#accursed giants

[tinta--branca--art]

Clanging pots and pans together @gendervapor14 your mind is huge for the corabelle+oc combo so here they are !!

[fisheito]

yakuya in MY swamp? in MY ecosystem? no . i am still in disbelief. i hope you all know that my particles are bouncing off the everything. i am using periods as punctuation but the state of my mind is naught neareth final.

[accursedkaleeshi]

More about Qymaen's family!

TL:DR: Qymaen’s privkliin (first family) was an amalgamation of the eastern most kolkpravis tribes. His father was Chieftain Rokrarri the Eye, who dutifully had to deal with a lot of shit. A large percentage of his headaches came from Qymaen’s self-important mother Priving Aayantiz & HER self-important mother Bataan Valgor’yz.

dang its 1k words again. also his brother Iqarn in the last pic w grandma. not sure if I like the colors or if he should look more like Qymaen.

         Qymaen’s father was Chieftain Rokrarri the Eye (of God, of the Sun, of Wash (titles evolved from latter to former & are interchangeable depending on who is talking)), Snap-Kill, Protector of East Wash. The man had to put up with a lot of shit. The tribes east of the Wash (the area of the Ausez steppes where the monsoons would flood down from the north) would often marry off members of the others for better relations. But the de facto matriarch of the East Wash kolkpravis bid Rokrarri to marry her daughter & 3 prominent daughters from the other representative tribes, tying all the area tribes together for the first time in recent history. The kolkpravis had agreed to go off to space for a cheeky bit of war at the bidding of the Republic. Those that stayed home would need to play nice. The outsiders couldn’t keep up with all of their tribes anyway.

In an uncharacteristic display of progressiveness, the tribes were 50% on board with this. Especially after seeing what the Republic’s rifles could do. (“Ayo that stick say SNAP & thing all the way over there DIEDT!” Kaleeshi word for rifle just translates to “snap stick” for the loud crack they make firing). The other 50% ranged from disgruntled to fuck-you-guys-I’m-going-home. They thought of the rifle as cheating, a dishonorable weapon. Many even thought that it set a bad precedent to do the Republic’s bidding & others still claimed Kaleesh had no business off world. Real boomer hours.

Cheiftan Rokrarri not only had to put up with half his people being assholes about literally anything he did, he had to put up with the princess of the Wash. His wife thought she was the best thing to hit the steppes since her mother, & perhaps she was right. But gods, the ancestor’s did not grace her with the meaning of humility. Aayantiz the Blood-Feeder, Daughter of the Kolkpravis, Axe of the Eye. Her most relevant title was Goriausz, which meant “horse eater”, but it wasn’t a rare enough title in the area for her liking so she chooses to go by Blood-Feeder. She earned this title by killing so many Muja raider camps that everyone remarked how she was feeding the plains with their blood.

Aayantiz was a great warrior indeed, but an insufferable glory hound. She couldn’t stand to be anything else. Since she insisted she was in charge she would ordinarily be given the title of Head Wife, but she did not like this. Instead, she insisted on the title Priving, which was a role of the family or community’s main hunter. Still she did not let any of her other wives claim to be Head Wife. Her wives eventually learned it was easier to let Aayantiz think she was right than to argue. The 3 other wives just had to accept that part of their duties for the rest of their lives was Aayantiz Damage Control. This was especially hard on the other hunt wife, whom didn’t have the luxury of staying at home to escape. She could often be found staring listlessly off into the middle distance.

And then the kolkpravis returned victorious from the war with next to nothing to show for it. The matriarch, having dissolved her own throne, came to live with her prized daughter’s young family. Despite not being a rare occurrence, one or more aging parents moving in with their adult children does come with its stigmas. They are much like our stigmas. Only, in this case, the mother-in-law is a bitter, arrogant warlord who is better than you at everything you do to include killing people.

Bataan Valgor’yz Splinter-Spite, Bitth Cracker, Rujkha’an of East Wash. Her birth name was Valyor’yz but she proved to be so stunningly violent that people started to call her Valgor’yz, with “gor” meaning “to kill with intent to eat”. Now here she was sentenced to the worst fate to a warrior: becoming a doddering community elder with nothing better to do than post up on the porch & complain. And, lord, did she ever. Aayantiz became even more insufferable like a terrible backdraft had occurred. She & her mother were an unrelenting echo chamber that had a lot of the East Wash listening enthusiastically. The Republic were lying cowards. Outsiders bring nothing but trouble (except for their cool stuff which we will take). As if this was hard earned information when the western continent had warned them beforehand.

As it was almost immediately obvious that Qymaen was very smart, he had no chance at a regular childhood & not for lack of trying. His hearth mothers did their best, bless them. Father tried to keep Qymaen busy to discourage Aayantiz from making a spectacle of him at any given opportunity. The ravings of Granny Val, meant to warn about Kalee’s place in the larger galaxy, instead fostered an intense awareness of a bigger picture in Qymaen & with it a gnawing fear for the safety of his fellow kaleesh.

[dni-iftherearedogsonyourblog]

DO NOT INTERACT WITH ME IF YOU HAVE RECENTLY REBLOGGED OR POSTED ANY DOG IMAGES.

(this means images of real/realistic dogs. mentioning dogs, stylized drawings of dogs are fine. also it's okay if they're tagged #dog)

She/They trans lesbian (I prefer they/them)

I'll try to trigger tag my stuff (If I miss anything, please tell me!), and any original posts will be tagged "accursed ramblings from the grimoire."

I run sideblogs @ditadoyb-but-t4t, @t-umblr-plays-loathing, and @tvtropesgimmickblog. (In descending order of how much I use them.)

Fandoms I'm a part of are Pathfinder, XKCD, Lisa the Painful, Darkest Dugeon, Town of Salem, Papa's Freezeria, West of / Shadows over Loathing, and Project Zomboid. (and I guess A Gun Game With No Name but no one posts about that)

Oh, also canine furries are fine for the most part, but werewolves are usually not.

[proxycrit]

LINKTOBER DAY 9: Death Mountain!

You may be a giant scary hand hydra made of fire and dark magics, but we’re a trio of plucky adventurers willing to shoot magnetic islands at you like the world’s most cursed rail gun.

(This au’s called Familiar Familiar! It’s a totk without the time travel)

Patreon, for those who wanna support me on my accursed quest!

[kneelingshadowsalome]

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 1/4

(König x F!Reader)

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Word count: 5.3 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Lol what now? König dual wields 2 swords, goes Mike Tyson on his enemies, teaches his captive girl constellations in German, cuddles her and feeds her grapes, buuut mainly just tries to get into her pants (which historically did not exist at the time) A bit of a slow burn, but don't worry, they'll bang eventually ^^

AD 90, somewhere in the untamed frontiers of the Roman Empire…

The end of the world is here.

Not only have the crops failed for two years in a row, making chieftains beggars and beggars food for the fish, but now there are rumours that the god of war has arrived to destroy the land. The accursed Romans had turned their eagle gaze back to your land after years of sending their troops elsewhere, making it seem like they were not interested in your distant land after all. Untamed, they called it, harsh and barren and therefore inferior – your lush, abundant, beautiful land. No doubt they spat on it in their war councils because your roads were not paved, because your crops and villages were modest, and the women sometimes fought alongside men. Their storytellers immortalized false tales about you, calling you barbarians, but the only barbarians you could think of were the Romans themselves – crude, filthy and boorish creatures, drowning in wine and shit in their cities.

Rumours started to get fat and distressed when the troops approached your village. They said there was a giant at the head of the army, that the Romans followed a Titan's son who loved to eat men, torture women and impale children. They said he didn't accept proper food but preferred to eat his fallen enemies, washed his weapons with the blood of children, and split captured women apart with his cock, as long and sharp as his sword. They told that the Titan ordered his soldiers to poison the wells and destroy the growing crops with salt and vinegar. The rumours said that his tent was bigger than any chieftain's house and that he still struggled to stand at full height inside it. 

Even the land itself seemed to bow before him. Good weather followed his conquest wherever he went; ambushes failed, scouts got caught and tortured, exposing more villages to pillage and ruin. Your brother told you to flee the village, but how could you survive without your clansmen? You didn't know how to hunt; you barely knew how to fish. Your task in the village was to gather clams from the shore, dye wool and help the old Seer. How long could you survive on sorrels and clams alone?  

. . .

The old woman calls you to see her on the brink of war, and tells you to prepare for a ceremonial offering. Two horses, black as night if possible, brown at the very least, to appease the Great Mother of the Earth and quench her thirst for blood. If the Mother is satisfied with your offering, She will perhaps stop the approaching army or convince the Titan to leave your village alone.

She does a small rite before you, and you need to stay with her through her visions. You hate the smell of the leaves she burns, and try to cover your nose with your tunic to prevent breathing in the bitter fumes. The seer looks like she’s just lying herself down to sleep, but it’s always a burden when the spirits arrive and she starts to talk. You turn your back on her to coax them to rise: a mortal stare annoys the chthonic ones. You nearly fall asleep too as you wait, wanting nothing more than to go back to your own hut and have a good night’s sleep. Perhaps because you’re lousy tonight, and less vigilant as you should be, the spirits arrive sooner than either of you thought.

“He’s strong,” the seer croaks from the earthen bed, and you fight the urge to turn around and peek at the old woman, currently in the clutches of spirits. 

“Invincible… Hungry... The horses…won’t suffice…”

She drifts someplace else, and you try to memorize every word, every intonation, as cryptic or as simple as they are, for later interpretation.

“I see you,” she says in a slightly more cheerful tone, which is odd because the old woman is never happy or satisfied, no matter how bright the sun shines or how much food there is in the storages and pits.

“Me?” You dare to speak even though you’re not allowed to disturb the spirits. You could slap yourself for blurting out a single word, but luckily, the hungry ones don’t attack you for your insolence.

“You.. will be his downfall,” she speaks as if you are having a conversation here. “Be there. When he arrives.”

“...Be there? Why?” You dare to utter again, more concerned about what the Mother implies than the potential fury of some lowly earthen spirits. You haven’t got the faintest clue about what She might be suggesting. Why do you have to participate in the battle? How can you be there without getting killed? You’re not a warrior… The Mother has it all wrong. 

Suddenly, you curse the night, you curse the whole day, knowing your brother’s late proposal was perhaps a warning, a hint from the gods to leave, and leave quickly.

The old woman laughs dryly on the ground - the throaty, outright sick cackle makes you flinch. 

You don’t like this... You don’t like this at all.

“Mother. What must I do?” You demand to know, thinking about how all the gods, spirits, old women, and Titans should go to hell.

“Become a tree,” the old woman offers as if it’s the easiest thing to do. “A flower. Me...”

. . .

You become a marten first, then a bird. Then perhaps a tree.

You climb a spruce and wait there. You wait until the sunrise; you wait until noon. You wait until you see the glint of the Roman spearheads and hear the sound of their march.

You’ve dreamed of the Titan ever since you left the seer’s hut. You’ve dreamed of him slaying everyone in the village; you’ve dreamed of him driving a thick spear into the ground and grabbing you with an intent to raise you into the air and impale you on it. You’ve dreamed of him behind you, above you, inside you. You wake up one morning only to see that half of the people have left. You don’t know where they have gone, and you can’t follow them even if you did because the old woman waits for you in front of her hut and gives you a nod the instant you walk into another beautiful, sunny day.

That’s why you’ve turned into a branch in a tree, but for what purpose, you have no idea. You can’t understand why you must be here to witness the world’s end.

Your men scream and shout and roar as they crash into the thick forest of spears. The enemy is silent: it’s eerie, how the world burns and falls into ruin around you, people are screaming; everyone who has a soul and a heart is screaming for Mother as they die, but the men behind the Roman shields refuse to emit a sound. They don’t curse or shout or summon their gods; they simply stand their ground and pant mist into the air as wave after wave of men break on their shields and die before their feet. Somebody loses his spear because it gets stuck between your clansman’s ribs, but the Roman simply draws his sword in its stead: it’s the only sound among the pitched wails that cut through the forest – the cold, clear ring of a gladius being pulled from its sheath.

That is why you flinch at the sound of the first shout, a brutish command that sends all the shields to the side, only to present more shields: the Romans switch positions in their formation as if they’re not even human beings like the rest of you, just a single enormous creature made of iron and leather and bone, operating it's flat forest of weapons.

And then you see him: the giant of your dreams, the hungry titan everyone has told you about. He rises from the tide of helmets like a summoned god, concealed as one of the soldiers and only now revealing his true nature. He stands at least two heads taller than the rest, pushes his own soldiers to the side and breaks out of the formation these vicious Romans love so much. You knew he would be strong and big, but you didn't know he refused to show his face… You wonder what kind of a monster hides behind the black cloth with nothing but two eye holes ripped on it. As if this man needed the additional effort to stand out from other soldiers...

He's like a God of War, just like the survivors said: his armour is of Roman design, but the amount of metal that had to be scraped together to cover this man's shoulders and chest must've demanded a fortune in gold. He doesn't seem to care about the Roman ways, however: he throws his shield away as soon as he's out of the cumbersome formation as if he has carried it only as a decoration up until this point. He draws another sword in its stead – if any other man did such a stupid thing, traded his shield for a weapon, you would snort. But not now.

Standing between the Romans and your clansmen like a challenge, a threat, a deity, even the men possessed by the seer's blood spells hesitate to approach him. But when they do, the god unleashes carnage: the first warrior gets his stomach slashed open, and the two thick swords look like toothpicks when wielded by this man. A stomach wound is a gruesome, slow way to die - but just before the warrior's entrails spill to dangle between his feet, the brute grants him mercy by sweeping his head off with a single blow of his gladius. 

A roar finally rises from your enemy: they cheer Death on as the head of your neighbour meets the mud next. The soil is already soaked in blood, but the Mother is hungry still. The forest booms with Her bloodlust as the god moves around like a slow tempest of muscle, metal and darkness: he breaks every Roman rule by fighting as his own man instead of demeaning himself as one of them, a lowly part of this odd metal beast before you. He sends a limb flying in the air with a swing of a sword; he uses the same weapon as a bludgeon to bash in someone's skull. He crushes a man's chest simply by sinking down onto one knee, breaking bone, tendon and flesh to splinters as a whole ribcage gets crushed under his massive weight. 

Warriors flee before him, they fall under the combined wrath of the Mother and the Titan's sword. The dead seem to fall eternally, along with your heart, before meeting the ground with a hollow thud. 

Your chieftain is among the last men standing, meeting this unstoppable foe with admirable courage. Not having succumbed to the spells of bloodlust in years, he meets his death as a seasoned but old warrior. With his fighting years behind him, your chief doesn't have a chance against this man, but you have to grant the beast a feather's worth of honour, because he recognizes your chieftain as the veteran he is and salutes him with his sword. Then he proceeds with the bloodbath: flinging your leader's sword and axe easily to the side, he walks straight into his arms like he would into a hug, grabs him by the waist, and raises him into the air like he's nothing but a child. 

Your scream never leaves your lungs as you watch how the Titan raises the draping cloth from his face, just enough to sink his teeth into your beloved chieftain’s neck. The noise that erupts from your elder is not that of a man but a tortured animal. It’s not from this world, what you witness next: the giant tears a hunk of flesh from your chief like he’s a piece of roasted meat. Blood streams forth, his screams fade away all too slowly, and you hear your own weak wail in the air as the Titan lets go of the heap that used to be a strong male and a wise leader. 

Your chieftain is dead; his essence spills to the earth in spurts to appease the God of War, who spits blood and flesh to the ground, making you gag into the cold spring air. 

Then he raises his swords towards the sun, and the forest erupts into a roar with him: the thundering, ear-splitting cheer from his warriors makes the very earth quake beneath your tree. It seems to shake the branches of the forest, and before you know it, the giant’s howl of triumph breaks the one you’re curled around, and you fall, fall, fall into the mud beneath you. 

You're not a tree anymore. No: you’re very much a human woman there in the dirt as the sound of shouting ceases like a distant dream. 

And he turns. 

Death turns.

Mother always said you were a curious creature, which is perhaps why you search for his eyes, even though you should be running. She also said you were a smart one, which is why you know that running is futile. Your limbs wouldn’t carry you far anyway. It is a cruel joke from the gods to have what little strength you have left pour out of you into the ground and up to the feet of the enemy who is already strong, both in body and in will.

The Titan looks at you with genuine wonder, a curiosity that surpasses your own. To your odd thrill, you find that his eyes are blue: the same blue of the sea which you used to collect delicious clams from. 

The soldiers behind him shift with lust – their gear clinks as they devour you with unbridled hunger. The Titan is the only one who looks at you like you’re simply a cute little squirrel who happened to fall from a tree right there at his feet. Then his eyes drop to your breasts, and the familiar hunger that lives in men gives the ocean of his eyes a clouded look. When his stare finds yours again, he's a different man: the treacherous beast of your dreams.

You had hoped for a swift death… Violent but quick. But it’s clear that it’s not death he has in store for you as he takes a step towards you. It’s not a quick nor a slow death; it’s not death at all, because–

No.

No.

You’d rather have your arms torn off and fed to the Romans rather than have him thrust the sword between his legs, his third weapon, inside you. If you’re going to die screaming, it will not happen on your back; you will not amuse this beast with your womanhood and tears.

You scramble forward to pick up something, anything: a bronze dirk from a fallen warrior. The giant’s eyes fall on the sad excuse of a weapon, then on the sorry excuse of you. He thinks you’re planning to fight him with that thing, and the corners of his eyes crease a little from the prospect of having to subdue you. You’re proving to be quite the entertainment, and you curse those eyes, looking so kind and lively when just moments ago, the same eyes were inhuman and possessed. His are the eyes of a wayfarer, a wanderer, not a soldier: you catch a hint of sadness in them and curse again.

He’s not human, you remind yourself and show him what actual humans are made of. What women are made of. You give him another name, Giant, because you’ve always feared giants and hated the stories about them. Dumb and reckless creatures they are, stupid destroyers who always place their trust in their size. You never meant to fight him, and he only catches up on it as you turn the dagger towards yourself and guide it to point straight at your heart. 

You will be his downfall, just like the seer said.

“Nein–Warte,” the Giant speaks his first words, surprisingly soft to belong to a man like him. 

The sorrow in his stare consumes you in full now. It gushes forth like a tide, causing your breath and hands to shake when they need to be stern. You straighten your spine, jut your chin forward, and call for Mother: you don’t even know if you’re yelling for your bearer, or the Great Mother, or the earth that gives life to all. Perhaps you call them all to gather around and witness your sacrifice, higher in price than any of the Titan’s offerings combined. The blood you’re about to spill onto the soil will surely appease the land and raise it to arms to finally fight against this beast. 

He says something else just before you pull the blade back to strike it into your chest, and you curse for the third time in your mind: giants aren’t supposed to move that fast; they aren’t supposed to interfere in your last ritual. 

But the worst of it is that even when he finally subdues you, even as he wrestles the blade away from you, he ends up drawing a large gash on his forearm… As if he is trying his best to protect you from accidentally cutting yourself.

. . . 

You are brought to his tent, screaming. 

It’s not as big as a chieftain’s house; it’s barely the size of yours. But it is larger than the tents you saw when you got carried there: as a spitting, screeching, hissing package of what these brutes would no doubt consider a true barbarian woman with uncivilized manners and a fuckable cunt. They will talk about you around their campfires tonight: about you getting broken in by their true commander. It’s enough to satisfy them for now: to imagine their champion to fuck you bloody and sore. And who knows: perhaps they’ll receive the scraps if the Titan gets tired of you.

The precious dagger is somewhere in the mud, probably trampled there like it’s nothing but a piece of worthless metal. Your own trampling is only about to begin as the Giant marches into his abode and sends the men away, giving you uneasy looks in the process, perhaps checking if any of them had enough time to have a go at you. Luckily for him, you’re in the same condition as he left you: legs together, safe and pretty, because he bound them with a rope along with your hands. You are nothing but a delivery, thrown on the floor of dirt and a few animal skins. He just nods at you, happy to acknowledge that you are untouched by the others, as if it would somehow be worse for you to be raped by ten of those petite men than be raped by him: a cruel, bloodthirsty Giant with a giant cock. 

Your ankles and wrists get sore as you watch him doff his armour. He takes off the helmet, the belted straps, the segmented plates of his shoulder guards and the heavy Roman cuirass. The gods have truly favoured this man, not only gifting him tremendous height but insurmountable strength too. His muscles are large and lean and quiver with latent power as he moves; his back is so broad it almost competes with the wide mouth of the tent. He doesn’t seem to suffer from the cold either, but he keeps his mask on for whatever ghastly reason. Even if there is a monster under that mask, his body speaks of virility: he’s a man in his prime, a giant at his strongest, making you feel like an elf, a tiny little creature in the feet of this man who must be descended from titans indeed.

You continue to watch as he washes his hands in a small basin, cleans his mouth and neck, too. You reckon the water in that bowl is blood red and dark when he finally dries himself with a white cloth. He stands before you in nothing but his mask and the dark red tunic he had under the armour. He ties it from the waist with a simple leather belt, and it only now makes sense to you why Roman soldiers dye their clothes red: you’re pretty sure you can still see the darker spots on the hem of that tunic, the ones that used to be the lifeblood of your clansmen and kin.

He has the audacity to ask you - wordlessly - to clean his wound, the one you caused him. He sets you free from your bounds, and you are given fresh water and another cloth. He even opens a smallish wooden box of salve that has a familiar smell to it: pine tar and honey, used by your people to treat minor wounds and prevent bad spirits from getting into the wound. You wonder how he even knows about such a balm: is this warrior a Roman at all, or is he some odd creature hauled from the edges of the world to fight for them? You wonder if he has made the salve himself, extracted the tar from the pine and foraged the wax and honey himself, then cursed with his coarse language when he got stung by multiple bees…

You drive away the thoughts that threaten to make this brute human by snorting at his injury. The damage he gave to himself when he tried to guide the blade away from you at the price of his own blood. 

It still troubles you that he did it. Even a tiny wound like this can bring any man down if it starts to fester. The cold winds and rains of spring can easily get into the gash and make it rot. 

The idea of this giant being forced to his knees because of some filthy dagger wielded by a squirrel of a woman makes you smile inside. It would be a fitting fate for this man. But the vision also makes your heart sting. The thought of him dying of a simple flesh wound, alone and far away from his home, makes your heart grow kinder than it should. 

You decide there is nothing you can do but treat his arm, strong and scarred from previous battles. He sits down while you get to stay on the ground, and you try to ignore it that your face is now level with his groin. He sits with a wide spread in those powerful thighs, and you wonder if it's because the rumours about his cock are true. You keep your eyes everywhere else except the hem of that tunic and what's going on under there. He purrs at your touch, making it clear that it doesn't need much more than your soft fingertips to get him hard after a triumphant day on the field of battle. 

The wound is not deep, but you clean it carefully, trying to ignore the way his eyes seem to bore into you as you take care of him. Your hand is somewhat steady as you treat the damage with the nice-smelling salve, but you flinch as his hand suddenly meets your cheek. You look up at him, heart plummeting, thighs instinctively pressing together from the gentle way with which he cups your face.

“Schön,” he says, again with a tender voice and an adoring, almost worshipful stare. You don’t have a clue what he’s saying, but you know now for sure that it's not the tongue of the Romans he speaks. The scent of pines and bees lingers between you as he brushes a thumb over your lower lip. You are weak enough to give him a breath, a helpless, hot little exhale that meets his hand like a gift.

“Schön wie eine Fee,” he rumbles, sounding intoxicated or like he's under a spell of sleep.

“What the hell are you saying,” you whisper in your own tongue: just a meek little sputter, a tiny, horrified breath, but the giant’s eyes narrow with a smile.

“Sie redet,” he says happily, and your shoulders sink – you are on the verge of screaming from frustration alone. Whatever you do seems to only amuse this man, and you snap your mouth shut. Your cheeks heat up with recurring waves of odd fever. The ground beneath your shins is all but warm, and yet you feel warm all over: a dangerous sign, you know, and oddly tied to the peculiar bodings you have seen all week.

Because there have been many omens in the air lately. 

It’s just that none of them were portents of war. 

The cranes started to mate early this year, and you have found a lot of clams from the shore every day. Even your brother encountered a boar with nine piglets; everyone celebrated him as some holy man who had seen the Great Mother when he returned to the village that day. The wind started to blow from south soon after, and the moon has grown along with your womb: this morning, on the brink of war, you woke up wet and restless. 

All the omens speak of fertility, of growth, of a new cycle and of birth: of spring and life. There’s nothing about death and decay, nothing except what the people have told you about… him. The death himself. The war god.

“König,” he says as if he can hear your thoughts and wishes to correct them. You look up and see he’s pointing to himself, or rather, holding his hand over his heart. You fight the urge to scoff at the gesture. As if this beast had a heart…

“König,” he repeats the word and pats his chest, and you realize he’s trying to tell you his name. You wrinkle your nose in distaste, and he smiles. It’s easy to tell when he does, even with the cloth that covers his face: you can see the joy clearly from his eyes, the boyish grin that must be occurring under that mask.

“Du?” He points at you next, inquisitive. He has an odd way of pointing: with two fingers, slightly crooked, and you understand very well what he’s asking of you. You refuse to tell him your name, however, settling for pouting a lip at him next. The smile in his eyes only deepens.

“Fee,” he pokes you gently on the shoulder and leans back in his odd Roman chair, seemingly content with having now named you. 

And Mother was right: you are curious, so incredibly curious to know what this beast has chosen to call you and why. Are you a rat to him…? Some bird? Perhaps simply a girl?

He is so pleased with your conversation that he pours himself some wine and drinks the whole cup with one gulp. Great, you sigh inside your head, a beast and a drunkard. He pours another cup and tries to offer it to you, and when you don’t make a move to grab the clay mug, he brings it to your lips. You entertain him with a tiny sip: you’ve heard of wine and know that Romans are fond of it, but you have never tasted it yourself. 

The tart, bitter flavour almost makes you cough. You thought wine was supposed to be sweet: everyone always describes it as something like milk or honey or juice from an overripe apple. It very much is not, and you almost choke on it and then make a wry face at your captor. He - König - only laughs. It’s another thing that catches you off guard: first those boyish, sad eyes and now this hearty, grown man’s laugh. You have proved to be such an amusement to him that he doesn’t force you to drink any more wine and enjoys the rest of it himself. 

Then he rises and makes you shrink from him again, towers above you for a moment, and looks at you with that warm curiosity that makes your heart race.

“Müde?” 

He tilts his head, the bag of darkness shifts, the blue eyes behold you fondly, and for some reason, you whimper an answer to yet another question you can’t even understand. He takes your little squeak as a yes and falls to crouch before you, then raises a massive hand to the leather strings that keep your demure little dress up. 

To your horror, he pulls the knotted tangle open before you can stop him. Your dress falls from your shoulders and drops to pool around you, and you simply and verily stop breathing.

His eyes wash over you, he examines every little part of exposed skin like an entire treasure chest has suddenly opened before him. You pray to all the gods that he would find it in his heart to be gentle tonight. Your nipples perk up – from the cold or from his stare, you don’t know. 

The rough callous of his palm meets your breast and encloses it in warm support. He cups you, weighs you like he would a fruit, and then he squeezes you, rather hard, too: a deliberate attempt to make you squeal again. He replies to your pathetic mewl with an approving rumble, and you look up at him with all the helpless tenderness of the Mother, hoping that Her gentle pleas might persuade this man not to hurt you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, and his eyes dart to your mouth, to your eyes, then back to your lips again. He immediately softens his touch. Then he lifts you from inside your poor dress, picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, and carries you to his broad bed, the sturdiest you have ever seen. 

This man feels like the strangest of fates, like a hopeless destiny, as he sets you on the skins and straw mattress, right next to your fluttering heart. Your insides ache as he undresses before you, entirely without shame. He’s hard under the tunic he rips off and tosses on the cold ground. Your eyes are glued to the legendary cock you’ve heard so much about, the cock that splits women apart: and it’s true that it's huge. It resembles the ones you’ve seen on horses, not on men, and your thighs are glued together as he comes next to you while that pale, monstrous cock sways long and heavy between his thighs. He moves you around a little, and you squeal from how weak you feel: weak as a mouse as he covers you with one of those rich furs he has in plenty on the bed. Then crawls under it too, right next to you.

Your heart almost wrenches itself out of your chest as a strong arm pulls you against him: the swell of your ass meets his thighs, solid and broad like treetrunks, and your lower back meets the hot, almost too hot horse cock. It starts to leak and throb against your skin the instant your flesh is pressed against his. You try not to whimper and moan as the Giant, König, curls around you like you two have always done this.

He takes a long, earnest inhale from your neck and hair, rumbles deeply and contently, and tightens his grip. Apparently, you smell and feel good… 

You wait and wait to be plundered and raped, but König only settles for holding you tightly, like you’re a children’s toy made of the softest straw and purest undyed wool. You relax slowly, and he purrs against your back, starts to fondle your breasts, ardently, until your body betrays you and you find yourself wet again; he squeezes and squishes your teats slowly, approvingly, then pinches your nipple once before finally falling into a heavy, deep sleep.

…

Please forgive your author for any historical inaccuracies and other silly things you find facepalmable <3 During this time König would've probably spoken some form of Old Saxon but since I'm not a TOLKIEN we have to settle for modern-day German here. I don't have a taglist for this fic so please check my pinned masterlist for future updates.

Translations

Nein, warte - No, wait

Schön - Beautiful 

Schön wie eine Fee - Beautiful as a fairy

Sie redet - She talks

Du? - You?

Müde? - Tired?

[fanaticsnail]

Dreaming of You

Series Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,800+

Synopsis: There was something not right about this scenario. Fear gripped you as you lay helpless and quivering beneath a figure you had never met. Fear gripped you, and the cusps of reality slipped further from you the deeper you gave in to his motions.

Themes: Accursed Prince Loki x afab!reader, dub con, non con hinted, size difference: extra large, Elbaf spoiler warning, NSFW, 18+, MDNI, smut, nightmares, terror themes, threats, violence threatened, fear, enemies that remain enemies.

Notes: Art by @skullfacedlady, to whom this fic is dedicated to because she needs more content with this beautiful, terrifying man. It is also not how I regularly write this little series, but I couldn't resist a little twist because my hand slipped. Position also heavily inspired by @don-mellow's art on Twitter (NSFW link). Two beautiful artists making me fall in love with this accursed prince, and it's a long way to tumble.

The atmosphere was sparsely illuminated by dull tongues of fire. Flickering against the cobblestone and revealing the giant’s mane and helm, a sinister grin split up his cheeks as he stooped below towards your small, quivering frame.

“Poor tiny human,” he purrs down at you, his voice reverberating in the chasms of your chest and causing your lips to quiver in fright. “All afraid and shaking.”

The rattles of the chains shackling his wrists was the only forewarning he gave before your clothes were split and shredded by one deliberate swipe. Fear gripped you as you were now bare before the giant, your eyes widening and flesh puckering in the cool of the air.

“No need for that face,” he chuckled, reaching down and expelling his cock from its bonds in his leathery pants. The tip was blushed a pretty hue of red, now revealed with a crude slap of his shaft springing up and catching on his stomach. “I have no intention of hurting my little plaything. Quite the contrary, in fact.”

The shudder in your body was the only response you made, your voice physically unable to speak or scream at the man to halt his actions. He dove down towards you, throat chuckling as a hefty wave of his warm breath met your flushed skin.

“I just want a look,” he growled in a deep baritone, “Open your legs for me, or I will open them for you. Trust, plaything, the former would be far more pleasant for you. Ankles to your ass, knees to the side. Now.”

A sob hitched in your throat as you made to move your body. As he said, you drew your feet slowly up to the bottom of your ass and butterflied your knees out to the sides. Turning your face away from him, you clenched your eyes shut and whimpered as you felt the huffs of his breath journey ever closer.

“Would you look at that, wee plaything,” his voice held a tone of teasing to it, “Such a pretty, flushed cunt all there for the taking.”

You screamed at him internally, pleading and begging for him to not attempt to put his cock inside you. It would kill you, given the fact his cock was larger than the size of you in your entirety.

His meaty fingers brushed against your side, tickling you with his teasing advances. You flinched away from his touch, but it only made him all the more enthusiastic about your little display. Drawing his hand up your torso, he used one hand to draw up both of your wrists to pin above your head by a single index finger.

“You know when I said ‘I just want a look’ just now?” he growled, stooping ever closer to you and dragging his whiskered chin over your naked chest.

“I lied.”

Just as you opened your eyes and began to make a motion to scream at him to halt, his fat tongue fled from his lips and licked a long stripe from your cunt up to your head. The slippery saliva dampened your pores, nipples pebbling as his hot breath cooled your skin when impacting the stripe. Your legs threatened to close to avoid the cold, but that thought was all but sprung from your head when his tongue returned to you.

Through panted, muffled breaths, the larger giant growled at you as he drew his slippery organ up and down your body.

“If you close your legs, plaything,” he mouthed at your skin, taking your cunt and ass into his mouth and flicking his tongue in messy circles behind his lips, “I'll bite the fucking things off. Leave them parted.”

You screamed internally at the thought, actions frozen in place as your thighs and knees became damp within the giant’s mouth. His smile only grew when he tasted your arousal beginning to pool over his tongue. Drawing your ass away from his mouth, he focussed the attention of his tongue against your slit: flicking his larger tongue against your clit to the best of his focussed abilities.

His tongue was porous, feeling each dip and elevation due to the insane size difference. It was larger than any cock you had seen in the past. The tip alone, now pointed and focussed, being of greater size than any toy you had found for yourself.

While pinning you with one hand, he reached his cock and began pumping it below you both. The drooling cock head twitched with every down thrust, the veins flooding his shaft with desire only swelling his need for you.

“That's it,” he praised you, the vibrations of his voice causing you to wail and arch your back towards his touch, “Give in to it. I'm not going to stop. Too much fun to be had between us, plaything.”

You felt the first cusps of ecstasy call to you, tingling in your toes and swelling within your chest. The muted moans and cries fleeing your lips held a gloomy echo, your eyes refusing to make contact with the beast lurking below you as he consumed your lust and drove you off the cusps of insanity.

“I can feel how close you are,” he chuckled, fucking his fist by bucking his hips down, “Let me hear you scream for me.” His thrusts were as manic as his tongue continued to flicker and swirl against your cunt.

Instead of maintaining focus of simply the tip of his tongue alone, he moved back to lengthy stripes, dressing your ass, cunt, and chest in a marriage of his saliva and your arousal each time.

It felt wrong on more levels than simply one. This giant’s touch, the way you couldn't speak, how you had no true control over yourself or how you responded to his words or actions, it was all too wrong. Just as you shook your head to attempt to free you of this internal line of questioning, your stomach clenched and sparks began to fly behind your eyes.

Euphoria bloomed in your stomach and flooded your veins with sparks and lightning. Releasing your ecstasy over the giant's tongue while screaming out in bliss, the giant moaned and chuckled down at you. Lulling and lapping, he greedily overstimulated you while you rode the waves of your high.

Pulling away, a large string of saliva connected his tongue to your cunt while he rose away from your panting and heaving form. Pumping his cock viciously, his tip began to bubble pearls of precum into his fist.

“What a pretty plaything,” he groaned out for you, his voice picking up in the corners of his throat, “I'm going to paint you to claim as mine. Look up at me now, plaything.”

His demands had your eyes meeting with the concealed gaze behind cream-coloured bandages, before your vision blurred by a crude splash of his cum meeting your face. Ropes of hot white uncoiled and burned against your head, torso, thighs, and cunt: almost drowning you in the sheer size of his load. Coughing and spluttering was all you could do as the giant barked out a cackled string of laughter.

“We are going to have so much fun together,” the giant’s voice echoed within your ears, muffled by viscous cum flooding your features.

With a fit of fiery adrenaline, you tore your hands away from his grip and sat upright. Eyes wide and manic, you continued on to release a blood curdling scream that rang throughout your quarters. Body covered in sweat, breath hitching in fear, undergarments covered with your sticky release, your eyes immediately found the door as it flung wide.

Immediately springing towards you, hands of rubber surrounded your form and coiled around you. The familiar feeling of your captain surrounding you was not unwelcome. Your arms immediately found their way to wrap around his back and bury your head in the crook of his neck.

“I couldn't move, I couldn't speak,” you sobbed manickly, curling into the embrace with your tears dampening his red best, “I was stuck, helpless, afraid. I couldn't-.”

“-Shh,” he hushed you, speaking your name slowly and quietly as he nuzzled against your head, “I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Just breathe with me, okay? Just in and out slowly. Just like you're smelling some of Sanji’s barbeque and blowing on it because the meat’s too hot.”

In your manic state, you manage to chuckle through the tears as your captain empathetically mirrored your laughter. He tightened the grip he had on you, squeezing his eyes shut and calming himself down alongside you.

He was usually a deep sleeper, but there was something about the way you screamed that seemed all too familiar to him. The helplessness, the fear, the torment. It was not a good scream to hear from anyone, least of all from his counsellor.

He invited you to serve on his ship because you had a natural gift. He couldn't put a name to it, nor could you, but you seemed to harbor a great amount of knowledge of decisions that lead to the best and worse outcomes in any given situation. Similarly to the way Nami can read the weather, you have this intuition regarding the future, knowing what would come to pass before it ever occured.

It doesn't happen often, not ever to this degree, and it could've simply been a nightmare: but it was so vivid, it caused you such great distress. Not only the vision itself, but the content of it. It was like you were trapped, and there was no one there to save you.

“When you're ready, and if you're able,” Luffy whispered against your ear, still trying to have you breathe with him with his arms surrounding you, “Tell me what happened. I'll listen, no matter if it was just a sea cow eating a part of The Sunny.”

He pulled away from your head, peering down and beaming at you with a smile. You gazed up at him through damp lashes and felt your breath control return to you. At the door to your quarters, the remainder of the crew stood in a variety of dress: from pajamas to their regular clothes, they all stood waiting for your words to come to you.

“It was a giant,” you whimpered softly, design your eyes between the two caramel orbs harboring nothing but love and understanding down at you, “And there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

“We've fought giants before,” Luffy nodded down at you, his brilliant grin still shining down on you as he smoothed your scalp with his hand, “Nothing we can't handle. We'll be right there with you, fighting the thing to the death. You'll see.” He whispered your name, holding you close and nodding down.

“That's just the thing, Captain,” you whispered back at him, breath as chilled as the grave and teeth chattering with your confession.

“You weren't there.”

“I'll see you soon, little plaything.”

Deep within the bowels of Elbaf, the larger giant chuckled with a large grin splitting up his cheeks. Cum covering his his belly, sheet discarded alongside his pants hanging limply off his ankles, chains rattling on his wrists, he continued to bark out laughter as he drew his fingers and palm over his sticky release.

Gathering the seed in the pads of his fingertips and smearing it over his flesh, he sighed out with a touch of whimsy in his tone.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @ane5e

[anantaru]

— telling him “we need to talk”

including childe, gorou, alhaitham, scaramouche x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, crack, childe's part is a bit sad, we‘re evil, they're panicking

— childe

"oh! and one last thing." you pause, luring a deep gulp of air through your snagged throat, "can you come over tonight? we need to talk."

correspondingly, childe groggily rubbed his eyes and frowned at the wearisome remembrance of your previous accursed encounter— it just couldn't leave him alone, that constricted gruff of panic.

the words you had spoken out earlier were continuing to peskily repeat themselves through his psyche, again and again— like a virus progressively taking over its host— and it did, wretchedly slow, even after he finished a couple more salient tasks of his work.

did something happen between you both? or did he unintentionally do something he should be aware of but isn't?

nowadays, he had been abundantly occupied with carrying on the crucial duties as the eleventh fatui harbinger, essentially the befalling of the various nations all around teyvat in search of the enigmatic gnosis.

consequently, ajax would go on about balancing his private life together with his work in a notably strategic way. He had always made it a habit to keep the serious out of your relationship, though now he was debating wether or not that was your last straw.

because you see, ajax was convinced you'd actually dump him tonight.

so, well, under those circumstances, yeah, it's fine, he's fine, or wasn't he? after all he couldn't force you to stay, maybe, he's joking, perhaps.

he gave himself a second to rewind his rational thinking in search of a breakout from this state of affairs but instead, a rising silence befell his mind and he couldn't concentrate for the life of him.

by that means, childe was inordinately nervous and a dizzying sense of anxiety had been manifesting from inside out— his breathing too, had become nimble, he felt as if someone had been suddenly suffocating him with a giant plastic bag over his head.

and then presently, there he was.

without a way to escape he was soon trapped in between the door and your body when he closed it shut behind him. You had made him follow you to the living room— your face, without a doubt, undisturbed and calculative which didn't make the appalling situation any better, due to this action his dreadful judgment prevailed over him much more unyielding.

he began to hatch a plot; because if he manipulates his emotions good enough while bamboozling himself over and over that he was in fact, okay, he'll maybe not suffer from an integral cardiac arrest after this blood curdling conversation.

for a brief period of time childe had been wholly iced to the ground, awaiting your voice. You turned around to face him, silence, a long and grueling five seconds of unbroken staring when you in confusion, pucker your brows together, "what's with you?"

he was overcome by a flat sense of both irritation and surprise at how casual you sounded, "w— what?" childe didn't mean to stutter out his words like that, but his voice was still distressfully stricken.

"you seem sick." you note, directly holding your hand towards his face to keep it on top of his forehead, a flicker of concern eroding inwardly, childe winced at that and he bleeds into your touch, it was alleviating and he missed it, "no fever."

your apprehensive tone faded when you hastened to follow up your words, "i'm glad, because there's this thing i need your help with." you press yourself into his body, "it's a present for a family member." with your lips instantly split into a humane smile, you settled to tease him, ruffling his hair a bit.

childe thought this had to be some kind of metaphysical fantasy he had been trapped in the moment he entered your home, could he be hallucinating or did dottore really mix something into his orange juice earlier?

one of the first couple skills he had learned in the fatui was to always keep a clear head, yet right now he didn't have the time to even recompose himself nor did he realize that he‘s been standing in front of you without moving an inch— it‘s as if he was currently deciphering a difficult secret riddle in his mind and wholly forgot about your presence.

ultimately, you had caught up on the panic and the unintentional perpetual twitch in his eyes, "hey." a sigh of relief, so soft yet it brought him to tears, he felt your hand shelter his once more, the tone on his face grew a bit lower and delicate— a little more allayed.

without trying to conceal his worry now, childe responds clearly to you, "i thought i did something." he blurted out— barely, his throat was still clenched and a continuing dread thudded in his heart.

his eyes widened and a light bead of sweat formed just above his browbone. The thought that you might‘ve broken up with him vehemently churned and wrecked a deep havoc in his gut, it almost had him see white of terror.

you saw the glint of fear— the panic, and closed the distance of your bodies, wrapping your arms around his waist to pull him close, "you didn‘t." the sound of your voice seized his heart and he breathed out a shaking heave.

"because you‘re perfect to me."

as an instinctive counter, his eyes squinted a little of a bigger smile and a shadow of boundless solace stamped in his veins. effectively, he can breathe easily now— be that as it may but for childe to purely envision a skid second without you by his side hurt him so much, if the control of his body hadn't been as well trained by him as it was, he'd tremble into your enfold.

"i‘m sorry." you patted his warm, rosy cheek with a kiss, "i didn't mean to make you feel this way." the tepidity of your eyes felt like the sun buzzing on a sweet summer day, "don't apologize." he stated and swallowed hard, returning your hug.

"i love you." he's leaning his face against your head and closed his eyes shut, "i love you too, ajax." a tear— just one, was then glissading down his cheek at your well spoken words, .

— gorou

"gorou, we need to talk, i finally made up my mind."

talk about what? the great weather on watasumi island?

meanwhile gorou nearly lost what little self restraint he had left in his soul— his right ear repeatedly twitching and serving as a bodily response. However, the way he had acknowledged the teeny tiny letter in his hand in the first place— with the disreputable words frumpily scrabbled on top of it with a black pencil, was largely concerning, he realized.

gorou didn't move for a couple seconds and remained by his own company— in silence, now his eyes grew a tone darker, because he was beginning to feel sick to his stomach, precisely the lower area, a stormy tornado of panic exuberantly nagging on the base of his spine.

what was it that he did because there must've been something he had to mess up if you're handling the situation in that precise way.

fundamentally speaking, (and that was the most irritating component in this whole situation) for you, to not say it out right away but rather have a hand written letter sent over to his office— it's ambiguous, everything turned out to be like a complete mess and he was a part of it.

to say he was both bewildered and crushed combined into one heavy ball of perplexing emotions was a restrained statement. Because truthfully, he was on the brink of a mental breakdown, his face was now hiding in his palms while he leaned further into the desk.

"it's over." he's talking under his own breathing, "that must be the case!"

if you have figured out one thing about your boyfriend— it was that he had a habit of talking to himself whenever he was pressurized by an crucial mission or something was simply bothering him.

he (himself) stated that it was an eminent way of analyzing his scattered thoughts and bring down all meaningless components should there be any at hand.

having said that, you would mentally applaud him because gorou was a genius, it was a great way— while not the one that would be of any need to him right now.

he decided to go all out and search for you— from his perspective, there wasn't any other way. Gorou had previously decoded that you must've been at your home by now, his work wasn't far off anyways so he could show up any time— yet unannounced but this was an emergency, he noted.

for gorou there wasn't anything more important than his relationship with you, it was a part he'd protect vigorously, yet if you were to dump him tonight, that's a different story because then he wouldn't know what to do nor how to retaliate.

considering that, he had been vastly comfortable with you to the point that he simply cannot envision a life without you by this side.

so, yes, maybe that's why he was so tense and anxious moving forward to your home. Little does he realize it wasn't quite how he had imagined it because truth was, gorou didn't do anything wrong.

you see, for a while now, you had been greatly pondering with the thought on your living situation, after all, you had been a couple for a long time and moving in together was the next designated step to be taken.

resultantly you had talked about this with gorou, yet only once and the timing wasn't the best either. If it was for him, he had long since forgotten it, in any other occasion he was a great listener and infallibly did his best to memorize whatever important topic you had to say to him.

but as an automatic result of the miscommunication taking place, gorou had visualized how he thought the conversation would end up, it being with you dumping him for good.

on the other side of the coin there was you, so very happy you could barely wait to tell him that you want to finally approach the next step and move in together.

the moment you let him into your home, you, as always, you greeted him with a kind hug which caught him completely off guard, obviously he wasn't expecting it. You knew your boyfriend very much, so when you saw him in the composition he was currently in, you almost gasped out loud by the terror.

his eyes were sunken and he seemed a bit pale, his ears too, were pointing downwards and that frown on him— together with his ragged breathing made you realize that something wasn't on their designated place. "hey." you approach him gently, "did something happen at work?"

his muscles stiffed and he thought about the words he had planned out to say, repeatedly they had thudded into his skull but nothing arose off his throat. You watched him closely and his gaze softened when you decided to hug him once more, this time with your lips ghosting over his ears, "it's okay, you're home now gorou."

"home?" granted, he couldn't place any fault on you for his own too quick thinking or his habits of jumping to conclusion when it came to this relationship, gorou wasn't the most experienced in that peculiar department after all. "our— our home?!"

"yes!" you're quick to show your happiness to him, your eyes glowing with brilliant shades of delight.

"that's what i wanted to talk about, i was busy preparing everything so Ii couldn't visit you in person." you fleetly pecked his cheek, "i hope it was okay to send a letter instead."

gorou was stunned— bewildered, he thought his ears fell off. "wait." he's taking both of your hands in his to make you stare at him, "this it what you wanted to talk about all along?" your brow ploddingly arose at his way of speech, because you were still very much clueless about it all.

"what did you think i was going to say?" at this rate, your conversation would never end anytime soon. gorou fidgetily scratched his neck before he chirped his words out in a blabbering draw no one but you was able to discern.

"oh nothing special, ijustthoughtyourebreakingupwithme." you were rendered speechless— lost of words and you placed a mental sticker in the deepest ends of your brain to get better at spelling things out more clear.

your eyes formed of sadness and you felt bad, trying to soothe your boyfriend in your own ways, "why would i?" you humorously squeezed his cheeks in a strive to delete his troubled expression, smiling in a loving kind, "i'd never do that, ever."

— alhaitham

beyond the shadow of a doubt, becoming the acting grand sage was an astonishingly tedious task for alhaitham to take— and he did not look forward to it.

unquestionably it was apparent that he wouldn't potentially have as much time for you as he previously had when he was the akademiya's renowned scribe. In spite of his new occupation, you undeniably had supported him throughout the first stages as much as you could.

but, lets say, you had felt a bit neglected lately— or to state said emotion in a contrasting light, you were in need of some much required attention from your boyfriend, plain and simple. Of course— and this usually goes without saying but it's not like alhaitham did it on purpose because, by all means, he didn't.

there wasn't anything he'd like to do as much as leisurely resting on his cozy bed with you by his side, cushily enclosed in your arms while you play with his hair and talking about all kinds of topics at hand.

with it becoming worse, it followed that he rarely had time to come over for dinner anymore, sure, you had your own duties to be taken care of but you missed him so so dearly and weren't sure how else to get him to move his unwavering attention from his work to your sweet frame again.

though your approach seemed a bit evil, you realized. but wasn't your creative thinking one of the reasons alhaitham had fallen in love with you in the first place?

to accurately get your plan in motion, you had sent an overly prettily framed letter to his new office— you added your favorite symbols to the paper and used your best-loved colors to have it cross your boyfriends keen eyes the second it would land on his desk.

under those circumstances you had impatiently began to wait at your place for him to get to you. And he did see your letter glowing in midst all the important papers on his desk, bedazzled by your most dearest decorations.

alhaitham slanted his head a bit to the left when he caught a glimpse of it eventually— he was a bit puzzled at first because whenever you did require his cooperation you'd just show up in person. But then again, in recent times he had his hands full of work and you arguably wouldn't even meet him to begin with.

his fingers gingerly opened the fine letter to scrutinize the words at hand, "we need to talk, it's about us."

he was taken aback, very, and caught off balance. He didn't view you as someone who'd send cryptic messages like that one in particular. Alhaitham distressfully rubbed his eyes and placed the letter on his desk above all the other workloads he had gotten delivered today.

upon that, he leaned into the broad armchair and careened his head back, closing his eyes. In that peculiar state he might potentially arrange and categorize his thoughts more coherent. The last thing he would've wanted now was to have your relationship suffer because of his current job.

first, it's dreary, second, it would throw him off completely.

while alhaitham had a dozen more work to finish before he could routinely head home, he decided to go to your place instead to talk it out. In his opinion, pushing back a much needed conversation would only elude his rational thinking skills by a huge mountain of precious time. it would've been obtuse for him to not handle this.

deep wrinkles were forming around his brows when he knocked on your door, his eyes fixated with worry but also irritation. On the flip side alhaitham was also concerned that something might've happened to you without him being aware of it.

another knock and you had lastly opened the door to your home, with a pseudo sad frown on your lips, maybe that was your ticket to great evilness because you did feel a bit wicked for tricking your poor, overworked boyfriend like that.

he doesn't say much, a dreadful silence of a couple minutes had surrounded the atmosphere and the inches in between your frames. A direct steady approach hadn't been found before he decided to speak at last, though heedful. "i saw your letter." he remarked through a clenched jaw.

"you did?" you slowly turned around and simulated to shuffle something out of a drawer in your kitchen— pretending to make a cup of tea for you both. "yes, i did." alhaitham might be many things, but he wasn't stupid, he knew something wasn't adding up, at all.

at first note, there was your body responses, despite your d class acting skills you were still showing emotions that weren't classified as sad nor angered. Second, it felt as if you didn't even know what to say, more thoroughly did you appear to just like him being here because why else were you settling a cup of tea and would you look at this, a few pastries he was sure were freshly bought.

"do you want me to applaud to you?" his voice was dry but despite that it harvested a glint of humor, "for this performance, i mean."

you bit down on the mushy insides of your cheeks before turning around, "i don't know what you're talking about." there you stood with an empty cup in your hand when he resoluted to walk towards you, haltering himself when he reached your body. "you wanted to talk." his hand finds your cheek and banteringly nudges it, "then talk."

you avert your gaze to recollect your thinking, because truthfully you did not expect him to catch onto it that fast— plus, you could also say you didn't think too far ahead into the future as on what to do once he's actually there.

"okay, okay." you dramatically throw your hands in the air, "i pretended to be mad so you'd show up." silence, "because i missed you." before you could hide the embarrassment with your hands alhaitham had swiftly bolstered one of his arms around your waist to pull you into his chest, "I know."

"can you blame me though?" you tried to explain yourself through your shy smiles which he had found so so very adorable, "you're never home." you lay your cheek against his warm chest to reply with a cuddle back and alhaitham sighed out when he beheld your distressfulness— how much he longed for his calm days to return.

"i know." he idly pawed his hand over your spine, "i can't wait to be the scribe again." you quietly shake with laugher at his words, the sides of your lips creasing up, "though i have to admit." you suddenly state while blinking up into his multi colored eyes, "saying my boyfriend is the grand sage doesn't sound that bad."

he's amusingly shook his head and found himself deeply connected in your arms— though being wary of the entire settling of today, alhaitham's sadness resigned back into him, he realizing that the last time he had held you just like this had have been a long time ago.

for this, he couldn't wait to get back to his usual, comfortable life with you again because no matter which position he'd take in the akademiya, he'd never want to place you second under it because it was you who truly gave new meaning to his life.

— scaramouche

working in the shadows had been something scaramouche was practicing his entire life, he‘s as fast-moving as the wind, a split second and he was gone, poof, unforeseen and brief.

substantially, you weren‘t quite sure what made you reach the conclusion to perpetually poke your finger into his hardiness, over and over— to sweetly aggravate him because it’s fun. especially when he had gotten back to you after a long, monotonous day full of his duties to fulfill.

on the assumption that nothing was wrong, kuni, as in any other circumstance, had saddled back into the couch with you next to him— actively observing how you’re casually paging through a couple letters in your hand.

"hey." in the pitch of his voice alone you were capable to discern the fatigue in his body— he must‘ve been especially hard working tonight.

"put the book away." undoubtedly, it was that time of the day again, scaramouche required your unwavering attention because if you aren't handing it over to him right this second, he'd become actually ballistic and sullen, waiting until you notice.

"hm." you do not say much, pretending to have something critical crossing your current state of mind, "what do you mean hm?" he's peeved by your behavior— despite that it piqued his interest.

you evidently weren't drained or disgruntled by his presence, at least he thought you weren't, "is this more important than i am?" scaramouche loftily pointed towards the book in your hand which you then, meteorically closed.

"there is something—" you do not dare to look into his permeating eyes, being panicky stricken you might blow your cover in front of him. Kuni had a way of heeding every so little change in both the articulation in your voice and face.

"there is something we need to talk about— about us."

scaramouche didn't buy it, not even once, you were too perceptible and easy to detect.

what was there to talk about when nothing happened, in the morning you seemed fine, you even gave him a goodbye kiss when he left for work. "really now?" he's sharpening his eyes on you, his chin held up high to throw you off the high in your conversation and most pivotally, to make you all jittery so you‘d eventually slip up.

"yes." you outstandingly flumped back into the velvety cushions of your couch, "we're just so different." - "no we're not." he was right there to cut you off, giving you no room to breathe while also slouching closer to your frame so you‘d look at him.

without beating around the bush, scaramouche decided to play this game with you, though in his eyes, he was way better at this than you could ever be, "but we are." now coming across at him through distinct eyes, you sealed your lips together so you wouldn‘t suddenly burst out laughing.

in a wink of an eye he had edged himself so near to you— with only being a mere couple inches away from banging your heads together, "are you playing games again?" he really wanted to know it now, fundamentally, scaramouche was captivated by this— he never loses and this side of yours would never bore him, not even once.

"maybe." you blurt out bluntly, affectionately wiggling the tip of your nose against his own, "you're a menace." he rolls his eyes and pulls away. with how swift you were to follow him, you put your legs over his lap so you‘d be dotingly enclosed into one another. "don't do that again."

sweet scaramouche— what he didn't show you was that he in actuality shared a concern in result of your behavior. All things considered he was aware you were kidding to rally him up. He thinks your skills were amateurish at best, whimsical, he hoped you were practicing your acting to once really catch him off guard.

"it's so fun though." you brusquely admitted to him with a candid smile while venturing to case your arms around his neck.

if only he wasn‘t so utterly compelled by you he‘d actually be mad for once, yet he only puffs out a warm heave, "i'll get you back for this."

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[venomhound]

Hazbin Hotel - Dumb Lucifer Scenario Dump

Here are just a bunch of like random scenarios that popped into my head; usually when I was half asleep or hadn't slept for several days. Im not going to do anything with these beyond this post so if someone wants to like turn these into a short story or comic, feel free. Just link back and give me credit for the idea please ~<3 Id love to see what you make!!

Contents/WARNINGS: Heavy drinking; allusions to Lucifer being outcasted everywhere; potential sad ending on third one; Alastor casually breaking hearts; Lucifer needs therapy or meds or something Actual brainrot below the cut. Not beta read we die like men -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Who Needs Magic Anyway? ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

(Little bit of context; this idea came about because I was talking to @writteninlunarlight-years about the whole 'there is only one bed trope thing)

Lucifer and reader are both drinking together. They both get so plastered that the reader cant go home on their own and Lucifer cant make a decent portal. (The portals keep fizzing out, going to the wrong places.... Point is he cant do it right atm).

So Lucifer offers to have the reader stay with him for the night. Even in their drunkin state, the reader side-eyes Lucifer at his offer and the guy just keeps digging his hole deeper Saying stuff like:

Lucifer: I-I meant we can sleep together as friends. Reader: *blinks* Lucifer: WAIT-

Lucifer even offers to make you one of those stupid pillow walls in between you two if your really that uncomfortable. What a gentleman

Anyway, you both eventually end up in his bedroom and Lucifer changes into duck pajamas (because of course thats what he has. what else would the guy have really). Then you both look at each other awkwardly as you both realize you… don't exactly have anything comfortable to sleep in.

Lucifer quickly says that its fine! He will just magic you up some pjs! Easy! Well. The problem is when he does this, his alcohol infused brain defaulted the entire concept of sleepwear to mean 'Lucifer’s sleepwear.' So when he zaps you, you end up with a perfectly matching set of ducky nightshirt and pants to Lucifer’s very own.

Lucifer immediately wants to die.

Bonus: This entire thing has now made me headcanon that Lucifer cannot control his magic when he is drunk

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Playing the Hero ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

NOTE: I used a spider here, but really it can be any bug. Or whatever you want. I just did a spider because fuck spiders, and the idea of Lucifer cowering at a mini Angel Dust was very funny to me

Its late at night and as usual Lucifer cannot sleep. Lucifer is suddenly disturbed however, by the reader in their adorable pajamas. They are looking around nervously, with their hands hidden in their sleeves.

The man is immediately ready to do anything they ask cause they are just so darn cute.

The reader sheepishly asks him if he can kill a giant spider that has decided to make itself at home in their room. Lucifer, ever the sin of pride, (and maaayyybe wanting to impress them a little), excitedly says that of course he can! Completely pushing away the fact that, he too, is afraid of spiders.

They both go to the reader's room and as soon as Lucifer sees the spider he panics a little. (”Oh god, that is actually a big spider.”, ”Why are its legs so long??”)

Wanting to play the hero but also not wanting to go anywhere near the accursed thing, Lucifer thinks itll be a great idea to just- zap it.

Well, the thing is Lucifer’s hands are very shaky at the moment, due to a combination of having all the reader's attention on him and the fear of holyshitspider. So when he tries to zap the thing he completely fucking misses like an idiot.

The spider goes flying toward the two of them, resulting in both of them bursting out of the room screaming bloody murder and waking up the rest of the hotel.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Don't Overthink It ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

(Again, inspired by @writteninlunarlight-years specifically her post about Making Flower Crowns for the Hazbin Men. This prompt takes place during Valentines Day, but you can easily modify it to be during a different holiday. Can be platonic or romantic.

Valentines Day comes around, and you decide to gift one to the infamous King of Hell. Because youll be sending it anonymously, you decide to go all out. You get him a super nice duck themed gift, handwrite him a card, as well as get him a stunning bouquet.

What you didn't anticipate however, was Lucifer completely losing it when he receives the gift. Apparently its been decades/centuries since he last received a Valentine, let alone one as nice as the one you gave him.

He was the King of Hell after all. You assumed he got a million Valentines automatically because of his position. I mean, Alastor got piles of them so why WOULDNT the King of Hell?

Because of its anonymous nature, Lucifer's ever romantic heart gets obsessed with the Valentine. You love bombed the poor guy on complete accident. Lucifer starts trying to do his own little 'investigations' to figure out who made it for him, like comparing different handwritings to the one on the card and such. Lucifer even starts daydreaming about who it could be and imagining what they are like.

(if its romantic) Your afraid to tell him you did it because you don't want to complicate your friendship with Charlie. A part of you also feels guilty that you somehow managed to put yourself on such a high pedestal in Lucifer's eyes when... your just you.

(if its platonic) You don't want to break Lucifer's heart and tell him that you just wanted to do something nice. You feel guilty for getting his hopes up for something/someone that doesn't exist.

BONUS: At some point in the story, the reader walks by a trashcan/dumpster full of Valentines meant for Alastor that he clearly just trashed right away. Alastor hates Valentines day because everyone wont. Stop. BUGGING. HIM.

[raconteur-wanpi]

One Piece 1131

It's finally here after the 2 week break!

I'm glad we begin right where we left off, with Luffy and Loki finally having a proper interaction! This instantly made me laugh, Luffy is a certified yapper. His true power really is responding to the most serious and broody of intimidating figures with his silly guy ADHD and making fools out of these try-hards by annoying them. He really is a walking cartoon! I just knew in my heart, turning the page, Loki would cut him off by telling him to shut-up already. This is a classic bit and I live for it.

This also instantly kinda makes Loki more fun of a character to me lmao. Being presented with a scary guy only to immediately kinda make fun of him is Oda's expertise. Nobody is immune to being laughed at a bit, and it does instantly make Loki more charming.

He soon confirms what fans have been theorizing since Water 7; that the Yggdrasil-style-tree that encompasses Elbaf is the Treasure Tree Adam! Nice to finally know for sure, it'll be interesting for the Sunny in a sense to have returned to its "birthplace".

Also interesting how he introduces himself as the "pride of Elbaf's strength" when in the last chapter we learn of him as the "shame of Elbaf". Is it his own ego? Trying to twist the way his people see him? Is this him being a liar similar to Usopp, exaggerating who he is? Or is it his own delusions? It's an interesting contrast, I wonder what the language used here is in the original Japanese.

Loki is also, well... extremely Luffy-like in some ways actually. Being introduced as a "sun god", getting new people's names wrong, and as we'll see later, befriending wild beastly animals... This is an extremely interesting parallel. It seems to me they're already sides of the same coin, and I am soooo intrigued by it going forward.

It seems Loki has really met his match, and I doubt he expected someone like that to show up. Luffy responds to the beasts with nostalgia instead of fear, I wonder how that make the "accursed prince" feel...

Interestingly enough, Loki seems to have a sort of cult or following of human-sized people dedicated to him! They call him master and listen to his commands... maybe they're people who really see him as the Sun God?

Luffy immediately tames the beasts, like he did back during the timeskip! Of course, once he hears Loki insulting Shanks, his good mood seems to go away.

Loki also pulls a "I'm just joking bro, I'm just a silly guy c'moooon, you wouldn't punch a guy tied to a tree would ya? A birthday boy?" when he realized Luffy is actually pretty powerful. Good 'ol Schrodinger's douchebag. He does showcase a lot of duality, acting all mighty and smug towards "puny humans", but then his facade breaks a few times, he twists his reputation and claims he's just joking etc, it does fit the idea of a "trickster" a lot, considering his mythological basis. I'm still struggling to grasp his true personality and goals, and while he does speak the way you'd a expect a villain would... he kind of doesn't feel like he's going to be the main obstacle of the arc to me, and I can't truly explain why.

He also, interestingly, seems to have a negative bounty!? If I read that right, at least. Perhaps the government's way of saying "we don't want him, if you bring him in YOU'LL have to pay us to deal with him" or something??? We'll see if it's indeed a minus or not, it is described as a "special bounty".

Back to the Strawhats on the bridge, Gerd, Goldberg and Rodo seem to be rushing out with the Sunny as fast as possible. I'm assuming they're trying to get to where Harjudin is and explain the situation to him, considering that the ship belongs to their crew's grand fleet commanders. These two are probably mad as hell at Rodo lol. I can't tell if they're chasing him angrily here or what, haha.

Despite Usopp's insistence (and him being correct as always) the group still decides to run away from these giants. Oh Usopp, if only they listened to you, this debacle would be over much quicker. As per usual.

Speaking of Harjudin (and the one missing member of his crew, Stansen), here they are! They're in the same area actually, going for a hunt so they can prepare a feast for the Strawhats! That's kinda sweet, I wonder how the reunion of all separated groups so far will happen.

I wonder if it'll end up going to disaster because of Luffy accidentally freeing Loki or something. Loki did try to convince Luffy to find the key to his seastone chains earlier, but Luffy seemed to kinda ignore him. I wonder if Luffy will end up actually being manipulated, especially after Loki insulted Shanks and pissed him off. Then again, Luffy not only forgives easily, but he is also convinced easily, so who knows!

Back to the giants' ship...... oooooh my god. I think I almost cried. My heart expanded in size seeing this alone, you have no idea how happy I am. She's back. Our girl cut her hair so Saul will recognize her....shut up. Shut UP. That's so sweet, I think I am going to explode. Welcome back bangs Robin I missed you so much. This better be permanent!!!

In which Franky is literally me. I knew it before they confirmed it, it really is about meeting Saul........ I'm going to explode.

But uuuh, bad news. Saul might.... not be in good health? Did he get injured? What does this mean. I swear to god, if something happens to him before Robin gets to see him......... Please god tell me this is going to just be a bit or something, oh god. Ending the chapter here, huh? Straight up evil!!!!

Anyway, I am soooo looking forward the next chapter. I am still... on the fence about Loki being the main Bad Guy. He clearly thinks of himself as a grand destructive force, yes, and looks down upon "puny humans" and the such, sure, and even contemplates about killing Luffy after he is freed if need be, but... I'm just so suspicious of the way he's introduced. Maybe he'll be more of a morally gray anti-hero, or a temporary antagonist. Maybe I'm wrong and he'll indeed be the next pure-evil Doflamingo type threat. But maybe he could even be a "redeemable" Bellamy type character instead. I have no clue, it's way too early to tell. But just seeing the way Luffy just kinda chills with him in some of the panels in this chapter.... I'm kinda hoping it's the latter, they have a charming dynamic. They're already so similar, surely there's more to Loki's story.

After all, this is the guy that was infatuated with a lovable character we know dearly as the audience, Lola, to the point of denying to marry her identical sister. That tells me there's more to this guy than meets the eye. Am I reading too much into it? I could be completely off the mark, but we'll see!

[mytypeismohg]

I like believing the omen twins both have beej referenced in the dlc. Mohg is very obviously present, even if he is not physically there. The bloodfiends, Ansbach, the dlc is very much about all the old horned beasts, those hated by the Golden Order. The hanging giant figure in the shadowkeep looks very suspiciously similar to Morgott, despite him also tragically being long gone. However, I also noticed how much Messmer’s behavior resembles Morgott. Both are self hating "cursed" people that fight for an order that shuns them, and are brainwashed into hating others who are seen the same way they are. Messmer hates his fire, Morgott hates his accursed blood powers.

Just like with captain Huw and Andreas betraying Messmer-

"Ashen remains in which spirits yet dwell. Use to summon the spirit of Huw, Knight-Captain of the Black Knights. The Black Knights were the primary force of Messmer's army. Second to their first Knight-Commander was Huw, a man with agile command of both twinblade techniques and the powers of the Crucible, and whose spirit in these ashes dwells. Though a champion of the divine beast hunt, he followed his father, Andreas, into rebellion against Messmer, and like his father, he too was imprisoned in an underground tomb. Messmer mourned the loss of a brother-in-arms."

-there was also a cut questline involving a "loyal" follower that betrays Morgott, once he discovers he is an Omen. Viscount Shaneheight, you can watch his full cut quest by Sekiro Dubi on YouTube. He wants to destroy the omens I'm the Subterranean Shunning Grounds in Leyndel, is basically a Morgott fanboy...until he discovers he too is cursed. I wonder if Morgott could witness the damage caused by Messmer, he would see himself inside him. Wonder if he would become this cruel if he stayed his path, and then seeing the many people of this period who would've loved and respected him. He could see how Messmer, no matter what he did, was left behind by the Golden Order as well. Despite Messmer claiming to fight for Marika, the only ones loyal to him are all now without "Marika's grace", and Messmer has essentially created his own Order, his own army, none of which are honored by the Golden Order, but he delusionally believes otherwise. Morgott could make his own family, among the surviving Hornsent maybe, similar to how his twin brother chose to do. Find your own wings, Morgott.

[thetraumaking]

The Accursed Crown

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE FAINT OF HEART

Other Chapters

Chapter 7: Role Model and Vices

Princess Azula is a mischievous little girl with great potential. Who seized her father’s attention the moment she was born. She was surrounded by wealth anyone could ever dream of. Even at the tender age of 5, she was getting the best education and training in the nation.

All those material things are nice but eventually, anyone could acquire them at some point. All bet not all at the same time.

But not anyone can have.

You.

Her amazing guardian, trainer, mentor, and the person she adores the most. While others had their boring old–one-trick– mothers. She had you.

You, who is strong, beautiful, honored, brave, respected, and even feared.

Mothers tend to be old and boring, but you were anything but. You had the best training imaginable, a master fire bender, all that, and still so young and in your prime.

It’s a given, the best for the best. Azula nodded to herself.

Her life was truly great.

But recently, while the norm was having you by her side all day every day, her father and grandfather had been requesting you to be present at the war counseling.

And during your absence, she is left alone in the company of her mother and older brother.

As she’s sitting by the pond, lazily swinging her leg, she ponders when you will be picking her up. Her brother and mother feeding the turtle ducks, talking about the most random things.

The day was being wasted.

Groaning, she looks up at the sky. At least tries to, the sun was at its highest point. Trying to keep a staring contest was more eventful than indulging in whatever the topic of their conversation was. The light was blinding, she could see blobs of blue and pink swirling around within the giant ball in the sky. How do such colors appear within the sun?

She made a mental note to ask you about it later.

“Azula, don’t stare at the sun, you’ll go blind.” She heard her mother say.

Hmm, so she cares. She looks away from the sun and at the two that looked at her.

With a smile, Ursa rips the loaf of bread in half and hands one half to her. “Come, join us. Let’s feed the turtle ducks together.”

Staring at the offered loaf, she nods. As she was about to rip a small piece off, she noticed something. Her mother always has her hand on her brother. Either holding his hand, carrying him, or letting him lay on her lap. Like he was helpless or something, maybe he was.

Maybe he was overly dependent on those around him. She lets out a humm, her eyes dead set on her laughing brother. He doesn’t look dependable, maybe that’s why mother pays so much attention to him because he can’t handle himself. So, between the two of them, since she has more potential it's only natural as to why she’s under your care.

Especially since her mother is a non-bender, what benefit would be there if she stayed with her? She might have ended up weak like her brother.

Looking over, she watched as her brother, Zuko, was seated on their mother’s lap. Their mother rips the bread into smaller pieces and hands them to him as he throws the pieces in.

Such fools, wasting their time.

During her quick observation, something began to stir inside of her. She’s not sure what it is but there’s a certain tightness in her chest. The feeling reminded her of whenever you would leave her for meetings. The longer your absence the more her chest hurts, she recalled.

A plan began to brew in her head.

Maybe…

If she pretended to not know how to feed these little creatures, would her mother treat her the same as she does her brother? Would this sudden feeling of longing subside?

Internally groaning, she decided to continue on with her plan.

She squeezed the loaf in her hand before throwing it overhead. Hitting the turtle duck her mother and Zuko were feeding. Triumphant with her perfect hit, she expected a praise at least.

But nothing of the sort came.

“Azula, that is unbecoming of a princess!” Ursa chastises, her hands still on her son. “Go sit by the stairs, think about what you did.” She didn’t yell out but her voice was stern, eyes hard.

She was surprised by her tone. No one has ever spoken to her like that. Not even you.

“Hadn’t 6 taught you better?”

Her fist clenched.

That was an unnecessary comment.

She has already wasted enough time with these imbeciles. Growling, she ran. She doesn’t need to deal with this. She doesn’t need to deal with Ursa, that supposed mother of hers.

Ignoring the woman’s call, Azula simply ran. She ran towards the place she was handed off to. She got to the war room, where every important person within the palace gathered to discuss strategies and brief about tactics. Once there, she didn’t knock, she’s not an idiot.

She’s not like Zuko.

Instead, she sat behind one of the many pillars. Her back against the cool red, she brought her knees up to her chest and hugged herself. She needs you. Her chin propped up on her knees, she missed you.

Her mother was stupid.

And blind as it seemed.

Sniffling, her shoulders tensed. Her emotions swirled inside her: anger, hurt, confusion, and… clarity?

Out of all that, her anger was the most prominent. Her jaw clenched and her emotions grew.

The torches around her started to flicker but she paid them no mind. Taking a deep breath, she drops her hands from her knees. Hand motionlessly falling on the floor, palms facing up. When she breathed out, she felt warmth spreading from her palms.

Peeking to the side, her eyes widened. Her previous damp mood quickly switched into excitement. Excitedly, she brought her hands up closer. Examining her fire with a smile.

You’d be so proud of her.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait for too long.

The large double doors cracked open as all the council members poured out. She quickly and quietly stood up, keeping her fire close to her chest.

Once she made sure all the unnecessary onlookers were gone, she stepped out from behind the pillar. Her eyes searching for you.

When she found you, her smile broadened. She saw you bow to her grandfather and father before closing the large metal doors behind you. You had let out a sigh, your fist clenching once before loosening. Something you tend to do when tired.

Once the coast was clear, she ran towards you.

“6! Look what I can do!”

She presented her fire to you. Her eyes bright and expecting, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waited for your reaction. “Well? Am I great or what?”

She felt heat spread from her heart to her cheeks. You don’t smile often and when you do, it’s the best.

“Yes, you are. You’re amazing, Azula.”

[elains]

Fionn's death, the Bog of Oorid and the Mask

I'm currently on my Sarah J. Maas brainrot era and chatting with my friends earlier, I drew a parallel which soon turned into a deep dive into ACOSF, HoFaS, and some mythology to boot. Worry not, I’ll keep the mythology part to myself first and foremost and this post will mostly revolve around the following: that the current state of the Bog of Oorid is due to Fionn’s death.

Spoilers for House of Flame and Shadow, so be warned. 

In ACOSF, Amren tells us about the Bog of Oorid and how it wasn’t always this evil, accursed place. It used to be a sacred ground, where warriors of the Fae were laid to rest, long ago:

The Bog is a part of the Middle, which is mostly uncharted territory full of dangerous creatures, where Wild Magic runs unbound. A council of Ancient High Lords prohibited any mappings of it. We also learn from House of Flame and Shadow that the Middle was the Daglan's personal hunting grounds, where they unleashed beasts they bred to serve as worthy prey:

We know for a fact that Fionn was in a Marsh - a bog - when he died, with islands and grass and black waters, and we also know that the place was blooming when he was there. Even with the amount of evil and beasts kept in the Middle, the land was still thriving:

This is a sharp contrast to present day ACOTAR. In Silver Flames, the Bog is described as oppressively still and dead, all gnarly, leaflesss branches branches, crumbling trees, thorns. There are no birds, no insects. It's a place of death, of Evil, and it's remarked how it's as if not anything bloomed:

House of Flame and Shadow provides this passage just after Fionn dies:

Also from Flame and Shadow, we knows that the worlds have souls and degrees of sentience, as far as worlds go. Fionn is murdered in a foul act of violence, fueled by nothing but hunger for power by the very people who were supposed to aid him. Fionn, who worked to free the world from the Daglan feeding on its magic. It seems to me that the world was thankful to him for what he did, as it might have also been thankful to Theia.

And you know what's more interesting? That this is where the Mask ends up. We don't know what in the world happened to the Mask after Theia left Prythian; it's not said what she did with neither it nor the crown. Presumably other people got ahold of them (Helion's ancestor?). We don't know where the Crown was, but it's ironic that it ends up where Fionn died.

When approaching the water, Nesta remembers a story her mother told of how a cosuin was killed by Faeries, dragged to the depths and drowned:

Which is actually very similar with how Fionn himself comes to meet his end: bound and gagged and thrown into the water by his wife and general. Shortly after, she meets the Kelpie, who is described as such:

This is also remarkably similar to the creature that ultimately kills Fionn:

This Kelpie speaks to Nesta in the Old Tongue, which hasn't been spoken in fifteen thousand years. It retreated to the Bog thousands of years ago and it was probably the last o his kind. It could very well be the creature that killed Fionn, slain by Nesta, who goes to claim the Mask as he himself did.

Which brings up some questions: how did the Mask end up in the Bog of Oorid? It doesn't seem happenstance that it found its way to a place where death has in its grip and the open grave of the High King. Could it have been Helion's ancestor? His reaction to the mask is strange, visceral in a way the other's aren't. I'm betting that it was Helion's ancestors who took the Mask from Theia and once the power proved too much, discarded it to rest in Oorid.

But the point is that Fionn dies and it's the nail in the coffin for Oorid. The Bog withers to a giant, accursed grave, trapped in a state of perpetual death where nothing blooms.

Therein rests the first and last High King, the evil done to him forever imprinted on the land.

[bad-as-me]

Morgott for the ask meme!

hell yes my boy!!

favorite thing about them

Honestly, Morgott covers the bases for a lot of things I'm weak for in a character. I love a guy who is so single-mindedly devoted to a cause, especially one driven by a need to be loved, that the rest of the world and their own well-being falls apart in the process. Something about the inherent tragedy of someone choosing to die on a hill that nobody asked them to take on, that would really be in their better interest to let go of and start anew elsewhere, and yet you want so badly for their efforts to be rewarded in some way because you know it's all for love.

It's just so terribly romantic in a gothic sense. He reminds me so much of the description of the creature in Frankenstein: someone that tried so hard to fit himself into the image of what his maker wanted, who speaks beautifully and eloquently in contrast to his rough exterior, who boasts an intelligence and a competency that was likely learned while hidden from society. And yet we know in both situations that effort will never be reciprocated.

Also, he growls and purrs and has a giant fluffy snow leopard tail. How can I not be obsessed with him.

least favorite thing about them

His big beautiful horns are so hard to draw :'(

Honestly, he's one of those characters where even his flaws are incredibly interesting to me. I like that he refuses to give up his position of power! It's something he worked so hard for, and to his mind must be the only way he can stay safe in a world that he knows wants him dead. I like that he can't let go of the status quo! As his Great Rune tells us, Omen or not he is the rightful Lord of Leyndell. By all standards of the world they're in, he has every right to be proud of that title. And given the alternatives he's likely had presented to him (Rykard, Mohg, the Frenzied Flame), why wouldn't he believe that this stagnant existence is the best he could ask for?

He's the immovable object to our unstoppable force. There's a nobility in his commitment to that, however misguided it may be.

favorite line

"We are all forsaken. None may claim the title of Elden Lord. Thy deeds shall be met with failure, just as I..."

I love his monologue in the beginning of his fight, but the fact that this is the last thing he says just tears me apart on so many levels. It really hammers home how much of his targeted spite towards us is him projecting his own sense of failure to his lineage. He crawled all this way through the mud, gave every drop of his accursed blood for the Erdtree, and it still wasn't enough. How could we possibly have a chance when all his efforts were for naught?

No matter how many times I replay it, I always take some time just to sit next to him after he says that, listening to the rain over the capitol and the somber song of Leyndell. The city really feels like it's in mourning at that moment, all for someone they hated too much to truly understand.

brOTP

Mohg and Morgott!!! The gruesome twosome!! The dynamic duo! Every piece of art or fic that depicts them having some brotherly squabbles and shenanigans brings a little bit of life back into my eyes :')

OTP

As far as canon characters go, it's gotta be Morgott/Oleg. We love a good knight/master ship around these parts, and I think he deserved someone as devoted to protecting him as he was devoted to his cause.

Outside of that, well. I am writing an ongoing fic of Morgott and my Night's Cavalry Tarnished (who was never a Tarnished but a secret third option, but you know.) I think about them a normal amount.

nOTP

Mohg/Morgott. I just want them to have one single family relationship in their life that is remotely healthy man 😭

random headcanon

He's good with animals, and prefers the company of them to people. Most of his communication to the Night's Cavalry is through carrier falcon, but if he needs to summon them all for a meeting, he can do so with an instrument that's very similar to an Aztec death whistle.

Also, he recanted his blood through the Church of Vows. Him and Miriel have a good rapport with one another.

unpopular opinion

Respectfully, I disagree with both the "Morgott is basically the Lands Between's evangelical gay republican" take, as well as the "Morgott is a soggy baby virgin who will cry if you give him a cookie" take.

I think he is a living contradiction in a lot of ways. He is simultaneously an accursed Omen, the lowest of the low, while also having tangible evidence that he is the child of a god and of a powerful bloodline. He has held Leyndell together for more than long enough both to be aware of its corruption, and to be in a position to change it, but he can't allow himself to believe any of it needs to be changed.

He is too stuck on the idea that he needs to uphold the way things are - to prove himself "better" than his curse - to change anything. This is directly contrasting his brother Mohg, who has made an entire cult around acknowledging the unjust suffering he went through.

Like the sealing of his blood into a sword, he represses that truth, until he is so broken down that it is released all at once - painfully and without control.

Because of this, I think he would recoil at the idea of being an object of pity. He has done too much to earn a respectable position for anyone to tell him that he deserves better - even if it's true, and he should be told that.

song i associate with them

Oh god I have a whole playlist of them. But if I were to narrow it down:

Sonne by Rammstein

Momma Sed by Puscifer

Romans 10:9 by The Mountain Goats

Helvegen by Wardruna

favorite picture of them

I am not exaggerating when I say this illustration by tendermiasma re-wired my brain on a fundamental level

[l-in-the-light]

Chapter 1131 commentary

Finally the long break is over!! And no break next week :3 Let's start from the survey again, they're honestly quite fun to come up with :D

Now, let's move on to the chapter itself :D

Luffy's so excited! And why? Because finally it's confirmed they're in Elbaf! Which means I was right, his excitement from before wasn't because he saw Elbaf (this is the reaction right here instead), it was because of the snow! :D

Luffy is so excited and he's not even listening to Loki anymore, lol. Loki at first follows through, but soon he can't even sneak in a word anymore, haha. The manipulator having a hard time getting Luffy's attention. A moment later he snaps and scolds Luffy, I mean... for a master manipulator he's not overly patient or good at steering those conversations in direction he wants them to go...

Hm, interesting how Loki treats humans. He clearly takes care of them, but thinks of himself as their master and requires they call and treat him this way. Reminds me of those thoughts I had in previous chapter commentaries, that for giant people normal humans will seem like toys, puppets or slaves. Though it is worth noting Loki seems to indeed take care of them properly, so maybe more puppets or underlings. I wonder why they wear gas masks... because of the putrid smell?

Treasure Tree Adam confirmed!!! So it's actually not Yggdrasil!

Seems Loki has the same issue as Luffy with remembering people's names, lolol. Loppy, can you imagine...

The Realm of the Dead, lowest layer of Elbaf or also "the first world", where criminals and condemned are kept, a prison and execution ground. Where humans wander around as "walking corpses" (in clothes covered in "putrid smell", in blood from the deceased perhaps?), to disguise their presence to survive, otherwise they will get devoured by the beasts. They seem to be also servants (of the sun god?), they end up here by "defying Elbaf" or by trying to challenge it. It's indeed a lot like Rodo's detention centre roleplay model. Seems Luffy doesn't like the sound of it. Later in Hajrudin's scene we learn that it's also a hunting ground for the brave warriors (but who isn't brave in Elbaf, the land of war?).

It's worth noting that the accursed prince Loki apparently was held in this lowest layer since he was born (or soon after he was born). He says it himself: he friended the beasts because he knows them ever since he was a child. So the conclusion here is that he must have been kept in this underworld realm for most of his life? After all only those "who defy Elbaf, criminals and condemned" are living here. My hypothesis that he is called accursed because of some prophecy or mark he was born with, seems to line up with those pieces of information we got so far.

I admit I'm impressed with Luffy. He actually did not attempt to free Loki, despite the fact he was so shocked that Loki was kept here for 6 years. He listens to him and stays with him, but doesn't agree to his ideas and doesn't even comment much. I'm proud of Luffy, Law would be proud too, Luffy is no longer causing random chaos without knowing more about the situation. Is Luffy finally growing up? 💔

More lore. The World of the Dead belongs to the Sun, hm? Is that why Loki is kept here or is he calling himself a sun god as the result of becoming a master of this realm (by making everyone his underlings so now he is their god)? Interesting.

Also it's kinda rare to associate sun with underworld, not counting some indigenous beliefs of people from Amazon rainforest. I remember reading in anthropology books that sun can be linked with the realm of the dead, because everyday it makes a journey on the sky and finishes it in the underworld (then the night falls on the world). If you hop in on the sun god's carriage (it's actually a canoe swimming on the sky carried by two big birds), you can actually travel between the world of the living and the world of the dead. The god can be nice enough to transport back a lost human that ended up in the underworld because of grief and falling through one of the pekari pig's holes in the ground. But the human that is dead but returns back to the world of living will appear to humans like a regular pekari pig. Apparently after humans die they turn into pekari pigs and are kept in pens by the god of the underworld, who takes care of them. It's actually not clear which god it was. The myths refer to them as "master of the pigs". It might have been the sun god, or god of the underworld, or maybe it's one and the same being.

Amazonian myths are very interesting, but rarely ever referenced in modern fiction. I don't know if Oda is referencing it here, but the moment they called Sun the God of the Underworld, I instantly thought of that. I will be surprised if anyone in OP fandom even considered the possiblity that sun can be linked with the realm of the dead! Oh, it makes me have so many interesting thoughts and observations about the world of One Piece in general...

Also, nice worldbuilding intro to Elbaf. Seems Elbaf has "multiple" worlds, each located on it's own level of the tree Adam; it's very similar to the norse mythology realms that you can travel into by descending or ascending Yggdrasil :D

Luffy already tamed those beasts, huh XD five beasts, a bear, a gorilla, a wolf (I think it's a wolf at least?), an elephant/mammoth and a snake. Snakes and gorillas often appear in important worldbuilding arcs of One Piece, somehow. I know the zoology of OP is often overlooked, but I feel like it will bite us in the ass before the end of the series.

Because look at people's reactions every time Luffy tames the beasts easily. It's a really uncommon talent! It seems very important, maybe it's some special trait only passed down in Luffy's lineage? The picture Oda drew of child Garp taming some wild beast also comes to my mind... it might be a D. clan trait, or maybe it's just Luffy's lineage trait. Was Joyboy good with animals? :P I mean, that question just begs to be finally asked... at least minks and Zunesha have an important connection to Joyboy...

I solemnly swear I'm up to no good, signed by Loki, lol. He said all this shit on purpose to provoke Luffy, but I dunno what his plan here actually was. If he realized that Luffy was so happy at the mention of Shanks, then calling Shanks names is not gonna get him what he wants from Luffy, quite the opposite really. And again, the triple dot of doom... We shall remember this moment, I guess.

TCB is kinda failing with their translation a bit in this chapter. The last line is definitely spoken by Loki again, because it's another pissed off bubble, but they translated it like it was something said by a third party instead... The alternative translation also makes more sense: "if you can't move, then don't piss me off" as in "should you even provoke me if you can't fight back?" instead of the "whatever, I don't care" attitude. Makes more sense for Luffy's personality, he's not a "whatever" type of person. It was also a while since we last saw Luffy defending his friends like this :D

Loki doesn't seem to like Luffy very much, there goes the good first impression, haha. Already plans to kill him off in anger lol. (that will definitely not happen btw, he will 100% change his opinion on Luffy) Curiously enough Luffy seems to like him a bit, as long as he doesn't trashtalk Shanks.

See? Now here it makes more sense. "I will tell you more about Shanks if you do something for me". The earlier "coward" approach was such a nonsense in comparison. Did Loki seriously just expect Luffy to sit there and listen to him trashtalking Shanks? For a master manipulator, Loki kinda falls a bit flat, ngl. People have already pointed it out that he seems more like Usopp-type, selling some lies to appear more important/respected than he actually is. That attitude might have the root in similar childhood: always staying on his own so telling talltales is his coping mechanism, just like it was for Usopp.

At this point we might question whether Loki will indeed bring any sort of end to the world or is it yet another lie (or perhaps he got banned to this underworld realm as the result of a prophecy told at his birth?). And he most definitely isn't a sun god, he just thinks he is because he considers himself the ruler of this lowest realm of Elbaf, which according to the beliefs is the realm of Sun God. So it's a natural conclusion: if he's on top of it then he is the sun god himself, right. But despite his name, he's not really a trickster or anything like that, Doflamingo would easily outclass him.

Also a moment of appreciation for cute blushy Luffy :D last time we saw his blushy cheeks from the cold was in Punk Hazard!

Sunny spotted! It looks like a toy when Giants are carrying it, haha. Like a cool boat toy for kids. I can't with Zoro, always trying to cut up their problems, lol. Glad Usopp is the brain of the group.

I bet the Giants actually want to catch up to Strawhats to get them to safety, not to kidnap them again lol. Well, maybe except Rodo, he might want some payback 😂 though would he openly oppose Hajrudin, even if he refused to work under Strawhats? I'm not sure Rodo has it in him tbh, now that it's been exposed that he kept them hostage, lol. I wonder if he's now in trouble or what haha. Or maybe he lied and said he wanted to deliver them to the feast once they wake up but they escaped him instead lol.

Random appreciation for Usopp the brave warrior getting over his fear of heights thanks to his fear of being chased by their captor :D

Appreciation for their cute little song :D

I wonder what's that all about? Sun stone? I guess I will have to wait for Japanese youtubers to address this, they might have something interesting to share.

I like how Hajrudin is still full of gratitude towards the Strawhats! Even preparing a feast for them. I have a feeling Giants really like to drink and have feasts all the time XD

Woah, what a fun snake-like creature there in the sea!

Brook is cute with how anxious he is. I'm glad that finally he's around new people who are laughing at his skull jokes, because Strawhats are so used to it already that they just ignore Brook by now, heh.

Bonney's excitement :D Franky is suddenly becoming very nostalgic, no wonder, he met Robin at Water 7, his home, and they had that "adventure" at Enies Lobby together. (he really looks great in those clothes btw. Some people speculate his cowboy hat actually belongs to Robin and she borrowed it to him, I actually love that idea!)

Yet another triple dot of doom, this time coming from Robin hmmm.

She looks cute indeed. Oda really highlighted this scene though, hm. her blush is adorable :D

And another triple dot of doom. Third one already this chapter, and two from Robin alone. I wonder, is it time for callback to Water 7 finally? They even mentioned the events of that arc in this chapter, it feels like a build-up honestly. Are we finally getting the payoff from that arc?? Is it finally the time to share my Robin conspiracy theory with the world?! (yes, I do have one. I have it ever since I reread Water 7 for the third time. There are loose ends there and I think I know where Robin's story is going towards from now on. Hence why I'm so hmmmm over all those triple dots bubbles lol)

Hm, TCB translated this as "he fell and can't get up" while other translation went with "he fell and he's not moving". Honestly the second one sounds waaay more dramatic. I mean, he might be just drunk, we saw Saul drinking while he was listening to Vegapunk's broadcast. But that would make this cliffhanger really lame, ngl XD

But IT IS very curious that we get this cliffhanger teaser here just before Robin and Saul can finally reunite, right?? I kinda want it to lead to some serious development, not a gag.

Time to share the results of the previous survey! Technically, everything listed up there can *still* happen in the future, so I will keep it in mind to return to those results later as far, just to see how correct we all were, for the laughs and potential self-satisfaction gloating moment!

But as for this chapter alone, the second option seems to be the winner. "It's not Luffy's business" lol. So far in my surveys only the minority choices win and we all thought we know Luffy so well already! Hey, I was also completely off, I really thought Luffy would attempt to free Loki immediately :D

This break was way too long, I already need the next chapter please, it was hardly enough!

[imagine-darksiders]

Do remember when you've written about the desires of Draven & Samael regarding y/n? If it's not too much to ask, would you mind continuing the series by adding Ulthane? I've never seen longing for someone written in a way that was so appealing.

HELLO! Thank you for this ask, I hope you don't mind, I'm going to make this into a 2 part fic because I've got 2 ideas on how to end it, but I'm having trouble deciding which one to write. So...

That said, please enjoy the fic. It's sort of meant to be a part 4 to Family Tree.

Ulthane X Reader.

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

Ulthane Blackhammer’s soul is damned.

No. More than damned.

If the maker is certain of anything, it’s that his sorry soul is on a collision course straight for Oblivion itself.

He’s already come to terms with the fact that he won’t be joining the Stonefather when his time eventually runs out and he’s kicked off the proverbial coil.

For too long, he’s carried the crushing weight of his sins across his shoulders like a water yoke, and some day – perhaps not today, nor for another hundred years – but some day, he’s going to lose his footing, and all the harm he’s done will spill out for everyone to see.

“Maker’s bones,” the old giant curses into his palm as he scrubs a gargantuan hand slowly down his face, fingers tugging at thick tufts of beard as though he means to rip the whole thing from his chin in a fit of desperation.

As if his involvement in the End War wasn’t atrocious enough… Now he’s… he’s…

With a bone-shuddering groan, the maker tips his chin towards the sky and allows his skull to clunk back against the tree bark that’s digging into his spine.

The Maker tree is vast. Vast enough that it utterly dwarfs Haven’s surrounding skyscrapers both in height and girth… Vast enough to offer ample hiding places within its higher branches for even the largest of its occupants.

A century ago, if one had accused Ulthane Blackhammer of being a coward, they’d have been met with his cheery grin, the flash of tusks, and his knuckles to the underside of their jaw. But a century ago, Ulthane was a very different maker, a maker who would never have hidden away in the uppermost branches of a great tree or tucked himself into a cankerous hole gouged out of the bark.

The maker he used to be wouldn’t be threading one colossal hand into his beard whilst the other fisted itself into his cowl to keep his appendages from venturing south towards a very prominent tent bulging at the front of his leather, blacksmith’s trousers.

That maker hadn’t met you.

Ulthane’s chest heaves in and out, drawing great swathes of air into a set of enormous lungs before expelling it all again in an attempt to ease his thundering heart out of his throat and back between his ribs.

It was an accident… A mistake.

But then, how often has he tried to spin himself a similar spiel?

Agreeing to forge that accursed blade was a mistake.

Trying to help his friend was a mistake.

And look at the consequences. Look at who’s suffered – is still suffering – for his mistake.

To Ulthane, accidents are no longer a negligible offence. They’re simply unforgivable.

What had just occurred down in the hollow of the tree was less an accident at all then, and more an egregious sin worthy of punishment.

Wheezing out another groan, the maker raises a fist up to his mouth where, without hesitation, he sinks his formidable teeth into the skin on his knuckles, feeling the bone shift and creak under the pressure of his bite. His other hand tears from his cowl and thumps down onto the wood at his side, his fingers curling into claws that dig harshly into the flesh of the tree.

He has to keep both hands occupied, deliberately so.

He can’t run the risk of letting them wander down to fumble with the gleaming belt buckle on his trousers.

He had to leave. Staying down there isn’t an option at the moment. He had to take himself and his… urges somewhere far away where he wouldn’t run the risk of disturbing you further than he already has…

Only a few minutes ago, down in the hollow of the tree, the humans had all been laying asleep whilst their ‘great’ guardian stood vigil in the arched opening that serves as a doorway into and out of the little sanctuary.

The mere fact that they trusted him to watch over them while they slept spoke more about their character than it did his own. It also served to twist a poisonous blade into his guts, eating away at him from the inside.

It was as he stood there brooding over his crimes that he happened to lower his gaze to the arms folded firmly across his broad chest.

He’d grimaced at the sight of them.

That day, he’d elected to work gloveless, forgoing cumbersome leather to use his bare hands so he could fix one of the humans’ shotguns that had been firing both barrels at the same time. He couldn’t help but dig a little deeper than necessary into the manmade weapon, admiring it inside and out, from the wood on its stock to the engravings decorating its action.

Once again, human ingenuity had him entranced.

There was, however, a minor consequence to his curiosity. And that was the slippery layer of gun oil that coated his finger tips.

Glowering ineffectually down at the tinted residue, he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, sighing as they slipped and slid over one another, tractionless.

He needed to find a cloth…

At the back of the central chamber, there lay another ‘room’ of sorts, hidden behind an old, blue tarp you yourself had nailed across its entrance to grant the humans who venture inside a little privacy. And while it's been known to be a little hideaway for the purposes of washing and bathing, its predominant use is for storage, housing an assortment of supplies from ammunition to cardboard boxes full of non-perishable food stuffs to barrels filled to the brim with collected rainwater.

Knowing there’d be some form of cloth or towel inside, Ulthane had stolen across the tree towards the alcove and allowed himself a moment of bemusement at the lightness of his step. Several days prior, one of the humans had made a casual joke about feeling his footfalls reverberating through the whole tree when they were trying to sleep. At the time, Ulthane had laughed it off. It was only when night fell that he started to question if the human’s comment was truly meant in jest.

And so, at the expense of his carefully curated, intimidating presence, the maker had trodden softly towards the storage space, slid his knuckles beneath the tarp and lifted it aside to step underneath it.

He didn’t even make it all the way through before his eyes landed upon a tiny shape lit by the flickering firelight of a wall sconce.

At once, Ulthane’s legs locked up tight, stopping him mid-stride as if he’d been spontaneously and abruptly cast in stone. Not even his chest moved, all the breath stilled in his lungs and was left there to stagnate while he drank in the sight before him.

Wide, startled eyes peered back up into the maker’s face, unblinking, caught by the same trap of shock he’d found himself tangled up in.

Evidently, not all of the humans were asleep.

Ulthane wasn’t sure if a second passed, or an eternity. All he knew was that within the innocuous stretch of time, he bore witness to something he never imagined a brute like him would be privy to. It seemed a miracle to be seeing it at all, as though he could blink, and the moment would fly away from him like words to a forgotten song, and never again would he catch another fleeting glimpse of that same biological artistry, even if he spent the rest of his days trying to find it.

So, he didn’t blink.

For standing before him without a scrap of clothing on, stood the one human who could have brought such an ancient giant to a complete, breathless standstill.

You.

Time seemed to drag its heels as Ulthane watched a wet cloth slip from your fingers to land on the wood below with a sodden ‘plop.’

You were bathing, he realised belatedly, ignoring an odd yet pleasant quiver in his stomach.

Your skin glistened with moisture left behind from the cloth, looking a damn sight cleaner than you had several hours prior after he found you covered elbow to fingertip in oil from your own gun.

While the humans despise using their drinking water for nonessential purposes, if cleaning must be done, they’d either wet a rag and scrub themselves down with a single squeeze of water from a nearby barrel, or they’d use one of their ‘baby wipes.’ The ones you’d been kind enough to deplete on Ulthane yesterday when you cleaned his bloody nose….

Eyes the colour of gun smoke softened with the rarest and gentlest affection as they drifted from the delicate space hidden between your thighs, over the damp skin on your chest, all the way up to the true work of art – your face; the face he’s sworn to one day immortalise in marble so that the Universe might never forget the human who gave a maker like him the time of day, and who opened his eyes to a species he’d previously only known through scriptures and hearsay.

But as he stared numbly down at you, half-oblivious to the soft tingling sensation trickling down from his belly, Ulthane finally, finally, registered the expression on your face.

And just like that, a terrible, gut-wrenching lurch of alarm suddenly crashed into his chest like waves on jagged rocks, and the world fell out from underneath his feet.

Ulthane blinked hard as time caught up to him once again, though he knew by then, it was already far too late.

“U-Ulthane?” he remembers you uttering, and it was only then he realised you’d thrown an arm over your breasts and slipped a hand down to try and protect yourself further from his wandering eyes.

Your brows were pinched, your mouth angled down until a look of abject horror spread across your dainty features.

Horror…

Of course you were horrified.

Of course you would look at him like he’s a monster come to life right in front of you.

He’d just blundered right in on you when you were at your most vulnerable, and then, instead of immediately retreating or averting his eyes to preserve your dignity, what had he done?

He’d simply stood there, gaping at you like some depraved and lecherous beast.

Worse still - worse than stumbling in on you in the first place - was the telltale sensation of skin stretching in the space below his belt buckle, accompanied by a sudden urgency that pooled in his gut as the fly piece of his leather blacksmith’s trousers began to bulge outwards, pressing into the sensitive head of his treacherous anatomy.

He still recalls the moment your eyes had flicked down, and then widened considerably.

It took him another moment to put two and two together to realise what was happening to him. It had, after all, been so long since he’d…

… For Stone’s sake, he’s a maker. Ulthane has been around for far longer than Humanity has even been on the planet. He’s too old and too gruff, and his head is screwed on far too tightly to ever be turned by a member of the fairer sex.

He’s not a youngling anymore. Long gone are the days of his youth when he’d send cocky grins across Tri Stone at maiden warriors or fumble his way through a brief and meaningless romance with one of the forge sisters.

He hasn’t been that maker for millennia.

Until he met you.

And you, he understands without a shadow of a doubt, are not meaningless.

What you are, however, is categorically and unequivocally off limits.

You're a human - a member of the very species his actions had doomed to extinction. You know nothing of the maker who had taken you in, and much to his confusion, you trust him. Hell, you even claim to like him, something that is as equally awful as it is humbling. You should never like him. If you knew what he did, your hatred would rival the kind that demons have for humanity.

You'd want him dead if you knew the truth.

But you don't know.

All you know now, is that Ulthane - a maker you've been relying on to keep you safe and protected - has essentially laid his feelings bare for you to see. Reactions like his are harder to hide when he's several times your size.

All of a sudden, a visceral abhorrence for himself rose like a fanged serpent to coil around his windpipe, squeezing it until he thought he might retch up his own guts onto the floor in front of you.

Ulthane Blackhammer has never retreated from anything in his long, gruelling life. Every adversary, he’s faced head-on. Every battle, he’s gone in swinging. Every hardship, he’s never once given a thought to falling back.

But then again, there are a lot of exceptions to a lot of rules.

And down there in the hollow, Ulthane made such an exception to his longest standing achievement.

He took a step backwards, his shoulder colliding with the side of the tree, and then he turned on his heel and ran.