#Rust Servant

[homestuck-music-tournament]

Rust Servant

Album: coloUrs and mayhem: Universe A Composer: Willow Ascenzo Leitmotifs: None Characters: The Handmaid, Damara Megido

[watcher-servant]

Rusted Arc dialouge lines

This took way longer than it should've, but I did it.

Side note: His 3rd Ascension is a reference to Ragna from Ragna Crimson & Guider to the eternal edge from Granblue fantasy. He is a 3 star servant coming from an event.

Also, the Witch of the Holy Night Collab is coming out for FGO, and Aoko and Soujuurou look amazing. It also applies to Alice as well, but Alice and Aoko take the cake on NPs for the event.

Summoning (pre event): Greerings, I am the rusted knight, guardian of the Ever after. What's that, a fairytale, I see so you have servants connected to stories. Well then master, what story are you trying to tell?

Summoning (post event): Well, didn't think I see you again. Glad to see you again, Master of Chaldea. Since you helped me, it makes sense I do so in return. So master what will you have this freelance knight do?

Level up 1: Oh, I felt a change, it's almost like some chains have been lifted.

Level up 2: Mastery is a journey that almost never ends. I wonder what step is this?

Level up 3: Seems I reached a new step in my journey. Don't worry I'll always be of help when you need me.

1st Ascension: This form, never thought I see this face again. I guess proper introductions are in order. My original name is Jaune Arc. Though at this point it may not mean much to anyone.

2nd ascension: Hmm no changes huh? Well that's fine, though I didn't expect to return to my 19 year old self. Though it is nice Juniper recognize me instantly.

3rd Ascension: This...what is this apperance? These scars, my hair, and yet the strangest thing is, I feel so close to my aura. I think I reached a new understanding.

4th ascension: So, this is my limit as a Pretender. It's not bad, for a time I only accepted the role as the Rusted Knight just so I can survive. Though now, I owe a lot to the original guardian, if it wasn't for them. I shudder who or what I could've become.

Battle start 1: Despite the apperance, I'm tougher than you think?

Battle start 2: Now then what plan, would work on them?

Battle start 3: Which would you prefer, sword, fist, kick or a headbutt from a stampeding animal?

Battle start 4: Let's see what I can create?

Skill 1: *drinks from a cup* Thank you *hands it to a genial gem*

Skill 2: Think you can get past my shield?

Skill 3: Focus...*Quick burst of aura*

Skill 4: Gotta remember the basics.

Attack select 1: Got it

Attack select 2: Understood

Attack select: Grit your teeth

Noble phantasm select 1: As my decree of the rusted knight

Noble phantasm select 2: So shall we hear a quick tale?

Noble phantasm select 3: Looks like we reached a crucial point.

Noble phantasm select 4: A new chapter is about to begin

Extra attack 1: Go Juniper!

Extra attack 2: Get ready to fly

Extra attack 3: I'll mow you down

Extra attack 4: Now fall!

Noble phantasm 1: After all the leasons she learned, and the friends she made and lost. Who has she become? The leaves in the tress rustle on the wind. There was one question. Who are you? [Ever After]!

Noble Phantasm 2: I hope your next journey is more kind to you. [Ever After]

Noble phantasm 3: Everyone one is in place don't worry I'll patch you right up. [Aura Amp]

Noble phantasm 4: I got your back just leave the defense to me. [Aura Amp]

Damage from phantasm: I won't fall not yet!

Defeated 1: So...this is where my journey ends

Defeated 2: Finally I can rest...I leave the rest to you.

Battle finish 1: Looks like we made it.

Battle finish 2: *Sigh* that took more than I thought

Battle finish 3: Just like that job is done.

Bond lv 1: Oh is there something you need master. Or did you come to pet Juniper?

Bond lv 2: Despite me bearing this title, there was another knight in the Ever After. The best way to describe them would be...my mentor

Bond lv 3: Won't lie I feel really out of place here. There's so many heroes around...if I was my child self. I know he would ask for a autograph...or to train them.

Bond lv 4: What? Surprised I can play guitar? I'll be honest it's been so long I didn't think I could. Guess the muscle memory remained after so long

Bond lv 5: Didn't think I reached a place Ike this. I won't lie I'm surprised I was actually summoned as a servant. Trust when I say I wasn't anyone worth remembering...though most likely it was my connection to my mentor that I ever reached here. To be honest there's probably more deserving from my world that should be here...yet here I am.

Dialogue 1: Oh hello master, you mind helping me brush Juniper? Trying to get some of this loose fur.

Dialogue 2: The master servant contract. To think you manage to hold so many, I think that speaks volumes to kind of person you are.

Dialogue 3: To think I can use and mold my aura like this. The possibilities I can do...let's try test them out master.

Dialogue 4 (Child servants): Hmm what's that? You wanna ride Juniper, I don't mind and pretty sure she doesn't mind either. You guys gotta take turns though at least 2 at a time.

Dialogue 5 (Jeanne D' Arc): Hmm there's something about her...that just makes me feel odd. It doesn't help she looks like one of my sisters. Plus her name as well...an ancestor maybe. Huh? Oh uh...it's nothing.

Dialouge 6 (Jeanne Alter): Oh its...wait somethings off. Jeanne Alter? Hmm so there are servants with counterparts. Something tells me she's really caring, despite her attitude.

Dialogue 7 (Voyager): Hmm to think I meet the original Voyager servant. So far there's only 2 of us, but I think we found good company in our current classes. Seems even Juniper took a liking to you.

Dialogue 8 (Deck of heroes reference): It's strange, I swear it was my first time fighting along side them. Yet I could feel I can trust them. A lingering trust...can't be right.

Dialogue 9 (Tamamo no Mae): Hmm, Hmm huh oh Tamamo no mae right? No, it's uh, it's nothing. No, wait, what are you? HEY!?! OH ohhhhhh

Dialogue 10 (Oberon): Fairy King Oberon or Vortigern? Either way, you wouldn't be the first liar I've been around. As you're the first pretender I'll give respect, but that doesn't mean I'll fall for your lies. Dealing with a certain cat was more than enough

Dialogue 11 (Hephaestion): Pyr...no sorry about that. You reminded me of a old comrade from long ago. It's nice to meet you Hephaestion...quick question you mind a spar?

Dialogue 12 (Tlaloc): Wait you embody a city? That's pretty cool...though a part of me is worried if the Ever After takes a servant form. No wait...the blacksmith is the closest I can think of.

Dialouge 13 (Alessandro): The grand scam artist. I'm not interested in any of your tricks

Dialouge 14 (Lady Avalon): Hmm..Lady Avalon? It's a pleasure to meet you though and if you don't mind me asking...what is Avalon like?

Dialouge 15 (Mordred): Oh its you Mordred, something you need? A sparring partner...alright then.

Dialogue 16 (Atalanta or Atalanta Alter): Oh Atalanta, I believe it's my day to watch over the kids. Don't worry me and Juniper will watch them.

Dialogue 17 (Diarmuid): Seems that curse of yours is still causing you trouble? If you want I think we can seal it for a moment. Oh it seems that's that needed. I wonder how different you fight with swords

Dialogue 18 (Medusa): Hmm, think Pegasus and Juniper might get along. I think they would and it seems she likes you as well.

Dialogue 19 (Medea): I think I see why you were hesitant with me for a while. Jason is...a bit of work. Though something tells me there's more to him

Dialogue 20 (Emiya assassin): Kiritsugu...it took some time but it looks like you find some light again. Even got a family as well.

Dialogue 21 (Frankenstein): Oh hello Fran, is there something you need. Alright I don't mind you tying my hair...no full bows though.

Dialogue 22 ( Edmond Dantes or Count of MC): It's good to see you again Lord Count. I can tell despite the change of scenery your act of guardian is still strong. If you don't mind, I want to have a chat when you have the time.

Something you like: Hmm good question, beside Juniper being on this list. I do enjoy a nice meal with people and maybe be it around campfire. That is a idea though, a nice camping trip.

Something you hate: The merciless pursuit of power...getting innocent folks involved and hurt in the exploits. Another I can't forgive...is a fallen maiden, who doesn't deserve any mercy.

About the holy grail: If I was younger I would've made a wish with the Grail. Though with my experience now...there's always a cost when using such powers.

During an Event: Sounds like something big is going on. Wanna go see what's that about?

Birthday: Your birthday? Have you already told somebody it's today? Know what, follow me. I think it's time to show how fast Juniper can run.

[pussyandpastries]

type o negative brings out the sub in me

[plasticsandwich]

god its so easy its so easy its so easy everwhere but where it needs to be

[psiimaid]

not a day goes by that i don’t think abt this

[apatheticanachronism]

idk i think its a fair assumption that if you dont care about olives you also dont care about those under olives

I said I d☸n't care much f☸r them, n☸t that I d☸n't care ab☸ut them c☸mp1ete1y. I d☸n't think y☸u g☸t what I meant.

[lolita-lollipop]

Iron

YANDERE BARBARIAN BAKUGO X READER

The king of the most violent and powerful tribe in the eastern world is captured during battle by a small farmers village. What does a violent man like katsuki bakugo do upon meeting a kind servant girl like you?

WARNINGS: reader gets hurt by villagers (bakugo saves her)

He couldn't remember how long he had been here, he just knew it was cold, dark, unsanitary, and painful. He remembered the battle that put him here, getting shot with a poison-laced arrow, feinting on the field. Heh. imagine it, the great barbarian Bakugo, the children's slayer, the village burner, the soldier slaughterer falling because of one puny arrow from one puny kingdom. When he first had woken up he could feel the slick of his blood under him mixed with the dirt and grime of the cell, he had giant iron cuffs wrapping his wrists and legs, binding him to the floor. He couldn't blame these people, truly, they knew that once he woke up if he were to get out they were all as good as slaughtered.

It was a small stone dungeon, with only a couple of stalls, he occupying one of them. There was a small barred window, along with a wall of iron bars serving as protection from him and the rest of the world. Iron, he hated the stuff, and banned it from his country, it burned him, burned his people. There was a thick, damp smell of blood and rust, a musty smell he could easily recognize as death. He would carve every person in this building up, then burn every building in the village, and he would let the fire spread to their fields and watch as their lives work shrivels up into ash. But for now, He would wait for the perfect time to strike, all he could do was wait really, watch the guard rotation, see which ones were talkative, and which ones were cruel.

Many of the guards would beat him, carve his skin, and watch him bleed, they know of all the gruesome things he has done to so very many people, and supposedly the bastards feel some kind of idiotic vengeance or justice for those people. They would pay in the long run, who exactly do they think they are? he is a king, royalty, the highest of the highest, the strongest too. If he doesn't kill them his people will, they'll see. All the king could do was watch, wait, and plot the splattering of this village.

That was, until you came along.

Little you, in your flowy little skirt that was all torn up, with no shoes and a dirt-covered face. Little you with your oh-so-innocent smile, and your callused hands. Little you with your malnourished body, frail and sickly. Little you, who had no idea who he was. Little you who snuck in when no guard was on duty, a small bowl of soup in your hands, and a cup of water.

“I-im sorry that this is all I have, I know you haven't eaten in a long time I just- I’ll have more tomorrow” you whispered, and he swore he fell in love right then and there, you were too frail, too weak to be giving out food that you surely needed. Yet here you were, shakily handing him the bowl and the cup. He stared at you for a solid second, not even his own mother was this selfless, and you don't even know him. Who were you? You did not seem like aristocracy, too kind, maybe a farmer? Maybe a maid, a servant even.

He hadn't realized how hungry he was, not until the entire bowl and cup were gone, and he was left to stare at you. You were ethereal, dirt-covered and all, your eyes, your hair, your hands, everything, absolutely stunning. You had a look in your eyes. Something hungry and fearful told him that you were not happy, not safe and sound, not as you should be.

“I don't have anything to treat your wound, but- I'm sorry. Nobody should be treated this way, not even prisoners. I'll be back tomorrow, please don't tell the guards that I've done this. They will kill me.” you whispered, cautiously reaching to grab the glassware from his grip, waiting to see if he would snap at you. He didn't, only stared, grunting in response to your plea. You stared back with those sympathetic globes of yours, as if you could see the anger in his soul. Before turning on your heel, and quietly sneaking out of the dungeon room, you gave him one last glance before disappearing.

He was left in the quiet, in the cold, falling head over heels in love with you, a mere human. A peasant at that. Strange. You were too sweet, too kind, you clearly needed the food, clearly were starving and malnourished, yet you still stood here and offered your only food to him, a prisoner of war, you were so sweet. So kind. His people were not like you, they were not soft or sweet, he loved them for it, but you, oh you. You were soft and supple and sweet andso sickeningly kind. He would protect you, he has too.

The next couple of nights went similarly, you sneaking in during the dead hours following midnight with varying foods, sometimes a stale loaf of bread with milk, sometimes some leafy soup and water. He was grateful every time, thankful that he wasn't starving, still burning with absolute rage towards the mere peasants who believed that they could contain him. But you, in the very few days that he had known you, had wormed your way into his heart with your soft hands and pretty smile.

He can just imagine you adorned in stolen jewels and furs, dressed in the finest silk, or better, the clothes of his people. something soft like you, something pretty and supple and shiny and light. Something that reflects you, he would take you out of those rags, clean you up, teach you what luxury truly is. and you wouldnt have to lift a finger. he dreamed about your future everyday that you would visit, asking your favorite color or season or jewel.

That was, until you stopped showing up. No more quiet hours gazing at each other, no more shared food and drink, no more listening to you quietly talk about your life, no more sympathetic glances, no more questions about him from you, no more answers from him. It was like you had disappeared entirely, and back to his old routine of watching and observing the guards had begun once more. He had to admit it kind of hurt, having the only good thing here disappear entirely, he resented this place more, resented you.

He hated you, how could you leave him? You, a servant girl abandoning a king. Funny, hilarious, he sat in a pool of blood and hatred thinking about you, about this town, about the people who put him here, who chained him to the floor and watched him bleed out, this city will burn. And burn and burn and burn and burn and burn, his people would tear it apart until it was nothing but ash and blood-

What tore him out of his internal monologue was a pained scream, but not just anybody, he didn't know anybody in the town, it was yours. With that whispery rasp that you had from overexertion, and that neverending fear that dripped from your tone. He stood up to stare through the small window, only to see you on the ground, surrounded by many people, all bigger and stronger than you, yelling and screaming.

“It's her, the traitor!”

“She has been feeding the enemy, treason, treason I say!”

“She should be beheaded, the traitor.”

You let another scream ring out through the town center as one of the men brought their boot down on your bare foot, he could hear the crunch followed by another scream. The first kick sparked more from other men as they brought their feet down on frail little ou, you slowly reverted into a fetal position, lying in the dirt as they beat you relentlessly. He saw red, crimson blinding him and overflowing all of his senses. How could they? You did nothing, you knew nothing. You were just a sweet, innocent little human who knew no better, who were they to punish you, to beat you so cruelly? You were thin and frail and he could hear each one of your bones cracking and breaking into pieces.

He saw bright ruby red, anger wasn’t the word, absolute rage is a better way to put it.

Red red red red red red red red red

He didn't even realize he had broken from his chains till his legs were moving,

Red

He didn’t even feel the burn of the iron till the bars holding him were bent out of shape and twisted

Red

He didn’t realize they were all dead till his hands were stained with that bright crimson color he loved so much- you guessed it, red

He killed them all, so painfully, knuckles crunching skulls and tearing off limbs, pulling people apart faster than any wolf or bear could even try to. The thrill of freedom mixed with rage and pure anger let him revert to the ways of his homeland, back to the thrilling violence and electrifying feeling of tearing another apart. He enjoyed it, enjoyed tearing them limb from limb and watching them bleed as they had done to him. He cackled as they screamed in terror, relishing in their fear.

You watched deliriously, you had lost too much blood in too short of a time, and you were positive that you had many many broken bones, pain overcame you as you watched the bloodshed in front of you, your vision was blurry and shaking but you could tell that somebody was strong, and enjoying violence. Fear budded in the back of your brain, he was enjoying this, enjoying their pain, he would hurt you just the same, kill you, and relish in it.

You hadn’t known who he was, you swore to the village leaders, swore that you just felt bad for the poor starving man in the dungeons who seemed to gentle and sweet, they hadn’t cared. You were to be burned or drowned or noosed they said. But a death like this, at the hand of a man you had been fooled to be sweet? That was worse. Oh god, oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god you were going to die

Your breath became shallow, both because of what was surely a punctured lung, but also because of the slowly approaching footsteps crunching on the dirt. A small whimper escaped you as the figure towered over you, and your hands came up to shield your face from the blow that was surely to come.

But Instead of a painful ending blow, arms wrapped under you and hoisted you up, you never realized how tall this man was. Naturally, you curled into his warmth and tried not to think about how sticky his hands were with blood. your breath hitched as he squeezed you closer with calloused rough hands. Tears washed down your face, you were quivering, shaking in fear.

“P-please-“ you quivered out. Hand moving up to push him away, your statement had many meanings, to beg for your life, to beg him to put you down, to beg him to leave you and your village alone, to beg him to forgive you. He stared down at you with crimson eyes, a sudden softness overcoming them, more than he thought he could have.

“Don’t you worry baby,

I’ll take good care of ya”

———————————————————————

Cute

Anyway enjoy, I noticed a lack of barbarian bakugo content on here so I figured I would add some fuel to the fire.

Love you all, make sure to have a great day!

[yeyinde]

I’m begging for your opinions on regency era nasty Simon😭😭

i promised myself this wasn't going to become an anthology but here i am. anthologising.

he's from the absolute bottom of the social circle. his dad was the town drunk, and Simon made a lot of enemies. Price's shady dealings put him and Simon together. i want him to have gone to jail—possibly for murder—and it really shaped who he was as a person. made worse, naturally, when his whole family is killed as soon as he gets out. Simon is blamed, but there's no evidence. rumours start about how a rival gang tried to bury him alive when he was in jail, but he dug his way out. they say he died. he's a monster. a pariah.

he's probably a butcher by day but takes care of Price's dirty work by night. helps run the racket. is an enforcer. just a mean, broken man. spent his formative years in jail surrounded by horrible men.

and you!!! ahhh, Mrs Price's NOSY niece. she goes missing and you come down, sniffing around because this isn't right. why would your aunt run off when she's been raised properly? this isn't like her. it all seems so suspicious. and Price's accusations have tarnished your family's reputation - saying that she ran away with a lowly barkeep in the middle of the night. a decades-long affair, stole money from him. all sorts of nasty business that ruin your family. so, you come to stick your nose into things and ask the questions no one else will.

Price doesn't want you anywhere near his almost wife/servant girl, so he sics the biggest, meanest dog he has on you. only. instead of killing you, Simon takes a disgusting interest in the prim socialite who somehow manages to talk down to him even as he towers over you. it breeds an obsession. unravels all these awful thoughts he's had about the upper class. and his boss giving him the go-ahead to ruin this pretty little bird that always seemed so untouchable? well. sure.

he's keenly aware of how your circle works, and uses that tongue advantage. mocks you when you snap at him to keep his filthy hands off of you, and tells you that you should have stayed in your ivory cage, little bird. gets a sick, twisted pleasure dragging you down the social ladder just by lying his dirty fingers on you. from gold cuffs to a pair of rusting, iron shackles. he loves ruining you. gets off when you call him all sorts of nasty names, trying to act all prim and haughty still, even with his cum drying on your face.

you call him a monster and he pinches your face between his thumb and forefinger, cruelly asking you if he's a monster, then what does that make you? the little fool carrying his monstrous brood. who in your little circle is gonna want you now? knowing that a beast like him put his hands all over you and his babe inside of you? probs whistles to himself as he gets to work on "disappearing" your aunt for good while your whole world crashes down around you lmao

Price is miffed that you're not just as missing as your aunt, but. whatever. Simon's content. you're taken care of. and he gets to pretend to be a good man with his pretty little servant girl tucked into his side. everyone wins.

[howi99]

Ashen Knight bonus

Willow: *looking at the handsome man with what could only be described as "the thirst"* Oh my~ When i saw your curriculum vitae, i was expecting someone more... Intimidating.

RK: *Chuckle to himself* The apple didn't fall far from the tree i see. *Clear his throat* As you probably saw on the resume, my name is Jaune Amaryllis. *Bow* Your personal servant for the foreseeable future.

Willow: *mumbling to herself* Oh i'd like you to serve me alright. *Smiling* it is a pleasure to meet you. I've heard quite the praise from my eldest daughter and Klein.

RK: *laughing* They were probably exaggerated, my lady. I am but only a huntsman past his prime.

Willow: *chuckle* And you are modest. My, if i wasn't married i probably would be falling for you.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the door

Cinder: *listening to what they are saying* ... *Looking up at Winter* 50 Lien they'll date eachother in less than a month.

Winter: *also listening, looking down at Cinder* 3 months.

Weiss: *shaking her head* The rusted Knight would never steal a maiden away.

Whitley: *far too young to understand anything about relationship* ... What?

Cinder: *looking at Whitley* You might have a new dad soon, and me as a sister.

Whitley: Oh!... Can it be now? I hate dad!

Winter: *sigh* So do we little buddy, so do we.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hi again, i am in need of you help. How do you write a loyal knight character? A true devotee of their charge, but not so much it turns dog-like.

Writing Notes: Loyal Knight Characters

Hi, you can consider using some character tropes as a guide. Found a few examples for you:

"Knight in Shining Armor" Trope: The medieval knight who fights baddies, whether villains, knights, or dragons, and in The Tourney, charms ladies without deliberately seducing them, behaves honorably, and saves the day with his sword; but also, any hero who behaves similarly.

The "shining" originally referred to the way his armor and weapons were kept in good condition, as opposed to the rust that accumulated for less competent knights. Most knights will be depicted wearing plate armor, despite it appearing relatively late in the era of knights. Them using a Knightly Sword and Shield is also pretty likely, though the usage of plate armor with Knightly Sword and Shield is actually historically inaccurate since shields were considered redundant while wearing plate armor.

"Lady and Knight" Trope: The brave, chivalrous knight defends and falls in love with the fair lady.

"The Paladin" Trope: Paladins are warriors dedicated to furthering the cause of all that is good. Holy crusaders, they combat the forces of evil wherever they are found, and defend the helpless as much as possible. Above all else, paladins are good.

"Knight in Shining" Tropes

This is the set of tropes that cluster around Knight Templar: the forces of light in hardcore mode, excessively or otherwise.

This mentality is all the way over on the Idealistic side of the Sliding Scale of Idealism Versus Cynicism.

The Trope Codifiers are the Chivalric Romances of the medieval Matters of Britain (Arthurian Legend) and of France (Charlemagne) — especially the innumberable fantasy novels and verse epics of the 15th through 17th centuries which were based on, set in, or vaguely inspired by the older Carolingian myths.

The Arthurian myths have a less militantly idealistic style than the Carolingian ones; the Arthurian work most completely of this style is Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

This pattern is rarer outside of Europe (and before the Middle Ages) than within it.

The closest analogue to European chivalry was bushido, the code of the Japanese samurai, but the Japanese code emphasized loyalty to one's lord, even to the point of doing evil,

while the European one emphasized loyalty to one's conscience, even to the point of treachery.

Of course, that doesn't mean that non-European heroes can't act like this—and it doesn't mean that European heroes always do, either.

The Roman-derived tradition of "My Country, Right or Wrong" was always present in Europe.

Originally, the word knight was a job description with no connotation of high birth or status: it merely meant a warrior who was skilled and wealthy enough to fight on horseback, and owed their service to someone powerful.

The English word knight is derived from an Anglo-Saxon word for "servant", while most other European languages use a word meaning "horseman" (e.g. German Ritternote or French chevalier).

The word began to take on new meaning in response to social changes at the dawn of The High Middle Ages: the flourishing of merchants and cities gave them new wealth and power to compete with the nobility, while the increasingly independent Catholic Church became more assertive in trying to curb the misbehavior of the warrior class.

In order to maintain their distinction from the class of people who worked, and to reconcile the violent nature of war with the ideals of courtesy and piety, the nobility and gentry absorbed the military role of knighthood while turning it into a more exclusive and regulated order.

A noble child would usually start as a page in order to learn discipline and manners, spend their teenage years as an arming squire taking care of a master's horse and equipment, and when they had grown into a fine warrior, they would be recognized as having earned their spurs. Not everyone became a knight through such careful grooming, though.

Commoners could be rewarded with knighthood for exceptional service, and rulers facing a shortfall of heavy cavalry would sometimes make laws requiring anyone who possessed a certain amount of property to present themselves to be knighted whether they liked it or not.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

Hope this helps with your writing! More research might be needed for literary/historical accuracy.

[miyaagis]

 ெ˚❀ if we leave, will anybody notice? fushiguro toji

lovers shouldn't hide, not when their love is as genuine as a child's laughter. and their forever faithful witness? the moon, keeping their shared adoration a secret from daylight.

but even she has a dark side. so when it lands in reverse, expect your secrets to no longer be yours.

explicit content‐mdni. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ non sorcerer au, rich daughter!reader, stablehand!toji, forbidden love, pretty nasty oral (male receiving) bc he's all gross and sweaty, feminine pet names, mentions of urine and bad smell lol, mentions of guns and violence, mentions of breeding, too much plot i got carried away (• ᴖ •｡)

word c. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ 1,647

kinktober m.list

the longer the days dragged on, the more restless your heart and conscience became.

five days and four, almost five, torturing nights since your lover had been taken away from you, and you felt at the brink of hysteria. where was he? was he even alive? it haunted you to your very core that he could be lying lifelessly, his handsome face tainted by violence when his biggest crime was to love a woman of a different social class than his.

“how dare a low-born, dirty servant like him touch an inch of your skin!”

he wasn’t even a servant, but one of the men in charge of managing the stables at your family’s residence. Toji certainly didn’t deserve the blame, taking into account that it had been you who carelessly exposed your nightly rendezvous spot.

insults and screams were exchanged between your father and Toji—the latter defending your love even as he was muzzled and dragged away from your side, a sight that had you weeping endlessly.

with the weight of your parents' anger during the day, nights were reserved for your grief, lurking in the shadows of your home like a stranded ghost. had you been sobbing, like most nights, you would've missed the pained laments coming from the kitchen.

the staff left hours ago, but it only made sense that once you reached the kitchen, you'd be met with one of them, most likely finishing their duties. after all, who else could it be?

however, it was dark and empty with no one in sight.

“who's there?”

the noise was clearer this time, sharper. a muffled groan coming from behind the rusted door of the old storage room that only grew into desperate bellowing when the door creaked as you opened it.

a naked man stood before you, limbs chained to a metal rack, and with a hollowed bull’s head over his own.

it was instant, having been familiarized with his body, you knew it was him before he could even speak. she recognizes him and calls out his name, getting more muffled sounds and pants from him, confirming her suspicions.

"Toji?"

he bellowed in agony, pulling at the chains even if it teared painfully at his sore muscles. his deep roar shook your soul, your heart growing uneasy upon seeing him suffering in such an inhuman way.

rushing to him, your cries flew easily, sobs and gasps rocking your body as you clung to his waist.

"what did they do to you!? are you alright?" you wished so badly to see his face, to somehow know what was going through his mind but all you could see were the dull eyes of the bull, "I'm getting you out of this."

"no, love..."

with trembling hands, your fingers tightly grasped the animal's head and pushed it upwards, a frustrated gasp turning into a sob when you realized the weight easily surpassed your strength.

“baby, it’s so heavy. i can’t–” your words cut off as you tried again, grunting and forcing your muscles to lift it but it was useless. the guilt pressed down on your heart as a fresh set of tears ran down your cheeks, “i can’t lift it. i’m so, so sorry…”

each sob was a stab to his heart, already picturing your pretty eyes brimming with tears.

“my love…” he tried to sound gentle yet firm, to be a source of strength for you. but it was obvious he was also overtaken by his own pain by having you so close and not being able to see or touch you, “it’s alright, doll. it's not your fault. i'm not mad, baby.”

your arms wrap around his waist, not caring of the layer of sweat and grime covering his form. it must've taken around five minutes for the never-ending weeps to turn into small sniffles. neither of you spoke, not trusting your own voices and instead letting your bodies do the talking.

his usual scent was overpowered by days of sweat, the buildup of dirt on his body emanating a strong stench. as soon as you stepped into the dusty room, your perfume contrasted beautifully against the foul smell, his body reacting immediately to your soft body clinging onto his.

“Toji,” his name fell from your lips in a breathless murmur, your eyes traveling down to his twitching shaft against your hip.

with a deep inhale, he flinched when your damp lips kissed his exposed skin, starting at the center of his chest before moving down to his pubic bone. a muttered curse from him let you know he liked the attention, as well as his semi-hard length bobbing upwards.

his flushed tip made its way past the foreskin, barely peeking out before you decided to help. with just one stroke, it was finally exposed to your eyes, heart rate spiking up at the sight.

as the bulbous head pushed through, it exposed his slit adorned with a translucent bead of pre-cum, your hand grasping it firmly once it stood fully erect. you could feel the tingling between your legs, juices slicking up your entrance as your eyes marveled at what was presented before them.

the limited air around his head began to suffocate him, or was it your trembling touch? either way, he feared he'd end his oxygen supply just by your touch on his dick.

with a gentle flick of your tongue, you licked the pearlescent drop from his crown, earning you a shiver and the deepest rumble from him. the taste was different than usual, stronger and a bit acid.

"I missed you," a mere whisper, but it held a heavy sentiment, "oh, Toji... I missed you like you have no idea. I feared you were–"

the unfathomable thought caused you to stop speaking and just nuzzle against his groin, grounding yourself and focusing on the fact that he was there with you.

he wished to see you so badly, to reassure you that everything would be fine. however, the sudden flares of arousal mixed with his dehydration sent his almost delirious self into despair.

you didn't seem to mind the state of his body, your pretty lips coating his shaft with gentle kisses and licks that only resulted in more pre-cum to leak onto your lips.

with practiced ease, you finally wrapped your mouth around him, suctioning softly while your hands massaged the rest of his length.

the taste was considerably hard to ignore, pungent and with traces of concentrated urine. but the thought of his own taste mixed with sweat on his poorly cleaned member aroused you even more. he's your man—there's not an inch of him that could disgust you. and it only revealed how bad the state of his body was, very likely dehydrated and malnourished.

it was so wet and lewd, a mess of spit and pre that allowed your mouth to glide all over his member. he could picture it vividly, his heart aching for missing such sight.

"nghh fuck– not gonna last at this pace, princess," his hips jumped forward, your tongue soothing his twitching member by gliding against the underside.

"s'okay, baby," you focused instead on the tip, your lips wrapping around the soft flesh tightly.

deeper growls followed your harsh suckling, drawing out drop after drop of him, causing his balls to tighten already.

"shit, shit, fuuuuck– slow down, woman... m'getting so close," he tried to stop you, voice raw and husky as he felt like melting inside your warm mouth.

his voice was heaven to your ears, proud to have him at the brink so early. you couldn't imagine how lonely he must've been the past few days, not knowing his fate, and the thought of it tugged at your heartstrings which encouraged you to give him a sliver of the love he deserved.

"don't care, baby. come in my mouth," encouraging words of praise could undo him, you were aware of that, "c'mon, please? you already taste so good..."

oh, you were begging so prettily, worshipping his aching cock like it was the tastiest thing you've had in your life.

how could he deny his baby from something that belonged to her?

three spurts of semen followed instantly, streaming from his flushed tip and towards your eager mouth. it was euphoric and a catalyst for him, the post coital clarity dawning on him that he's not willing to give you up.

"mhm, baby... so eager," he laughed but was interrupted by his own gasp as you tongued his slit, "fucking shit– you gonna lick my cock raw?"

his threat only made you giggle, deciding to stop messing with him and just kiss his softening length.

bounded to those chains, there’s nothing he can do but take what you're giving him, fists aching to place your legs over his shoulders and bury his dirty cock inside your plush insides, to see the look in your eyes when he’s pounding so fast that all you can do is take it.

he should've gotten you pregnant when he had the chance, but he vowed to make sure not to make that mistake again.

once you had calmed down and finally noticed the industrial pliers on the rack, you clipped the bull's head open, needing to see his face, to kiss him.

“good girl,” what was left of the bull’s head lied a meter away, damp hair on his forehead and an unkept stubble decorating his jaw as he watched in fascination his fragile, spoiled girl trying and failing—how cute—to break his chains, "there's no rush, baby. we have all night."

he vowed to himself that once you freed him from those chains, no one would get on his way this time. not your father, not your mother, absolutely no one. there was no gun within an acre of land capable of stopping him from having you.

he’d make sure of that.

[lovelytsunoda]

the sixth sense | jake "hangman" seresin

summary: after a car accident totals her car and leaves her with the ability to see ghosts, an anxious police desk sergeant learns to live with the ghosts haunting her home, and the crush she has on the hot pilot who lives next door

pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x reader

warnings: car accidents, ghosts (but they're very funny ghosts!), sexual innuendos/advances made by a ghost, if you can recognize the names of the detectives/station staff and can correctly tell me what tv show they are from, you get a metaphorical cookie. jake is a very involved neighbour.

author's note: my f1 fics for this collection have been on the struggle bus lately, so here's hoping my top gun one does better

sargeant y/l/n wouldn't say she hated her job, exactly, but there were many days where she wasn't always thrilled with it. take today for example, her desk piled high with requisition forms for fingerprint checks, traffic camera footage, autopsy reports and more.

it wasn't that she didn't like the work. no, she found catching murderers to be most rewarding. it was the people she worked with. detectives who didn't see her as an equal, but as a machine, dropping files on her desk with a demand and an impossible deadline.

"yn, how busy are you for the next few days?"

she raised her eyebrows at the detective across from her. "for you, detective disher? i won't be free until at least the end of the week."

detective disher raised an eyebrow. "how much work are they piling on you? you aren't their servants, you can speak up and tell them you're too busy."

she rolled her eyes, chewing the end of her bic pen. "usually they hightail it out of here before i even have a chance to open my mouth. some of them don't even speak to me or give instructions, they just drop a file on my desk and assume that i know what to do with it."

detective disher frowned. "we really need another desk sargeant."

"you think?"

it was long after sundown when she left the office that night, overtime she probably wasn't going to get paid for. she hoped that leaving at 6:30 was worth it to have a clean desk in the morning, one almost free of files long enough that she could breathe. of course, by the morning, all of the late shift detectives would have dropped all of their files off for her review.

she was about halfway home when traffic started to pick up again, the glow of the led headlights making it difficult to see out of her side mirrors. her glasses claimed to be glare resistant, but what did someone without astigmatism know about glare?

she turned right at the next set of lights, descending down the hill that would lead to her small, cosy neighbourhood. she was still a fair distance away as she watched the light change from yellow to red, taking her foo toff the gas. the car ahead of her seemed to be slowing, but not by much, and the car behind her was uncomfortably close. she sped up slightly, ready to put her foot on the brakes whenever neccesary.

wait a minute, are his break lights out? he's stopping!

she slammed her foot on the brakes, watching helplessly as her car continued to slide forward, her front bumper colliding with the rusted tail hitch.

her head jerked forward from the impact, banging against the steering wheel before it all went black.

she came to in the hospital, where audio was blurry and vision even worse as the doctor explained the symptoms of a concussion to her.

“it was a bad scene all around. you’re lucky you weren’t injured further.” the doctor insisted. “legally, I can’t allow you to drive for the next few days. is there someone we can call?”

realistically, the only name that came to mind was detective dishers. her parents were two cities away, and she didn’t want to disturb them. her sister was on vacation, and she didn’t want to bother any of her friends.

disher picked her up by the main doors, a matchbox twenty song playing on his stereo as she groggily slipped into the passenger seat, a plastic baggie full of prescription drugs in her hands.

“just take me home, randy. I don’t want to talk about it.”

the detective sighed. “okay. But you know you don’t have to come into work tomorrrow, right?”

great. no work meant no leaving the house. no leaving the house meant that her thoughts drove her to the brink of madness.

she simply couldn’t win.

as she slipped into her bed, she must have been slowly losing her mind as she swore that she could hear voices in her room as she was drifting off. she didn't think much of it, chalking it up to exhaustion as she let sleep claim her.

the following morning, she groggily puttered around the kitchen, assembling a light breakfast as she called her captain to explain why she couldn't come to wrok.

"hey captain, i was in an accident last night-"

"i know. randy called me. are you doing okay?"

"no concussion, but the doctor wants me to monitor for signs, so i'm not super hopeful. disher drove me home, and i'm supposed to hear from the mechanics about the state of my car later today."

"well, take care of yourself, yn. if you need anything at all, you have my number, and you have randy's. but don't call adrian, he's probably just going to make things worse."

she sighed, rubbing the skin on her forehead, fingertips teasing the edge of the bandages from where she'd hit her head on the steering wheel. "thanks leland."

"my my, you look a little worse for wear, don't you?" the voice came from nowhere, very thickly british and definitely not familiar.

she spun around, spying a figure in the kitchen doorway. his long hair dusted the shoulders of his leather jacket, and his skinny jeans were ripped to oblivion. she screamed, reaching for the metal ladle in her utensils jar.

"how the fuck did you get into my house?"

"your house?" the man looked confused. "sweetheart, i've always been here. i wouldn't throw that at me, if i was you. you'll just damage the wall behind me."

"who the fuck are you?" she stammered. "you're not real, this is just concussion brain, i should call the doctor back and go another scan-"

"you're seeing ghosts, honey." this voice was older, deeper. kinder. and significantly less british. another body materialized in her kitchen, sitting at her breakfast counter. she was round and plump, with a rosy face and sweet, kind eyes. she wore a nun's habit over a white blouse and a long navy skirt. "rick over there died in 1984. i'm sister katherine, and i died in 1961. lovely to meet you properly."

"the fuck do you mean i'm seeing ghosts?!" yn screamed, the sound reverberating through her skull. "you're not real!"

"i understand that this is a lot to take in." sister katherine insisted "but it must have something to do with the accident you were in last night."

"how do you know about my accident?" she pushed, brandishing her metal spoon as a weapon.

rick rolled his eyes. "because we watched that detective bring you home last night. tell me, are you two sordid lovers? if i wasn't dead i would love to get a piece of your-"

"enough, richard!"

"what the hell is happening right now? has he been watching me in the shower?" yn hissed under her breath, starting to pace back and forth in front of her stovetop.

"if you've got a head injury, you should really sit down." the nun kept trying to reason with yn, but nothing in this situation made one iota of sense.

she shakily sat down in one of the ikea chairs in her kitchen, and noted how badly her hands were shaking. she dropped the ladle on the table, clasping her hands together. she refused to look at rick and sister katherine, instead focusing on where her shellac manicure had begun to chip.

she really should book herself in for a fresh one.

"we have visitors!" rick's voice carried, his ghostly body reappearing next to yn. she startled in the chair, refusing to meet his eyes. "he looks annoyed, and he's wearing mechanics coveralls. i wore a pair of those on stage once. ladies love 'em."

"he was in a very unsuccessful hair band." sister katherine clarified.

"i need both of you to stay quiet for a second." she sighed. "he must be from the body shop."

she closed the front door behind her, although that was unlikely to do much against two beings who could walk through walls, but a girl could try.

"are you y/n y/l/n?"

"sergeant y/n y/l/n." she corrected. "san francisco pd. can i help you?"

"i'm from clint's garage, detective disher brought your car in last night."

that didn't sound good. behind her, she could hear a car door slam in her neighbour's driveway. oh good, jake was home. she tried not to let her eyes wander, waiting with bated breath for what the mechanic was going to say next.

"the front bumper was totally smashed, caved in where you hit the trailer hitch. the hood is also bent back a bit from impact. the good news is that the airbags didn't go off, which means your car can be fixed. the bad news is that it's going to cost more than your car is worth."

she could feel her headache coming back, her legs beginning to feel weak. she knew her car wasn't worth much due to it's age. but the city didn't pay her enough for her to be able to take on the payment for a new car outright, even if she was buying used.

she felt unsteady, and her body was starting to list to one side as two strong arms picked her up.

"i've got you, just keep breathing." the smell of cologne was overwhelming. there was no way in fuck that was rick, and it wasn't the mechanic.

she'd know that texan drawl anywhere. and that meant that right now, she was in navy pilot jake seresin's arms.

and that idea made her feel a little more faint that normal.

jake seresin had lived in that neighbourhood longer than her. she'd moved into her rental house just over four years ago, and he'd bene there on viewing day in a tight white tank top and jeans, getting all sudsy as he washed his silverado in the driveway. she couldn't resist watching from the window as he got into his truck in full navy fatigues before he went to work, or when he worked out shirtless on his front lawn since the porch took up most of the back.

she cleared her throat. "can i get an estimate for the repairs? will it cost less than buying a whole new car?"

the mechanic sighed. "look, even at randy's mates rate, it would still be more advisable to buy something new. go to a dealership and look at the preowned lot, anything less than 20k will serve you a lot better than getting this car fixed up would."

she couldn't form words, mind going fuzzy from the feeling of jakes hand on her lower back, and the thought of going back inside and facing the ghosts again.

"thanks, man. she can't drive for a few days anyway," jake started "but i'll bring her to the car lot when she's better and help her find something nicer."

jake helped her back inside, where the ghosts were watching giddily with their heads through the kitchen wall.

"you didn't have to do that." she insisted, avoiding eye contact with sister katherine while she spoke to jake. "i really can't afford a new car."

she could hear sister katherine in the background, whispering to rick. he's a hot one, and a real gentleman too!

"but you can't drive that one either. it's almost twenty years old, yn." jack frowned. "treat yourself. finance if you have to. take the scrap money and run, that's what i would do. you think the navy pays me well either?"

she fought the urge to bury her head in her hands and slump down on the table. "can you drive me to my follow up at the end of the week? he just wants to make sure there's no brain damage. i was going to get detective disher to do it, but if you have the morning off its less hassle."

jake looked puzzled. "why would you want me to do it instead of your boyfriend? shouldn't that be his job?"

"why the fuck does everybody think i'm hooking up with randy?" she shouted. "jesus, jake. he's my fucking boss."

the pilot's face was red as he carded his fingers through his hair. "he just seems to be over here a lot. he drove you home from the hospital last night and i just assumed."

"he's over here a lot because his girlfriend threw him out so sometimes i let him sleep on the daybed in my spare room while he finds a new place. we've been friends for years, we were at the academy together. i could be where he is if i wasn't too chickenshit to go into the field."

jake paused for effect. "well, this is awkward. are you sure you never thought about it."

despite herself, yn laughed. "we hooked up once back at the academy. we were sooo not compatible."

"i fucking knew it!" she heard rick shout in the background. "men and women can't just be friends!"

"richard!" sister katherine cut him off. "let the girl speak and mind your own business."

"lucky for you," jake grinned, totally unaware of the ghosts arguing behind him, every syllable of their argument making yn cringe inside "i happen to have the day off on friday. i'll take you to the doctors, and if everything is good, we can go to the car lot where i bought my truck. the guy will give you a good deal."

"i want a volkswagen. that's non-negotiable." she warned.

"that's fine. we can even stop by the garage and pick up your scrap money to put towards a deposit."

her chest felt tight with everything jake was offering to do for her. it was a slight anxiety, but a positive one. nerves that sprung to mind when she thought that maybe jake was offering to do all of these things for her because he wanted to be more than just her neighbour.

and as incredible as she knew it would feel to have a special place in jake seresin's heart, she'd been out of a relationship for so long that being in one again scared the ever-loving shit out of her.

true to his word, jake picked her up promptly at ten am the following morning. she had stressed about what to wear all morning, dodging criticisms about her outfit choice from sister katherine ('seriously, what on earth are they selling in the clothing shops these days? tops are supposed to go to the top of your jeans! what happened to dressing respectably?) and outdated sex tips from rick (which came with a knowledge of the ghost's kinks that she wished she could erase from her memory).

"just to be clear, you guys are bound to this house, right? you died here and now you can't leave?"

sister katherine nodded. "that is how being dead works, my love. we have to stay here while you go out gallivanting with your fancy man."

she stifled a laugh. "jake is not my fancy man. and neither is randy."

"whatever you say, cutie." rick winked. "and if you ever find yourself being undead in the walls of this house, give me a call and let me rock your world."

shaking her head with a laugh, she closed the front door behind her and headed over the grass to jake's house. he was waiting with two thermoses of hot chocolate and looked like he had just finished vacuuming the inside of his truck.

"good morning sunshine, let's go get you a clean bill of health!"

the wait to see the specialist was longer than the appointment. it lasted no longer than half an hour while the doctor took another brain scan and declared that there was absolutely nothing wrong with y/n aside from some superficial bruising to the skin on her forehead where she hit the steering wheel. jake insisted that her clean bill of health was worth celebrating, ushering her back into the truck and refusing to tell her where they were going.

"you know i'm a serving police officer, right? one call to captain stottlemeyer and there's a all points bulletin out on your truck."

jake laughed heartily. "i'm not kidnapping you, sweets. damn, you really don't like surprises."

"can't say i'm a fan."

minutes later, jake pulled off a secluded country road and into a parking lot lined in mulch. for a place that was so out of the way, the parking lot was packed to the brim and jake had to park the silverado what felt like miles away from the building itself. like a true gentleman, he helped her down from the truck's cab, one hand on the small of her back as they walked towards the large country store.

"a farmers market?" she giggled. "big bad hangman frequents farmer's markets?"

"how do you know my call sign?"

"you have it written on a metal sign in your garage."

jake winked at her, opening the heavy glass door. the country store was in a large refurbished barn, with the hayloft having been fully converted into a small cafe. his hand was warm through her cinnamon colored t-shirt as jake guided her towards the stairs to the cafe.

"do you like cinnamon buns?"

"of course i like cinnamon buns. who do you take me for?"

laughing to himself, jake had a large smile on his tanned face as he guided her towards a window seat. "make yourself comfy, sugar. i'll be right back."

she hated to see jake seresin leave, but she loved to watch him go, shamelessly watching the rippling muscles underneath his tight levis jeans.

he came back a few minutes later, two white china plates in hand, each one with a steaming warm cinnamon bun on top. as he passed her a plate, the cowboy made the bold claim that these were the best cinnamon buns in san francisco.

"i'll be the judge of that." yn said with a laugh, trying to pick up the sticky pastry in her hands in the most dainty way possible. the buns were large, mostly taking up the small plate.

"need a knife for that, sarge?"

"shut up, hangman."

"you know i outrank you, right?" jake joked, a sly look in his eyes.

she stuck her tongue out at the pilot, wishing she had a third hand so she could give him the finger. "bite me."

"all in due time, sugar."

she tried to hide the blush taking over her face, busying herself with taking the first bite of her pastry while she tried to ignore the images that jake's comment had conjured in her mind.

of course, the moan that she let out upon tasting the pastry did nothing to ease the sinful thoughts creeping into her mind. she could tell jake noticed, his breath momentarily catching in his throat despite the smile never breaking on his face.

"am i right or am i right?"

"fine." she playfully rolled her eyes. "you were beyond right. these are incredible!"

she beamed over at jake, wiping up some of the warm glaze on her chin that hadn't fully dried before she'd taken a bite. he was sitting across from her at the small table, and had yet to touch his cinnamon roll.

"you've got a little something..." he started, reaching a warm hand over the table to brush against her lips, wiping up some cinnamon that had been left behind.

her breath caught at the action, her eyes catching jake's blue ones. he truly was a beautiful man. time seemed to slow, jake's eyes slowly moving from her own to her lips and then back up again, her cheeks heating under his gaze.

"yn, can i kiss you?"

"yes."

he leaned over the table, gently rising from his wooden chair as he pressed his lips against hers. he was soft at first, almost apprehensive until she gripped his wrist where he was caressing her face, tilting her head back to give him a better angle and kiss him harder.

kissing jake seresin was everything she'd wanted it to be and more. if this was a movie, there would be fireworks going off behind them, and a sappy pop rock ballad playing as background music. perhaps something by lifehouse or matchbox twenty.

her lips felt sticky as jake pulled away, a goofy smile on both of their faces.

"you haven't touched your pastry." she said shyly.

jake grinned. "that's because you taste a lot nicer."

they stopped at the dealership on the way back, after having picked up the scrap money. yn test drove a volkswagen, fairly new with few miles on it. she decided to make it a point to come back within the end of the weekend, having already fallen in love with the little car. she felt like was, for lack of better words, walking on sunshine as jake pulled into his driveway, one of his large hands resting comfortably on her thigh.

he helped her down, looking forlornly over to her house, almost as if he'd enjoyed himself and didn't want the night to end.

"i have to go into work early tomorrow, and you've probabaly got heaps of work to do as well, so i'll let you get back to it." jake sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. "but, if you're up for it, i can stop by tomorrow and make you something for dinner?"

she smiled up at him, reaching to take his free hand in hers. "i'd love that." remembering her ghostly guests, she hesitated. "but maybe we could do it at your house instead?"

"i would like nothing more, sarge."

"good." she pressed up onto her tiptoes, kissing jake softly.

his hand snaked around her waist, slipping into the back pocket of her jeans as he deepened the kiss. she hummed contentedly, gently stroking his face with her thumb, hand resting on his cheek.

"i can't wait." she winked at him before she cut across her front lawn, backing towards her property. her southern gentlemen saluted her as she unlocked her front door, slipping inside the foyer.

"soooooooo." rick's familiar english drawl began. "how did things go with john wayne over there?"

and despite herself, yn was very much looking forward to sharing details of her budding romance with rick and sister katherine.

things were coming up roses for sargeant yn yln, and she was so excited to see what the future had in store.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Obedience Training.

Pairing: Yandere!Illumi x Reader (HxH).

Commissioned by the very lovely @h2o2-and-baking-soda.

Word Count: 1.6k.

TW: Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Physical/Psychological Abuse, Pet Play, Dehumanization, and Controlling Behavior.

The ring was beyond repair.

It was the ugly kind of damage, too – the gold chipped and dented, some parts entirely flattened while others had scratched and tarnished to the point of virtual unrecognizability. The jewel itself (a diamond the color of the sky just before sunrise and the size of the nail on your pointer finger) had been pried out of its casing and polished with the blunt side of the hammer you’d pilfered from collection of one of the more forgetful servants. Any fragments that might’ve been worth salvaging were then washed down the sink of your en suite, and the near-microscopic remnants glistened against the table’s dark mahogany – twinkling whenever they caught the ample sunlight.

It'd been his mother’s ring; albeit, one of countless. Breaking it in such an obviously deliberate way had been a stupid thing to do, and a part of you must’ve known that while you were doing it. A part of you must’ve basked in the idiotic rage of it all, must’ve been dying to see what Illumi would be like when he couldn’t hide behind those big, blank eyes and that unreadable expression. As hazy as it seemed, you could remember being excited to see how Illumi would react, what he thought he could do to you that he hadn’t already put you through.

Now, though, standing next to him as he evaluated the damage, watching as those dark, glossy eyes skirted from the splintered wood to the decimated ring to the sparkling residue…

You weren’t excited, anymore.

Several seconds passed in silent paralysis. Images of braided rope and rusted chains and broken legs flashed through your subconscious, but he managed to draw you out of your spiraling thoughts with a low hum, a startling click of his tongue. Finally, he turned toward you and raised a hand, and you braced yourself for the feeling his fist around your neck, two fingers piercing the fragile bone of your skull, his pointed nails clawing out your eyes and leaving you to ble—

His palm came to rest on top of your head, petting over your hair gently. “Sweetheart,” he muttered with a tone as warm and as affectionate as a corpse in a snowstorm. “Would you come with me?”

You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. You nodded, the gesture stilted and jerky, and Illumi offered an approving smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, letting his hand fall to your wrist. He pressed a lingering kiss into the top of your head before tugging you gently towards the door.

Neither of you spoke as he guided you through the halls of his mansion. Usually, you could count on running into one of the sociopaths that made up his family or a member of their bloodthirsty staff whenever you left your room, but today, his sprawling home seemed to be vacant, lifeless, as empty as the killers who dwelled inside of it. Steadily, you moved downward, the marble walls turning to rough stone, the filtered sunlight soon traded out for the artificial glow of dim gas lamps. He didn’t drag his feet or try to prolong your walk to the gallows, but he didn’t rush, either, didn’t seem to be in any rush to carry out your inevitably punishment. Eventually, he came to a stop in front of a simple wooden door – unremarkable in every aspect save for the deep well of dread it managed to dredge up inside of you.

With little ceremony, the door was pushed open and you were ushered inside of ahead of him. Your attention quickly fell onto the object most immediately in front of you: a dog crate.

It was almost shockingly mundane; not overly massive, but big enough for a large pitbull or golden retriever, the bars thin but close together and the bottom cushioned by a small bed with pink and white paw prints splattered across it. A handful of miscellaneous items had been laid on top of it. Your attention caught on the collar, first, the cutesy type with a bell and fake (or, knowing Illumi, very real) gemstones studded into the leather and a matching leash, and then headband with what couldn’t be—

Illumi moved past you, approaching the crate and taking up the undeniably, indisputably dog-eared headband. He turned it over in his hands once, then twice, before speaking. “Strip.”

It sounded like gibberish; partially muffled by the static buzzing over your conscious mind and made even more difficult to process by your own unwillingness to do so. “What?”

“Strip,” he repeated. “Or I’ll break every bone in your right hand.”

It was the specificity of the threat (paired with the implication that your left wouldn’t be long to follow) that had your shaking hands reaching for the hem of your shirt and hauling it over your head. You looked towards him for approval after every shed article, but he only seemed to notice your obedience at all when you stood bare and vulnerable in front of him, completely unprotected from both his prying gaze and the chill of the damp dungeon air. You started to move towards him, but he stopped you with a quick shake of his head, a new softness to his expression. “Kneel.”

With a shallow breath, you complied, lowering yourself onto your knees. Now, now, he took his time, his terrible eyes raking over your trembling form as he came to stand in front of you. The collar was fastened around your neck deftly, the leash allowed to hang loose and pool in your lap. He was more careful with the headband – meticulously lining it up with your ears, your face before sliding it into place with a satisfied hum. In a very distant, very muted way, you found that you were surprised less that your hitman-turned-kidnapper would have a pet play lair hidden away in some dark corner of his basement, and more that the aforementioned kidnapper would use that pet play lair to dress you up as a dog, rather than a cat. Illumi was as cat-like as a man could be – silent and skulking, prone to digging his claws into what he loved most – but the more you thought about it, the more sense it made. Cats were smart and sly and perfectly capable of surviving on their own, whereas dogs were stupid and clumsy and almost painfully reliant on their owners. People get cats because they want something that can choose to love them back. People get dogs because they want something that doesn’t have another choice.

“I--Illumi,” you managed, his name still awkward and bitter on your tongue. “I… I’m really sorry, and I’ve learned my lesson, and—”

One second, you were staring at his feet, and the next, your head was snapped to the side, a searing pain stitched deeply into your cheek. His open palm slipped downward, cupping your chin and tilting your head back, forcing you to face him properly. “Good pets don’t talk.” His tone was shockingly sweet, coercive, as if he was trying to explain something very simple to a very stupid child. “Good pets only follow commands. Can you do that for me, puppy?”

Tears were starting to gather in the corners of your eyes, a tight knot lodging itself at the base of your throat, but you did your best to keep both at bay. You started to nod, then thought better of it, straightening your back and squaring your shoulders, trying to communicate the only thing you could seem to think – please don’t hurt me please don’t hurt me please don’t hurt me – without giving him a reason to land another blow. In the end, he rewarded you with the ghost of a smile, his free hand held in front of your mouth. “Good puppy. Now lick.”

You hesitated, but the steady ache pounding in your cheek was enough to make you swallow your pride. Your tongue darted out from between trembling lips, and with no small amount of trepidation, you lapped over the back of his closed fist. He let you begin to pull away before moving – before forcing two fingers into your open mouth and pressing the pads of his digits into the back of your throat. You gagged, your body instinctually recoiling, but he didn’t relent, his thumb digging into your jaw as he held you in place. Your hands shot to his thighs, the tears you’d forced back resurfacing and flooding down your cheeks, but he didn’t budge, didn’t pull away until you were gasping and breathless and utterly humiliated. Finally, he drew back, wiping his spit-soaked digits on your shoulder as his eyes moved from your open mouth to your hands, still balled around the fabric of his pants. “I have something upstairs for those,” he said, voice dripping with all the warmth and affection he usually denied you. “I’ll forgive you this time, puppy, but good pets shouldn’t be able to grab.”

He reached down, taking you by the leash. You were too detached to resist as he half-led, half-dragged you towards the crate. This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from shaking your head, from stammering out little ‘no, no, no’s as his fist curled around your collar and forced you past the metal gate and into the confined space, suddenly so much smaller than it’d seemed from the outside. You had just enough time to scramble for the door before Illumi slammed it shut, letting the clasp fall into place and leaving you withering inside the makeshift cage. You couldn’t stop yourself – hands curling around the bars as you looked toward him with your most pleading expression, but Illumi only shook his head. “You don’t have to sulk. Maybe, with some time, we’ll be able to move your bed somewhere warmer.”

He paused, his grin widening into the first real smile you’d ever earned from him.

“After you’ve proved you can be a good dog, of course.”

[abbyfmc]

Yanderetober 10/10:

Yandere Dark King Ghost! X Urban Explorer! Reader:

TW:

In the 19th century, there was a king named Dorian, who was quite frivolous, classist and sometimes cruel to the people of his village. He was raised by his father to be that way.

He had murdered anyone who tried to remove him from the throne, or worse, separate him from his beloved wife, Queen Adela. A woman who was the complete opposite of her husband. She was gentle and kind to people of all social classes, which made her subjects, servants, guards, the court and even neighboring kingdoms adore her.

He grew up in an environment where he was not only pressured and despised by his parents, but also looked down upon by his siblings, against whom he competed daily. The only one who ever treated him well (or at least decently) was Adela, with whom he became obsessed.

The Yandere King never let Adela go again once he married her.

The Yandere King pressured Adela and her family to marry him, even unfairly imprisoning Adela's father to force her to agree.

David married her when he was still a prince, which temporarily made her a princess.

Adela tried everything to overcome him; From imploring her let her go to try to escape, failing in each attempt. Adela could not bear the confinement, manipulation, pressure of her position, as well as the punishments at the hands of David; which led Adela to take her life with a dagger.

David could not believe what his beloved did. From that moment he did not be the same again, but he became a vile and cruel king who took many lives during his reign (with the excuse that everyone is guilty of Adela's suicide, except him), until he was killed to His 35 years for the younger brother, who took the throne and calmed down a little.

What nobody knew at first was that David was a witchcraft practitioner who after Adela's death tried to revive her without any success, sacrificing criminals. In the end he ended up conjuring a spell that would make him able to meet his beloved in the next life.

This is where we travel to today.

You were a fan of urban history and exploration. It was super interesting and entertaining to investigate the history of abandoned places, as well as its passage through history without human maintenance. You have explored houses, neighborhoods, mansions, establishments, hospitals, mansions, hotels, resorts and even abandoned parks to see their passage and abandonment over time.

You've encountered it all; insects, stagnant water or aerated water, mold of every color possible, rust, decay (obviously) and even squatters and intruders. You have scary and funny memories in the form of photos and videos; however, you never took anything from those places.

You recently stumbled upon King David's abandoned castle and read a bit about its history, which you found very interesting, so you went to visit the castle with your lifelong best friend, Axel.

As you entered, you saw how big it was with its impressive architecture and interior design. The trees, bushes and undergrowth dominated the place, making it no less beautiful or interesting.

You walked around, admiring the place while taking photos and videos, until you came to a hidden room where all of David and Adela's belongings were. From paintings and robes, to jewelry and a pair of royal crowns.

What caught Axel's attention the most was the king's crown, and it didn't take you long to notice it.

-Axel? What's wrong?- You asked him as you watched the wine stick to his crown. Suddenly, you felt a strange aura near it.

-The crown is...calling me- He replied during his trance, walking up to the object.

-Axel, don't mess around. Let's explore the other rooms instead.- You stood up and walked uncomfortably to the entrance, hoping he would follow you, but you only saw a bright flash of light and turned around, seeing your friend kneeling on the ground in a daze with his crown on.

-Are you okay?! Holy jesus, what did you do?- You wanted to help him up and then you heard a strange voice.

The ghost of the yandere king had awakened after a long time in limbo.

-What am I doing here?- "Axel" asked himself, in a voice that was not his own, but a slightly more mature one. You were surprised, not knowing what was happening.

The ghost of the Yandere King felt strange in his new body. After so many years in limbo, he was now alive in some form.

-Axel, what nonsense are you talking about? We're exploring. Are you okay?- You approached him, who looked at you and revealed that he no longer had those characteristic brown eyes, but a pair of emerald eyes like David's. Before you could say anything out of surprise, his eyes lit up and he smiled from ear to ear.

-My Adela, you've returned!- He exclaimed happily, which confused you even more.

-What are you talking about? Have you gone crazy? Are you drunk?- He shook his head while still smiling. -Then stop playing this! You're scaring me!- You complained, starting to feel anxious and angry. He slowly walked towards you.

The yandere king began to tell you the story of his relationship with witchcraft, and how he used a spell to reunite with his beloved queen in the afterlife or in his next life, but was punished by remaining in limbo due to the murders committed.

The Yandere Ghost King remained alone all this time, tortured again and again for his crimes, but in the end his efforts bore double fruit.

The yandere king saw that you remained silent while looking at him a little surprised and disgusted, but you finally approached him.

-What's up, honey?- David asked doubtfully. -Do you believe me?- You didn't answer; however, he saw that you were willing to take the crown (his power) from him and he stopped you by throwing you to the ground and putting his hands on your neck. He strangled and choked you for a long time, while you kicked and struggled desperately, only to end up dying in his hands.

By the time you stopped breathing, he let go of you and, after checking that you had no pulse, he looked at your corpse with a smile on his face.

-One part is already done, the other is missing.- The Yandere King then searched around the room for something specific; a sharp object to be more specific. He walked around and looked carefully around the room, coming to see a small, old dagger that was among your things.

He took her in his hands and stabbed her in the neck, falling beside you as he died, getting rid of your friend Axel in the process.

In the end, he got what he wanted after two centuries and by a few seconds, but he was with you in your end.

-The End.

Hi, I know this isn't very well-written and it's VERY late, but this week I had body and head aches that kept me away from my cell phone and PC for about four days, but today I feel much better.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Do you have any recommendations for TTRPGs where Body Horror is a central theme or mechanic? Preferably ones where themes like loss of agency or control over one's body are the focus. Thank you!!

THEME: Body Horror (Part 2!)

Hello there, I’m going to start by providing a link to the Body Horror recommendation post I put up back in 2022, before I move on to new recommendations!

Mutant Monster Machine Girls, by babblegumsam.

In MUTANT MONSTER MACHINE GIRLS, you play as a member of "The Girls", a group of queer misfits fighting against an oppressive anarcho-capitalist state ruled by The Corporation. 

Each of you fights against them because all your lives have been ruined by The Man Responsible, a dangerous and cruel servant of The Corporation. Because of his actions and the nature of your evolutions, you can no longer return to your previous lives and the people you love.

Your only solution? Exact your ultraviolent revenge on him and bring peace to the city by force!

The Mutant part of Mutant Monster Machine Girls is pretty heavy on the body horror, although I think the other character options certainly have possibilities. Babblegumsam has a fondness for weaving trauma and emotion into many of their works, so you’ll likely find a lot of feelings about exploration and loss in this one. The game system uses a modified PbtA system, which gives you tokens that you can spend to add modifiers to your roll. (This same mechanic can be found in Apocalypse Keys!)

Soul Burner, by World Champ Game Co.

Soul Burner is a standalone tabletop role-playing game of adventuring ashen corpses wandering a volcanic ghostland in service of the gods of fate, protecting the timeline from imminent disaster by manifesting fractured memories to shape the world to their will.

Compatible with Mork Borg and inspired by Necronautilus, this game acts as a bridge between worlds of violent dark fantasy and stoner metal science fantasy.

Soul Burner embeds body horror both into the characters you play and the creatures you come across, using MORK BORG rules and depicting your characters as merely remnants of who they used to be. You will find creatures overgrown by fungi, desperate cannibals, and lava-worshipping cultists in this book, evoking a grim and gritty fantasy setting. Your own characters are ever-changing, morphing and distorting whenever you gain a Reminder - pieces of who you are that give you mechanical advantages in the game.

FLËSHMØG, by Freak Flag Games.

FLËSHMØG: THE FLESH BEGINS TO EXERT ITS WILL UPON ITSELF

mäw of hëck: flëshmøg is a pen & paper body horror character creator. draw your hand, discover your body, and mutate your form.

This isn’t so much a game as it is a character-creation exercise. Using a deck of playing cards, you assemble cards as you randomly draw them to give yourself body parts, strengths, and adaptations according to the world around you. This might be an interesting exercise if you want to come up with a wretched home-brew character for MORK BORG, or if you want to design some kind of horror to pit against your players in another game.

Do Not Fear: In Death We Bloom, by Hella Big Claws.

Do Not Fear is a Forged In the Dark Tabletop Roleplaying game, about accepting the fleetingness of life; and using the strength that gives you in order to combat a growing stagnation.

Fight as a Hunter, a person who has been given a Gift of Bloom; a fungus like infection that allows for incredible strength and regenerative ability; in exchange for subsuming your flesh as you die.

Combat or save the Rusted; living creatures infected by a growing viral stagnation; marbling their bones and rusting their flesh; sculpting them into horrifyingly beautiful creations. Ascend the Tower; a large, multilayered structure which you call home. Interact with the factions and people within, as you set down roots.

As a fungus-infested person, the characters for Do Not Fear feel like prime candidates for body horror. Your characters have accepted that their fate will likely end in death, but only because they must if they are to save the world from a horrible plague. The game is built off of the same system as Blades in the Dark, but I think there’s been some tweaks here and there, because there are teasers to creatures and weapons that indicate hit-points and stats. The character abilities however, look really powerful and exciting. If you are a fan of Bloodborne, Hunter X Hunter, or Technoir, you might like this game.

Mutagenic Hive Swarm, by Atelier Hwei.

Waking up as a transdimensional insectoid reptilian has never been more fun!You are a stone age psychonaut apparently occupying the body of a Transdimensional Insectoid Reptile, a bug.

But who you were is less important than where you are: you must navigate the bloody, alien meatscape of the MUTAGENIC HIVE SWARM and find a way back to the Here & Now… before memories of who or what you fade completely.

Mutagenic Hive Swarm is all about playing bugs who are not really bugs - your characters have found themselves in the bodies of alien creatures, and will need to fight in order to hold onto their sense of self. Much of your character’s skills and effort will be directed towards trying to resist certain influences and changes, so I think the theme of loss of agency really shines through in this game. What you might really like is the d20 table of mutations that can threaten you every time your body changes. If you want a game where your character is more likely going to succumb to their changes than find a way out, you might want to check out Mutagenic Hive Swarm.

Other Games to Check Out

Wasted, by World Champ Game Co.

Bio-Drones & Cryo0Clones, by ChrisAir (for Mothership).

[theworldbrewery]

1d8 Places to Rest in the City

The upstairs of the Coronet, a seedy and rundown public house in the industrial district. The pub is under new management, and has been undergoing extensive renovations in the hope of cleaning up its image. Despite the owner’s best efforts, pickpockets and thugs loiter outside. And most nights, a smuggler by the name of Smiley Sam can be found in the barroom, ready to trade in secrets, coin, or illicit goods.

The roof of the Third Regional Bank, an imposing edifice with an atrial dome and a cluster of gold statues above its grand doors. From this height, you can see the sprawl of the whole city, its flickering lights and flares of magic. The night watchman might need paying off, and it’s none too comfortable in rain or snow. But the gargoyles have formed a sketch comedy group, so there’s built-in entertainment.

The Magnolia Pink, a fabulous hotel with genuine silver floors. The suites are worth the expense, from the liveried servants who attend the guests’ every need to the plush, indulgent beds and decadent room service options. But rumor has it that for every night you pass in the Magnolia Pink’s embrace, the less likely you are to come out again — at least until you can no longer scrounge up the cash to afford just one more night.

Under the Bodhi Bridge. This brickwork overpass provides excellent shelter from the elements, particularly because some enterprising vagabond has knocked in part of the supporting wall and created an accessible niche roughly 15x15 ft. in size. In time, other vagrants have left their marks: symbols in thieves’ cant, broken bottles, worn-out boots, and a pile of logs inoculated with a variety of mushrooms.

Inchibald Quingle’s Lodging House, a crooked three-story structure with drafty rooms, narrow hallways, and two hearty meals a day. The elderly Mr. Quingle has handed the reins to his son, Inchie Jr., whose passion for cookery has earned the Quingle Lodging House its place on the map. Inchie’s other passion—taxidermy—does put some guests off their supper, however.

The Asylum of the Ragged Saints, a humble almshouse dedicated to housing the poor, the pensioners, and the downtrodden. Available only to those in need, the Asylum’s rooms are clean and orderly, but offer little privacy and even less comfort. Its patron, Lady Parsimony Cross, is a crotchety and bookish young woman who inherited responsibility for the Asylum from a more kindly and warm relative. She is greatly concerned with the idea that the Asylum is being used by those who do not truly need its services, and has begun imposing increasingly high standards of poverty and desperation to its residents.

An abandoned underground transport station, dating from a time immemorial. A rusting metal wagon rests on a sunken track, its doors jammed into the open position. Moth-eaten seats line an aisle within. The track extends into the darkness of an enclosed tunnel, which emits an eerie buzzing noise. If the wagon doesn’t hold any appeal, you can always remain on the buckling stone platform and examine its illegible signage and explore the chambers lined in cracked, mossy tile which branch from the main cavernous space.

The basement of the Ershae family home. The Ershaes are friendly people, part of a social network which offers safe housing to travelers. As members of this group, they host strangers willingly and are welcomed by other strangers in the network when they travel themselves. The sole condition of your stay is this: you must join the network and list your address among the available places to stay. If you agree, you may sleep in this place as long as you need without charge, though you are responsible for your own meals. The Ershaes’ basement is wood-paneled, with a shaggy orange carpet and a vividly green sofa bed.