#Terrified hunk speaking

[crookedlykawaiibunny]

I did another AU. Don’t think too hard on this okay? It was only meant to be a fun thought. Like don’t question what demon Lance has or if Allura has the same abilities as Lance. Cause I don’t know. Unless you have a really cool reason or idea then I’m all ears! 👀👂

[intoanotherworld23]

Wanna Feel The Heat

Summary: your fathers always told you if you play with fire you’ll get burned, and with Joel you didn’t listen

Warnings: mdni 18+, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, dom Joel, security Joel, slight choking, minor spanking, dirty talk, a form of exhibitionism, praise kink

A/N: reblogs and comments are always appreciated and highly encouraged. If you wish to be added to my Pedro tag list don’t hesitate to ask it’s always open for everyone! Thanks so much for your continued support it means a lot to me! XOXO

Hall Of Hunks

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

Tag list for Pedro Pascal: @pedrohoe04 @k-k0129 @livingdeadmaria @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @milly-louise @kittenlittle24 @trisaratops-mcgee @subconsciouscollapse @hooked-on-penapascal27 @red-red-rogue @fellinfromthetop @drewharrisonwriter @vickie5446

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"Daddy know about what his precious princess is doing?" His words echoing in your ear the heat rising to your cheeks. Heavy hands gripping your hips so hard you could feel burning.

Your father was an important man, and therefore needed security to insure his safety. That's where Joel came in. Flirting back and forth with innocent touches then turning into him dragging you to the nearest bathroom. Should have your head bowed in shame for what you were doing, but instead you were bent over the sink letting him do whatever he wanted to you.

"His angelic daughter getting fucked by his security in the bathroom. So desperate to be fucked." Hearing him say it out loud was even hotter than you expected it to be.

"Hear how wet you're gettin." His southern drawl came out a hand coming down on your cheeks making you jolt as he snickers more to himself. "Gonna have this cunt achin' for days."

Joel shamelessly bucking his hips into your backside while watching you through the mirror in the bathroom. Forcing you to watch yours and his expression. Taking notice how his cheeks were bright red, and pressing his lips together when he felt himself getting closer. Everything about this was wrong yet neither one of you were doing anything to stop it.

"Should have you scream so daddy can hear." Continuing with the crude comments as he buried his cock deeper inside of your raw cunt. The thought of him running up here was terrifying. Not able to hold in the little whimpers and moans that escaped your lips. Joel knew this undoubtedly judging by the tears forming in your ears you couldn't handle that kind of pressure. "Don't worry sweetheart I don't wanna be interrupted."

"Joel please I'm so close." Biting down on your arm with frustration at how close you were wanting nothing more than to feel that warm feeling ignite all over your body.

"Got you right where I want you princess." Mocking you as he dipped down thrusting at an all new angle a loud gasp escaping past your lips. Reaching a hand to grab your neck and pull your head to look up at the ceiling. Grinding deep rotating his hips looking down briefly to see your slickness trailing along his length.

"Takin my cock so well. This cunt was made for me." Speaking confidently as he kept light pressure on your neck proud how easily you were submitting to him. Loving the sounds of your cheeks smacking against his thighs like it was music to his ears.

Joel could sense that you were struggling to release almost like you were fighting it. Reaching his other hand around to your front finding your sensitive clit rubbing fast circles coaxing the orgasm from you. Keeping your feet planted firmly on the ground as he rocked his hot body into yours. Your neck was starting to really ache, but you were so close you were powering through.

Body slumping against the sink hand falling from your neck as your body fell completely numb to your euphoric state. Cunt clenching his cock like a vine as you trembled and shook around him. Both hands held onto your hips as he continued to pump himself swiftly and deep. Not taking long before he was spilling his seed.

"That's a good girl. Such a good fuckin girl for me." Praising as he rubbed his hands up and down your back reaching a hand towards your puffy cunt to feel where you two were connected. Still trying to catch your breath as his finger collected both your juices on his finger.

It was something that snapped in you as he softly touched and caressed your body, and how his eyes looked at your body in admiration. It had you wanting more of him. Wanting to taste more and to feel more. Like the wild animal locked away in the cage was banging against the bars to get out.

"Good thing daddy didn't hear us after all." Joking as he smeared his finger across your mouth looking up to see the milky substance shine on your lips. A devilish smile appearing on your face as you licked it up shamelessly only to make Joel grin widely his cock twitching inside of you. "I see daddy's princess wants some more."

“Well I wouldn’t be doing my job if I wasn’t taking care of you.”

[misty-groves]

Rewind (here we go again) Prologue

Rating : T

Summary: When Ivy Wayne wakes up in her past, she is given the chance to change things for the better. She takes it because she wants to do better this time.

Warnings: Time travel, multiple timelines, cursing,

Other: Ivy Wayne is an oc, Danny Fenton is Damian's twin

When given another chance, Ivy Wayne takes it with both hands and runs. She's not unhappy with her life, but she could do better if given a re-do, as most people could. Unlike most people, she seems to get a re-do.

-------

Ivy knew this morning she was going to have a weird day. She woke up with one of those premonition headaches that mean trouble.

Then she went and got into a fight all alone, got gassed, and watched the world turn black.

She wakes up at fourteen in her room, both of her baby brothers in her bed. She's smaller than she remembers, less pain than there should be.

Odd.

Danyl is in the middle, Damian on his right. The twins are asleep in her bed, clinging to eachother and her.

They are safe.

And also apparently four.

This is weird. But she can adjust.

She needs a plan. If she can get a message to her family she can get the all out. Maybe she can speak to mother.

At this point, she can't say. But she knows her mother loves them as much as she can.

She knows that the night she faked her brother's death- her mom asked very few questions.

She needs to send them to their own rooms soon. She supposedly "babies" them far more than she's supposed to. But really, children need affection and love.

She takes another minute or so though. She basks in having both of them here again. She enjoys how warm and real they are.

She misses them at this age- after she faked Danyal's death they never saw him again. She's not even sure he got away. But he escaped their grandfather.

She looks to Damian, who has his little fist bunched up in his twins shirt. He has Bruce's nose- from before the many breaks of their father's nose.

Danyal clings to her, his long lashes rest against his cheek. He has freckles that are faint, but they are there all the same. He has a sharper nose than his twin.

She rouses them gently, whispering words of love before she sends them off. She kisses their heads and smiles softly as they sneak out.

Her boys.

Her baby brothers.

She takes a slow breath as she tries to remember what lead up to this.

There had been the morning headache she's learned is really premonition...

And then...

Ivy had been fighting a new villain before she passed out from a new gas, and then she woke up here. She'd watched the world go black- had someone yelled?

She had been alone though.

Things aren't connecting right- but she's unable to deny the warmth and swell in her heart when she sees her baby brothers so young.

She stands, stretching her arms above her head. She's sore- and her back pulls against long, thick scabs.

She wouldn't say she missed this. The whip always leaves such ugly scars.

So far, her working theory is time travel of some sort or perhaps dimension hopping. But so far it looks like she is familiar enough to not be terrifying for her.

She dresses, strapping weapons to herself as easily as she always has. Growing up with the Bat as her father and the being in the leauge has left her fond of many weapons at all times.

She has siblings to protect.

There is a knock at her door, "Ivy?"

Ivy opens the door, finding her mom. She just tilts her head, "Mother."

"Your training has been pushed forward today, join me in the training room in ten minutes."

"Yes, mother."

Talia dosen’t smile, she doesn't frown either. She just turns on her heel, satisfied with the conversation.

Ivy grabs her own katana, and sweeps down the hallway.

She goes to the kitchens to grab a small hunk of cheese and bread, eating quickly. She's always hated fighting hungry.

She makes it to the training room in time, a whole minute to spare even.

It's laughable, how easy she falls into old habits. She's careful to control her movements, maintaining the hesitancy she remembers from before. She had always been so scared to truly hurt those she loves.

She loses, of course she does, but she dosen’t fail. She lasts a goof twenty minutes before she's beaten. And she could probably win with her honest skill but she's not supposed to have that yet.

"You did better than last time." Talia says as she stares down at her daughter, a bright air around her.

"I have been training."

"It shows." Talia almost smiles, lips twitching as she removes her foot from her daughter's chest, sword falling to the side.

Ivy stands, brushing herself off easily. "I am glad it's noticeable."

Talia just stares at her. Something unreadable passes her face, a funny pinch in her elegant brows.

"You improved so much the span of three days, you doubled your standard time."

Ivy tries her best to stifle the urge to preen at that. She instead tries to figure out a better response than 'whoops'.

She stares at her mother, searching the calm face for help. She takes a slow breath, "I have been training hard?"

It was supposed to be a statement, unfortunately it comes out as a question.

"Try again. The truth this time."

Ivy sighs slowly. The truth? She couldn't say for sure what that is, but her best guess is timetravel. Though how she explains that she doesn't know.

Talia just waits.

"I don't know what caused it... but I would bet money I was sent back into time."

"That makes very little sense."

"I don't know what happened, but yesterday I was twenty and in Gotham. Today I'm fourteen and here."

Talia stares at her, looking as though she wonders if her daughter is loosing her mind. Which would be a fair sentiment.

"You're serious."

"Let's go again, I won't hold back."

"You held back?" Talia snorts.

Ivy just raises a brow. She was holding back, even if she's a little weaker now than she remembers she has far better training and instincts drilled into her mind.

Talia lunges and Ivy dodges. This time, it's quicker paced, each moving with grace and speed deadly to others.

Ivy, ducks, weaves, hits, and uses her powers. She sends bolts of her sheild energy with precision. She beats her mother, seven minutes in.

Foot on her mother's chest, sword to the woman's throat, Ivy smiles. "Do you believe me now, mother?

Talia blinks up at her, looking literally and figuratively floored. "That- is new."

Ivy backs up.

"You said you were in Gotham, was the leauge-"

"I left the leauge when you had to stop grandfather."

"Oh?"

"We need to talk later. I need your help, and our intrests align nicely." Ivy says simply, putting her katana away and folding her arms.

"They do?"

"It protects the boys."

"I see." Talia brushes her self off.

Ivy just watches. She has half of several plans. With a little more time, she'll have solid plans. With a little more time, she'll get them all out.

"Perhaps in a few days we can have tea to discuss." Talia offers.

"If you have time, I would love that."

-------

A week passes before Ivy and Talia are able to truly get away far enough to talk. Really talk.

They settle in a secluded part of Talia's wing, tea steaming on the table.

"You're from the future. "

"A version of it. I need your help to straighten things out."

"How?"

"Grandfather will go too far, he gets to the point he wants Danyal dead and you too. He wants to take all weakness from Damian."

"Oh. Is that so?"

"You lost Danyal in my time. I think you know where I'm going with this."

"Would it work?"

"Of course it would. Dad is protective- and I think we both know I will stop at nothing to protect my brothers."

"I'm not sure-"

"You are no coward, mother. You are not weak or stupid. If you do as I suggest you can avoid the danger to your son's, and gain power."

"Are you so sure you would risk staging a coup? You are far improved, but you are still young."

"I will help plan, but any mutiny is your prerogative. But your children will be safer with you in power and them in Gotham."

"I don’t like that idea of you three so far."

"I don't like the idea of being backed into attending Danyal's funeral. Again."

"Azizi." Talia says, "Tell me, does Bruce raise my boys well?"

"Bruce loves his sons. They're better off living with dad full time, but if you take power and initiative he will be happy to co parent."

"And are you okay to go back?"

"Mother, Gotham is my home."

Talia sighs slowly, "Let me think."

"I will."

"You're very brave, my little moon."

Ivy smiles softly, unrestrained as she does. Her voice is soft, "Thank you, mother."

"You know I could inform father about this, your goading and your knowledge. You should know that conspiracy has a heavy price."

"I do."

"And you took the risk."

"It's for my family, I'll take any risk."

"I'll do it. But it will take time."

-------

"Thank you." Ivy says.

She means it too. She'd expected a harder sell.

Talia just watches her, the woman's green eyes, much too like Damian's. She seems to be searching for something- but Ivy dosen’t know what.

Bruce is surprised to get another letter so soon, usually he only gets letters from his daughter every four months. He just got one last week, so the letter is strange.

Dear dad,

I have a lot to explain, first of all you have two sons mother has kept hidden. They are twins, Danyal and Damian.

Second, mother is working on taking control of the leauge. Which is long over due if I do say so myself, and I do.

Thirdly, my brothers and I will be coming home at a date mother provides later. She needs to focus on the takeover and we will be safer at the manor.

Lastly, I miss you and please tell the others I love and miss them. It has been hard to he far away from you. I have had to make changes to survive in the leauge, and sometimes wonder if you could still accept me.

Anyway, I don’t know when I'll be home but I will be. Mom will tell you more. I'm sorry to dump this all on you, but I wanted to prepare you.

The twins are five, and highly trained for their age. They have been trained by the leaige to be heirs for the last three years and are used to a high station.

I have been their gaurd since I got here, and I think you'll love them. They aren't super well socializedbut they are kind.

Damian has green eyes and loves animals. He's a literal genius who picks things very quickly and is very protective of those he loves. He dosen’t trust easily, and he seems to enjoy art when he can do it.

His favorite colors are green and black, he loves swords, and he would love to have a diagram of any animals. If you're setting up his room, he wants his bed to allow him to see all entrances.

Danyal loves the stars, so much that I've taken time to teach him constellations and their stories. He's a little more trusting and a little softer. He has asked to learn more about space, but I think the books at home will help.

His favorite colors are blue and grey, he loves mythology, and would love to have glow in the dark stars. If you're setting up his room, he likes to have a nest of sorts in the closet to feel safe.

They have been raised only in violence, and taught that killing is not only okay but expected. They have killed, but they don't know better. I have done my best but you know as well as I do that nothing I do will stop what they've been taught. So I've taught them not to be cruel with it. Which is not necessarily enough but better than nothing.

I know this is a lot of information and I'm sorry, I also wish I had more. I'll see you as soon as I can, I love you.

Lots of love,

Ivy

Bruce just stares for a moment or two. The words swim in his mind, knowledge almost choking him with the weight of it.

His baby girl is coming home.

He has twin boys he's never heard of, raised in the leauge. The young children have killed.

His daughter has been in the leauge for two years now, and has possibly killed. She's a gaudd to the heir(s?) Of Ra's.

He can't feel disappointment in the children, circumstances allowed little choice and she has taught them not to be cruel. Which is better than anyone else has done.

He can teach the boys, and he can let his daughter relearn kindness.

He can't believe Talia, hiding all of this. Raising children to kill. Likely forcing his sweet girl to kill, so she survives.

He will not begrudge his daughter, he knows how ruthless the leauge is. It's what she chooses when she's home that will determine things.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred asks.

"I have twin boys. And their coming home with Ivy eventually." Bruce turns with wide eyes.

"Oh, dear. I suppose I have rooms to prepare."

"Ivy left information for that." Bruce says, holding out the letter with trembling hands.

"Very good, thank you." Alfred says as he takes it gently in his gloved fiingers.

Bruce let's go with a frown. "Alfred... she's coming home."

"I know."

"Talia hid children from me."

"She did." Alfred says softly. "But you're going to meet them."

[anony-man]

Chubformers extended drabble #2!

Based off of #60 for IDW Overlord, this is the drabble written into a 2k fic! Feel free to read it on ao3 or under the cut!

Original drabble: #60 for Overlord (IDW)

Word count: 2,046

(TW: vore, implied fatal vore)

It was bad manners to play with his food, he’d been told, but there was something so alluring about watching his freshly picked captives shiver and squirm in his presence. What could he say? Their palpable terror always added to the flavor to every dish, even before he swallowed them whole.

Speaking of swallowing them whole… Overlord was pretty sure tonight’s choice of a meal was one of the biggest to date. He was no prude when it came to size—the bigger the better is how he saw it. Still, the fat Decepticon could hardly wait to have such a hunk of a mech lodged in his throat. It was almost arousing, dare he say.

The poor, terrified thing had been quiet nearly the entire night. His fellow Decepticons swore the mech had been cursing up a storm, blaming Megatron for the failure of their kind and calling up gaping maws from Primus himself to break open the core of their world and swallow the nasty scum of a faction whole.

Oddly enough, there was no sign of the fiery, passionate spirit now, not even a drop… not even a word.

Well, Overlord couldn’t toy with everyone. Sometimes his food seemed to liked to sit pretty and wait for the inevitable as opposed to putting up a struggle, and he supposed that was just fine. The flavor was in the fear, after all, and oh, did tonight’s guest reek of it.

Painted blue lips curled into a cruel smile before opening wide for the next bite of his first course. The Autobot across from his was silent as ever, his optics wide as he quivered against the table.

This was always one of his favorite parts, just below getting to swallow up his prey. It was tradition for Overlord, forcing his evening’s captive to sit and watch as he prepared himself for the final dish. Struggling bots never felt so good in his tanks like they did following a big, hearty feast, and Overlord loved setting them up for a cushiony fall into his well-fed belly.

"Delicious," the fat Con said as he swallowed, reaching down to the table to grab a napkin.

The mech across the table flinched away, a gasp of fear escaping him. It was as if he expected those cruel talons to close around his throat at any moment, Overlord could tell. Lucky mech, getting to live for a few more minutes in the confines of the delightful dinner before them.

“Mm... I've truly outdone myself tonight,” Overlord continued, delicately wiping at the corners of his lips. “But I worry about you, you poor, poor soul. Aren’t you hungry?”

The mech didn’t respond, save for another shudder as Overlord dug his fork into the meat of his dish. Another delightful moan worked its way around the bountiful as he shoveled it past his lips, and this time Overlord did little to hide his satisfaction at the outcome of his meal.

Delicious as usual, he thought with a lick of his lips. Even so, it was nothing compared to the dessert that awaited him.

“Oh, forgive me,” he said between a few extra dabs at his lips with the napkin. “I never did ask if you wanted something to eat. Please, help yourself.”

The bot didn’t move, and he hardly breathed. The room fell silent for a time, save for the clink of chains and the tremble of the mech as they hid their face behind shackled servos.

Overlord frowned at the sight. The poor creature looked absolutely pitiful, all curled into on himself in a desperate attempt at appearing small against the grand display of foods laid out over the dinner table. Still, there was a script to follow if he wanted to enjoy every last second of his evening’s entertainment.

He waited patiently until the mech had gained the courage to glance up from the spaces between his fingers, his optics bright with fear. By then the air had begun to stink from their panic, and Overlord loved it. He took in a deep breath and sighed, a contented smile replacing the agitated frown he’d worn prior.

Oh, this was starting to become a positively scrumptious night.

"Enjoy yourself," Overlord pressed. "It would be selfish of me to keep you from having a bite, don’t you think?"

Overlord slid an empty plate across the table to where the mech sat. A small, delicate pastry was plucked up from its display between sharp fingers and dropped onto the porcelain platter. Overlord watched as the mech's gaze drifted to the offered treat, then to him, then back again.

It was risky, accepting the kind morsel. Without fail, though, his captives always accepted. It just took time is all.

“Go on,” he urged, plucking another bite off of his own plate as he waited for the mech to give in. “I’m playing nice tonight, I assure you.”

The mech hesitated, his servo outstretched. It certainly looked appetizing, and he couldn’t deny the way his tanks groaned for food…

"There you go," Overlord said, clapping his servos together as the shivering mech finally took the bait. "That’s a good mech."

One bite quickly turned into two as the mech eased into the flow of stuffing his face. No longer satisfied with the simple dishes available for snacking, Overlord settled for sipping at his glass of engex as he watched the mech gorge himself on as many foods as he could reach.

The frantic, desperate need to keep his mouth full and his belly fuller was almost as entertaining as the climax of the dinner’s final course. Overlord sneered behind the rim of his glass as the pathetic bot slurped and groaned, too caught up in the temporary bliss of a free-for-all feast made just for him—and for Overlord, of course.

“Eager thing, you are,” the Con mused, his frown twisting back into an amused smile at the way the mech stopped to scoff at the ridiculous statement. “Have I made enough to satisfy your appetite?”

It would be such a delightful reward to stuff his belly full with such an obnoxious Autobot. The cowardly terror that had kept him frozen in place was beginning to wane, and the more the bot ate the more he seemed to grow comfortable in his enemy’s presence.

“I’ll say,” the bot said between mouthfuls. He wiped at his face with the back of his servo. “Got enough here to feed a fraggin’ army if you ask me.”

“An army of two, perhaps,” Overlord said as he sipped at his engex.

His evening’s prisoner was getting far too comfortable for his own liking. A little snark was always welcome, but Overlord could hardly stand the shift from shivering fear to cocky and comfortable. The spread of cakes and dishes had been a good appetizer, but the entertainment was coming to an end, and Overlord's patience was running thin.

“I apologize for being so abrupt,” he said, slowly rising from his seat, “but I’m afraid it’s getting a bit late, and I’m dying for dessert.”

The mech’s optics practically bulged from his helm like an earthen creature once he finally looked up from his plate. Overlord was an imposing sight from the start, and the tons of mesh that hung in rolls from his frame merely added to the terror.

Beneath the rumbling purr in the background of Overlord's throat, his belly roared with hunger as he leaned across the table to pluck the terrified mech out from his seat. The dinner was nice, but he was still hungry—hungry for more than just a few little oil cakes.

There was only one solution to his ravenous appetite, and the shrieking mech that fought to flee from his grasp seemed to know it.

“No no no no no!” the mech squealed. “Please, no! I—I can help! I can… I can find a way!”

Playing with big prey meant dealing with a bigger struggle, and Overlord was almost straining to drag the Autobot across the table and into his lap. Dishes clashed and plates broke, the silverware and feast crashing to the floor as the mech sunk his claws into the bunched tablecloth in a feeble attempt at saving him from his fate.

It didn’t take experience to know exactly how this was going to end. Most Autobots who survived a visit with Overlord had heard plenty of horror stories about dining with the Con for the evening.

“It’s been a pleasure,” Overlord said as he held the struggling bot up in the air. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your meal just as much as I’ll be enjoying mine.”

The squirming, screaming mech kicked and flailed, but to no avail. Painted blue lips opened wide, revealing a gaping maw, pearly fangs, and the rumble of a needy gut. Before he could make any further attempts at an escape, Overlord was lowering him down atop his tongue and swallowing against the intrusion of kicking legs.

The mech was immediately engulfed by sticky, hot air and a saliva-coated tongue, his attempts at screaming for help and begging for release silenced by the threat of being chewed up and swallowed. Overlord toyed with the whimpering mech for some time, delighting in the wails that would escape every time his gentle nibbles became too much for the delicate shell of the bot’s chest.

There was no room for speaking when half of the bot was already bulging in his throat, the slick walls working to work him down into the starving, bubbly pits of his tanks, but Overlord did his best to moan his approval around the bot’s frame as it slid over his tongue. He took his time in swallowing, allowing his systems to do most of the work as he suckled against his fingers and licked at the trembling bots frame.

The scent of fear was palpable again, and almost intoxicating. The fat Con’s free servo immediately drifting down to grope and pinch at his rumbling belly, his frame growing hot from the mere thought of digesting another Autobot alongside the delicious meal. His engines purred and his tanks growled as the bot’s helm slid into his throat before quickly slipping past his bobbing throat and dropping into his bubbling tanks below.

The bot sat heavy amongst the spread of dishes Overlord had indulged in that night, but the stretch of overstuffed tanks around the struggle of an unwilling meal made his final course twice as delicious. He leaned back with a groan, both servos rubbing at his massive belly now as he felt for the firm outline of the bot inside of him around the half-digested foods.

He was unconscious now, Overlord could tell. The squirming and whimpers had ceased for the moment being. Still, digestion took time. If he was patient and waited for his prey to reawaken, then—

There was a gasp from across the room. The choked, startled sound caught Overlord by surprise. He wasn’t expecting any visitors tonight. Upon lifting his gaze from the swollen, stuffed dome that spilled out over his lap, the fat Con met the gaze of a small, terrified looking minibot.

He hardly had to look for the obviously placed Autobot insignia on the bot’s chest to know the scared thing was another one of their prisoners. How he’d managed to escape past the rest of the Decepticons was unclear to him, but Overlord was hardly about to let this prime opportunity go to waste.

“Oh, hello there,” Overlord said. “Fancy running into someone like you so late in the night.”

The minibot didn’t respond, his attention fixated on the mess of a dining table left from the previous victim’s struggle. Overlord made a dismissive gesture with one servo as he reached down to straighten out the table cloth, then beckoned the bot forward.

“Don’t mind the mess,” he said. “I’m quite known for my unruly table manners… you know how it is.”

The minibot seemed hesitant, but there was no backing out now. Not now that Overlord had seen him. The fat Con’s face split into an affectionate smile, and beneath the table he soothed the rumble of awakening prey with a servo against his belly.

“Come,” he said. “Have a seat.”

[autisticlancemcclain]

Shiro has seen Mean Girls so many times it’s actually disgusting. He quotes the movie in his sleep. (He didn’t believe that when Adam initially told him, but then he woke up one morning to Adam shoving a video of dead-asleep him muttering “Boo, you whore,” before rolling over and accidentally smacking Adam’s face with a flailing arm, and he could deny it no further.)

Because he’s seen the movie so many truly horrifying times, when he hears a constant, unbroken, furious scream echo through the castle, his brain immediately assumes he’s at home, mouthing along to Regina George’s tantrum as Adam sighs (fondly, although he’s rather snort powdered arsenic than admit it) at him from beside the couch, so it takes him a couple minutes to shake that off and react.

“Who is yelling?” he asks, as soon as he’s oriented. Everyone working in the briefing room with him — Pidge, Coran, Lance, and Hunk — offer some sort of murmured confusion.

“Is it maybe a burst pipe? Those sometimes sound really shrill,” Pidge suggests.

“I don’t think so,” Shiro says. “That sounds…angry, almost? As if —”

He’s interrupted by someone kicking — no, literally kicking — the door clean off it’s hinges. Allura storms in, still screaming, Keith following behind her several dozen healthy steps away.

“I hate it here!” she shouts.

“Do you,” Pidge mutters sarcastically, forgetting about Altean superhearing, and then immediately cowers behind Hunk upon Allura’s terrifying reminder (in the form of shifting some fangs into her mouth and literally hissing at Pidge. Yikes).

“What’s wrong, dear?” Coran tries, much warier and gentler.

Allura just yells again and stomps over to the chair Lance has pulled out for her.

“It’s that asshole Empire general we have in custody,” Keith pipes up, still a very safe distance away from Allura. “We did everything we could think of to make him talk, and it isn’t working.”

“He doesn’t believe us at all!” Allura shouts, throwing her hands up. “He calls our bluff every quiznacking time, and we can’t get a single thing out of him! And he is so smug, believe me, if I could wipe that look off his face —”

She cuts herself off as she takes a sip of water, looking gratefully as Lance, who must have gotten her a glass.

“He’s lucky I have morals and won’t gut him,” she says darkly, glowering at the space in front of her. (Shiro imagines that she’s thinking about all the possible ways she could, in fact, gut him.)

“I mean, none of us are you going to be particularly upset if you gut him,” Hunk says. “Like, he sucks, right? Experimented on children? I don’t actually think it’s all that immoral if you gut him.”

Allura growls and says nothing, curling up as tight as she can and continuing to glare at the wall.

Keith speaks on her behalf after it becomes clear she’s done. “We need information from him, unfortunately. A lot of it, at that. So killing him wouldn’t exactly help us.”

“And so we’re at a bit of on impasse,” Shiro surmises.

“Yep. The Blade has… resources, to force information, but they’re currently going through a system’s update and are unreachable, for at least the next couple of days. And the longer we hold this guy the better his chances of escaping, so.”

“I’ve been trying for hours,” Allura says, and for the first time she starts to look more upset than angry. “I can’t do this anymore. He just — he keeps bragging, about every horrible thing he’s done. I can’t listen anymore.”

Lance, having procured a blanket from what must have been thin air (since they are in the briefing room, which has no blankets or pillows or anything, and he was definitely not holding a blanket when he came into the room — how did he do that?), wraps it around her shoulders and squeezes them gently.

“Don’t worry, ‘Llura. You’re done. We’ll get him to talk, okay?”

“How?” Allura asks miserably. “The only thing he’s afraid of is dying, and we can’t kill him.”

Lance grins.

Shiro would not call it comforting.

“Oh, don’t worry. If death is what he’s afraid of, I’ll get him talking. “

Keith raises an eyebrow. “What’re you gonna do, torture him?”

Lance shrugs. “Not, like, technically.”

“You’re not going to torture him,” Pidge says. “I call bullshit.”

Lance hums. He reaches over to pat Allura on the head, then unclips his bayard from his belt. He closes his eyes, concentrating, and then the bayard is enveloped with a familiar, neon-blue light. When the light fades, a shiny revolver is left behi —

Wait.

A revolver?

Shiro blinks. The revolver remains where it is, so it’s no figment of his imagination. And it’s not even white and blue, like his other bayard forms. This just looks like a human revolver — shiny silver, with a wooden handle worn smooth, fitting seamlessly into Lance’s thin hands.

“What the fuck is that,” Hunk says, voicing what everyone is thinking.

“A gun,” Lance says cheerily.

Coran’s eyebrows furrow. “It looks a little… different, from your usual forms, lad.”

“Yep! My other bayard forms are all Altean, so they’ve all got the laser shots. I needed bullets.”

“That… should not be possible.”

Lance looks at Coran in confusion. “What do you mean? I do it all the time! The bayard is supposed to manifest into into whatever weapon you need most, right? I summoned a bronze spear last week. Why would this be any different?”

“You made a spear?”

“Uh, yeah? I was fighting a new level in training and I let the gladiator get too close, so long range wasn’t going to work, but I’m not great at sword fighting yet so I had to adapt. I didn’t beat the level, though.”

Lance looks dejected. As if the fact that he didn’t beat a training level somehow negates the fact that he’s unlocked more than one bayard form, and many of them aren’t even Altean.

“Sometimes I forget that the rules of the universe don’t seem to apply to you,” Shiro says, because that’s the only sentence he can think to say that would adequately voice his complete bewilderment.

“That’s what I’ve been fucking saying!” Hunk cries, startling everyone in the room with his intensity. “I swear to God! He does things because he decides he should be able to, physics be damned!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lance says loftily. “I’m normal.”

Everyone speaks at the same time.

“No, you’re not.”

“And we love you for it, dear,” Coran adds.

Everyone nods hastily (Keith also blushes, which is hilarious and absolutely something Shiro is going to mock him for later).

Lance goes a little red. “Stop being mushy,” he complains. “I’m about to go threaten to shoot somebody. You’re going to knock me off my game.”

“Deepest apologies, Mr. Mafioso,” Hunk teases. “Lead the way.”

Grumbling, Lance does, and everyone follows. (Even Allura, who explained that while she is tired of hearing the asshole speak, she has complete faith in Lance and will not miss him scaring him into spilling. She admits, however, that she has no idea what the hell Lance has planned. Shiro is as curious as he is apprehensive.)

“Okay, all of you go away now,” Lance says as they reach the doors of the holding cell. “You can still watch, or whatever, but no one can come in with me.”

Endlessly inquisitive, the team piles into the tiny observation room attached to the cell, looking through the one-way glass.

Their prisoner sits, bored, handcuffed to the chair he’s sitting on. He stares at the ceiling, eyes vacant.

Shiro thinks about how he smiled as he tortured children, babies, for his own intellectual pleasure, and feels his heart harden.

Lance walks into the room calmly, which isn’t what Shiro expected. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but it surely wasn’t Lance, completely expressionless, walking quietly into the room to stare at the general wordlessly.

After several minutes of careful assessment, the general snorts.

“I have just been threatened violently for hours by an Altean royal and a half-Galra Blade,” he says, amused. “And it did nothing. So now they send a scrawny human?” He sneers, voice turning taunting. “How do you expect to break me, runt? Am I meant to laugh myself into looser lips, so you can earn insight into the fraction of the information I hold? No common jester will make me speak, boy. In fact it is a mockery for you to try.”

Without even blinking, Lance raises an arm, aims his gun at the general’s face, and shoots.

The deafening bang of the gun hides any noise the general may have made, but his face clouds in terror before it narrows into rage. He attempts to raise his hand to the side of his head, but the handcuffs keep them firmly below his knees.

“You shot me!” he yells.

“You’re welcome,” Lance says, tilting his head. His expression remains unchanged — terrifyingly blank.

“You insect! You mite! You speak of dirt beneath my heel! Why would I lower myself to thank you for anything, especially an attempt on my life?”

“That was no attempt on your life.”

“You have carved a wound into my skull with a bullet!”

Lance inclines his head. “Yes. And you are alive to speak of it. I have shown you mercy. You will thank me.”

The general spits on the ground in front of Lance.

“I will do no such thing.”

“Okay,” Lance says evenly. “I will warn you again.”

Before anyone can process, he raises his arm again, and shoots.

This time, it takes less time for the general to react.

“I am remarkably resilient to pain,” he snarls. “No matter how many times you graze me with a bullet, I will not tell you anything.”

Lance nods again. “You’re right. How foolish of me.”

The general spits again. “Yes, you picture of insolence.”

“I waited a long time for access to you,” Lance continues, as if the general had not spoken.

The general actually looks confused, which is a welcome change from his insufferable smugness, even though Shiro’s not sure how it’s helpful.

“I am not Allura. Nor am I Keith. They are very noble, and are so endlessly enthusiastic about positive change to the universe. They are too determined to cut their losses and find other ways to gain information.”

For the first time, Lance grins. It can only be described as shark-like.

Cruel, even. Shiro has never thought Lance cruel, before, and it’s startling.

“I have no such reservations. You have no use to me, and I will not waste the Coalition’s resources.”

He opens the chamber of his revolver, delicately removes one bullet, and then shakes the whole gun upside down. The rest of the bullets fall to the floor with a clatter.

For the briefest moment, fear flashes across the general’s face, before it’s replaced by a snarl.

“Your games don’t frighten me.”

Lance shrugs, spinning the bullet chamber before slamming it closed, and re-aiming.

This time, he aims right in between the general’s eyes.

“It’s not meant to frighten you. It’s meant to amuse me.”

Pidge inhales sharply. “Is he actually going to fucking kill him? We need that information!”

“Have some faith,” Keith says breathlessly, eye transfixed on the scene in front of him. “When Lance says he’ll do something, he will, yeah?”

“Fair,” Hunk murmurs.

Each of them startles when the first shot rings through the cell.

A blank.

“You will get nothing from me,” the general hisses.

Lance doesn’t respond.

Another bang.

“I do not —”

Another bang. Then another, before the general can even open his mouth.

He is no longer trying to mask his fear. His terror is as plain on his face as it was on each of his victim’s faces, as they begged him to stop and return them home.

Lance laughs. The sound echoes, sending shivers down Shiro’s spine.

Another bang. Another blank.

A revolver only has six chambers.

No more blanks.

“Enjoy your final breath,” he taunts, and curls his finger around the trigger.

“Wait!”

Lance pauses. “Why should I?”

“I’ll talk,” the general begs. “I’ll talk. All the information I have. It’s yours.”

Lance hums consideringly, tapping the — loaded, Jesus fucking Christ — gun against his chin.

“No,” he decides, after a moment, re-aiming the gun. “I don’t care.”

“What is he doing,” Pidge hisses again, and this time Shiro is inclined to agree with her. He turns slightly to the door.

“Maybe we should stop —”

“Have some faith,” Keith repeats firmly.

Shiro swallows and forces himself away from the doorknob.

“Please, please, anything.”

Shiro doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone look as desperate as the prisoner does now.

“Any information you need. I have more than you know.”

“Ooooooh,” Lance coos. “Now we’re getting somewhere. A trade?”

“My information for my life,” the general agrees hastily.

Lance pouts. “Aw, I guess I have to. Even though I was really looking forward to seeing your brains decorate the wall.” He sighs, petulant. “I guess you get to live. Start talking.”

The prisoner slumps forward, sweat and tears alike dripping from his face.

“Thank you,” he weeps. “Thank you for your mercy.”

Lance wrinkles his nose. “The more pitiful you look the less inclined I am to keep you alive,” he says, and the prisoner sobers up quickly. He immediately starts talking — he spills everything. Communication secrets, everything from trickle-down orders to secret projects organized by Haggar herself. By the time he finishes — hours later — they have more information than they have ever had in one place.

All because Lance isn’t afraid to get messy with a gun, apparently.

“Thank you,” Lance says when the prisoner’s stream of information trickles to a stop.

The prisoner swallows. “What now? Do I await trial?”

“Tell me,” Lance says sweetly, “how many children did you free, after you finished them? After they gave you everything they could? After you stole everything they had? How many of your experiments —” he spits the word, falsely saccharine tone dissipating to genuine fury — “did you show mercy to?”

Terror once again makes the general’s face grotesque.

“Please,” he says quietly. “I was only following orders.”

Lance does not hesitate. “I don’t care.”

No one stops him from shooting the prisoner point-blank. Even if they could, they don’t think they would. After spending the last several hours hearing what he had done… there’s no sympathy left for him.

Lance leaves the holding cells as neatly as he entered it, without a backwards glance at the body slumped behind him.

The team rushes out to meet him.

“That was horrifying,” Pidge says enthusiastically. “I’ll be real, you had me nervous at the beginning. But, damn. You got where you needed to go. I didn’t know you had that in you.”

“Neither did I,” Keith mutters, ears red, and somehow Shiro thinks he and Pidge are thinking two vastly different things.

Lance shrugs. “Me either! I wasn’t even sure if it was going to work, but I saw it in a T.V. show a while back so I thought I’d give it a whirl.”

Despite the literal execution he just witnessed and the splatter of dark blood on Lance’s forehead, Shiro can’t help the laughter bubbling up his throat.

“You are full of surprises,” he says, and Lance beams.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (37/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 2666

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Chaos erupts at the coronation and Princess Rhaenys, mounted on her dragon, Meleys, bursts from beneath the floor of the Dragonpit.

Warnings: none

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax @whore-of-many-hot-men @slavicvvitch @crazymusicgirl104

(Please let me know if your tag isn't working, and I'll do my best to correct it! And if you would like to be added to the list, just shoot me an ask!)

Author's Note: I know this one was a little bit short, but I hope y'all enjoyed it still!

And I forgot to mention this on the last chapter, and although I edited it in later, I'll still mention it again: The first Daemon POV is up! It's posted under the title "Silver Dragon Stories." That unfortunately won't be updated as often as this, but I am trying to keep it in chronological order. Please let me know if there are any POVs y'all are really interested in!

The Beast Beneath the Boards

Arianwyn had never seen anyone move so fast as Aemond did to protect her from the eruption of dust and stone that came from within the Dragonpit itself. He pulled her back with the hand he still held, away from the wave of debris as he turned to wrap his arms around her, tucking her head into his chest as he shielded her with his body.

Even still, the dust made its way through, and she began to cough. Just as she had in the tunnel at Driftmark.

The sound sent Aemond into a panic. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. He pulled away and took her face in his hands. “Aria!” he called, brushing her hair from her brow. “Aria, you have to breathe. Please!”

She took a shaky breath, coughing again as she exhaled. His blood boiled with fury, but before he could react, her eyes grew wide, and she pointed over his shoulder. “Aemond, look!”

Then he turned, and he saw.

The floor of the Dragonpit had been broken from below, scattering great hunks of stone into the helpless crowd. Light streamed through the dust that still hung in the air like a storm, casting a gleaming gold around the shape of the great red beast before them.

Meleys.

The dragon roared, the sound drowning out all the screams – from the onlookers in the stands who could do nothing but watch to the poor, helpless souls trapped in the arena with the ‘Red Queen.’

A gasp came from their left, and a hand wrapped around Arianwyn’s arm.

It was Helaena, leaning in to take shelter behind her brother. Her violet eyes were wide but not with terror. No, the familiar fog that Arianwyn was beginning to find even more terrifying than what was before them had once more taken root.

She opened her mouth to speak some frightening new prophecy. Yes, Arianwyn thought, that’s what they were – prophecies. But a new roar filled the Dragonpit, scattering the dust and sending Helaena’s hands flying to cover her ears.

Aemond’s hand shifted around Arianwyn’s waist as he held her in place while he turned to face the beast before them. “Stay back, my love,” he whispered, his voice somehow cutting through the din as he moved his hand to the hilt of his sword.

They both watched in horror as Meleys swept her tail through the crowd, throwing some men dozens of feet through the air while others fell into the dragon dens below. Those that had thus far evaded the dragon ran anywhere they could – to the walls of the arena, the dozens of alcoves surrounding it, or to the only open door on the eastern wall, the same one they had been forced through not long before.

Arianwyn prayed the dust would never settle, so she would not have to see the bodies that now doubtlessly lay strewn across the sand of this place she loved so dearly.

And though it was hopeless, she prayed that the figure atop the dragon was somehow not its sworn rider.

But there she emerged from the settling sand. Princess Rhaenys.

Arianwyn pressed her forehead into Aemond’s back as she squeezed her eyes shut. Perhaps when she opened them again, she would wake from this nightmare.

She had seen her cousin only the day before. Though their conversation had not been pleasant, by any definition of the word, she thought they had come to an understanding.

“Daemon could not be King.”

Surely Rhaenys agreed. She knew Daemon had killed Rhea. That he had all but killed Laena by denying her the home she so desperately wanted. That he had conspired with that soldier to kill Laenor and free himself to marry Rhaenyra.

It had been Rhaenys who showed Arianwyn the secret passages of the Red Keep. Who begged her to use them, to run as far as she could from her father. And it was she who had been glad when she disobeyed and married Aemond.

Yet Arianwyn could not deny what was before her eyes.

Otto began bellowing for the gold cloaks to open the bronze doors of the Dragonpit, though whether they could hear him over the screams of the fleeing crowd was doubtful.

Meleys took a lumbering step toward the dais. Rhaenys sat proudly astride her dragon, clad in armor the same blood red as Meleys’ scales. With cold eyes, she surveyed all those atop the dais.

The Septons and Septas cowered, clutching their holy relics.

The Hand stood tall. But, for the first time that Arianwyn had ever seen, he had fear in his eyes.

Ser Criston Cole stared in awe as he was pushed toward Helaena. All his training and discipline disappeared as he stared into the face of an enemy he could not fight.

Alicent, the now Dowager Queen. Who did not cower but ran forward to stand in front of her son, shielding him even when she knew it would do nothing to protect him from dragonfire.

Aegon clung to her as if the thought of dying in his mother’s arms was a comfort, not a tragedy.

The new Queen, Helaena, was not afraid. Instead, she smiled slightly, holding out a hand to calm Meleys as if she were a startled horse who simply needed to hear soothing words, and all would be well.

Rhaenys’ look of detached contemplation only wavered when she turned to Aemond and Arianwyn.

His right hand was on his sword, ready to draw, while his left held her pressed against his back. It was nearly the same stance he had taken only a few days prior, when he held her in his arms in that secluded courtyard after Vaemond Velaryon’s murder.

Just as then, Arianwyn held onto him with all her strength, one hand clutching the side of his waist and the other on his atop the hilt of his blade.

She knew if she removed her hand from his, there would be very little to stop him from attacking. He loved her so much that he would face a dragon armed only with his sword to defend her.

“Aemond…” she whispered, wresting his fingers from his blade and lacing them through her own. He instantly squeezed her hand so hard her breath faltered. She didn’t know what to say. Would these be her last words? The last thing she would ever say, and the last thing he would ever hear?

There was nothing to say. They had already said it all. Their souls were as one, and always would be. As she buried her face in his shoulder with a whimper, she prayed that wherever the gods sent them next, they would be together.

She heard the great intake of breath that always preceded dragonfire and braced herself for what would come next.

Nothing.

No fire. No great jaws closing around them. Not even a roar.

Arianwyn looked back up and locked eyes with her cousin.

Rhaenys did not look like a prisoner or a conqueror. And certainly not like a kinslayer. Rather, she looked sadly upon Arianwyn, then Alicent, the look almost an apology.

Then the Queen Who Never Was turned her dragon away and took flight.

The last thing they saw before the doors slammed shut was Meleys tucking in her wings and emerging into the sunlight.

-

“Aria? Aria, please open your eyes,” Aemond begged.

To his great relief, she did. It took a moment for her to adjust to the low light, and he watched every movement of her pupils as she did. At least there, he found nothing of concern.

But he was not yet satisfied. He ran his hands over her hair, clearing it of as much dust and sand as he could, feeling for injuries along the way. Nothing there either.

Carefully, he pulled aside her cloak, examining the bruises on her neck. Though the sight still sparked a murderous rage within him, he was comforted that there were no new wounds.

Arianwyn finally seemed to realize what he was doing and held his hands to prevent him from continuing his examination. “I’m fine, Aemond.”

“You couldn’t breathe.”

“What are… of course, I could.”

“You were coughing.”

“There was dust, my love,” she almost laughed as she smiled at him, running her thumb across the back of his hand to calm him. “It was only dust.”

He sighed and nodded, pulling her into his chest. Of course, it had only been dust. He was panicking needlessly, his mind again betraying him as it brought him back to his worst memories.

Arianwyn was safe. She was safe. She was safe.

“Aemond?” she asked quietly.

“Yes?”

She hesitated, then asked tremblingly, “Is it very bad?”

He did not have to ask what she meant.

Helaena still stood with her hands covering her ears, while everyone else on the dais gathered together before the altar. The Hand, the members of the Small Council, the Dowager Queen, and even the new King himself all argued with raised voices about what to do next. Only Cole had abandoned the debate to direct the guards within the Dragonpit.

The Dragonkeepers were already running about the arena as if possessed. Acolytes hurried to light the lanterns lining the walls while the Elders hurried to the dragon dens below. The few guards – gold cloaks and Targaryen house guards alike – slowly began making their way through the rubble, their torches illuminating the broken bodies of the dead and wounded.

Far worse than the sight of the devastation were the sounds that echoed through the Dragonpit. Shrieks of terror. Screams of pain. Cries of grief. Desperate shouts for the doors to be reopened. Even the dragons below had started to stir, disturbed by the frantic emotions that roiled from within their home.

Aemond turned back to his wife, kissing her still dusty hair. “I don’t think you want to look.”

She seemed to agree, until there came a sound he could not identify. A wordless, bleating wail. Arianwyn’s head shot up, looking out into the arena for its source. She moved as soon as she seemed to see it, leaving Aemond to chase after her.

Thankfully, her Runestone guards also spotted her movement and raced from where they had scattered within the Dragonpit to come to her side.

Aemond was nearly entranced. She was singularly focused on whatever had made that sound, stepping over the wounded and dead without ever looking down. He knew her heart must ache with the desire to help every person she passed, but whatever this sound was, it was somehow more important than even that.

She finally stopped before the arena wall, in one of the few places the Acolytes had not yet lit the lanterns. But each of her guards carried a torch, their flames revealing the source of the pitiful sound.

It was the sheep. The same one she had pointed out to him before the coronation began.

Its white wool was covered with dust and spattered with blood. The short fur on its face was entirely red, the stain growing deeper and darker as it continued to push into the bleeding side of the man who had been protecting it earlier.

It was trying to wake him. But there was no hope.

Oh gods, the poor man. A piece of the shattered floor had embedded itself in his chest with such force that he was thrown against the wall, cracking his skull. Aemond prayed that whichever blow had killed him had done so quickly.

Arianwyn fell at the shepherd’s feet, lurching forward as she vomited at the gruesome sight. “I’m so sorry,” she cried, over and over and over again as she was wracked with sobs.

Aemond could not tell whether she was speaking to the shepherd or the sheep. He knelt beside her, guiding her back into his arms. “We can’t stay here, Aria. It’s not safe.”

She shook her head, pulling away from him. “They didn’t want to be here,” she choked out through her tears. “They were forced to come. And now they’re dead. Now he’s alone.”

Her hand was extended towards the sheep, who backed away further into the wall, the rejection causing another sob to pulse through her.

One of her guards – one of the new ones that Aemond did not know – also knelt between them and the sheep on the sand. He had a long, gaunt face and deep-set brown eyes. Had he not been wearing the bronze armor of Runestone, Aemond would have been reluctant to trust him.

The guard looked pensively at Arianwyn’s face, then the sheep. “It is not a ‘he,’ Princess,” he said, his voice softer than his appearance would suggest. “She is a ewe, a female.”

He leaned toward the creature, which did not cower at his outstretched hand. On the contrary, it seemed to calm at his touch, allowing him to run his hand over her ears until he found a small iron stud. He examined it carefully before turning back to the small crowd around him. But his focus was entirely on the Princess.

“She is from a wool herd,” he explained. “A small one, I expect. I would know its brand otherwise.”

“How do you know?” Aemond asked, curious even as he was grateful that the guard had helped to calm Arianwyn.

He seemed surprised the Prince would address him. Lowborn, then. But if Ser Gerold had assigned him to Arianwyn, he had to be good.

“My father has one of the largest herds in the Vale,” he said. “That is, among those not owned by a noble house. I grew up with sheep. They are fine creatures. I actually–”

“Where is the rest of her herd?” Arianwyn asked, still holding her hand out to the sheep. “I don’t want it to be alone, Conin.”

The guard – Ser Conin of the Sheep, apparently – smiled sadly as he turned back the ewe. “That, I cannot say, Princess. I can try to find them, but if this is their shepherd…” he looked again to the corpse of the man before them.

Aemond said a prayer for the shepherd’s soul. He did not know his name or anything about him other than that he had valiantly protected his sheep from the surging crown. Still, that was enough to admire him.

He finished his prayer and pulled Arianwyn closer. She did not fight him this time.

“Please find them,” she commanded with a whisper. “Find out who he was and if he has any family. Make sure they are compensated for this loss. Generously.”

“Yes, Princess,” Conin said before standing to speak in hushed tones with another Runestone knight.

Arianwyn stood, with Aemond’s hand to keep her steady, and began walking back to the dais. This time, she saw the devastation before them and leaned heavily into him as they made their way through the bodies. He knew if he pulled his arms from around her, she would be unable to stop herself from trying to help each person she saw.

He never let go of her. Not as he led her up the stairs, nor as he embraced Helaena as they passed her by, nor as they took their place within the debate that was still raging. Even when they returned to their carriage – the Kingsguard had insisted the discussion continue in the safety of the Red Keep’s walls – he held onto her, sitting by her side rather than across from her.

Yesterday, she had stayed with him even as his mind carried him far away. He knew he would never be able to do the same for her – she was stronger than he was, she would never be so broken as him. But whenever she did need him, whether it be to dry her tears or hold her when she cried, he would be there.

Even if it meant fighting a dragon, or kneeling in the sand with her while she cried over a bloody sheep.

Next Chapter

[winter-dayz]

For the Best

Pairing: Shin Ryujin x Reader Alien AU; Yandere Genre: Fluff; Horror Words: 2424 Warnings: dead dove: do not eat; implied kidnapping; insects; murder; strong language; violence

Masterlist | Fictober Masterpost

Taglist:  @soobin-chois

Ryujin,

'The first time I saw you, I was… well, for lack of a better word, amazed…'

You had been finishing a hike when you saw it.

A shooting star… well, a falling star really.

Falling rapidly, actually.

Fuck. It seemed like it was heading right for you, and you were just going to stand there making a wish like a fucking idiot?!

You were stuck.

You knew everyone died someday. You knew that you yourself would grow old and wither away as well. Or maybe die a bit prematurely from a cardiovascular disease or cancer—those are the leading causes of death globally after all. Hell, you wouldn’t even be surprised if you died in a car accident.

But a shooting star pummeling you into the ground? That hadn’t been on your ‘Ways I Might Die’ list.

“Fuck!” You screeched, dropping down to the ground as the object flew over you and crashed into the ground a few meters away.

You rolled over from your belly and flopped onto your back, breathing heavily to prevent the panic attack rising in your chest.

Smoke trailed where you had just been standing.

The—not really—shooting star would’ve for sure decapitated you.

You heard mechanics whirring and sat up, peering over to the cloud of dirt and smoke at the definitely not a shooting star.

It looked like a… car?

Like, kind of. But not really.

The metal hunk was car-sized and car-shaped but sleeker and with no tires. Where you would expect wheels was the glow that had given it the appearance of a star.

Or maybe a comet, if you thought hard enough about your science class days.

The glow was green and dying out as the whirring died down with it. The metal of the… UFO… creaked, and you heard the sound of pressurized air escaping. A door on the side swung upwards, very SLS AMG-style.

You stared, amazed, as a woman stepped out.

She was beautiful… otherworldly… terrifying.

“I apologize, human. I lost control of my aircraft.” She stated, very factually and less sympathetic than you would normally receive during an apology. “Have you been injured in any way?”

You couldn’t find words to answer her so you simply shook your head.

“Ah, good, you understand me. Do you also speak, human?”

Again, you just nodded. You were sure you looked like an idiot, with your eyes so wide you could feel them drying out and your mouth hanging open slightly. You definitely looked like the kind of stupid person who would die from a totally preventable accident.

Like a not-shooting-star crashing into you on an open hiking trail… at night… alone.

Or being murdered by a hot, albeit creepy, woman who came out of an alien spaceship on said hiking trail alone at night.

Her head tilted curiously as she observed you. You claimed to speak but continued to use no words. “Odd human.” She spoke. “Still, I require your assistance. My craft was hit by several asteroids in your planetary systems’ belt and thus fell into the gravitational pull of your homeworld. As such, it is your responsibility to host me until I can fix my vehicle.”

“Me?” You whispered.

She nodded, a smile upturning her purple lips ever so slightly. “Yes. You are the only one around, are you not?”

You shook your head rapidly, “Yes, but I mean… Shouldn’t you be asking me to take you to my leader or something?” “I have no use for your planet’s leader. I simply require shelter.” The smile dropped from her lips. You had to stop staring at her lips. Even if they were pretty and purple and kissable. “You will help me, human.”

Slowly, you nodded once more, the threat in her tone was subtle but clear. She moved closer, holding out a hand to help you stand.

“You may address me as Ryujin. How may I address you? Or is human sufficient?”

“Oh um… You can call me Y/N.”

🎃

'It wasn’t hard to get to know you. You seemed so up front about where you came from, your life and interests, and even your feelings for me…'

Ryujin was, surprisingly, easy to talk to… once you did some serious compartmentalizing and deluding about a spaceship nearly brutally beheading you and a beautiful alien somewhat forcing you to let her sleep on your sofa bed.

Either way, she looked human enough… if you ignored the permanently purple lips and faraway, yet calculative, gaze she constantly held.

She answered all of your questions and was actually rather excitable and cute when you would ask her about her home and interests. She loved telling you about her pets back home, Byul and Dal, in particular.

“You know…” Ryujin hummed, “I think I like you, Y/N.”

You choked on your food, and she sat back in her seat, observing you—as she often did—while you continued to cough and sputter. 

Ryujin had only lived with you for roughly two or three weeks at that point. The repairs on her aircraft had been slow, as she had casually explained that it was hard to get the right kind of materials for such advanced technology. You weren’t sure how her ship worked so you couldn’t exactly refute her claims.

She had also made the point that this wasn’t her planet and being so unfamiliar with the area made her vulnerable to go anywhere alone. Because of this, she insisted that you needed to go with her whenever she left your apartment. That also made progress slow since you had to work during the days and had even begun picking up a few more hours to help cover the cost of feeding an extra mouth. She didn’t love that you weren’t around for the majority of the weekdays, but she said she understood.

When you were free, you would spend the day showing Ryujin around the city. You explained about different types of businesses and shops, trying to help her in any way you could think to find somewhere that would have the parts she needed… or at least something that could substitute.

It was lucky for you that none of your friends had reached out the past few weeks either. It was odd… since you usually met up at least once a week for coffee or a meal or even drinks… but it was lucky. Really, how would you explain Ryujin’s sudden appearance in your life, and her confusion over particularly mundane things? No, it was definitely simpler that it was just the two of you trying to navigate this situation.

🎃

'You made it easy to fall for you. I don’t want to say no one had ever shown me interest before, but no one showed it quite like you did…'

“Tell me you feel the same.” Ryujin whispered. The back of her hand stroked your cheek, and your eyes fluttered closed.

A smile lifted the corners of your lips, “Yes, I’m falling for you too…”

Her lips broke into a smile, wide and striking white against purple. “I knew you would.”

Ryujin had confessed to you about three months into her stay on Earth, and though it was fast, you couldn’t help but feel the same.

Something about her was so captivating and magnetic.

She pulled you in, and you didn’t want to be let go. She was comforting and warm to you, even if she looked so coldly at others. She listened and let you lean on her. She was like a life raft when you felt like you were drowning in anxieties.

Ryujin just made life easier. She made it better…

When you came home from work one evening and sobbed because of how your boss had berated you and how you felt like he might be right, she was right there with a shoulder to cry on and a comforting hand rubbing your back. Her sweet words, whispered in your ear, were about all your positive qualities.

And if you didn’t notice how your boss flinched whenever you looked in his direction the next day, it was for the best.

When the two of you went out for lunch one weekend and a clumsy waiter accidently spilled the table over’s meal on your new white dress, she was quick to pass her blazer to you so that you could clean and cover up the transparent fabric.

And if you didn’t see how Ryujin dumped her own food onto the waiter when you rushed off to the restroom while he was attempting to clean the floor, it was for the best.

When you worked late one night and just as you reached your walk-up apartment door someone tried to rob you, she was there in the blink of an eye, knocking the absolute shit out of the guy and pouncing on him. She had straddled him, fists raining down on his face, and it took all your strength to pull her off of him, scolding her that assaulting someone is something you can’t just do on Earth and that it could’ve been greatly unsafe for her.

And if you didn’t see her bright smile when the robber’s nose cracked and he staggered to stand with blood being coughed up, it was for the best.

When your ex sent you a long text, begging for a second chance and explaining what had gone wrong before and how much he missed you, you ranted to Ryujin about how he was just a little too late. You expressed your confusion to her because you hadn’t really ended on bad terms, but you didn’t really feel that way for him anymore, even if you still had some of your favorite memories with him. She listened patiently, reassuring you that it was okay to move on and turn him down.

And if you didn’t think too hard about it how a few days later when you tried to call him back and received a message that the number was no longer in service, it was for the best.

Everything was just easier with Ryujin around. She made it… the best.

🎃

'But, unfortunately, I found that our… interests… didn’t always line up. Of course, couples can have their differences, but our differences are too much for me to handle…'

“I swear, they need to do something about the smell.” Your neighbor complained, while you two loitered near the mailboxes.

You hummed in agreement. Over the past couple weeks, the main floor had started to smell… Like really smell. You had to sympathize with your neighbor. Since she lived on the first floor, the smell would’ve been stronger for her. You considered yourself lucky that on the third floor the stench only reached you occasionally through the air ducts.

Your neighbor continued, “It has to be coming from the basement.” She shook her head and added conspiratorially, “Smells like something died. And I swear to you, I saw a maggot crawling out of my floor vents.”

You paused at her conviction that something sinister was hiding in the basement. Glancing in the direction of the downstairs door, you hesitated while your neighbor headed back into her own apartment.

What she said didn’t sit right. Something in your brain worried you. Could it just be your general anxiety? It wouldn’t hurt to check right?

You headed down the stairs.

Fuck. You shouldn’t have gone downstairs. You should’ve minded your business. Your neighbor should’ve kept her mouth shut.

There were bodies.

So. many. bodies.

The first one you noticed was your ex… His number had been disconnected. After you had talked to Ryujin. Fuck…

Then you saw that guy who tried to rob you, with a still broken nose and missing tooth, and… was that the waiter who spilled food on you? Fuck, fuck…

Your boss was there too. You thought he had been on a vacation that week… Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

There were others too. Just bodies. Corpses.

Some fresher than others. Maggots and swarms of flies and… bodies.

You almost vomited.

If you hadn’t felt paralyzed, you probably would’ve.

You couldn’t scream.

You needed to get out of there.

You needed to… get away.

🎃

'I’m sorry, Ryujin. I had fun with you. I liked you… I really did. But, I think it’s for the best if we end whatever it was that we had. You need to go back to your home anyway, right? We should leave things on a good note and go our separate ways now.'

-Y/N

She was dangerous.

Of course she was, she was a fucking alien.

She had literally crashed onto your planet and told you that you were going to shelter her, and you had deluded yourself that you would be safe because what… she was pretty?

You believed she was sweet and innocent because she talked about her family and friends and pets back home so lovingly.

But you didn’t really know anything.

She had been killing people.

And you couldn’t even be sure of why.

Was she fully carnivorous? Did she eat humans?

No… There was no obvious sign that she had been… consuming them? So what?

You thought hard.

So many of them were a part of your life somehow. Had she done that… for you?

You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t be around her.

You were afraid.

If you tried to just end things… Would she kill you too?

Write a letter.

Yeah, that felt safe, you’d write a letter and leave it for her when you went to work. You wouldn’t come back. You’d leave right after, head somewhere else. Somewhere safe.

You’d be okay…

Except you weren’t.

You’d left the letter; she’d been asleep on the sofa bed still.

She looked so peaceful. So innocent.

You’d left the letter on the side table; you’d taken a bag with you.

She found you as you left work.

You’d never told her where you worked. You’d never showed her the building or what floor your office was on.

She was standing in the door to the office.

Everyone else had left.

You were alone.

You were afraid.

“I apologize, Y/N. However, I cannot let you leave me.” A slow smile split Ryujin’s lips as she peered at you. Before, you had loved that smile; now, you were so, so afraid.

Your eyes trailed from her sadistic smile to the letter in her hands. Your letter.

Fuck.

You were supposed to be long gone.

“I just love you too much to ever let you go.”

[silentwillowwhisperer]

Shiro owns a coffee shop called 'Black like my Lion' Lance and Pidge work there, Hunk hangs out with them at the shop. They all love Shiro, because he's Shiro.

----------------------------------------

"Hey Lance! I'm on my break now, so hold down the fort for me, will you?"

Lance nods at Shiro.

He must admit, when Lance first met Shiro, he was a little (a lot) intimidated by the man's tall figure and burly build.

Now, he has to laugh at his previous anxieties. Shiro is only outdone in his niceness by Hunk. (But Shiro makes THE BEST coffee, which may or may not put him at the top of Lance's list.)

Anyway, the shop is pretty slow for the next hour, like it usually is around this time.

That is, until a man sporting a blazing red jacket and a mullet storms in. (Dang, is this guy having an existential crisis or something?)

Mullet Guy walks right up to the counter and then leans with his back against it like he owns the place.

"Ummm... Can I help you?" Lance says.

Ok, so maybe he's a little scared of Mr. Stuck In The 80s, but anyone with a working stranger-danger radar would be too, so shush. Mama McClain taught her son well.

All Lance gets in response to his awe-inspiring show of courage is an unamused grunt.

Ok then. This guy really fits the whole rough and rugged emo vibe, doesn't he? (And the worst part is that he actually pulls it off. Curse Lance's aggressively bisexual heart.)

After about an hour of Lance questioning if the throwback ruffian is plotting his murder and whispering theories with Pidge and Hunk, Shiro finally comes back.

Sir Tall Dark and Cappuccino absolutely explodes.

"SHIRO. You PRICK. WHAT is WRONG with you? I was an HOUR late to my shift, and I couldn't even CALL the damn place because you just HAD to go and actually THINK YOUR EVIL PLANS THROUGH FOR ONCE!"

The male Elizabeth Taylor takes a breath, his face settling into a pout that is both adorable and (somehow) terrifying at the same time.

Shiro doesn't even flinch.

"Oh, hey Keith. I'm assuming you found my little surprise?"

(Thank goodness, Lance was running out of weirdly long nicknames for 'Keith.')

Keith closes his eyes and takes in a sharp breath. It reminds Lance of his sister when he's being particularly annoying, and she's trying not to strangle him. (You know, that face you make when you're repeatedly reminding yourself that the negatives of killing your sibling outweighs the positives, even though they don't and you just don't want authority figures yelling at you?)

"Shiro. Every piece of clothing I own is inside-out, and you stole. My. Flipping. Phone."

"Well, you refused to take the night shift for tonight!"

"So you completely CRAP UP ALL OF MY PERFECTLY-FOLDED CLOTHING?"

"YES. EXACTLY."

Lance, Hunk, and Pidge are watching the exchange like it's a ping-pong game. Seeing that this will likely escalate further if no one interjects, Lance speaks up.

"So Shiro, care to tell us who this is?"

Shiro's face breaks out into a huge grin.

"This is my awesome baby brother! All you really need to know about him is that he's a whole lot cooler than me."

"Stop that, I'm still mad at you."

"No, he's not."

So, what has Lance learned from this?

Shiro has a REALLY hot younger brother (does it run in the family or something?)

NEVER piss off Shiro. He will find a very creative and way too elaborate way to get back at you.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Link's Parents Play Breath of the Wild! Pt 7

Hello! More fun with the parents! :D I wanted to say first before we get into it that the idea of naming Link’s father Abel is entirely from the wonderful @telemna-hyelle, so all props and acknowledgement to her for that. :)

Summary: The Soul of the Hero will always be there to save Hyrule. But when Calamity Ganon is nearly victorious in killing him, it's those that bear the Blood of the Hero who will prevail. Ten years after the Great Calamity, the Shrine of Resurrection is damaged and Link's parents fight to save their son and Hyrule along with him. i.e. Link's parents play BotW!

AO3 link

First chapter

<<Previous // Next>>

The Great Plateau - Hylia's Blessing

"The king's what?"

Tilieth had immediately wrapped her husband and son in an enormous hug when they'd returned, relieved they were both still alive and thanking Hylia for answering her fervent prayers, but hearing a ghost story was the last thing she was expecting.

"Is... is he still.. you know..." she asked nervously, looking around. She shouldn't be nervous, she supposed, seeing as the king wouldn't be a malevolent figure, but still.

She was terrified of ghosts.

Tilieth couldn't understand ghosts, couldn't understand anything about them. There was no logical explanation behind why a spirit, no longer bound to physical existence, would remain in the physical world. There was no reasoning to figure out how to help or stop such an occurrence, or how to defend against a spirit who wished to do harm.

But the king? As a ghost? Was this some sort of punishment from the goddesses for not protecting Hyrule?

"He's not here, if that's what you're asking," Abel answered as he laid Link on their bed. Til immediately removed his dressings to examine his wounds.

"Look," she whispered. "There's no more bone visible in any of them. But... they're still..."

"Horrible," Abel finished for her. "He could still die from these, Til."

Til bit her lip as the words sank in. Her husband had mentioned that they would have to visit more shrines, but she'd really hoped the four on the plateau would be enough. The thought of taking Link off the plateau went against everything they'd been trying to accomplish for the last decade.

Then again, that goal was already moot anyway.

She wouldn't give up hope, though. She couldn't. However minimal, they were making progress.

"I'm going to clean him and re-dress his wounds," she said finally, trying to grasp at something to help.

Abel pulled out the slate. "And I'll plan our trip."

Tilieth tried to ignore the anxiety that bubbled in her stomach at the word. "Abel... we..."

Her words trailed off into the quiet birdsong of the evening. Abel watched her a while longer, waiting for her to continue, but she couldn't. How could she articulate that after ten years on this abandoned, forsaken hunk of earth this was the only place she felt safe, both for herself and her son?

How could she say she didn't want to leave?

After a few moments, she sighed, shaking her head as Abel continued to wait, and he resumed what he was doing at the motion. Her husband was a loving man, but he was not good at reading emotions. He'd leave her be unless she spoke up.

And she couldn't speak up.

Grabbing some water, soap, and a cloth, she worked on bathing Link and tried to let the movement and the reassurance of seeing her boy breathing calm her down. Eventually she had his wounds covered and some spare clothes on him, leaving just his hair. She ran her fingers through gently, separating knots and getting blood and dirt out.

Abel sighed, standing from the table. She glanced at him. "What is it?"

"This slate only has the plateau mapped," Abel explained. "I think we'll have to visit the other towers to expand it. From what I remember of the land, and from what we can see up here, Kakariko is close to a week's hike away from here."

"Kakariko?"

Her husband nodded. "We should go there first. The Sheikah might be able to give us more information on the shrines and where to find them."

"Or they could repair the Shrine of Resurrection," Tilieth suggested, massaging Link's scalp and kissing him on the forehead.

"The Shrine of Resurrection is gone!" Abel snapped, making Til jump. As quickly as he'd spat the words out, he took a calming breath, rubbing his face with his hands and walking to her. "I'm sorry. I'm--I don't know if he's going to--it's a week to Kakariko. He--"

Tilieth slowly rose from where she'd been sitting on the bed. "You don't think he'll survive the trip."

Abel bit his lip, looking away. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, face flushed as he fought with all his might to maintain his composure. Clearing his throat, he said, "No. I don't. Not if he can't drink anything. I've seen soldiers die from thirst after a few days. He's already been out of that shrine for two now."

The couple glanced back at their son, a heaviness filling the simple home, and Tilieth had to step out as Abel paced with the slate in hand.

There has to be a chance, she told herself. But maybe leaving wasn't the right course of action, based on what Abel said?

Or leaving as soon as possible was the course of action. The only notable, verifiable things that had helped Link were those shrines. There was no denying that.

And as terrified as she was of leaving, she was even more terrified of losing her son.

Tilieth turned, ready to go back inside when she saw what looked like petals and tiny leaves floating in a strange circular motion just above the house. What in the world...?

Climbing the log walls, she pulled herself onto the roof and reached out tentatively, and the leaves and petals coalesced into a single point before another tiny woodland creature popped out of thin air. "Yahaha! You found me!"

Til stared in bewilderment. "Another Korok? What are you doing at our house?"

"Oh! Is this your house? It's very nice!" the Korok said cheerily. "Have this since you found me before Hestu!"

Whoever this Hestu was, clearly he had a lot of little woodland children to look after.

Taking the seed, Til gave a small smile in appreciation and climbed back down, even more befuddled than before. She wasn't going to question the whims of magical forest creatures, but...

Shaking her head, she went back inside. Abel was sitting on the bed with Link's head on his lap, but his eyes were on her.

"Was there a reason why you were climbing on the roof?" he asked with only mild exasperation, eyebrow raised.

"There was a Korok up there," she explained with a dismissive wave of her hand, pocketing the seed.

Abel blinked. "A what?"

"Nothing dangerous," Til summarized - that was all he wanted to know anyway. The seed felt smooth and warm in her pocket, and she clung to it with resolve as she said, "We should get going."

"What?"

"Kakariko. We should leave now," Til continued before her courage failed her. "You--you said it yourself. He won't survive much longer without food and water, and the only way he's going to get better quickly enough for that is the shrines. There are no more on the plateau. I'll pack food, you pack supplies. We need to leave."

Her husband watched her a moment longer, his hand resting on Link's forehead, and then he nodded quietly. The couple packed in haste and in silence, and they were ready to leave by midnight. They agreed to rest up and leave at dawn, but the anxiety kept Til awake for nearly the rest of the night. She held Link close to her as Abel settled into an uneasy sleep.

What if there are guardians down there? What if he can't drink? What if even if we make it to Kakariko, Impa doesn't know anything? What if monsters besiege us?

What if Link dies?

Til let out a shaky breath, burying her face in Link's hair. The thoughts wouldn't silence no matter how hard she tried to focus on something else, but eventually a rainstorm swept through and distracted her, lulling her to sleep long enough to realize she'd barely gotten any rest by the time Abel was shaking her awake.

"I want to go to the temple first," she said blearily. "Before we leave."

Abel acquiesced, and the pair quietly dragged their feet up the hill to the destroyed temple. The carpets had long since rotted away, bits of earth being dragged in by the wind and weather. The pews had mostly rotted away by now, overgrown and worn.

Hylia's statue stood as steadfastly as ever despite it all.

Tilieth knelt in front of the statue with Link on the ground at her knees. Abel stood guard just a few paces away, growing increasingly more paranoid about enemies after the king's remark.

Oh Hylia, she prayed. Please grant us the grace to endure this task. Help us to overcome all the trials that you might lay before us. Protect Link, heal him, help him recover.

A gentle breeze blew through the demolished temple, and sunlight suddenly seemed to shine even brighter. Tilieth smiled at it, reading into it as a reassurance from the goddess herself.

Link coughed.

Startled, Til immediately relaxed her posture so she was hovering over her son as Abel rushed over.

"Link?" Abel whispered softly, hand on their boy's chest. Til ran her fingers through Link's hair, prompting him as well.

Link's fingers twitched, and his brow furrowed ever so slightly. He leaned into Tilieth's touch, and then...

And then his eyes opened.

"Link!" both his parents exclaimed, and Abel pulled him into a seated position as Tilieth embraced him.

Link remained limp in his parents' hold, and when Til pulled away, his eyes were drooping.

"Wait, wait, sweetheart, you need to eat," Til said hastily as Link's head bobbed forward.

"Never mind food, we need him to drink," Abel said hurriedly, pulling out a flask. "I'll give him water, you try to find something for him to munch on. Link? Son, open your eyes again, come on."

As Til scrambled for some stew that she had packed away, she heard her husband continue to prompt Link repeatedly. By the time she was looking back at him, she saw him nearly choke on some water, though he seemed awake enough to swallow on reflex.

After a few sips, Link was unable to keep his eyes open and passed out.

Til and Abel exchanged a glance and a sigh of relief.

Their boy was coming back to them.

[jalapenobee]

IT’S DONE

You are my sunshine (rewrite)

Everywhere he looked, there was red.

It dripped from gold jewelry and table edges, shattered wine glasses and soaked gloves. Leaking out from his body was red. It caked his face and blurred his vision. The room pulsed and ached with pain, mirroring the scene inside it. The ball had been turned into a bloody massacre, the shining floor littered with limp bodies; a few on their last breaths, the rest already dead.

With a groan, Keith turned on his back and blinked. His mouth felt like metal, his ears were ringing, and he felt numb and dizzy from blood loss. The ceiling multiplied and shifted, exhausting his eyes. He’d be the one casualty of Voltron, assuming the others weren’t in his state. Seeing no point in taking off his helmet, Keith closed his eyes and listened in on the celebratory cheers from over comms for a “mission well done”. He kept his head turned towards the door, listening for footsteps that signaled an approach. Pathetic, really. Even if it was an enemy, there’s a zero percent chance he’d be able to defend himself. Keith sighed. He’d much rather be doing something, something important. But it was too late for that now. He was getting weaker every passing second, the grip on life loosening bit by bit.

Every blink he made closed his eyelids longer than the last. Every few breaths brought jagged, searing streams of blood dripping down his chin. He did not wipe it off, instead focusing on matching the voices from the comms to their owners as they started to call his name.

“Wait. Guys, where did Keith go?” Allura. 

“…Keith… where are you? Are you okay?” Hunk. 

“Keith, where are you? Say something!” Lance.

Keith took a long breath and managed to speak in a cracking, broken voice. 

“Second ballroom. Don’t bother coming.”

Despite that, Lance insisted he’d come to get him and started to bolt for Keith’s location. The latter didn’t object; partly because he didn’t have the energy, and partly because his pleas would be useless. Lance was always claiming he’d do anything to keep Keith alive, as well as being there as he dies. Apparently, nothing’s going to stop him.

Half a minute later, Lance came running through the broken door with his bayard drawn, aiming it around the room in a frantic mess until he spotted Keith. Careful to avoid the pools of blood and dead weight, he hurried over and pulled off both of their cracked helmets. A careful hand slipped behind Keith’s back, raising him up slightly to Lance’s face.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, I promise.”

“No matter.”

Lance shook his head and tears were sent splattering down on Keith’s armor, blending with the blood and seeping into the cracks in the metal. The other’s voices were left unheard, as Lance desperately prayed to a god, any god, that Keith would make it. That the blood would stop gushing, oh jeez, please make the blood stop gushing. He cradled a tired Keith in his tired arms. “Please, you’re going to be okay.”

Keith turned his head to face Lance properly, his body lurching with coughs that brought more blood to the scene. Keith ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, tasting copper and salt. His throat felt right and his lips burned with pain with every word. He swallowed, and began to sing a delicate, slurred version of a nursery rhyme he’s sung more than a few times to calm Lance. 

“You are my sunshine…”

Lance’s teary, shaking voice chimed in, as he pressed his forehead to Keith’s. “My only sunshine…”

“You make me happy…” 

“When skies are gray…” For a moment, they were perfect - voices singing together, a melody all too familiar to them both. Then more coughs brought more blood; flown towards Lance’s face, and spat on the floor, armor, hands. A terrified Lance stroked Keith’s hair, smeared and tangled in debris, telling him to save his breath, yet Keith kept going. 

“You’ll never know, dear…” his hand fell limp against Lance’s. “How much… I love you.”

His eyes fluttered closed for the last time, and Lance was the only one left to finish singing while Keith managed a small smile and a sigh.

“Please don’t take… my sunshine away.”

[v-tired-queer]

✨️ Sapphics in Space ✨️

Have some headcanons for this very specific AU that absolutely no one asked for:

All of their names are nicknames that they go by, none of these ladies use their actual names

Keith's name is Akira Kogane, but she started to be called Keith as a joke from the other firefighters in her dad's department, but it kinda just stuck and she secretly liked having a special nickname from the firefighters anyway, even if it was a traditionally male name

Shiro's name is Tatsuo Shirogane, but she and her family are originally from Japan and during kindergarten in America her classmates began to call her Shiro since her name was hard for them to pronounce

Lance's name is Alejandra McClain, but got her nickname from her family when she was younger and always wanted to play soldier or guard. Veronica was the first one to use it and then everyone else started using it, too, and Lance absolutely loved it

Hunk's name is Halia Garrett, and her nickname came from, well, almost everyone. She's always been curvy, but the added on muscles she has gave her her nickname in late middle school

Keith and Lance are adoptive sisters in this AU, where Keith joined the McClain family at 16 after being in foster care since she was 8. Originally, she was there temporarily, but the McClain's adopted her a few months after she'd been in their care

Their one-sided rivalry started in middle school but only got worse after Keith moved in, but settled down after she was adopted and the two actually became friends, but in a I'm-not-going-to-acknowledge-that-I-care-about-you-outloud-but-will-always-protect-you kinda way

Lance teeses Keith about her crush on Shiro, and Keith teeses Lance about her crush on Hunk, and this almost always ends with the closest inanimate object being hurled at each other

Pidge is also cis swapped in this and he and Coran are the only two men on the Castleship and Lord help them, they are terrified

Keith and Acxa are twins, with Acxa being older by about seven minutes. Keith never knew she had a sister, let alone a twin, until she was stranded on a space whale with her long lost mother

Thace and Ulaz are mates, and Regris is their kid. Regris is about five years older than Keith and Acxa, and is their only cousin, as Thace is Krolia's little brother

Kolivan and Antok are in a queer platonic relationship, as Antok is aroace and Kolivan is pan and polyamorus. Kolivan and Krolia end up together and very much in love, eventually getting married

Speaking of, Keith is a lesbian, Shiro is a lesbian, Lance is bi, and Hunk is pan

Hunk as always been a phenomenal baker, as baking is a science, but cooking was something she had to grow into as it's more of an art. With time, practice, and a lot of encouragement from her moms, she became a master chef by the time she was fourteen

The shell on Lance's bracelet was the last shell she grabbed from the beach before her family left Cuba when she was fourteen and moved to the United States for her father's work. She wears that bracelet all of the time, feeling a sense of peace whenever she touches the shell when she's anxious or depressed

Shiro has an older sister named Mayumi, and the two are very close. Their whole family is close, actually, and their parents support both girls when Mayumi comes out as trans and Shiro comes out as a lesbian

Hunk and Lance have been best friends since their freshman year of high school. The two get into a lot of mischief together thanks to Lance, but almost always avoid actually getting into trouble thanks to Hunk

Pidge joined their group when they entered the Garrison and his first thought was "These girls are gonna get me into so much trouble." His second thought was "Lance is crushing so hard, how does Hunk not know??"

Allura absolutely loves to have Girls Nights with the Paladins, where they all get together in her room and have a giant sleepover, complete with blanket forts, unhealthy snacks, teasing, and so much nail painting that Keith is pretty sure she's gotten high on more than one occasion

While Allura is fascinated by Keith and Lance's sisterly relationship, Shiro and Hunk are simply Tired Of The Bickering

Keith is 18; Shiro is 21; Lance is 17; Hunk is 17; Pidge is 16

Shiro and Keith have been best friends since Keith stole Shiro's car and the older bailed her out of Juvie. They got very close while at the Garrison, and Shiro gave Keith her dogtags before leaving for Kerberos. She carries them with her at the bottom of the bags on her hip. There was an unspoken understanding between them that they loved each other, that they wanted to always be together and they cared about each other more than anything, but the time was never right

Shiro and Keith finally start dating while in space after realizing that love doesn't wait for the right time and there's no time like the preasent to let yourself be happy, but Hunk and Lance don't start dating until they get home to Earth because they are, somehow, more awkward about their feelings than Shiro and Keith

Eventually Krolia and Kolivan have a son together and name him Yorak and Keith absolutely adores her baby brother and Shiro absolutely adores seeing Keith with a baby

Kosmo is the bestest teleporting space wolf doggo 💙

[intoanotherworld23]

Breaking And Entering | SheriffJoel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel catches you breaking and entering into his house, and takes you back to the station to teach you a little lesson

Warnings: NSFW 18+, smut, dominant Joel, sheriff Joel, fingering, spanking, use of authority, mention of crime, implied sex

Word Count: 1.8k+ words

A/N: Comment, heart, and reblog if you guys wish for a second part to this to see what else will happen! Reblogs are encouraged and appreciated to share with others so they can enjoy! Thank you guys so much I hope you all enjoyed! XOXO

Hall of Hunks

“So you like breaking into peoples home huh?” Joel asked sternly as he bent you over the steel table.

“I’m sorry.” You whimpered pathetically as Joel’s foot pushed your legs further apart.

“Oh now you’re sorry.” He chuckled devilishly at your response, and wasn’t buying your pathetic apology. “I think you’re just sorry you got caught.”

You weren’t meant to get caught at all. It was just a dare that went too far, and you’re the only one he was able to grab. Your stupid friends dared you to break into the sheriffs house. Only thing is you didn’t expect him to be at home waiting.

Then he had no time in driving you back to the station throwing you in one of the rooms. There was something about the way he handled you, and looked at you that was dark. There was something much more than anger behind his eyes. You couldn’t quite tell what it was though.

“Please I’m sorry I wasn’t going to steal anything.” Hoping that would make things better, but Joel just ignored you.

“Were you by yourself or with friends?” Hands patting your legs squirming in his hold.

“Isn’t a female supposed to check me?” You asked turning your neck to get a better look at him.

“Shut the fuck up.” He raised his voice at you. “You lost that privilege when you decided to break into my home.”

“You can’t treat me like this.” Speaking out again.

“Better watch that mouth sweetheart or it’s gonna get you in big trouble.”

“Or you’ll do what?” You were really pushing him this time.

Joel was fuming at this point, and all he had on his mind was teaching you a lesson. The way you talked back to him like a spoiled child. You were just asking for a punishment. There was only one way that he knew for sure would work.

“Now answer me.” Feeling his hands now patting close to your area. “Who else was with you?”

“Nobody.” You lied quickly.

“I don’t believe you.” Joel responded as he swatted at your inner thigh making you jump.

Most people would be terrified being in this position, but right now you were incredibly turned on by how dominant he was becoming. You couldn’t help but feel you weren’t the only one feeling this way.

“I’m telling the truth sheriff there wasn’t anybody else.” Pleading with him to believe you. He still wasn’t buying it.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time.” His voice quieted as his thick hand pressed against your clothed core. “Was there anybody else?”

“What are you gonna do?” Whispering loud enough for him to hear fear evident in your voice.

“Whatever I want with you.” His hand smacking down where it laid your legs folding together.

The air had left your lungs, and it felt as if someone turned up the heat in this room several degrees. The only sound that could be heard was your heavy breathing. It felt like the room was closing in on you two, and there was no way to escape.

Quickly opening your legs back open for him. Feeling his hand back on you as he kept it there for a few seconds. He could feel how warm you were between your legs, and he was loving it. He was glad that you were feeling the same mood that he was.

You could tell him you don’t want this, and scream for help in hopes someone would come running in and stop all this. Instead you chose not to, and wanted more. You were hungry for his touch, and lust was all you could think about.

Joel rubbing his hand up and down the pants you had on the fabric pressing into your clit. A tiny whimper slipping past your lips. Biting down on bottom lip hoping he didn’t hear that.

“That feels good doesn’t it sweetheart?”

Joel grinned knowing exactly what he was doing to you. Putting more pressure on your core just wishing he could feel how drenched you were for him. He wanted nothing more than to reach his hand down your pants, and collect your juices on his fingers.

“Just tell me what I want and I’ll let you cum.” Joel whispered seductively in your ear pressing his now fully clothed erect cock into your backside.

Pushing unknowingly back against him to feel more as he kept rubbing his hand up and down more aggressively this time. Joel saw what you were doing and chuckled to himself. He let you keep it up for a little bit before pulling away from you making you cry out.

“Ah ah ah.” Pulling his hand away this time too. “Not until you tell me what I need.”

He already knew the truth that you didn’t work alone, but he was the one in charge right now, and he needed to hear you say it. Right now he needed you to submit so he could also get what he wanted.

“Okay fine there was others.” Blurting out finally telling him the truth.

“Good girl.” Patting your ass with praise. “See that wasn’t so hard now was it.”

Before you could even respond the same hand that was rubbing on you was now pushing your pants open. Pushing past your panties feeling exactly how turned on he was making you. Joel almost growled at the feeling of what he was doing to you.

“Fuck you are wet for me aren’t you?” You could only respond with a moan.

Able to easily slip his fingers inside of you pushing all the way to his knuckles. Your mouth hanging open as he pulled out and then pushed back in. Immediately starting a rhythm that had your body rocking against the table.

Pressing his whole body into you so that you were squeezed between the table and his body. Wanting nothing more than to rip yours and his pants off, and fuck you until tomorrow. He had patience though, and knew it would be worth it to hold out a little more.

“Is this what you wanted?” His tone condescending, and you felt ashamed for wanting this so easily.

“Yes yes yes.” You babbled out already feeling the pressure building between your legs.

Joel wanted a different response as his free hand smacked your ass harder this time. He wanted you to know he was the one in charge, and the one with all the power right now.

“You wanna say that again sweetheart?”

“Yes sheriff.” Responding back to him hoping that’s what he wanted.

“That’s a good girl for me.” He praised again his fingers going faster this time as his palm smacked against your pelvis.

The suction noises echoing in both of your ears hearing exactly how drenched you were. Feeling your ears and cheeks burning a sudden embarrassment washing over you. Joel was loving it though.

Maneuvering his thumb so he could rub your clit pushing you over the edge. Crying out as his hand grabbed your mouth to keep you quiet. Hushing in your ear, but never once stopping or slowing down his movements.

“Can’t have anyone know what I’m doing to you in here.” Whispering in your ear as he nibbled on it. “Can you imagine what they would say if they caught you fucking the sheriff?”

That’s the last thing you wanted for everyone in this town to hear about this. To know how easily you folded for him, and you broke into his house. Your reputation would be completely tarnished, and nobody would look at you the same.

Joel knew he had the upper hand here. He knew you wouldn’t say anything to anybody, cause they would probably take his word over yours. In fact Joel might even keep you around longer to do this again.

“Dirty little thief spreading her legs to keep from going to jail.” He kept going as if it was a shared secret between you two. “You’ll do anything to keep from going to jail won’t you.”

It came out more like a statement than a question because he already knew the answer to that one. He could tell you were the type of girl who would do anything to avoid jail time.

“Please.” Begging him feeling so close to release already.

“Please what?” He teased again knowing what he wanted.

“Please sheriff I wanna cum.”

That was all he needed to hear for motivation. His hand gripping onto your hips as his fingers literally drove themselves into you pushing and pulling your body. Clenching around his fingers as your hands gripped the edge of the table.

Joel’s fingers stayed still inside of you as they curved inside motioning in a come here action. Gasping loudly as you turned your head to bite into your arm at the motion. Joel having you right where he wanted you.

Your entire body was on fire right now. Your legs were already trembling, and you didn’t know how much longer you’d be able to last. Thank god for Joel holding you otherwise you’d have collapsed to the floor.

Joel’s inner beast was banging against the cage wanting to be let out. All he wanted to do was devour you right against this table. He wanted you completely at his mercy, and to hear you beg for his cock.

Watching as your body wriggled under his hold, and how you couldn’t control what your arms and legs were doing. It was like something was possessing you, and Joel was the reason.

“Fuck yeah I want you to cum for me.” Growling into your ear. “Want to feel the pussy cum around my fingers.”

That was all you needed to hear as your entire body tightened. Legs shaking as your orgasm came over you violently. Mouth hanging wide open as whimpers and moans left your lips.

Joel keeping you in place though against his body his cock really pressing into you. Imagining the whole time it was him inside of you instead of his fingers.

Your entire body felt defeated and weak. Not being able to lift your head or even move your arms. All that was just from him fingering you. Not sure if you were gonna be able to handle his cock now.

“Fuck I could tell you needed that.” Joel joked as he soothingly rubbed his hand up and down your back.

If you weren’t in such a state of bliss you would have felt so ashamed for what you just did. Not being the type of girl who would spread her legs for just anybody. Let alone the sheriff of this town.

“Am I free to go now?” Asking timidly wondering if he would let you go.

“Oh no baby girl,” hands gripping onto your hips harshly, “I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

“But I told you what you wanted to know.” Cranking your neck to look at his reddened face, and blown out eyes staring down at you.

“You still need to tell me your friend’s names.” That made your eyes go wide. “For that you get to cum around my cock.”

[ojcobsessed]

The British actor, who broke out in Netflix’s spooky anthology series from Mike Flanagan, speaks to Tom Murray about his thrilling new movie ‘Jackdaw’, his pride at appearing in ‘Hollyoaks’, and why he thinks he’s ‘too emotional’ to play 007.

Ihave this thing in my head,” Oliver Jackson-Cohen is telling me. “I don’t know where it comes from, but I am always convinced that everything I do is going to be s***. So I’m always pleasantly surprised that it’s not as s***ty as I think.”

The London-born actor really doesn’t need to be so anxious. Since landing his breakout role of heroin addict Luke Crain in Mike Flanagan’s Netflix anthology series The Haunting of Hill House in 2018, Jackson-Cohen has proven time and again his skill at playing damaged goods. Whether it’s his sociopathic turn as businessman Peter Quint in Flanagan’s sequel series The Haunting of Bly Manor (2020), or as Dakota Johnson’s terrifying boyfriend in The Lost Daughter (2021), or as Elisabeth Moss’s see-through ex in The Invisible Man (2020), Jackson-Cohen has cemented himself as one of Hollywood’s go-to baddies.

But in his latest film, the 37-year-old is taking a stab at being the hero... sort of. Jackdaw is set against a bleak, wintry North East of England, with Jackson-Cohen playing an ex-motocross champion and army veteran who commits a crime in the hopes of starting a new life for his family.

The actor is the first to admit that the Jackdaw script was “fairly straightforward” for the action-thriller genre: a criminal job goes awry, family member gets kidnapped, man must save kidnapped family member. But he says that the film’s director, first-timer Jamie Childs, wanted to prove that genre films like these don’t have to be the preserve of the US. “He wanted to make movies that would be made in America in the Nineties, but set in the North East,” Jackson-Cohen explains. “He wanted to really showcase that and show that we can make these sorts of high-concept movies on small budgets in the UK.”

There are blatant American influences on the film – it’s all synths, rain and neon, like it’s been put under an Instagram filter named “Blade Runner”. I tell Jackson-Cohen that his character in the film, Jack Dawson, feels like a mash-up of Ryan Gosling’s criminal characters in Drive (2011) and The Place Beyond the Pines (2012) – brooding, morally questionable types with good hearts at their core. “Yeah, like a Northern, poor man’s Ryan Gosling,” he jokes. “Listen, I’ll happily be a poor man’s Ryan Gosling for the rest of my life.”

Jackson-Cohen has a face that looks like it’s been carved by Bernini, so it’s no surprise to learn he originally found success as a model. On the day of our conversation, he’s wearing a frame-fitting black jumper; his stubble is grown out but perfectly manicured, as is his thick brown hair, which is styled into a messy quiff. A 2012 Harper’s Bazaar interview conducted at a London hotel noted a “perceptible thrill” that “rippled through the female staff” upon his arrival. His looks, accent and 6ft 3in height have also made him a perennial fixture in predictions for the next James Bond. But Jackson-Cohen is worried he’d be “too emotional” to play the part. “It’s such an iconic character, isn’t it?” he says. So if 007 producer Barbara Broccoli were to call, he’d send her to voicemail? “Of course not! No one’s gonna say no to Babs are they?”

If he does end up firing guns and sipping martinis for a few years, Jackson-Cohen would be the first Bond to have appeared in Hollyoaks, the teen soap infamous for its annual Hunks and Babes cast calendars. He booked a single-episode role on the show when he was 15 – his first acting gig. “I remember getting the phone call and being like: ‘This. Is. It,’” he says, grinning. “Walking into school the next day I was so full of myself.”

After training at London’s Youngblood Theatre Company and then the famed Lee Strasberg Institute in New York, he began booking supporting roles in a number of American films you probably don’t remember: the Dwayne Johnson clanger Faster (2010), Anna Faris’s What’s Your Number? (2011), or Going the Distance (2010), one of Drew Barrymore’s lesser romcoms. He’s spoken previously about the grand expectations he placed on his early film work, assuming they’d propel him into the big leagues. He was shattered when they didn’t, leading him to take a nine-month break from acting.

The Haunting of Hill House, in 2018, proved to be a turning point. It was a smash hit, earned him a rabid fanbase, and helped launch him into a particular kind of recognition – something he describes as “Netflix famous”. “It’s quite an interesting thing,” he says. “You’re the most famous person in the world for a while and then the next show comes along and that completely takes over.”

Regardless, the role was not without catharsis for him. He has spoken about how his own experience with childhood sexual abuse and PTSD influenced his take on the character. He first discussed it in 2017, during the #MeToo movement, writing on Instagram: “[I] have spent most of my life living with PTSD, pretending it didn’t happen, and now, trying to rebuild what was shattered. The thing about sexual abuse is that the moment it is done, however brief or however long, it changes the course of your life permanently.”

I ask him how the part impacted him, and for the first time in our conversation, the actor’s geniality falters and his face takes on a visible strain. “I think, if you speak to any of us from that cast, those characters meant so much to us because we put so much of ourselves into them,” he says. Flanagan, he says, was “incredibly collaborative” and “allowed me to just take the reins with it and left me alone to do that.” He also knows the part struck a chord with audiences. He remembers being approached by strangers in public who’d share their stories of addiction. “I think ultimately all of us feel incredibly proud that it hit a note with people and it allowed people to open up a discussion, to feel like they could talk about this stuff.”

As soon as Hill House was released, Jackson-Cohen says he was sent “a slew of horror scripts” that were “all the same thing, just a watered-down, less good versions [of the show]”. He names Ira Sachs’s raunchy gay drama Passages, Jonathan Glazer’s new Holocaust film Zone of Interest and Justine Triet’s awards season darling Anatomy of a Fall as films he’s admired from afar this past year. “I don’t think there’s a formula of: you work with this director and this writer and then, success. But I do think you reach a point where you’re like, ‘Oh I do actually want more out of this.’”

He knows, for instance, that he’s seen a certain way by casting directors. “I’ve played quite a lot of toxic men. But I’ve become fascinated with the question of, ‘how do we humanise these morally corrupt characters?’ There’s a challenge in that, which I think is quite fun. But, like anything, you go through periods where you like to play a certain thing and then it’s time to move on.”

So no more baddies? He weighs it up.

“I think I’ve played my fair share now.”

‘Jackdaw’ is in cinemas now.

[benjaminthewolf]

Revenge Tastes Sweet (Vore Story)

“I guess one of the perks of vore writing is that it doesn’t really matter how complex a character’s design is. On the other hand though, with vore art it’s easy to not have to worry about the characters’ lore.”

-Me to a friend on discord yesterday, at exactly 8:21 am.

****

Former President Business had absolutely no idea why or how his bedroom had gotten this cold, but as long as he could pull up his blanket and allow his body’s natural heat to get trapped within, he…Business' heart skipped a beat. His blanket was missing, too.

Perhaps that explained why it was so cold, but regardless, once he had made this realization, the situation all began to crash down from there. He was very quick to figure out that whatever was currently underneath him was not the soft, cushiony mattress upon his bed, nor was he resting his head on anything even remotely similar to a pillow, because it was the same elevation and texture as the floor. Floor…wait a second. Business let out a grunt.

This absolutely could be floor he was laying on, considering how hard and smooth it was. But…the floor of where, and how…how did he even get here in the first place? How did any of this make any sense? Business was just about to flicker open his eyes in order to try and figure all that out, but the second he began wriggling around in his current position, was the second his brain and body were instantly jolted into reality.

“ TOP ‘O THE MORNIN’, YA SCURVY DOG!”

“AAAAAA!”

Business proceeded to instinctively lurch upwards so he may be able to survey the world around him more properly. Unfortunately for him, however, some random object that was as equally cold and hard as the floor he was previously resting on instantly denied him his body’s desired sitting position, causing both a great clanging noise and a great “OW!” to echo throughout the area as a result.

“Ah. Whoops. Heh, wasn’t planning that one.”

Now that he was considerably more awake and alert, Business was actually able process the tone and timbre of the voice that was speaking to him. The accent…the distinctive loudness…Business’ blood ran cold. Because the voice combined with the recent metal clanging could only mean…

“Metalbeard?” he managed to sputter out in a half inquisitive, half terrified cry, his now functioning eyes swiftly verifying this assumption but a mere second later, the up-close, iconic metal beard of, well, Metalbeard, practically shoved itself directly in his face as the colosal, towering pirate himself only chortled jovially.

“AHAHAHAHA! YES, THAT’S RIGHT, IT BE ME!” he called out whilst comedically pointing one of his gigantic, robotic fingers towards himself. “EHEHEHE, AND SURELY YOU REMEMBER WHAT EXACTLY HAPPENED TO ME RIGHT HERE IN THIS ROOM, NOW, DON’T’CHYA?”

The room…the room, that was right. Former President Business was yet to check out the room. He was able to tell through his peripheral vision that wherever the two of them were, it was a very dark, most likely rather spacious area, further corroborated by all the resonating echoes getting hurled across the room, mostly by the rather boisterous pirate himself, of course. This, combined with the fact that it was apparently a room connected with Metalbeard…Business gazed up. Ayup. Once again, his assumption had been correct. The room that Metalbeard had chosen to take the former world ruler was indeed the place that had turned him into the “useless hunk of garbage ye see before ye” that he was indeed now. The one, the only, The Think Tank.

Now that Business had figured out what was happening, Metalbeard was rather intent on not letting him get away, lest all the planning he had done up until that moment all be in vain. As a result, before the poor man even had time to peel himself off the floor, Metalbeard’s fingers wrapped themselves around the struggling former ruler’s body, squeezing in as tight as their mechanics allowed, before at last, the poor, relatively tiny minifigure had been brought all the way up to the gargantuar pirate’s still intact head, where a cheeky smirk proceeded to form on his face, yet another verbal onslaught in the works, now that the completely helpless former president had absolutely nowhere he could go.

Intentionally lowering his volume so his words would seem more intimidating, Metalbeard inched Business slightly towards his face, before letting a low growl escape what still remained of his biological throat, thus prepping, what Business assumed to be an explanation, as such.

“So…I’m sure ye must have a lot of questions right now…”

Business practically gagged at the ridiculousness of that statement despite everything about the situation at large. “...uh, yeah, YA THINK?”

“QUIET, YE BLACK-LIVERED BILGE-RAT!”

Business was silent in an instant.

“Now, as I was saying…” Metalbeard continued on.

“...ye must be havin’ a lot of questions right now. How did I get here, WHY did I get here? What am I planning to do with ye? Well! Lemme assure ye, I’ve got the answers. First of all, I brought you here. Second of all, why in the name of the kraken d’ya think? And third of all…” Metalbeard proceeded to pause for a second. “...well, why don’t I just reveal that much right here, hmm? Though imma be warnin’ ya, yes, y’are gonna freak out. ‘Cause, well, that’s…y’know. THAT’S THE WHOLE POINT!”

Former president Business aboutely DID know what Metalbeard was talking about. For the most part, of course. He did know why he would be motivated to take some form of revenge. The currently shivering, quaking man still remembered the day that his robots brought to him a full-on bucket filled with severed body parts, arms, legs, torso, the whole lot. Business remembered being pleased. He remembered thinking that with this kind of technology on his side, no amount of master builders, regardless of how organized or strong they were, would ever be able to usurp him from the throne. And of course, he remembered the absolute shock and horror that almost instantly shot their way through his veins, merely a few hours later, upon finding out that, this particular time, the victim had managed to survive. For the then President Business knew, with motivation such as that, taking revenge upon the one who was inadvertently responsible for permanently disembodying him, would be nothing short of simple. Taking it all the way back to the present, the now former President knew, practically every single cell within his body was screeching at him, that this was the moment he had feared, coming to fruition at last.

Allowing poor Business to take in the necessary time to contemplate the situation with nothing but a rather satisfied jeer on his face, Metalbeard positively relished in being able to take his time with unveiling to the villainous former dictator what exactly his decided mode of revenge was, at last deciding that the moment was now upon the focus returning to Business’ eyes, Metalbeard concluded the lengthy period of wait with a rather sly: “...and yes, I set up all the necessary parts fer this meself.” before refusing to elaborate further, and at long last, opening up his maw.

Business couldn’t even let out a single gasp of terror upon the realization hitting him like a semitruck. Metalbeard snickered before giving a teasing “Aaaaaa!” and extending out his tongue. At this point, Business’ face was so close to Metalbeard’s own that the sleek, pink muscle had no trouble at all caressing itself across Business’ cheek, gathering a rather generous sampling of his flavor, before retracting for a while, and at last going back for round two.

Poor former president Business could do quite literally nothing but watch as the towering cyborg pirate’s tongue streaked itself across his forehead, positively slathering his face with his saliva, before at last, the humongous man was finished with teasing his prey, stretching the gaping caverns of his maw wide open as such, before ruthlessly shoving as much as was going to fit of Business inside at once, that being most of his upper body, stopping at the abdomen.

Adjusting his grip so his fingers were holding onto the shock-stricken man’s legs, Metalbeard would not allow the poor man within him to have even a miniscule break from the madness, proceeding to coat his fancy, expensive suit in warm, sticky saliva as he was carefully inched further and further back towards the gullet. The pirate captain’s plump, dangling uvula swayed freely just above the positively terrified former dictator’s head as the entrance to the throat of the towering metallic pirate at last opened up, causing yet another bout of pure, undistilled confusion to maneuver its way up the panicking man’s spine in an odd combination of bewilderment and just plain fear.

“Ah, but me biological parts end at the gullet, don’t they, hmm?” Metalbeard did his best to start mumble out from the outside despite Business’ current position on his tongue. “Yes. Yes they do. That’s why, like I hinted earlier, everything yer going to see that resembles flesh was mechanically installed by me! Just for this moment!” he continued on explaining.

Former president Business was positively lost for words. Had Metalbeard actually, actually gone out of his way to install a false digestive system inside his mechanical being JUST to hammer home how his biological body was so cruelly stripped away from him all those years ago during that scuffle in the Think Tank?

Business’ question was promptly given an answer as his head and upper body were effortlessly squeezed through Metalbeard’s upper esophageal sphincter, the final piece of the pirate that remained biological, before entering into the aforementioned mechanical esophagus. Truth be told, it didn’t really feel any different from a normal esophagus (not like former president Business even knew what the inside of a biological esophagus felt like of course), but at this point, that hardly mattered. Feeling his legs and feet joining in with the rest of himself inside the slick, cushiony tube, Business thus began his journey downwards towards the false stomach chamber below, that which he internally prayed to whatever entities of high power even bothered to listen did NOT have real acid inside of it. In the end though, there was only one way to find out for sure.

Metalbeard on the outside let out a tremendously satisfied sigh as Business' feet were squeezed past what he could feel via nerves, thus leaving the former world dictator at the mercy of his machinery as his enormous metallic body proceeded to lumber its way over to the now empty walls of the Think Tank, plopping his form down on the floor with a thundering crash, and placing his hand over the area of his body that contained the false stomach chamber, where Business was destined to end up. And though he couldn’t exactly feel the trembling, positively dismayed man within as he was squelched on towards the thing, he was able to feel something rising up out of his mouth via his upper esophageal sphincter, the thing in question being that of a great bout of air, releasing itself in an immense, thunderous belch that bounded its way across the Think Tank’s walls, and flooded the ears of both Metalbeard on the outside, as well as poor Business within, who, at this point, was well aware that he was only mere seconds away from reaching the stomach chamber, due to how long he had been traveling down the esophagus.

Having his assumptions vindicated for the third time as the lower esophageal sphincter at last came into sight, poor Business gave a shudder as he realized that this was the moment of truth. Either he was going to be killed, right here and now, mercilessly seared away inside the churning acidic chamber awaiting him, or, he was going to be forced to sit trapped, sloshing away inside of the mechanical guts of the man whos real guts had been previously ripped out of his body many, many years ago. Either way, Business could certainly sense the irony, but was quite obviously not happy with it.

Closing his eyes and tightening his muscles, former president Business could feel himself entering into the stomach as it expanded slightly upon his presence gracing its walls. For the first few seconds, the poor man within merely sat there in silence, waiting patiently for the agonizing bouts of pain to jolt forth. However, to his complete and utter surprise, there was, well, nothing. No pain at all. As it turned out, the latter option was indeed the current reality.

In all honesty, Business wasn’t really sure whether to be relieved or disappointed, as the sheer humiliation from having something like this happen to him in the first place was far more than enough to get him to start reconsidering each and every single one of his life choices up until that moment anyway.

At the same time, though he obviously couldn’t feel it, the sheer and utter fact that the former dictator of what was pretty much the whole known universe was now trapped helplessly inside his being was more than enough for the positively blissful, heavenly sensations of victory and bliss to settle their way into the cyborg pirate’s mind.

Metalbeard teasingly smacked his lips a few times as he rhythmically drummed his giant fingers over the equivalent of his midsection, whilst poor, poor, poor ol’ Business on the inside merley lay there, stiff and silent, the warm, harmless water-like liquids sloshing all around him as the goopy, thick stomach walls churned and shifted in the simulative, distinctive, irregular patterns that biological stomachs are certainly known to do, despite this particular stomach’s obviously non-biological nature.

Also despite its obviously non-biological nature, Metalbeard had indeed made sure that the chamber retained the iconic ambiance that was similarity indicative of the real deal, and as a result, the constant, echoing growls and gurgles constantly flooding Buisness’ ears acted as the final nail in the coffin for the poor former president’s pride as his heart sank to his shoes.

Emmet had been far too kind to him in their final encounter together, as he had offered him a second chance. In the end, however, per the slimy, slick walls of the mechanical being he lay within continuously shifting and gurgling around him, only but a singular one of the many, many, many reasons why he really had not deserved that second chance, at all, was, quite literally present all around him.

[autisticlancemcclain]

Shiro’s voice grates on his ears.

It’s not a fair thing to say. It’s not even Shiro’s fault. It’s just – they’ve been planning this mission for weeks. Day after day, briefing after briefing, it feels like the only thing they’ve talked about is this stupid fucking mission. And Keith gets it, really. If they manage this successfully, that’s thousands of weapons that Zarkon won’t have, that they’ll no longer have to fight.

But they’ve been talking in circles forever. There are holes in the plan, and everyone knows it, but they’re exhausted and burnt out and no one can come up with anything better, so they have to take what few ideas and resources they have and pray for the best, because hope simply won’t cut it anymore.

Keith suits up as quickly as possible, riding the zipline to his lion in stony silence. He almost feels like it would be more appropriate to walk – it feels as if he’s rapidly approaching his death; the team’s death. The inherent joy and fun of the zipline feels wrong, but it would take too long to walk.

The comms crackle to life as soon as Keith is settled in the pilot’s chair, everyone’s colour-coded communication line buzzing in one by one. Keith watches them, burning the bright colours into his memory. He’s terrified to lose them.

“Hey, Mullet.”

It’s of course Lance who speaks first, opening a private channel between them. Keith doesn’t respond for a moment, and Lance doesn’t press. He hums, something quick and bright, just letting Keith know he’s there. Keith takes a deep breath, forcing his hands to stop shaking.

“Yeah, Lance.”

It’s Lance’s turn to be quiet for a moment, even the humming and ever-present tapping of his fingers stopping.

“We’re going to be fine, you know.”

Keith swallows. “I know.”

“I mean it. All of us. We’re going to work the plan until it falls apart, because it always does –” Keith snorts, because somehow Lance has managed to make that into a joke, a tease, when just seconds ago the very thought sent waves of panic through his head – “and we are going to flawlessly ad-lib our way out of shenanigans, as we always do. We are going to be fine.”

Lance leaves no room for argument. He very rarely does, and lately that has been making Keith smile. Lance’s surety has become comforting, his self-confidence a breath of relief in the ocean of uncertainty and fear they all seem to be drowning in all the time.

But still. The risks.

“But Pidge is almost completely undefended –”

“She’ll be fine. She could kill God with her bare hands if she was mad enough.”

“Hunk is going through the east wing alone –”

“Um, alone with his grenade launcher, you mean. He’s fine.”

“There are just – there are so many risks, Lance.”

Keith can’t see him. It’s only an audio call. But he can imagine Lance’s face softening, the corner of his mouth twitching the way it always does when he wants to gather someone up in a tight hug but isn’t sure if he’s allowed.

“Pidge and Hunk will be fine, Keith. We’ll all be fine. We’ll kick some Empire ass and get out, and then you and I can go punch those jitters away, okay?”

Keith is still worried. The fear still races through his veins.

But Lance is right. As usual. (Not that Keith will ever tell him that.)

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

As they approach the massive planet-turned-weapons-factory, Pidge’s cloaking device on in each of their lions, Keith tries to borrow Lance’s faith. His unwavering belief in the team, in their impending success, even when the odds are stacked intensely against them. Lance trusts each of them so strongly.

Keith takes a deep breath, and decides he will have faith, too.

– – –

next chapter

[leucoratia]

For the OC meme! 15 and 27 for Yrsinne and H for YOU about them!

Aww thank you so much for giving me an opportunity to gush about my child <33

15: How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

After century after century of being told what to say and having to watch every word on their home planet, Yrsinne really stopped giving a shit. After their very, very long time floating in the void of space without any stimuli, silence is one of the only things that terrify them and to combat this they talk. A lot. Hence their words aren't really calculated most of the time, and they have the tendency of being brutally honest with most, so you really can't anticipate the next word that will come out of their mouths (except for Joseph hehe). Yrsinne is the type to comment on moss or randomly bring up "I heard you humans had a tradition where a big ol' man breaks into yar houses every cold to bring ya presents. Yar shitting me right?"

Although, since they are of regal blood and pretty much led a galactic revolution, in the right context they can be very calculative. You will piss your pants.

27: What causes them to feel dread?

I've explored this theme a bit before, but let me wrap you up. For leading an uprising for centuries to overturn their government (which is their own parents but that's another story) and putting the empire to shits, they were captured after having their allies wiped out and sent in exile in space. On Phovivis, community is a pivotal element of life (although it has to be "perfect", just like everything else), so eternal exile is the greatest dishonor and worst punishment, as they pride themselves in being a civilised specie that does not do bodily harm. Hence Yrsinne was put in a small spacecraft and trapped there, levitating in a fixed point in a pitch black machine with no light, no sound, no touch. They were sent to a deep, deep corner of space thought to be empty to spend the rest of eternity in torture (or get sucked into a black hole and die). Fortunately their aircraft fell into a wormhole that lead somewhere to our solar system and they fell to Earth. All of this to say that they spent centuries, maybe millenia feeling nothing, and they are terrified of anything that might resemble that again. Obviously they suffer from severe ptsd from this horrible experience, and dread the dark, the silence and the lack of stimulation. Although there always is something going on on Earth, being in a dimly lit room will make them uneasy; and not being able to talk or hear life will make them panic. Hard. Refrain from mentionning space and cosmic eternity around them, they might become unresponsive for some time. For everyone's safety, please provide Yrsinne with a nightlight and background music at night. It is not easy to console a 7'2 ft and more than 300 lbs alien hunk. Beware of the claws.

Appart from these triggers, they are quite fearless and love a new sensation. You could stab them and they may thank you for making them discover man made weapons. The best of the team to send exploring weird and unsafe places.

H)What trait do you admire most?

Their huge muscles and dashing charm

Their curiosity and sheer power of will. Yrsinne wants to learn everything there is, explore every place, learn every name and eat every food. They experience new things with extasy and a kind of childish innocence, holding no prejudice and no doubt towards themselves. Yrsinne is very social and makes friends and connections easily. They are a resilient person, although their tough and confident experience hides deep insecurity and self loathing, they'll never give up on something they set their mind to. I love that for them and would like to be able to experience things as they do. We both may be socially inept but they're cool enough that no one cares. Teach me your ways alien child