#but i prommy hes a man with a deep voice

[lexezombie]

Fuck you *puts a pony in your hell show*

Alastor caught him trying to escape the hotel to commit vehicular manslaughter (again)

This is based off my friends dream lmao thank u @ibbywondrous for letting me claim this pony <3

[anantaru]

DAY 16 — DUMBIFICATION

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

kink. dumbification — dumbing down one's intelligence, treating you like their personal, little airhead who likes nothing more than to please them

𖧡 — including — tighnari, dottore, scaramouche, childe

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, dumbification, dom/sub dynamics, petnames: toy, cocksleeve, princess, baby, cockwarming, mean but only a little i prommy, dry humping, oral (male! receiving), both parties are consenting

𖧡 — TIGHNARI

you encounter a bitter chuckle and it pelts over your natural sensors when tighnari folds one arm around your waist as you straddle him— you're quick to swallow down a suppressed whimper when he swiftly rides your shirt up and rests it above your exposed breasts, revealing the glow of your juddering skin to his famished, gluttonous eyes.

"you're not allowed to move, okay?" he orders, his jaw tensed and constricted before adding to his somewhat condescending choice of tone, "just keep still while i continue my work load."

"you can do that, right?" and you nod all bubbly at him, quite excitedly, the untroubled feverishness that had been enclosing you from the inside now burned brightly and manifesting into something much more intense— your flailing hole clenching around nothing as you claw around his chest, you're so obedient to his orders it's almost unfathomable, or at least that's what tighnari always seems to think.

he gestures you to lift up your hips a little so he could line himself with your slit, your legs growing achy at the intentional, almost beguiling idleness on how tighnari took his sweet moment with you even though you could barely wait to feel him prod inside.

before at last, he rubs his bulbous tip over your aching pussy and aids you in taking all his inches down. he paws around your chest with one hand, cruelly trapping one erected nipple against his pointer finger and thumb before twisting it ever so slightly— again, this time with a tremor of judders spreading on your tit before your eyes toss back into the remotest part of your skull.

tighnari heaves out a satisfied hum at your obedience, the vibrations of his voice soothingly reverberating through your trembling skin as you swathe your arms around his neck, "fuck— so good, who would've thought, huh?" he praises, the sloppiness of your pussy making it quite easy for tighnari to sheathe himself entirely inside.

"but what else is expected," he heaves a shrill noise and stops himself in midst sentencing when you gush around him, his dick twitching and hardening when your slit oozes of your arousal and dribbles along the slopes of his balls, "—from someone, fuck! who has nothing else to offer other than this."

for reasons unbeknownst to you, this particular sentence didn't hit you as hard as you originally thought it would because, frankly— you really do give him everything he wanted, but so did he, occasionally, fulfill any wishes you had. call it a equivalent exchange, or you being way too air headed to realize that tighnari was using you for your body, a quick fuck so he could get rid of the aching pain in his groin and was able to focus on his piling work.

now, tighnari's heavy erection was making you feeling weaker and you swear, you can feel him throb inside your lower belly by how deep and thick he buried himself in, your fingertips digging into the flesh of his back when all you needed for was for him to finally move, or at least finish his jarring work load so he'd perhaps become a little more relaxed, and relatively nicer before pleasing you in a correct manner.

you furiously throb whilst gushing on his length and the man tosses his head to the side, his ears twitching of sensitivity due to the chain reaction of his groin receiving way too much overflowing pleasure before eyeing his work load up and down in an annoying glance, biting down hard on his tongue as he feels you writhe and twitch around his length— all the while shallowly thudding over his soaked shaft, his tip pressing into one tantalizing patch inside of your walls and ugh, what a bummer, finishing his task will be one difficult duty to fulfill.

however, you would never leave nor complain, you're way too excited and delighted to have a cock overbrim you to the hilt, your sticky walls peppering kisses around his shaft and warming him up as tighnari can leisurely carry on to finish his work for the night.

𖧡 — DOTTORE

dottore thinks it's amusing how much you liked for his cock to be warmed up inside your mouth with his velvety tip repeatedly prodding at the back of your sensitive throat— the harbinger was mischievous on his own accordance, and it's one of the reasons your attraction to him was like an intoxication, proceeding to do whatever he wanted you to do without pondering around his requests at least once.

"you're not crying, are you?" the man chastises with his eyes locked down on your body being slotted between his parted thighs, "it's not too much, right?" and his large palm soothingly trails over your cheek to brush the single droplet off your face. it was apparent that with his thick shaft being enclosed by your mouth, it was growing more difficult to breathe out nor answer him without muttering incoherently and making an even bigger fool out of yourself— yet despite that, for you, it was never too much, never too rough when he fucked your mouth or your sweet, perfect cunt for that matter.

because you see, you adored him, all of him and yearned for dottore to fuck you stupid, call you his airhead or precious cocksleeve, until you're nothing but a hiccuping mess of a person around his length with a mixture of saliva and his salty pre dribbling down your chin and gathering on the cold, office floor.

you swallow around his groin before hollowing your cheeks, your head spinning into a cloud with the feeling of him charging into your mouth without a single inch of remorse, your big puppy eyes fluttering up at him behind doused lashes as he brushes a large hand through your hair, your eyes brilliant of exclaimed trills happily pummeling at your affection for him.

it's a perfect situation in your eyes and there was nothing better than being used by the second harbinger, and so was he ethereal to you, the sounds of him talking in such low manners, for one without a threatening tone lacing the beginnings of his sentences has the reactive pearl between your folds throbbing, the wetness of your sticky cunt splattering all over your panties.

you continue to shower his length with affection, parading your warm tongue around the underside of his shaft, always putting the pleasure there especially prominent because well— dottore has trained you adequately after all, had shown you how to tackle him so he could feverishly cum down your constricted throat and spit his milky whites down the aching, used spots in your used mouth.

bobbing your head up and down, you swallow back the drool budding inside your warmth, yet leaving most of it prancing on top of your tongue so it could act as a lubrication, a choked moan suddenly rattling above your head as dottore conceals his lips with the back of his hand before coughing out— his pale cheeks scarlet red, his face twisted akin to a wicked, indulgent countenance as you curve your palm around his balls to smear the trickling saliva on the flesh.

how adorable his enchanting toy was to him, being so unbelievably skilled at taking his cock all the way up to the base, your lips moving in tandem with his strong thrusts into your wet warmth— utterly aware that for you, there was nothing more pleasing than to end a night with his seedy arousal marking up the entirety of your throat, using you as his own dumb, little cock sleeve, his pleasure-seeking princess, instantly parting your mouth the moment he simply told you to do you.

𖧡 — SCARAMOUCHE

"i must admit, i have neglected you," scaramouche hums quietly into your neck, his cold hands soothing over the slopes of your body as you squeal when his cock first enters you— committed to the usual rhythm on his hips, he had long since engraved it in his very own memories, his large cock parting your slit as you squeeze around him, quick to angle your hips a little so he could press himself in deeper.

you whine, your juices running down your plush ass before you shut your thighs around his hips, growing more constricted, "ah— it's okay, kuni," you take a moment to lock gazes with him while he eases himself back and forth your warmth— ugh, you're so tight it's truly unfair, and his cock was weighing down around the thudding splotches of your pussy before throbbing and thickening inside, perhaps giving you a taste of your own medicine.

so you could manage feel him, so your hands could helplessly fly up to his hair and rush him into a feverish, messy kiss.

"I really did miss you," scaramouche was the first to speak out again, smitten and yearning for more, his voice muffled by your lips and the tone of his voice buzzing while his dick continues to add some faint, hasty pumps into your slit, the velvety feel of his shaft reaching so far up and shamelessly shaping your most, delicious sweet spots which had your eyes curve back into the deepest spots of your skull.

despite everything, despite scaramouche barely reaching out to if it wasn't for getting his cock wet— you always seem to welcome him graciously and without asking irritating question, the ecstasy running through your entire nervous system as you wait and wait fro him.

although mostly being left behind and forgotten, yet you still show up whenever he does reach out and call you over— when he all of a sudden, in under a dime, tends to be so charming and longing towards you, kissing the crown of your head before addressing you as his most beloved toy— not that he voiced it out loud but his choked whimpers spoke more than a thousand words ever could, consistently greedy to clamp hard around the curves of his cock that you force him almost out of you again, copious amounts of your juices oozing out of your cunt and soiling his trimmed pubic hair, a reminder that you truly belong to each other.

𖧡 — CHILDE

you're clumsily falling forward into childe's clothed chest as you straddle his waist, immediately intertwining your arms around his neck as your forearms rest on his shoulders— your pretty frame wiggling deliriously and needful before billowing your hips against his concealed erection scratching over the tight confines of his pants.

"you missed this, didn't you?" he shakes his head at you, finding your shape on top of him to be the most delicious and sweetest in all around teyvat, without mentioning how you madly force your hips down on his cock— desperate and even more shameless that ajax cannot even fathom just how clouded your rational thoughts had become sometimes, always there when he craves you, not caring about the red flags of him obviously just using your body, only the thought of his perfectly carved cock being nestled inside you remaining on top.

for now, you love bouncing up and down his erection, even though he wouldn't let it spring free from his pants so you could rest it on the top of your tongue— the tips of his ears flushing red when you frustratedly whine at him, every thrust of your hips progressively growing faster and rougher that even childe had to suppress a couple moans and keep them locked inside his chest.

"I'll make it up to you later, baby," he drawls before moving the fabric of your panties to the side, your slicked cunt had long since soiled the flimsy material to the hilt that they instantly stick against the bridge of your pussy and thighs, just heavenly to present him a enchanting view of your swollen folds itching to touch his silken skin, his angry tip throbbing behind the rough garments of his pants and childe can sense that he was already leaking clear pre.

"you need to make me feel good before, yeah?"

there's a hidden rasp in his voice that you weren't able to discern for what it was, and that particular shade of a condescending tone pummeling against your ear shells weren't much of help— no two ways about it but sometimes the eleventh harbinger did give off the idea that he wasn't taking you seriously enough, that he believed you weren't able to ponder over more meaningful conversations, only faultless when you aided him in his painful groin getting the best out of him.

now, he plants his palms around your hips to drag your naked pussy against his shaft himself— but considering the fact that you weren't actually stupid, you knew that this "special" relationship, as he called it, was more of a convenience for the young harbinger, never needing to worry himself about finding someone for a quick fuck when he could just call you instead, being aware that you would jump the second he orders you to come over.

his cock was just that good, always so utterly fine when slipping inside and battering your creamy walls, hammering into the most sensitive parts that lie hidden within your silky slit before it's getting too much for you to bear— trembly fingers clawing at his chest in search of stability when you hide your face in his neck, the slow burn on his shaft expelling electric ripples that caused a belting havoc on your sensitive sex, pushing a pitchy whine hand in hand with a moan of his name from the tip of your tongue, a breathless heave finishing the sinfulness of your noises.

oh, well, childe can use you for all you care— since needless to say, you're getting your fair share out of it too, keeping your ass in a precise trace on top of him as you begin to rock your wet cunt over his groin, understanding that whenever he was on the edge of tasting his strong climax prodding at the knot in his lower belly— it will be much easier to make him comply to a simple request from you;

hmm, lets take an example: perhaps a new, costly bag from fontaine or a hand crafted, brilliant bracelet from liyue? childe will unfailingly say yes and agree to whatever you whisper into his ear, he simply cannot deny a single request when you're, night and day, so hungry to comply to him.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[takami-takami]

cw: this is an age regression drabble. caregiver!keigo. keep all additions and tags strictly sfw.

Keigo spent a majority of his life protecting people from a distance. 

He would, of course, always follow that twitch in his feathertips when they told him someone needed safety or comfort nearby. The act of protecting is one that scratches that intrinsic, unquenchable itch baked deep into his feathers and the fibers of his bone marrow beneath; but protection never quite felt tangible to him.

He always thought saving people meant giving yourself until you're empty and then turning heel to take flight. It meant making efficient use of your time, answering every "thank you, Hawks!" with a wink and a gust of his wings to speed away and save the next.

It meant never slowing down or seeing the fruits of your labor.

As a hero, Keigo's actions never felt solid in his hands— so he simply decided he felt that way because he wasn't trying hard enough; that he needed to clock longer hours and more frequent, grueling shifts.

But as a man, protecting you felt so much different from all that.

Keeping you safe is a slow, methodical process. It's a neverending pet project built with loving purpose and steady hands, armed with rolled up sleeves over the bicep and fuzzy teddy bears as his deadly arsenal.

Keigo has always been finely attuned to your little quirks, mannerisms, and subtle displays; so when your eyes go just the slightest bit fuzzy, fingertips wringing a frenzy against your bedsheets while you mumble in the cutest, clipped speech, he knows exactly what to do.

He can coax the tension out of your shoulders with his words alone. 

"You feeling small, baby?" He asks, voice barely above a whisper. Those golden eyes of his gently flick back and forth between yours when he sits, assessing your form curled in on itself against the headboard of your bed. 

And your shoulders droop instantly, nodding once. You gnaw at a chewed up cuticle. 

"Oh, baby, it's okay. S'okay, c'mere," Keigo whispers, arms open with grabby hands for you to crawl and nestle into his warmth. "Shhh, it's alright, little birdie. You can be small tonight. That okay? Wanna be small for me?" 

The thick of his warm palm cradles the back of your skull and you nod like he just offered you a lifeline. The barrel of his chest rises and falls with even breaths, sinking you further as you smush your cheek into the side of his neck with your eyes shut.

He smells nice. You sink even deeper.

Keigo sits cross legged on the bed and leans just the slightest bit back when you sink into him. Like this, he reminds you of an aged, sturdy tree; firm and unyielding with the slightest give, but always consistent and firmly rooted. 

Safe. Warm and safe. 

Always safe.

"Mm," you hum, feeling a bit fuzzier now. 

"Yeah?" Keigo answers. He pulls back to get a good look at you, and you see him smiling ear to ear as if that little sound you just gave was a whole speech. "Get comfy, cause I'm gonna spoil you tonight."

And spoil you he does. 

The next thing you know, Keigo has you sitting cross legged in front of him on the bed, ready to make a few last big decisions.

"Okay!" He chirps, placing two open palms in front of you for you to look at. "We're gonna pick, okay?" His rich voice guides you along gently, smoothly. "Just two, I prommy." 

You nod fervently at the reassurance, nearly straining your poor little neck with the motion. 

You have to think— which is scary— but it's only two times. You can do that. 

"Perfect, dove," Keigo praises as if he just read your mind.

The first question is easy. 

"Blanket fort," he says, clenching his left fist closed and open for emphasis. "Or bed?" He closes and opens the right.

If you were a smidge more lucid, you'd feel a twinge of remorse for how hard you slam down on his left palm.

"Sorry, 'Kei," you droop.

"Awww," Keigo coos genuinely. "You think you hurt me… That's so cute, dove! Yeah, you're a strong one, aint'cha?"

And just like that, you're smiling proud once  more. Keigo's heart soars at a job well done.

"One more and you're finished, little bird," he says seriously, like he's presenting you with a quest; and you nod your head with a furrowed brow to accept the challenge, a hero ready to conquer.

"Movie," he says, clenching one palm. "Or storytime?" He clenches the other.

Maybe you weren't quite as ready as you thought.

Tears begin to pinprick at the corners of your eyes. You fight back little hitched sniffles and sobs as you stand in the face of the mountain before you, trying to be brave.

"I… U-Uhm," you hiccup and stutter at the idea of thinking any more than you have to. 

Keigo considers stepping in. His feathers ruffle from the base to the edges of his wingspan, spine stiffening at the sight of you in distress. The itch begins to burn once more and—

You slowly place both palms face down in his, lip wobbling when you look at him. 

"Both?" He asks and your heart swells with gratitude that he picked up on your meaning— of course he would, you beam. Keigo's so smart.

You nod once.

"Both it is, sweetheart!" 

All other decisions from that point onward are made by Keigo himself.

Keigo decides to stand, hushing your blubbers with a kiss to your crown and a teddy placed in your hands to keep you company while he sets the scene.

Keigo decides on the color theme for tonight's blanket fort (baby blue), putting to good use his avian instincts of nest building when he selects the finest comforters and pillows to fluff and stack.

Keigo decides to hand you your fuzziest jammies and softest blankies while his feathers zip off to fetch your favorite mug carrying something hot for you to sip.

Keigo decides on the movie— something animated and lighthearted, a familiar favorite of yours. He suppresses a smile that twitches at the corners, thinking about how excited you're gonna get once you see. You'll squeak "that's my favorite!" like you don't say that every time, and he'll reply once again, "no way, mine too!" 

Keigo decides he selfishly gets more out of this than you do; but at the same time, unbeknownst to him, you decide the exact same thing.

[penny-anna]

“What are you doing in my house?” he said. “Who are you?”

The man just said, once again, “What did you do to me?”

“Why are you naked?” said Emmett.

Kneeling up – into a position that put certain aspects of his anatomy into uncomfortably full view – the man spread his hands and said, “I’m always naked?”

“I,” said Emmett, breathing hard. “I’m calling the police.”

“The who?”

The man was between him and the phone. He wasn’t so big – certainly Emmett was bigger – and he clearly wasn’t armed, but the kind of maniac who’d break into someone’s house and climb into their bed in the nude wasn’t someone Emmett wanted to trifle with.

In search of some support – of the moral kind, at least – he called out to the dogs. “Einstein! C’mere –” Einstein’s furry face poked out around the couch. It struck Emmett, then, how odd it was that the commotion hadn’t got Marty’s attention. He hoped he wasn’t still out from the sedative. “Marty!” he called out.

“Yeah?” said the man on the floor.

Emmett ignored him. “Marty! Here, boy!”

“I’m right here.”

As Einstein trotted over to join them, unhelpfully unfazed by the stranger, it registered, belatedly, what the man was saying. Emmett looked down at him, still on the floor, his goods still hanging out. “What?”

“You did something to me,” said the man. “What did you do?”

“I – I didn’t do anything to you,” said Emmett. “I don’t even know who you are –”

“It’s me,” the man insisted. “It’s me, Marty – what did you do to me?”

Then, and only then, did Emmett realise what he was trying to communicate. His mouth worked, dumbfounded at the concept he was being presented with. It was absurd. It was legitimately insane. “You’ve lost your mind,” he said. “Where’s my dog? What did you do with my dog –”

“You did this to me,” the man gabbled. “Yesterday after lunch. You stuck needles into me and then you told me I was your brave boy and you let me eat a whole hotdog. Remember?”

Emmett’s mind, for an uncomfortably long moment, went blank, as he tried to make sense of it. There was no way. There was no way – but at the same time, there was no way anyone could have –

Slowly, shuffling along the rug, he stepped forward. The man stayed put kneeling upon the cold floor, watching with wide, confused eyes as Emmett approached; as he eased himself down on the floor.

It was impossible, he told himself. It was an act of madness to even countenance the idea. And yet.

Taking the young man’s unresisting face between his hands, he looked him in the eyes. His eyes were a clear, perfect blue.

“Oh, Lord,” he said, his voice shaking as the truth sank deep into his guts. “Marty?”

“Uh-huh,” said Marty.

His mouth worked in horror. “What have I done to you?”

Letting out a sigh of exasperation, Marty said, “That’s what I kept asking!”

hi guys. i had an act of madness and wrote 22k about marty being a dog that doc brown accidentally turned into a human person. its about 'haha wouldn't it be funny if a dog turned into a guy' and also 'uh oh it would be kind of messed up if a dog turned into a guy'

AND also 'what if you were doing vaguely unethical experiments on an animal and then the animal acquired the ability to reason and communicate and called you out on your behaviour, would that be fucked up or what'

im calling it 'those three words' it will come to ao3 SOON but not till after the next chapter of the justice league fic (im still working on it i prommy)

[the-frostiest-of-flakes]

You Can't Just Piss in the Sewer PART 2

Summary Casey finds out about the sewer activities and decides to do something about it.

Word Count 785

Warnings None. It's just crack treated seriously.

Author's Note BEHOLD! The sequel no one asked for (including me)!

I have been haunted by this story ever since I made the first chapter. It was just supposed to be a oneshot but here we are. (I'm all done now though I prommy. It's out of my system)

The first chapter can be found here. And if you'd rather read the story on ao3, it can be found here.

✧⋆✧

A lot had happened to Casey Jones in the past year.

He had lost his job, met some teenage mutant ninja turtles, saved the world, got his job back…no big deal really.  This was just his life now.  Unfortunately, since it was supposed to be a secret, it left him with very few talking points when someone asked him what he had been up to lately.

Like right now, at his grandmother’s quarterly family dinner.

“Casey!” His grandmother exclaimed, ushering him over the threshold.  Her apartment was small and cozy as always, with the aroma of fresh cooked food permeating the space.  “Come in, come in – no, leave your shoes at the door.  What have you been up to, my boy?”

“Just the same old same old,” he replied, slipping out of his shoes.

“Oh, something exciting must have happened, you’ve got such an important job after all.  And we’re all very proud of you for not getting fired again.”  

I’m never gonna live that down, am I?   Inwardly sighing, he plastered on the most believable smile he could muster.  “Nope.  Nothing at all.  It’s been completely normal, average work days for the past year.”

She hummed.  “Shame.  Well, run along, everyone is in the living room right now.  I’ll be there in a minute.”

With that, the old woman scurried off, heading for the kitchen.  Casey took a deep breath before plunging into the crowded living room, which was filled to the brim with his immediate and extended family.  Grandma Jones’s dinner affairs were large, important events.  No one wanted to miss out.  Especially when doing so meant falling behind on family gossip.

A hand gripped his shoulder.  Spinning around, he found it was his Uncle, Greg.  “Hey, kid, I need to talk to you for a second.”  The man pulled him aside before he had a chance to respond, lowering his voice so the others wouldn’t hear.  “Listen Casey, I know what I’m about to say is nuts, and if your ma or pa heard it they’d throw me in the loony bin.  So this stays between us, y’hear?”

“Uh, sure.”  He wasn’t sure what his uncle was going on about, but he was one of the sanest, most truthful people he knew.  Whatever it was, it couldn’t be that bad.

Greg took a deep breath, pausing dramatically.  “I saw the Sewer Monsters.”

“The what?”

“The big green monsters that run around the sewers!”  He flung out his hands.  “I thought it was just an urban legend but…I saw them.  I was workin’, doin’ a safety check, when I found them pissin’ in the sewer like animals.”

Casey’s blood ran cold.  “What – what did they look like?”

“Like giant humanoid turtles.  And there was another one that looked like a rat!”

He gritted his teeth.  “You don’t say?”  I’m going to kill those idiots.

“Just…make sure to keep an eye out for them.  I don’t know how often they leave the sewer, but I don’t want them jumpin’ you on the job.”

“I’ll keep my guard up.”  He gave Greg a nod and soft pat on the arm before turning to leave.  “And thanks for telling me.”

—

Casey breathed out slowly through his nose, leveling his gaze with the four mutant turtles in front of him.  He was going to chew them out, yes, but he knew damn well they wouldn't listen if he wasn't at least moderately calm.

"You can't go around using the sewer as your own personal urinal."

Mikey snorted.  "I don't know if you've noticed, but it's a sewer, brah.  It's not like we're peeing behind trees or something."

"That's not the point-"  Movement from behind the line of turtles caught his eye.  It was a certain anthropomorphic rat trying to sneak off.  "Hey!  You're a part of this too."

Splinter froze for a few beats, narrowing his eyes before reluctantly rejoining the group.

“You can’t just piss in the sewer because it’s disgusting.   Donnie, you’re a genius with a high tech lab, but you don’t have a bathroom?! ”

“Well when you say it like that-”

“Wait–”  A thought had occurred to him.  “All those times you said I couldn’t use your bathroom because the toilet was clogged–”

“Was a lie.  Yes.  Try to keep up, Jones.”

He groaned, turning to leave and find himself a much more productive and relaxing use of his time.  “Alright, whatever.  Just get yourselves an actual bathroom.”

“Or what?” Raph piped up.

Casey could feel a smirk taking over his face as he pulled out his hidden trump card.  “I’ll tell April.”

The cacophony that rose up behind him as he left the sewer was music to his ears.

[eclipsecrowned]

"Love has a way of making us feel things we never thought possible." [ dream @ hel. it is not said as a Positive thing. love (derogatory). love (i've been through a lot of exes). love (why am i talking to you about this). also i prommy this isn't intended as a Force Ship TM + i am just here to see how dream and hel vibe do not worry ] // @wildscratch

The Norns have never been close to her heart. Yet, she'll kiss their hems and forgive them every word they ever spoke, if this moment will only end. Its agony is in triplicate, in a way only the Fates might weave, thinking themselves clever.

One would have to be born relatively recently to remain ignorant of what the Dream Lord's love means, or the bleak scars it has inflicted across pantheons and individuals alike. The intimacy of such topics are ones she has deftly avoided for over three thousand years, ill at ease with any discussion that invites more than a surface reading of those involved. And most egregious of all slights against her, this statement makes her feel as though in all the realms, it is Dream that might understand her on some heretofore unspoken level.

Her stomach is churning. Yet, as with all things in her life, it is not singular. A moment is so little compared to words, and the memories they audaciously stir.

Love as family, ripped apart by distance or by deed. Love as man, spurned by her waning light long before it had faded away into a dark, indifferent maturity. Love as woman, hearth warm and hands soft, endless horizons as golden as her hair, til mortals die as mortals must and she's too afraid to try again.

Love as friends, and nothing more. Friends that do not mind the coming and going, who see only what she allows and ask nothing more, who will never die before her. For a moment, her little heart envies him, the passion of it all. It will always end in a woman's tears. But at least the absence of him is something to be mourned.

She should know. She had been there for his sister, when he had been pulled away from the world. She'd give anything for it to be Death before her, speaking simple truths, instead of her more terrible brother.

Then, the unthinkable: Hel looks up at him.

(It is no wonder he is the Monarch of the Sleeping Marches. He is exhausting.)

How dare you blossoms and withers on her tongue, less accusation, more genuine. "As you say, My Lord," she agrees, the song of her voice unburdened by the shift of her perceptions. Perhaps he will take it as a glancing blow, hollow affirmation in the face of her betters.

Maybe if he does understand, he'll see it in her, too. Yet she stands there, praying the Norns for one mercy, and that his thoughts do not run so deep as his eyes.

[benjaminsisko]

i'm just curious what is your title about?

ooohohoo buddy, i am SO glad you asked!

THAT line is a lesser known benjamin sisko line, but one that i consider to be from one of the most endearing scenes with ben and his family. it's from season 7 episode 1: image in the sand at around 35 minutes in, if you want to see the exact scene. it's the one with jake right before that bajoran guy stabs him.

it's just a little scene that doesn't really have any effect on the episode or anything. it's just a cute moment with jake where ben has just finished up shucking a bunch of bags full of clams for joseph's creole restaurant.

jake comes up and asks him how many clams he's cleaned, and ben says "a lot! that was my last batch...but then i got to thinking.... maybe I'll take a couple of sacks tomorrow on the runabout; give me something to do on the way to tyree."--and he just...he says this so bitterly, man. he says the word tyree like a man who is being forced to wade through knee-deep horse shit. so jake, being jake--jake who grandpa joe makes do all the menial tasks around the kitchen (as any family restaraunt does lmao) peel the shrimp, chop the okra, wait tables, etc. is like "you're kidding right??" (disbelief mostly, but you know there is REAL FEAR just beneath the surface)

and ben looks at him and he gives him that dad voice? the one where your parent looks at you and just says "[name]...." in that voice where you know they're implying you're being kind of a goofball right now? he goes, "jake....if i never see another clam--"

"--it'll be too soon!" jake says this along with him, to their mutual amusement. they have a laugh and ben takes this towel he was holding (he was just shucking clams) and he whips jake's ass with it like you do in the locker room (wet towel)(clam juice in the towel)(SMELLY) and goes "WOO!!" and kinda walks away a little while whistling a jaunty tune.

idk what else to say about it other than i just really love the subtle layers of family dynamic on display, but since it's such a minor scene, that's about it.

but it's fucking everything to me. more than the big epic speech from in the pale moonlight, more than his unhinged javert shenanigans in for the uniform (which i also am SO normal about i prommy), benjamin sisko becoming a silly guy with clam shucking fatigue and palling around with jake is just such a good moment to me. i guess especially because it's good to see him have such a sweet moment of familal levity while he's going through Some Shit™ for like. the entire episode otherwise.

AND he immediately gets stabbed afterward. CLASSIC fucking sisko moment.

[secretsolarsystem]

Congratulations on the follower milestone! You know which AU I love 👀 but since I think you have that one already on your eventual wip list then I would love to see a continuation to the last prompt you posted, with Anakin freshly fallen. I just want this sith Obi-Wan to keep being completely possessive over him, maybe you can even mix it with the fancy outfits we've talked about ���

THE BESTIES HAVE SPOKEN!!!!

thank you so much 🥺 I'm so happy I decided to make a tumblr to get to interact with y'all and make such kind friends like Tomi 💚💚

(also yessss Tomi, that au is next!!!!!! once I finish the batman au, which I WILL be working on today and tomorrow and hopefully after work this week!! NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE OUT SOON I prommy <3)

in the meantime, please enjoy part two to our little Sith!Obi-Wan/Fallen Jedi!Anakin au! (here’s part one) it's pretty dang spicy, and once again has non-graphic depictions of Anakin killing someone <3 such a good sith apprentice <333 and I did my best to include fancy outfits bc that was SUCH a missed opportunity </3 (2.3k)

—

“I thought being your apprentice was going to be more fun,” Anakin pouted, watching Obi-Wan’s reflection as he circled him, eyes hungrily taking in Anakin’s new attire. Obi-Wan had had his tailor come and fashion Anakin a whole new ensemble, consisting of deep reds and blacks at Anakin’s behest. “Anything you want, my dear, you will have,” Obi-Wan had said. 

Well, Anakin didn’t want to be put in a stuffy outfit, but Obi-Wan wanted him to wear it, and he’d do just about anything his master told him to. So here he was, showing his master his black tunic and pants, glossy black boots, and his long cape. He had thought maybe the cape would be too dramatic, but it turned out to be Anakin’s favorite part of the whole ordeal. It was silky, almost as reflective as his boots. The outside of it was black, but as it reached the floor, the color gave way to a deep red in a sort of ombre effect. That deep red made up the inside of the cape, surrounding Anakin’s black silhouette with the color of blood.

He was going for something that would at least look cool, but Anakin had to admit that he looked intimidating, more so than he ever had in his dark Jedi garb. He could imagine the image he’d make with his newly red blade ignited, cape billowing and golden eyes aflame as he set out to do his master’s bidding.

His eyes now looked just like Obi-Wan’s, and that made satisfaction settle deep in Anakin’s bones. Anyone would tell just by looking at them that they were two halves of the same whole. Eyes and lightsabers aside, Obi-Wan’s outfit was the same as Anakin’s with the same blood red details, but where Anakin’s was black Obi-Wan’s was a stark white. He looked imperial in it in a way that set Anakin on fire, made him want to kneel even if that was something he already did for his master. The pure color screamed the man’s confidence; he would not hesitate to spill blood, but he was clean about it. Not a single drop would dare stain his person.

Even though he was still pouting at his master’s reflection, a thrill ran through Anakin as it always did when he had the man’s attention. (It was so much better, now, being able to admit these feelings. Yes, Anakin wanted Obi-Wan to look at him. Yes, Anakin wanted to be with Obi-Wan always. Yes, Anakin was desperate for the man’s hands and mouth and cock and voice. Being able think and feel these things and not fight it was so nice. Being a Sith was so nice.)

(Also, yes, Anakin still supposed that you could resist the Dark and still suck a Sith’s cock, but being a Sith yourself let you feel a lot less guilt about it. Plus, hearing Obi-Wan tell Anakin how pretty the tears were falling from his golden eyes as he choked was was a huge bonus. If the Sith had advertised that aspect of the Dark Side, Anakin would’ve Fallen years ago.)

“Darling,” Obi-Wan tutted, standing behind Anakin and looking over his shoulder. Their eyes met in the mirror and Anakin made his pout more severe, leaning back into Obi-Wan’s strong chest. Yes, I am your darling, he thought. Why must you put your darling in these terrible clothes? “I thought were were having plenty of fun. Are you not satisfied?”

Obi-Wan’s hands came up to go exactly where they belonged: on Anakin. That made Anakin feel a little bit better, settling into the touch, one hand on his hip and the other splayed out over Anakin’s abdomen, Obi-Wan’s little finger dangerously low.

All of Obi-Wan’s touches were like that: greedy, proprietary. Anakin loved it, craved it.

“I just thought you’d be taking me out of my clothes, not putting me into them,” Anakin responded petulantly, shivering as Obi-Wan slowly but surely started moving the hand on Anakin’s stomach even lower. “And then you had to leave me in here to get your own clothes and your tailor put his hands all over me-”

Obi-Wan’s hand stopped and his smile fell, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. Yesyesyesyesyes- “He touched you, darling? Did he touch you where he shouldn’t have?” Obi-Wan’s voice was low, sharp, almost condescending. To anyone else it might have inspired feelings of fear or trepidation, but all Anakin felt was his cock twitch with anticipation.

“Well, I guess it is his job…” Anakin demurred, titling his head down to look at Obi-Wan’s reflection through his lashes. He knew Obi-Wan knew exactly what he was doing, but it didn’t matter. He also knew Obi-Wan would give him what he wanted regardless. His master was good like that.

Obi-Wan pressed himself closer to Anakin’s back. “An occupational hazard, to be sure,” Obi-Wan agreed, nodding. The motion made his beard rub against Anakin’s cheek and it made Anakin melt further into the man. He loved his master’s beard, especially when it was rubbing on his skin. 

“Did he have to measure every inch of you to make these clothes?” Obi-Wan went on. “He must’ve; they fit you perfectly. I’d eat you whole if I could.” Anakin nodded with a whine, both to say yes and to nuzzle against Obi-Wan’s beard again. “Did he brush his fingers on your thighs and your shoulders to make you look this good for me?”

“Yes Master,” Anakin breathed, hissing with pleasure as Obi-Wan’s fingers dug into his hip, sure to leave bruises.

“A shame,” Obi-Wan tsked, the hand on Anakin’s stomach now moving in slow circles that made heat pool low in his groin. He could feel Obi-Wan hardening cock behind him, hips still but pressed close to Anakin’s own. Anakin wanted Obi-Wan to take it out, to press him to the mirror and make Anakin spit in his hand so he could get his cock a least a little wet before sliding inside of him. It would hurt just enough, he was still loose from earlier, it’d be so easy-

“I really did like that tailor, but I can’t let him touch you and live, darling. I just can’t,” Obi-Wan said, and he did a very good job of actually sounding sad about it. He probably did, considering how much he valued presentation. To have to kill the man who made all of his favorite clothes must be a hardship for him, but Anakin would be beyond offended if he did let the tailor do his job of innocently touching Anakin and didn’t kill him for it. 

“Did he touch you here, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, hand finally lowering enough to cup Anakin’s aching cock. Anakin moaned, immediately rocking his hips into the touch and watching with half-lidden eyes as Obi-Wan’s lip twitched into a sneer. “Did you let him touch you here?” It was a warning, a demand for the answer he wanted, needed to hear.

And Anakin was happy to give it to him, happy to whimper and shake his head back and forth, eyes never leaving Obi-Wan’s in the mirror. “No, Master. That’s just for you. I’m just for you,” he vowed.

With a pleased hum, Obi-Wan licked a long, wet stripe from the skin just above Anakin’s stiff collar to behind his ear, pulling back slightly to blow on the wet spot trail he left behind. It made Anakin shiver and try to simultaneously rock forward into Obi-Wan’s hand and backwards onto his cock, something between a keen and a shuddering breath falling from his lips. “Don’t you forget it,” Obi-Wan growled before pulling completely away from Anakin’s body.

Before Anakin could protest the loss and demand he be fucked now, Obi-Wan turned and made for the door. “Come now, my young apprentice. The Count is waiting for us.”

—

Count Dooku was, indeed, waiting for them. Obi-Wan had said it was imperative that Anakin meet his master, because it would be better for Dooku to hear it from them before he found out from someone else that Obi-Wan had taken on an apprentice. That was the main reason for the new clothes; to make Anakin more presentable for the old, rigid man. 

It made Anakin’s lips curl into a sneer, being dressed up for someone other than Obi-Wan. But every time Obi-Wan gave him an appreciative once over with dark eyes, the beast inside of Anakin settled. Dooku was nothing to him but his master’s master. That’s all.

Their conversation had been quite brief, actually. They discussed this glaring violation of the Rule of Two, but Obi-Wan pointed out that his own apprenticeship was as well, seeing as Dooku had a master of his own. Dooku had simply pressed his lips together and sighed harshly through his nose, not denying anything. He even went so far as to commend Obi-Wan for snatching a Jedi – and the Chosen One, no less – for himself. “My master will be most pleased,” Dooku had said cryptically. It almost seemed like Dooku had a soft spot for Obi-Wan, and that alone made Anakin tolerate being in the same room as the older Sith.

Because he did, too. Have a soft spot. For Obi-Wan. (He had a hard one too, that was still feeling pretty neglected after what had happened in the fitting room.)

But then Obi-Wan had sent a single phrase to Anakin through their bond, a sensation that always sent Anakin’s entire nervous system alight with crackling electricity. It always felt like Obi-Wan was taking Anakin’s mind and holding it in the safe cage of his hands until Anakin’s entire being was surrounded by the man. It was the greatest sensation Anakin had ever known, the press of Obi-Wan around him. (Although, the press of Obi-Wan inside of him was a very strong contender.)

Obi-Wan’s voice reverberated throughout Anakin’s mind, three familiar words: Sick ‘em, boy.

Anakin did not need to be told twice. Dooku put up a valiant fight, but he didn’t stand a chance, not when Anakin was fulfilling his master’s wish. Before long, Dooku was knelt before Anakin, kept still by Anakin red blade and Dooku’s own hissing dangerously close to his neck. As much as Anakin wanted to kill Dooku, he waited to hear the command from Obi-Wan.

Anakin watched Dooku watch as Obi-Wan came up to stand behind Anakin much like he had before, pressed closely to Anakin’s back. Though this time, he lifted only one hand, wrapping the fingers loosely around Anakin’s throat. It made Anakin shiver, but his hands was unwavering.

“Something you have taught me, my master,” Obi-Wan said, looking down at Dooku from over Anakin’s shoulder, “is that it is important to have your apprentice properly trained. Loyal, obedient, needing, wanting. You must reward their good behavior, and make sure they see the value of your being their teacher. Make sure they cannot imagine a world without your guiding hand.” The hand on Anakin’s through tightened, and Anakin groaned, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment. 

When he opened them again, Dooku’s eyes were wide, his feelings of shock and betrayal bleeding into the Force. “I thank you for your own failure in this, Master,” Obi-Wan continued, “for now I know how to keep my perfect boy here happy, keep him devoted.”

Feeling Dooku’s hopelessness and Obi-Wan’s smugness and hearing Obi-Wan talking about how well trained Anakin was and calling him ‘perfect’ while he had his hand around his neck made satisfaction spread heavily through Anakin’s chest and down to his cock, which was fully hard once again. His master was so clever, he was the best. And he was right – he had Anakin’s loyalty, his obedience. Anakin needed him, wanted him more than anything. He had Anakin, there was no doubt. Obi-Wan would never find himself in Dooku’s position; he was too good to Anakin, and Anakin loved him too much.

Anakin felt as Obi-Wan turned his head, his forehead resting on Anakin’s temple. His breath hit Anakin’s cheek, wet and hot, as he spoke: “I want you to kill him, my dearest one. I want you to kill him so it can be just us, just the two of us. Then we’ll kill his master, and there will be no one but us. That’s what I want, my Anakin. You, and me, and no one else.”

Obi-Wan really didn’t have to say anything else but ‘I want you to kill him’ to get Anakin to do it, but Anakin would never give up the chance to hear him call him sweet names and say such possessive things. Anakin wanted that, too. Just them. That’s all he needed; just Obi-Wan.

It was quick, cutting Dooku’s head off. Almost as quick as Anakin disengaged his lightsaber and whipped his own head around, looking to Obi-Wan with wide eyes. Tell me I’m good. Tell me I did a good job. Tell me you’re so proud of me, that you can’t imagine having anyone but me. Tell me tell me tell me…

“Such a good boy,” Obi-Wan praised, taking his hand off Anakin’s neck to tuck loose curls behind Anakin’s ear before scratching there. He knew it would make Anakin melt into the touch, evident by the crinkles by Obi-Wan’s eyes as he smiled fondly at him. “I think the Force made you just for me. You like being on my leash, don’t you? That’s why you’re still here.”

Anakin whimpered, nodding, staring at Obi-Wan’s lips. “Yes, Master. I like being yours, I’m supposed to be.”

With a satisfied growl, Obi-Wan slipped his hand further into Anakin’s hair and pulled him forward, pressing their lips together. Anakin scrambled to press himself closer, his fingers curling tightly into the man’s clothes. He wondered if this was going to be a habit of theirs, making out next to dead bodies.

Not that Anakin was complaining. Quite the opposite, actually. “Master,” he panted against Obi-Wan’s lips, “Master, please, take me, please.”

Moving to kiss down Anakin’s neck, Obi-Wan hummed in agreement. “You said something about taking you out of these clothes, didn’t you, my darling?”

His master was such a good listener. And kisser. Such a good master, always taking care of Anakin when he needed it. Such a good master.

prompted fic collection

[ibis-gt]

i made a fairytale au for cam and luther and then wrote nearly 5k words of fic for it?? which is wild bc i am not much of a writer. but. that’s under the cut. content warning for a pretty violent scene towards the end but there’s a happy ending i prommy

Once upon a time, there lived a prince. This prince, Luther by name, lived in a kingdom that was plagued by monsters. His father, the king, had gained his throne by feats of heroism, most notably by slaying a fearsome dragon that had ruled the land for years. The time came for Luther to prove he was worthy of the title of prince by slaying a monster of his own… 

Down in the countryside, farmers have been complaining for weeks of an ogre stealing their cattle and frightening their children. So Luther sets off in a splendid suit of armor, with a sword sheathed on one hip, a quiver of arrows on the other, and his bow slung on his back.

Luther rides his horse down to the village where the ogre was last spotted. He talks with the locals and gets a description of the creature. At least forty feet tall, they say, with greenish-grey skin and dark hair and teeth the length of a man’s forearm. Luther leaves his horse behind with the farmers because he doesn’t want her getting hurt and marches off, following a set of giant footprints left behind by the ogre, sword in hand. He would have to admit that he isn’t the best at sword fighting, and that really he’s never faced a monster on his own. But his father gave him a crucial tip: every monster has a weak point. Find the weak point, exploit it, and you’ll win every time. 

The footprints lead through the plains of grass, past the area where the farmers let their cattle out to graze, and into a dark forest. The sun is going down before he manages to find the ogre, so he sets up a little camp with a little fire and rests his tired bones. His armor isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but it takes forever to get on and off even with someone helping him, let alone by himself. He sits with his back to a big boulder so nothing can sneak up behind him and eventually drifts off.

Luther awakens the next morning and groans at how stiff and sore he is. He sits up and pauses, brow furrowed, remembering that he’d gone to bed sitting upright. But just now, he’d been lying on his back. And he’s not the best tracker, but those giant footprints look… disconcertingly fresh. These things add up in his mind. He just about passes out. He crouches down and puts his head between his knees for a moment until he can breathe again and his heart stops pounding quite so hard. He was right next to it! He fell asleep leaning on it! If his father heard about this he’d give him such a beating. How could he not have noticed that the boulder was actually - 

His stomach rumbles, interrupting his panicked thoughts, and Luther remembers that the last time he ate was back in that farming village around two in the afternoon yesterday. He digs out a bit of beef jerky and morosely works at it. His father swears by the stuff, but it just makes his teeth hurt. Luther dreams of the kitchens back home and drools a little.

He gives up on the jerky and manages to take down a couple squirrels with his bow and arrows. He gets his fire blazing again and sets them cooking over it, and sits down to draw in the dirt and form a battle plan. He gets wrapped up in his drawing and loses track of time, but is startled violently back to reality as a deep booming voice from behind him says, “Your squirrel’s burning.”

Luther’s eyes snap up to the fire. He hastily pulls the stick with his squirrels off of it, waving it in the air to put out the bit of squirrel that had caught fire. He blows on it and inspects the damage. Not too bad, a little charred. Still definitely edible. Then realization dawns, and he slowly looks up and over his shoulder.

That’s the ogre. He’s unmistakable. Huge, greyish-green, with shaggy black hair and big tusks that jut out of his mouth. He’s down on one knee looming over Luther, modesty barely preserved by a loincloth stitched together out of the pelts of many different furry animals. Luther wills himself to not faint for the second time that day. 

“You gonna eat that?” The ogre booms. “’Cause I will if you won’t.”

“W-well, yes, I was planning to,” Luther quavers, “But there are two, so, um, you can have one if you want? We can share?”

He takes the non-burned squirrel off the stick and holds it up. His hand only shakes a little. The ogre takes it carefully between thumb and forefinger and tosses it in his mouth. With such a tiny morsel, he’d usually just swallow it whole, but an interesting flavor makes him stop and savor it for a moment. 

“What’d you do to it? Not like any squirrel I’ve eaten. And I’ve eaten a whole army of squirrels.” He slaps a hand on his formidable belly. The sound makes Luther jump. 

“I- I didn’t do much, j-just some seasoning, I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean to, please don’t eat me next." 

"You?” The ogre laughs. “Why would I eat you? You shared your food with me. That’s mighty polite. I’d say that makes us friends now, and I don’t eat friends.” He grunts as he shifts position, sitting down heavily and stretching out his legs. “Bad knees,” he grumbles. “Sat like that too long, but I wanted to see what you were drawing." 

Luther is now horrifically aware that he is directly between the ogre’s legs. He is also horrifically aware that he was drawing himself hitting an ogre with a sword. He hurriedly kicks some dirt over it. 

"Nothing. Nothing interesting. I’m a bad artist anyway.”

“Sure. What’s your name, little tin man? You didn’t seem too talkative when you snuggled up to me last night, but I thought maybe you were just tired. I’m Cam." 

"L-Luther.” Oh god. He was supposed to kill this thing, it - well, no, not ‘it’, he can’t think of Cam as an ‘it’ now he knows his name - he’s terrorizing folks, stealing their livelihoods, he’s supposed to drive him away, save the day, bring peace to the kingdom. Instead he’s sharing his meager breakfast and making friends with the monster. How did it all go so wrong!!

“So, Luther, you made of metal? I thought you were gonna take all that off, looks pretty uncomfortable, but you wore it all night. Unless it’s like… you?" 

"No, no, um, it’s just… it takes a long time to put it on and take it off? And I usually need help.”

 "Well shoot, friend, why didn’t you say so?“ Before Luther can object, a giant hand descends and plucks him up. He panics, struggles in Cam’s grasp, and Cam tsks at him. "I can’t get all that off you if you don’t hold still. Don’t make me squeeze." 

Luther goes still. If Cam squeezes the armor, it’ll stay squeezed. He wouldn’t want to still be in it if that happens. Cam clearly has no idea how to get someone out of armor though. He just pulls at clasps and buckles till they break, then shucks the metal off of Luther like an ear of corn. His helmet comes off first, freeing his dark brown curls.

“Aww,” Cam says, “lookit you. You’re kinda cute for a tin man.” He musses up Luther’s hair with a fingertip. "You’re like a little crab,” Cam chuckles. “Crack open the hard shell to get to the soft stuff underneath.” The food metaphor does not put Luther any more at ease as the rest of his armor is pulled off and tossed aside, piece by piece. Cam even strips the chainmail off of him and dumps it on the ground. This leaves Luther in his shirt and breeches, shaking like a leaf and terrified for his life. 

“Oh, you cold? Here, I gotcha.” Cam sandwiches him between his hands. Luther awaits the pressure and the horrible crunch that will no doubt be the end of his short life, but it never comes. Cam just holds him there, and truth be told his hands are very warm, and it had been a chilly morning. Luther relaxes very slightly.

After a few minutes, Cam lifts one hand a little and peeks at Luther. “Better?" 

"Much better, thank you. Even a little too warm, actually? Can I, um, come out now?" 

Cam laughs and opens his hands like a book, then tilts them so Luther tumbles into the palm of his left hand. "So what’s a fancy little shrimp like you doing all the way out here, with that tough shell and those sharp weapons? You huntin’ something?" 

Luther hesitates. It’s not… technically a lie, just an omission of truth, right? "Yeees…. Hunting.”

Cam laughs out loud, leaning back and slapping his knee with his free hand. “HA! You are just about the worst liar I ever met, Luther. Whew.” He actually wipes a tear from his eye. Luther feels his face heating up with anger and embarrassment.

“I am hunting! I’m hunting you!” As soon as he says it he regrets it. He slaps his hands over his mouth and cowers back as Cam sits up straight again and looks down at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“That so? Huh. Well, you found me, oh mighty hunter. And you fed me, and let me take your armor off you, and left all your sharp things on the ground while you sit in the palm of my hand. So, uh… how’s that goin’ for ya?”

“It… I… um… please don’t kill me?”

Cam grins. It’s not a nice grin anymore. It shows off too many teeth. “Lotsa folks have hunted me, you know. Not a one has succeeded. Most of ‘em can’t find me in the first place, not unless I want them to. Neat little trick we ogres have. We blend in well. The ones who did find me, they regretted it pretty quick. When I heard you clanking along with your silly armor and your little sword, I thought oh boy, here comes another one. But it turns out this one couldn’t find his own ass with both hands and a map, so he ain’t one of them legendary monster hunters lookin’ to claim some bounty. And he’s a little scrawny slip of a thing, too, and he keeps stopping to look at birds. I kinda liked you. And honestly, when you found me, it took me by surprise. Thought I had you pegged all wrong. Then you made your little fire, curled up next to me, and went to sleep, and it took everything I had not to bust my gut laughing right then and there. And now… well, I don’t rightly know what to make of you. Cute little thing, I know that. But cute won’t save you if you wanna tussle with me. So, little hunter… what’re you gonna do now?”

Luther’s nearly in tears. He manages to say, “Then… were you just… toying with me? This whole time? Waiting to see what I’d do?" 

Cam shrugs. "Pretty much.” That does it. The waterworks are in full swing. Luther’s chin trembles, his lower lip wobbles, and then tears are streaming down his face and he’s sobbing. 

“Y- you’re s-so-ho meeeaaaan,” Luther wails. “Y-you’re j-just making f-fun of me, I thought w-we were friends!” 

Cam has absolutely no idea how to respond to this. For some reason he actually feels guilty. “Aw - no - now look, there’s no call for - just… just stop crying, okay? Please?” Luther continues to sob, heedless of Cam’s pleading. “There, there,” Cam tries, patting Luther’s head. “I’m not going to kill you. Okay? How’s that? I’m sorry I called you - well. All those things. I’m sure you’re a great hunter. Look, you got those squirrels. And hey! That one I ate tasted great. You got some real skill there." 

Luther wipes his eyes and looks up, teetering dangerously on the edge of another sobbing fit. His eyes are all watery and a little red-rimmed. "R-really?" 

"Yes! Of course!” Cam clings to the compliment like a life preserver. “I bet you’re like, like the king’s cook or something, right? Cause you’re the best in the land?" 

Luther’s face crumples a little and he looks down, mutters something. 

"What?” Cam holds him up a little closer to his ear. 

“’m his son,” Luther mumbles again. 

“His son? You’re a prince? And you’re all - oh, hell.” Now he’s really put his foot in it. Luther bursts into tears again and curls up in a little ball.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I - oh, ugh, you’re getting my hand all wet.” Cam picks him up between thumb and forefinger and shakes the little tear droplets off his palm. “Now look here,” he says, attempting a sterner approach. “You’re a prince, all right? You can’t be crying and going to pieces just ‘cause some big bad monster was mean to you. You gotta kill big bad monsters, right? So here’s what you’re gonna do.” Cam sets him down gently, picks up his sword and hands it to him. “There you go. You’re gonna take that sword, right, and you’re gonna really let me have it. That’ll make you feel better, won’t it?“ 

Luther purses his lips and looks up at him. "But… all I can hit from here is your foot. That’s no good. I need a shot at something vital." 

"Oh fine, fine, Mr. Picky,” Cam grumbles. He shuffles his legs to the side and leans down til he’s practically laying on his belly. “Face shot. Free one for ya. Go on, hit something good.” Luther considers. Just as Cam realizes how ridiculous this whole thing is, he draws his sword back and plunges it into Cam’s eye.

- Almost plunges it into Cam’s eye. The ogre moves suddenly, turning his head to the side to avoid the blow. Luther makes a deep gash in Cam’s cheek, and Cam roars. “Oh, you sly little shit. Very good, very sneaky. You almost had me there. Fine. We do this the hard way.”

He gets to his feet, draws himself up to his full, impressive height, and looks down at the dirt where Luther was a moment ago. Cam blinks in surprise. “Where’d you… goddammit…” He looks around, trying to catch a glimpse of where Luther could’ve gotten to. 

Luther was not about to let the golden opportunity to run and hide during a big dramatic show of power go to waste. He slides into a patch of underbrush, catches his breath, and takes stock. He has no armor, no food, no bow or arrows. Those are all back at his camp, which is currently ogre territory. He has one sword that he’s okay at using. The ogre has the homefield advantage, and some kind of ability, possibly magical, to hide himself from those who want to find him. Luther shouldn’t let him out of his sight. But he should work on camouflaging himself. He takes a handful of dirt and smears it on his face and shirt. The sword he can’t do much about, he’ll just have to try and keep it from glinting. He glances to his left, away from where Cam still stands, turning in circles and peering around. Luther had only gone a little ways into the woods before he stopped for camp last night. He can almost see the forest’s edge from here. He could dart for the grasslands and try to make it back to the village, but he’d be in plain sight as soon as he’s out of the trees and there’s no guarantee Cam won’t just follow him all the way back. The further he goes into the trees the more firmly he is in Cam’s territory, but the more coverage he has. 

Possibilities begin swirling around in his head. His best bet is trickery rather than a face to face confrontation. He’s got a running list in his mind of Cam’s weak points now. Food, monologuing, emotional outbursts. Although that last one’s probably off the table now. Bursting into tears isn’t going to get him out of a second pinch. Bad knees - if he can trip Cam up, he can get a shot at his face again, maybe cut his throat or get at his soft belly and sides. Cam’s a talker and likes to gloat, maybe if he gets him distracted by looking pathetic he could get him to walk right into a trap of some kind. He likes food… but Luther doesn’t have the resources to make a big feast to distract him or sate him, just a pouchful of seasoning that he never leaves home without. His lip wobbles again as he thinks about how that’s back at his camp… he may never see his precious seasonings again.

Meanwhile, Cam is getting frustrated. “Well, the little shit can’t have gone far,” he grumbles. “Just gotta flush 'im out.” Luther watches, petrified, as Cam lumbers over to a nearby patch of underbrush and without warning stomps down on it hard, twisting his foot and smashing every inch of it. He steps back and leans down to inspect what’s left. Luther bites his lip hard to stifle a whimper. 

“Nope, not there,” Cam announces. “Eeney, meeney, miney…..” Another bunch of bushes are mercilessly ground into the dirt. “Moe. Hmmm. Where are you?”

Luther can’t stay in his hiding place for long. It’s only a matter of time before Cam gets to him. He needs an opening to make a break for it though, if he runs now Cam will spot him right away. As slowly as he dares, he picks up a large, flat rock, then skims it like a frisbee off to his right, where it hits a tree with a satisfying thock. Cam whirls around, and Luther bolts out of the brush. Cam hears the leaves rustling and turns back around, catching sight of him as he flees. 

“There you are! Hold on now, don’t go running off! I just wanna talk, I swear. The whole monster-slaying prince thing not working out for ya? I got a better job offer! You can be my dinner!” Luther keeps sprinting as fast as he can, not even bothering to glance behind him. The last thing he needs is to miss a fallen branch or a groundhog hole and trip.

On flat, open land, the ogre would outpace him easily. But if he can get deeper into the forest where the trees are closer together, that could slow him down enough for Luther to get some distance and hide again, have a moment to breathe and think so he can work on his plan. He’s starting to get an idea of what he’ll need. He needs the element of surprise for sure, and he needs more than just his sword. If he had some rope he could set up a tripwire, maybe. He curses himself for not taking his father’s advice about packing, for letting Cam strip him, for being too weak and scared to do anything when he had the chance, for being born in the first place. His eyes well up with tears and he scrubs at them furiously. He can’t afford to have his sight blurred right now, he needs to keep his head clear and keep moving. He can hear Cam’s thudding footsteps behind him, gaining quickly. He can cover so much more ground in a single step. It’s simply not fair. The little bit of distance he was able to gain with his rock trick is disappearing fast and it won’t be long before he’s in arm’s reach.

Almost as if he can read his thoughts, Cam lunges forward and takes a swipe at him, trying to knock him off his feet. Luther hits the deck and Cam overbalances, stumbling and crashing into a tree. The tree snaps when his weight collides with it, and Cam has to windmill his arms to keep from falling over. Luther scrambles to his feet and keeps running. He even manages to put on an extra burst of speed when he hears Cam roar with frustration behind him. He’s not as fast as he could be because he’s lugging the sword along with him, but he doesn’t dare drop it. It proves its usefulness in the next minute. Cam closes the distance and grabs for him. Luther sees the shadow fall over him and whirls around, lashing out at the reaching hand. He slices across Cam’s palm, and Cam howls with pain and pulls back. Luther dashes away, and Cam stomps his foot in frustration. 

"Hold still, dammit! You’re just making it worse for yourself!” He takes off after Luther again, but his stamina’s flagging. It’s harder for a creature his size to haul himself around and he’s used to running down his prey in the first minutes of the chase. This has dragged on long enough to tire him out, but he’s not willing to give up just yet. “When I get my hands on you, tin man, you’re paste,” he growls. “They’re gonna have to come up with new words for how dead you’re gonna be.”

The trees start getting close enough together that Luther has to dodge around them from time to time. He can hear Cam behind him crashing through them, spluttering as he gets a face full of branches and leaves. Luther smiles to himself. That’s nice, at least. At last he gathers up his nerve and dodges to the side behind a particularly large tree, hoping that Cam’s too busy navigating the foliage to notice. His gamble pays off. A few seconds later, the ogre goes lumbering past him without so much as a sideways glance. Luther waits just a moment more, then bolts in the opposite direction.

He’s got a plan now. He probably won’t be able to find Cam again, but Cam can find him. So he’ll set up an ambush. He circles back around to his camp and grabs his supplies as quickly as he can, his bow and arrow, his helmet, his tinderbox, and most importantly, his seasoning. He hunts for deer, takes down a decent-sized buck, and sets up a new campfire, deep in the woods, where the trees are close. He’s hoping that Cam will think that Luther thinks he’s safe in there, and that the smell of the meat cooking will lure Cam in. He takes off his shirt and fills it with twigs and leaves, sets his helmet up on a stick driven into the ground, and makes a decently convincing decoy Luther that he leans against a log. The helmet tilts at an angle that makes it look like he’s fallen asleep. With that set up, and night closing in, Luther climbs up a nearby tree and waits, sword in hand.

He doesn’t watch the fire. He wants to keep his night vision sharp. And sure enough, before too long here comes Cam, moving surprisingly quietly for his size. He squeezes through the trees with barely a rustling of leaves. Cam’s eyes are fixed on the fire and the silhouette that the decoy makes against it. Cam gets right behind the decoy and slams his foot down on it. He grinds it into the dirt with a relish that makes Luther shudder. Then Cam looks at the deer cooking with that lovely smell rising off it, and his eyes go big and shiny. As Cam bends down to pick it up, Luther chooses his moment. He drops like a stone and buries his sword lengthwise in the back of Cam’s neck. The impact sends a jolt up his arms and he hangs on as tight as he can. Cam lets out a garbled scream of pain and collapses face first on the ground. Luther gets to his feet, pulls his sword out with some difficulty, takes a deep breath, and begins to chop.

It’s messy, horrible work. By the third swing tears are rolling down Luther’s cheeks. By the seventh, he’s sobbing. After the twenty-third cut, Cam’s head is finally severed, and rolls to the side. Luther stumbles back. He’s trembling, covered in blood, panting and crying, but it’s finally done. 

And then Cam’s head says, “Wow, kid. I didn’t think you had it in you.” Luther watches, dumbfounded, as Cam’s body sits up, searches around with its hands, locates his head, and puts it back on his shoulders as the flesh knits together again. Luther drops his sword in disbelief. He falls to his knees. That was it. That was all he had. He can’t even imagine what he could do against a foe who can just reattach his own head. 

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Okay. Um. Make it quick, please?” Cam had been planning to crunch the little shit once he was back on his feet, but he can’t help but feel a pang of guilt at how despondent Luther looks.

“Aw, no, no, don’t give up so quick! Really, you almost had me!” Cam scoops him up and pats him on the head. “Look, it was a good effort. I’m sure if you had known I can’t be killed, you wouldn’t have spent all that time and energy trying to kill me. Just do a little more research next time, yeah?" 

"Next time,” Luther repeats, and gives a hollow laugh. “There isn’t going to be a next time. I’m not welcome as part of the royal family if I can’t kill a monster. Even my sister’s done her first slaying already. A whole nest of vampires! And I can’t kill one measly ogre." 

"Hey, watch who you’re calling measly,” Cam warns, but his heart isn’t in it. “Jeez. You’ve got some issues, kid. Not much of a fighter, I take it?" 

Luther shakes his head and sighs. "I’m just not very good at it." 

"Well they chose one hell of a first mission for you, that’s for sure. Ogres are tricky ones. We’ve got a lot of defense mechanisms.” Cam thinks for a moment. “You know what you are good at, though? You’re a good talker. Very convincing. I mean, you really had me going, with the crying and all? It was a really good ruse." 

Luther bites his lip. "Um…" 

"Okay, so it was for real and not a ruse. But you made the best of a bad situation! That’s also a good skill for a ruler to have. You just gotta show your family that your skills are less conventional, but still effective! Like, okay, why do you have to kill me? What’d I do?" 

“You’re eating all the farmers’ cattle and scaring people." 

"I thought free range meant I had free reign. Eh? Eh?” Cam pokes Luther in the ribs. Luther frowns at him. “Oh, fine, whatever. No sense of humor. You know, that’s pretty important for a king too. Yeah, all right, I’ll leave the cows alone." 

"And the sheep,” Luther says sharply. “And the pigs, and chickens." 

"I haven’t eaten any pigs or chickens,” Cam protests. 

“Not yet. I’m being proactive." 

"There you go!” Cam says, beaming. “There’s that negotiator skill! But seriously, if I can’t eat the cows and sheep I’ve got to eat something. Can you make it worth my while? 'Cause I’m not going back to squirrels." 

"Well…” Luther says slowly. “What if… I hire you?" 

"You… hire me?" 

"Yeah. Like, as a bodyguard or something. Then I’d have to pay you, right? I could pay you in food?” 

Cam is quiet for a moment. He brings Luther up closer to his face and scrutinizes him. Luther’s heart is pounding out of his chest. For a moment he thinks he’s made some horrible mistake and offended Cam and it’s all over for him. "You’re serious? Not kidding me, here? That’s your offer?”

“Y-yes? Is that… is it bad?" 

"Bad? Bad? That’s the best offer I’ve ever heard! Pay me in food? HELL yes, kid! That’s what I like to hear!” The force of Cam’s enthusiasm knocks Luther over on his back. He stares at the sky for a moment. His life is so goddamn weird.

~~~~~~~~~

Luther’s father’s dragon slaying days are behind him. He’s an old man now. He has good days and bad days, but even on his best days he frequently needs help getting around. But when he sees that giant ogre enter his royal halls, he reaches for his spear. Luther eases it out of his hand. 

“No, see, it’s okay. I didn’t kill him, but I stopped him terrorizing the countryside, and I kind of… hired him. As my bodyguard. This was easier, and we both benefit, see? Also, um, were you going to tell me ogres are immortal?" 

"You were supposed to figure something out,” his father says. “Since you’re so damned smart." 

"Well, I did figure something out. Just… maybe not what you wanted me to." 

Cam waves lazily. "Hi, Yer Majesty." 

"Cam,” Luther hisses. “We talked about this." 

"Oh, fine, fine,” Cam grumbles, and takes a knee to bow low before the king. “I humbly pledge my service to your son,” he intones, hamming it up just a little. “Please allow me to protect him from all harms, and so on." 

The king glares. His stabbing hand is itching. But he doesn’t currently have a better plan, and this’ll keep the peasants quiet for a bit. "Fine,” he spits, “But you’re taking care of him. Feeding him, walking him, cleaning up after him, whatever. No getting the servants to do it for you. He’s your responsibility now." 

Cam grins at Luther. "So, speaking of feeding… when’s dinner?”