer and closer to the finish line. Tears have already escaped his eyes, leaving tracks down his cheeks, and finding their destination in your cleavage. This is thirsty work and he can only hope you'll give him enough time to drink them up once you're done with him.

He breathed in loud, open-mouthed heaves for air as every cut of your hips felt almost like a stab. His chest rhythmically rises with a hitch and despite his best efforts he feels as though he is suffocating. You grab him by his chin and lean into him, ghosting your lips against his own. He opens his mouth and flicks his tongue, beckoning you to play. You marvel at him, eyes casted in shadow. A statement. A promise. His undoing.

“Mine.”

He jerks, going into near excorcistic bodily spasms as he lifts his hips and fucks as deep into you as he can, nearly hurting his back by pressing his heels into the floor and thrusting. His ass leaves the sofa for a bare second before he collapses and his mind sent into delicious subspace. Even with the satisfaction of coming it still wrecks devastation through his nerves.

But a good husband still provides. He gives and gives before you finally have your fill three more rolls in, your clit having tenderized against his groin with each pass before it slaps at just the right angle and sends you spiraling. You slow, fierce cuts turning into leisurely rolls as you allow your pleasure to carry you like sand in the ocean.

Terzo’s hips still shake, his doglike whine breaks the chorus of heavy breathing and you start to move again. You shift, squirm, and finally remove yourself from his lap. He hiccups as his cock, still throbbing from pleasure slaps his stomach in freedom, a pained ‘oh’ punched from his gut.

It’s both the best moment of his life and near torture as he watches you adjust your underwear back in place and brush down your dress. You lean back over him, he can see the concern in your eyes along with those threatening clouds you brought with you. Quickly, he blows away those clouds rendering them as simple fluffs of dandelions. Reaching up with a trembling hand, he cups at your cheek and gives you a confidence instilling kiss. You sweetly melt into him before breaking away.

His body is heavy and muscles are screaming from sudden exertion as they finally relax, he half expects a cramp later. It’s the best feeling in the world. He glances at your retreating figure as you walk towards the door, leaving him a near husk as you make off with all he has to give. Hair and dress back in place, your thumb wiping at touching up your smeared lipstick, glancing at the nearby mirror. You flash him a bit of teeth as you palm the doorknob and chime a wish you well and he's again stunned by the grace of your beauty.

Then he glances down, giving a pained groan as his poor and abused cock twitches at the sight.

The traces of his cum he can see steadily sliding down the inside of your thighs, the image sheared into his mind as a core memory. The knowledge that you’ll be sitting with the Council with the stains of his release on your panties. Fuel for later today when he knows you'll be back, after all your work is done, to better take your time appreciating him.

He can't wait to be picked apart.

[ludinusdaleth]

this is something ive had brewing in my mind for a while, but now that this aeor arc seems concluded, im really thinking on ludinus & other calamity survivors, and the idea of no perfect victim & moving forward.

ludinus & leylas are about the same age, have lived the same years. when we meet leylas, she is sending her soldiers to war in large part because she has seen the cycles of exandria unfold so consistently she cannot imagine peace until she defeats her enemy (quana still prays for it, and unity among everyone. but she holds her tongue). ludinus, on the opposite side of the mountains, knows the cycles too. and he thinks he must wage them to break them. leylas worships the luxon to free herself from the gods. ludinus despises the luxon for being seen as a god at all, that leylas as a survivor would dare worship it. both see the exact same thing but in opposite ways. but leylas gives a small smile of surprise when the m9 stop the war of ash & light. she is surprised, but happy to be wrong, in this one moment; her faith in these non dynasty folk paid off. all ludinus, one who hates cycles seeing a cycle caught short, sees, is a loss at taking more beacons, at destroying the "religious drivel" of the luxons religion. at least he can get to work on the big picture, the cycle he actually cares about, over any he enforces.

devexian & alyxian awaken the same year, devexian by the m9, in the ruins of his (and ludinus's) home. he can only laugh dryly at its fate, say it is a cruel joke of history. he picks up the pieces, tries to bring his people back to life. he wants them to start anew. he wants them to let go. if ludinus cant escape the day the city fell then it seems devexian wants nothing more than to leave it for tomorrow. alyxian has been caught in the hell of being a demigod of divinity & ruidis left to rot in half death. (depending on your netherdeep ending) he awakens to a new dawn, suddenly ancient & old in body, but.... free. freed by your party. he was torn asunder by avandra/correlon/sehanine & predathos within him, their powers festering in him as gruumsh destroyed him - and still he tries to be kind, and have faith, even if he is not the warrior he was, even if everything he ever knew was destroyed. he can see society flourish again, even after his & gruumsh's battle destroyed half of marquet. ludinus has seen society rebuild its entire course of time - and all he sees is a world never as brilliant as what it was before.

all of these calamity survivors are completely fucked. leylas is paranoid, losing her mind from living too long, and still haunted by lolth. quana is resigned to stay at her lovers side even as madness takes her when all she wants is unity with others. devexian is clearly so unwilling to face history repeating he wont tell other aeormatons their heritage. alyxian is broken & battered after an eon of nonstop torture.

but they had help from others, from kind souls, who reached a hand out. and they took that kindness and internalized it. and they have vowed to help their people any way they can. to spread that glimmer of hope. to rebuild.

ludinus hasnt. and i think there is deep tragedy in that. i dont know if he has much hope, ironically, beyond raging cleansing fire. in that broad big picture it is both incredibly real & also heartbreaking when recovery falls through the cracks so badly. to have so little of a support group of survivors around you that you smack the hand of those who came out of it differently, and not have known others who could show you it was okay to move on. you hurt other survivors in your refusal to breathe, and live too large to see the others choosing a small destiny. it is unfair to him to had to have suffered and unfair to inflict that on calamity survivors again for your own agenda.

i fixate on him not disagreeing with the bells finding a third option. deep down, he wants to have that hope the others share so fucking bad. we'll see if he ever finds it.

[mythicalmyles]

— req, hii mythical :)

incubus!reader who hasn't has his fill tonight and is getting desperate for ANY type of relief and release + a perverted obsessive slender who's activity sabotaging the reader's chance to get filled so he has to go him and get the relief he needs ever so badly <3

you can choose the kinks. thanks myth :))

– 💤 anon

Ovi, taking advantage, double pen, big size diff, belly bulging, prostate milking, knotting

(Names) mind was deteriorating as he desperately tried to find his fill, everything had gone wrong so far. He’d been searching for hours, not one home he could enter. He whined and rubbed his thighs together as he backed against a tree, he knew it wouldn’t help but the desperation was setting deep inside of him. “Need. Need.” Was all he could repeat as he stuffed his hand down his pants, moans flowing as he arched forward slightly. His free hand gripped on to the tree as he threw himself back against it, some relief finally flooding him as he moaned and desperately bucked into his hand.

A loud cry left him when something wrapped around his wrists, pinning them above his head. “Sl-Slenderman!” (Name) cried out staring at the giant being. “Now whats this? Really doing something so perverse in my forest?” (Name) whined, tears welling in his eyes. “I-I need.” (Name) choked out as heat rolled through his body, his primal need to be filled going into overdrive.

(Name) jumped and sobbed out a moan as something slid in the back of his jeans, circling his hole. Moans flew from (Name) as he tried pushing back into the intrusion. “Ive waited for you to come to me but I had to take matters into my own hands.” (Name) could barley think, the feeling of the powerful beings tentacle on his hole driving him insane. “Please, please, please.” He mindlessly begged as he ground back onto the appendage, his moan reverberated through the forest when it finally slid into him. Slenderman wasted no time in thrusting deep and quick, drawing out choked whines and cries from the incubus.

“So desperate.” It chuckled, sliding another tentacle inside of him. The only reason (Name) hadn’t fallen was due to the tentacles keeping his wrists up, his body had crumpled the moment one of the beings tentacles slid into him. A tentacle pressed against (Names) lips and he quickly opened his mouth, welcoming it in. His tongue ran all over it as he slurped on it, rocking his hips back onto the tentacles nestled inside of him.

(Name) couldn’t think as he sucked and fucked himself on the appendages inside of him, finally getting what he desperately needed. “Such a pretty sight, you’re all stuffed up. So beautiful.” Slenderman praised as its hands ran over his body, tweaking his nipples. (Names) saliva dripped out from around the tentacle, eyes crossing as his body was assaulted with pleasure. Once he came, his load blowing all over his exposed stomach, Slendermans hands up his shirt and teasing his nipples.

(Name) was dropped and he fell into it’s chest, Slenderman easily picking him up in his arms. Slenderman sat down against the tree, (Name) in his lap. (Name) gasped for air as he looked at it’s pale face, his body shaking. “I don’t think i can let you go after this. Im going to have to breed you.” (Name) choked, wide eyes as he searched for any sign of joking. “Oh im not kidding, you’d look beautiful stuffed to your limit.” Panic took over (Name) as it freed its cock, it came out to his mid stomach. He sobbed as he stared at it, he had no chance. He was small by human standards.

“No please.” He begged, Slendermans hands wrapping around his waist as tentacles ripped his clothing off. (Name) tried fighting it but Slenderman’s tentacles were quick to wrap around his body, constricting tight and restricting his movements. He heard Slenderman’s voice chuckle in his head as it began pushing its head inside of him. “Too big, no please.” He croaked out, his words ignored and a scream left him as it’s cock finally pushed past his rim. He jumped forward, hugging onto Slenderman as tears rolled down his cheeks.

It took forever before Slenderman had him seated on his cock, fingers running along the big bulge in (Names) stomach. All (Name) could do was sob and whine into Slendermans chest, stuffed beyond belief. His mind couldn’t focus as his body twitched, overloaded. Slenderman pulled him back to look at his fucked out face, one of Slendermans hands pushing his hair back to get a better look. “How do you feel?” (Name) whined, Slenders cock moving inside of him. “Full. Too full.” He choked out at he whimpered, looking down at the bulge in his stomach.

Slenderman suddenly ground up chasing a loud yelp from (Name), (Name) sobbed as his nerves were lit on fire. His cried turned into moans as Slender began speeding up, it’s tentacles helping to fuck (Name) on it’s cock. It couldn’t help but growl at the way the little demon wrapped around him, so tight. Slender wanted to ruin him, so he could only come back to it for pleasure. Loud cries and moans left (Name) as Slenderman got rougher, slamming as deep as he could into (Name). “I ca- no!” (Name) cried as another orgasm tore through his body, he shook and he couldn’t stop spilling his seed as Slendermans cock constantly ground against his prostate. Panicked cries left inbetween his loud moans as he was drained of all he had, soul leaving his body as he was milked for all he was worth.

He fell loosely against the tentacles. “Ah! Ahhh! No moore, please.” He slurred out as Slender continually fucked him at an inhumane pace, cock imprinting itself deep inside of (Name). (Name) moaned loudly as his overstimulated body was abused, he was sure the entire forest could hear his sobs and moans. “Dont worry, you’ll be filled soon.” Panicked whines left (Name), the thought alone of just how much the being could cum from a cock this huge was daunting.

Cracked noises flew from him as his body let go, letting Slender use him as it pleased. (Name) choked as slender suddenly slammed deep inside of him, arms and tentacles completely immobilising him.

“Ahh! Uh, oh!” (Name) choked out as Slender’s cum flooded him, gasping as he felt objects being pushed into him. “Wha-?” He slurred out, feeling the cum flood inside of him. Slenders cock stretching him too much to let any out, panicked cries flooded from (Names) mouth as he felt Slenders cock swell up. “No, please.” He choked out as he was stretched more, vision dancing with black spots as cum kept shooting into him. He whimpered as he felt his stomach expand. “It’s my eggs.” (Names) hearing rang as he processed what was happening. He really was being bred. Moan’s began dripping from his lips as Slender began to slowly grind up into him and circle it’s hips, (Name) couldn’t understand how his cock was twitching again, throbbing as it hardened with every roll of Slenders hips. Slenderman pulled back once he’d finally stopped spilling inside of (Name), sperm and egg’s fully implanted deep into the little demon.

Slender bounced his hips, (Name) letting out high pitched moans as he felt another orgasm wash over him. No cum came out and he fell crying against Slender’s chest. “Too much.” He sobbed as Slender kept bouncing him. “But you’re so pretty like this for me, moaning like a whore full of my eggs.” Its mouth ripped open and it liked its lips. (Name) whimpered, completely outmatched. Its tongue slipped between (Names) lips, lapping up the taste of the human.

[storgicdealer]

ehehehehehe okay. first things first i figured out a good name for stohio: carteblan (i cannot believe it took me this long ive been calling it stohio for like ? oh my god just over a year now)

anyways yeah.

i havent figured out the exact timeline, but a couple years before victim "came back to life"/escaped the ava1 youtube video (that's a whole other can of worms), stickfigures were just finding out about the existence of other living sticks. in particular, freedom was a rather popular figure as one of the first sticks to break out of stick slavery (many living stickfigures were put to tasks, similar to chosen and second, where it was either do the task or die). freedom specifically was the first to discover the outernet, and quickly provided a link to others online.

he then created the "stick freedom ad" (which earned him his name; prior to this, he was simply known as unti (short for untitled) (sticks having Names outside of their roles was not a common thing yet)). he made this ad and scammed several websites into displaying it without actually paying for it by using fraudulent money (there are a couple very old blog posts and forum posts about the Stick Freedom Ad and what its supposed to mean, since clicking on it leads to an error 404).

as more sticks were freed and entered the outernet, they began to build houses. some sticks that had experience with drawing helped draw the sketches for these houses, which was then built upon using the surrounding resources. this eventually developed into carteblan, the city that mango and purple live in today.

however as time passed the culture in carteblan became a little elitist--- victim-blamey (haha), acting like all sticks should be strong, and turning down their noses on sticks who look a little too different from the norm (like paleo, ballista and hazard) (the norm being hollowheads, fullheads and whiteheads).

like i mentioned in my reblog, the sticks in carteblan began to crave more, lives similar to human lives, and amongst that was a demand for stick children. in my headcanon, sticks cannot reproduce and any sex they have is entirely recreational, so they had to devise another method for having kids. adoption, like mango did with gold in my hc, is the most common way of doing this.

sticks like second, that can draw things to life, are extremely rare (like 1 out of a thousand) in the outernet, but theres a couple thousand people in carteblan as of 2024 so there are a few sticks that can actually draw sticks to life. thus, they do 'kid' commissions where they literally draw a kid to life in exchange for money. there are also some website sticks in touch with their animators who ask their animators do do kid commissions as well for people in the outernet.

wow okay this is long. there are other stick cities too but the two major cities are carteblan and adagia most other sticks live in solitude or on websites ok im done woo

grabs you by the shoulders. falls onto the floor. has a fucking awakening

DUDE.

this is one of the most amazing things ive seen recently that inspired me to make a ramble/srs.

im going to create another part of my ramble series and pin it because of it im fr

foundation of the outernet, development of outernet sticks and creation of living beings

(a ramble made with the help of an immaculate person with amazing ideas)

OH MY GOD?????? FIRSTLY. i need to mention that i ADORE that we both have an idea that outernet was discovered by created internet/pc sticks. that its appearance began to be a place for a whole race to live in. and that its not something that exists completely naturally and independently from it. this is the theory of their origins i believe most right now

freedom being the founder IS SICK. ITS SO FUCKING SICK im rolling on the floor

in my "rules of code" ramble also i supposed sticks being in touch with their creators as well and them also BEING DRAWN!!! by sticks and creators. ill put a screenshot of everything hold on

outernets creation

my thoughts about outernets existence that most of which i think i explained

lives of stickmen and reproduction

my thoughts were about reproduction as well!!!!! its mostly accepted as canon in the fandom that sticks reproduce naturally but i cannot say that it actually is canon. everything that was going on with purple was symbolic and didnt showcase like. natural birth

alan said that for gold to exist king would have to marry a very neon yellow stick.

AND THIS made me confirm my headcanon that stick children are created by parent(s) own code. that they cannot influence it or prefer a color, that their code INHERENTLY has the variety of the color palette and hexcodes embedded into it.

ABOUT the code and colors. (i believe that the colors of sticks mixing up with each others is COMPLETELY code.)

all sticks inherently have a code and a name that gives them associated power. that can be messed with as well by a user (tdl command). its something that ive also talked in my rules of code ramble and mentioned the concept of "levels" and name power hierarchy

the chosen one, created and possessing a grandeu amount of power

the dark lord, also posessing a lot of power (that i dont believe couldve came from the command that was written into them. the command of destroying chosen is a goal that i believe is able to not be achieved)

the second coming, the name of someone that ties them with their predecessor (does make me wonder though how exactly their code made a connection with our chosen. maybe its possible that the name "the second coming" by itself, as a level, implies being a coming of someone powerful)

victim, being quite weak by themselves and not posessing any power by their own and having to rely on pc programs they're aware of.

i believe that being able to code a stick into a specific power and duty is something that could only be achieved and controlled through the feature of the program the stick was created in. in case of outernet, since they dont have access to computer programs and therefore, programs of creation such as adobe they cannot influence or change one's code

when it comes to creation of a stick i truly believe that you are able to give them color by yourself, unless the child is made by connecting it to the codes of its supposed parent(s). they gain hue by either actually taking/mixing up the colors of the parents or by taking one color in case of a sole parent.

(societal thought: its possible that outernet sticks, due to not wanting to have a literal copy and just an extension of themselves and wanting to create an "actual new life" by mixing colours prefer to have children with a partner, and not by themselves only)

have thought that color/code of the stick could be influenced by the parent(s) preferences, like a parent would like to have a kid similar to them and name them the same way (thus resulting/having their hexcode being picked out individually) BUT. i remembered alans words about kings spouse.

that for gold to exist king would need to marry a really neon yellow stick.

would it imply that sticks that subtract parent(s) code cannot influence the color of the stick created? as much as it impossible to influence the features of a born child in our real life, only taking it from parents and letting the nature play a randomizer. and that the only thing that they are able to influence is the shape of their creation?

society of outernet

THE CONCEPT OF STICKS SOCIETY BEING ELITIST ABOUT THIS STUFF. im eating it im not sure what fully do with it yet but im eating it

ive also talked about society there

when talking about creators of mercs king purple and co i was mostly thinking about real users. BUT YOUR CONCEPT OF STICKS BEING DRAWN BY OTHER STICKS AND ME THINKING ABOUT IT AS WELL . THIS IS SO FUCKING AMAZING. this is canon for me IDC!!!!!!

it does, however, make me wonder of their living process. we know that alan's hollowheads are created for a reason, are born aware of themselves, how to walk/run/interact/fight and havent been seen aging or changing. and due to chosen, victim and second surviving a whole bunch of damage that should've killed them, second literally REFUSING to delete, the fate of dark lord being unknown and alan not giving a straight answer about it and, very important: cg as created sticks being unable to actually die and needing only refresh of a page to continue living, having all their memories intact... makes me wonder that stickmen created directly by a human hand are unable to die.

(does make me wonder about another completely different thing. the societal perception. is it acceptable to be in touch with your stick creators? how would it even feel. do they perceive them as a distant relative?? do sticks that are able to create life consider their creations close to them as well??? im imagining something along the lines about detroit stuff with connor&kamski but way less intense)

connection of realms and creation of life

ive rambled A TON about connection of internet and outernet and how sticks especially of outernet could connect and travel between realms. hear ye hear ye.

right now i genuinely believe that stick society advanced so far in the outernet and got to live there that their connection with the internet mightve severed:

sticks of outernet don't physically interact neither with internet/pc programs OR travel there unless they obtained something that could allow them to travel to a pc/internet (the minecraft block and nether portals that seem doing quite fine in the outernet dimension) or have powers that can allow them to break through (chosen and the computer/ip sky which, interestingly, has only been seen broken through on the alanspc ip adress//dark portals to the internet).

given this, there's not a lot of accesible methods of traveling to the internet and most of them are available only to pc sticks.

(except. for king and purple. except for king getting a block from minecraft that was not supposed to be in the outernet from that merchant in his backstory. but it is a whole another can of worms as well)

as far as we've seen sticks that werent exposed to pc and internet tech dont really use or possess any tech that could access it??????? the times where we've seen tech such as computers/phones/tvs/pc and programs interface were always in possession of sticks that came from a pc or were there at least once (hollowheads, the cg, purple) or were entrusted with it from someone that was on a pc (mercenaries). talking about the video used on the tv in "the king" episode... it has never been shown that this video was being shown directly from the youtubes platform either. and that lead me to a thought that outernet sticks might not even interacted with internet's properties except for the tools used to create a life that came along with the foundation of the internet and most likely were developed from tools brought by the first sticks. but the way outernet progressed they might not even know that this stuff is literally from another realm

heck, a daring thought.

in case of outernet being almost completely cut off from its original internet history recent sticks of outernet might not even know of the existence of pcs and internet.

this does however clash with sticks being still created by people and sticks that are able to create life being in touch with them. but its still supposable that only rare sticks with an ability to create life somewhat have a.. gene? passed through to them from some of their ancestors that could've been able to create life. and users dont exactly come into this (also given its unlikely that its a regular experience for a user to be emulated in the outernet world like it was with alans cursor in showdown)

continuing to talk about elitism. again this is such a sick concept

im thinking right now that elitism towards stickmen that arent completely strong/prefer not to engage in fighting due to the progress of their civilization//different kinds of stickmen mightve also came from the original stickmen (im going start coloring this concept now. also this whole is some adam and eve stuff) that were created to fight. we know from our real world that the first appearance of sticks in the internet didnt come from a desire to animate them in a fighting ring but the whole scene and culture of fighting sticks came around pretty quickly. the whole reason avam exists as a series

its possible that while predecessors of original stickmen werent created with fighting in mind the stickmen that discovered the outernet might as well been the first sticks created for fight. and since it isnt a thing that gone away and is most likely embedded into the code of sticks themselves in the avam universe the whole "fighting code gene" mightve been carried over to recent sticks as well. and this elitism exists that even though sticks dont have to fight anymore (to literally survive in most cases) due to the progress of their kind some conservative mfs might believe that "this is what our ancestors intendeeeddd you need to bow to your roots and your existing gene"

the elitism towards kinds of sticks is. god its such a big and very explainable and amazing concept

due to sticks just beginning existing in the internet a long while ago and mostly drawn pretty similarly (since most creators were just exploring how to draw them digitally) the race of stickmen that passed down from original stickmen could've been all just fullheads and whiteheads and perhaps hollowheads?.. im really thinking hard about it because. we havent seen hollowheads in the outernet and the fact that orange didnt even know of their existence anywhere else and even WE didnt up until they saw victim (and were probably quite damn shocked) and the fact it was possibly quite a grand moment to them confuses me.

im not sure for what reason, but the number of sticks of the race of hollowheads might have been reduced in present outernet, only having the ones that posses incredible power survive. (yet. also victim. that does not posses such power. but its a whole another idea on that they could've acquired it through different means and not from power coming from their own self)

or, it just is an avam universe rule that users didnt really think of drawing hollowheads when creating first sticks because it was hard for them to keep track of the background besides their damn hollow head and it was easier to have a stick that covered it fully on another layer LOL

either way, coming back to elitism (this sounds funny out of context), due to original sticks being simply drawn as fullheads whiteheads and possibly hollowheads it was the main race that stickmen were used to creating when drawing a new life. but with the progress of their civilization they started to experiment, eventually inventing new kinds of sticks (the kinds of hazard, ballista and paleo). due to some conservative sticks clinging to their roots they didnt like the difference from the norm.

elitism thought.

even with a possible inability to code a stick into doing something by outernet sticks would people still try to draw a stick with a specific build associated with certain jobs and tasks, trying to force them into a mold of who they are "supposed" to be? like, drawing a stick that resembles a sign (like hazard) and having them work for example as an aircraft marshaller or some other job that requires caution and directive? the grey sticks working in rocketcorp, possibly made as clerks and errand dudes?

..could purple be drawn being stronger and having a greater build than a usual stick would have, therefore disappointing navy when they dont match their expectations of a stick they wanted?

would it be a problem that progressive sticks would try to solve? allowing different kinds of sticks to exist, but not forcing them into a certain shape?

another thing. YOUVE OPENED A GATEWAY TO A SEA OF WORMS BY TELLING ME ABOUT POSSIBLE ESCAPE OF VICTIM FROM A YOUTUBE VIDEO.

my previous ramble (rocketcorp, dimensions and virtual reality) made a theory that victim, in one way or another essentially brought pc programs and tech into outernet, thus obtaining power that is, quite literally, linked with their whole creation. (very symbolic considering their whole power is the one that made their life end so fast) and, due to outernet being cut off from programs and powers of internet and pcs, became a being that literally stood higher than the reality and fabric of the outernet realm itself, possesing power that could possibly meddle with it (mercs cannons literally changing structure and whole being of objects like the corndog stand or literally messing with a sticks state and body with chosen). and i have thought that victim is the one that could use internet itself as one of their grand tools.

and. animation vs youtube. we fucking know. that a stick is able to upload itself and break the interface of internet.

no one said that the original ava video on youtube is the whole thing that victim used to escape.

also. remember me mentioning that the original video of animation vs minecraft wasnt shown to be accessed through youtube. this video looked like it was downloaded having a whole different bar at the bottom and everything. couldve it been downloaded by vic or rocketcorp?

(victim interneted the fucking internet and started showing avam series like their own show. by the way its ALSO a potential scenario i talked about before. that due to potential severing of outernet citizens with the internet the recorded adventures of the cg on pc, internet and minecraft (ESPECIALLY considering that minecraft existed as a fun simulation game on a festival) that was broadcasted could've been interpreted by outernet sticks as fiction. but its an independent funny concept to be thought about and i still didnt fully figure it out)

op.

you cracked my mind open like a walnut and i cannot stop thinking about all of your ideas

oh my god this did so much to me. ive been writing for the past two hours due to how much ideas it gave me. im going to pin this ramble because its very important to me and puts a lot of theories and headcanons in stone. you are my saviour cindersnows and you are probably going to be fucking FLABBERGASTED by the length of this post

sincerely yours storgic "the aspiring matpat of the avam fandom" dealer

[scriberated]

Instruments of Salvation Chapter 23

Chapter 23 || Ao3 Chapter Summary:

“That is outrageous!” Galadriel exclaimed, frowning. “Their personal feelings aside, the High King has granted you sanctuary. They must abide by his rule.”

“The Elves of Lindon, perhaps,” Arondir said pointedly, eyes skirting the perimeter. “But the freed Elves are of a different mind. They speak very little but when they do it is with bitterness and anger. Many believe they were abandoned, and while Gil-galad was not the King at the time they were taken, they do not seem to care. Not all are Noldorin, either. The brewing trouble is why Gil-galad named Celeborn as Commander in Elrond’s absence. It helped assuage the freed Elves a little to see one of their own restored to some position of significance. But it hasn’t solved the problem.”

Halbrand frowned, considering the new information. They had anticipated some push back from the Elves. But the animosity Arondir spoke of was beyond the scorn they had expected.

“There have been fights,” Bronwyn quietly added, appearing deflated. “Slurs, and harsh words spoken from the sides of mouths. Our people are growing tired of it and some have begun to react instead of walking away. I do not… I fear we will not be able to remain here for long.” Work Summary: It is Galadriel that is mortally wounded in the battle of the Southlands, not Halbrand. He weighs her life against the consequences of her death, and, with few options and less time, decides to save her. All magic comes with a price. Multiple POVs, alternating irregularly between Galadriel and Sauron. Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Ships: Galadriel | Artanis/Halbrand (The Rings of Power), Galadriel | Artanis/Sauron | Mairon, Elrond Peredhel & Galadriel | Artanis, Elrond Peredhel & Durin IV, Elendil the Tall/Tar-Míriel, Disa (The Rings of Power)/Durin IV (Tolkien) Tags: Fuck Or Die, Cosmic Connection Taken Literally, All Magic Comes With a Price, Eventual Smut, Emotional Manipulation, Manipulation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Soul Bond, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Slow Burn, Possessive Behavior, Possessive!Sauron, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Oral Sex, Minor Character Death, Vaginal Sex, Soul Bond, Plot With Porn

[selfawarecobalt]

bro that fight was absolutely ridiculous! I love Gray but that was clearly main character syndrome. when Freed said that the rune won't cancel every magic to give Gray a chance I knew this was the first excuse to have the Raijinshuu lose. if serious, Freed could've just cancelled everything and the fight would've been over before it even began. then the Gray doesn't feel the torture rune excuse out of nowhere and the fact that Gray won against Evergreen Bickslow AND Freed with all ridiculous reasons and then struggled against an injured and exhausted Mirajane afterwards while Freed was holding up great against an emotional-overdrive, rage power Mira in the fight with her, it's all just so badly written. I would've given Gray the advantage of using devil slayer magic against people like Mira and Freed but at least make it a damn good and difficult fight because not only Mira is a power to be reckoned with, Freed has been set up to be too. then there are Ever and Bickslow qith their eye magics as well, and how they were knocked out was a joke too. I dont want this animated.

EXACTLY. I’ll be the first to admit gray would be powerful enough to defeat individual members of the thunder legion (that main character power boost) but that was an utter piss take. gray still struggled against just bixlow during their first fight, even if he couldve beaten him. that “um actually gray cant feel pain in this form” was completely stupid. ive seen a lot of awful things from modern fairy tail but that was undoubtedly the worst. also that “omg of course i feel pain i was hitting my comewades :((((“ INFURIATED me. didnt have that energy during what i assume was meant to be a “comedic” scene of him just beating the shit out of freed when he was already down. also the whole “lets rip the clothes off the only girl!” thing made me want to barf. i genuinely believe it would’ve been better for their characters if the thunder legion had been killed in the tartaros arc.

also YEAH THE WHOLE “struggled against an exhausted and injured mira” genuinely gave me vertigo after i finally escaped from having it shoved down my eyeholes. like yeah mira was rusty during her fight with freed but she was absolutely rage filled, and it was really emphasised just how powerful she was, and it was STILL a tough fight. against just freed. the whole thunder legion vs gray shouldve been a sweep in the other direction. weve seen they can all work together, using their unique magics to complicate things for enemies.

cant think where else to put this so im slapping this in here. EVEN THOUGH GRAY HAS DEMON SLAYER MAGIC NOW FREED HAS A FUCKING SWORD. also that stupid “gray teleports behind evergreen and bixlow” thing? WHAT KIND OF DEMON SLAYER MAGIC IS THAT. all fairy tail main characters are the worst type of mary sue. and i LIKE mary sues.

evergreen can turn people to stone and fire hundreds of BULLETS and explosions. bixlow can use his babies to beat the shit out of long distance targets and take control of their bodies (NOT TURN THEM CHIBI. HIRO.). FREED CAN FUCKING TURN INTO A DEMON AND ALMOST INSTANTLY TRAP PEOPLE AND DEPRIVE THEM OF OXYGEN, AND CUT A GODDAMN TORNADO IN HALF. THESE ARE VETERAN FIGHTERS WHO WERE ONCE ABLE TO DAMN NEAR TAKE DOWN THE ENTIRE GUILD. now theyre just a joke. their personalities have been completely erased and replaced with “omg laxus!!”. im going to hurl

if you HAD to make up an excuse to weaken them, sure you could make up some shit about “oh the barrier particles damaged their magic containers” BUT EVEN THEN THEYRE STILL SMART ENOUGH TO WORK TOGETHER.

seriously. this was the most blatant case of main character nepotism ive literally ever seen. i genuinely despise 100yq, it always felt so lazy and uncreative. uhh yeah actually surprise theres four more acnologias but more powerful. yeah theyre were never mentioned before so what. every character looks the same now. the lucyification of the fairy tail girls needs to be studied. this infection is taking away every single character and the only reactions im seeing to it are “omg glow up!!”

(also i HATE seeing people talk about the spinoff characters like “omg so cute its like an alternate universe” NO ITS JUST LAZY. HE ONLY KNOWS LIKE 4 CHARACTER TYPES AS MAIN CHARACTERS AND IM SICK OF NOONE ACKNOWLEDGING IT)

[chivgf]

One Last Time (pt. 1)

izogie x reader

summary: the mighty agojie attacked the men of your village. your husband, along with many other warriors died, but you and the women have a choice; join the agojie, or leave with nowhere to go. you choose to stay but are in no way prepared to find comfort in the same cold-blooded warrior who stuck her machete through your husband's heart. (Izogie calls reader a nickname throughout fic.)

warnings: violence/death (duh, if you scared you shoulda stayed tf home!), kinda fucked up romance given the fact that Izogie murdered your husband but she's just a girl. idk what other warnings i need to add so yeah just read it & i hope you enjoy enough to anticipate more parts possibly???

A/N: ik this part is kinda short but it's pretty much just an intro to this series, plus ive been working on this for months on end and i need to publish it before i start to despise it.

Spite and resentment consumed you as you watched your husband bleed out on the dirt. You remembered her face vividly. Sharp jawline, thick eyebrows and full-ish lips. Scars that could've created roads to walk on. Bursting out of your hut like a mad dog, you kneeled down over his weak body.

“Efosa!” you weeped. “Wake up, it is not the end! You must fight.” Tears streamed from your eyes like mini rivers. Your blood stained hands reached down into the sack on his belt and retrieved the wooden charm you gifted him before the war. You held it close to your chest and closed your eyes to avoid taking another glance at him. You could hear the metal clanking and battle cries cease.

“I will never forg--”

Before you could speak a last word to your husband, a hand grasped your shoulder firmly. Your body jerked and you turned slowly, afraid. It was her. There was a formerly healed scar on her eyebrow that appeared to have reopened during this fight.

“You have to come with us,” she spoke. Her eyes started on you, then moved to your husband. A disgusting smirk formed on her lips. She was proud to have killed him.

“I refuse to go anywhere with you! You are a monster. You find this amusing?” you spat at her. The smirk fell quickly.

“On your feet. We are taking you all to Dahomey.”

“My home is here. I am staying here.”

“I will not ask you again.”

“Good,” you replied, turning your focus back to Efosa.

Without a doubt, she stuck to her word. She aggressively snatched you up and threw you over her shoulder, taking you to the march line. You began kicking your feet and punching her back like a child throwing a tantrum. “Let me go!” you cried. “You killed my husband, you savage! Don't touch me!”

“If you continue to disobey me you will end up just like him,” she said without hesitation.

You were silenced. You stood quiet in line the entire march to Dahomey.

•••

“...any woman who does not wish to stay, is free to go.” General Nanisca ended her speech and watched many women make their exit. The woman from the battle was burning holes into you with her eyes, watching, waiting for you to crack and leave like a weakling. You refused to give her the satisfaction. You stared back into her brown eyes, clenching your jaw in nervousness.

“Let us move along then,” Amenza, Nanisca's most trusted warrior spoke. The intense eye contact was finally broken.

Moving further into the palace you were sent to sit with more experienced Agojie and wait for further instruction. You found yourself next to a woman with a small Afro and two braids on the sides of her head.

“They call me Desi, who are you?” she said as she studied you.

“Does it matter?”

“Mm, fair enough. Freed captive or Mahi?”

“Mahi,” you replied.

“Ah, I see.”

“Who is she?” you pointed as Nanisca, Amenza, and the husband slaughterer walked past.

“Izogie. Strongest warrior I know. Ran into trouble?” she asked, picking at her frighteningly sharp nails.

“You could say that.”

“My advice? Put it behind you. You will need her more than you will ever know.”

You nodded your head. She did seem strong. And smart. Perhaps you would need her. But you didn't want to think about that; for now she was still the same woman who ripped your life from you in a matter of minutes.

“Go and bathe yourselves, you know the drill,” Izogie boomed, walking to the area that you were in. You and Desi followed the other women heading to the baths, your hand in hers. An uneasy feeling consumed you as you felt Desi let go of your hand and walk at a swifter pace. “Eh-eh,” Izogie interrupted, grabbing your arm. Desi continued to scurry along. “Not you.”

You looked down at her hand. Her nails were like Desi's, only sharper and more deadly. Making matters worse, they were also digging into your skin. You whined at the pain a tad, but refused to say anything. When she finally released you, a little bit of blood slowly trailed down your glistening arm. You weren't sure if she even noticed. You covered the nail marks with your hand. “Have I done something?”

“Taken a liking to Desi I see.”

“Not necessarily.. she was informing me of the way things should work in advance.”

You impatiently awaited a response, but there wasn't one. She just stood over you, her frame completely blocking you from joining the others. You were micro compared to her, and she found it extremely amusing.

“If that is all, I'd like to go bathe now,” you croaked, breaking the silence. Her chuckle released some of the tension on her side, in turn building up some on yours. “Was there a joke?” you said, slightly irritated. She saw you as nothing but a pampered village wife, and you knew it. Izogie placed her hands on her knees and bent down to your level, once again reminding you of how small you are to her. Her face only inches away from yours, she whispered into your ear two simple words before walking away from the entire conversation.

“Be careful.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine as she made herself scarce. The scent of essential oils and incense lingered in the air, making you dizzy. Unsure of what she meant, you stumbled in confusion to the baths. There were many bodies taking up space in the water, but nowhere you looked was a familiar face. You scanned and scanned for Desi, your head still spinning a tad bit from your confusing conversation with Izogie. What about Desi was there to be careful about? She seemed sweet enough, no?

After a minute or two of searching for Desi, you found it pointless and decided to just bathe and get it over with. The steam from the warmth caused you to sweat as you let yourself sink into the water. You let out a small wince as a mix of the sweat and hot water grazed the nail imprint in your arm. “Ah!” you whimpered aloud, quickly looking around to make sure no one heard you. It was awkward to be alone in the baths with everyone speaking to people that they knew, so you found it easier to just close your eyes and pretend that you were alone, just like at home. You tuned out all of the loud voices and started humming a song to yourself, and finished up your bathing.

•••

You flapped out your mat lazily. It was your first day in the palace; no training yet, no nothing, yet you felt like you'd been worked half to death. The smell of palm oil and Jasmine floated in the air as you smoothed your mat out more and sat down on it. There were many women around you, some talking to absolutely no one, just like you. Still, you couldn't bring yourself to speak to anyone. You had no appetite at mealtime, and you weren't in the mood for sleep either.

Your thoughts of your late husband rang loudly in your ears. You had rarely ever been without him. He went to battle, yes, but he would always return safely to at least kiss you goodnight. Now, his caring and loving was simply just gone. Every part of you wished he was a ghost, haunting you in the sweetest ways. Brushing past you with a cold breeze when you feel alone, showing up in your dreams when your memories of him fade.

You found your restless body wandering around the dark palace. It was silent for the most part, besides the light and distant voices of the wives conversing in their quarters. It was surprisingly calming; the fires burning through the chilly night to warm you. After a while of aimlessly walking around, you started to hear faint noises. Your ears rang slightly as you strained to listen further. There was grunting and hacking, like someone was cutting down a tough tree. You followed the noises and a trail of sandal prints. The prints let you know this was none of the girls and women you had arrived with; this was someone who'd been settled.

Tiptoeing to the gate, you peeked around it curiously to find her.

Why couldn't you avoid her? What is her problem... What's yours?

You tried quickly to make yourself scarce from her, as she was equipped with her machete and swinging it angrily at the hay soldier ahead of her. Unfortunately for you, Izogie senses everything.

She tucked her machete in close to her and bent her knees in a defensive position. She continued to inch closer to you, asking, “Who is there?”

Low hung your head as you slowly revealed yourself to her.

“Ahh, it isYona.”

You looked up and raised a brow. “Yona?”

“Dove. You are meek and gentle; far too passive to make it here.” She placed her machete gently back into her scabbard and folded her arms. You rolled your eyes and sighed deeply. You knew you were not a warrior, but where else would a Mahi woman go in Dahomey? You could only live off of the streets for so long. Stepping closer, she followed your wandering eyes with her head. “Look at me,” Izogie demanded.

“I am not a dove,” you spat. You raised your head to meet her eyes. “I can do this, I will survive here.”

“Mm,” she nodded and retrieved her machete. “Show me.”

It was scary, to say the absolute least. Never in your life had you touched a weapon with intention to use it. Not even for defense. You reached out, your hands grazing her sharp nails once again. Recalling the moment those same nails broke through your skin sent a chill down your spine, but you managed to mask it. Holding the machete tightly in a fist, you bent down low like you'd seen your husband do in training.

“Swing it.”

“At what target?” you inquired studying the four hay soldiers to your left.

“Me.”

Your heart dropped. You didn't want to hurt anyone. Maybe that was your problem; you weren't willing to put anyone's life at stake, even if your own depended on it. Not to mention, Izogie is not only second-in-command, but has much experience. You don't have an ounce. A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it and moved closer, still low in position.

“Are you sure?”

“Yona, you would not ask the enemy such questions. Show me that you are a warrior. Show me that you have what it takes.”

You shut your eyelids tightly, took a breath, then studied her. Her eyes, to be specific. Efosa used to say, “The weakness is in the eyes,” but you could not find it. There was a strange coldness that she carried in her gaze; never breaking, never shifting.

“I've got all night,” she taunted, motioning for you to bring it on.

You noticed the same smirk on her face from when she stood over you, her blood covered hand on your arm. Blood that belonged to your husband. Anger consumed you as your breathing started to pick up. You gripped the machete tighter and began to follow her movements. After a minute of mirroring her, you took your first swing. It was wild, but you didn't care all that much. She dodged swiftly by an inch. Watching the fire from the torches dance on her face, you slid on the dirt and took another wild swing, this time at her lower half, cutting a gash in her clothing and her lower thigh. She let out a dry grunt but stayed focused on dodging your relentless jabbing and swatting with the weapon.

Your eyes were mad and fierce, your fury practically burning your skin. Izogie lunged forward at you, grabbing hold of both of your wrists with just one of her hands.

“That is enough, Yona.”

You pretended not to hear her and continued to struggle to get loose. The look in her eyes changed from demand to worry as she disarmed you and tossed the machete to the side. Still you fought, grabbing at her shoulders and taking her to the ground. It was like your body was moving way ahead of your brain. Izogie quickly overpowered you and climbed on top of you, pinning your wrists down near your head. You felt restless and weak underneath her.

“Enough!”

Her voice echoed in your ears as your vision started to get blurry and dark.

•••

“No, Miganon, what she needs is food. She hasn't laid one finger on anything since her arrival,” Izogie complained.

Nanisca scoffed and leaned over you.

“Take that up with her. She is awake now.”

You quickly scanned your surroundings. You lie on a highly elevated mat in a tent. There were weaponry decorations everywhere, a horn made of elephant tusk, and a pot of indigo dye. This was Izogie's personal tent.

Izogie watched from the tent's entrance as you took in everything. As you slowly locked eyes with her, you two exchanged no words. Your face carried a look of shame, remembering the actions that led up to this moment, while hers carried a look of guilt and concern. You keep your actions were irrational, especially since you would have to fight alongside her from now on, but you couldn't bare the pain of staring in the cold eyes of you husband's murderer.

Izogie took a breath before finally moving closer and speaking up.

“How..”

There was an odd change in her voice, was it hesitance that you heard?

“How are are you feeling?”

Your initial thought was to give her the silent treatment, but you decided against it and answered her question.

“I've been better,” you replied weakly. Your stomach growled, and you wondered if it was just as loud to the outside world as it was in your head. Clutching your torso, you tried to sit up for a second.

“Woah, careful,” Izogie rushed over and supported your back, holding you upright. She shook her head at her own actions. Why was she going out of her way to make sure you were alright after you...

Something clicked. You forgot that you'd injured her during your little explosion. You grabbed hold of her forearm with both hands and leaned over the mat. There on her thigh. That laceration you created. Pain inflicted on her, of your doing. Even after everything she'd done, you couldn't shake the feeling that she didn't fully deserve that. War is war, sides are sides. None of it was in her control, and it wasn't personal. You had to keep reminding yourself of that to get by.

Your head felt extremely heavy, but you still managed to pick it up to look at her. “I apologize,” you murmured. She looked down at her thigh, then back at you.

“I've had worse, trust me.”

The tent fell silent for a few moments before she spoke again.

“You should eat something.”

A nod from you was enough to send her straight out of the tent without hesitation, and when she returned, in her palms rested a fresh bowl of stew. The smell made your mouth water.

“Don't just stare, eat up.”

She passed you the bowl and leaned against one of the wooden posts set up in the tent. She watched you as if she was obligated to; as if she didn't have other things to tend to. You began to dig into the food she brought, completely ignoring the fact that her eyes never once left you. There was a deep regret tracing her face as you felt her presence move closer to you. Slurping the remains of the stew and wiping your lips, you looked to your side in curiosity. Her right hand was fidgeting with something in her beltsack nervously before she started to tell you something.

“You dropped this,” she presented you with Efosa's wooden charm. “..during the fight.”

You dropped the empty bowl immediately and grasped for the charm, your hands shaking as you turned it every which way to make sure nothing had happened to it. A great sigh of relief escaped your fragile frame. What would you have done if you'd lost it?

“I carved this myself, you know,” you told her, a tear forming in your waterline.

“It is very..”

Izogie grappled to find the right words, practically walking on eggshells so that she wouldn't trigger anymore negative emotions.

“It takes skill to create something like that.”

You let out a dry chuckle. The irony was too much for you to handle.

“What about your skill? What techniques work best for you when you leave your tent prepared to take a life?”

“I leave with intent to protect, not to kill, Yona. The Agojie are not just cold-blooded murderers, you must understand-”

You cut her off. “Save it. No words will remove that sight from my mind. How can you do something like that, then pretend it never happened? Tell me how, Izogie!”

“This is my life! I cannot change his fate, and for that I apologize, but you have no right to fault me when he, too, was rushing at me with a machete in his grip. He was trained not to stop until his target was down, as was I. Tell me, Yona, was I supposed to stand there and die? What else could I have done in such a situation?!” she raised her voice, slightly losing her breath after her statement.

She paced back and forth, her nails scratching her chin softly while she tried to think of what else to say as best she could.

“I am sorry! How many times must I repeat it until you forgive me?” she mumbled, her voice lessening to a whisper. In the short amount of time you'd been there, you'd taken note that every one of these warriors looked up to Izogie. They spoke of her as though she was some sort of unmovable force, yet you, in all your physical weakness, moved her with such ease.

“I don't know if I can.”

At your words, Izogie nodded and peeled back the entrance of the tent, clenching her jaw before removing herself. The sound of her footsteps retreating left an uncertain reaction in your body; you weren't quite sure if you wanted her to stay or not. The words she spoke to you were circulating through your mind, and you couldn't help but feel like she made a point. Before you could swim around in your mind for too long, you heard the tent open up once more. Expecting Izogie, you felt a pang of hope creep in, but it was just Desi, holding wildflowers.

“What's this?” you laughed, hands outstretched to receive the flowers she was handing you.

“I picked them myself, by the river. I figured you would appreciate some color,” Desi smiled sweetly, the new wooden beads attached to her two braids clanking in the wind. “That is very kind, Desi.”

She nodded. “The palace whispers, you know? About you.”

“Oh? What do they say?” you asked as you propped yourself up to listen better.

“They whisper that you were the cause of that cut on Izogie's leg; they also whisper that you are aiming for high ranks. They say that General Nanisca is next in your movement. Is it true?”

A snort escaped your nose; you'd never heard something so absurd.

“You cannot be serious. There is no movement, it was a simple fight,” you clarified firmly.

“I see, so you are just another palace myth?” she chuckled, but you didn't find anything funny. You shook your head and rubbed your temples.

“I am not in the mood for jokes,” you stated. You turned over on your mat and faced away from her. “You may leave, thank you for the flowers.”

“But I have just-”

Desi was interrupted by something. Rather, someone. You flipped back over to see why exactly she'd stopped talking so abruptly mid sentence. A tall familiar figure loomed over her shorter frame, its hand on her shoulder.

“I believe you were asked to leave.”

Izogie guided her out of the tent and walked to her weapon stand. You noted that her legs and hands were drenched in water as she placed her scabbard on the stand and removed her sandles, tossing them to the side.

“You are back,” you stated plainly, a pinch of relief lacing your words.

“Well yes, this is my tent.”

Facing away from you, she continued to dress down into clothing that provided more comfort for sleep. You couldn't help but watch, unable to fathom how one could be so rough around the edges, yet so graceful in every movement she makes.

“You are wet,” you added on top of your previous statement, your eyes still glued to her. She finally turned to face you. You'd never noticed how pretty she really is. You suppose nobody talks about things like that all that much in the palace unless speaking of Ghezo's wives, but Izogie was genuinely a good-looking woman in your eyes. You'd never blatantly admit that though, no.

“Any other observations you would like to voice before I lay down to rest?” she responded in an exhausted tone. She reached behind her stand and pulled out an extra mat, much more shabby than the one you were laying on.

A sigh escaped your lips before you shook your head no and spoke up again.

“Is that for me?”

“Do you really think that I would force you to-”

She stopped herself to take a grounding breath.

“I am not the monster you think I am, Yona.”

And those were her last words to you that night.

[spidermanifested]

ive thought a little more about devils nest dungeon meshi au (demons nest?) and here is the idea i was bouncing around in my head. id love for some kind of lore compliance check because i havent really gone back over the manga since i finished it, or sought out any kind of supplemental material, and i like the challenge of fitting these kinds of things into the boundaries of the source (once again DUNGEON MESHI SPOILERS. for people who havent read the manga at all)

so you have this demon (in a dungeon) (granting desires and eating them) (getting stronger) (hoping someday he can get out of the dungeon). and hes been in there a while and boy does he love watching humans get their greatest wishes granted, but the part where they gradually go mad with power or get disenchanted with the results and also he has to eat their desires anyway eventually kind of blows. he wishes he could only have the good part where he gets to make people happy forever is that too much to ask. maybe when he gets out of the dungeon he can do something about that. love to get out of the dungeon

anyway fast forward a while and this guy comes in. some teenage prince from a tallman country thats wracked with internal conflict and what HE wants is to become immortal, because that way when he takes the throne his reign will be eternal and the different clans will stop fighting over the right of succession. thats so specific. the demon loves it. he can just give him a peaceful united empire here, in the dungeon, which he can rule eternally-- no he wants the one at home. well. the problem with that is that the demon is here, in the dungeon, and not out there.

HELP WANTED NOTICE: i dont remember what the exact plan was vis a vis the winged lion getting up to the surface in the manga and i know it Had to be simpler than "just walk out of there" because why would it have had to steal laios' body about it. WOULD a sufficiently dedicated dungeon lord be able to get back up to the surface with their respective demon in tow.

ADDITIONAL HELP WANTED NOTICE: if a demon WAS freed from the dungeon without being powerful enough to get out under its own strength, how much magic would it be able to perform out there? would it be able to make somebody immortal without the big magic-insulation box. i feel like this changes a lot if greed Can grant ling immortality vs if now that hes out of the dungeon he cant really do shit.

either way now that hes out he does not technically need to eat this kids desires specifically anymore. if the immortality thing is a bust, maybe hes shaken by the experience of not being able to fulfill somebodys wish for the first time. but HIS wish has been fulfilled instead? complicated! maybe ling drags him back to his kingdom to help him gain the throne, or maybe he gets mad and leaves and greed never finds out what happens to him, but whatever goes down it changes his worldview and hes starting to develop a sense of personhood separate from the rest of the Demon Conglomerate, and also desires that are unique to Him

but he still wants to help people realize their own desires and maybe thats even strengthened by the fact that now he personally knows how much it owns (funny) to want something so bad and finally get it. so im thinking eventually he goes back to his old dungeon, now way smaller, and he sets up shop, and just waits for people to come by so he can help them in a less exploitative way. like he graduates from Addiction Metaphor to Healthy Coping Mechanism Metaphor. and the chimeras all find their way there eventually and he wins their trust one at a time until they are forced to admit this weird overly genuine dungeon guy kind of rules. his personality is laios basically he has the exact same type of autistic swag

but. if the elves heard about a demon who was just fucking going up to people floor 1 like hi im a demon welcome to my dungeon. they would shit bricks. so the raid also has to happen at some point. and i Am putting ling in there albeit as backstory so im open to suggestions as to how the rest of the cast of fma can fit into this (father and the homunculi as other more typical demons obviously) (no clue about anybody else) (come and play toys with me)

[istherewifiinhell]

the ways in which we are So Fucking Back, cannot even BEGIN to be communicated.

[Splinter Forever. Story: lloyd Goldfine. Art: Khary Randolph Colours: Emilio Lopez Letters: Tom Napolitano and Shawn Lee]

[ID: 03 show styled comic, the turtles crowd around splinter with looks of concern/relief. Splinter doing his best to hug them all back but saying "You so know I could have freed myself anytime I wished too..." Splinter narration: ...And, even if given forever... END] Next narration: I could not have dreamed of one better.

idw 40th anniversary book. various caps i took cause i really liked them (by they way the few stories i did NOT cap is not cause i didnt like em by any means. and for some it was cause i was TOO SAD! i liked them SO MUCH! they HURT to LOOK AT. kay thx)

book creds. Editor: Nicolas Niño. Supervising Editor: Jamie S. Rich. Design: Nathan Widick

might as well start with the 03 one cause its already up there

[ID: 1. Action shot the turtles jumping thru a window, in varied cool poses, rimlit in blue moonlight. Leo: Mikey, thin out the foot! Donnie, free Splinter! Shredder's mine! Raph: I got hun! Mikey, singing: Turtles, count it off! Splinter, narrating: Here, I speak not of mutation… but of my sons, could I ever have dreamed I would become a father. 2. Action shot of turtles and Splinter together, all yelling a "Hai-yah!" Splinter narration: Never has there been a father prouder of his children. END]

ur reminder that 03 is the one that was literally just a rat b4 mutation. sometimes life hands u 4 reptiles and some weird alien go and u go. okay these are my beautiful children now

and you know the tweets like. i gotta accept u didnt make the tmnt? u gotta accept youll DIDNT draw a rat this SICK. his swag. unparalleled.

[ID: Splinter punching the Shredder, cropped close, the line of motion accented by his rodent features, carrying from his tail and digitigrade leg, to the pointed tip of his snout. His fur nicely emphasized from show style. END]

okay in presented order now. (again. only the ones im emotionally strong enough for) it opened with eastman's, four pages to a poe poem, Deep lorey in its own way. ALSO SAD!

[Monsters. Story, Art and Letters: Jim Lawson Colours: Steve Lavigne]

[ID: A very squared jaw turtle style, bold black likes of varying thickness, lots of hashing. It's Raph turning to look over his shoulder with a "Hmp", mask tails flowing behind his head. END]

eeeeee lookit him. mwah. [me explaining] u see. mirage turtles. there so lumpy. and thats EXCELLENT

[Gang Wars. Story: Tristan Jones. Art: Paul Harmon Letters: Tom Napolitano]

[ID: Rounded head, prominent beak, almost movie puppet turtle style. Art has strong penwork , filled with hatching, but soft impressionistic colours, looking both loose yet detailed. 1. Mike is carrying a women as he climbs a ladder. She's tipped almost complete upside down over his shell. Her narration: You perspective shifts... Soft pinkish hue lights them from below. 2. Mike jumping from the roof with a cheerful "Gotta run!", smiling and offering as salute, both nunchaku in hand. Warm golden light hitting his front as he's half turned. END]

HI. I dont recognize your name (YET) Mr harmon sir. but would u like my award for most gorgeous colour rendering on any mutant turtles ever ever in the whole wide world. (sobbing) mikey.... my boy. my beloved loved boy

(there was comics also repping the image and archies runs here. neither of which ive read yet, SORRY. all the same they were both VERY CHARMING)

[What About Tomorrow. Story: Eric Burnham. Art: Sarah Myer Colour: Luis Antonio Delgado Letters: Shawn Lee]

[ID: 87 show styled comic. Raph is quipping to the villain (or perhaps the audience) "Don't tell me… Sherlock Holmes?" He has a hand on hip, side eyeing Donnie very strongly and says "Don't give me that look, Donatello. He said guess!" Don is looking at him so incredibly flatly. END]

have u literally very seen something more perfect than that. look at their fucking FACESSSSS. urghh. characterization? perfect. u can hear it. i controlled myself here. i didnt cap the entire fucking comic

[ID: Splinter smiling, eyes close, we see what he is reminiscing on. His human self, reading a book and holding the for normal baby turtles. He say "When I was Hamato Yoshi, I could never have guessed I'd become a mutant rat. Or that I would raise four turtles into heroes I am endlessly proud of. END]

LOOK AT THIS FUCKING RAT. and his turtle sons. (he doesnt call them sons in this cartoon but their his fuckinngggg sons.)

splinter forever we covered.

[Kraang Among Us. Story and Art: Ciro Nieli Letters: Shawn Lee]

[ID: A 2012 show styled comic, Nieli's style having a punky marker quality to it in comic form. 1. Drawn small, the turtles character-fully posed. Raph casual and aside, Leo earnest out front, Mikey excited and ready, Donnie last, interest in a beeping gadget. 2. Leo bowing on the ground solemn/serene. 3. Graphically bold panel, Mikey has a hand up, smiling cockily, saying "STOP! …My turn. Hit it, Ice Cream Kitty!" Ice cream kitty, (indeed a cat made of Neopolitan) Clicks on a boom box. 4. Donnie says "This can't be good…", with a look of shock at his gadget, wall of text Beeping behind him. A sort of pink viscera explosion just barely in view. END]

which im particular stunned by seeing nieli's creations rendered in 2 dimensions. they looks so fucking good! tho, from all the other aesthetic makers within the show, it totally make sense, the sort of, graphic pop grime. donnie in partic looks so cute, feel like his look is possible BETTER suited for this than the cg, sorry stringbean.

no raph stunner shot sorry he was only in like 2 panels lol.

Rises "Farewell Story" was here. In which Andy Suriano made me cry and cheer and. GUH. look on the internet. u might see some shit. Also a showing from IDW mainline in "Father's Day"... can u maybe GUESS? fantastic gut punch.

[Teen Spirit: Story: Ronda Pattison Art: Pablo Tunica Letters: Tom Napolitano]

[ID: The current mainline comics look, influence from Campbell. The turtles are round and bulky, a light touch used defining the contours of their heads. Wearing grey lose clothes and white limb wraps. Clean detailed black line, water colour like detailed render. All five turtles in a rocky forest, various states of concentration to summon colour coded magic energies. Jennika on her stomach, kicking feat, playful. Leo hunched close to his, looking intent. Raph with tongue out, first in one hand. Donnie, in eyes closed mediation. Mikey, his hands over head, a rain of fallen leaves from his dispersed magic. He says "Whoops!" END]

Pattison I recconize as a prolific idw turtle colourist. tunica i dont but is another i WILL have to be on the look out for. who doesnt like the sophie campbell era of turtle. they are SOOOO. everything. to me.

bro. which fucking continuity has them all so fucking cute magic hijinks mentored by the SHREDDER. cant wait to find out (i think there was some ghilbi visual ref moments esp. in his panels. VERY CUTE. lord help us all) looook at them. look at raph :p. LOOK AT JENNY JENNY JENNIKA.

okay. thats it. hey guys? turtles is good.

[natequarter]

24 and 25 for the history ask?

24: Who do you consider to be one of the most underrated historical figures?

edward vi. henry vii and mary i are rightfully recognised and understood as similarly underrated in comparison to their successors, but they do have their advocates - unlike edward vi. i've encountered a lot of tudor enthusiasts, and nobody ever lists edward as their favourite tudor or favourite historical figure. of course, he died as a child and spent a good half of his reign with limited input into how he ruled, but in his short life he achieved a remarkable amount of change, plenty of which was his own work.

edward's legacy is hugely unfair. he's remembered, for the most part, as a sickly and weak child overpowered by the cruelty of his regents. but this is, in my opinion, a terrible way to view him. he was powerful. he was intelligent. he was raised to rule. he managed to handle his uncle kidnapping him; he helped shape what would have been the future of english protestantism; he began trying to solve the huge amounts of debt that his father and uncle had left him in. the main reason he is not remembered as an efficient king with a powerful and skilled advisor by his side (john dudley may not have been the most consistent person around, but i think his legacy also got fucked over by edward's untimely death) is that he died young. had he lived, he might have fathered an heir, finally secured the tudor succession (a problem which remained essentially unsolved across the entire period), fully established a church of england, reduced the financial problems of henry viii, and perhaps become involved with colonialism across the seas. (not that that's a good thing, but elizabeth i isn't exactly shunned for her involvement in ireland...)

and most of all, edward was human. he was a teenager with his own thoughts and feelings, ranging from his turbulent and tragic relationship with his sister, mary, to his grief over the death of his mother. he was orphaned at the age of nine. two of his uncles were beheaded when he was only eleven and fourteen respectively. he was overcome with sorrow when his friends, the dukes of suffolk, died. he once wrote of mary: 'i love you most.' but at christmas in 1550, they got into a row and made each other cry because they couldn't reconcile their religious beliefs - mary refused to bow to edward's religious changes, and edward was frustrated that mary insisted he was too young to know his own beliefs. he was close friends with lady jane grey, whom he later tried to make his heir. and he was fifteen! he died slowly and painfully, over a period of six months, and he was a teenager who knew that his entire life's work might be undone by his sister. he was stubborn, he was clever, he was deeply religious - all traits for which his sisters and father are well-known, but edward is denied. i want a proper drama focusing on edward's life, and NOT his annoying uncle or elizabeth, stat.

i was going to say something about margaret pole and arthur plantagenet here, but i got sidelined by my love for edward here. arthur was the illegitimate son of edward iv (who, funnily enough, died in the tower of london), and margaret was the daughter of george, duke of clarence, and niece of edward iv. neither of them were particularly important in edward iv or richard iii's reigns, but they later became much more relevant in the tudor era, as relatives of elizabeth of york and then henry viii. under henry viii, arthur was viscount lisle and lord deputy of calais - oddly enough, after his death, his title passed to john dudley, who was his stepson. margaret was mary i's governess, and her family remained staunch supporters of katherine of aragon. despite refusing to accept mary as his heir, henry apparently considered women a legitimate threat to his rule, as he executed margaret in 1541. earlier, he also arrested arthur. arthur was supposed to be released, but he died a few days after being freed, probably from a heart attack. they're the real last plantagenets.

i'll stop there, else this post will end up miles long.

25: Who is the most overrated historical figure, in your opinion?

stalin. elizabeth i. other people who weren't involved in colonialism, probably. oh yes! anne boleyn. we have all heard of anne boleyn, we get it, she was a person who existed. the actual woman anne boleyn seems really interesting, but unfortunately it gets buried under leagues of people more interested in either her romance with henry viii (boring) or people who simply wish to one-up those who aren't interested in her specific area of history. i am genuinely fascinated by henry viii, but i'm exhausted by the constant emphasis on anne boleyn this, elizabeth i that. i'm not interested in them!! i don't care!! but they're everywhere and fans of anne boleyn seem to feel oppressed for caring about an incredibly popular historical figure. not that anne wasn't treated with a lot of cruelty by henry viii and a lot of catholics both at the time and after the fact, but is there any historical figure except maybe her daughter who saturates all things tudor? i doubt it

(link)

[gabriellerudessa]

Compass (Norm Maclean x OC) - Part X

“I didn’t kill the invaders, but sometimes I wish I did, Marigold.” He swallowed.

AO3 | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX | Part XX | Part XXI (Smut) | Part XXII | Part XXIII | Part XXIV | Part XXV | Part XXVI (Smut) | Part XXVII | Part XXVIII | Part XXIX | Part XXX | Part XXXI | Part XXXII | Part XXXIII |

PLAYLIST ON YOUTUBE

Words: 1.784

Warning: Wasteland-Typical Violence

X

Norm wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. Screams and accusations thrown around, as it would probably have gone in the Vault.

Instead there was only movement.

First Nip-Nip’s hand, going for that shoulder holster Norm had glimpsed. Then James’ stiletto appeared, a shot hit one of James’ men, and then everyone’s guns were out, shots echoing.

Marigold threw herself at him and both of them went to the ground, her hands free and pressing against his back, curling her body around him as shots rang out all around, and it was the only thing he could hear. He felt his hands freed, the knife’s handle thrust into his own hands. Norm almost expected her to leave and fight, even weaponless, but he only felt Marigold hug him tighter, the smell of gunpowder, blood and sand in her clothes the only thing in his sense beyond the shots.

He felt her body shook against his, the smell of blood intensifying. Shit.

“What-?” he tried to talk, ask, but he couldn’t hear himself, and the hug tightened.

There was a boom, an influx of heat around, and the ground shook slightly under them. Norm thought he heard screams, curses, but he wasn’t certain with all the shots.

The intensity of the heat lowered. His ears were ringing, worse than earlier, and he had the impression of hearing the door closing with a bang.

A few more shots sputtered, and then a long, uncomfortable, not-really silence.

Marigold started to uncurl and retreat, and he clawed at her shirt, looking up. She started to sign single-handedly, stopped, then mouthed, slowly: “it’s safe”.

Norm’s hand tightened on her for a moment, then slowly he let her go. She patted his cheek, briefly and softly, and got up, movements fast and practiced, body still between the camp and him.

He sat up, looking around, the ringing slowly subsiding. The generator was in flames, and it and the camp fires were the only source of light, the lamps busted in their places. Two bodies were still burning close to the generator. More bodies, all strewn around, some still twitching, trying to drag themselves, trying to shoot, guns only clicking – empty.

As he watched, Marigold took hold of one of their guns, loaded it and started finishing them with shots to their heads, hands searching pockets efficiently for ammo and more.

Norm blinked, the scene somehow surreal, and the names of the leaders lightened up his brain. Nip-Nip. James.

He sprung up, and his Pip-Boy gleamed in the weird half-light, reflecting the light of James’ camp fire. Norm strode towards it, relieved as he buckled it around his arm and concluded it was intact.

He kept the knife in hand and looked around, the ringing still there, but the flickering sound of the flames reaching his brain. Marigold was verifying their things, in the same place James had left them, hands fast and efficient.

He couldn’t see James’ shaved head, but he saw Nip-Nip’s hat, slowly crawling away.

Norm left Marigold to what she was doing, steps purposeful towards Nip-Nip.

“Get rid of your sorry family.” No. Not like in the Vault. Not ever again.

“Well, you only need to be alive. It would be fun, at least for me.” Fuck him.

Fighting off the nausea starting to swell inside him, Norm kicked the hat away. Blood left a big stain on the man’s side, and Norm put a foot over it, pressing Nip-Nip against the ground. Nip-Nip cursed, “fucks” escaping at greater speeds.

Crouching over him, Norm gripped his hair and raised his head.

“Did you tell anyone else about the bounties and their locations?” Norm could barely hear himself, this time because of the blood pounding against his ears instead of the ringing.

“Fuck you, you little shit! I’m-“

He pressed the knife to the side of Nip-Nip’s neck. The nausea worsened and he forced himself to swallow.

He didn’t remember taking the conscious decision of using it.

“Did. You. Tell. Anyone?”

“I-I didn’t, I didn’t tell! Don’t-Don’t-”

Marigold skidded to a kneeling position in front of him, hand holding his wrist. She didn’t try to pry if off, twist it away, nothing. Just held it, calloused fingertips soft against his skin. Grounding, even if briefly.

“Norm. Norm, you don’t need to-”

“He would’ve sold you, Goose, everyone. Maybe killed everyone, maybe raped you before.”  She winced at his last words, but didn’t let go, even as his hand tightened around the knife.

“You never killed, Norm. I did.” Her mismatched eyes stared at him, no judgement, only worry. The cut in her forehead was bleeding again. “It’s a heavy weight, especially when up-and-close like this.”

“Hear-Hear her, Norm. Hear dollface-”

She looked down at Nip-Nip, showing her teeth in a savage smile.

“I would do it, dipshit, you’re not getting out of this.”

And then the worried look, only for him, ignoring Nip-Nip’s whimpers.

The nausea was still there. Worse yet, somehow. And then Norm noticed how fast he was breathing.

“I didn’t kill the invaders, but sometimes I wish I did, Marigold.” He swallowed.

Mika signing for Lily, Goose making medicine, Moose training the kids, Regina and Isaac cooking, Guadalupe lording over them all… It had been a brief glimpse into their day-to-day life, and all that would’ve blinked out as if it had never existed.

The same way so many other lives had blinked out of existence in Vault 33. Vault 32 wasn’t on them, but Vault 33? Those were on the invaders.

“He would’ve destroyed your family, Marigold, just like they did in the Vault.”

He pressed the knife against Nip-Nip’s neck and cut. Her hand didn’t stop him.

---------

Marigold knew, by how pale Norm was, that he would either collapse or puke or both the moment he looked down and his action sunk in.

As Nip-Nip’s blood started to flow out and he gasped, trying to breath, she held Norm’s face between both of her hands.

“Don’t look down. Keep looking at me.” She ordered, and Norm let out a trembling breath.

But he didn’t look down.

Nip-Nip stopped moving, stopped breathing, and she let both thumbs go back and forth on Norm’s cheeks.

“Good.” She whispered. “Breath.” He did. “You can pull the knife away. Keep looking at me. That’s right. We’re gonna get up now. Make sure we got all our things. And search another place to sleep. Do you understand me, Norm-boy? With words, please.”

He licked his lips, blinked.

“Yes. I… I got you. And… James?”

“He got away.” Norm tensed between her hands, and she tightened her hold, forcing him to keep looking at her. “Night is falling, Norm-boy. We can’t go after him now.”

Norm blinked at her again, clenched his jaw, then nodded, once.

Marigold  helped him get up and turned him away from Nip-Nip’s body; she checked his pulse for safety, and it was blessedly quiet. Good.

Norm walked ahead of her, steps robotic, as she found the bounties’ papers on Nip-Nip’s body; ideally, she would verify all the bodies and bags thoroughly for anything of use, but it was late and even if they had found nothing on the streets, she knew that the animals of the Wastes would find the carnage – they always did –, sooner rather than later, and Norm wasn’t in condition to stay at that place for long.

He was verifying his sidebag as she looked up, absentmindedly nodding. Marigold got hold of her hunting rifle, ignoring the stinging of the rasping shot in her arm, and touched his shoulder. He didn’t startle, only looked as if almost not seeing her, still pale. Worse than before.

Goose had described it to her in details. Shock. From the shot out and the killing.

“Make sure there are no wounds. Light a fire. Keep them warm and safe. Something light to eat, water in small sips. Let them sleep. Depending on the person, physical contact can be grounding.”

How many times had she helped Goose go through those motions as she helped with whores that went into miscarriages? At least it all meant she knew how to help Norm.

“C’mon.” She pointed the door with her head, he nodded after a second.

As they walked, Marigold kept her hand at the top of his back.

---------

He managed to walk besides her for a long time, more than she had expected. However, she was also sure he hadn’t really noticed much, if anything. Fuck, they needed shelter. Someplace where she could light a fire, barricade enough that James wouldn’t be able to jump on them during the night – even if she had made sure to walk opposite of his bloody tracks, she didn’t want to take risks.

Night was almost upon them when her eyes fell on a pair of basement doors. Thank God. She kneeled beside them, glued her ear to the metal, and knocked. Only the metal clanking and echoing, nothing else.

She tried to open; obviously locked. Marigold almost broke a bobby pin in her haste to unlock it.

Nothing jumped at her, and a look inside with her night vision scope showed it had some supplies in a wood shelf to one side, the remains of an old fire, and a barricaded door, leaving it as only one room and with no other entrances beyond the one she was standing on.

Marigold dragged Norm down with her – still pretty much unresponsive, fuck – and closed the doors. Someone had used a metal bar to lock the doors from the inside in the past, and she did the same, passing it through the handles.

“Marigold?”

Finally something, but she hated how weird his voice sounded – lost, but with an almost edgy panic to it. His sister had put him in an underground storage during the attack, hadn’t she?

Fuck, how long had he been all alone in it? Did he have light inside it during it all?

Fuckfuckfuck. She hadn’t thought this through.

“I’m here, honey. I’ll light up the lamp now.”

Marigold kneeled, backpack on the ground. Never before had she lit her oil lamp so fast.

It illuminated Norm, the warm light not helping with his paleness. He was exactly where she had left, exactly how she had left, his brown eyes big and following her movements.

Marigold approached and touched his arm.

“Sit down, honey, I’ll get a fire going for us.”

He blinked, slowly nodded, then did just that, hugging his legs tightly.

It hurt to see him like that. Marigold forced a breath in, and looked around. She needed enough for a fire. And food. And water.

And God, how she wished for a blanket.