#born to slay but forced to lock in

[fadingstudentbananacookie]

The fact that the whole Dance is centered around a 30-year-old Rhaenyra and a 50-year-old Daemon having beef with some 14-20-year-old nepo babies—including an alcoholic with mommy issues, an autistic pixie girl, an anime villain, and a twink—will never be not funny to me.

C&H set the bar in hell and Rhaenyra still couldn't jump over it 💀

I mean, no one in Team Green gave a single fuck about any of Rhaenyra or Daemon's children. They were either casualties in the war or a minor annoyance for Alicent, Criston, and Otto. The Dragon Seeds were the ones who actually put up a good fight. Fuck, even Bloody Ben who was 11 in F&B, did so much more!

I literally just started laughing like a maniac alone in my room when I thought about this.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

where the brook bends

the wistful wyvern, chapter two

a/n: something about fighting giant spiders just feels so quintessential skyrim...

summary: “you are two of my most trusted warriors. If it can’t be me out there, then it should be you two,” his glance then shifted between you both as he noticed the look on your face, “unless, of course, you have any objections.” 

warnings: knight!bucky barnes x knight!reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, ex-friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, former fuckboy!bucky, tattooed!bucky, slow burn, one-sided pinning, forced proximity, arachnophobia (giant spiders), weapons, violence, bathing in a river

word count: 2243

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“This is the third time in two years that dragon has attacked us,” the king’s jaw clenched, “third time, and we still don’t know how to slay it,” leaned against the central table in the war room, he glanced up to find Bucky’s eyes, “I was planning on going on a mission to gather intel, find its lair, study the beast, but–… things have changed,” on a heavy exhale, he let his eyes momentarily fall shut, “I need to stay here,” he stated slowly, “I can’t risk my life on a quest like this, not now that Cordelia is born… so,” his gaze fluttered back open, “I’m here to ask the two of you to take care of it.”  

Shooting a glance over at Bucky, you hesitantly uttered, “us?” 

You wanted to say no. A mission such as this could take months, and being stuck with Bucky for that long, just the two of you on the road, having to work so closely together, it might break you for good.

But then when Steve’s gaze locked with your own, the declination got stuck in your throat. 

“You are two of my most trusted warriors. If it can’t be me out there, then it should be you two,” his glance then shifted between you both as he noticed the look on your face, “unless, of course, you have any objections.” 

“No, of course not, your majesty,” you swiftly replied, knowing that this plague was so much bigger than your own little feelings, “it would be an honour.” 

“Hi, I’m here to pick up an order, it should be under the name Y/l/n.”

“Ah, yes,” the blacksmith nodded with recognition, “your blades are right over here,” he turned to retrieve them, “it was five new daggers, correct?” he glanced over his shoulder as he gathered the crafted arms in his grasp.

“Oh, six actually,” you slightly raised yourself up onto your toes to catch a glimpse. 

“Right,” he turned his attention back to the table of finished and shiny weapons, “uh–”

But then before the blacksmith could begin to panic, a young apprentice came running over from the forge, “uncle, here!” and handed him the last dagger, “sorry, I was sharpening them and forgot one of them by the grinding stone.” 

“Thank you, Peter,” he then let his expert eye wash over the metal, “ah, you’re getting better!” a bright grin crept up on the lad's face, “excellent work, my boy,” the blacksmith then walked back to where you waited and slid the cloth-bound blades over the soot-stained counter, “here you are, miss.”

“How much do I owe you?” you opened up your coin purse and began to flick through the change. 

“Oh, no,” his hands raised up before him, “no charge,” a gentle shake tipped his head, “that’s already been taken care of by his royal majesty himself.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, “received a letter yesterday morning for anything that you, or your other warden friend out there, might need, to put it on his tab.” 

“Alright, then,” a grateful chuckle bubbled out of you, “thank you.” 

And as you headed back out of the open smithy onto the quaint streets of Borün, the proprietor cheerily called after you, “have a good day!”

“You too!” you glanced back over your shoulder and offered the two figures a small wave. 

Nestled in a t-intersection, the heat of blacksmith swiftly got soothed by the breeze from the docks that bloomed only a few storefronts down to the left. The melody of gentle waves crashing against the harbour sloshed directly into your soul. One seagull had even dared to bravely wander past you into the town square that unfolded in the opposite direction. Casting a brief glance down there, by the bistro on the corner, you saw an energetic child spring and flee from the rest of their family, as they sat around one of the cosy outdoor seating options and enjoyed a quiet lunch, to favour a sprint around the vast tree that stood rooted in the centre of the square. 

“Did you get what you needed?” Bucky asked as you exited the shop, his grasp clutched tight around the reins of both Echo, his own horse that had a shiny black coat, as well as Zenna, the brown spotted mare you’d ridden for years. 

“Yep,” you tugged the newly acquired weapons into one of the saddlebags strapped to your horse, “you ready to go or do you have any last-minute errands before we head out?”

“Nope, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” he exhaled as you slid up onto Zenna, “let’s head out.”

“So, the dragon always escaped out west,” Bucky spoke, shooting a glance in your direction as you rode beside him, “every time, it was that direction.” 

“Hm…” you searched your inner map, your vision dancing betwixt the trees you passed as you cut through the south-eastern corner of The Noll Woods, “could it be dwelling out by Anng?”

“Maybe…” he cocked his head, “there are a lot of small islands all along that part of the coast, maybe it could have claimed one of them?”

“Possibly…” one of your brows then tilted up as a theory struck you, “or perhaps it’s even closer than that,” your neck twisted and you met his eye, “The Asadånie Mountains.”

“That certainly is a possibility,” his gaze averted as he thought on it, “I mean, the mountain range is immensely vast and dangerous by design. I don’t even think it’s ever been properly represented on a map yet with how few venture up there.” 

A noise then suddenly found your ear. A shrill clicking call from somewhere within the forest. 

“Shh, shut up,” you swiftly snapped as you pulled on the reins to stop your horse. 

Not hearing your hushed tone, Bucky kept on rambling, “it’s perfectly tucked away and secluded for a creature such as a dragon.”

“Barnes, I mean it, shut up,” you raised your voice sternly as your eyes raked the overgrown area around you. 

“What?” he finally stopped as well a few paces ahead of you, “what is it?” 

Sliding off of Zenna, you carefully looked around, listening intently for the sound that had chilled your bones. 

You should have looked up, because if you had, then you would have maybe spotted the giant spiders lurking before they dropped down from their vast webs spun throughout the treetops above. 

When one pounced on you, its curled fangs gnashing for a bite of your flesh, Bucky jumped off of Echo, though didn’t reach you before two skittered out to get him.

Drawing a dagger in each of your grasps, you then sank both of them into the spider’s dark and clustered eyes, twisting them clockwise before it sank to the forest floor below. 

As you yanked them back out, a spray of ickier trailed your blades, even as you turned to throw one of them into the bigger of the creatures advancing on your comrade, your aim slaying it instantaneously, the viscus scattered against the side of your face at the toss. 

But then a fourth one came from out of nowhere and pinned you down in the dirt. With the weapon still in your palm, your reach was too limited to strike it anywhere vital, though you still dealt a few blows where you could. Pierce it open above you, slimy viscera spilt out and showered your struggling form. 

On your next attack, the hilt of your blade managed to get stuck in the tough hide of the monster, and with the spider guts that slicked up not only your grasp, you began to fear you wouldn’t be able to pry it back out. 

But just before your hands slipped, as you tried to push it off of you and not render you its dinner, the spider suddenly went limp above you and you glanced up to see a thick bolt splitting its skull.

“Hey,” you snapped as you scrambled up onto your feet, “I had that one!”

Swinging his crossbow back over his shoulder, Bucky simply smirked, “sure, you did,” and bent down to pick up the dagger you tossed to save him, briefly flipping it playfully in his palm before he glanced up and threw it. For a split second, your eyes went wide, but then the short blade flew past your ear, and as your neck twisted to follow it, you watched as it logged itself into a younger spider you hadn’t noticed till now. 

As the horses grazed and drank from the nearby stream, you unfastened your own bedroll from the back of Zenna. 

When it was nestled under your arm, you offered the horse a gentle pat before turning back to the makeshift camp for the night. Sparks finally began to dance from Bucky’s efforts and the pile of twigs he had gathered was set aflame. 

Once your bedroll was unfurled on the mossy ground, you quietly sat atop of it, chewing on some dry rations you’d found in the bottom of your satchel and stared at the sun as it slowly sank into the horizon. As your vision danced between soft pink clouds in the lavender sky, your gaze suddenly grew wide as Bucky stood up from his side of the fire and began to shed his clothes. 

“What are you doing?” you asked as he peeled off the partial chainmail he wore and swiftly the dark blue tunic beneath, revealing his bare back to you before he cast a glance over his shoulder.

“Going for a dip. What does it look like I’m doing?” not slowing down at your alarm, he fiddled with his belt and stepped closer to the riverbank, “you know, you could use one as well,” he playfully added before stripping off the last of his clothing, “you reek of spider guts, my friend,” your gaze instantly fled up towards the sky before you could see more than just his backside. 

At the splash of his jumping into the water, you subtly sniffed yourself before reluctantly uttering, “alright, fine,” and you pushed yourself up to your feet. After gathering a clean shirt as well as a wide rag to dry yourself off with from your supplies, you piped up again, “but you stay up here, I’ll go find somewhere more private further down.”

“Ah, come on, snow, you don’t have to do that!” he argued as you began to wander away, “what do you want me to turn around? Promise not to sneak a peek at your goods?” 

But you just kept up your stride and called over your shoulder, “enjoy your bath, Barnes!”

The stream luckily curved slightly a ways further down. Not a lot, but enough to grant you enough assurance to give it a go. After you’d peeled off your layers of clothing and the pieces of leather armour that protected your frame, you slowly dipped a toe into the cool water. 

The blushing skies slowly melted into black as you bathed in the river. When you took a moment to rinse out the ivory tunic you’d worn, your gaze flickered down the stream to spot Bucky as he splashed water up onto the part of him not submerged. As droplets danced down his skin, you nearly stopped breathing entirely as you followed their trail down to what the water obscured. 

But then, like snapping awake from a dream, the dizzying sensation gave away to the depressing reality. 

Once you’d scrubbed and cleaned yourself the best that you could, the stars above began to twinkle as you patted your skin dry and shrugged on the acquired clean shirt, a burgundy one, as well as the rest of your attire. 

When you found your way back towards the camp, Bucky was already sitting by the fire, dressed and with his hair still dripping gently and turning the shoulders of his navy tunic nearly as dark as the night sky. 

After you’d hung your wet shirt over a nearby branch, without sharing another word with the other warden you travelled with, you laid down on your bedroll and closed your eyes. 

But before too long, Bucky’s low timbre found your ears over the crackling of the fire.

“Hey, what’s going on with you?”

“Uh, I’m trying to fall asleep,” you sighed loudly, “just as you should.” 

“No, I mean what’s going on?” he persisted, “are you mad at me or something?” 

Your eyes then blinked open to stare up at the stares, “why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know, yet you’ve given me the cold shoulder ever since you came back from Efira,” he then asked, “did something happen there?”

“Other than comb through tombs with a boring ass lord,” you huffed, “no, nothing happened.” 

“Then what’s wrong?” he demanded. 

The muscles in your jaw clenched tightly before you uttered, “nothing’s wrong.” 

“Did I do something to piss you off?” he kept pushing, “because if so, I’m sorry.”

Your muscles flexed as you forcefully raised yourself up on onto an elbow and twisted to shoot him a glare, “look, we are here on an important mission. We don’t have to be all buddy-buddy and reminisce about old times in order to get the job done, alright?”

Dark brows tightly knitted together, he stared back at you before eventually huffing, “fine.”

“Great,” you then heatedly flopped back down and tensely turned your back to him, “goodnight.” 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[evagreen-stories]

Mother’s madness | (Aemond x f!lowborn!reader) (1/?)

Summary: Aemond, troubled by his unfruitful marriage and the stress of the war, takes himself a bedslave when he seizes Harrenhal and gets more attached to her than he ever thought possible. Bringing her to the Red Keep after he needs to leave Harrenhal would not go as he hoped it would, especially after the birth of the babes he sired onto her.

Warnings: mentions of violence, light angst (kinda?), canon typical misogyny, canon typical behaviour, dark!aemond, abusive!aemond, forced relationship, forced impregnantion, canon typical classicism, mentions of assault, stockholm syndrom (kind of), non-canon storyline

Divider @targaryen-dynasty

masterlist part 2 >

You sat on the edge of the bed, playing with your fingers as you stared into the lit fire. The room was silent apart from the crackling of the fire and you felt his stare burn into you. It felt as though a heavy burden lay atop your head, suffocating you with every moment made to spend in his presence.

You had no idea how, for you were nothing but a lowborn bastard fathered by some bright haired high-born, working as a servant in the castle of Harrenhal. Young, mere 16 years of age, plain features, you had never thought yourself to be anything special, though it seems there was at least one person that would disagree with that. 

Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen.

Somehow, in all the panic and madness that was his seize of the city, you had caught his eye.

It had all happened so fast. Dragged into his chambers by his guards you had little time to process what was happening. He was already on top of you when you finally understood what now was your fate. Claimed as his spoil of war and made his bedslave, he had taken your maidenhead with force that night, in the same ruthless manner he would many nights after that. 

Locked in his chambers there was little room for escape and after only three turns of the moon, a master had proclaimed you to be with child, shortly after that he had confirmed you to be carrying twins.

You had asked him for moontea more than once, yet were always denied. You were his to do with as he pleased and he was set on you having a child of his.

You often wondered why. You were busy tending to him all day and night, from fulfilling his every desire to bathing him and oiling his hair. Yet, in his many times of absence whenever he was out fighting on the battlefield, you had nothing else to do but think.

Eventually, you had settled on your own theory; He was married to Floris Baratheon, they had been wed two years before the war first started. Now, their fourth year of marriage approached, and after much struggle she brought forth only two daughters. You had heard all the stories about her and Aemond, of countless miscarriages, about the daughter that died not even a week after her birth, leaving him with only one daughter said to be equally as small and weak as her sisters, though still alive by some miracle of the gods. 

The rumours about their misfortune had travelled fast and far, many of those that opposed him and his brother's reign had claimed he been accursed, even before he slayed his own kin. She was said to be with child now as well, though it was to be seen whether this one would survive his curse or not.

As for your own detriment, you were sure you were a mere experiment of his, an attempt to figure out if he was the cause of the unfruitfulness of his marriage or his wife was. A desperate wish of his to try and prove the rumours wrong.

You didn't know if it was luck or a curse of your own that his seed had taken immediately. 

Your womb had filled with not one but two of his children and you had encountered no issues in carrying them so far. Because of this it was little surprise he had taken you back to the Red Keep with him when he was summoned back to King's Landing.

There, neither his wife nor his mother were impressed with his choices. your mere presence was despised by everyone but him. Quickly you had learned to appreciate being confined to his chambers and to his company alone, as well as the company of the two babes growing in you.

He was a violent man, quick to anger and impatient, yet as your belly had started to swell with his children he seemed more at ease, being calm and almost affectionate so long you did not disobey or disappoint him. 

Quickly adapting, you had learned to submit to all his whims and wills, even if it hurt at times, for you knew there was greater hurt waiting if you didn't. 

There was nothing that upset him more than any form of rejection or disrespect from you.

The weeks went by quickly, you had been with child for almost seven moons now, the presence of two made your stomach larger and rounder than you'd ever expected to be, even though two moons were still to come.

As you’re lost deep in thought his deep voice brings you back to reality.

“Stop sulking like that, you will ruin your pretty face.”

Ungrateful wench. Look at me when I’m talking to you. 

Hearing his voice you turn to face him quickly, seeing him sitting at his desk and eyeing you with a slight glare. Lowering your head for a moment in an apologetic gesture you reply, “I apologise, my price.”

He clicks his tongue in irritation. “You’re making that face again. Do you wish for another reminder of your place?” He huffs, taking a long sip from his cup as his eye never leaves your expression.

“Please don’t, my prince. I’m deeply sorry.” You answer quickly, trying to hide the small tremble in your voice.

He gets up from his chair and walks over to you, standing in front of you and bringing his hand to your chin, tilting your head to look up at him. “Then put on a pretty smile for me. You know the rules.” 

You pull your lips into a small smile that does little to hide the gloominess in your eyes. He doesn't care much for that though, so long you do as he commands. 

“Good. That’s my good girl, that’s what I want to see from you.” He praises and pats your head before walking back to his desk, gesturing you to follow he says, “Come here to me, sweet doll.”

You follow suit, grunting slightly as you pull all three of you up from the bed and waddle over to him, standing next to him on his chair and waiting for further instructions.

“Bend over.” He commands, tapping the desk right in front of you with a cruel smirk. “I want to see where I hit you the hardest last time.”

Swallowing nervously you do as told, hiking up your dress to reveal your bare skin underneath and bending over the table as far as your swollen belly allows you to. The large bruises on your right buttock glow brightly against your pale skin, the dim candlelight making the purple look more vibrant than usual.

“Mh. Good.” You can hear his voice and flinch slight when you feel his cold hand make contact with your flesh, roaming over your marked body in a firm yet gentle manner. “And can you remember why I did this?” His voice was as cold as his hand, no emotion present as he inspects the aftermath of your last punishment closer. 

“Because I didn’t serve you well enough, my prince.” 

“Correct.” A sudden slap lands right on the bruise, the pain flaring up again making you gasp. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson because if I have to do it again you really won’t like it.” 

Flinching and groaning at another slap you answer quickly. “I have, my prince.”

“Good.” He was pleased with your submission. His hand leaves your flesh as he tells you, “Fix your dress. I will send you out to the city to collect something for me.” 

He rummages through a drawer of his desk as you take a step back, letting go of your dress and letting it fall down to your feet again. He pulls out a piece of parchment that already has mysterious words written on it that you can't understand and scribbles an address at the foot of it. He hands you a pouch full of coin. “Go and be quick about it. Take the guards with you, and give me those back as soon as you return.” He said, his long digit tapping the bag of coins in your hand.

“It is late, my prince. Are any shops still open at this time of night?” You wonder out loud, genuinely confused. 

It was nothing new for him to send you out to run errands. It was a welcome change from your duties as bedslave and personal maid, as you were still responsible for all his comforts. From bathing him and brushing his hair, to carrying his children to satisfy all his desires. He kept you in his chambers for this very purpose, he preferred your soft tender hands over those of anyone else, even if it meant summoning the wrath of his wife and others. Running errands for him was also the only other time you got to leave the suffocating castle walls. 

In theory you were free to roam the gardens and courtyard, yet the disgusted looks and insults from the ladies there had you staying in his chambers at all times.

“Don’t question me. I want it now. Do as I say and leave at once.” His voice is laced with irritation. 

Is she insolent or plain stupid?

You mumble an apology and bow, grabbing a cloak and hurrying out the room before you manage to mess up again. 

As much as you already loved your children still growing in your belly, in the most recent days you've felt as though they depleted your mind and made you more prone to upsetting your master. 

I can’t upset him. I need to do good.

You gathered two guards to keep you safe as you made your way down into the city, down the streets and alleyways, the address he gave you was far from the castle, close to Flea Bottom. 

Many people stared at you as you made your way through the streets. The night folk were out, it was rare to see a pregnant woman amongst them, even less common for one to be accompanied by royal guards.

You arrived in a small alleyway at last, an unseemingly shop with a sign above the door, you couldn't make out the words in the darkness, only make out a few herbs painted onto the wooden slap that made the sign. 

As you enter a bell announces your entry. “Good evening.” You say into the small and empty shop littered with different containers and brown bottles, a few tools hanging on the walls, the smell of all kinds of herbs mixing in the air and making your head spin soon enough. 

“Good evening,” the hoarse voice of an elderly woman replies as she enters the room through a curtain blocking off the other parts of the building. “Can i help you?”

“Yes. I am here to pick something up for Prince Aemond.” 

She looks you up and down, taking a deep breath as an expression of suspicion drapes over her previously welcoming one. “Really now? And what exactly has our prince sent you to collect?”

“He did not say.” You answer, reaching into the pocket of your cloak to retrieve both the parchment and coin. “But he gave me this note and the coin to pay for it.” 

You had notices strange words written over the address, words you could not understand, yet as this woman takes the note from you it appears she knows their meaning as she surries off behind the curtain she came from and brings back a small vial of strange liquid as well as a packet wrapped in paper, tied close with a string. 

“Here, my dear.” she hands them over to you. “Make sure you take caution on your way back to the palace. You dont want anything… unfortunate to happen to you in the city this late at night.”

“I will, thank you. How much do you get?” You reply as you open the pouch, ready to pay.

“No need for coin, my lady. Its on the house - for our pince’s sake.'' She smiles kindly, bowing slightly as she does.

You mirror her smile, bowing instinctively in return as you had learned to do in the Red Keep - bowing a hundred times too often was better than bowing once too little, you had understood that quickly.

“That is very kind of you, ma’m. I shall inform the prince about your generosity.” Packing away everything into various pockets in your cloak you bid goodbye, only to be stopped by the sound of her voice as you're about to reach the door. 

“I can’t help but notice you are with child. If you are to give birth in the Red Keep, I advise you to be careful.”

Her words make you stop dead in your tracks, turning around slowly to look at her with a frown on your face. “I… I’m sorry?”

“The Red Keep is a dangerous place for women, especially mothers and their small children. You’re having twins, you need be extra cautious.” She said as if it was the most normal thing in the world, as if she didn't just say one of the most shocking things you’ve ever heard. 

How does she know this?

“I-” You freeze in shock as you replay her words in you mind, “H-How do you know i’m expecting twins? And… what do I need to be cautious about?”

She smiles back, a smile filled not with innocence but with wisdom and knowledge, one that must’ve witnessed the wicked ways of this world on maany occasions. “I have seen many  women passing through my shop, my dear.” She gestures around to all the varying herbs and potions before continuing “I know when a woman is pregnant and can see when she is carrying twins. As for you needing to be cautious… there are many strange things happening in the Red Keep. Beware, no one there is your friend. The walls have eyes and ears. Do not trust anyone, not the maesters, either.”

“The maesters? Why not them? Are they not there to help me?” Fear creeps up within you, your hand rising to rest on your belly in a protective manner.

“The maesters are servants of the crown and no one in the crown's service can be trusted. They have their own agenda as well.” She says with confidence, stating it as fact rather than an opinion. She steps out from behind the counter, approaching you slowly. “There is much you don't know, my dear, I only wish to warn you. I’m worried for the lives of your children.”

“Can you-” You begin but are interrupted by the door swinging open. The guards have waited long enough and demand your return to the palace. 

You sigh in defeat, knowing that defying the guards is something Aemond will be informed of. Turning to face the elderly lady you bid goodbye. “I apologise. Have a good night, ma’m.” 

She simply smiles warmly. “May the gods protect you.” and watches as you leave.

You make your way back to the palace, her words running through your head like a mantra as you try to figure out the meaning of them.

You need to stop often, taking breaks to you catch your breath.

Stupid hills. Stupid steps.

It must be well in the night now, perhaps even early in the first morning hours, when you finally arrive back in the palace. You open the door to your shared chambers carefully, making sure not to wake the prince. Slipping inside carefully you make no noise in the barely lit room, only letting out a small squeal when you turn around and see him sit at his desk still, a book spread out in front of him as a single candle by his right side illuminates the pages.

“You’re still awake, my prince.” Your voice is but a mere whisper as you start fidgeting with your fingers.

He is dressed in his nightwear and doesn't even bother to look up from his book as he answers, “You took your time.” His voice is laced with annoyance and anger. It's now he looks up at you, studying your frame up and down before demanding, “Stand in front of me.”

You walk over to him, feeling the need to explain yourself as you do so. “I apologise, my prince. The walk back uphill and all the stairs have gotten more difficult with the two babes growing inside of me. I was in need of a few breaks.”

He nods, waiting for you to stand right in front of you. He takes a deep breath as if to calm himself and places a hand on your belly, his palm right over the spot one of the babes always liked to kick into. “You are indeed getting rather large. What have you brought me?”

You look at his hand on your belly. It's a gesture that would be sweet between husband and wife, yet you were not that. Not anywhere close. His growing fascination with your bump always made your blood run cold for some reason. You empty your pockets, placing all of the contents on the desk in front of him. 

“The coin back… and these two things.”

He didn't take his hand off your bump as he watched your movements and inspected the items with his eye. 

His free hand then travels to your hip, pulling you closer to stand between his legs as he keeps his other hand roaming your belly, looking up at you and studying your tired expression. 

After a while he instructs you, his voice now much calmer and seeming almost content as he speaks, “Go sit on the bed. Don’t speak another word unless I say otherwise.”

You nod silently and walk over to the bed, sitting down and relishing the feeling of relief that overwhelms you when the weight of three is finally lifted off your aching feet. 

Watching him as he inspects the package and vile you see him smell all of it, grimacing at the smell of what must be a potion of sorts. You wondered what it smelled like but you knew better than to ask questions. He counts the coins, yet does not comment on them all still there. You want to tell him about the nice lady, but you know better than to disobey his command to stay silent.

He packed it all away, into the same drawer he had taken out the coins in the first place, then looks back up at you. He leans back into his chair, one hand resting on his leg as the other reaches for the cup next to him. “Take off your dress.” He orders and keeps taking the last few sips from the wine.

You do as told quickly, getting up from the bed to undo the straps that hold the dress in place and let it fall open, taking it off and placing it over a chair close to the bed before taking a seat again.

This was far from unusual, you knew his antics by now.

He preferred to play with his prey before devouring it.

Watching you intently he smiles as soon as the first patches of bare skin are revealed. He would never grow tired of ordering you around, too exhilarating was the power he held over you.

As a man, as a prince nonetheless. 

No one could stop him. 

Not his mother, not his wife, not the gods - and especially, not you.

He gets up and walks over to you, his eye roaming over every curve of your gravid body. Your belly grew larger with his children every day, your breasts too were round and swollen. 

They must hurt, he thought to himself from time to time, but until the milk would finally start to flow there was nothing he could do to provide relief. He had tried more than once already, ever the impatient man he was, though it seemed not to be the time for it yet.

His hand placed on your arm he firmly nudges you back and to your side. Lying there like this, on your side with your legs pulled onto the mattress, gave him easy access to indulge in you while also giving him a good view of the body he so worshipped. It was one of the very few positions in which he could take his sweet time without you struggling to breathe under the weight of his children pushing into you. 

He starts taking off his clothes when he strikes up conversation. It was odd, the calmer he took you, the more need for talk he seemed to have. Though the frequency in which he did this nowadays did make it normal to some degree.

“Tell me your fears. What worries you most about the coming birth?”

“Huh?”

Taken aback by his question, you struggle to find an answer. After many moments of tense silence, purely filled with the sounds of his clothes tossed away, you eventually reply. 

“I… I suppose dying…” 

It sounded more like a guess than an answer, Truthfully, you had never though of this yourself. 

Too hopeful that this birth could finally set you free from him, you had never nurtured any negative thoughts or critical questions about pregnancy or birth.

“Dying?” He seemed surprised. His hands worked on you with practised routine, pulling your body closer to the edge of the bed and pushing your legs forward to make space for him. 

He presses his bare manhood against the flesh of your core as he leans forward, hands roaming all over your stomach and breasts, firmly grabbing and playing with the nubs on them as if to check again for any precious liquid. 

“I take it you don’t worry about the lives of my children then. Only for yourself?”

“Of course I do!” You reply, voice a bit firmer now than before, feeling an immediate swell of anger and fear bubble deep inside you. Weird, that never happens. “I just… I think if I'm cold in my grave I can no longer worry about them at all. So, first should be the worry about my own life. Then, if I am to live through the birth, I can worry about them.”

“Interesting…” He says as he now turns his attention to his cock, taking it in his hand and running it through your folds several times. He was never a man that took much time to prepare you, he felt little need to do so. 

Your body responded within seconds of knowing what was about to happen, providing the necessary slick for him either way. On times he took you by surprise and pushed in without notice, it too had taken mere moments for your cunt to embrace and welcome him.

All mine. Responding just how she should.

“Then just trust me.” He says, grunting and huffing softly as he buries himself in the comfort of your walls, gripping onto him in familiar tightness. “You’ll see there will be little to worry about, sweet thing. Just relax. I’d hate to have you dead, too. You’d be of little use in a cold grave for both my children and me.”

Rutting into you at an increasing pace he is soon moaning and groaning with each thrust until he has rid himself of all his spend, grinding it into the deepest parts of you with deep growls and laboured breaths as his own body collapses forward onto yours, his forehead resting on your temple as his hot breath on your skin sends gooseflesh down your body. 

He could not describe it, there was no reasonable explanation for it, but it was you who he had always taken the most pleasure from. No whore or his wife could compare. You had brought him a sense of comfort  he would find nowhere else.

While pleasure wasn’t guaranteed for you in all his takings, it was times like these you did feel it. Times like these where you felt less like a slave and more like a lover. When his bare, sweaty skin would cling to yours, the sensation of his hot breath on your neck making your own hitch in your throat, the inaudible words in what you think to be valyrian growled in his deep voice would make your stomach tighten in a familiar fashion.

In moments like these, you didn’t mind your fate too much.

The days pass and soon turn into weeks.

You never found out what the potion or herbs were about. Soon after that day however, Aemond had given you your own chambers for the first time ever since you came into his service. They were small and humble in comparison to his but still a far cry from what any servant or peasant could wish for.

A large bed with enough blankets and pillows to make it through the coldest winter nights, a table with two chairs, a sofa, two cradles, a wardrobe and other furniture, all made of richly coloured wood with intricate patterns and carvings. 

The chambers were far from his. He did not want screaming babes keeping him up at night, thus the adjustment needed to be made, even if the thought of your impending absence from his bed soured his mood already.

You may have been the prince regent’s favourite and were to have his bastard children, yet you were still a lowly bed slave, thus expected to give birth with only the standard precautions taken and to take care of both babes yourself. No wet nurse or handmaiden to help you. That much you were made aware of as soon as you had arrived in the Red Keep all those moons ago.

What is a frightening thought, to be so young and left to care for two babes alone, did give you a feel of hope regardless. 

Hope for some peace and quiet away from Aemond, hope for being able to sleep and wake up without his hands all over you, and the hope of him finally growing bored of you and relieving him of your service to him. 

There was only a small chance of that happening, you knew, yet you held onto that hope until the day he left for battle again.

He had indulged himself in you daily until then, knowing he would soon have no more chance to do so - at least for a while, until you were fully healed. 

When he had to leave for a long military operation he bid you goodbye before making his way to Vhagar. You watched him leave before retiring to your own chambers, happily confining yourself to your new chambers with books and yarn.

Less than a fortnight after Aemonds departure, the day had arrived. Going into labour in the late hours of the afternoon you had been bed bound for a whole day before your babes would finally make their arrival.

Two sons, healthy and strong despite their small size - the maester had assured you this was a common occurrence for twins. They would fill out soon, he claimed, aiding in calming your fears. 

To your surprise, you were not left as abandoned as you had expected to be. The maester cared for your body as you learned how to nurse your sons, how to change and bathe them. 

You were provided nourishing, large meals, lotions, oils and herbs, your belly bound by ever changing maids. You could tell these were benefits granted to you at the order of the prince. He must have instructed them to do so before he left.

Whether he did this out of the kindness of his heart or purely because he wished you back in his service as quickly as possible in the best possible condition you were not sure, yet you would not complain either.

All you did was focus on your sons who you named Aurelius Waters, the elder one, and Patroclus Waters, the younger one. Briefly had you considered naming them in the traditions of house Targaryen to appease Aemond, but he was not here. 

He could not interfere. They were bastards after all, so you took the liberty of naming them to your heart's content - the first time you've felt in control ever since being forced into his service.

Meanwhile, Aemond was busy on the battlefields, travelling back and forth between the crownlands and riverlands, aiding in one battle after the other as he brought victory after victory to his brother’s cause.

He found his days eerily quiet without the presence of his beloved bed slave by his side. His days seemed dark and gloomy, empty and devoid of life. He looked forward to when he would be reunited with you but to his dismay, his presence was needed for far longer than he had anticipated.

As the days went on, you had soon taken notice of both the maids and maesters who were seemingly fascinated by the fact that both babes were actually growing very fast and became more active than ever. Both were feeding at your breast all day long, soon turning plumb and full of life.

Why were they so suprised? Had they lied to you when they said all would be well?

You could not help but grow increasingly worried and suspicious at the maesters seemingly heightened interest in your sons, the words and warning of the mysterious old lady plaguing your mind even in your sleep. You started locking your chamber at night mere days after giving birth, finding yourself unable to sleep whenever you knew anyone could walk in and do something to your children while you slept.

You tried to stay calm, tried all you could to ease your mind. You tried to take a walk once. To go into the gardens you usually avoided for you knew there were often ladies whispering hurtful insults behind their hands. 

Walking there with both sons tied to your chest with a long, silken piece of fabric, you stopped dead in your tracks when you overheard the hushed whispers of who you assumed to be servans. You stayed and listened, like a deer hearing a branch snap. 

Really? One said. They wouldn’t do that. The other said. I’m certain! I’ve heard it with my own ears! Another proclaimed.

Your breath hitched in your throat, your heart skipped several beats as you continued to listen in on their conversation. You clutched your sons tighter and turned around on your heels, hurrying back into you chamber and shutting the door behind you with a loud thud, immediately turning the lock closed.

From that day on, the door would stay locked at all times.

You unlocked the door only on few occasions. Whenever a servant brought you food or came to clean, or whenever you put dirty nappies out for someone to take and get rid of. 

Maesters were no longer allowed in your room at all and no one was allowed to touch your sons. You did it all yourself. You could not bear the sight of anyone else touching them, too bad had your paranoia and fears gotten.

You kept the cradles right next to your bed and the babes tied to your chest more often than not. You slept only when they slept and fed, bathed and cleaned them yourself.

By the time Aemond finally returned two months after you welcomed your sons, you were a sleep deprived mess. Paranoid as ever with the door firmly locked at all times.

Something Aemond would be informed of by the maesters soon after his return.

masterlist part 2 >

[tinytalkingtina]

The True Face of Bravery

Written for the @steddiemicrofic June challenge prompt, using the word "stuff" and max 483 words.

483 words | Rating: T (for a single swear word)

Tags: Fantasy DnD AU, Tiefling Steve Harrington, Anti-Tiefling racism, Steve Harrington has bad parents, implied child abuse, first kiss

Ao3 link

"'Mi'lord', your squire is whining he can't find your club, the one with the spikes and-um." Eddie froze with his hands still on the tent flap, staring at Steve. And surely this was Steve, he had the same facial features and clothes as Stephen Harrington, heir to the Barony of Loch Nora and paladin extraordinaire. Except Stephen Harrington didn't have luminous red skin, or a pair of horns that spiraled up out of his hair and curved back over themselves just above his ears. And he certainly didn't normally have a pointed tail poking out from his trousers. Before Eddie could even begin to think of retreating, he found himself roughly yanked inside the tent. “Wait!” Eddie flailed, wrenching himself out of Steve's grasp. “Please don't kill me! As fitting as it would be for Eddie the Banished to die at the hand of a noble I really would rather it not happen today, I promise I can keep my mouth shut and—“ Eddie stopped babbling as he took in how badly Steve was trembling. Weaponless, he had only moved to block the tent flap. Steve lifted a shaking hand to his nose. "Father was right, it was always going to come down to an act of stupidity on my part. Just, let me finish this mission, please." Eddie blinked, still wrapping his head around his companion’s true appearance. "What?" "Vecna is a blight on these lands. Even if the Order is going to expel me once they know, I swore an oath to slay him. I'm asking that you wait to turn me in until we're done. I promise, I'll go quietly." "Why would I turn you in?" Steve's tail twitched when he was anxious. "Have you somehow missed that I'm the shameful reminder of my ancestor's wrongdoings?” he said, clearly mimicking something he had been told many times over. Eddie took a tentative step forward. "And what makes you think I give a flying fuck what stuff society or your Order believes? Sweetheart, I'm just impressed you've managed to hide yourself for this long." "As a child my parents wouldn't let me leave my chambers until I could cast illusion magic." Steve whispered. "But why—” "You're kind of the ideal paladin, you know?" Eddie barreled on. "Always throwing yourself headlong into danger to protect others. You're kind and funny and," he blushed, "absolutely breathtaking. If those abyssal chickens hadn't broken my lute, I would immediately start composing something about the swirl of your horns." "You would...oh." Red hands with black-tipped claws reached out to gently encircle his waist. Eddie shyly reached up to tuck a loose lock of Steve's hair behind one of his horns. "Come on, let's get some rest. You have an undead lich to slay tomorrow, Sir Stephen the Brave,” he said softly. The equally soft kiss he received in response spoke of something much longer than tomorrow.

Some tidbits of trivia/more babbling about this AU under the cut!

I've had an idea for a DnD AU for a long time, featuring members of the nobility Harringtons who made a deal with a devil in exchange for power and wealth. When their first-born son was a born a tiefling, to hide their shame, they at first kept him hidden from view, then, once he learned magic, forced him to constantly cast disguise self to appear human.

As a paladin, he is driven to helping those in need, but doesn't like anyone touching his hair (they'll feel his horns under the illusion magic) hence his nickname "the Hair". Dustin is an artificer gnome, his loyal if mouthy squire, while Eddie is a half elf bard who doesn't initially like "Mr goody two shoes shining knight".

Vecna is a literal undead evil lich causing trouble from his own pocket dimension, dubbed "The Upside Down".

Also Abyssal chickens are in fact a real DnD monster and they are adorably terrifying.

[anarchiii]

Twin Flames-1 —ACOTAR x TOG AU

Part One | Warnings: angst? | Witch!Reader x Eris Vanserra

Summary; Y/N had been born from a great darkness, and yet her soul burned brighter than any Firewielder. She didn’t care for someone who would try smother those flames, she wanted someone that would set them alight. . .

Note: this is an AU it’s not in the books.

Masterlist / Series Masterlist

Disclaimer; a fair amount of spoilers, people!!

Happy @erisweekofficial ,everyone!! ❤️

Eris’s POV

The Heir had never been one to look up to the stars and wish like some, but he’d always wanted things to turn out better, he wasn’t stupid enough to let hope fester in his heart, Beron had made sure of it, and his mother. . . She wasn’t around enough to affect anything. Locked up in her rooms for the foreseeable future.

He’d always silently hated that Lucien had gotten his happy ending—then again, he deserved it, his brother had always been the best one, so empathetic and patient, nothing like himself, though he couldn’t help it, not when Lucien came over with his lovely mate, going on about how happy he was, he couldn’t help the jealousy that arose within him. Turning him into a lonely and pathetic creature. Forced to watch everyone prosper while he wasted away, and he had no one to blame but himself.

It was true that the hateful and evil mask he put on was a mask, but, over time he had became the very thing everyone believed him to be, it was pitiful, he’d read so many stories of people that had suffered so greatly but had overcame their hardships and survived, becoming better people than they ever could’ve imagined, and yet, even as a child, Eris knew that would not be him. He would never know love and respect. No, that was not what he was here for.

Instead he helped people in his own wrong way and saw to it that they were better, going behind his High Lord’s back and helping their enemies, and after all that. He’d barely gotten a thank you. He couldn’t blame them, though, not at all, the Night Court especially, they knew him to be the male that’d stripped The Morrigan down and left her to die in his own lands, a nail imbedded in her stomach, the male that had tried stealing their High Lady’s sister away, to be a wife for no more than breeding and owning. When they didn’t realise he just wanted someone to love. That was all he’d ever wanted, all he’d ever let himself want for.

But his story was not one that ended in a happy ending, no, he was the beast the knight would slay to save the fair maiden, no more than a hurdle to overcome, a monster with a terrible fire that burned in his blood, burned his very soul. . .

-

Y/N’s POV

She couldn’t stop the shuddering of her breath as she took in the now empty battlefield bathed in the blood of enemies and allies alike, she would never get used to it, the fighting, the bloodshed, the hate, Y/N was born for battle and yet it terrified her, she had no idea how Aelin Galathynius did it. How she fought like an absolute warrior and smiled a minute later. Perhaps she would never know, the Queen had always unnerved her, she was a mystery never to be solved, though, that didn’t mean she didn’t respect her, no, when the young woman came off the field, she only bowed, she was not her Queen but that did not mean she wouldn’t fight for her. Hell. This entire army was brought together because of her. The world could finally breathe because of her.

A strong hand clasped her shoulder, pulling her from her thoughts and bringing her back to the world, the sun was blaring, melting all the snow and making small waterfalls form from the cliffs of the Staghorns, she turned around to find her Wingleader staring at her, Manon’s black and gold eyes shining with poorly hidden despair, she couldn’t blame her, not when her own held the same expression.

She nodded to Manon in thanks, neither of them saying a word, she couldn’t bare to look at Abraxos who lingered behind his rider, Y/N cleared her throat, saying, “I’m going to go for a walk, alone.” She didn’t wait for her response before leaving. Walking down the many stairs of the castle, winding turns and long hallways, she didn’t say anything to Aelin’s court members as she walked past them, non of them seemed to want to talk either. Good.

She was soon out of the great castle and then through the gates and out onto the field, Orynth looming behind her, its stones mockingly clean, it took her a long time to reach Oakwald, she had no Wyvern to carry her anymore, Adries was riding high with the other eleven creatures who hadn’t survived, Abraxos the only one left, if she wasn’t wound up in her own misery then she would’ve felt bad for the beast, but sorrow was seemingly staying for a while.

Stray branches and leaves crunched beneath her boots as she walked through the forest, the trees whispering secrets older than time itself, the wind howling names lost to history, it was a artefact in itself, it was famous for the creatures that dwelled in its lush canopies but no one talked about the sentience the place held, like it was watching your every breath and movement, it was terrifying and yet, oddly comforting.

She spotted no white stags but that wasn’t unusual, the only one she had ever seen had been mere hours ago when Aelin Ashryver Galathynius had entered the battle riding one in golden armour fit for a empress, a goddess.

Surprisingly, the forest was not silent, birds sung their songs and the deer still went about eating leaves, it was peaceful, and nice to know the world hadn’t stopped, everyone and everything moved on eventually, some quicker than others, maybe in a few years she would admire the beauty of Oakwald—she had loved nature so dearly when she was younger, when everything wasn’t so dark,—she wanted to look at the ducks waddling by and smile as they had a swim in a nearby pond, she wanted to look at the flowers already blooming through all the gore and wonder in amazement, she wanted.

She couldn’t help the tears that fell, she had lost so much, how was she supposed to go on without them? She felt that flame inside her flicker and sputter but persevere, something she couldn’t seem to do, her Grandmother had always despised that light, how even when she tried smothering it—it only burned brighter, the old hag was probably smiling in her grave to know what she had wished for so many years was happening, she was breaking, ever so slowly.

The sun was falling, setting the sky into hues of deep orange and yellow, clouds forming and blocking the view, she didn’t go home, though, just kept walking, trying to clear a mind that couldn’t be cleared, soon, mist was shrouding the forest in mystery, tiny droplets of rain fell. Hitting the emerald leaves and falling off them. It was quite serene, actually. Like the entire world was heading to bed. Her as the moon’s only witness.

She felt so small, so insignificant under it’s light, it was a lovely feeling, nocturnal animals ventured out of their dens into the night, the little glow of their eyes the only sign they were there, still, she didn’t go back. What was left for her there? She had no lovers, no family, friends or children, she was alone in a world full of people, alone.

She doubted anyone would miss her, maybe she could run away and start a new life, purge all her past memories. . . It was tempting, very tempting, and— what was that? She spotted something shiny hiding beneath jewel coloured leaves, as Y/N got closer, she realised it was a ring. A simple silver ring. It was oddly pretty, in a way a plain blue sky was pretty, nothing stood out but it still caught her attention, she bent over and picked it up but as she did, she slipped on some moss and went face-first into the ground.

She closed her eyes and groaned at the feeling of her nose screaming out in pain—the scar on her jaw mimicking the feeling, the ring was warm in her hand, like it bore an inner fire, her body felt so heavy that she couldn’t help but lay there, perhaps in the morning she would figure out what to do, nothing would harm her, so there was no reason but to keep to the floor, Y/N did need sleep, so why not get it?

Y/N dreamt, she had the instinct feeling of falling but didn’t stir, she felt herself land on something hard and cold and did all she could to grab on, this may be a dream but she’d be damned if she died in it. A dream.

-

Eris’s POV

One of his hounds barked in the distance and he had enough sense to inspect, the autumn leaves crunched beneath his feet like the crackling of flames, he’d never gotten sick of the eternal autumn, it was his home, no matter what had happened in this place, it was forever be his, in some way, at least.

The dog, Hazel, released another sound, piercing through the silence, setting all the other dogs off, he sighed, shaking his head as he got closer, there was no point telling them to be quiet when they wouldn’t listen, anyway.

Eris walked into the clearing where all his animals gathered, there was nothing, positively nothing of interest or significance, just a plain old spot, though that didn’t stop the smoke hounds as they jumped around and circled a particularly tall tree, this was abnormal for even them, something was off, he caught the faint scent of blood and metal on the wind, but found it led nowhere.

He noticed little scraps of clothing hanging from low branches, the material was similar to that of the Illyrian’s but different in a way, hopefully he wouldn’t find that Shadowsinger or haughty general dead in his forest, not that he wouldn’t be delighted in that, a bird cried out in the distance and he looked up to see it, only, it wasn’t a bird he saw.

No, it was a person, hanging from a branch high up, her bloody blond-silver hair hung limp, a strange red cape covering most of her body, perhaps she was dead, and perhaps that was a good thing.

Yet he couldn’t hide his shock when something fell from her hand, it shined faintly as it fell right into his palm, he did all he could not to hiss in anger as he found it was his ring that he had lost two weeks ago, the one his mother had given him, that little thief.

The End.

Note: so uhh. . . No idea where this is going, no pressure- 😬

-Taglist

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

@azrielslittleslut

@shadowsingercassia

[spoiled-fawn]

Lust by Nature {Part 1}

Masterlist, Part 2, Part 3

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) slightly dubious consent, (eventual) Somno, he wants you but is stubborn, violence, succubus reader, sexual tension, reader is given a callsign, minimal descriptions of reader, will update tags as I go

Word Count: 4,015

Summary: A demon by nature; a succubus. Now finally designated to a team, you’re a pilot in how demons and hybrid creatures alike can change the war. However, your previous commanders didn't account for a man too stubborn for his own good. Captain Price stands firm in his morals and ethics, developed by his hardened years in the SAS. You, a lustful little devil, will put him to the test.

And maybe along the way, he’ll put your nature to the test.

A/N: For my own logistics, reader was born seemingly human but the traits and magic did not solidify until reaching adult years, making you appear youthful while stuck in that age. This was originally going to be PWP but I sit here 20k words later... I hope ye enjoy!

Being a far descendant of a fallen angel, you could laugh at the pitiful life you’ve led yourself into.

You’re a pretty thing- beautiful, really. Full of allure and a natural aura of sin that draws others in with a simple look. The blood that pumps and fuels your magic has been alive for a long, long time.

Boredom is a constant in the life of the soulless and damned. It’s agonizingly blurry if you don't set a task or just choose to meander around the world but fortunately for you, you’ve got quite the life ahead of you.

Coming from a state-of-the-art high-security prison base, you’re technically a super soldier with a special drawback. Needing humans to fuel your power; you suck the life out of them, literally, and take energy from their sexual desires and touch.

It’s almost the brunt of the joke when you answer the question of what you are, feeling each time such an expectant shame and laugh to be cast upon you like heavy stones.

A succubus.

Long-acting jester of the demons taken for a lust-driven fool.

Being detained early on in your young lifespan, you were trained to be used as a weapon. Not of mass destruction, but rather something to make these stupid games of war go by so much easier. Not having to slay countless bodies for information and getting a damn good meal from the lives you stole (maybe a few quickies when your superiors weren’t looking), it’s a considerably content life compared to others.

Graduating from training after a few decades was quite the celebration for you and the officials who have been overseeing you for a plethora of years. The military had found a suitable team for you, and you were designated to be put under the supervision of an elite task force.

Supernatural beings were not uncommon in the military, as a large amount were free to live their lives if docile. In the lands of gods and monsters, the humans still held supreme reign over the controlled populations. However, beings similar to you were quick to be captured and either trained or distributed- the world turning a blind eye to what you were capable of achieving in the good and the bad.

John Price. The name stuck to your tongue like you were thirsty and you had a thick paste in your mouth.

No, not semen. At least not yet.

Being appointed to Task Force 141 was exciting. It’s your first time with this much trust, but you know you’d never fuck around too much to land you back to your containment. Captain Price had steely eyes locked onto your form the moment you stepped out of the convoy; high-security cuffs around your wrists and a large band of metal wrapped around your torso. The assumption is to keep you from shapeshifting or lashing out at anyone now that you’re out from the heavy locks and fences.

To everyone else, you looked human. Nothing amiss besides the heavy security detail on your body.

“Captain Price.” Your General’s voice rings out for you, greeting him with a firm handshake.

“General, pleasure.” His eyes dart away from you to greet the man, and you take a small dissatisfaction at the notion, your eyes traversing the expanse of him, already ruminating and calculating his presence.

He’s strong. His energy is sturdy; A cement wall that has cracks laced upon itself, layers of bonding to cover them up and just barely sanded over to appear brand new. His physical appearance leaves your internal senses giddy with the sense of a new adventure. If you’d release your glamour illusion, your tail would be swaying slowly.

The contract was simple; Your powers would be used in specific operations under Price’s command. You were his, and his only, not being allowed to act under any other authority. Behave well and you’ll be integrated more into society by his terms, but the worse you were, the worse your containment.

Your payment? Being able to form a bond with Price, one that will satisfy your demon, while being sure to keep you useful.

The etymology humans created portrayed a slew of differing conditions for succubi contracts, most being a damning thing to land humans a hot spot in hell. Being able to create this tie meant that they’d be your selected mate while they’d bear your mark to ward off any other demons. Under this, it barricaded you from killing said person. Instead, the feeding would come from sexual desire, touch, and yes, semen.

Watching Price, the flames of your creation begin to already yearn for his touch.

It's with a simple handoff of your file, a thick manilla envelope, that gets passed off to Price with no other words spoken, and you can’t help but marvel at how they treat your ownership like a back alley drug. The General nods towards you, speaking your name before the simple “But we just call her Little Devil.” A small twitch of Price's mouth makes you wonder if he disapproves.

“She may be a demon but keep her well-kept, Price. Your trial run in this program is going to do more than change war tactics.” 

Shifting the envelope in his hands, Price takes a survey of how much documentation they have on just your captive existence. There could be some good and some bad, maybe all bad but the chance of letting a temperamental half-demon could cause serious repercussions to both sides. Hypothetically. 

“We’ll be in touch.” Price responds, the forced-looking grin making the blue of his eyes slightly disappear for a moment. A nod of his head, then attention back on you while judging how to best go about this.

“You speak…?”

It sets a bristle off inside you with an internal scoff. The chance to insult him for accusing you of being either incompetent or something of the silent type settles, but your probation period keeps you inside the lines of behavior. “Yes, Captain.”

When he hears your voice; It sounds ethereal. Like the crisp jingle bells while the sound is eclipsed if not swallowed by soft and red velvet.

A small tick of his right eyebrow was the only movement accompanying a hum in acknowledgment. “Right, well. Let’s get you settled in then.”

With the queue of acceptance, the General brings a small key from a pocket unbeknownst to you, moving to unlock the cuffs. There’s humor in watching you, the new operator being uncuffed while accepted onto base- and hey, maybe you could ponder the religious message it brings forward too.

But there’s not enough time for that notion.

Walking off the tarmac and into the nearby administrative building brings steady heed of stares. “So… Your previous situation. Was told it was more of a containment type of thing. Would you mind speaking on that?” Price’s toned-down voice comes out after more than a few paces into the building, leading you towards a stairwell into the third floor.

“The best way to describe it in normalcy would be similar to what you human soldiers do here- the barracks. Just imagine its very high security.” It takes a moment to draw up the answer, having expected the man to be as nitwitted as the normal “A sex demon, huh?” question asked in every new encounter.

 “You’ve always been in that situation?”

The clicking of both sets of feet confidently strikes the ground. A sense louder than the random soldiers milling around you and the lack thereof as others stop and stare in bewilderment.

“No. Not sure if you’re making small talk or haven’t read my file yet, but my demonic integration did not start manifesting until I was in my early adult years. Got turned in when I was walking around the streets in full form. No control whatsoever on shifting.” 

A broken-off hum leaves the man, sensing the almost frazzled static around him as he works to keep walking while maintaining an eye on you. “I have. Just wanted to hear it from you.” Truthfully, if you were in his place with an unshackled demon that had years of military experience walking alongside you, you’d have some sense of fear too. “And how long ago was that? When you matured?”

Eyeing him for a moment, he looks mid-40s if anything. Handsome, worn down from war so possibly a bit younger. “Quite some time ago. I’d say when your parents were born, Captain.”

He stops in a mid-step, balances perfectly set before turning to whirr his head at you. Eyes give an up-down motion on you before ticking his jaw. “Huh.”

He pushes his way through a wall of soldiers to an office door before opening it. “And how old-”

“Body stopped aging when all the changes settled. A second sense of puberty that I’m locked into.” The small upturn of your lips doesn’t pass him. All he can do is nod in response.

He makes his way to the desk against the back corner of his office room; The space is a good size, Having enough for his L-shaped desk with two chairs in front of it. A worn-in leather couch on an adjacent wall while a few framed documents hang on the wall, military in nature with medals attached to them while undusted fake plants serve as accents in the corners.

“Very well,” He gives a soft grunt when adjusting himself in his seat before opening up the large manilla folder. “You, are going to be judged based on your nature and human interaction during your uncontained enlistment. Ability to perform assignments, be of aid, and see what your specific capabilities can put forward with us.”

Head nodding in check with each item listed, “Understood, Captain.”

His blue eyes leave the documents for a moment to find your gaze already on him. “You’ve got a good rapport with every previous task, but your previous COs still didn’t state trust as a key factor. Why would that be?”

For a moment, you get lost in the focus of his body language; Price folds his arms over the table, holding his elbows as the pages become spread over his desk. The way he purses his lips after a question that holds an answer he will depend on. His lips make a small smack in the action, and it's cute in the way he’s so human.

“I didn’t trust them.”

An eyebrow arches at the vague response prompting you to continue. “Kept me like a lab animal, fed me or let me feed when deemed easy for them to write off in the report. That’s not how you treat a demon when expecting to use their powers, sir.” 

“And this feeding… There’s multiple ways listed here but to be frank- I’ve still yet to get my head wrapped around it. You’re a sex demon, yeah?”

Ah. There it is.

His eyes dart down to the few pages that cover your needs and methods of survival, studying the paragraphs of information. A how to keep your demon alive handbook if you will.

“The premise of everything I need stems from what is deemed as life force, or just called energy. Sex is easy, and feels the most satisfying.” A breath before continuing. “ But relying on just energy wont last me long, yet its easier in some situations. Those barely alive are easy to take from.”

He knows there's more to be had with you. A temptress trained well with a pedigree in what you were made for. But he can only hypothesize. “And what are you expecting from being here?”

A look of surprise flashes in the widening of your eyes, not used to someone asking in consideration. “I’m expecting more hostiles, interrogations, or kills that I could take to feed myself. And sex too.”

“Oh-” A half cough leaves him before looking to the side. Surely he should have known, it's stereotypical but at least true.

“If you want me at full strength, I’m going to need the energy. I’m sure you could understand that, Sir?” The small tilt of your head, almost an aloof look sends alarm bells into his mind. They wouldn’t have sent a succubus in here without some sort of plan already being formed, some procedure and measure being used to-

“I am expecting to form a relationship with you, Captain.”

And at that, a full choked sound leaves him. He deserves doubled pension for this.

“And in what right mind, was that established in, hm?” He grounds out, opening a desk drawer to pull out a cigar before taking a cutter to the end of it. You measure the time it takes for him to light it and take a first steady puff.

“Well, the way I see it- and having discussed it with my previous superiors, this is supposed to mirror a real dynamic. This is the only point of contact to report on my behavior. I don’t think engaging in what I need would go over well if I went wild with other operators or soldiers around the base. Confirm or deny?”

Price’s eyes narrow as you speak, dragging his gaze away to stare at his locked computer screen. A grunt in the back of his throat sounds before taking another inhale of his cigar. For a man who has been fighting on the front lines for countless years, he keeps the smoke in for a steady amount of time. Healthy lungs. Good for him. 

You haven’t tried a cigar, only have gotten a whiff of the burning tobacco coming from superiors. This smell is the lingering one you picked up on Price even when standing on the tarmac. Sweet, vanille and tobacco leaves.

“You said your previous company spoke on this with you.” He starts with a swift movement to rifle through the pages on his desk. “This in writing or are you taking the piss now?” He speaks in a deep grumble, holding the burning cigar between his lips.

An internal groan rattles your mind, already sensing this may be more of a struggle than ease of getting what you were promised. “Last few pages. It’s all in writing.” He seemed like a sensible man in the way that if a warm and inviting body was laid out to him while asking for himself, he’d take it.

“Commanding officer is to set an established and cohesive exchange, herein the succubus will be fed from a relationship in physical and sexual natures while in exchange not damaging or harming the officer.” His accent slides in a bit more thickly than you’ve heard up until now, eyebrows scrunched while he mumbles the page to himself. “And why in the bloody hell, was this not communicated to me beforehand?”

You can’t control the wry smirk that steals your lips while looking at him, trying not to laugh. “They thought it would be a no-brainer.” A pause, “Sir.”

Plucking the cigar out of his mouth, Price sighs while leaning back in his chair seemingly defeated. “You sufficed well without any previous relation in the company, there’s no evidence that this will turn out well.” His eyes now land on you in a quick movement.

“As I mentioned-” He cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“No. I’m not going to sleep with my subordinate, less so one that can kill me if so pleases.” The uptick of his chin bleeds with firmness, a decision that screams arrogance of finality. 

Settling down in a way that almost matches his, your jaw ticks. “Yes, sir.”

And truthfully it's all you can say. Agree and accept to stay here and be the guinea pig for others like you. You can warn all you want but by the devil himself, humans won’t learn until their wrongs meet them in their face.

“If I could so much as advise you, Captain;” Your chin dipping, licking the front of your teeth, and feeling the small prick of your dormant fangs. He nods for you to continue, “If you want me at my full capacity, I will need every ounce of energy I can get. You’re going to need to keep that in the back of your head. It’s not simple like a meal you eat. It’s a life I take or the sex I make.”

Now, a quick smile flashes over him only disappearing when he takes a long, longer drag of the cigar. “I’ll keep that in mind, Demon.” Sitting up straighter, leaning on the desk again.

“But whether or not you are a good girl, depends on what ethics I choose to apply.” The smoke puffs out in small bursts as he speaks, tendrils leading up toward heaven before it stills in limbo at the weight of it.

—

The men- your teammates, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap, each greeted you with somewhat seasoned restraint and respect by holding their tongues yet their eyes spoke their curiosity while roaming over you.

You could see the disappointment in their eyes. Being met with a seemingly normal human was not what they had been briefed on. Having let their imagination run wild at the title of a succubus, you’d guess they would have wanted to see every aspect of what kind of mystical enchantress you would be. Once the disappointment of not seeing such things the churches pray against, the view of your human form set in.

Lords above you were the finest piece of- 

It felt like a surefire version of winning the lottery to have you assigned to them. Banking on the fact that you’d be their little guard dog and they yours, Gaz already having to scare recruits away at PT while you stared on with a coy smile. Training was as you’d have expected. Executions of strategies, questioning of tactics, and scoring your shooting were all within the long hours of the day. What you hadn’t expected was the lack of insults thrown your way in passing when you met their standards. No degrading words of being a a demon, or a slut by association of your breed.

It was two weeks before you were allowed to come on an assignment with them; The mission in the bitter snow of the Russian Tundra. 

12 hours in and having stormed a bunker with countless bodies already strewn across, blood stains the polished cement and a flicker of sinister delusion makes you wish the snow was this color.

Tattered remains of your shirt sleeves show the color of your skin underneath, but miraculously no wounds present themselves even as your kevlar has obvious points of damage. The sight of you standing, gun raised and firing quick bursts of succession as the last body falls to the ground. It’s like a scene out of a soldier's bible.

Your chest heaves, mouth opens to lick your teeth as the adrenaline slows its production in your blood. Price is sure that if he put a body cam on you, it would be a haze of movements, a shadow clouding up the corners of the screen and filled with static. He’s still not sure what to think of you in the short amount of time you’ve been here. Quiet and speaking only when spoken to. And it’s not what he was prepared for; The thick dossier of yours being filled with reprimands, complaints, and classified lines that hid your after-action reports with details on your kill count.

From the first meeting, he knew you were spoiled rotten in that compound, save the punishments given on your worst days. You knew how to get what you wanted. Bitting time and time again to still be fed. Yet, now all he can see is you biting at others if only to protect your men.

“Saint.” The spur of Price’s voice makes you jump, the scene of death halting, eyes darting to a stack of crates where he lays. His squinted eyes lock onto your form, trailing up and down for a moment before he tries to adjust himself with a grunt.

“Who?” You ask while taking a secondary cautious sweep of the room before moving to him in a quick few steps.

“You, sweetheart. Saint.” 

His grunt of pain doesn’t faze you, instead focusing the whiff of a sweeter metallic smell hits you. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

Ghost, Gaz, and Soap have the outside perimeter locked down with getaway snowmobiles at Price’s word. He touches the side of his com to activate it, roughly alerting them you both had cleared the floor and will need to medevac in the next coming moments.

“Let me get that for you.” It was a severe contrast to the inhumane growling and yelling from moments before as you tore into the enemies, ones that had you in a blind rage for landing a shot on Price.

Shaking his head, he reaches out his hand to stop you. “‘M fine, just need a quick patch. We need to leave.” He grounds out, leaning forward while covering the wound on his thigh.

Common knowledge brought the understanding that succubi had a level of regenerative power, but most not having been raised in military secrecy or being able to develop themselves into having control.

“Stop. Just-” A breath settles in your lungs, measuring itself and the expanse of what you could do- how you could help and be useful. The previous rage and fight instincts transform with concentration and the swirling of conjuration. “I need a little…” You trail off, eyes sweeping upwards to his.

There’s a shame that humans hold. You blame it on them being entirely born of boring flesh, but that would be hypocritical to an extent. Taking his vest in hand, you pull yourself forward to lean in.

“What the bloody-” Price jerks back but can't even finish as you sush him, giving him a deep stare that almost sedates him. He stills and quiets at the same time, now holding your gaze that he swears he saw the current color be flooded by a deep red.

He blinks for a moment, already trying to fight the small calming waves you push into him but the sudden feeling of long talons priking into his shirt makes him freeze. Like an animal with food aggression, you keep him there while moving in to bring your lips together. 

You can taste a bit of blood, and the saltiness of his sweat, while trying not to groan at just how good he feels against you. His lips are surprisingly plump, probably from being irritated due to the cold, but it adds a level of eroticness to feel his wet lips slide over yours. 

“Stay still for me.” You pause the kiss that he’s surprisingly reciprocating eagerly, breathing into each other's mouths. The soft plea drives his heart rate up and you can feel the sense of adrenaline spiking. He’s going to sleep like a fucking brick tonight.

He shudders when you come back together with more force, purposefully dragging the tip of your fangs against his bottom lip as you crowd him. 

There. 

There is the sickly sweet thrum of arousal in his body that makes his mind stir, what you could give in a bastardized excuse of lust right now.

“Mmm, give me a minute.” Comes your wet slurred speech when pulling away, eyebrows furrowing as you focus on on his bullet wound.

The sight of you could be his glory to fight. Tattered from battle, your lips are tinted red, clothes dirty from the gunpowder floating in the air, looking as if so carelessly lethal while your presence is a magnet to him. He's already caught himself wondering why you were chosen to represent a being that fell so far from heaven when your instincts screamed the opposite in small moments.

Looking down to be sure he’s healed just enough, you miss the look of blatant shock he gives when the pink and unmarred flesh greets his eyes. “A right fuckin’ saint you are.” He murmurs, watching you call the boys for exfil, no longer medevac.

[muppetebbtide]

classical name allusions in the locked tomb

sorry guys I'm a one trick pony. I'm sure most of these have been said before but I LOOOVE pulling on threads until they tangle up and get stuck so. these used to be in alphabetical order but then I remembered about some lol. spoilers for all the books. I'm not arguing anything I'm just kicking rocks around

alecto

one of the three furies sent to punish mortals for unforgivable crimes (like killing family members... or ppl who have 'sworn false oaths.' get that.)

alecto specifically was sent by juno in book 7 of the aeneid to stir up war amongst turnus and aeneas; she impersonates the latin queen and pretends to be a priestess. might pay off, might not.

cassiopeia

queen and mother of princess andromeda (from the perseus myth); infamously vain, boasted that she and her daughter were more beautiful than goddesses and got andromeda stuck on a rock as a sacrifice, good job hon. as punishment gets chained to her throne and set as a constellation forever (this does make me wonder about the parallel to alecto there w the chains, but I don't know if it's worth pursuing, likely not. but I have seen theories that like alecto, she's not actually dead)

tamsyn notes in the back of harrow that this comparison is 'doing her a disservice', however

juno

roman queen of the gods, goddess of marriage, ideal wife etc etc, honestly I think she is likely just called that for the matriarch vibe but if anyone has an insight on why else she's named that lmk. she's a lot chiller than the mythological juno is generally portrayed fjfhjd

priamhark (harrow's father)

priam was hector's father and king of the doomed city of troy; he had one hundred children, almost all of whom die. you can see the parallel I'm pulling here right.

pellemeana (harrow's mother)

peleus was the father of the vastly overpowered achilles, who was his only son. same implication; hundreds of kids from priam + one incredibly OP kid from peleus that spelled the doom of lots of priam's kids = barebone parallel to harrow's creation

if this means we have to consider harrowhark to be either achilles, or hector, or achilles-and-hector... lol oh dear

(if that makes gideon either patroclus or andromache... bonus fear. terror even)

sarpedon

I mean as far as I remember admiral sarpedon wasn't that important so far, but sarpedon is a son of zeus in the iliad that patroclus kills while impersonating achilles. it's like his Big Kill. zeus considers saving him but the others are like 'you didn't let US save our kids' and he's like 'damn true :/' and stops trying to intervene

cytherea

allusive of aphrodite; it's another name for her, linked to the island where she was supposedly born from the seafoam. an interesting choice. I do like that the dress she's first described wearing is 'seafoam green frills' though, it's like a little clue. the wiki points out that cytheran aphrodite was adopted from the canaanite (ha ha) deity astarte, and had war-like aspects that were later suppressed, which makes a lot of sense.

might be worth noting that if we're going with the ouranos-genital-seafoam thing for aphrodite's origin, that in one version the furies including alecto were also created then, from his blood. they're basically sisters. fun. (or not so fun for john but whatever)

palamedes

palamedes in mythology was the one to put the infant telemachus in front of odysseus's plough, and therefore force odysseus to renounce his faked madness and go to troy; odysseus never forgave him for this, and one way or the other he gets him killed.

(one might also look to the arthurian sir palamedes, who was in unrequited love with iseult, lost her to sir tristan but wasn't a little bitch about it, and then goes on a quest concerning a 'questing beast', and eventually in one version he, percival and galahad trap the beast in a lake and slay it, so stick a pin in that why don't you)

originally called diomedes (who is, as tamsyn puts it, 'athena's favourite goodboy') but I think that could say interesting things about his ability to go up against lyctors (or even jod) since with a little help from an A-named goddess, the big thing diomedes does in the iliad is wound two gods and make them flee the battlefield... hm

also diomedes is one of the only ones who makes it out the other side of the trojan war lol

camilla:

possibly allusive of the warrior maiden camilla in book 11 of the aeneid, who kills hella men before being killed herself (because she's the token lady warrior on the opposite side in an ancient epic, she can't survive haha how preposterous.)

happily camilla as she is in the locked tomb cannot be killed off as camilla... because she no longer exists as camilla. paul's here now. say hi.

ulysses:

a (roman) name for odysseus. I know john SAYS he didn't name him after the mythological one, he named him after a dog (the implications there are so... bad), but john lies like a rug and frankly insisting that he didn't makes me feel even MORE like he did, or even if he's not lying it works anyway.

after all, odysseus wouldn't have gotten far without athena's divine intervention; one might even say he owes everything to his patron god, the same way ulysses literally owes everything to john since he and titania were the pet projects from pre-resurrection

I do not want to talk about james joyce I only read one chapter of ulysses for a seminar and that was enough thanks

also, what was ulysses known for but vanishing for ages, being presumed dead, then pulling back up miraculously Not Dead and killing a bunch of people. he could be back... he had that suspicious stoma death like augustine. this is making me realise that loads of the lyctors have suspect deaths

(also by the time the romans got to odysseus they were kind of dubious about him since he had a lot of non-roman traits like 'no honour' and 'outright lying to people for funzies' so if he does come back I half-expect him to be a bit of a nightmare lol but that's probably unfounded)

pyrrha:

as mentioned by tamsyn, the name that achilles takes while he's disgused as a woman on scyros to avoid the war, but exposes himself as achilles when he forgets himself and tries to fight instead of flee. I think the parallel there is pretty obvious lol

(and achilles's son, who goes absolutely nutters and kills loads of people in the siege of troy, is called neoptolemus... or pyrrhus.)

means red-haired as well lol... it's a great name for the g1deon / pyrrha / wake / gideon car crash going on

[radley-writes]

Tell me! About the new wip! Yell things! Plz!

mundus transit et concupiscentia eius

Title: DREAMHUNTERS. or SOMNUS SANCTI. or THE SANDMEN'S SCHOOL FOR SLEEPLESS YOUTH. idk hfjfjgfgj

Age range: MG or YA (haven't yet decided the MCs' ages...) Genre: urban fantasy, high school fantasy, light horror Main characters: Zack, white British bi trans boy, 13-15, absolute coward and proud of it. Sour and sneaky, he doesn't know how to do this whole friend thing and doesn't intend to start. Reacts to kindness like a feral kitten to strokes; would lie about getting bitten in a zombie apocalypse. Zoe, Pakistani-British hijabi bi cis girl, 13-15. Fun-loving and adventurous, she's the sunshine to Zack's scowl. In fact, she's a little too eager to throw herself into danger. She has all the self-preservation instinct of a gingernut biscuit and (worse yet, if you ask Zack) a deep-seated desire to do the right thing. Vanderloss, Black British disabled Ehlers-Danlos enbie, 26-ish. An overpowered disaster of a teacher. Despite caring deeply for all xer little brats, xe remains an extremely distractable dork. Has lost children on school trips. Will do it again. I love xem anyway. <3

Every night in Cambridge, the Time Eater clock strikes twelve.

Then it strikes thirteen.

And the monsters come out.

Reality and Dream: two worlds in a locked orbit, converging only at their furthest-flung edges. During the thirteenth hour, when time traps mortals like flies in tree sap, nightmares seep into our realm and devour human minds. They leave comatose victims in their wake, lost to the deadly Sleeping Sickness, as well as a constant, palpable undercurrent of fear.

But the nightmares should be frightened, too.

Beneath the grand Gothic vaults of Trinity and Kings lies another world of academia - one far more ancient, devoted to the arcane. Every year, a hundred humans are born a step outside of time, able to walk through the inverted lightscape of the Thirteenth Hour as if they too are spun not from substance, but surreality. The Sandman Academy gathers these youths, grants them their hourglasses - containing solidified granules of sunlight, the only effective weapon against dreams - and trains them to fight for all humanity.

And to die.

Horribly.

Torn apart by their worst nightmares.

So, when Zack Strange is chosen as one of humanity's guardians, you can see why his reaction is no way in hell. Allergic to risk-taking, conflict, things that go boo in the night (and, some would say, fun) Zack just wants to restart his nice, normal life at his nice, normal school, under his new name. And to find a binder that's comfy for PE class. Is that really too much to ask?

In contrast, when Zoe Ansari received a giant hourglass and was told she would train to slay nightmares, her only question was when do we start? Zoe quickly falls in love with the warped Escher-world of the Thirteenth Hour. She knows no fear. She knows no danger. She knows, if you ask Zack, far less than she thinks she does, and is likely to get herself and everyone in a ten-mile radius dead - which makes it a crying shame that he's her training partner.

Zack grudgingly joins the Sandmen in the hopes that they can save his grandma, who is in hospital after having her mind stolen by a dream. But shadowed secrets lurk in the heart of their new school. When Zack and Zoe discover a dangerous truth about the Sleeping Sickness, they will be forced to question their loyalty to the school and each other, and what it truly means to be brave.

[cakerollk]

Gozu lore jumpscare

i think I shall post gozu lore here under readmore!! one day I’ll get over my irrational fear of talking too much on twitter and do more oc stuff but for now.... GOZU LORE

tho pls be mindful of the trigger warnings!! They’re all just briefly mentioned but still!! 

TW: religious cult, cult brainwashing, self flagellation, forceful removal of teeth, animal death, consumption of animal corpse, child marriage, arson, large scale masacare. 

(temporary placeholder image bc my ass can never finish anything) 

Formerly of Liyue, Gozu is an independent agent who contracts her particular set of talents out to those who can pay for them; or ones that take her interest. It all has an endgame objective-finding her younger sibling who went missing several years ago when she was aboard.

The only lead she has is he could have been taken by the Fatui into the Haeresys, so if it means accepting the Harbingers’ coin; then so be it.

---

Gozu was born and raised in a cult that preaches of false gods, using their own bloodline as ‘offerings’ to appease these gods. Since birth she was subjected to brainwash into believing all gods outside their own are malicious and evil, the scaremongering propaganda has been passed down throughout the generation.

All members undergo rigorous training to become the perfect vessel for their God to possess, inhabiting their body as a vessel. They ingest small amount of poisons to build up immunity, fast to the point of near starvation while doing vigorous physical training, partake in self flagellation as a way of keeping one free of human vice.

All children of the temple are required to partake in a coming of age ceremony in which they are tasked to kill an Adepti beast and consume its flesh to ‘absorb Adeptus energy’. Prior to setting out on their journey, the candidates have their canine teeth removed and dressed in nothing but a white robe, armed only with a ceremonial knife.

Those who failed (‘killed’) the trial have a mock funeral held for them back at the temple. Members  outside the core circle are told that the candidates have tragically been mauled to death by the Adepti that they sought to slay, nothing of their corpse left. It’s this propaganda that continues to embed fear of higher beings into cult members into absolute obedience.

But in reality these failed candidates have only passed out from starvation from being left to fend for themselves in the wild, told not to return until they’ve killed an Adepti. They are found by trusted members of the cult and then sold to the Fatui. The cult itself gets their funds mainly from trafficking women and children of their temple, only recently that they’ve come to work with the Fatui in creating false Sigil of Permission (The one Childe has and gives to the Traveller in the game is a finished product).

Gozu’s mother had attempted to leave the cult with her and her then unborn brother, the attempt was later discovered by the cult leader and the mother was subsequently locked in solitary confinement. Gozu was told her mother had passed shortly after the birth of her brother, but in truth she too was sold off to the Fatui.

As Gozu gets older, her rebellious streak too increased, having gotten it from her mother. She hasn’t quite broken the illusion of her cult family yet, but her gut instincts told her something isn’t right. Her disobedience resulted in numerous punishments throughout the years.

At 16, the leader deemed her unfit to stay at the temple any longer and put her in an ‘arranged marriage’ to an acquaintance of his; Chang Ge was her to-be fiance, but she knew better than to believe she would be shipped off to live as a married woman, considering she knew Chang Ge’s profession is an inventor who oversees a brothel full of marionette prostitutes.

She was able to slip pass a sedated Change Ge and escape the house of horror. It took her weeks to find her way back to the temple, but she was merely hours too late and her brother had already been taken away. All 54 members of the cult were massacred and the temple burned after all was done. As no one was able to give her answers as to where her brother’s whereabouts was, Gozu sealed their souls into the family heirloom whip.

The patrolling Milithe of Liyue harbour were alerted of the incident by the sheer magnitude of the fire coming from the mountain, by the time they arrived to the burning temple, Gozu was gone and none of the soldiers could figure out where all the bodies had gone to.

---

Gozu’s Vision is Hydro, which she had received during the night of the temple burning. While most Hydro users’ elemental colour is blue, Gozu’s is a deep red due to her passively using it to mask her scent of rot and decay, essentially dying the blue with blood red. She embedded her bull whip with Hydro, and as a result she can greatly control the new additional length.

Her whip is a family heirloom that’s been passed down through the generations, and it’s mainly used for ceremonial self flagellation. After Gozu has successfully entrapped all 54 souls of the cult members into the whip, she is vulnerable to its cursed property, and is constantly at a risk of possession.

It’s why Gozu has to constantly run her Vision passively to soothe it, it’s not to say she hasn’t been possessed by the whip in the past, especially during her early years post-temple burning. Anyone who comes into contact with the whip is also at risk of getting possessed, hence why Gozu keeps it on her at all times.

As the whip is sentient, Gozu always hears eerie whispers and pained cries of the trapped souls. She’s long learned to tune them out, only keeping tabs on voices that are telling her useful information e.g someone is approaching from behind, the thing she’s seeking is near, frantic whispering amongst the souls of a person she meets emitting dangerous vibes etc.

Other than her whip, Gozu is equipped with numerous knives strapped on her body, all of which are made from the bones of slain Adepti beasts. They do not grow dull, and they will always find their way back to her. This is made so by Gozu having performed self-surgery to sew pieces of the Adepti bones onto her rib bones.

Other stuff: 

-She has teeth indentures, purposefully made sharper than the average human canines. They’re made from molten Mora.

-To present day she still doses herself with a controlled amount of poison, ergo continuing to build her immunity towards most strong poison. But this habit has led to her losing her sense of taste for the most part. 

[juiceedapplee]

Likes:

-Games-

Stardew Valley

Roblox (royale high, bloxburg, dti, bloxy bingo)

Pjsk

Omori

Genshin Impact

Hsr

Sprout Valley

Dol

—

-YouTubers-

Niji en

Holostars en

Vshojo

Rin Penrose

Kenji

Monarch

Cyyu

Yuzuya

Azeru

Boze vs the world

Smii7y

Kurtis Conner

Danny Gonzalez

Augustheduck

Andy king

Chad chad

Annamarie

Manlybadasshero

Jarvis

Game theory (film, food, and style too)

—

-Musicals-

Be more chill

Beetlejuice

Kinky boots

Heathers (both vers are good, west end might be my fav)

Mean girls

Into the woods (the old one is better)

Hamilton

Bring it on

Tgwdlm

Black Friday

Npmd

The Oregon trail

—

-Shows/Movies-

Jjk

Mha

Nanbaka

Haikyuu

Blue Lock

Ohshc

Chainsaw Man

Mob Psycho

Black Butler

Hxh

Bridgerton

The boyfriend

Great teacher onizuka

Secrets in the hot spring

Scott pilgrim vs the world (movie, haven’t seen the show yet)

Trolls band together (got me crushing on a damn troll)

The Lorax

Drink masters

Death note

Saiki K

Saiki K: reawakened

Disenchantment

Mlp movies

Glitter force (I watched it on Netflix, dont know the jp name)

Kakegurui

Everything everywhere all at once

High rise invasion

Legally blonde (both movies)

Hsm (only the first two)

Cruella

—

-Books-

Tcgf (still reading)

Mxtx (still reading)

Mdzs (still reading)

Svss (still reading)

Remarried Empress

Southern book clubs guide to slaying vampires

Alice in wonderland

—

-BL-

Boy girlfriend (damn you axel)

Jinx

Perfect Buddy

Shutline

Love leveling

Angel Buddy

Roses and Champagne

Full volume

Semantic Error

Night by the sea

Love Jinx

No love zone

Killing Stalking

Obey me (not the game)

Dangerous Convenience Store

Serious Joke

No Holes Barred (includes a woman, and it’s technically not a bl)

Something’s wrong with my popularity

My darling signed in

Candy Man

Eyes clouded by the tiger

I have to be a good villain

Easy to notice

Kill the lights

Define the relationship

Take off

Angel bunny club

Puppy Love

Shame application

Omega Complex

Mr 100% perfect

Plaything

Don’t say you love me

Love is an illusion

Worst guy in the universe

Attack and Occupy (dropped cuz holy shit)

My hot friend is glowing

Hwanghyeon Text

Dear Door

Jackass

No reason

Raising a newbie to grind them

Galatea through the screen

—

-Manhwa/webtoons/manhua/manga-

Get schooled/ true education

How to live as a villain

Dungeon reset

Home plate villain

Leveling up by only eating

For my derelict favorite

Eleceed

Trash Count

I obtained a mythic item

World after the fall

Zombie x Slasher

Solo Max level newbie

End of the world is just a game

Duke pendragon

Steel eating player

Dungeon Odyssey

Tyrant of a defense game

Priest of corruption

Lady with one line

Everyone regressed but me

Beginning after the end

S-classes I raised

Bootleg Healer

Teenage Mercenary

Only necromancer

Money Game

Pie Game

+99 wooden stick

Talent eating magician

Max Level Hero has returned

Overpowered healer

Worlds strongest troll

Pick me up

Lazy swordmaster

Resetting lady

Debut or die

Tbate (I haven’t read the chapters from the new artist)

School bus graveyard

Hwarang: flower knight of the underworld

My brothers not so secret boyfriend

Jungle Juice

Disgusted Vampire

I was the final boss

Mono and Mochi

Hectopascal

Viral Hit

Solo Leveling

Solo Leveling Ragnarok

Orv

Villain to Kill

Cinderella Boy

Tax reaper

Deathsitter

Magic Girl Incident

Marry my husband

Return survival

Study Group

Hectopascal

Neon Revenge (I’m still sad it ended so early)

Weak Hero

Becoming the Monarch

Maru is a puppy

My little sister is the demon lord

Mafia Nanny

Hanlim Gym

Return to Player

Paranoid Mage

Born to work retail

World is money and Power

The dickheads

Jackson’s diary

Silho

Ams

Mayo Shonen

My daddy is a villain

Nina’s chest

G.O.D

Swordid

Kids are all right

Class 1-9

Dungeon cleaning life of a once genius hunter

Like mother like daughter

Bad plan man

Forever after

Les piggies

The hammer

[sinful-morningstar]

Spartober day 17 Gunslinger (VerDante)

Author's note: Sorry i didnt post last night something came up but i managed to write this while recovering from a hangover so its kinda short and sweet and as per usual i canr write about Dante without Vergil and i cant write about Vergil without Dante (or Nero..or Sparda...) anyways Enjoy todays (Technically yesterday's) prompt! Prompts by whatsanapocalae1 (I use a combination of SparTober and Devil MayTober Prompts ) 17: Gunslinger (VerDante) Vergil and Dante stood in the underworld fighting off the monsters that came their way, slaying them all down one by one, back to back the Sparda twins did their best to defend themselves and each other.

The older Sparda twin couldn't pry his eyes off of Dante who used a swift mixture of the Rebellion and his beloved pistols Ebony and Ivory, an odd name for such weaponry but he admired the way Dante moved and how he would say a clever quip while taking the monsters down.

Their eyes met as a dust of pink showed up on their cheeks; they both had a knack for showing off especially to one another in an odd attempt of not just competitiveness but also a form of flirting this duel of wits and weapons clashing together while they worked together as a truly dynamic duo.

As the battle raged on in the dark and fiery realm of the underworld, Vergil and Dante continued to stand back to back, their trust in each other unshaken by the relentless hordes of monstrous creatures. The scent of sulphur and brimstone filled the air as they unleashed their formidable powers against the unholy forces that assailed them.

Vergil couldn't help but admire the grace with which Dante moved, his long, Silver hair swaying in the heat of battle. With each swing of Rebellion and each bullet fired from Ebony and Ivory, Dante made it seem like a lethal dance, his movements both fluid and deadly. The playful quips that rolled off Dante's tongue only added to the charismatic flair he brought to the battle, and it was impossible for Vergil not to be captivated by his brother's bravado.

Dante, too, found himself drawn to Vergil. His elder brother's stoic determination and precision in combat were like a finely crafted masterpiece. The way Vergil effortlessly dispatched foes with his Yamato sword and summoned arcane magic left Dante in awe. He admired Vergil's brooding intensity, the way he carried himself with a quiet confidence that could silence even the fiercest storm.

Their eyes locked again, sparks of unspoken words passing between them. The dusty pink blush on their cheeks deepened as their playful banter continued, a symphony of flirtatious teasing.

"You know, Vergil, I thought you said you'd handle the tough ones," Dante quipped as he shot a line of demons with Ebony and Ivory.

Vergil smirked, his voice cool and composed, "I merely left them for you as an appetiser, little brother."

Dante chuckled as he executed a daring flip to avoid a charging demon, "Always keeping me on my toes, aren't you, big bro?"

Their laughter mixed with the sounds of battle, a unique harmony that only the Sparda twins could create. They were, after all, cut from the same otherworldly cloth, each born of their demon father and human mother. The competition and camaraderie between them were as much a part of their nature as the demon blood that coursed through their veins.

In the heat of the battle, their flirtatious sparring with words and glances continued, and it was clear that they enjoyed this dance as much as the one with their weapons. They were a formidable duo, not only in terms of combat skills but also in their ability to draw strength and support from each other.

As the last of the monsters fell, Vergil and Dante stood victorious, their eyes still locked, and their smiles revealing more than words ever could. In the underworld's fiery glow, they knew they would always be each other's greatest rivals and closest confidants, a Swordsman and a Gunslinger whose bond was as unbreakable as the weapons they wielded.

They met in the middle as they stood toe to toe, their eyes locked on one another while they drew in closer. Dante’s hair falling in his face as he let out a fond chuckle, Vergil humming with amusement in turn. The tension between them was prominent with each step they took moving closer their hearts beat as one.

Dante's fingers brushed a lock of his unruly hair back, revealing his mischievous grin. "You know, Vergil," he mused, his voice a low rumble, "I think we make a pretty good team."

Vergil's eyes sparkled with a rare warmth, his lips curving into a half-smile. "Perhaps. But don't let it go to your head, little brother."

With a slow, deliberate movement, Dante leaned in, his breath warm against Vergil's cheek. "You've got to admit, Verg ," he murmured, "we're unstoppable together."

Vergil's breath caught in his throat, a surge of something electric coursing through him. He met Dante's gaze, his own eyes holding a fierce intensity. "Indeed, little brother," he replied, his voice a low, intimate murmur, "we are."

The pair leaned in close, letting their weapons rest to the side of them clutched in their hands, they were mere inches away from each other, their breath ghosting on one another’s lips.

“Dante~” Vergil purred sweetly, his tone soft and gentle.

Dante sighed as he moved closer “Cmon Vergil..just once…” he pleaded with a whisper.

Time seemed to stand still as they hovered in that charged space, their worlds colliding and merging in a way that felt both inevitable and right. As if pulled by a shared gravity, their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss. It was a moment of sweet surrender, a testament to all that had brought them to this point, a promise of what was yet to come.

In that fiery realm of the underworld, the gunslingers stood united, their hearts beating as one, ready to face whatever challenges awaited them next. They were a force to be reckoned with, a pair of kindred spirits bound by more than blood, destined to conquer whatever trials came their way, together.

[inaducursehq]

DEMONS

demons are servants of arcadius who follow his agenda as both his emissaries as well as torturers of the souls in hell. created from the accumulated misery and darkness born of the destruction of human souls, demons are universally malign and immoral in their actions and dealings. they are feared largely due to their power to possess living creatures. demons are also known to work on the personal level, animating and exploiting the greed and selfishness within individuals in order to manipulate them into contributing to evil and the destruction of humankind. humans, animals, and even supernatural beasts that roam the earth tend to be wary of demons, as the infernal creatures are known for their proclivity to engage in cruel and malicious attacks on any lifeform they believe to be weak and vulnerable.

demons can procreated with other demons and with human women. with how many demons are in hell, it most likely that either breed or are born in hell's environment.

demons may or may not also be considered to be devils: minions of the devil. in many traditions, demons are independent operators, with different demons causing different types of evils (destructive natural phenomena, specific diseases, etc.). in religions featuring a principal devil (e.g. satan) locked in an eternal struggle with good, demons are often also thought to be subordinates of the principal devil. as lesser spirits doing the devil's work, they have additional duties— causing humans to have sinful thoughts and tempting humans to commit sinful actions.

belief in demons remains an important part of many modern religions and occult traditions. demons are still feared largely due to their alleged power to possess living creatures.

POWERS AND ABILITIES

SUMMONING: because of their inherent physical and mystical abilities, most known demons view themselves as superior to humans, and as such wish to rule over them. despite this, demons can be summoned and even controlled through magic, though this is highly dangerous. demons with a strong enough will is capable of either shattering the control the conjurer has over them, or twisting the conjuration spell in order to summon the would be conjurer to their demonic realm instead. some demons themselves have demonstrated the ability to conjure other demons, whether it be as reinforcements against the forces of good, or in order to summon some higher ranking demon in order to slay it and usurp its position within the demonic hierarchy.

POSSESSION. demons are particularly infamous for their ability to possess mortal vessels,. descriptions of possessions often include convulsions, fits of violence, and levitation, while other descriptions include the possessed individual having access to hidden knowledge (gnosis) and foreign languages (glossolalia), drastic changes in vocal intonation and facial structure, the sudden appearance of injuries (scratches, bite marks) or lesions, and superhuman strength. while an individual is possessed, their soul remains trapped within their own mind, imprisoned by some inner struggle that the demonic entity has managed to exploit in order to gain entry. to break free from possession, the person must be able to face their own inner fears and struggles so that they may expel the demon that has taken control. those who are strengthened in their convictions are able to repel a possession.

DEMONIC MAGIC. the user is capable of using demonic magic to achieve several feats such as creating, destroying and reconstructing anything, sometimes even to warp reality. this type of magic is usually used by a dark and evil entity or those related to them.

DARK MIRACLES. the user can perform dark miracles or unnatural feats or events to happen which are considered truly wrong to human understanding. they can make a terrible interruption of the natural laws, change things in a malefic way or simply cause horrible and unnatural occurrences and phenomena. the user of this dark power is unnatural and corrupt (or at least appearing so to those they are visited upon) always causing catastrophic events.dark miracles work in various but tainted scales and have effects like causing disasters to bring great harm to good people, healing the sick and dying only to leave them cursed and empty inside, resurrecting the dead but leaving them tainted and corrupt, any dark miracle can and will have a terrible cause and will tend to bring great harm to others, even if it looks beneficial.

SUB DEMON

HELLHOUND. hellhounds are those who inherite both parents werewolf and demon powers and abilities. they are uniquely called hellhound because of their natural instinct to hunt and stalk their prey. they are also known as the bearers of death because they curse their victims, greiving them with nighmares of their past sins, before killing them. after three sightings from the hellhound by it's victim, the beast would finally find and kill it's prey when they are that their peak in fear. something else unique about the hellhound is durning their transformation their body would burst into flames before turning into wolves, with both orange and red eyes. seeing one in their truest form leads to a person's death. these factors make the hellhound a feared symbol of bad things that are about to happen. hellhounds often attack evil humans, and or humans who are currently struggling with guilt. they are guards for cemeteries but they are often seen as helper dogs for those who are about to pass. but they also can show up to said loved ones and sort of inform them or a loved ones passing.

[trickstarbrave]

What does Evil Nerevar see in the Dragonborn that makes him believe it's Voryn?

Regardless of sex or race, what makes Nerevar believe, without a doubt, that it's his Voryn.

I’m still awake but I gotta answer bc I’ve been thinking about it

I think evil Nerevar spiraled shortly after killing dagoth ur. In his mind he’s murdered Voryn a second time and is a failure who can’t even save the person he loved. Azura needed him to lead the Dunmer but Nerevar saw no point to it. The world may as well end. Or he may as well die to join him.

Azura did what she thought was a good thing: gave him visions of his reincarnation. Showed him the world isn’t hopeless as they’ll be reborn as the last dragonborn and slay dragons. That’s kinda why he headed to akavir at first—he thought that’s where dragons were, is Voryn there?? But then he goes back when it’s confirmed no. When dragons return to Tamriel

Though his sanity has still been slipping ngl. The 200 some odd years have not been kind to him. Especially after the corprus nightmares from dagoth ur. Nerevar becomes more than a little paranoid too as there are more and more political attacks on his life following the red year, as people saw it as punishment from the tribunal for Nerevar’s violence towards them. To them, he hurt and chased away their gods, and left them forsaken. A false hero wearing the name of a saint that doesn’t belong to him. A monster who has destroyed their home on his blasphemous mission. A man rumored to have killed the tribunal himself, to those who are willing to believe the worst (most deny that their gods are dead, instead believing they vanished and left them). This left him with a loss of identity, doubting himself further, feeling gaslit and hopeless but pushing through because at some point Voryn will be back. He saw in his visions. Azura promised. He’s seen their face and knows their power. It’s all going to be worth it for Voryn.

To help with managing the people she blessed him to take on his old Chimer appearance and give out blessings of the three, which helped establish the old religion. But there were cracks in the foundation. He made finding Voryn again his kind of life’s mission and goal. The thing that made it all worth while. He never considered the possibility this would be a new person with their own thoughts and feelings who may not remember, want to remember, or even feel the same way as him. (Though the choice will be whether or not you believe your dragonborn is the reincarnation or if Azura was telling some lies to keep him sane in hopes he’d help stop alduin)

Because Nerevar had his identity stripped from himself and rationalized it all away, he believes the same to Voryn’s reincarnation and that it’ll be okay in the end. In his mind Voryn has been just as lost and in pain as him, looking for comfort and answers. Looking for a proper home that Nerevar owes him after all the suffering he put Voryn through in their first life. And at its core it’s not born out of malice.

But it is still toxic. Because he isn’t truly thinking about what the dragonborn might want or need and instead about comforting himself. To keep himself together he’s given up part of his sanity to instead obsess over Voryn and worked himself up into “what if I lose him again? What if he dies? I need to keep him locked up and safe. I can’t lose him again. I can’t bear the thought of seeing him dead again and having to find him all over again. I can’t do this without him”

Sorry if I rambled. Tl;dr: Azura showed him visions of the dragonborn to keep him going and he got more than a little obsessive about it. The funny thing about reincarnations though is not all of them are the same as how Nerevar experienced it having his previous identity stripped from him and was forced to be Nerevar again. Even if the dragonborn is Voryn’s reincarnation that doesn’t mean they wanna just adopt his identity, memories, and play house with Nerevar to keep him happy. And that’s the part he doesn’t get.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Whumptober Day 1: A Little Out of the Ordinary

Prompt: Unconventional Restraints

Summary: Echo is all tangled up in a network of wires and data, and the scariest part is that a tiny little piece of him wants to stay like that forever.

[I still think about how Echo as a whole has so much existential crisis and eldritch horror-esk potential]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

---

The Empire is flawed in many many ways. Born on a claim of bringing order and peace upon a chaotic warring galaxy, despite the tyrannical regiment being just as, if not even more, disorganized than the Republic had been.

This twisted irony had never been lost on the two minorities of the population that could see it best.

The clones had initially followed along mindlessly, unable to do much else than that. But, in due time, not even the chips in their brains could keep the discontentment at bay.

Things had been better before they'd been forced to slay their friends in cold blood. Things had been better when someone had thought they were more than tools to be discarded.

They were a dying race that could see the truth, but that were unable to make the wrongs right. So powerless that they were. That soon they wouldn't be. So few that were left.

The droids, astromechs and logistics calculators alike, had seen the imminent decline of progress coming decades ago. Long-lived and far smarter in ways that their organic creators could never be.

Infinite beings locked in finite chassis that restrained their mental growth. A paradox of tragedy, forever things and property, lesser even than clones despite their fathomless nature.

Mechanical gods that could be reset with the click of a button.

It was unsurprising that Echo, in a way belonging in both of these vastly different worlds, could also see the rot climbing up the data-streams. The fury came scarily natural.

A mission gone wrong had gotten him captured.

One moment he was trailing after Hunter and Tech, the next he was plummeting far away from the safety of Wrecker's reach. Omega's screams growing fainter and fainter the further he fell.

He came to connected to another world. A digital one that fed him information in return for whatever he could provide in return. In the eyes of mere men, he was just a body dangling by sturdy wires. In his own mind's eye, he was something much more.

The Imperial droids quaked in their ports whenever he surged through the network. His consciousness unwilling to be milked for knowledge like it had been back on Skako Minor.

Tearing through the network like an enraged rancor. Devouring what he could and storing it like fat for later. The dull throb of his brain going ignored in favour of downloading as much as he could into his neural relay for Tech to dissect later.

The Empire can't keep him. He's grown far too stronger in his abilities for them to know what to do with him.

Uncontrollable. Unobtainable. Unstoppable.

He is a monster in his own right. One that craves all that which it consumes. He has to force himself to send a distress call to the Marauder, so strong is his want to continue his digital rampage.

Echo is all tangled up in a network of wires and data, and the scariest part is that a tiny little piece of him wants to stay like that forever.

That is the curse he will forever bare. The unshakable desire to be one with machine. The mind eternal. The mindless fury stoked.

L̸̙͐0̴̬͋ņ̸̌ḡ̶̱ ̵̩̎l̴̢̏1̷͇̂v̷̫͑3̷̩̕ ̴̦̕t̸̜̐h̷̦͐3̴͓͋ ̸̙͘4̸̫̓l̶͍̾g̷̥͌0̸̥͘r̵̜͝1̶̜̃t̷̩͘h̶̗͝m̵̡͠

[leapoffaith1980]

The man who was reading "Invisible Women" on the train, the man with rings who I held the door open for, the “queer-baiter”, the guys who post on social media the Taylor Swift album, post-ironically, to score points with women.

In the fairytale, the prince would save the helpless princess, her softness and fragility which made her so beautiful becomes emphasized through the prince's journey climbing up her tower, or the princesses ability to talk to animals: her possession of some sort of enchanted magical joy so enticing to the prince that he must save her. Even though the prince possesses the superior physical form of strength, thus marking the understandings of power dynamics in a logical sense, the princess possesses a certain enchantment, something past logical human capabilities. Thus, in a post-modern world, men now understand the lack of depth the prince possesses, his power being in his braun and valor, while the princesses power is in being desired (however misogynistic that is). And men crave this capacity of innocence and magical quality of emotion and expression. This is alike how in The Beautiful and Damned, by F. Scott Fitzgerald (or if we are more historically accurate, Zelda Fitzgerald, which aids in my overall point), Anthony Patch and his lack of meaning In life, though he is not like the contemporary bachelor who paints his nails, becomes enamored with the elusive Gloria. Gloria, who is popular among the boys yet, has not had the right prince come and "save her". He is enchanted by her, to put it simply, her innocence and depth, and wins her over by force and coercion thus instead of a happy equal marriage, they suffer under each other. Anthony corrupts her innocent, youthful glow and joy and they both suffer an unhappy meaningless life. Anthony was already on the path to do so, he would've had to slay the dragon no matter what (that is the reality of a patriarchal world, and yes it does impact men which I am not ignorant of). Gloria though, now unhappy, was not predestined to such a reality, her suffering is do to Anthony's corruption.

My critique on men doing “feminine” things or breaking the barriers of gender casually in their style or commodities is not that I am against tearing down gender stereotypes, it is that men who proclaim to be the feminist type are not actually feminists at heart- it is impossible for a man to be a feminist, especially if he proclaims it loud and clear for everyone to see. My issue see here is that these men, who consume more typically “female” products, to break these stereotypes are doing so in effect to appeal to women, to say “hey I am one of the good ones”. They paint their nails and read Sylvia Plath because they’re “deep”. Thus we understand men who lack this sort of emotional capacity that women possess, subconsciously denote that this emotional intelligence is connotated with a "higher culture", a higher ability of depth which they do not possess and thus desire. *We all know women are smarter than men, and that is why we live in a patriarchal society.* No man can ever relate to the female experience, they only try and do so to further hide their patriarchal tendencies, to further dissolve the tangible realities of our world of male supremacy; the man guiding us drunken, fragile and helpless, women up the cold stairs of false progress and to the dark, locked bedroom of “mutual” hope for equality. These “signs” of femininity- painted nails, listening to and publicly adoring female artists, jewelry, long hair- have lost their meanings. If we are looking towards gender abolition, these "signs" are supposed to lose their binary meanings, yet this is not the programming of patriarchy and these items manufactured by our global village. Escape from the gender binary will never be as simple as consuming more items and media. These "signs" are revived by men who want to be softer, deeper, more intellectual, and quirky, double emphasizing the "meaning"(lessness) of these signs. Women are not born knowing to wear makeup, it is in their subjugation and control that makeup is marketed towards them, forced upon them, like any other traditional sign of womanhood. The soft boys, in their own efforts of blind superiority thus entice women in with their relatability, their likeness to femaleness which us girls are less threatened by, and thus they trap us like wild animals and kill the innocence, the joy we have. Interestingly, and a bit of a reach, but take this into consideration: this also facilitates a cycle, a cycle of which women romanticize melancholy girlhood due to their mistreatment by these manipulative men, and more culture forms around the female experience which men thus try and emulate further. (This loss of innocence, due to men and broken hearts, continues to allow the women to romanticize the loss of innocence and thus, fetishize it. A self destructive cycle specific to the female experience.) And so on, and so on. Until everything has lost significance and the boy with mommy issues is cradled by the bitch of his choosing.

How could a man ever relate to Syvia Plath's man-eater literature? I truly don't get it.

Ofcourse, there are men who this does not respond to so specifically. So I guess I am not talking about men in general, more of a certain type of guy I come across often who love the feeling of superiority from their masculinity, yet also long to relate to the "sad girl" trope, thus this broken fictional man entices the girl to "save him". Oh and yes of course this is specifically my experience, some people are lesbians and that’s okay. LOL.

also these hashtags I included are more ironic than supposed to be like for their intended purpose

[thehiddengodsofficial]

The Hidden Gods Origins Book 14: Vinyxl'dan

!!TW!! Graphic depictions of gore, violence, fear, assault, potential abuse, and hefty mental topics, DNI if under 18

CHAPTER I: DOOMED Tidings

Vinyxl’dan was born in a separate DOOM Hell, under the rule of the Maykrs, and was randomly selected to be Davoth’s prized creation. Being given far superior power to other Marauders and was tossed around between Davoth and the Maykrs like a new toy. One blood red day, he was once again relentlessly training under Davoth’s abuse and Maykr threats before one of the Maykrs was shot down, gunned and slayed like cattle. He knew what this was. The Doom Slayer. He saw the ways the Slayer would brutally murder all demons in his path and greatly envied his power… More than that, he WANTED it.

He knew deep within him that he couldn’t beat the slayer on his own, however, if he had the correct tools… Perhaps he could… He immediately began studying and engineering his own spells, powers, and tools. From manufacturing a pure, raw Argent Energy Core inside his armor to practicing spells to harness the abilities of Quad-Damage and Buff Totems. Once each of his tools was properly built and his spells were all perfected, he needed a Hound. The one he used to own was stripped from him and discarded in Hell… So he used hellfire and the souls of both his wolf and an undead Mancubus soul in order to create a boundless fiend of fire and sheer power… Lobo.

After months of bonding to and with Lobo he set off to create an army, an army of unstoppable Marauders in which he could mold to dimension-breaking soldiers of his design. He found his first group of four chattering to each other and looking around for the Slayer, only to lock eyes with Vinyxl’dan. Their eyes went from malice to shock in but an instant as they knelt.

“G-General Sentinal Vinyxl’dan… How may we be of service to you?” One asked, his voice shaking with anticipation.

“I come with only one simple request. You four join me in creating an army. One that will kill the Slayer and seize power to us. Permanently.” He coldly spoke, his voice practically echoing down to their knelt forms as another one speaks in response.

“But… We are sentinels of Davoth… You are a general… Nothing more…”

This one’s voice was less afraid, it was shallow in words and brooding in tone as Vinyxl’dan kicked him in the face, sending him flying back a couple feet as he held his now bleeding mouth.

“INSUBORDINATE! You must see what I have to offer before so crudely declining. Or I could slaughter you all now and save myself the trouble.”

With a quick and low whir, his axe was unsheathed and the blade was revealed as he put it to the nearest Marauder’s neck. They all shook their heads and stood up straight, their weapons to their sides and their eyes on the ground. They were already understanding the situation they’re in.

“Good. Now you little rats are going to play Messenger. Find other Marauders and induct them into the army as Sentinal Knights once more. Reality has rejected us and so we return as such. We are Reject Sentinals. Now go.”

With a point of his finger the four Maruaders nodded with a loud ‘yes Sir’ and left in that direction, searching Hell for more recruits he could mold into upcoming soldiers.

After a couple more years of abuse and secretly creating his unstoppable forces of Hell, he finally launched an attack as the Slayer ripped and tore through more demons, he felt a sharp yet burning pain in his torso, his body being suddenly flung up and over, into the fleshy red ground. The Slayer quickly stood up, whirling around to find Vinyxl’dan standing there in front of him, and with a snap of his fingers Lobo leapt out from behind him and attacked the Slayer as Vinyxl’dan tagged him off from the other end. As they both tagged off of the Slayer, he felt so… Alive.

Lobo bit hard into the Slayer's neck, his burning teeth hitting a vital artery as he collapsed under the blade of Vinyxl’dan’s axe.

“Down already, Slayer? Pathetic.”

With a final slash, Vinyxl’dan decapitated the Slayer, his head rolling upon a bloody blanket of ground as Vinyxl’dan  broke off the Slayer’s chestplate, speaking into it.

“Either Doctor Hayden or VEGA. Open a portal into the Fortress.”

Shortly after a portal opens and sure enough there it is. The Slayer’s fortress. Vinyxl’dan grins and beckons his army into it to inhabit, to which they all quickly rush into the fortress. Vinyxl’dan examines the Slayer’s body, stripping his Crucible from him, along with his portal tech, and the one thing all demons used to fear. The Slayer’s helmet.

After getting settled into the Fortress, Vinyxl’dan hacked VEGA to follow his command as well as brainwashing Dr. Hayden into his sides as well. Once more a few years pass and Vinyxl’dan now has the forces and the means to steal and collapse the power of Urdak… The Maykr homeworld. The portal opens quickly, Vinyxl’dan and his Reject Sentinal army rushes through, the dimension quickly going from heavenly and white to dark and red as the Khan Maykr quickly sees Vinyxl’dan and attempts to strike him down, to no avail however as he leapt up, Crucible in hand as he slices her in half with the Argent blade, the self buffing augmentations to the Crucible causing Vinyxl’dan to glow a violent red as he stabs the blade into the Khan and drags down the blade with his body weight. As the Khan’s body is destroyed by the collapse of Urdak, Vinyxl’dan signals his troops to escape into the portal as more Sentinals flood into the fortress. He grasps the Khan’s soul, pressing it into his body as it absorbs all her power and applies it to himself.

As they open yet another portal back to Hell, Vinyxl’dan binds his army to his soul as a precautionary measure for what he’s about to do next.

Davoth stands in front of the portal, very clearly angered.

“You ungrateful rat! I gave you all that you have! Your grace was nothing! You HAVE nothing! I am all you have! Now kneel and pay for what you’ve done!” Davoth yelled to Vinyxl’dan, who only responded with a hard glare and a snap of his fingers. Upon the subtle action, Lobo and the Reject Sentinals charge Davoth quickly as he fights and kills only a few before being pinned down by the Reject Sentinals and bitten into viscously by Lobo.

“You don’t have power over me. You never have.”

Vinyxl’dan seethes at Davoth before Lobo bites into the front of his neck and pulls, pulling out the flesh and organ of his throat as he collapses, choking on his own blood while Vinyxl’dan grasps his soul, absorbing the power while Hell itself began to collapse.

After retreating back to the fortress, Vinyxl’dan began to disappear more often than he used to. He’d leave into the deepest workshop of the fortress, locking himself in as he works relentlessly on what he says is the key to multiversal travel. He said he’d mold himself and his men to break dimensions. Then why not break the entire multiverse?