#dove dewdrop

[dovedewdrop]

Locksmith

If in ten years time I'm still on your mind Would you call and Say you want this? / 1.4k

✨Part 1 ✨✨Part 2 ✨✨Part 3✨

A/N: This is the last part!!! I hope you've enjoyed this little series and thank you to everyone who has read and supported🥰 Writing this scratched a little itch for me and it was nice to just share it! Also locksmith is one of my favourite songs it makes my heart go🥹🫶🏻🥰🩷

Warnings: Post-Outbreak. Soft kind of angst. Hella fluff/soppiness. Self-aware Joel (which we 🫶🏻to see). Not proof read.

---

Days at the Bison kept you busy, distracting your mind from the branded image of Joel’s red eyes but there was no escaping him when he approached the bar two days later, no Tommy to swoop in and save you this time.

“Hey,” his voice was solemn, his eyes were pleading before he’d even truly voiced his request.

“Hi, what can I-“ You plastered on the same smile you did for all the customers, ready to serve him whatever poison he picked before he cut you off and your face fell at his words.

“No, no sorry, that’s not what I came in for.”  His eyes faltered from your soft gaze to glance at his knuckles, gripping the edge of the bar, the skin coating his bones turning white.

“Oh, ok.” You felt slightly feeble under his gaze, unsure of what he could possibly want from you.

“Can I uh,” he coughed, like the words were clogging up his throat, his eyes still looking anywhere but at you. “Can I see you later?” You wanted to say yes immediately which made it hard for the devil on your left shoulder to fight the angel on your right, but ultimately he won the battle, raising his trident above his head. In the moment you decided that Joel couldn’t just swan in and call the shots whenever he felt like it.

“What for?” You crossed your arms across your chest and looked past him at the door.

“Jus’ wanna talk.” You scoffed at that; it pained you to do so. “Please.”

“Why? Why should I say yes?” He finally raised his head to look you in the eye and you noticed the water welling in them.

“You don’t have to, I know I don’t deserve shit from you,” he sniffled, letting out an puff of air, “look if you don’t like what I gotta say, you never have to speak to me again.”

You chewed at the inside of your lip, really taking in what he’d said. I don’t deserve shit from you. If you don’t like what I gotta say, you never have to speak to me again.

You were already deep in these feelings, every day feeling like you were stuck in a sinkhole, clawing at the ground to get out, what’s one conversation on top of all the others?

“Finish at 16:30” You grumble.

When 16:36 rolled around Joel was already stood outside on your porch, waiting. 

He watched as your hands shook slightly around the keys, attempting to fit them into the keyhole and after a few beats his hand hesitantly clasped around yours. Your eyes felt as though they were going to pop out of their skull, whipping round to face him.

 Joel had gained some of his confidence back after this morning, yours however, had depleted, your brave façade cracking quickly in front of him. You let him guide the key in before he stepped back to let you over the threshold first.

“Coffee?” You still remembered how he liked it.

He shook his head, no before gesturing towards one of the chairs in the living room, asking for permission to sit, permission that you grant him, perching yourself on the sofa across from him. The air between you is thick, like a weighted blanket but yet it somehow still doesn’t keep the cold away from your bones.

While Joel is trying to find his words, you take the time to look at him, properly. His beard had greyed and you liked it, his hair decorated with sprinklings of  salt and pepper, something which you must have known deep down was inevitable but never thought about once whilst you were together, too busy being young and in love.

His eyes still captivated you and if anything, they were the very first thing you noticed about him and the very first thing you fell in love with, they never changed and they never failed to make you melt.

You noticed how his green flannel hugged his frame, arms nearly bursting the material at the seams and you had to will yourself to look away, to stop yourself from imagining how it would feel to be wrapped up in them just one more time. But above all else what you noticed is that he’s still your Joel.

For the longest time you’d convinced yourself that everything about him was different, that he wasn’t the same person anymore and to a degree, he wasn’t, but deep down he’s still that young dad you met, who was selfless and who loved deeply, he just got a little lost along the way.

You attempt to speak, to breathe life into the air around you but he clears his throat and beats you to the finish line, “I know nothing I can say will rectify the way I treated you..” You don’t know how to respond; you want to agree with him yet you can feel the ‘but’ coming. “But I want you to know I am sorry and I know that those words won’t fix anything.” His hands sweep across his face as he leans forward in the chair, fingers combing at his beard.

“I was angry, so incredibly angry and I directed everything at people who didn’t deserve it…” As he looks at you his eyes begin to well and you feel your chest tighten, you know all of this already, you understood and if he just let you in at the time you could’ve helped him. Now you just listen because you need to hear it from him, that he understands. 

“I jus’ wanted Sarah back and every time I looked at you, or Tommy, I was reminded of ‘er, I was a dick.”

“Yeah you were,” You couldn’t help the slight chuckle that laced its way through your words but it seemed to lighten the mood, Joel was still looking at the ground but he let out a puff of air and a very small smile, wiping the few tears staining his face.

“I thought I wanted you both to leave but I only broke my own heart more because I didn’t realise you were the only two people keepin’ me somewhat sane.” It was then that you noticed the scar on his temple, before you could even think about what you were doing you’d sunk to your knees in front of him, your hand reaching up to skim cautiously against the skin there.

To your surprise he didn’t flinch or push you away, instead nestling his head further into your hand and drawing a deep breath in through his nose.

“I thought about you every damn day and then I met Ellie and I don’t know, nothing can ever take away from Sarah but she’s given me a second chance, so every day when we’ve been travellin’ I was hopin’ I’d find you again so that I can make it right because you’re still on my mind darlin’” He was rambling now and you let him because you knew if you didn’t he might never let it out again. You kiss the rough skin of his palm and rub your hand against his knee, willing him to open his eyes and see you.

“You really were a dick Joel, a monumental jackass.” He nods in agreement, “But I already told you, there’s no one else. We were gonna have a baby together, get married, I wanted to be with you until the end and I would have been if you weren’t so adamant that I should leave.” He looks ashamed of himself when you speak. “I understood why you did it but that doesn’t mean that it didn’t hurt me.”

“And I will spend every day of the rest of my life making it up to you I swear but I can’t live in this town and watch you walk around and act like you weren’t one of the best parts of my existence on this godforsaken planet.” This time it’s you that’s welling up as you move to sit between his legs, back to the chair, you look up at him. “You got a lot of grovelling to do, Miller.”

“I count on it, sweetheart,” he smiles down at you, both of you silently crying. 

“Tommy showed me some spare land today, remember I promised to build us a house of our own one day?” The soft skin of your rosy lips stretches further across your face as you recount the memory.

“You said you’d plant me roses…” He leans down further to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, before whispering in your ear, “already planted the first one today.”

[nastylittleghouls]

Aether: *carrying Dewdrop and Sunshine slung over his shoulders back to the ghoul wing* What the hell were you thinking?! Dewdrop and Sunshine simultaneously: Releasing birds at a wedding is romantic! Aether: Yeah, but you released ostriches!

[skele-bunny]

Whats the worst thing the ghouls have done?

Ooo

CW - Medium descriptions of cannibalism, torture, drugging, physician-assisted suicide, mass death, and gore

Long post!

Dewdrop - Ate Omega and killed his previous pack at the command of Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil. Won't talk about it.

Aether - Let a sibling die by their pleading requests. They were terminal, and Aether granted their wish and euthanized them. Legally, it's documented as they passed from their illness

Rain - Accidentally severed a brothers arm. They were rough housing against general concern and advice, and Rain's claws pressed in just a bit too hard. That brother lost his arm permanently, Rain severed it too much.

Phantom - When he got used to his possessor/mind control abilities, he started manipulating a few siblings to do what he wanted (his chores, getting him things, stealing, etc.)

Cirrus & Cumulus - Ate a few sisters outside of the blood moon which could get them killed if ever found out. They buried the skeletons deep in the woods with Mountain's help.

Mountain - Read previous. Also intentionally poisoned a few higher-ups when they were visiting, as he was on kitchen duty. Overheard them shit talking the abbey and his Papa. Wasn't lethal, but definitely put them out of commission for a few months.

Swiss & Sunshine - They were fucking a brother that wouldn't stop making advances towards them and killed him in the middle of it, suffocation. There was no remains left to burry as they burned the bones to ash.

Aurora - Stole one of the guitars and broke it on purpose beyond repair to get revenge on Swiss so he couldn't play at one of the rituals and could only use his other instruments. Unfortunately, there's always extra guitars on standby.

Special - Experimented on newly summons just for him while trying to figure out how to perform elemental changes. Forced organ transplants, forced cannibalism, sticking and poking. Pure torture. Accidentally assisted in the Papa's deaths.

Cowbell - Killed 3 humans separately for different reasons. He won't talk about it, and doesn't fully remember 1.

Doves - Nicknamed the Missionaries as they carried out outside assassinations for Sister Imperator. They've killed multiple "threats" and innocent people who unfortunately were at the wrong place at the wrong time. They've also made some scenes look like murder/suicides or mass execution.

[spoiledleaff]

ghost of the sun.

Ghost (Band) | Mountain Ghoul + Dewdrop Ghoul | 11.2K Words | spoiledleaff on ao3

Explicit | TW: Dead Dove, Do Not Eat (Please Consider Tags Seriously) | T4T FTM Mountain Ghoul + Dewdrop Ghoul | Gender-fluid Ghoul Anatomy | Genital Shapeshifting | Mentions of Self-Harm | Toxic Mindset During Sex | Dubious Consent | Miscommunication | Hatefuck | Angst with Comfort | Happy Ending! | They Sort Their Shit Out, Don’t Worry! | Water Ghoul Dewdrop | Water Ghoul Rivalry | Top Mountain | Bottom Dewdrop | Written For @forlorn-crows Ghost Group Project!

“I’m not fucking done.” Mountain sneers, his still-masked face suddenly so close to Dewdrop’s own. The grip he has on Dewdrop’s throat ensures that those enraged emerald eyes can take in every minuscule detail of Dewdrop’s naked face. “You distance yourself from the pack, you practically offered yourself on a suicidal platter for a ritual that reconstructs the very fabric of your existence, you allow yourself to be scarred and hurt by fucking humans, you’re a rude, mean little shit — and not the cute kind, or whatever level your usual chaotic self is — and here I fucking find you, after you skipped lunch and dinner and missed a rehearsal.”

Dewdrop weakly shook his head as Mountain’s heavy grip laced ever so slightly. Please don’t say it. Dewdrop tried to plead with his eyes, but they were already so glassy and pathetic to begin with. When did they get wet? When did he get so weak?

Please don’t make what I’ve already done a reality—

“You cut your hair, Dewdrop.”

read the rest of this angst with a happy ending (I promise!) over on AO3!

♬♪♬ “Ghost of the Sun” — Katatonia ♬♪♬

( this work is beta’d by the lovely @everybodyshusband !! so, if you see any mistakes, go hunt his handsome ass down. thank you for reading. ♡ )

[inkdrinkerworld]

hellooo!!

i was thinking about poly!marauders seeing r’s natural hair for the first time? i’ve got curly hair but i straighten it most of the time bc it’s so annoying to take care of, i was wondering if you could write something abt this??

i’ve never requested before lmao i’m sorry if i did this wrong

Omg babe I too wear my curly hair straight 9/10 cos the volume?! Insane!! I actually just did a keratin treatment too cos I could manage

You’re fresh out the shower- well in a bathrobe when you hear the signs of your boys being home.

There’s some arguing- which you know is James and Sirius, and some softer words, Remus trying to placate them.

“We’re home angel!” Comes James’ voice, you listen as you put on some clothes.

“We got that soup you wanted.” Remus supplies- you wait for Sirius’ voice and don’t find it.

Instead, you’re met with the black haired man, scruff and all, present as you pull your towel from your hair.

“Hi puppet,” his lips meet your forehead, and then your lips. “I like the curls.” Sirius inked hand hovers just below the curls at your shoulders, fingertips collecting the water like dewdrops.

“Thanks Siri, I like ‘em too. If only they weren’t so finicky.”

“What’s finicky?” James asks at the door, pausing swiftly after looking up. “Your hair looks lush, angel!”

Your cheeks heat under both men’s attention and you know you don’t have long before Remus comes in and is making it hard to stand before them all.

“I brought the soup in here, didn’t want it to get too cold.” He’s holding a tray with two bowls on it- one for you and him you presume, James and Sirius prefer pho to yours and Remus’ wanton soup.

“Thanks Remmy, though you didn’t have to I was coming out soon.”

He shrugs, sets the tray down carefully and then fakes you in. “Are you wearing it curly this week?”

“Today and tomorrow,” you say, an almost insecure hand reaching to touch the curls.

“Looks good, dove.” Remus stalks towards you, hand cupping your cheek as he pulls you in for a kiss.

“Think you ought to keep it curly if you’re gonna get kissed like that, huh angel?” James flirts, all three of them taking turns kissing you silly before you find the voice to remind them about your food.

[her-satanic-wiles]

October 15th

Noncon, Possessed!Swiss x Reader

Masterlist ⛧ Hellish Delights Masterlist

Words: 6.8k

Warnings: Noncon; extreme horror; dead dove: do not eat; explicit use of the word “rape” throughout; public masturbation; exhibitionism; possession; violence; demonic asphyxiation; victim blaming; face-slapping; sexual violence; rape; rape-kink; characters acknowledge that it’s rape; piv; vaginal sex; unprotected sex; pain; degradation; public sex; mind break; underprepared; dacrophilia; unconcious sex; multiple scenes; dubcon; fear play; breeding kink; cum eating; accidental filming via security camera; creampie;

The Ghouls aren't demons in my fic. They're humans who work in the Ministry but they're a different class of profession, somewhere between personal assistants and body guards depending on the importance of Papa's task.

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this is dark fiction, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my rating. Thank you.

**WARNING**

This is a work of fiction based in the extreme horror category and should be treated as such. I do not condone the actions the characters make, nor am I actively encouraging others to participate in such actions in everyday life. It also does not reflect the personalities of the performers who play these characters.

The purpose of this fic is to shock, scare, entertain, and make readers entirely uncomfortable. If you are not in a headspace where you can safely read and enjoy this story, or even if the trigger warnings make you uncomfortable, I highly recommend and encourage you not to read this. Your mental health is more important than a work of fiction.

If you are struggling to come to terms with past trauma, please talk to someone and seek professional help.

You deserve to feel safe, loved and cared for. Thank you.

Sometimes rituals went wrong. That was one of the things you learned when you first joined the Ministry. Rituals go wrong and not every demon is your friend. Of course, the more rituals one participated in determined the success of said ritual just down to the fact that experience was a key ingredient and so it was always recommended to bring someone who had experience to every single ritual just to be safe.

Papa Copia’s Ghouls were the more experienced ones in the Ministry, but more specifically Mountain, Rain, Swiss, and Dew. Yourself and Phantom were mere babes in comparison; sweet summer children who knew nothing of life and Satanism, only sex rituals on pentagrams give funny dreams and great orgasms. Because of this, you and Phantom walked into the ritual room with a bit of a pep in your steps, and no worries or concerns whatsoever - not concerning yourselves with seriousness or responsibility. This was just a regular, sex magick ritual surrounded by friends in order to contact the Olde One and get some advice is all. You had done this perfectly before, and you had no reason to think it wouldn’t happen again.

You, Rain and Mountain began lighting the candles in the room, ten of them to be precise. One for each of the pentagram’s corners, and a further five to outline the space in between. Dewdrop, the most experienced of everyone there, was in charge of drawing the pentagram from scratch. The first step was to scrub away the existing paint from a previous Sibling’s ritual.

“Why are we doing this?” Phantom asked as he wrung out the hot, soapy water from the sponge.

Dew sighed, “Did you not pay attention during training, Phantom?”

Swiss was now on his hands and knees next to Dew scrubbing at the red paint with a hard-bristled brush. “Clearly not. Look at those eyes: no thoughts just vibes.”

Phantom threw some of the soapy water at Swiss, in turn earning himself a middle finger. “I didn’t have time to study, remember? I was just thrown straight into life here after Aether…” Phantom trailed off, remembering how so many people in the room weren’t ready to talk about what happened. There was a brief silence while they all cast their minds back to their long lost friend.

“We clean off the old pentagram,” Dew said, clearly exasperated by his Satanic brothers, “because we don’t know what kind of ritual our Siblings performed before we got here. Cleaning the floor allows us to better control the safety of our ritual.”

“What could happen if we don’t clean up?” Phantom asked. “Moreover, what would happen if we just built upon these lines?”

“Oh come on, Phantom.” You said. “Even I know that.” Phantom got on his knees and began scrubbing away the paint on his third of the pentagram. “The cross energy between rituals and magic opens up a gateway for negative energy to come through. Sometimes that energy is just bad karma or bad luck, and you have one hell of a week.”

Swiss, “Literally.”

You continued, “Or it’s the souls of the damned coming through, or worse, demons.”

Phantom, “Has the Dark One ever travelled through these portals?”

Dew, “Probably. But He doesn’t do it often.”

“What I still don’t understand is why demons and damned souls would want to hurt us, we’re all on the same side, after all.”

Mountain, “Catholicism. You give energy to things you believe in, which in turn makes it more powerful, right?” Phantom nodded. “This is why Lucifer Himself wouldn’t come to harm us because we love and worship Him as a friend, a lover, a brother etc. But according to Catholicism, why does Hell exist?”

“To punish bad people after they die.”

“And what do we know happens to these bad people when they spend an eternity being tortured by demons?”

“They become demons themselves.”

“Good boy, have a Scooby snack.” Mountain threw a packet of mini-Oreos at Phantom, who caught it with one hand.

Rain, “Some of those bad people become demons, not all of them. The majority of demons are created by Lucifer as assistants to Him, and they’re usually picked from the petty criminals rather than genocidal maniacs and bigoted pricks. Like Mephistopheles, for example. He was just a businessman before he died. Think Ebenezer Scrooge, but in real life. Stole from the poor to put in his back pocket. In comparison to say, I don’t know, Stalin, he wasn’t too bad of a guy. If Mephistopheles showed up, we would have a great time sending him back. We’d just have to watch our wallets.”

Phantom, “And if it’s one of the dangerous ones, it would be catastrophic?”

Dew, “Absolutely. Papa and the Clergy would have to get involved. Papa would have to contact the Olde One directly to come and drag the beast away. Contacting the Olde One with the ritual that Papa would need could put Papa in mortal danger. So, we clean to save Papa as well as ourselves. So, make sure you get every spot, you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

That was the first mistake made that night: no one double checked before the paint went down that the previous paint had been cleaned completely. From eye-level, everything looked squeaky. But what none of you realised at the time was there were small, insignificant specs of paint left in Swiss’ third. Insignificant specs, but by no means safe.

The second mistake was that when the candles were being placed on the freshly painted pentagram, one of them wasn’t precisely sat atop one of the points. The candles usually acted as an extra barrier of protection, essentially trapping something inside the pentagram if it came through uninvited. Lower level demons or spirits could still be trapped if the candles weren’t precise, but the higher level ones wouldn’t be stopped.

The five Ghouls were there to conduct the ritual on Papa’s behalf, you were there to provide the energy to allow them to do so. This wasn’t your first ritual and so you had no problems at all getting completely naked in front of the five men you considered to be close friends, and sitting in the centre of the pentagram. You’d been part of these rituals before with them, if you hadn’t already had a few of them balls deep inside you on multiple occasions beforehand. And so when they had all joined hands, you had no shyness or reservations about spreading your legs and exposing yourself to them. This would be the third mistake.

Swiss wasn’t concentrating fully. If you’d have opened your eyes and looked at your friends holding hands around you as they chanted, you would have seen Swiss looking directly at you with his mouth open, watching as you touched yourself surrounded by men. You would have seen that he was concentrating on your hands toying with your clit more than chanting the Latin required to safely perform the ritual. You could have stopped the ritual because of it - but you didn’t. You didn’t know that there was a problem.

Your head was thrown back in pleasure as your fingers worked over your clit. Your body was draining of energy the closer and closer you got to orgasm. In your line of sight, you could see Rain looking back at you but his mouth reciting the Latin he’d learned. You couldn’t see Rain’s eyes, though you were desperate to know what he looked like under there right now. All eyes were on you, and it turned you on so much to know that you were being intensely watched by five masked men as you dipped two fingers into your cunt and began to hit your g-spot.

Masked men, the fifth mistake.

Had they all removed their masks, everyone would have seen the biggest problem in the room: Swiss. Not only had he stopped chanting in order to concentrate on your wetness, but his head had begun twitching. Had he not worn his mask, others would have seen his eyes glaze over and roll back into his head. They’d have noticed the white dimming into pitch blackness. They’d have been able to break the circle and preemptively send the demon back to Hell before it could fully appear in the real world. But as hot as the masks were, and as much as you loved looking at them, they were impractical and unsafe for private rituals.

The air grew thick with an unholy presence, and a palpable darkness descended upon the ritual site. The very ground seemed to tremble beneath your feet as a foul wind swirled around you, extinguishing the candles one by one.

As the ritual reached its zenith, a sudden surge of malevolent force swept through the circle, causing you all to recoil in terror. Swiss let out a deep, yet blood curdling scream causing everyone in the room to stop what they were doing and freeze, yourself included. Your wet hand now removing itself from your core and your body sitting up straight in alarm. By the time you’d focused on him, Swiss had broken the circle and was cupping his head over his helmet, as though he was in immense pain. His screaming continued as he doubled over, bent at the waist and yelling at the floor. Swiss’ voice, now filled with an otherworldly resonance, grew louder and more insistent, his body trembling with an eerie energy. One of his hands began to hit at the mask in an attempt to stop whatever was causing him so much discomfort.

“Swiss!” Dew shouted, running over to his friend. “Brother, focus! Come back to us! Phantom! Go get help, now!”

Phantom nodded and ran out the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Swiss, it’s me: it’s Dew. What’s wrong, brother?”

“My… head!” Swiss exclaimed through gritted teeth. “It’s in my head!”

You stood up and dressed yourself, making sure that at least your habit was covering you. All the while, you watched as Dew frantically tried to get answers out of his brother, and figure out what went wrong so he could help. Swiss was still screaming, still trying to escape out of Dew’s grasp.

Then silence.

Swiss stood straight. Still. No more screams of pain, no more frantic Dew. You couldn’t even hear the world outside the ritual room. Just maddening silence that could drive a person to insanity if they were in it for too long. Everyone remained unmoving, fearing even breathing in case it triggered something. You wanted to leave, to escape the room and get help - or even just pull your friends out and save them. But your body wouldn’t move. It wouldn’t respond to your brain’s pleas to get the fuck away.

In that chilling moment, a grotesque transformation overtook Swiss. His voice, now distorted and filled with malice, spoke words that were not his own. It was a demon that had taken hold of him, a malefic entity summoned from the abyss.

The demon had been called forth by all of the mistakes made that night. It reveled in the chaos and despair that surrounded it, relishing the opportunity to wreak havoc upon the mortal realm. With Swiss as its vessel, the demon’s power knew no bounds.

The demon’s dark presence continued to grow, casting a sinister pall over the entire Ministry. Outside of the room, a sense of unease began to spread. Siblings and Ghouls alike could feel the malevolence that radiated from the heart of the Ministry, an unnatural darkness that seemed to seep into their very souls. It was as if the very fabric of reality had been torn asunder, and the boundary between the mortal realm and the abyss had grown thin.

Everyone was simply afraid to speak, to move, to even breathe. There was a comfort in the silence that couldn’t be explained other than Swiss hadn’t attacked anyone or made any movements. You weren’t even sure if Swiss was still in there. No one move, no one blink, no one make any sounds.

Swiss moved first - his head shifting from Ghoul to Ghoul to you as though he were studying you all. He seemed more like a caged animal than a human as he weighed up his options, though he wasn’t entirely registering what he was seeing. Each room was designed with at least some kind of demonic suppressor so you knew whoever had stolen Swiss from you didn’t have the full extent of his powers. But as he’d barely done anything, you still couldn’t gauge just how dangerous he was.

Suddenly, Swiss’ eyes locked onto you and focused on nothing else. Your body was still very scantily clad in your habit, your legs fully on display even though you were hiding behind Mountain. Swiss’ mouth curled up into a sinister smile. “He likes you.” Two voices emerged from his throat, the first being Swiss’ sweet timbre, the second the demonic entity inside of him. “I am in his head. I know. I see.” He took a small step forward. “He has sinned against you. He does so nightly.” Another step. “He imagines things in his chambers when he is alone. He wants to bury himself deep inside you. Even today during the ritual, he considered getting on his knees and taking you in front of everyone.” Another step. That was when you all realised the final mistake: you.

Swiss got possessed because he was watching you masturbate in front of him. He got possessed because he was craving your body, your touch. He got possessed because he was concentrating on how you’d feel wrapped around him and didn’t pay attention to the most important things. You never should have been chosen for the ritual. You never should have agreed.

Swiss spoke again. “I think we should give him what he wants, don’t you?”

“You stay away from her!” Dew shouted. He’d gained enough confidence and bravery to step forward, arms outstretched, and ready to restrain Swiss. Or at least attempt to anyway. Dew was much, much smaller than Swiss, so even when he wasn’t possessed by a demonic entity, restraining him alone would have been damn near impossible. But the added power now coursing through Swiss’ human veins made restraint way more difficult.

All Swiss had to do was lift his hand and Dew was levitating from the ground. A simple push saw Dew flying backwards, his head smacking against the wall and his body falling limp to the floor.

“Dew!” Rain shouted. It was a natural reflex done out of fear and it caused him to lurch forward. The demon, presuming Rain had moved to attack him, copied the motion and threw Rain against the wall too, the sweetest of all the Ghouls now unmoving on the other side of the room.

Mountain still held you behind him and for every step the demon took towards you, Mountain moved you backwards. You could tell he was trying to move you towards the door without taking his eyes off of Swiss. But deep down you both knew that while Mountain was a worthy opponent for Swiss, he was no match for the thing possessing him. All Mountain could do was hope that you at least got out of the room safely especially now that the demon had its eyes on you.

“Give her willingly and your life will be spared.” Swiss’ two voices cut through the panicked silence.

“No.” Mountain said.

Swiss raised his hand into a fist and concentrated on Mountain. Mountain, like the others, was now being raised off the ground, but this time Swiss was being torturous, enjoying the pain he was inflicting internally. Mountain grasped at his throat as if a hand had been wrapped around it, and struggled to get air into his lungs. “___,” he choked out, “go!”

Somehow your body responded to the sound of his voice and you made a break for the door. There was a part of you that knew you’d never reach it - that knew you’d end up in a worse fate than your friends, but you still tried anyway. Maybe if you left, you would be able to find more help to bring. Maybe you’d run into Phantom or Papa, just someone who could come and save everyone. You refused to believe that they were all dead - you would have given up if you thought that. So for all the good it did you, you chose to run. You chose to fight as best you could.

Behind you, Mountain’s body thudded to the floor, but you could hear him gasping for breath. Swiss, who was now focussing on you trying to make your escape, didn’t put the full extent of his powers into hurting Mountain as he did Dewdrop and Rain. Mountain was weakened from the impact but he wasn’t unconscious… yet. But now you had no protection - now you were completely vulnerable.

You managed to get the door open, but by then, it was too late, Swiss had already come up behind you and slammed it shut again. His large hands grabbed onto your waist, thick fingers digging into your flesh and manoeuvring you to where he wanted you. Your own back slammed against the door and you were met with Swiss’ cold, unfeeling mask, glass eyepieces only showing a glimpse of the blackened eyes that had completely stripped away the humanity from one of your closest friends. His once beautiful smile brought you nothing but happiness now evil and no doubt the last thing you’d ever see. You struggled, fighting against the unholy strength that had caught you, but of course, you were no match for him - in fact, he seemed to enjoy you struggling. In your frantic movements, your hip grazed his and you felt his cock now standing hard beneath his Ghoulish uniform. You knew what was coming.

He cackled, the two voices giving a creepier edge to something so joyous. His free hand came to remove the helmet and allowed you to gaze at the face that was going to bring you so much pain. His eyes were, indeed, as black as you’d been told. Veins were popping from beneath his skin, no doubt Swiss straining from the inside to expel the demon from within but failing miserably. Even though you could hear it wasn’t Swiss, and you could see the eyes certainly weren’t his, it was so difficult to differentiate between demon and human. Your brain struggled reminding you that Swiss wasn’t the one who’d hurt your friends; that he wasn’t the one rubbing his clothed cock against your thigh; that his hand wasn’t squeezing one of your soft breasts so painfully hard; that it wasn’t his tongue licking a stripe from your neck to your ear.

You pushed against his large chest trying to distance yourself, but it was as if you were trying to move the Ministry itself. He wasn’t budging. “Get. Off. Me!” You grunted in your exertion.

“This Ghoul wants you - you would deny him? You would deny him after the show you put on for him?”

“There was no show!”

“Really? Because you angled your body to give him the perfect view of,” the hand that was on your breast now moved to your crotch and gripped your vulva tightly - so tightly you screamed, “this cunt. You wanted him to touch you. You were asking for him to take you. Begging for it, were you not?”

“I wasn’t!”

“Lying whore!” He slapped your face hard enough to leave a mark, the bite knocking you off kilter for a second and making the room spin. He grasped hold of your cheeks and forced you to look at him. He took his opportunity to kiss you, forcefully pressing his mouth to yours and using his tongue to lick over your unresponsive lips. Taking this opportunity, you kneed him in his crotch now extra sensitive from all the blood that had pooled there. This gave you enough respite from his attack to push him away from you and attempt an escape. The door was locked shut this time, though. And it didn’t matter anyway, he was faster than you thought.

His thick forearm wrapped around your neck and pulled your body flush against his. “You like pain, hm?” This time, when he spoke, he used only Swiss’ voice. He tightened his arm and began cutting off the air supply to your lungs. “You want me to make it hurt?”

“Swiss!” You choked from his anaconda-like grasp. “Stop!”

“He cannot help you now, little one. But I have made sure he can see everything.”

With one hand on your shoulder, he released you from his chokehold long enough to push you hard to the ground. As you stumbled and collapsed, you felt the skirt of your habit rising up over your bare ass cheeks, which earned another menacing snicker from the demon. “Look at you. The little Jezebel is ready for her master’s cock.”

“No!”

You got onto your hands and knees ready to stand and run, but you felt Swiss’ boot on your exposed backside and stamping you back down flush to the floor. Wasting no more time or effort, he straddled your hips to keep you pinned down and pressed his entire weight onto you. Over the sound of your struggling, you heard his jeans zipper undoing.

“Still some energy in you, I see.” He taunted as he placed his hands where his thighs were and moved further down your body, still fighting you. “I wonder how long that will last.”

You braved a look behind you to see if there was anything further you could do, but caught a glimpse of what Swiss was sporting under his clothes. Now he was fully exposed, you truly saw his length and girth for what it was and dread pooled in your stomach. The pain you were about to feel was beyond terrifying.

“Which hole should we rape?” Swiss asked, lining himself up with your ass and rubbing against the rim. “This one?”

“No! Please! Let me go!”

“Or this one?” He then rubbed over the entrance to your cunt and gasped. “She is wet! The whore is ready to accept Satan’s gift! She wants it even though she deludes herself otherwise.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Ghoul, which hole do you fantasize about the most, hm? Which one do you want us to rape today?” There was silence for a moment and you could swear you heard Swiss’ screams - similar screams to when he was first possessed. “Her tight, little cunt hm?”

He lined up once more with your hole, and you tried again to escape from underneath him. “Swiss! Please stop! Please! No!” Your wriggling proved useless when you felt him press inside you.

The pain was beyond anything you’d felt before, a searing white hot pain that shot through your entire body and only continued the more of him entered you. He wasn’t gentle with his movements, as expected from a demon. He bottomed out almost immediately, hitting your cervix roughly and causing you to scream. “He was right,” Swiss said, “you do feel incredible. This hole was made for cock, no wonder he spent all his time drooling over you.” He pulled out and thrust back in laughing at your pain-filled scream. “I have kept him awake so that he can remember this gift the Unholy Father has bestowed. More material for him to think about in the darkness of his room.”

“Please, stop!” Your voice was high pitched now and tears were staining your cheeks as your hands covered your mouth to muffle your cries. Your distraught sobs caught the demon’s attention, however, and he wanted his gratification.

He wrapped Swiss’ hand in your hair and tugged your face off the floor. Your mouth was hung open from your weeping and your screams escaped every time he thrust in and hit your cervix. “That is right, scream for him. Let him know how good you feel on his cock.” The sound of your cunt swallowing him made him speed up his movements, entirely enthralled by your body accepting him properly. “Show him how you love being raped by his fat cock.”

“P-please stop!”

He groaned. “Keep begging for me to stop. Keep crying for me. You get tighter every. Single. Time.” He thrust between each word, getting rougher and rougher with you.

With his hand in your hair, your head was lifted and you could look around the room. As your body was pushed along the floor by the power of his hips, your tears blurred your vision but you could still see your friends laying lifeless in front of you - spread in all manner of ways. None of them could save you. None of them could help you. If they were even alive. Your thoughts turned to Phantom, outside of this room searching for someone to come and exorcise the demon back to Hell. Your fear became overpowering at the thought of the sweet newcomer walking in and seeing you pinned beneath Swiss, being raped by someone you all used to love and trust. Would anyone else understand that this wasn’t Swiss hurting you? Would Swiss even survive the exorcism?

In a moment of adrenaline from the fear you felt, you shifted your body using all the strength you could muster. You wrapped your legs around his calves, swung your arm to hit his face and proceeded to turn as if you were about to lie on your back. Swiss didn’t anticipate this and so slipped out of you for a brief moment, falling off of you. Wasting no time, your weak legs forced you onto your feet and you ran towards the door once more. Your brain was clearer than before allowing you to unlock the door this time. But as you opened it, once again, Swiss pushed it closed.

“Clearly I have not broken you yet.”

By the collar of your habit, he pulled you back to give him the space to stand in front of you. His hand, now tightly closed in a fist, backhanded your cheek and all you saw was black.

When you came to, your jaw ached so badly. Your vision was blurred and it took a while to come to. Your hands were held above your head as you lay on your back, a large hand holding them together and restraining you. As your head was turned to its side, you saw Mountain and Rain laying next to each other, still entirely unconscious and unmoving. But you were still being attacked.

Now that you were pinned to the floor, and had been out for you didn’t know how long, Swiss had chance to fully savour you. Your habit had been torn town the middle, exposing you completely to the demonic eyes you were now staring into, those very eyes entranced by the way your breasts bounced from the roughness of his thrusts. His cock was now spearing into you much harder than before, the position allowing him to fuck into you deeper. His pubic mound was grinding against your clit as he pounded away, and for the first time that night you were feeling pleasure with the pain.

“I knew you wanted this.” Swiss said from above you upon hearing the small pleasured whimper that escaped you. “I knew you were a whore who loved getting raped. How you would spread your legs for anyone who offered you a bit of attention. I am not wrong, am I?” You moaned again accidentally, this time louder. “Say it. Tell me how much you love it. Tell him that you love it when he rapes you.” When you didn’t obey, he wrapped his hands around your throat. “Say it!”

“I love it!” You shouted reluctantly. “I love being raped!”

Somehow this wasn’t a lie. Since waking up, every hit against your cervix, every drag of his cock against your walls felt delicious. The demonic black of his eyes, the thick hands that held you down had you spreading your legs wider to let him continue abusing your hole. You were getting wetter and wetter with each thrust, more desperate to cum than ever before. You fear dissipated and was replaced with nothing but cock. The weight of it driving you crazy, the way he used you for his own pleasure and revelled in your agony. How he lowered himself to lick your tears away and bury himself inside you over and over again.

“There you go. That was not difficult. You got so much tighter too.”

Your screams turned from pain to desperation. Your mouth hung open in a perfect O. His cock had broken you, stripped you of everything and turned you into his own, personal toy. You sat up as much as you could to see where you both were connected. You saw the base of his cock was rimmed with white where your wetness had turned to cream and stuck in his pubic hairs. Each pull out of you had multiple strings of your own juices forming and snapping. You could feel yourself spilling out of your hole and running down your body, gathering on the wooden floor below you. Fuck! It felt so fucking good.

“Will you cum on his cock? Will you cum on the cock that rapes you?”

“Yes!” You screamed looking back up into his eyes. “I’m gonna c-cum! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna-!”

The door opened right as your orgasm hit, your mind clouding over and drool dripping from your mouth as you came all over Swiss’ cock. The last thing you remember seeing was Papa Copia’s eyes look into yours in horror as you came like a desperate whore while your close friend took you against your will. Then the world went black.

When you came to, your eyes refused to open at first. Your head was pounding from the physical trauma and there was a deep-seated pain in your core that sent stabbing pains through your legs every time you moved them.You groaned and tried to sit up but your body refused to respond. The heart monitor beside you kept bleeping letting you know that you were, in fact, alive, but also that you were currently in the infirmary. But there was another sound coming from the foot of your incredibly uncomfortable bed. When your eyes finally opened it took you a while to fully process what you were seeing.

Swiss.

In a moment of pure fear, you panicked and tried to move further up the bed, as far away from him as you possibly could. You could feel a scream building in your throat, but your jaw hurt you too much to move it. Even still, your fear didn’t care. Swiss’ eyes were back to normal, and glassy with unshed tears. His face, pale and sickly, stained with the tears he had cried. He looked awful - his veins tinted a little black from the pressure of the demon inhabiting his body.

“Please, don’t scream!” He said quickly. “It’s me again. The demon’s gone.” You wanted to open your mouth and ask him what he was doing there, but your jaw wouldn’t move. “Your jaw isn’t broken, but it’s badly bruised from where I…” He started crying again, burying his head on your bed. “I’m so fucking sorry!” He wept hard, your heart breaking for him every time you saw his shoulders violently shake. “I hurt you so b-bad. I’m so sorry! I d-didn’t want to do any of th-those things. I tried - I tried to stop but it was t-too… strong. It w-wasn’t me!”

Deep down you knew it wasn’t. You knew Swiss would never hurt you like that because he never had. He’d never shown that level of ferocity and violence to anyone or anything. He was the kindest soul in the Ministry - a ray of sunlight the morning after a storm. Before all of this, you would have trusted him with anything, your life included. But even though reason told you he wasn’t the monster that attacked you, your brain still registered him as the attacker. When you saw his eyes before he hid them, you could have sworn for a brief moment they were still black. You wanted to comfort him, to tell him that it was okay and you forgave him even though there wasn’t anything to forgive. But there was such a hesitation. An annoying voice in the back of your head saying “what if”? What if that really was him? What if they didn’t exorcise the demon out? They must have otherwise he’d be in chains in the dungeons right now. So, you reached your hand out and touched his head, gently stroking at his hair. Tears were falling down your face too as your brain replayed the trauma.

When you both had calmed down a little, and Swiss was no longer hiding his face from you, you both sat in silence staring at each other. You were studying his face for imperfections and signals that he was unsafe, and he was studying yours for any hints of fear that should tell him he needed to go. “I know it’s selfish of me being here.” He said. “It only happened yesterday. I’m not supposed to be here. Papa’s going to come and talk to you when you’re feeling stronger, he wants you to decide my punishment.”

You shook your head. You didn’t want to punish him.

“Everyone else is fine. Dew has a broken shoulder but he’ll live. Rain has concussion. Mountain’s up and out of the infirmary with no problems at all.” Your mind cast itself back to yesterday, watching Swiss barrel through them and throw them around like children’s toys. How helpless you felt when he was inside you and they were all in the room, knocked out from his attack. How none of them helped you.

“I shouldn’t have come but I needed to see you. I feel so guilty. I…” he hesitated. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. I felt everything the de- he did to you. I heard everything, saw everything, felt everything. And you felt so… especially when… fuck! I know I shouldn’t but I keep remembering and my body reacts. I’ve used my hand so many times since but nothing compares to… I need it. I need you. One more time. Please.”

There was a feeling of dread pooling in your stomach again but you could understand where he was coming from. Since you’d been awake and your mind was showing you the images from yesterday, you were also losing your mind. You remembered everything in graphic detail, especially how good it felt when you woke up on the floor. Arousal began to replace the dread and your thighs rubbed together, making you hiss in pain. But the pain and the arousal seemed to control you, and for some reason unbeknownst to you, you nodded your head.

Swiss didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled back the comforter and climbed onto the bed. He lifted up the infirmary nightgown you were wearing and exposed your abused hole to him. You could see his cock tenting through his own nightgown at the sight of you. You were so broken and vulnerable, and it did things to him he knew he’d feel guilty for later on. But he just couldn’t resist any longer. It was like he was addicted to you. To it. “I can’t promise I’ll be gentle.” He told you. He lifted your gown further up to expose your breasts again before pulling himself free and lining himself up. You wanted to tell him to not be gentle, to disrespect you like he had yesterday, but the words couldn’t come out.

Pushing into you, you felt the same searing pain you felt the first time he did. You were so under prepared yesterday and even more so today. But after a few uncomfortable thrusts, the pleasure returned once more, and your hands, now finally responding, flew to his shoulders and grasped on, digging your nails into his skin.

His mouth had hung open and his own grunts and moans were escaping as he lost himself in the pleasure and the memory of your fear. You were deprived of this yesterday - and you were convinced that if you’d heard how good he felt, you’d have given up fighting long before you did.

“You feel even better than yesterday.” He muttered. His thrusts got rougher and you could feel the infirmary bed moving beneath you, groaning at the weight and the intense movement. “I kept thinking about how wet you got. The way you creamed on my fucking cock. I came twice to that thought alone. Fuck!”

Though your jaw was in pain, you were still able to whimper from the feeling of his fat cock railing you in a similar fashion to yesterday. Your own noises kept spurring him on.

“And when you screamed, yelling out how much you loved me raping you. Fucking hell. I want to hear it again. I want to hear you beg me to rape you over and fucking over. I want to keep you speared on my cock and make you cum on it because I just won’t stop raping you.”

You tightened at the thought, which made him let out a particularly loud moan.

“You want that, too?”

You nodded.

“Fuck. You want me to turn you into a little fucking rape toy, hm? A fuck-slut that’s only good for taking my fucking cum against her will. Have you beg me to stop while also sucking my cock back into your little hole.”

You dug your nails in again which prompted his hips to smack forward and whack your cervix.

“I’ll do it. Shit. I’ll find you when you’re out of the infirmary and I’ll force you to the fucking floor. I’ll take what I want from you when I want. You want that?”

You nodded.

“Fucking hell, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum again. I came inside you yesterday too. They had a hard time pulling me off you. I just kept holding onto your hips and railing you into the floor. I’m gonna keep doing it now. Use you as my fucking cum receptacle. Rape a baby into you too. Show everyone who this hole belongs to.”

You tightened and moaned again.

“I went feral when they pulled me off of you and I saw my cum spilling out. Proof that I’d - fuck I’m cu-cumming!”

Once again he pushed himself as far into you as he possibly could and stilled, painting your walls with his seed.

No one else had ever made you feel that good before. The fact that he was recreating the shared trauma also did things to you that you couldn’t quite explain. You knew he was suffering as much as you were, that the guilt was eating away at him in the same way the fear was. Maybe that was why you willingly spread your legs for him this time, because you needed someone who knew to make you feel good.

When he’d finished, he watched himself spilling out of you. “Fuck…” he lamented. “No tissues. You didn’t cum.”

You wanted to tell him not to bother, that a nurse might show up midway through. You knew how bad it would look that the man who’d raped you had come back for seconds not twenty-four hours after the incident. But even if you could speak, he wouldn’t listen.

He bent down and placed his tongue in your hole, licking his cum out of you. He swirled his tongue around your cunt, trying to find the parts of you that would tip you over the edge. Once he’d determined that you were clean enough, he moved up to your clit and sucked. Hard. It was like he knew that his treatment of you yesterday meant that you needed it rough today too, and so he did his best to deliver. He didn’t let up until you came on his face, your own juices spilling out of you. You did your best to muffle the scream that was threatening to come out of you as you tipped over the edge, hyper-aware of the fact that a nurse could come rushing in to make sure you were okay. Swiss knew this too and so finished up as quickly as he possibly could.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?”

You nodded and watched him press a kiss to your temple, completely juxtaposing his treatment of you both yesterday and today before making his exit back to his own ward.

You watched him leave and let your eyes wander around the room. That was when you noticed it and froze in panic. There was a security camera in the top corner of the room… and it had just captured everything.

Kinktober: Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

Hellish Delights:

Masterlist ⛧ Hellish Delights Masterlist

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[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Request

Clark x reader where he meets her (perhaps saves her), becomes infatuated with her, stalks her subtly and is subtly dark but not outright obvious.

This blog supports Palestine & Lebanon!!!

Zionists can fuck off.

There may be grammatical errors.

You were sitting in your office one moment and the next thing you know,  you were under the rubble of your office building, your body was crushed, you were pretty sure that your limb were broken in several places, and you could taste the blood in your mouth. The weight of destroyed chunks of cement was crushing your body making it harder and harder for you to breathe, you were losing consciousness, and you reluctantly embraced the comforting blanket of death.

---

Kal-El was deserately trying to save people around him who were engulfed in the rubble of the building. He could hear several heartbeats simultaneously most them were strong enough to survive a few seconds under the rubble as he rescued people in critical conditions, but one heartbeat was slowing down, that sound was coming from the other side of the giant pile of rubble. Clark dove in head first to save the poor soul on the brink of death. He carried you out of the destruction safely in his arms. In the rush he did not hear your waning hearbeats. Maybe it was a good thing that you were rescued by a God who did not follow the laws of nature and brought you back to life with little effort. 

When you opened your eyes after being revived, you saw a hazy silhouette of something blue and red. You were covered in debris and your nose and throat were filled with crushed cement and sand. You began retching as soon as oxygen flooded your lungs. Superman flew to the nearest ambulance and deposited you in their hands. You didn't recall much of what happened or even your rescue by a God walking among mere mortals on this earth. All you remember was waking up in a hospital bed and your Mom, Dad and siblings bickering by your side. 

Doctors were marveling at the speed of your recovery despite multiple injuries and severe internal bleeding every doctor on the hospital floor was wondering how you survived but you rushed it away but to your parents, it was an act of God, not the God they were praying to but still an act of God. On the third day,  you were visited by a bespectacled journalist from Daily Planet, whatever that was.

You thought he looked astonished to see you but then you brushed off it as you seeing things that weren't there. Your doctor said you would experience something like that because of the trauma your body and brain went through. 

Clark was stunned to see you alive and thriving, he had done his best to heal you up but your life was still hanging on by a thread when he reluctantly left you with the paramedics. His curiosity was not letting him sleep at night. So, he took the initiative and scouted several hospitals using his journalist credentials. But seeing you alive and well, looking fragile like a doll being doted upon your family, he felt some warmth blooming in his chest. You looked precious and fragile like a dewdrop on a flower.

Clark wanted to interview/interrogate you alone but your older brother and sister refused to leave your side while your younger brother gave him a stink eye. He asked you some prodding questions but you were unable to answer any of that, you did not remember anything apart from some blue and red haze. Clark smiled, you remembered his silhouette even if you did not remember seeing him. Clark could feel the irritation radiating out your siblings, your brothers were itching to throw him out. He made himself scarce pretty quickly after that. While he was exiting the hospital, he cocentrated on voices coming from your room. 

"You can't stay here overnight", the nurse said.

"We don't want to leave her alone.", your sister replied.

"Ma'am, we understand but hospital policies are something that can not be changed for any patient" the nurse explained patiently.

"But, she almost died, what if she dies again?" your younger brother whined like a pre-teen. 

"She is not gonna die, she is healthy, and she will be here when you come tomorrow during visiting hours." 

"You guys need to go home and rest" you replied in raspy voice. 

"But.."

"No buts, I'm not gonna die overnight, I know I scared you all but you need to go home and rest. Also, take care of Mom and Dad,  I had to practically kick them out." you added.

"Go, I need some sleep, I can't rest without you three hovering over me like mother hen" 

They protested but your siblings left you alone  for the night.

The nurse gave you an injection for your pain and you were dead to the world.

Clark rushed home and had a quick shower before he headed out for the night. He entered your hospital room undetected, there you were sleeping blissfully, unaware of your saviour's eyes on you, scanning your body. He healed your body with his Kryptonian powers and he sat down on your bed. He did not know what came over him,  he caressed your cheek, he brushed off the strand of hair on your face which was irritating you in your sleep, you unknowingly snuggle into his warmth. Clark decided to stay with you at the  but his plans were interrupted by the night nurse making the rounds. He stayed as long as he could feeling a connection with you, something that wasn't common for him. He left you alone that night with a silent promise to return.    

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 4: The House Of Glass]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, koi fish, smoking, drinking, drugs, kids, parenthood, Willis Warning, impractical architecture, angst, Adventures With Aegon, historical topics including war and discrimination, let's all give a nice warm welcome to Christabel! 🥳

Word Count: 7.4k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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It’s dawn, but you’ve already been up for hours. The sky turns from indigo to embers to flames to a cool, cloudless blue; mourning doves coo, goldfinches chirp, swamp rabbits gnaw on blades of grass glittering with dewdrops like diamonds. As the vanilla bean cake bakes in the oven, you go to Cadi’s room, sit on the edge of her bed, lay a hand lightly on the indistinct knoll that is your daughter curled up beneath her Rambo-themed blanket.

You murmur as she stirs awake: “Bonjour, ma cherie.”

Cadi rolls over, blinking groggily. You don’t call her this often. It’s something you picked up from Willis when you were married. You have a vision—sudden, jarring, though not entirely unwelcome—of him pacing back and forth with Cadi in his arms, one month old, 1 a.m., Willis humming some Cajun folk song to lull her to sleep. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I called Cascade Stables, there’s a spot reserved for you.”

“What? Really?!” Her face glows, Christmas lights, the Fourth of July. “But you said…how…?”

You can’t take the credit. You won’t give it to Willis if it’s unearned. “Actually, Aemond offered to pay. So you don’t need to worry about anything. The house is fine, the car is fine. No need to sacrifice your birthday presents.”

Cadi sits upright and ponders you, enigmatic childish confusion. “Mom…is Aemond your boyfriend?”

Well, honey, at first he was just some stranger from a kinky personal ad and then he was a delicious distraction and now I fear I might be starting to want more from him, something not so temporary, something forbidden. But I don’t know who he is. “I don’t think it’s quite that serious yet,” you say instead. “Would you like for him to be around more?”

She shrugs, and you recognize it not as true reluctance but rather as feigned, self-preserving indifference. “Yeah. I mean, I guess so. He’s okay.” Then she adds: “What happened to his face?”

“I honestly don’t know. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“Maybe he was in a war,” Cadi says, glancing down at her Rambo blanket, Sylvester Stallone armed and stern and shirtless.

“Um, yeah, maybe.”

“Can I have cake for breakfast?”

“No, you cannot,” you say, smiling. “But you can have some of Amir’s leftover jambalaya that’s still in the fridge.”

“Fine.”

“Get up. Get ready. Amir should be here soon, once he can watch the cakes I’ll drive you to school.”

“If you let me stay home, I could help you bake.”

“You definitely wouldn’t help. You’d just spend eight hours playing that Nintendo.”

Cadi grins. “Probably.” Then she rolls out of bed and shuffles towards the kitchen over the creaking, sinking floor.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh, what the fuck,” you hiss to yourself as you park behind Willis’ sheriff’s vehicle—a Plymouth Gran Fury—which just so happens to be towing a 20-foot jon boat. You step outside into glaring 90-degree sunshine, slam the door of your Chevy Celebrity, and jog into the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office. You are carrying a white bakery box full of cherry cobbler muffins.

“Hey sugar,” Willis drawls when he sees you. The holding cells are empty; the electric fans are whirring. Heather Locklear is simpering from where her poster is taped to the wall.

You throw the bakery box down onto his paper-strewn desk. “What the hell is that outside?”

“My new boat,” Willis says proudly. “Picked it up first thing this morning.”

“So you can get a new boat, but Cadi can’t go to horse camp?”

He throws his arms wide, exasperated. Men love to make a habit out of being exasperated by things that should be obvious. “She’s gonna get way more outta that boat than from spendin’ a week brushin’ horses! We’ll be fishin’ in it together ‘til she starts poppin’ out her own babies. If Lake Verret ain’t a puddle of oil by then. You know I’ve had three deputies resign in the past ten days? Three! I’m bleeding manpower. I can’t compete. With overtime, they can make twice as much workin’ security on the rigs.”

“I thought you voted for Reagan and his energy independence.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want them drillin’ in my neighborhood.” He flips open the box, grabs a muffin, and takes a huge, messy bite. Crumbs go flying everywhere.

“Well, Cadi is going to get to brush those horses after all,” you tell Willis. “She’ll be gone from June 24th to July 1st. Just so you know.”

His forehead crinkles as he chews. “Where’d you dig up a spare $300?”

He gave me $400, actually. “A friend offered to pay. Kind of embarrassing that they stepped up instead of you.”

Willis ignores this jab. It is uncharacteristically combative of you; but you’re hot, you’re exhausted, you have a splitting headache, you still have four cakes to finish before noon tomorrow. Sweat rolls in beads down the slope of your neck, the curve of your back. It will evaporate once you’re back outside again, once the sun bakes it off you like nightmares fade in daylight. “A friend, huh?” Willis is more fascinated than annoyed. He gnaws on his muffin, contemplating you. “The only friend I know of is Amir the Queer, and he ain’t got nothin’.”

He does; he’s just squirreling it all away for San Franscisco. “Don’t call him that. Don’t be a neanderthal.”

Willis’ thoughts are elsewhere. If not Amir, then who? Who? He asks, smirking: “You got a petit ami, sugar?”

A boyfriend, he means, a beau, a lover, a partner, a suitor. Do I? “No,” you decide. “No, he’s just a regular friend. Really.”

Willis chomps on his cherry cobbler muffin. His smirk stretches into a grin. “Sure he is.”

“Okay. You called and asked for muffins, and the muffins have been delivered. Now I gotta go. I have a hell of an order to finish for tomorrow. Which reminds me…” You take the folded piece of yellow legal pad paper out of your shorts pocket and open it to read the address of the Targaryen residence. “Where is 1066 Loch Raven Terrace? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Oh, that’s in a brand new development, real highfalutin, mansions and all. That’s where the Jade Dragon folks are livin’. You gotta go way down 401 towards Lake Verret. Turn onto Owlet, then Egret, then Loch Raven.”

You snatch a blue pen out of the mug on his desk—World’s Best Cop, it says—to scribble the directions down on your paper. “Great. Thanks. Why’d they name it that? We don’t even have ravens in Louisiana.”

“Maybe they got ‘em back in England and the Rockefellers want to feel right at home.”

You nod. This makes sense; this is a sufficiently egotistical explanation. You check the clock on the wall; it’s almost time to get Cadi from school. “You’re picking up Cadi tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah. ‘Round 8:00, as usual.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

Willis asks longingly, looking nowhere in particular: “Remember when we were gonna go to Mexico for our anniversary?”

“Yeah. And I remember when we didn’t.”

He shrugs, perhaps regretful, mourning some hypothetical versions of yourselves. “I got busy. I got lazy.”

“We would have ended up in the same place, Willis. It just might have taken longer.”

“Sure,” he mutters, but he doesn’t sound like he believes it. He’s reaching for his second muffin as you push through the glass door and step out into the sweltering afternoon sunlight.

Twenty minutes later, you’re rolling into your driveway: windows down, cicadas screeching, a flock of pelicans flapping by overhead, Cadi singing along to Jump by Van Halen. But when you cut the engine, you catch a glimpse of something strange in your rearview mirror. You have a visitor. He’s coasting down the driveway in his red Audi Quattro, displacing a grey wave of gravel. You and Cadi climb out of your Celebrity to greet him.

“Aemond?” you say, hands on your hips, a growing involuntary smile. You weren’t supposed to see him until Saturday night, until your talk about the future, a future you both disavowed before starting to get a taste for it. “What are you doing here?!”

“I only have a minute.” When he emerges from the Quattro, he’s dragging his neon teal duffle bag.

Cadi gasps. “More Nintendo games?!”

Aemond chuckles and shakes his head. “Sorry, not quite.”

Cadi groans dramatically and sprints off into the house, probably to devour an ungodly amount of baked goods.

“Don’t eat the Cap’n Crunch Treats!” you shout after her. “They’re for a customer!”

Aemond strolls over to you, wearing jeans, a white tank top, and his Adidas sneakers. His ever-present Marlboro jacket has been forgotten. His hair is a mess, he’s touching his chin restlessly; he really does look like he’s in a rush. “Hey,” he says softly, returning your smile.

You point to his duffle bag. “So you’re not here to tie me up.”

“Regrettably, no.”

“Cadi was really, really happy this morning to learn that you paid for horse camp.”

“I’m glad. Please don’t mention it again.” Aemond glances to his right and spies the alligator sunbathing a few yards away, a deep swampy green and fast asleep. “Oh, fuck!” He grabs your arm, pulls you to him, walks with you briskly towards the house. “You need to get that thing turned into a purse or shoes or something.”

You laugh. “She won’t go after you. She knows you’re bigger than she is.”

“I’m not going to take your word for it.”

In the living room, Aemond tosses his duffle bag on the couch, unzips it, and lifts out a Nikon F3 digital camera. Amir peeks out of the kitchen, flour and powdered sugar dusting his palms, his forearms, his cheeks. “What the…?”

“I need a white wall,” Aemond says distractedly, peering around. The living room walls are pink, the kitchen is mint green, Cadi’s room is yellow, the bathroom is a pale blue. Cadi watches as he darts around the small house, sitting at the kitchen counter and chomping on a ginger molasses cookie. Then Aemond snaps his fingers, remembering. He turns to you. “Your bedroom has white walls.”

“And of course he knows all about your bedroom,” Amir says.

“Come with me,” Aemond orders you.

“Okay…?”

“Cadi too.”

You and Cadi follow Aemond into the bedroom, Amir trotting close behind to satisfy his curiosity. Aemond shows Cadi where to stand against the wall, in a spot where the lighting is good, no shadows, no cracks in the paint, no paintings or photographs. He raises the Nikon and gazes through the viewfinder with his right eye.

“Alright, here we go…just from the shoulders up…yeah, look at me straight-on, just like that…big smile, one two three!” He takes a picture; you can hear the click. “Beautiful! You’re Cindy Crawford! Naomi Campbell! Linda Evangelista! Let’s go again…”

Cadi giggles as she poses: a few respectable smiles, a few silly faces, a few where Aemond asks her to act serious. Cadi says, with an exaggerated grimace: “Look, I’m Mom when Daddy tries to talk to her.” Amir guffaws from the doorway.

“Your turn,” Aemond tells you, waving you over. Aemond directs you like he’s looking for excuses to touch your shoulders, your waist, your face, making minute adjustments that can’t really matter. You’re good at the serious faces, but he’s not satisfied with your smile. “No, a real one. A real smile!”

“I am really smiling!” you protest.

Aemond lowers the camera and raises an eyebrow at you. “You can do better. I’ve seen it.”

And suddenly, effortlessly, you’re beaming.

“There you go,” Aemond says in approval, and snaps a few frames. “Done.”

“What do you need pictures of us for?”

“Just a little project I’m working on,” Aemond says, evasive. He ventures back to the living room without further explanation.

As Aemond zips the Nikon into his duffle bag, you go to the kitchen to see how far Amir has gotten with the Targaryens’ engagement party order. In a dozen different icing colors, he’s painted wildflowers—your favorite since you were Cadi’s age—all over the white buttercream frosting of the vanilla bean cake. You wrap an arm around his waist, rest your head against his chest. “You’re Picasso.”

“I’m a sad, single, four-eyes twink who lives with his Grandma.”

“You’re the love of my life.”

He laughs and smacks a noisy kiss onto your cheek. Aemond watches, amused, thoughtful. He has that same look he had when he walked in on Cadi and Amir dancing to Kyrie, like someone studying a work of art in a museum, something beautiful but arcane, crafted by a foreign stranger who’s been dead for centuries. You start chopping pecans for the hummingbird cake.

“Okay,” Aemond announces with a heavy sigh. “I gotta run.”

“Already?” Cadi says, more disappointed than she’s trying to let on.

“He’s a very busy man,” you tell her. “He’s an engineer. And a historian, too.”

“Just an engineer,” Aemond says, startled.

“Only a historian would think to quiz me about Napoleon to see if I was worthy of his time.”

“You should know something about the man your town was named after.” Aemond leans in close—smoke and cologne, sun and salt—and growls into your ear: “Bye, Cupcake. Taste you later.”

“Bye.” And you watch him leave with his neon teal duffle bag slung over one shoulder, so preoccupied you completely forget about the pecans. Your knife rests on the cutting board, your thoughts are tangled up in what you and Aemond need to talk about tomorrow. I want more than something casual. I do, I really do.

Amir whips you with a dishtowel. “Ho, we’ve got cakes to bake! Let’s go, let’s go!” And then he asks more sympathetically as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose: “How’s your headache?”

“Oh,” you say, only realizing it when he asked. “It’s gone now.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The driveway is long and meandering, brand new but meant to look old, cobblestones lined with meticulously manicured hedges and beasts carved out of marble: bears, dolphins, horses, dragons. On the shores of Lake Verret, out of sight of the rigs and surrounded by towering gnarled southern live oaks older than the United States, you find the Targaryen family residence—manor? estate? chateau?—and park your Chevy Celebrity amidst a sea of Lexuses, Audis, Porsches, Cadillacs, and Alfa Romeos. There are willowy whooping cranes tiptoeing their way across the lawn. A blue merle Great Dane, gigantic and glaring menacingly, lurks behind the white columns of the wraparound front porch.

“That is not a house,” Amir says, gazing up at it through the windshield. “That is a castle.”

“That is where we’re going to make a lot of money if we can impress the Rockefellers.”

“Whoo hoo!” he cheers, climbing out of the car. “San Fran, I hope you’re ready for me!”

You’re dragging the coolers out of the back seat when you are descended upon by a herd of servants, dressed in black so as not to distract from the festivities, so they can fade into the backdrop, so they can become invisible. You and Amir have missed the memo. Your sundress is from Kmart: white with pink zinnias, a cheap and unextraordinary flower for an undistinguished woman from an anonymous town in one of the most impoverished states in the nation. Amir is wearing neon orange shorts and a (very tight) t-shirt from Queen’s Magic Tour that he found at a yard sale.

“These are the cakes?” the head butler asks impatiently, a grim-faced man with salt and pepper hair and spotless white gloves.

“Yeah, that box has the coconut cake, and that one has the key lime, and there are the Cap’n Crunch Treats, and…hey! Wait!” You watch helplessly as the fleet of servants ferry the boxes up the porch steps and into the house. You and Amir stare at each other as you stand abandoned on the cobblestones. “What do we do now?”

“Do we just…leave…?!”

“You made it!” Alicent cries, sailing out of the doorway and swathed in a flowing cream-colored gown. Her large dark eyes are bright and ever-shifting, almost manic; sunlight shimmers on her auburn hair. There is music pouring out behind her, thudding but indistinct, rumbling bass, heady guitar strums. “Come inside. You simply must come in.”

“Oh, we couldn’t impose!” Amir says, already inching towards the house.

“I’ll hear no more of that. You rescued me in my hour of need and I shall not forget it.” Alicent beckons you closer. Her smile is broad and radiant but tight, like she’s having to remember to keep it that way, like her muscles are beginning to ache. “Enjoy some hors d’oeuvres, at least. We have shrimp cocktail, miniature quiches, vol-au-vents, clams casino, Swedish meatballs, little smokies, deviled eggs with paprika, and lots of champagne! Quickly now. There are some people I’d like you to meet.”

Amir glances back at you as you follow him up the porch steps. “People, huh?”

The Great Dane stalks over to you, sniffs, growls deep and low. You freeze, not wanting to provoke it. Its eyes—muddy greenish-brown and swimming with a cunning hostility—remind you of an alligator’s, not the five-footer that idles on your lawn but one of the true monsters of the bayou, old and grizzled and always hungry.

“Vhagar, no!” Alicent scolds, pushing the beast’s massive muzzle away. You imagine it chomping on her hand until it’s gone: one bite, two bites, nothing left but gristle and blood. “No! Bad dog! Go away, go!” The Great Dane reluctantly retreats, glowering from behind a column. “I’m so sorry about that. I’m utterly mortified. She’s terribly unfriendly, but she doesn’t bite. Usually.”

“It’s fine!” you say, heart still racing.

“She belongs to my son. My children…their obsessions confound me. But as mothers, we’re powerless to stop them, aren’t we?”

“I suppose so,” you reply, thinking of Cadi’s wildness, willfulness; though trying to change her would feel wrong.

“Now I certainly owe you a glass of champagne,” Alicent says, billowing like a cloud into the house, her gold heels clicking on the marble floor.

You pass through the doorway and into a vast, crowded foyer, all white and gold: a massive crystalline chandelier, oriental vases and sculptures of men you don’t recognize, paintings on the wall, servants flitting around with trays of hors d’oeuvres. On one table is a tower of champagne glasses, each with a single red cherry marooned inside. Guests mingle in their sport coats and suits and taffeta and sequins, and oddly, none of them are talking about the couple whose engagement is being celebrated. They talk instead about ski trips, polo matches, oil futures, the Soviets, the Saudis, the godawful humidity in this misfortunate corner of the world that they can’t wait to leave. There are stained glass windows everywhere, scenes of suns, stars, sunflowers, dragonflies, lemon trees, sand on beaches. It’s cold, extremely cold, frigid drafts gushing from the air conditioning vents. A Dire Straits song pours not from a Panasonic boombox but from a stereo system with a pair of speakers as tall as you are, Sultans Of Swing. There is a baffling dual chorus clanging around in your skull: Nobody needs this. I’ll never be able to give my daughter anything like this.

Amir whistles as he peers around, eyes wide behind his tortoiseshell glasses. “This place must cost a fortune to cool.”

“I Teleftaia Epithymia.” Alicent struggles with the pronunciation; she speaks slowly, effortfully. “It’s what my husband named the house. What we named the house, I mean. It’s Greek for The Last Desire. As in, no one could possibly want anything more than what this home can offer. Isn’t that poetic? I’ve fallen quite in love with it.” Still, there is that slight nervousness to everything she does, that over-eagerness to please, that restless rushing fidgeting. She wears large gold teardrop earrings that she keeps touching. “We knew we’d have to build something here for the new project on the lake. My son is overseeing it, and he’ll have to spend the next year here, at least. It’s a big step for him. It’s the first drilling operation he’s been given command of. And he—”

“Alicent!” A man comes striding through the crowd. He has shoulder-length pale blonde hair and is wearing a black pinstripe suit, a business suit, authoritative but not joyful. He doesn’t notice you or Amir. You don’t exist to him yet. “Where the hell is the ice sculpture? You said there would be an ice sculpture.”

“It’s on its way, darling. I already called.”

“It should be here now!”

“Viserys, please.” Alicent’s voice is low, embarrassed. “The driver got lost, you know our address is new. They stopped at a payphone and rang us and I straightened it out. They’ll arrive any minute.”

“They better,” the man grumbles. “It’s her family’s crest, for Christ’s sake. We need that ice dragon.”

“This is my husband,” Alicent tells you and Amir, forced smile, pleading eyes, trying to pivot. “Viserys, do you remember the wonderful people I told you about? From Hummingbird Bakery?”

“Bakery?” He seems to have only a vague recollection and even less interest. His gaze is already wandering to other guests. He flashes a grin and waves at a few middle-aged men in grey suits.

“They saved me. They were able to bake us six beautiful cakes with only two days’ notice.”

“And Cap’n Crunch Treats,” Amir adds.

Now Viserys Targaryen does turn his attention to you, and his forehead knits into perturbed wrinkles. His cool blue eyes skate over your Kmart dress, your forearms still dotted with flour and frosting, your cheap pink flats with bows on the front. “It’s a pleasure.” Then he looks to Amir—orange shorts, too-tight shirt that stops at his navel, dogwood flower in his hair—and seems to startle a little. “Alicent, you didn’t mention…uh…he’s…oh well. Too late now. It can’t be helped.”

You and Amir share a glance, polite smiles pasted on your faces. Alicent is abjectly horrified. “Viserys, he’s extremely professional.”

“There are the Lannisters. I must be off.” And the Targaryen family patriarch unceremoniously departs. You and Amir pretend to admire the stained glass windows. Alicent picks at the beds of her fingernails, her rings jangling against each other, her eyes misty.

Criston appears out of nowhere, wearing a white suit with a zebra print shirt underneath. Today his single earring is silver to match. He glides a hand around Alicent’s waist and leans in so close that his nose brushes her fiery hair. “What? What do you need?”

“The ice sculpture people—”

“I’ll wait outside for them,” Criston says, and departs as swiftly as he arrived.

“Please allow me to give you a quick tour of the house,” Alicent says, recovering somewhat. “I’m so grateful for your help. And things keep happening that only make me feel more indebted.” Then she hands each of you a flute of champagne, spins on her heels, and leads you out of the foyer.

Each room is a different color. The living room is red, furniture of lush velvet and Italian leather, bookshelves tall enough to need ladders, a brick fireplace that they’ll never use. Through a pair of French doors you can glimpse a garden and a pool with a water slide. The dining room is a cheerful butter yellow. The kitchen is teal, and like all the rest of the house has stained glass windows to match; these are shaped like a cathedral’s and run all the way up to the ceiling. Servants have arrayed your cakes on the counter, each with a label handwritten in cursive and a set of knives to cut it with. A plate of Cap’n Crunch Treats has been tucked away back by the stove like something they’re a little ashamed of.

Everywhere she goes, Alicent introduces you and Amir to the guests she crosses paths with. “Have you met these heavenly people from Hummingbird Bakery yet? Yes, they’re local, true Louisianans! I see you’ve already helped yourself to a slice of the key lime cake. Isn’t it just fantastic?! And a gorgeous shade of green! It’s so peculiar, you won’t believe what this sweetheart has living in her yard, a real-life alligator…”

You whisper to Amir: “Are we her pet poor people?”

“You might be. I’m proudly undomesticated.”

“Christabel!” Alicent shouts jubilantly as the girl scrolls into the kitchen. “There you are, dear! Come see your cakes.”

Christabel complies, shy but agreeable, peeking out from under a shock of feathery blonde bangs. She wears gleaming diamond earrings and a very bridal white one-shoulder dress, showing quite a bit of skin; you notice that some of the other guests milling about the kitchen cast her judgmental smirks. Christabel asks Alicent, as if she’s afraid of the answer: “He’s not here yet?”

“You know how busy he’s been,” Alicent says, apologetic. You think, remembering the drunk man from the holding cell: Yeah, busy committing misdemeanors. “Those rigs…the S&P 500…anyway, he’ll be home before you know it. In the meantime, let me get you a piece of cake. You’re disappearing, love.”

Christabel skims a palm down the front of her dress self-consciously. “Alright. Just a tiny one.” Then she acknowledges you and Amir. “You must be the masterminds then. Alicent told me all about you.”

Amir says: “About our excellent service and reasonable prices?”

“Yes.” Christabel isn’t skittish like Alicent, but there’s a sort of pensiveness to her, an impression that she is eternally woolgathering. Now she looks at you in particular with a small, warm smile. “And about how beautiful you are.”

Amir laughs at your stunned expression. Me? Beautiful? And the only other person to call you that in years has been Aemond, tangled up with you on your bed in your falling-down house, and you aren’t sure if that counts. “Oh, um, thank you,” you manage. “I really like your dress.”

“Really? I fear people think it’s too…revealing. I liked it fine this morning when I put it on. I didn’t have any notion it might not be suitable. Now I’m feeling like an idiot.”

“No, it’s so nice!” you say, pained for her, one misfit recognizing another. “I never would have thought there was anything wrong with it.”

Alicent gets a plate from the pile on the counter. “What flavor would you like, Christabel?”

“Whatever this one is.” She points to the vanilla bean cake, adorned with Amir’s frosting flowers. “Isn’t it stunning, with all the colors?”

“Amir is the artist,” you say. “I love wildflowers.”

Alicent asks: “Did you have them at your wedding?”

No one bothered. No one remembered. “I wanted to.”

“Wouldn’t that be lovely, Christabel?” Alicent passes her a slice of vanilla bean cake. “Wildflowers? It would be different. Everyone has roses or lilies or something. But wildflowers? I can’t recall ever going to a wedding with wildflowers. Especially if you’re going to get married here. It would fit with the scenery. This place is so exotic, so untamed!”

Christabel nods, taking nibbles of her cake. “Wow, this is delicious! Yes, wildflowers. We could use them for the bouquet, and the corsages…”

“Now we just need a venue.” Alicent sighs. “We’ve had such a terrible time trying to find a good place. Somewhere historic, but not rundown or unsavory. I mean, you can’t get married on an old plantation or something. Bloody hell. How tone-deaf would that be?”

“Very tone-deaf,” Amir concurs.

“There’s a church across the lake in Belle River that you might like,” you say. “The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens. It’s a historic site, I believe. It’s not very big, but it would make for nice pictures.”

“There’s an idea!” Alicent chirps, then she is stricken as a woman walks into the kitchen. Her fair hair is tied up in a messy bun. She wears a white t-shirt stained with dirt, denim overalls, and Converse Chucks. There is a bluish-green chameleon perched on her shoulder, goggling at everyone with its rotating, conical eyes. “Helaena, put your dress on.”

“Dreamfyre doesn’t like the silk. She won’t sit on my shoulder if I’m wearing it.”

“Helaena, it’s a lizard.” Alicent is exasperated. “Go upstairs, stick it back in its cage, and put your dress on, now.”

“Fine,” Helaena mumbles before wandering off.

“Oh, is that the ice sculpture?!” Alicent cries, peeking out into the foyer through the kitchen doorway. “At last! If you’ll excuse me…” She scurries off to attend to it, Christabel trailing her like a shadow.

You put your empty champagne flute in the sink. “I need to go find a bathroom.”

“I need some shrimp cocktail,” Amir replies. “Do you think I should try to explain the evils of gentrification to people?”

You giggle. “Yeah, definitely. Start with Viserys.” You part ways, Amir headed towards the foyer, you journeying down a mysterious hallway that adjoins the kitchen. The walls are flame orange and decorated with portraits of grave blonde people, each with an outlandish name etched into the plaque beneath its likeness: Baelon, Alyssa, Jaehaerys, Alysanne, Aenys, another Alyssa, Aegon, Rhaenys, Visenya. “This family is so fucking weird,” you mutter to yourself as you continue down the hall.

You find a bathroom, but there’s already a hoard of glamorous, ornamented women waiting outside of it. They’re chattering about which is the superior place to take a holiday, the Canary Islands or the south of France. They stare at you like you’re vermin, a nutria or a raccoon. You keep moving.

At the top of a spiral staircase, you find another hallway. The first door you try is a home movie theater complete with a popcorn machine, neon signage, several rows of seating and a plethora of bean bag chairs. Behind the second door is a bedroom, but it’s not unoccupied. You are greeted by the sight of the man who must be the groom. He looks much like he did when he was detained in a holding cell of the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office: slicked-back hair, unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, flushed cheeks, tiny shorts, flip flops. He’s hunched over a desk with three lines of white powder on it. There’s an HP computer—something you’ve never seen in person before—in one corner of the room, a television and collection of hundreds of VHS tapes in the other. His walls are black and cluttered with posters of punk rock bands, the Ramones, the Clash, the Misfits, Minor Threat, Social Distortion, Bad Religion. His Akai stereo is blaring Fight For Your Right by the Beastie Boys.

“What?” the man says agitatedly. There’s powder on his fingers and his nose. “What? What? Who are you? What do you want?”

“Um, sorry, I was just…uh…” There’s some kind of rodent running around on his unmade bed. Its fur is a sandy yellow color, its body freakishly long and four legs stumpy. What the fuck. “I was looking for a bathroom.”

He blinks, muddled recollection. “You’re the cake lady.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Delivering cakes.”

“Oh. Right.” He points directly across the hall. “There’s a bathroom.”

“Okay, great, thanks.” He starts snorting another line before you’ve even shut the door.

You spend a minute or two in the Targaryens’ lilac-colored bathroom, paintings of the night sky hung on the walls—comets, moons, stars, galaxies—and amethyst geodes on the sink, a stained glass window with a scene of a lavender field. By the time you navigate back down to the kitchen, the man is there. He’s eating a Cap’n Crunch Treat, cocaine still streaked across his pink face and caught in his wisp of a mustache.

“You did this,” he says. “I know you did. It’s too good to be anyone but you.”

With his hand that’s not holding the Cap’n Crunch Treat, he’s cradling the lean rodent against his bare chest like an infant. “What is that? A weasel?”

“It’s a ferret. His name is Sunfyre.” The man nods to a photograph pinned to the refrigerator with magnets shaped like miniature oil rigs. There are two people in the frame, a woman and a girl, their cheeks squished together as they laugh on a pink sand beach of some topical island you’ll never visit. “That’s my dad’s first wife.”

“He’s divorced?”

“Widowed. She died in a car accident.” He taps on the girl in the picture, perhaps Cadi’s age. “That’s my half-sister Rhaenyra. She’s an Olympic fencer. She lives in the Lake District and fucks our uncle.”

You shake your head. You must have misheard him. “She what?”

“Yeah, I know how it sounds. I’m not kidding. She lives in a castle and fucks our uncle and has kids with him. Fucking sick, man. And I’m the screwup? Because I like coke and strippers? I’m supposed to feel bad about that? Bite me, Viserys.” He grabs a second Cap’n Crunch Treat and gestures for you to follow him into the foyer. “Come on. You need some champagne.”

You chuckle. Mental or not, there’s something likeable about him…though you can’t say you envy Christabel. To be married to someone like this man must be hellish. Now, to be married to someone like Aemond… “I’ve already had a glass.”

“Okay, well I need some champagne, and I don’t want to go out there alone.” His flip flops slap noisily against the marble floor as he plods out of the kitchen. He looks back to see if you’re following, and then you hurry after him. The heir to the Jade Dragon fortune weaves through the crowd, ignoring everyone and being ignored in return. In the packed foyer, he plucks a flute of champagne from the tower and chugs it. He eats the cherry and holds up the stem. “You know how to tie these with your tongue?”

“No, I definitely do not.”

“I do,” he announces proudly. He shoves the stem in his mouth, wiggles it around for a while, accidentally swallows it and has to hack it back up. He spits the cherry stem onto the pristine white floor, attracting a few grimaces. “Wait. Wait. Let me try again.” He reaches for another glass of champagne. The opening notes of Asia’s Heat Of The Moment boom from the speakers.

You give him a sympathetic smile. “Pre-wedding jitters?”

He snorts. “I’m not the one getting married.”

“Wait, you’re not?”

He cackles, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “I already have a wife. Stephanie, she’s a princess from Monaco. Right now she’s in Ibiza or something. I haven’t seen her since New Year’s. This New Year’s? Last New Year’s? I’m not sure. Maybe it was the Grand Prix. I remember a lot of confetti.”

You gape at him. “So who’s getting married?”

“My brother Aemond.”

“Who?!”

He points with his Cap’n Crunch Treat. Across the foyer by the front door, Aemond is grinning and accepting congratulations from a gaggle of men in suits: black, grey, navy, tan. Aemond himself is wearing emerald green, dark and luxurious and striking and expensive, because he’s a Targaryen who’s marrying a noblewoman and he’s an oil tycoon and a millionaire and he is most certainly not single and not looking to change that.

“You fucking liar,” you hiss.

The man with the coke in his mustache peers over at you. “Huh?”

You can’t tear your eyes away from Aemond. You feel scarlet rage soaking into you drip by drip, you feel the blood turning hot beneath your skin. You shouldn’t be this upset over a man you barely know, you don’t understand why you are. Except part of you does, and it’s heartbreaking, and it’s humiliating beyond words. Of course he’s marrying someone like Christabel. Of course he’d never choose me.

Aemond bids farewell to his well-wishers, and as he turns away from them his right eye catches on you. From across the room, his face shifts from disbelief to astonishment to horror. His jaw drops open. The flute of champagne he’d been clasping shatters against the marble floor. Immediately, a flock of servants materialize to clean up the mess. You flee from the foyer to the living room, through the French doors, into the garden. It’s midday and hot as hell, humid, swampy, suffocating to the British aristocrats that fill the house. You don’t see anyone else outside. You run past the swimming pool and through cobblestone trails bordered by blue cardinal flowers, orange coneflowers, coral honeysuckle, resurrection ferns, maypops, white sage, firewheels, magnolias, cinnamon ferns. You stop at the edge of a fish pond larger than your kitchen and glare down into the water, trying not to let tears blur your vision as glimmers of scales—red, orange, black, white, gold—dart beneath the transparent rippling water.

I have to go back inside. I can’t leave without Amir. I can’t leave without formally saying goodbye to Alicent and thanking her for her hospitality and licking the boots of these people so they’ll throw just enough cash at me to keep a roof over my daughter’s head.

You hear hurried footsteps; Aemond appears on the cobblestones. He’s found you, but that’s as far ahead as he’s planned. He holds his hands open, not knowing what to say.

“You told me you didn’t have a girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“She’s your fiancée, that’s worse, don’t you get how that’s worse?!”

“Okay, this looks bad, but it’s not what you think—”

“You’re marrying her, right?” you demand, and he hesitates. “Right?!”

“Yes,” Aemond admits, and it feels like knuckles to your stomach.

“Then you’re a liar and a cheater.”

“It’s not…it’s…” He gestures frantically, not knowing how to explain, how to translate it into words you’ll understand. “There’s not an expectation of fidelity.”

“Does Christabel know that?”

“That’s the thing, that’s what you don’t get, it’s not like that between us. We don’t discuss it, we’re not…” More vague, frenzied gestures. “We’re not…um…” He groans, rubbing his scarred forehead. “We’re not fucking. At all. Nothing close to it. It’s not a physical relationship yet.”

“But she doesn’t know about me.”

“No, God no, of course not.”

“So she thinks you’re…abstinent…?”

He sighs, defeated. “I don’t know. I don’t really care, honestly.”

“Why aren’t you sleeping with her?”

“Because we can’t until we’re married.”

“I’m sorry, are you Pilgrims?! Are you time travelers from the 1400s?!”

“It’s her family’s standards,” Aemond says. “It’s not uncommon for women of her…status.”

“Girl,” you pitch at him. “She’s a girl. How old is she? Eighteen?”

“Nineteen.”

You’re furious that she exists; you’re furious on her behalf. “And she’s planning her fairytale wedding while you collect local women to act out your kinky fantasies with.”

“One woman,” Aemond says softly.

“What?”

“There’s one woman currently. Just you.”

You shake your head, swiping enraged tears from your cheeks. “Why are you marrying her?”

“It’s sort of an…arranged thing.”

You stare at him. “Someone set you up?”

“My father knows her father. They think it’s a good match. Her family needs money, my father wants ties to the nobility. She’s one of probably five people on this planet that he would approve of. And she seems enthusiastic about it, so it’s happening.”

“Aemond, that is an insanely bad idea.”

“I have to do it.”

“You’re marrying her because your dad told you to?!” You explode. “Are you serious?! Everyone with the sole exception of Amir told me to stay with Willis, my friends, my family, my neighbors, my bakery customers, the checkout ladies at the Piggly Wiggly, my goddamn mailman, my father was in the hospital dying of lung cancer saying that his last wish was for me to never get divorced, and I still went through with it because I knew it was the right thing to do and no one was going to stop me!”

“I don’t want to talk about Willis,” Aemond snaps.

“Well, he’s kind of an inescapable aspect of my existence, so if I can get over it I’m sure you can too.”

“I hate that guy,” Aemond seethes, and you have no idea how to respond. You gaze down into the pond and watch scales and fins and tails fly like bullets beneath the surface.

“Those are the biggest goldfish I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“They’re koi,” Aemond scoffs.

“Oh, is that what they teach people about at Imperial College in London? Fancy fucking fish?”

“Don’t be a bitch to me, just…just give me a second, I didn’t think I was going to have this conversation until tonight, this is not how I wanted it to go.”

You say quietly, betrayed: “You’re a robber baron.”

“What? Like Vanderbilt or Rockefeller, that kind of robber baron, that’s who you think I am?!”

“That’s who you are! You hoard and exploit and use and pollute and destroy! I don’t destroy things, I create them!”

“You bake cupcakes!”

“And I don’t hurt anyone by doing it!”

“You are so goddamn delusional, you are completely insane—”

You start counting out crimes on your fingers. “I don’t kill people, I don’t endanger the Earth, I didn’t irrevocably screw up Ketchikan, Alaska—”

“So I’m terrible because I want to bring jobs to your pathetic, dead-end town?! Because I want there to be a few less pregnant teenagers and more high school diplomas? That makes me a war criminal, that puts me right up there with Jaruzelski or Pinochet?!” He realizes what he’s said when he sees the wounded fury unfold on your face. “Oh fuck. Come on, I didn’t mean you.”

“No, you just meant people who are exactly like me in every way.”

“You know what? I take it back,” Aemond says, knife-sharp, wrathful. “I did mean you. Because you are wasting your life here, and you’re too stubborn or too scared or too much of both to recognize an opportunity to have something more. Don’t you think you deserve better? Don’t you think your kid deserves better?”

“I built something here, I made a future for myself and my daughter here, and you’re going to work our people to death and poison the lake and then pack up and leave when it all goes wrong because that’s what oil tycoons do! The opportunity is for you, not us! More mansions, more champagne, more coke, more demented pets!”

“Then leave! Get in your car and drive back to your sad, structurally unsound house and live happily ever after with whatever braindead barbarian you marry next.”

“I will,” you pitch back. “Enjoy being married to your marquess.”

“She’s not a marquess. Her dad is the marquess. She won’t inherit the title until he dies.”

“Enjoy being married to your future marquess, you pretentious prick.”

“Women can’t be marquesses. They can only be marchionesses.”

“Yeah, you’re so smart. I’m really impressed. At least I don’t have to tie people to beds to delude myself into thinking I have some semblance of control over my life.”

You storm through the garden and back into the house as Aemond watches you, violently disappointed. You yank open one of the French doors and slip into the midst of the festivities. Illustrious guests are still mingling, toasting, boasting, scrutinizing you skeptically when they notice you at all. In the archway between the living room and the foyer, Amir joins you, sipping a flute of champagne.

“Hey, ho! Did you get lost? Did you find the cellar where they keep the bodies of their political enemies?” He has eaten so many hors d’oeuvres he’s basically waddling. “You look stressed. How about a nice shrimp cocktail?” He follows your eyeline to where Aemond is trying to sneak covertly into the living room through the French doors. Christabel intercepts him, relieved that he’s finally arrived, beaming, sparkling, entirely unaware of any conflict. Aemond conjures up a smile, fond yet guarded. She doesn’t touch him, and he doesn’t touch her either. He clasps his hands behind his back instead. “Is that…?!”

“Yeah.”

“And he’s…?!”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” Amir says. “Oh.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his dark eyes wide and shellshocked. “We should have made him buy all of us Nintendos and a week at horse camp.”

“I want to go home.”

“You got it, let me just grab a few more of those Swedish meatballs—”

“Amir,” you say, tears brimming in your eyes. “I really want to go home.”

“Okay, okay.” He slings an arm around your shoulder, smacks a kiss against your temple, walks with you towards the front door. “Then let’s go home.”

[caregivingchrysalises]

hi my little dove, awe angel are we feeling icky hun? can you tell buba where it hurts love? a headache, awe dewdrop it’s okay, i know it hurts baby, is there anything buba can do to make things better? i’m going to dim the lights a bit is that alright love? there we go,, much better~ would you like head scratches? i can also bring a bottle/sippy with something cold if you’d like? there’s no pressure to make any decisions now hun, whatever will make my darling happy i’m happy to do angel. you’re never a burden baby, i promise. you’re not being a bother for needing help and wanting someone to look after you while you’re hurting, that’s what i’m here for~ for the good and the icky, i’ll take care of you through it all sweetheart,, now do you want to try and get some rest with me love? the moon and i agree rest will do us all some good sprout.

ʚ♡ɞ

goodnight angel, rest well

[robinette-green]

TW: Blood/nose-bleeds

How would Sun and Moon (both human and animatronic) feel/react to the reader having nose-bleeds?? Especially when it’s the first time they see reader have ‘em. As someone who has a lot of them, and quite frequently too, I have wondered about this, quite a lot

And I’ll completely understand if you don’t want to answer, this is (in many ways) a weird question, I’m just curious is all

I don’t think it’s a weird question! (I used to get nose bleeds a lot when I was younger so I know how it goes 😅)

Human Sun (Solaris): He’d panic. Depending on the AU, Solaris usually has a handkerchief on him and would fumble for it frantically before gently taking MC’s face into his hands and holding the kerchief to their nose all the while babbling about how everything would be alright.

“A-AH! Hold on! I have a-! Here it is! Here! Keep your head down! It’ll be okay! Promise! Did you hit your nose? What happened? Everything’s going to be alright! W-we’ll get the bleeding to stop and then get you cleaned up! Oh dear.”

(Meanwhile MC probably had it handled and is bemused at Solaris’s panic.)

Animatronic Sun: This Sun would also panic. Rays shooting out in shock before pulling in in destress. He’s got tissues for when the little ones have runny noses and would scramble to get them.

“DEWDROP! Y-you’re bleeding! I’ve got- I have! Where did I put them! Here! Oh! Try not to get any blood on the floor! Tilt your head forward! Come sit over here! It’s okay! Are you okay? It’ll be okay!”

(Sun’s biggest worry is you but he’s also a little concerned about any blood that gets on anything. It is a bio hazard)

Human Moon (Lucien): He’s panicking but doing his best not to let it show. Lucien would probably take MC’s face into his hands and look for any damage or distress before finding something to stanch the flow of blood.

“What have you done to yourself. Come here, let me see.” He’d use a calm voice and if MC was upset he’d provide forehead kisses and murmur reassurances.

Actually he’d probably provide forehead kisses anyway. His silly little starlight started to bleed out of nowhere.

Animatronic Moon:

I wrote a little bit about Animatronic Moon handling a Reader nose bleed in A Door You’re Unable to Close (though it’s brought on by MC slamming face first into a play structure)

I’ll slip that down below.

I cowered on the floor, hands clamped over my ears as Sun struggled and screamed, his shift over to Moon a painful one as Sun fought to prevent it.

It took longer than I would have liked to kick myself to move. Sun's scream turned into a growl as I forced my legs underneath me and scrabbled at the floor to pull myself into a run.

"You're up past your bedtime."

I didn't chance a look as I ran for the closest play structure. Moon's voice was as raspy and creepy as it was in the game. There was a faint red glow behind me, then with an evil giggle, it was suddenly gone as Moon, presumably, using his cord to lift into the air.

Dashing across the floor to the nearest play set, Moon dropped in front of me, and I had to skid to a stop and change directions.

I could barely see the padded floor before me in the dark, so I didn't see the kiddie chair set to the side until I'd tripped over it.

I was sent flying into one of the plastic walls of a play structure with a yelp. Smacking into it face first, pain rocketed up my nose accompanied by a metallic smell.

This was pathetic. I was going to be caught, and I hadn't even made it into a structure.

Slowly, I sat up, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as pain radiated from my poor nose.

A whimper left me as I lifted my hand to my nose and found that hot, sticky liquid was trickling down my face. Was that blood? Had I broken it?

Then Moon landed next to me, and I panicked, scrambling away with a pathetic panicking noise.

On my hands and knees, I dove for one of the tubes at ground level but got stuck, back hitting the top of the tube. I'd have to slide through on my stomach if I wanted to get any further, but I wasn't given the chance.

"Stop. You'll hurt yourself more."

Large hands easily halted my escape, snagging me around the middle and lifting me out of the tube and into the air.

"N-NO!" I yelped, covering my nose and squeezing my eyes shut.

Moon had caught me so easily. There'd been no chase; I'd just immediately put myself out of commission. Would he kill me now? Choke me to death like he did in some of the fan fictions I'd read? Maybe he'd take me to Vanny, and she'd kill me.

Tears were pouring down my face now, body trembling, blood dripping into my hands from my throbbing nose, convinced that this would be my end. I'd lost the game so quickly, and there were no save files I could switch to.

Carefully, the hands holding me set me down on the edge of the security desktop.

My eyes flew open, and I looked up, confused and scared, into red eyes. With a soft, comforting noise, Moon carefully pulled my hands away from my face. I struggled, but the animatronic was much too strong.

"Let me see what you've done," Moon murmured, his red eyes flicking over the tears and blood.

A flash of blue light blinded me in the dark, leaving me squinting with an afterimage left in my eyes.

"You didn't break it, but I'm sure it hurts."

I was having a really hard time processing what was going on. Moon wasn't trying to kill me. Instead, he was caring for me as though I was a small child who had had a tumble.

I did have a rather nasty tumble, but I wasn't a child.

Though I am crying like one… and my nose really hurts.

"I-if you're not going to hurt me, t-then why aren't you allowed to come out anymore?" I asked, voice muffled from my messed up nose.

Moon just stared at me. That was probably not what he'd expected me to say in this situation.

"Stay." He instructed before vanishing into the dark.

He didn't answer my question.

If Moon wasn't dangerous, why had Sun tried so hard to keep him contained? Or maybe switching between the two hurts, and that was all that was to it? But Sun seemed too nervous about the lights for that to be the only thing. I was missing something. Had something happened that made Faz co. forbid Moon from coming out with anyone in the daycare? That would explain the generators. But what had happened?

Hugging myself, I trembled on the desktop, adrenaline still coursing through my body as I came down from my scare, blood dripping onto my knees as I let it flow, not wanting the hot red gross to flow down my throat.

"Here." A paper towel was gently held to my nose, and I flinched, having not seen or heard Moon's approach.

"Head down till the bleeding stops, then we'll use a cold pack on your nose for a bit to help with the swelling."

Holding the paper towel to my nose, I did as instructed and tilted my head down. Moon was standing just to the side of me, crouched slightly, his face plate level with my head, as he reached up to rub my back with one of his massive hands comfortingly. The stars on his puffy jester pants and the little nightcap on his head were glowing faintly in the dark.

"Thanks…" I mumbled.

Moon said nothing, continuing to watch me, hand still on my back. We sat there in silence until my nose stopped bleeding, then Moon brought me the cold pack I'd been using on my shoulders.

[p-sherman-42]

Side by Side

In the blueness of the in-between, when the night kisses the dawn behind diaphanous curtains, when the breath of the morning fogs the windshield, coats the waking world in a thin sheen of dew;

the mourning doves will sit side by side on the iron fence and croon their gentle whooping coos and watch the sun rise.

In the stillness of the in-between, when dewdrops crystalize on honeysuckle and jasmine, when the fingers of early morning light creep in through parted blinds, caressing the shapes of tender souls at ease;

the wild rabbits will graze side by side on the dampened earth and stuff their cheeks with daisies and grass and watch the pigeons sing.

in between the in-betweenness and the honey-glazed morning, preserved in amber light,

we will sit side by side sipping on freshly brewed coffee and silence and watch the world stir.

[vantaesfairie]

𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔞 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔡 : 𝔩𝔢𝔱 𝔪𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔟𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔳𝔦𝔟𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢

atlty’s tarot readings - dm for paid readings and prices!

choose a picture below:

this is a bit of a bigger scale pac rather than my usual 3 cards. please reblog and share, it helps a lot. enjoy!

pile 1, flower sink:

an adventurous, passionate soul. always looking to expand, especially intellectually and mentally. constant action. red feathers, strong horses. moonlight on a dewdrop. hoping to be recognized. longing for development and change. hopeful. determined. quietly shy. fire burning in your heart ready to burst out in flames. main character headspace. coming of age. moving to a new city. university after-lecture discussions. 

pile 2, rose quartz sink:

a complex, growing soul. seeking for happiness, to escape a bad mindset and/or lifestyle. self-fulfilling negative prophecies. self-separation, hugging knees in the shower. jungle nature retreats with big leaves, learning the it-girl / boy way. disappointment. wanting internal happiness and satisfaction. regeneration. spring. sun rays coming out at sunrise. black cloaks. heavy weighted blankets. clouds surrounding your head. in bed. 

pile 3, amethyst sink:

a weather-worn, armoured soul. temptation, sex, lilith. alluring, seductive beauty especially your eyes. long elegant, simple gowns. inner passionate creative with a love for various artistic mediums. heartbreak, mending one’s heart back together alone. dangerously attractive. violet. longing for someone to come and treat you kind, love you like a fragile glass sculpture. thunderstorms brewing. a dove’s wing covering her chicks. trying again and again. bared teeth. 

pile 4, quartz sink:

a dominant, daring soul with a confident exterior. bright oranges and yellows. red capes. reading diplomatically from a royal scroll. golden staff on a throne, leadership. old knowledge. valued ancient texts. blue whales. social media high-technology aesthetic. fast heartbeat. anxiety, worry. self-blaming, isolation. binds that just wrap tighter every time you struggle. blindfolded. chained on the ground but the key is beside you. 

pile 5, geode sink: 

a protecting, nurturing soul. warm, soothing yellow. birds conversing and chirping in the sunlight. plump fruit. a life of leisure. marie antoinette. smart rectangular glasses. phone conversations with the bank. fresh markers on a whiteboard. canary. pink lovers. gentle hand holding. a giant golden coin. sewing at a countryside sunset. cottagecore. creating and cherishing love and partnership. 

please interact and give me some feedback on this 👀👀  it’s my first time working on such a topic so i’d like to know if i got some vibes right! 

likes and reblogs are heavily appreciated! check out my paid readings if you’re interested. have a nice day!

[starssunsoftheinfinite]

Hello👋 do u know the song:Singin in the rain by Doris Eaton Travis?

I was wonduring if you can make a fic about it like the avengers see loki and male reader dancing in the rain and they kiss (thor like aaawww they look so cute)You can make the fic long or short or whatever you like

I just want loki dancing with him in the rain😩

Also u can ignor if u want feel free💚

I'M BACK When I wrote this I was imagining the reader to be male but reading through it I didn't actually put any identifiers in there like I thought I did so this could be read by anyone<33 hope u don't mind :0

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Loki x GN! reader

Fluff/Dancing/very sweet

Warnings: none

Words: 984

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was a silly request, you’re very aware of that. It’s the kind of request that briefly makes you very aware of how human you are compared to your love. He was a grand thing, even as he sits calmly in an armchair pouring over a book you can’t understand (it’s in Asgardian and you have tried to learn it but God is it difficult). You’re sure he has better things to do than wander onto the balcony and dance in the oncoming rain. You’d seen the clouds earlier that day and checking the forecast had only confirmed your assumption of a storm. Watching clouds roll over the sky, inching towards the tower, combined with dancing alone to music so old even Steve would tease you for listening to it had planted the idea of dancing with Loki in your head and it hadn’t left all afternoon.

This brings you here, standing in front of Loki feeling only partially bad for interrupting his reading time. His eyes pull away from the book and for a flash of a second, you worry he thinks the request is childish, embarrassing even. Then he smiles and tilts his head and he looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world to him. Which you are, of course. The book snaps shut after he pulls the ribbon between his pages and he sets it on the small clear table beside him. His palms press against the arms of the chair and he uses the leverage to push himself up onto his feet. He adjusts his turtle neck, pulling it down after his sitting position had caused it to ride up and it’s at this moment that you realise you’ve been staring for a little too long. You blink yourself out of your daydreaming and give Loki a small smile “I take that as a yes then?” You say, your smile heard in your voice as you grin up at him. “Of course, Dove. Shall we?” He hums, crow’s feet settling by his eyes as he smiles and holds out a hand palm up, which you graciously take. You courtesy for added effect and you’re promptly pulled towards the balcony door.

Water runs like rivers racing to the bottom of the glass and the sun shines through the clouds above, casting colours through falling rain. It’s beautiful but Loki doesn’t seem to notice, his eyes solely on you. Your face scrunches a little as rain dapples your skin, blinking to fling away a few drops that decide to cling to your lashes. Lokis hands settle on your upper arm and the sight of his smile immediately makes up for the lack of music. “You’re beautiful” You mutter like a secret that spreads a wider smile over your lips. Loki's left-hand trails down your forearm, over your wrist and to your hand. He holds it, lacing your fingers together while his right moves to your spine and traces it down to your lower back where he lets his hand settle. “That’s my line,” He says, just as gentle and quiet as you had.

The two of you sway, enraptured by each other like new lovers. You’d marry him here and now if you had a ring on you. He’s perfect, divine, beautiful, every other kind word you can think of. His hand drops from your back and the other lifts your hand high, you gladly take the silent invitation and spin until your back hits his chest and his hands find your hand and your hip. You’re facing out towards the city skyline and your hair clings to your skin in wet clumps, dewdrops rolling down your skin and collecting at the tip of your nose to eventually fall and start the process over again. The sun is starting to set now, an amber glow cast over both of your faces. It dips below the city line, hiding behind apartments and skyscrapers. You wonder what the sunsets on Asgard look like for a moment and then you're being turned around. Lokis hands settle on your hips and he stares at you with a smile you know only you ever see. “You look like an angel, my love. The sun behind you like this. I’m half worried you may be coming to collect me and take me off to the sky.” A gentle puff of air comes from your nose at that and you playfully roll your eyes. Your gaze pulls back to Loki, though only for a second. Your eyes flicker back to the glass balcony door, gazing over Loki's shoulder to search for what caught your eye. Of course, you should have known. You are glad it’s only a few members of your team, namely Thor, Steve, Sam, Clint and Natasha who are now occupying the lounge room and watching you both. Thor seems pleased as ever, though he always does, mostly just glad his sibling has found someone to love. Steve is just the same, a smile on his face as he watches the touching scene. Sam, Clint and Natasha though? Clint and Nat are giggling, or as close to giggling as the two can get as Sam wraps his arms around himself and feigns making out with the air, his hands rubbing up and down his forearms. He only stops when Loki follows your playful glare and sends a… less playful, one his way. Sam raises his hands in surrender and Loki lifts his dominant hand. With a single flick of his wrist, the curtains on the other side of the balcony door are pulled shut and his gaze falls back to you.

“Ignore them. They think they’re funny” He says and you can’t help but give a small snicker “They’re a little funny.” You say in return and Loki can only roll his eyes and spin you out to face the sunset again.

[ghulehvous]

'Twas the Night Before Yule

‘Twas the night before Yule, and all through the Abbey,

The Sisters were chanting “Con dio, con clavi!”

The candles were lit on the altar infernal,

Invoking the Olde One to grant life eternal.

Papa Nihil was tucked up in bed with his sax,

While Seestor complained everything had got lax.

Copia was working, alone with his quill,

Balancing spreadsheets, paying every bill.

When outside the Chapel arose a commotion.

“I lost my head, yet you got a promotion!”

Cardi left the accounts – columns of Mummy Dust –

and ran to the chapel to see what was the fuss.

The hallway was bathed in ethereal light,

And before him three figures moved, shiny and white.

His eyes widened with shock; it just couldn’t be!

His brothers Emeritus! One, two and three!

With their spectral forms all transparent and pale,

He knew they had travelled from beyond the veil.

With his fingers to his lips Primo did whistle,

And called out some names, his voice aged and brittle.

“Now Dewdrop! Now Cirrus! Swiss, Rain and Mountain!

"On Sunshine! On Lussy! Aurora and Phantom!”

Around them the air cracked as each ghoul appeared,

Behind their masks grinning from ghoul ear to ear.

Cardi gulped. “Brothers! I’m glad to see you once more!”

They were here for revenge. Of that, he was sure. 

Why else would they come as the clock struck midnight,

If not to snuff him out in some devilish rite?

“Killed playing UNO, keeping ourselves to ourselves,

"Now forever doomed to line the Relic Hall’s shelves!”

Primo, the eldest, teased, his form lighter than air,

While Secondo directed him his trademark glare.

“Pah! I do not know why you all act so maudlin!

“This band was nothing ‘til I brought the awards in!”

Terzo said with a scoff then grinned at Cardi’s fear.

“You were a big jerk but that’s not why we’re here.”

“We come with a warning to keep Yule the right way.

“To spend it in pleasure, no work and all play.

“Employee of the Month won’t mean much when you’re dead,

“So put down the pen, brother. Let’s party instead!”

The ghouls then brought Sisters, a tree and a wreath,

And brightly wrapped gifts which they placed underneath.

A mitre, a mic stand, the best olive oil,  

The only baked goods Dewdrop hadn’t yet spoiled.

Cardi looked on in awe, his heart fit to burst,

As his brothers dove into the orgy headfirst.

The party went on until first light of day,

Worshipping Satan the Emeritus way.

The new Frater Imperator joined in with glee,

Becoming the picture of festivity!

His jacket shone more than every glass bauble.

He tickled some taints, his ass gave a wobble!

When at last the chimes sounded, it was time to go,

To return to the Hellish dimension below,

The brothers called out as they faded from sight:

“Yule blessings to all, and to all a debauched night!

[skele-bunny]

I've wrote some Kitty Dew for the lovely @sphylor ! They inspired me a whole bunch, and it was comforting for myself to write this. I hope others are able to find comfort with it, too!

Read it under the cut or on AO3!

The soft jingle of a bell made Special's ears perk up, looking around the infirmary but not finding anything - simply shrugging and going back to writing his notes of the day. As it sounded again, Special now got up, looking around more thoroughly before the sight of a tail under one of the beds made him sigh with a laugh. Gently lifting the cover sheet and kneeling down, his own tail began to sway as he saw Dewdrop rolling around under the bed, shaking his mouse toy in his mouth, his bell collar loud and proud.

“Psps…” Special cooed, watching Dew’s eyes quickly look upside down, then his whole body rolling over with a happy smile.

“Hi there, kitty. Are you being sneaky, hmm?” Spec laughed, watching Dew crawl out from under, rubbing against his chest.

Dew looked up, his mouse stuck between teeth and some drool going down as he offered the toy. “Mousey.” He said, muffled some by the fabric.

Special faked a gasp, putting his hand over his heart as he offered his spare in which Dew lightly placed the toy. “Oh my Lucifer! Are you telling me you found mousey in the infirmary?”

Dew nodded his head rapidly, a smile growing with excited giggles. “Well, well, that just won't do! Now will it? I guess we're gonna have to look for all of the mouseys we can!”

The fire ghoul let out a loud trill, bouncing on his knees which made his bell go off again. Special stood up, gently poking the regressed Ghoul’s nose.

“Now you stay here, remember the rules, right?”

Dew nodded, quickly closing his eyes and sitting patiently. Special smiled before going to his desk, opening the bottom drawer and pulling out a small bag. He began to place smaller, colorful mouse toys around the infirmary - making sure to keep them on the floor or eyes reach as he didn't want Dew to get hurt. The little cat had visited him many times before, finding comfort in the quiet, cold room. Special never minded, and if it was busy, he'd simply place a folded blanket and pillow under his desk opening to let Dewdrop rest.

When it first happened, Special was confused. He had never encountered age regression, let alone pet regression before. All he knew was that Dewdrop reminded him of when his brothers were little, that sparkle in their eyes and desire to play; always gnawing on his tail, clinging to his leg, and gentle babbles. Of course as he always did, Special delved into his research and even talked to the Ghoul about it when he was in an older headspace. With more understanding of the coping mechanism, it became easier for him to care and play with the fire ghoul when he was a small one.

“There!” Phil said, holding the bag. “I think I need a brave kitty to help find me all those naughty mouseys!”

That gave the signal for Dew to begin his fake hunt, trilling again and quickly running on all fours to start looking around. The Null Ghoul smiled, tilting his head as he watched the kitten scurry around, always having excited gasps and tail flicking as he'd find a mouse - giving it a good shake between his teeth for extra measure, then trot up to Special to receive pets and heavy amounts of praise as he dropped off his ‘kill.’

Honestly, Special loved getting time with Kitty. It was relaxing for him, too. Not having to be nose deep in infection logs, hear his father or mother ask for advice on plans, or just working in general. Today was especially needed, having to reset one of the Doves wings after Agni had broken it - and by default reaction, had gotten bitten on his arm. He knew it was an accident, and apologized to over and over, but he wouldn't lie to say the encounter left him distressed. Yet, there wasn't enough time between patients to recover from it.

Kitty was that perfect relaxer.

He bent down again, letting out a happy purr as Dewdrop quickly came over again, shaking his head for a bit before dropping the mouse into Special's hand. His hands tippy-tapped against the tile with a giant smile, tail wagging as he waited for his deserved praise.

“That's four! Wow! Look at you go kitty! You only have one left, such a good mouse hunter.” Phil reached out, gently scratching behind Dew's horn before watching him flop over, exposing his belly. “Oh? Don't want to hunt anymore?”

Dew let out a long, deep purr in response, ears flicking back and forth as he curled his hands up to his chest. Special sat on the floor with him, gently rubbing his hand across the fire ghoul's stomach, making sure to massage his side that he loved getting touched.

“You did absolutely amazing, kitty. I'm so proud of you! How about later, we can find that last mouse together, and maybe you can take a nap while I finish some stuff up. You wanna do that? Wanna take a nap with Spec?” He said, voice soft and trying to make his words easier for a smaller headspace.

Of course, Dewdrop nodded, mewing and rolling over to crawl on to Phil's lap - curling up and continuing to purr, warning himself up and relaxing further as Special began to pet down his back. The two let out a heavy exhale almost in sync, Spec closing his own eyes as he let the purrs ease his daily pains away.

[retaurd]

i love teeth and bones and feathers. i love little left-behind bug moults and snake sheds. i love snail shells, i love clumps of old fur. i love shed antlers and trampled flora, pawprints and hoofprints left in mud. i love shrieking foxes and mourning doves. i love slugs and toads. i love the smell of decay, i love the smell of rotting leaves. i love the smell of petrichor, of fed earth, wet soil just after it rains. i love muck and puddles and grass stains and burs stuck to my pants and sappy fingers. i love dewdrops on the grass, i love roly-polies under rocks, i love worms seeking rain. i love the earth and grass under my bare feet. i love the sun on my back. i love the wind in my clothes. i love the heartbeat of the earth. i love how she breathes.