#he may or may not have eaten one of the made men but that’s fine

[me-myself-and-my-fos]

okay but Dexstar being Guy’s pet cat that he saved from some sort of experimentation that discolored his fur and now let’s him transform into a saber tooth like giant cat

[scoobysnakz]

Older

||* Maybe it's because he's safe and keeps you warm in times or need. Or maybe it's because he has those unruly salt and pepper hair and worry lines. Either way, you want him and maybe he wants you.

Maybe you don't know, or maybe you don't care. But he can smell you, the rush of dopamine when he turns his back and you can see his trapezius shining deliciously in his dimly lit room.

pt2

||* dilf!miguel, vaginal fingering, praise kink, eye contact, perv!miguel, college-age reader, lap sitting, slight hair pulling, one shot, Daddy issues, Dom/sub, smut written by a virgin, not proof read

You're young. And oblivious. So painfully oblivious.

At first, Miguel had just assumed it was a defence mechanism. Don’t give them a reaction and they’ll leave you alone. But the more you smile at the guys flirting with you, the more you lean into their non-platonic hugs, the more certain he becomes that you’re just unaware.

And- in all honesty- he's jealous. He doesn't want to feel the shame that weighs down on his shoulders each time your expression softens at his praise. He doesn't want to feel guilt for watching your hips sway as you walk away. He doesn't want to be like them but he craves the audacity to leer at you in broad daylight.

Maybe it's his morals or maybe it's because he's a coward.

Either way, you’re young and oblivious. And deep down, he loves it.

It's worse in HQ, these men are meant to have morals, good morals, and yet they treat you like a fuckdoll to the eyes.

Your perfect, untouched, college body just for them to perv at.

And Miguel hates it. He hates how he has to ignore your pretty eyes staring up at him as he talks, how he has to scold every Spiderman for being a pervert, and he hates how he's just as bad.

Maybe if you weren't so bubbly sweet he wouldn't have to spend each night palming himself to the thought of your perky body, every shower spurting his hot cum on the misty glass and every moment alone with his office with the doors locked and hand muffling his moans.

“Migs?” that nickname, that only you can use, that only you dared to think of.

He turns to face you, a lazy smile drawn across his painfully perfect lips. “Princessa?” And you immediately try to hide the blush that threatens to bloom on your cheeks.

You hold out your hands, a tray holding a ‘spidey spectacular’ on top. In reality, it's nothing spectacular- a beef burger with barbecue sauce, large fries and a medium drink.

“Got you some lunch,” you grin.

He hops down from his podium, cringing at how your body tenses at the loud thud. “Why?” his tone is harsh, cold, forced.

He knows why. You care, you check in on him when no one else does, you randomly ask him if he's drinking more water than coffee that day, if he actually went to sleep the night previous- unknowing to the thoughts of you that kept him up.

“You haven't eaten today,” you stick your arms out, a playful smile on your face and he doesn't ask how you know. You just do, “and you can't capture those nettlesome anomalies on an empty stomach!”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Nettlesome?”

You laugh, a soft one that makes his core ache with need. “My literature professor has permanently engrained fancy words into my brain.” your shocking professor. Probably some perv who keeps you behind to help you with your tests and oggles at your perfectly shaped ass when you bend over to pick up a pen.

And a painful reminder that as mature as you may be, you’re still young. 18 years too young.

He takes the burger from the tray, gaze lingering on the second as he tries to decide if it's for him or not.

“I’m eating with you,” you answer his question without him asking.

“No, princessa.”

You huff at him, soft, rounded lips falling into a pout. It's a habit you've made- bringing him lunch and sitting with him to make sure he's actually eating the food you've bought no matter how hard he protests.

“Fine. I won't eat with you, I'll just sit and stare and probably piss you off,” you smile smugly at him.

“Whatever,” he grumbles, turning away from you and throwing the paper from the burger in the bin.

You hum in response, not even caring for his grouchy attitude because it doesn't bother you. Because you're young, and you don't understand how men work yet.

He pulls himself up to his podium, glowing red webs dangling from the large metal disk where you soon follow.

Maybe you don't know, or maybe you don't care. But he can smell you, the rush of dopamine when he turns his back and you can see his trapezius shining deliciously in his dimly lit room.

You pull yourself close to him, hand resting just between his thigh and yours. So soft and delicate and he wants to ruin the innocence within them. Wants to see your dainty fingers wrapped around his cock, wants to see how you use those digits inside of yourself while- hopefully- thinking of him.

“How’s school?” he feels like an awkward uncle at an even more awkward Christmas party. Is this what it's come to? Him having to ask about your college life because that's your main focus because you’re young… er.

A small scoff escapes you, and you immediately cover up with a cough.

“I’m not seven,” you tease, hand held out to shove him but you immediately withdraw it which makes him frown.

“You look it.” it's your turn to frown.

You blink up at him, wondering if he knows how you crave these sweet moments between the two of you. You hate how dependent you've become on him, how you can't get through the day without thinking of him and using his health as an excuse to come see him.

“You’re an ass,” you fold your arms across your chest, nose scrunching in feigned irritation.

Miguel clicks his tongue at you, head cocking to the side in disapproval. “Language, princessa.”

You mutter a feeble “sorry”, a forced waver to your voice that makes him chuckle lightly.

You turn your head to face him, his dark, almost curls illuminated by the neon orange of his numerous monitors. His eyes meet yours, deep maroon paralysing you in place, peeking fangs slowing your breathing, chiselled features pinking your cheeks.

And you smile. A sickly sweet, beautifully innocent smile. Any other person would look away, grow red with shame, and maybe say something embarrassing. But you? You just smile.

Because you're painfully naive.

You blink up at him, wondering if he knows how you crave these sweet moments between the two of you. You hate how dependent you've become on him, how you can't get through the day without thinking of him and using his health as an excuse to come see him.

“Really?” you turn your head to face him, neck craned back so he gets a perfect view of your soft skin. “Do I look seven?”

Of course, you don't look seven. You look twenty, which you are. But you're mature and not in a creepy way. No one else would think twice about seeing if he's okay, and no adult would have their panties organised by colour like you do either.

The sound of his chewing eventually fills the bleak room. You can see him looking straight ahead through your peripheral.

“No.”

“A man of few words,” you grin.

“A girl of far too many.”

You aren't a girl. You’re a woman. You don't spend time chasing boys, you enjoy literature, and you have your whole life planned out. Kids don't do the things you do. Kids don't want a life with a decent man, with him.

“School’s boring,” you cut through the silence, voice soft, quiet, shy.

Relief washes over him like the first rainfall in the Sahara. He swallows- quickly, and brings his attention back to you- not that it ever really left you.

“It shouldn't be, you're smart, princessa, and if your professors are doing their job you should be engaged with their subjects,” he hates that he sounds so parental and demanding when he speaks to you but it's like a default setting. He expects the best from you because he knows you can achieve it.

You scoff and this time you don't bother hiding it at all. “Thanks,” you mutter dryly, “I’ll keep being smart and then school will be more exciting.”

He grimaces at your dull tone. He's used to your sparkly side, the smiles and the giggles and now you're acting your age, all attitude and sarcasm.

“That’s not what I meant,” he groans, his voice harsher than before.

“What did you mean then, Miguel?” you press on.

“I meant that you're smart enough to entertain yourself, unlike other people.”

And in its own strange way, his ‘complisult’ makes you smile. He sees who you are, that you aren't some immature child.

It feels nice not being viewed as a child for once. A slow, steady warmth travels through you. He's being nice to you, not a rare occurrence but uncommon enough to mean something.

Slowly, you edge your hand closer to his, fingers gently nudging against his own. You pause for a moment, knowing you’re pushing it and waiting for his reaction but when he doesn't pull away you give his hand a squeeze.

“Thanks,” your gentle voice making his cock harden beneath his suit, “in its own way, that was sweet.”

And you grin at him again. Soft lips beaming up at his plain expression as he tries not to think about how badly he needs some relief.

Against his better judgment, he squeezes your hand back. And the soft, nervous, almost squeak that escapes you makes it all worthwhile.

“It’s true. When I went to your universe,” not to jack off while you shower, “I saw your study notes. You work hard, princessa, and it's good, admirable,” hot.

All your life you be craved words so sweet. Someone to tell you that all those years of dedication to being the best and coming second is too, better than good. Someone to tell you that when they saw your study notes they didn't see you as dumb you have to revise but studious enough to want the best.

You don't even think twice about him being in your universe, just putting it down to an anomaly or another perfectly innocent reason.

He can smell it again, that dopamine rush. You pull yourself closer to him, taunting him unknowingly and let your head rest on his shoulder.

You do this often, allow yourself to lean against him, intertwine your fingers with his, plant endearing kisses to his stubbly cheeks when he helps you out. And you do it so secretly that it's almost sexual but the innocence you perform these acts with makes it feel painfully platonic.

All he can do is ride out this moment of pure torment. Cock stiff and thighs burning.

Deep down he knows he shouldn't be like this, savouring your innocence that he can so easily capture on cameras he can use later. You're so pure, sacred almost, that it feels wrong to even have his arms wrapped around your waist.

“Migs?” that nickname that only you get to use because if he gets to call you princessa its only fair.

Your hand slips off of his and moves to rest on his thigh. “Migs?” you say a little louder this time. He hums dully.

“Princessa?”

Sometimes you wonder if he knows how wet his voice makes you. The low rumble that passes through his chest, the silky smooth movements of his lips, the slight tinge of an accent that makes your cunt flutter.

You let your thumb travel over the ridges of his fingers, smooth over the peaks of his knuckles.

His hand is so big compared to yours, something that the two of you haven't ignored.

He wonders how the rest of you feels, past the tight lycra of your suit as it covers your wrists, against the fresh cotton of his bedsheets, flush against his chest.

The dull humming of the monitors accompanied by your heavy breathing and the subtle whirring of the random machinery warms up the silence between the two of you.

You shift yourself to face him, pretty lips pursed and brow furrowed.

Maybe it's because he's so safe right now. Or maybe it's because you failed your paper and his praise is all you need. But he looks painfully handsome.

Broad shoulders rising and falling with every breath. Soft lips parted in hunger. The sea of deep sepias and carmines that is his eyes.

Miguel has always been there for you. Well, maybe not always, but often enough. Your roommates being assholes? You can sleep at HQ. Suit ripped? He’ll make you a new one.

And in this moment, you can't see past that. He may be older, grey strands peppering his umber locks and worry lines framing his features, but that doesn't matter.

So you lean up close to him, faces inches apart. Just to smell him, just to see him, just to be near him, just to feel him.

He flinches at first, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. His gaze runs up and down your figure, trying to figure out what you're doing, your innocent expression leaving far too much up for interpretation.

For a moment the two of you just stare at each other, arousal burning white-hot in your core and bodies thrumming with desire.

A calloused hand moves to cup your cheek and pull you closer. Miguel lets out a low sigh, hot breath tickling your face and making your nose scrunch in a way that can only be described as perfect.

Your breathing slows and your heart hammers. He's so close, soft lips just within reach.

“Can I?” his voice is almost a croak, a desperate plea.

He can't tear his eyes away from your quivering lips. He wants to feel them against his own, taste you, have your mouth in his possession.

You don't get time to finish your feeble “please” before he's pressing his lips against yours.

It's soft at first, the two of you gradually warming to the sensation of each other. But when you let out a soft sigh something inside him switches. All morals and guilt go completely out the window and his senses are filled with you.

His tongue probes hungrily at your lips, seeking access to the warmth of your mouth and you happily agree. His hands slide down to your hips, fingertips pressing into the soft flesh crudely hidden beneath your suit.

“Need you,” you groan, hands gripping his chest with desperation. He silences you with another kiss, tongue immediately attacking yours, too impolite, too hard, too impatient to wait for your sanction.

He's blinded by lust, a desire that's been building up inside him for too long. His arm snakes to the small of your back, protruding talons catching on the material of your suit. He pulls you into his lap and you nearly gasp at the sensation of his erection brushing against your clothed cunt.

You lean back slightly so you can look at him, chest rising and falling with each pant. “Say something,” you pout, his mutism making your head swarm with confusion, “let me hear your voice.”

The neediness of your tone makes him smile, a boyish, cheeky one that makes your stomach flutter.

“What do you want me to say?” he questions, fingers tracing up and down the bridge of your spine.

“Just… talk me through it,” you pause, cunt fluttering and thighs tensing, “it’s my first time,” you admit quietly. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment. It's something you've never admitted, viewing virginity as a burden more than the blessing men do.

“Who said I'm gonna fuck you?”

Oh.

You purse your lips, your smile faltering and skin prickling with embarrassment as you fidget on his lap. His cock strains against his suit, hips threatening to buck up when you unintentionally grind against him.

You look down and a smirk forms on your face. You press the heel of your palm against his erection, eyes widening with arousal at the whine that escapes him. “This did.”

You swear that for a moment you can see a glint of red in his eyes, much darker, meaner, than his usual cool mahogany.

“Don't,” he grunts, hand gripping your wrist.

The excited grin on your face brings him back. He can't do this to you. He can't take your innocence, be the one to steal what makes you so pure. He's done things he's ashamed of, killed, lied, hated. He isn't deserving of the sweet bliss that’s you.

Your lips fall into a disappointed pout. Have you done something wrong? Maybe you’ve been too eager?

“I… I'm sorry?” you pose your apology as a question, unsure of what's actually going on. You’re inexperienced but this… this isn't normal.

“No, mierda, no, princesa,” and his hands back on your cheek, thumb tracing over the curve of your vermillion. “No digas lo siento.” your brow furrows in confusion but he doesn't elaborate.

He wants to ruin you, corrupt your pretty pussy with his hot cum and watch it seep out in think dribbles before he can stuff it back in with his fingers. But he can't.

That sweet innocence in your eyes, lashes fluttering with arousal from a simple kiss. He can't do this to you.

“Look at me,” he commands and on instinct, your eyes meet his.

“Good Girl,” he croons.

“I'm confused, Migs,” you push his hand off your cheek softly, head cocked to the side, “you’re confusing me.”

He brings a hand to your cunt and he cups it, the heel of his palm digging into your cunt. “Let me do this instead, hmm?” you nod in agreement, head too fuzzy with the strange mixture of arousal and bewilderment to even process the jolt of pleasure that shot down your spine.

The sound of ripping draws your attention down to your arousal-slick folds but he clicks his tongue. “Eyes on me, chica,” his tone is slightly harsher now but his eyes are still warm.

You don't know what he's doing. If he's coming or going. If he's teasing you or allowing this to go further.

“Mi-” he presses his index finger to your lips, not that he needed more than his intense gaze to silence you.

“You said this is your first time?” you nod again.

“No one else has touched you?” his fingers part the tear in your suit, your damp panties on show for him.

“No one.”

His thumb starts to slowly circle your cotton-clothed clit eliciting a soft gasp from you.

“Do you want me to touch you, princessa?”

Your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs but he doesn't flinch. A sharp talon nips at your weeping bud and you nearly cry. It sends a jolt of pain fused with sickly sweet pleasure coursing through your veins. “Asked you a question didn't I?”

You nod your head again, not knowing how to answer.

“Use your words.”

Your cunt is dribbling its juices all down your thighs- and he can smell it. His mouth is practically drooling at the scent it your arousal. He's trying so hard not to rip your suit all the way and split you open with his cock. But you're gentle, soft, sweet, delicate. So he has to be as well.

Taking a shaky, deep breath, you nod your head again, “I want you to touch me, Miguel.”

“Muy bein, princessa,” his thumb slips under the waistband of your panties and comes to rest on your clit but he doesn't stimulate you. Just leaves it resting on the hardened nub.

You whine at the lack of friction, hips trying to grind against his hand but his free hand holds you down.

“Migs, please,” you know you sound pathetically needy but you don't care. The man you've been lusting after since he first recruited you has his hand in your pants.

“Then keep looking at me,” he instructs, “wanna see your pretty face. Can you do that for me?” he grins at the twitching in your cunt caused by his words. That's all the confirmation he needs.

His thumb begins its slow pattern around the hood of your clit while his other hand rests on your waist, keeping you planted firmly on his lap. And maybe so you can feel how big he is.

His hands are surprisingly gentle. You've seen him kill before, seen the plethora of blood he can draw from someone with one fell swoop. Yet he's always been so careful with you, right now being no exception. Maybe that's what’s drawn you to him, the idea of him viewing you as something so sacred that he can't bring himself to damage your fragile body.

The tedious speed he's using is purposefully slow. He wants to draw this out for as long as possible, keep you a squirming mess on his lap, your sweet nectar running down to his thighs. But you want more; you’re too shy to ask for it but you want it.

You press your lips to his again, tongue slipping into his mouth almost sloppily. He's taken aback at first by your sudden burst of confidence but he doesn't protest. The hand that was resting in your hip moves to the back of your head to press you deeper into the kiss.

You whine hungrily and he rewards you with a faster pace. Your thighs clench around him, not actually expecting your plan to work. Your eyes flutter for a moment but he grips your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him.

“Princessa, I'll stop,” his warning is heed enough.

Your mind’s a foggy blur of arousal and pure bliss. He keeps toying with your clit, slowing down when your gaze falters but speeding up and rewarding you if you've kept eye contact.

“Please, I'll be good, so good for you,” you mewl, craving his kind words of praise again.

“Will you? Will you let me see those pretty lips of yours smile so sweetly for me while I make you feel good?” you nod your head excessively, mumbled “yes I will”’s and “good for you”’s spilling from your lips.

The hot coil of pleasure tightens with each flick of his distal. More and more sweet moans spew from your loose hanging mouth which are just music to his ears. Your leaky hole clenches around nothingness but you're too shy to ask for more. Miguel’s thumb is good enough but what you really crave is that hard cock that's pushing up against your stomach.

Soft, sticky clicking sounds mellow in the warmth of the rooms atmosphere, arousal blending in smoothly along with the scent of your nearing climax. He can sense it, your hips stuttering and your nails digging into the meat of his chest. But he can't let you go just yet.

“Hold it for me,” its a command, not a request.

You bite your lower lip, eyes nearly watering as you try you hardest to hold back. Your poor cunt throne needily while it continues to pump hot juices all over his hand. “I-I don't know how,” you blubber, thighs trembling and hands twitching.

Your body runs white hot with pleasure while your mind teeters on the edge of climax.

“I know you can, be a good girl, princessa,” he pressed earnestly, two-toned lips falling into that signature smirk.

You let your head come to rest in the crook of his neck. He flinches at the warmth of your breath and grabs the back of your hair roughly. You whine at the sharp tug but don't protest further.

“Fuck did I tell you ‘bout looking away?” his voice is almost harsh but you don't care. Your whole body is tingling with so much euphoria, blood pumping hot with pleasure, that you don't even care about his talon catching on your clit.

You’re so close to cumming, to reaching that paradise he's dangling in front of you like a carrot on a stick. “Let me, I-i can't, Migs.”

He frowns.

Once you're done that's it. He has to let you go, push off his lap and keep you at arm's length. But he can't bring himself to do that, get rid of your warmth and tiny frame.

“Migs? Please, let me…” you cut yourself with a silent moan.

Your mouth falls slack, eyes widening for a moment before fluttering closed. Warmth washes over you, trickling down your spine like honey from a jar. And for a moment you think you've gone deaf because Miguel’s lips are moving but you can't figure out what he's saying.

Your arousal spills from your cunt and all the way down his hands in a warm, blanketing trinket of your pleasure.

He clicks his tongue in disappointment but lets you ride out your high with his thumb remaining on your pussy.

“Fuck,” you breathe, voice cracking in a way that only makes his cock harden.

“Mmmm, did my princessa enjoy herself?” you look up at him, eyes glazed over with lust.

Your orgasm took enough energy for you to be exhausted now. You can barely lift your head let alone reply to him. When you try to smile your eyes just roll back slightly, your lashes fluttering and your nose scrunching.

You’ve come before, plenty of times, but this feels different. This time it feels all warm and gooey like it's going to stick to you forever. Maybe it's because it's Miguel’s fingers instead of your own toying with your cunt or maybe it's because you got to hold onto him. Either way, you've just cum all over his hands and can't form a proper sentence now.

Miguel smiles down at you, revelling in your blissed-out expression. Knowing that he's drawn this pleasure from you makes his insides churn.

“Pretty Girl,” he coos, hand smoothing your spine, “so pretty for me, hmm? Cumming just from me playing with her pretty pussy.” as if to prove a point, he spreads your sticky folds open with his thumb two middle fingers, a soft gooey sound catching your attention.

“Wonder if your cunt is just as pretty?” be slides a harsh finger inside with a grunt, eliciting a sharp gasp from you, “want me to fuck your tight hole, princessa?”

And you nod. Too fucked out, too tired, too needy, too in love with him without either of you knowing it yet, to push him away.

[serpentface]

An old wildwoman, a fae-like mountain spirit closely associated with scimitar deer, as described in folklore in the Greathill region.

Wildfolk are depicted as petite humans, always naked, usually unnaturally pale, with older adult adult men and women both having long, shaggy beards and eyes that reflect light. Wildfolk youths are described as preternaturally beautiful in stark contrast, only gaining their unsettling appearances and unkempt beards as they age.

These spirits are said to make their homes in hills, forests, and mountaintops beyond the immediate borders of human habitation, where they live in dispersed parallel societies as herders and sorcerers. They are often depicted as mischievous, and take joy in meddling in human affairs and harassing travelers. Most of their pranks are not particularly malicious (though their victims may not see it that way) but they are said to be capable of inflicting curses and transforming victims into animals.

They are very fond of alcohol, and offerings of murre (a fermented milk beverage, usually made with berries for extra alcohol content) wine or ale may grant their boon. It is typical in villages to leave offerings out to any local wildfolk on the night of the new moon to maintain good relations and avoid their harassment.

Scimitar deer are said to be their livestock, herded and milked like cattle by the wildfolk but never eaten (most traditions hold that they eat no meat at all). Wildfolk themselves have the ability to shapeshift into deer (in some traditions, recognizable by retaining human eyes in deer form), and spend most of their lives in this form, only taking human form at night.

Their society is believed to be led by witches, powerful sorcerers who can influence weather patterns and shapeshift into any animal, most commonly taking the forms of eagles. Witches in particular are seen as highly dangerous (though not intrinsically malevolent), and areas believed to be inhabited by them are generally avoided. Exceptions are made in times of trouble, when offerings of grain and fine wine are left to plead for their boon. Exceptions are also often made by rowdy teenagers, trespassing on a witch's territory as a dare.

One tale describes a king of ancient Ephennos who, while on campaign, abducted the young and beautiful daughter of the famed wildwoman witch Bernike to take as his wife. In revenge, Bernike transformed him into a gazelle, and he was (unknowingly) hunted, killed, and eaten by his own men. The butchered carcass reverted to that of a human by the next morning, and the men committed suicide or were driven mad in the face of their cannibalistic transgression. Their restless spirits are said to still haunt Bernike's pass, while the ghostly gazelle-king is her personal mount.

Livestock raiding is of cultural significance in the region, and raid tales are another key part of the wildfolk mythos. These tend to involve a wily hero who steals a wildman’s deer herd, and manages to keep his prize and avoid being cursed by outsmarting the spirit's trickery. Once his, the deer provide milk that extends the lifespan (the folk hero Kulyos is said to have lived for 200 years), and plow fields with tremendous speeds without tiring. The native-bred khait stock of this region is said to have been hybridized with Kulyos' stolen deer, which affords these khait their hardy, surefooted nature and pointed horns.

The other common theme in folklore is a wildfolk youth as a bride or groom. Mortals with supernatural grooms are luckier, as the child is usually deemed fully human but has the blessing and protection of their supernatural sire (who inevitably transforms into a deer and leaves). Tales of marriage to a wildwoman usually end in the bride becoming restless and lonely, and transforming both herself and her child into a deer and fleeing back into the hills. Both bride and groom tales sometimes end with the wildman spouse returning to their human lover on certain nights, or meeting again at certain times of the year (usually new moons or midsummer).

These variants often involve elements where the returning supernatural spouse has developed their beard and rugged appearance, being almost unrecognizable from the beautiful youth that was wed. (Well kept beards are considered handsome, but the beards of wildmen are seen as humorously long and unkempt). Comedic versions of the tale involve the returning spouse being insulted by their human lover’s lack of enthusiasm for their appearance and laying a (usually humorous) curse on them. More romanticized tales involve the human spouse so overcome by their love that they are unbothered, and they often live a long life with the boon of their supernatural lover and child.

An example of such a tale under the cut:

A highly romanticized, 'uh' and projection-laden version of the wildwoman bride folktale as orally recited by Brakul, probably at least a little drunk:

---

“So, there is this young herder. He’s a man grown but still unmarried, so he’s still tending his mother’s cattle. He has them out to pasture high into the mountains, right? He's from a lesser clan, so most of their land is poor grazing. His cattle are so skinny and sickly that no one's going to the effort of stealing them. So it's not worth sending any warriors along, and he will be up there all alone for many weeks.

Every day he is very bored. Very lonely. And every night he starts to see a herd of deer moving among his cattle. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen them, they are mostly like gazelles? But bigger, and the males have one horn.

Anyway, the deer are up in his pastures, and there is not a lot of grass to go around, but he knows not to chase them off. Deer all belong to the wildfolk, yeah? You let them do their thing if you know what’s good for you.

Obviously there is a wildman or woman living on this mountain, so each night he leaves some of his murre- um. Is that a word here? It’s fermented milk and fruit, like ale. Wildfolk love it. He leaves some murre out in a cup just outside his camp each evening, and the cup is empty each morning.

So, yeah, the deer come every night, but they all keep their distance. They're very scared of humans, right? They keep well away. Except for this one doe. This doe walks right up to him. Every night she walks up to him, just out of arms reach. No fear. And this is a beautiful, fierce animal, so he becomes quite fond of her.

Anyway, there is many days of this. The herder moves the cattle around, and at night the deer come to graze, the doe comes to meet him, so on and so forth. His cattle are growing huge and fat and have plenty of milk, even with the terrible forage. He suspects the wildfolk of these hills have given him their blessing. So, things are looking pretty good for him, but he’s still quite lonely.

One night, it’s the new moon. Very dark. And it’s very cold up there. He is sitting at his fire, all wrapped in his blankets, you know, shivering and miserable. And he sees the deer herd making their way towards him, but something is different. There is a girl with them. And she’s completely naked. So, uh, you know, why is she naked? Isn’t she cold? No shoes, even. It’s crazy.

And this girl would’ve been walking for days to get up there, but there is no dirt, no cuts on her feet. And she's strange looking too, she's very short and has long, dark hair, and big, dark eyes. But the thing is, uh, she is the most beautiful girl he has ever seen. She's so beautiful, she frightens him.

She comes up by the fire and sits right down next to him. I think he’s probably going, uh, are you okay? And he’s trying to give her his blanket or something, but she laughs at him. She’s just fine. Better off than he is.

So they talk, and he shares his food with her. And this guy is not stupid, so yeah, he figures out that this is a wildwoman, this is probably the same doe that had been visiting him. So he’s careful and polite with the strange, lovely girl. But he is not too careful to fall in love with her. Which, uh. He does. Immediately, I guess.

She visits every night from then on, and I think they probably have a lot to talk about. A lot to learn from each other, right? She really likes him too. She is a powerful wild spirit, but she’s still young, and has feelings just like any other youth. She’s fallen in love with this human too. Wildfolk are probably just as lonely as herders, I think. Just up there on the- the hills. Not a lot going on up there.

So. She’s there each night for the rest of the season, and they are, uh, having sex a lot too. You have to pass the time up there somehow. You know how it goes.

And finally, the day comes that he has to take the cattle back down the mountain. Soon it will be too cold, and the grazing too poor to stay. He doesn’t want to leave her behind, and she doesn’t want him to go. And she could just turn him into a stag and keep him there forever, but she would never do that to him. She truly cares for him. So she agrees to leave her mountain home and go back with him.

So he dresses her in his cloak, because she’s been naked this whole time and that, uh, doesn’t fly. And they descend to the village. He went up alone with a skinny, sickly herd, and came back with fat cattle and the most beautiful girl anyone has ever seen.

He lies and says he found her as a stranded traveler. Some people probably have their suspicions, but if they have suspicions of her nature, they, y’know, also know better than to cross her.

The herder and the wildwoman marry, and she realizes that she is pregnant soon after. It’s probably scary for both of them, but, uh. They’re both very happy. For a while.

But he’s a young man, so. When he is not out herding he has to protect the village livestock, and go out on raids. So he is often away from home. And she often finds herself alone. She does not fit in well with the villagers, right? Many of the men covet her, many of the women are jealous of her, and all are a little afraid of her. She’s very lonely, and misses her deer and her hills. At night, she sneaks out naked and roams the foothills, calling out to her herd, but they are too far away.

Months pass this way, and she is close to term. The herder desperately wants to be with her for the birth, but he is called away. They, uh-. The stories don’t usually elaborate why. He’s probably oathbound to protect his ruling clan’s khait, that sort of thing comes up a lot during the foaling season. You get- people always try to steal the foals as a, uh, political statement. It’s a whole thing.

Anyway, all he can think of is his wife and child, and he hurries back as soon as he can. His mother is waiting for him upon his return, and tells him that his wife gave birth in the night. Both new mother and child are safe and healthy, and the herder is now the father of a little boy.

He's sad to have missed it, but mostly just relieved that everything went alright. So he rushes to his home, all excited. But the house is empty. His wife and newborn are nowhere to be found, and the wildwoman’s clothes are shed in a pile beside the open door. There are prints leading away from the home, and he follows them as fast as he can. He’s running with all his might, you know, calling out for her, 'hey, come back'. He gets to the foothills, and looks up to the top of a great ridge. The doe is standing there next to a newborn fawn, all shaky on its little legs. He begs her not to leave, but she turns and runs away. By the time he gets up the ridge, both mother and child are long gone.

The herder has nothing else to do but go back to his old life. He is heartbroken. He did not realize she was so unhappy in the village, he was such a fool. He should have known better.

And he also should have long since been wed at his age, and is now, uh, kind of maybe divorced? His mother hates to see him sad, so she finds him many fine matches, all lovely young women. But he refuses them all. Probably causes all sorts of drama, it’s- uh. That sort of thing gets ugly.

So, after a while of this, the herder's friends and family pity him. They’re annoyed with him, really. They’ve figured it all out by now, and they just think he’s insane. He should feel lucky that he came away from a tryst with a wildwoman unharmed, right? It was never going to work. He should just move on. But he can’t. He doesn't want anyone else. He wants her, and he wants his son. He is so depressed that he falls ill, and can’t go up to pasture that summer. Everyone is just all, 'gods above this guy is so fucking useless', haha.

Um. It’s funny.

The next year, the herder is still depressed, but he's put himself together, a little. So he is back up in the mountain pasture again that summer. Days go by, but there is no sign of the deer herd, much less of his wife or child. He has never felt more alone.

Then, on the night of the new moon, he is awoken by the sound of hooves on rock. He cannot believe his eyes. The doe is back, and with her a strong young buck, just beginning to grow his first antler. The herder is overjoyed, he runs up to greet them. Both doe and buck change shape, and before him stands the wildwoman and a young boy. His bride is older now, so she has started to grow her beard and is much less beautiful. But he doesn’t care. He embraces her, and holds his little son for the very first time.

Uh, the herder can barely speak. He’s sobbing, he’s a mess. The wildwoman tells him she regrets leaving like that, and she's missed him too. But she needs the hills, she needs her herd. She can never be happy in his world.

They come to an agreement that night. They will have to spend most of their life apart, there’s no way around it. But they will meet again every summer, up in the mountain pastures. And their son is both human and wildfolk, so, maybe he can be happy in both worlds? They agree to hand him off year after year. The child will spend half of his life in the village with the humans and his father, and half of his life in the hills with the deer and his mother.

So, the family spends that summer together, and when the time comes to part, the herder returns to the village with his son. The child is rather eccentric. He's only a toddler, but can already run like a deer. He takes a long time to learn to speak. And he hates clothes. His father eventually gets him to stay dressed, but the kid never wears any shoes. His little feet are strong. Like, uh. Hooves.

Anyway, yeah, the herder misses his wife every day, and dreads each year that he will be apart from his son. But he can live with it. He knows he will see them both again.

And that’s how he spends the rest of his days. His son stays with his human father one year, and with his wildwoman mother the next, and all three meet together during the summer. It’s not a normal life for a herdsman by any means. He has no wife in the village to run his home and manage his livestock, and his son is often away, and-. Usually there’s a bit here where the kid grows up and has babies with, um, normal deer. So the herder doesn’t exactly have grandchildren either.

So, yeah. He lives a strange life, and he leaves no heirs behind, but he would not be happy any other way. Uh. That’s it.”

[kenzieluvsnanami]

kenzieluvsJJK :: he gave me the ICK .ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ (18+) ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

desc ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ you meet up with your bestie for some advice and a debrief over the wack men you've dealt with... // wc 1.3K // week 1 - g. satoru

cw // crack, cunnílingus, freaky frog gojo, backshots, little plot, deeply unserious, lower case intended, story told in the form of a conversation

“so, your telling me he was checking himself out whilst he was fucking you?”

you drained the rest off your glass as you signalled for a refill.

…

you had met gojo at your job, the white haired man shamelessly flirting as you scanned his large array of designer shirts. working at a luxury shop was certainly demanding but it definitely had its perks - one of which was meeting fine ass rich men.

you weren’t exactly sure that gojo was straight when you first saw him; his stark white hair clearly meticulously dyed and styled, lips lightly glossed. slim frame and tapered waist was essentially the outfit, clothes seemingly tailor-made for him.

it was only when he opened your mouth that you realised he was not just interested in men, sparkling blue eyes lingering on your full lips as you smiled back at his compliment.

“you’re too beautiful to be working here” he grinned, a hand going to brush through his hair. if it had been any other day, you would have just thank-you’d and been on your way. but it was a few weeks after you had your last period, a quick look at your tracker that morning letting you know that you may feel… “frisky”.

and as your eyes met his low gaze, you could definitely say that you felt a little….. frisky.

so that’s why you left your number on inside of his bag as he left the shop, thighs rubbing together as you thought about getting a peek at what was underneath that silk shirt.

…

“wait, wait, wait” your friend interrupted “you thought he was gay and you still gave him your number?”

“bitch if you saw him…” your eyes slid shut as you thought back to his beautiful face. “he was fucking stunning, okay…”

…

the two of you had messaged over the next few weeks, getting to know each other more (and getting a good look as what was underneath). a date had been arranged; friday night at an italian restaurant that was definitely outside of your price range. you put on your most expensive pair of heels with your most form-fitting black dress.

you looked good enough to eat…

and eaten you were, manicured hands threaded deeply into gojo’s thick bleached hair as he sloppily made out with your cunt, tongue swirling and sucking around your clit.

dinner had gone smoothy, gojo’s smooth talk diffusing any awkwardness or tension. as much as a flirt he was, that evening showed you a less exhibitionist, arrogant side which you were really growing to enjoy.

it was that smooth talk which had gotten you from the restaurant to his penthouse... and then to his bedroom, the large mirror panel on his walk-in closet being what first caught your attention.

“call me satoru” he whispered as he kissed down your neck to your collarbones, slender hands dragging down the straps of your dress at a teasingly slow pace. you were sat in front of the mirror, gaze trailing up to make eye contact…. only to find satoru staring right back at himself, suit pants getting tight around the crotch as he pulled down your dress.

…

“so he was getting hard by looking at himself? is that not like… selfcest or something?”

you spluttered on the deep-bodied merlot you had been chugging. “you’re getting too psychological about this” you murmured, wiping down the wine you spat out, “i think he’s just a freaky ass guy”

…

in the moment you had just brushed this off, your own arousal in the situation making you more agreeable to his lack of interest in actually engaging with you but instead with his own reflection. once he’d fully undressed you, he laid you down with your head at the foot of the bed making sure to position you in a way that he could still see himself in the mirror.

and even though the way he was swirling his tongue all over your throbbing clit and swollen folds was making your toes curl up, every time you went to look at him he was staring right into his reflection - bright eyes darkening slightly at the sight of his head trapped between your plush thighs, your legs loosely wrapped around his neck.

“satoru, ‘m close- gonna” you groaned, soft moans slipping out at he kissed all down your glistening pussy.

without skipping a beat, satoru moved back - hands securing wrapping around waist to flip you over onto your hands and knees. you could see him stroking his achingly hard cock through the mirror, flushed pink tip drooling with pre-cum.

you heard him let out a low groan as you deepened your arch, his hand digging into the side of your waist as he tried to keep himself grounded as he pressed into the tight ring of muscle. you both let out a low groan as he bottomed out, his hands reaching down your spine to push you further into a deeper arch.

at first, his pace was slow and controlled - his tight grip on your hips almost bruising as he buried himself deep into your cunt. you felt impossibly full, soft pants slipping from your lips as satoru nearly fucked you through the mattress.

you were so close to finishing, breath becoming stilted and abrupt as your walls spasmed around the dense girth of satoru’s cock; your whole body trembling as you felt yourself getting closer and closer. you could tell satoru was close as well, his formerly controlled strokes getting sloppier and sloppier as he slammed into your spongey walls.

“y-your about to…cum, aren’t you?” you could hear the smirk in his voice, your brain instantly forgetting all words in the english language as you let out a drawn out mewl in response.

all it took was a small grind of his hips to get you to finish, falling head first into the mind-numbing pleasure of release as you gushed out all over the sheets.

using the little energy you had left, you forced your eyes back up to the mirror in a dazed state as you watched satoru pull out, his cock glistening with your release. he moved round to the foot of the bed to stand in front of the mirror, his long slender fingers wrapping tight around his base dragging his hand up to the tip.

with one last stroke, he came with a loud grunt, thick ropes of cum splattering all over his reflection.

you blinked twice, hard.

did you actually see that correctly? did he just come… on himself?

he looked back down at you, making eye contact through the mirror with a grin.

…

“i just felt like that was too far for me” you toyed with your empty glass as you looked back up at your friend, “so... what do you think?”

a/n : baby im back!!!!!!! ive missed writing sm omggg but school has been so busy for no reason 😩 hope this concept tickles ur pickle - i thought it was kinda fun but lmk what you think (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

[merbear25]

Hey Mer! I've been reading more on Tumblr lately and I've really been enjoying your work. I was wondering if you could write something for a trans reader (ftm) x the cross guild members (Croc, Buggy, Mihawk)?

Maybe the reader works at the guild, one of Buggy's men maybe, and the piece would be the boys navigating asking the reader out for the first time, and the reader feels like he has to reveal that he's trans?

If you aren't comfortable/feel out of your depth, no worries ✨

Hey, Logan!! Thank you for such lovely words. It truly means a lot to know you enjoy my writing. I’m totally fine with writing requests like this, so thank you for sending it in! I got a boost of inspo with Buggy’s part for some reason.😂 I hope I did your request justice and you like what I’ve written for you. 💜💜

CW: trans male reader, coming out to them, fluff

Them asking you out (Cross Guild)

Mihawk

Having first been introduced to you within the workplace, he didn’t really think much of you. He saw this business as something that should remain as such, meaning you were kept on the backburner of his subconscious, though he kept the flame under you burning ever so dimly, allowing you to burn an unforgettable image of yourself in him.

The flame of interest started small for him, burning brighter and hotter as each day passed. With time feeling as if it were standing still when you were around, it dawned on him that he had genuine feelings for you.

However, just because he was sure he had these feelings didn’t mean he was confident they’d be reciprocated. Before fully pursuing you as a romantic interest, he deemed it necessary to observe and learn more about you to get a good reading on how you felt about him.

During one of the quiet moments you spent together engrossed in your own activities, he looked over at you as if wondering what he was about to admit would put you off wanting to be around him anymore. That being said, he took this pleasant time you were sharing to give you a glimpse of what you meant to him.

“Would you care to join me for dinner one night?”

With excitement dancing in your eyes, it was slowly eaten away at. You could feel your heart starting to ache from a creeping fear, one that could very well lead to your heart getting broken. The weight of the situation was apparent by the worry you held on your face.

Not knowing what was troubling you, he gave you a gentle reminder that you were under no obligation to accept his offer, “Don’t feel as if you have to say ‘yes’ to please me.”

Although his voice was kind and supportive, it felt like a dagger nonetheless. You didn’t want him to think you weren’t interested, so you gave him an explanation.

“It’s not that,” you began. “I just think you should know that I’m trans.” With so much feeling at stake, the moment of silence between you telling him and him responding was deafening.

“I appreciate you telling me, but with all do respect that doesn’t make a difference. You’re still you at the end of the day.”

Even with maintaining that stoic demeanor, his delivery alluded to the affection he had for you rising within him.

“So, will you be joining me for dinner?”

With a sigh of relief you gladly accepted.

Crocodile

A man that many feared but few actually knew—that was the way he liked keeping it. But when that sad excuse of a business partner introduced you to him, that may have been the first time he thought Buggy had made a good choice.

Though the moments you were around each other were scarce at the beginning, he gradually requested your assistance more and more often. You were admittedly nervous to be spending so much one-on-one time with him, but as time passed and you both got used to the idea of being around each other, things felt less precarious for you. 

Despite your nerves becoming more at ease, his were doing the opposite. Those walls he’d put were beginning to crumble, letting a sinking feeling settle in his chest. When he sat alone, he pondered the marvel of the effect you had on him. “Would it be worth it? Telling you that he’d come to have feelings for you?” He asked himself. Putting his cigar out, he came to his decision.

The next day came with tension in the air, which was his doing. After mulling over the right approach and weighing the pros and cons of confessing, now it was time to put his guarded heart on the line.

“There’s a nice restaurant not far from here. I’m going there on Saturday if you care to join me.”

The invitation was purposefully left ambiguous and open-ended, so as to maintain some sense of control over the outcome.

Such a request took you off guard; you stood there for a moment like a deer in headlights, making his cheeks prickle with a blush from the rising embarrassment.

“Forget it.” He was quick to retract his offer.

“No, I-I want to, it’s just…” When he cocked his eyebrow at you, the reason you gave was far from anything he was expecting. “I’m trans and I just didn’t really know how to tell you.”

It felt as if he was staring into your soul before finally responding with a slightly cold, “You had me worrying over something like that? That doesn’t matter to me.”

In spite of his icy exterior, his offer still stood, which you happily took him up on.

Buggy

When he first hired you, it was partly out of desperation. You seemed competent enough to help him maneuver through a lot of the mess he always found himself in. You were clever and fun to be around, not to mention cute. That final thought slipped past him so suddenly that he hadn’t even noticed his fondness for you growing over the time you’d been working there. 

With all the hours you spent together, it was no wonder he was growing attached to you. He felt at a crossroads: wanting to see where the path with you would take him, while the other was muddied from doubt of you returning his feelings.

However cautious he felt about approaching you, his feet carried him to you. When you noticed him idly standing in the doorway, he buried the real reason for him being there.

“I just came here to make sure you were keeping up with your work,” he said with feigned confidence as he pretended to examine the job you’d done.

He knew that you were the only one who could see through that mask of his, but seeing as he only put that mask on when he was hiding something, you asked him gently, “There isn’t anything else you came to ask me?”

His heart skipped a beat and his eyes locked on yours, proving your hunch. “Well, I just think you’ve been slacking a bit and came to do some quality checks.” Despite the stance he took, his voice was shaky.

“And I…I thought I would,” he cleared his throat. “I thought I’d ask you out.”

When your immediate response wasn’t over the moon with joy, he backpedaled. “Nah, you know what? I don’t want to. It’d be too much trouble come to think of it.”

It was all happening so quickly that you barely had a chance to digest the situation. With him brushing off all your stuttering attempts to talk to him, the sentence, “I’m trans and that’s why I hesitated,” poured out of your mouth.

He turned on his heel to look at you, firstly to see if you were playing some kind of weird joke on him, and secondly if you were serious to think he’d reject you for that.

“I don’t care about that,” he huffed.

Watching the color come back to your face and the light in your eyes return made him acknowledge the vulnerability he felt around you—the way you made him feel like no one else could. Once you gave him the answer he was hoping for, things seemed just a tad less scary.

[klausysworld]

Heyy I love your work I was wondering if you could do a klaus one we’re the reader is a bit chubby and all of a sudden she started wearing long sleeve and oversized stuff and nobody rlly noticed until they had a party or smth and she wears a dress and when they see here there all rlly shocked cause they didn’t notice how she a lot or weight in like a span of 2-4 weeks and she hasn’t eaten for like 2 days before the party

This one-shot will contain triggering content around eating disorders including both anorexia and bulimia. Please don’t read this is you feel it may upset you or harm you mental health. I’ve had personal issues around this area and know it can be hard. Don’t hesitate to reach out 🤍

Too much or Not enough?

Y/n had struggled with weight as a child, and as a teenager. As a result she had a difficult relationship with food and clothes.

She was naturally a little curvier, but what some people saw as gorgeous another saw as an opportunity to poke fun. And so she grew up hating herself and those around her who would highlight her insecurities.

As she grew out of adolescence and into adulthood she lost a little weight. She went to the gym excessively and ate barely anything. It was unhealthy but in her eyes it was her best option.

She still had her curves but they were complimented more than they were judged but even when people said ‘good’ things about her body, she just saw it at mocking. She would have kept losing the weight but she ended up passing out at the gym and having the paramedics called. They told her she needed to keep a balanced diet and take care of herself and as much as she didn’t want to, the fear of being that embarrassed again haunted her.

So she ate some what regularly for a while but ended up with two fingers down her throat to get it all back out.

She would have carried on that way if it weren’t for the Mikaelsons.

She had ended up being wrapped into the supernatural world and suddenly there were so many other problems in her life that food was almost forgotten.

Between a temperamental pregnant Hayley, overly dramatic Rebekah, pissed off Elijah, furious Marcel, war raging Klaus, power-hungry witches, territorial werewolves and bloodthirsty vampires, Y/n didn’t have much time to focus on herself. Especially not after Hope was born.

The stress seemed to make her hungrier, she would go days without any food and then eating as much as she could to ‘keep herself going’.

She didn’t really realise she had put her weight back on, she assumed running around after everyone would have been enough exercise.

And when Klaus had shown interest in her, when he had kissed her and laid her heart out on his sleeve well she assumed she must have looked good. Someone like him wouldn’t go for who she used to be, right?

And so she gained a small amount of confidence until the supernatural communities began to calm down and it seemed people were more attentive.

Y/n was able to go out more, whether it was with Hayley, Rebekah, Davina or just by herself. And that’s how it circled back.

One or two comments on her figure from men made her wear baggier clothes. An awkward moment with Hayley and Rebekah when the girls went shopping and Rebekah unintentionally made a quip on y/n’s size. Apparently a dress that looked good on Hayley wouldn’t be nice on ‘someone like Y/n’. She had brushed it off and told Rebekah it was fine when the blonde began apologising but inside it was anything but fine.

Even if she hadn’t had any malicious intent or meant it in any offence, it tore up old wounds and brought back something much deeper rooted.

And then when things started to kick off again and Klaus payed y/n less and less attention or affection, she assumed it was because she was no longer attractive to him. Had she gained that much?

So she did what she knew would work.

She forced herself to the gym as often as she could for as long as she could. Drank as much water that was available to her and ate the bare minimum to keep her conscious. Throw up anyway meal that she did happen to consume and have a packet of gum handy incase she got too hungry.

It was even easier to do once Hope was around more, Y/n was often asked to look after the baby while the rest of them took on the new foes and unexpected family members.

When Klaus, Elijah and Marcel had announced there would be a party to celebrate the defeat of a common enemy, Y/n began to worry. The last time she had to dress of for one of those things she was much bigger than she had thought. Looking back on pictures of that evening persuaded her to gag and cough up to the point where she was only throwing up water and blood form how she had torn her throat inside.

Even Hope could sense the change in Y/n’s behaviour when she looked after her. But nobody else did, everyone was too busy to realise.

Klaus had barely looked at her let alone touched her to realise that she had done down 2 clothing sizes and yet was wearing t-shirts triple the size they would need to be. None of the girls payed enough attention to see the bags under Y/n’s eyes or to notice her absence each morning when she would struggle on a treadmill for hours on end. Only Hope, someone who wasn’t even a year old, would give Y/n the hug she so desperately needed.

���——————————————————————

It was the day do the party, Y/n stared aimlessly at the dress she had chosen the week before. If she were honest she planned on not going at all, nobody would notice anyway. But then Rebekah came in all bubbly demanding that she know what colours people were wearing she they didn’t clash in photos.

Photos.

Y/n learned to despise them. “The camera adds 10 pounds” she was told by her mother when she was young and it was something she reminded herself every time a flash went off.

So she needed to make sure she looked okay.

She scrubbed her skin raw in the shower, shaved every last hair from her legs before moisturising them and the rest of her body. She avoided any full body length mirrors and focused on her face, covering every flaw possible. Her hair was pulled to be half up half down, leaving pieces to frame her face and still give her enough volume.

She managed to get the dress on that was now a little loose on her, which she should have been worried about but she couldn’t help but feel relieved. The zip went up effortlessly but even so, she didn’t want to step outside of that door. So she stayed on the edge of her bed, her nails licking at the material of her dress as she hoped the night would pass by without her.

She had no such luck when Hayley came knocking on the door

“Y/n? Are you okay? The party started a while ago” she called through the wall and Y/n pinched her own skin desperately

“I don’t think I’m gonna come down…I’ll just keep an eye on Hope” she replied

“Hope’s dressed up and downstairs with Klaus at the moment, you don’t need to watch her, come have fun!” She told her brightly and Y/n could feel herself getting hotter as the nerves poured in

“Parties aren’t really my scene” she responded softly “maybe next time okay?” She tried again but Hayley was getting persistent

“Oh come on, there’s music, drinks, food. Have you eaten yet? Come on we’ll go get something” she encouraged but that only made it worse. Y/n had made sure not to eat anything the last 2 days so that there was zero chance of any bloating and she wasn’t about to ruin that.

“I ate earlier” she lied and Hayley sighed

“Try make an appearance? If not for me then for Rebekah or Klaus” she asked and Y/n could have scoffed. As if either of them had cared less that she was there.

Well so she assumed.

Unfortunately for her she was proven wrong again when the door hand was twisted and pulled, a frustrated groan coming from the other side of the door when they realised it was locked

“Y/n?” Klaus questioned “come out” he ordered and she had the sudden urged to suffocate herself with a pillow.

“I’m going to sleep” she mumbled, though she was still dolled up and sat against the headboard but it wasn’t like he could see her.

“We can fix that, open the door and I’ll grab you a dress” he told her and she pinched the bridge of her nose

“I already have a dress” she muttered in defeat, Klaus wouldn’t walk away as easily as Hayley.

“Perfect. Put it on.” He grumbled “Rebekah needs you in the photo” he added and she nodded, of course they needed to keep their image up.

“I don’t want to be in the photo anyway” she murmured and he groaned

“Just do it” he complained and she reluctantly stood up.

She plodded her way to look in the mirror and yet despite the makeup on her face, she just looked tired. It didn’t matter anymore though, she looked bad in pictures either way, may as-well know it this time.

Just as Klaus was reader to break the handle off the door, it was clicked open and Y/n was looking up at him through glassy eyes.

Klaus’s expression dropped almost instantly when he looked at her. The dress was loose around her body in all areas, her arms thinner than usual making him frown and reach a hand out to grab ahold of her wrist. His eyes locked on hers and his lips parted in shock.

She assumed he was thinking she looked awful, was the dress too small again? Was she too big? She could feel her face heating and her eyes filling with tears. Her breathing grew more laboured and her hands began to ping at the fabric around her to make it seem baggier.

Klaus quickly pulled her into his room so nobody could look up the stairs and see them. He stroked her hair gently as he wrapped his arms around her in an attempt to stop any tears from falling.

“Sweetheart” he whispered quietly, guilt beginning to rise in him. People didn’t loose this much weight this fast. He knew he had been distant the last month but that was to keep her safe not to make her sick, was she I’ll and not told anybody? Or was this something much more?

He feared for the last one as he rubbed her back soothingly while small sniffs lift her and panicked apologies flooded form her lips.

“Why are you sorry my love?” He murmured gently.

“I just wanted to be pretty” she uttered and his heart ached for her. “I tried really hard” she whispered “it wasn’t enough”

“Y/n…” he murmured as his arms held her a little tighter “you’re always pretty, you’re beautiful and bright” he told her “don’t change anything about yourself for anyone else ever”

“I did it for me too” she mumbled and he nodded hesitantly

“Yeah but…this isn’t the way” he whispered and she sniffed

“It’s the only way that works” she argued

“Love, what have you been eating?” He asks and she frowns

“Why does that matter?”

“Because there’s a difference between eating healthily and not eating enough” he told her and she began to grow more upset at his tone

“I eat too much” she utters and he sighs, he placed both hands on her shoulders and looks down at her

“Nobody thinks that” he whispered, his eyes locked on hers as though it would make her listen better. “Not eating at all is as bad as eating too much, we can find a good balance” he persuaded

“I’ve tried balanced diets, it doesn’t work” she shakes her head frustrated

“I’ll find you a better one” he decided and she lets out a laugh

“Why because I suddenly matter enough? If you only just realised that I’ve lost the weight when we live in the same home then Im clearly not worth-“

“Stop” he whispered, a crack in his tone “do not do this to me and do not do this to yourself” he let out a breath “I wouldn’t ever want this to happen to you, I care about you. I was just leaving you out of all the darkness and the pain, you weren’t supposed to bring it to yourself” he snapped. His eyes were hard though he didn’t mean to appear so angry as tears freely flowed down Y/n’s face and a sob let her lips.

At the sound of her cries, Klaus’s bedroom door was opened rather suddenly. A concerned Elijah stepped inside, his eyes falling to Y/n and his brows furrowing as he noticed his brother trying to apologise. Then he noticed the differences from the last few times he had seen her and he picked up on what was happening pretty quickly.

He closed the door behind him and came forward, coaxing Y/n out of Klaus’s arms and into his own.

“Would you like a smoothie my dear? We’ve stocked the kitchen with fruits recently” Elijah murmured softly, his chin on top her head as he glanced to an upset Niklaus. Y/n frowned in confusion at the offer and at the calming affect Elijah seemed to have over everyone. He wasn’t really the hugging type but it was nice to experience one. She didn’t reply but he kept talking “how about I go and get you a smoothie while Niklaus helps you out of this dress? I’m sure you can wear one of his shirts for bed hm?” He lifted her chin up to look down at her. She blinked at him unsure as he tried to convince her further “I’ll bring Hope up as well?” He offered and she nodded slowly.

Elijah gave a look to Klaus and both brothers began to move. Elijah rushed off downstairs and Klaus grabbed one of his henleys. Y/n kept her eyes on the ground as Klaus’s fingers gently undid the dress

“I’m sorry my love” he whispered as he let the material drop down to the floor making goosebumps arise across her skin. His lips pressed to her shoulder softly before the warmth of his top was pulled over her head and her arms were pulled into the sleeves. His arms slid round her waist gently and his nose buried into her hair.

She kept quiet, eyes down as he unclipped her curls and let it all fall loosely around her face. Soft kisses planted their way up her face as Elijah returned with a smoothie and a straw.

Both brothers guided her to sit up on Klaus’s bed before sitting either side of her. Gently she was pulled into Klaus’s lap and the straw was brought to her lips

“The cup is only half full, the rest of it is in the fridge for tomorrow if you should want more” Elijah tells her with a reassuring smile

Klaus brushed his hands along her sides gently as she reluctantly drank what she was given. Both brothers continued to speak of random topics to keep the attention off of her as she took small sips as slowly leant back against Klaus’s chest.

15 minutes later Hayley came by and dropped Hope off, both she and Elijah left, leaving Klaus, Y/n and Hope to snuggle up together with the silent promise that at least Klaus and Elijah and most likely the rest of the Mikaelsons would be helping Y/n find a happier,healthier state of mind and body.

(I hope this was what was wanted, I didn’t go too deep into the topic and still wanted it to have a relatively happier/promising ending. If a darker message or ending was wanted then I would be okay with trying to write something similar for anyone out there. I understand the struggles with eating disorders and also with self harm and just mental health in general so feel free to message or request, anything at all :))

[lil-gae-disaster]

Have fun guys

@imobsessedwiththeatre @knowledge-paradox @hamalicious-soup @papers-pamphlet @almaprincess66 @rae-unbeloved @doodle-bug-nightmares @half-eaten-baguetteee

Jonathan heard a voice in the doorway as he finished another one of his letters to his love. Ever since the war ended and he had been forced to return to his home he felt yearning for his dear fool every hour of the day.

"I will come to bed, Annabelle." He answered her query on whether he would join her in their bed soon. Usually his father would find it improper to sleep in the same bed as a woman who was not his wife, but his position was a unique one. He had fled from his wedding all those years ago and it seems near all men and servants of the manor regard him as a married man and Annabelle his cherished wife. It was tiring.

"What are you writing on so late, love?" She asked as she stepped closer, her brown locks falling over her shoulder and back gracefully at it was supposed to be for a noblewoman. Jonathan sighed, she would be a fine wife would his heart not belong to one farmer residing in Scotland this moment.

"I have made .....friends in the war, I merely wish to continue our knowing each other even if I am not with them." He responded whilst folding the letter with the incriminating contents, followed by a wishful stare out of the window in the direction he knew his beloved Frederick to be. He got jolted out of his yearning as he felt Annabelles fingers massaging his shoulders.

"You are a fine man, my dear Jonathan. I doubt they will question your friendship if one letter ceases to respond to them in time." He heard her say behind him as she was still massaging his shoulders. He shook his head, his open hair slightly shaking with the movement.... he would have to go to his mother for her to braid it again come morn. Annabelle offered her service in that, but Jonathan does not want his hair touched by her.

Annabelle ceased her movement and held his shoulders gently with the care she must feel for him in some twist of fate, although he would never be able to respond, no matter how often she attempts to persuade him to respond her care. He could not for his heart was not with her but with his dear Frederick in Scotland.

"I will come to bed shortly, you should sleep without me, I will join you once I feel inclined to." He told her as she pressured him into leaning against the chair and with that lean against her. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, where his reading glasses sat. Tiredness was taking a toll on him, but he could not risk going to bed while she is still awake as she will come too close than Jonathan is comfortable for her own comfort.

"I must talk to you, Jonathan." His fiancée told him instead. This caused Jonathan to meet her emerald eyes, now frowning as she looked to the bed for the two to sit down on it and face each other. Jonathan complied and followed her to their bed.

They sat down, she closer than he would have liked, her hand on his knee. "I want the wedding to happen in two months." She told him as she stared into his eyes. This took Jonathan aback as he had wanted to postpone their marriage until he found an opening to flee.

"Why, if I may ask." He inquired, this was certainly a revelation he did not see coming.

Annabelle sighed. "My dearest, we have been planning the wedding for years now, hardly any preperations are not met and I find myself impatient." She elaborated, before pausing and smiling gently and looking down onto her flat stomach.

"And... I am carrying your child." She revealed. Jonathans world broke.

No.

This could not be.

He took care to not let her fall pregnant, to not give her a circumstance under which she could demand marriage.

"Are you sure? I have heard of women believing they have fallen pregnant and were not." Jonathan questioned here, his horror not well concealed. He would be a father, he would be forced to be the husband to the woman he loathed. .... He had to flee.

"I am sure, oh dearest Jonathan are those not wonderful news! You will be my husband and we will be father and mother! Oh, how I can already see the little one running around and you caring for him as your father cares for you!" She started gushing as she stood up and underlined her exclamations of joy with gestures of her arms, her face wearing an adoring smile for the child allegedly growing inside her.

"Mon père ne se soucie pas de moi*." He muttered as Annabelle continuously told him about the wonderful life they would share. In her imagination it was wonderful, in Jonathans it was horrific. He wanted to have a life like this with his dear boy, not with the person fuelling his nightmares.

He had to escape again, for his own sake, for the sake of the child and for his dear boys sake.

*my father does not care for me.

[here4tripitaka]

Chapter 56: Tripitaka gets mugged; Tripitaka and Wukong have a blue

In this chapter, rather refreshingly, nobody wants to eat or have sex with Tripitaka. No. In this chapter, Tripitaka has the equally disastrous but rather more mundane experience of getting mugged.

Yep. Not realising who he is, some run-of-the-mill local bandits try to mug him, just like they would any other guy on the road. How’s that for equality?

It also goes to show how important it is to be in the know. If only they’d realised who he was, they could have eaten or sexed him and gained immortality. Clearly word doesn’t travel as fast on the human grapevine as the demonic grapevine. You’ve got to pay more attention to who’s been reincarnated recently, lads.

Anyway. I’m loving Bajie and Wukong’s dynamic in this chapter. They’re just two guys joking around, having fun and annoying each other for shits and giggles. Bajie is trying to hurry up Dragon Horse - who doesn’t care, and keeps plodding along at the same speed. Wukong rebukes Bajie, but then decides Bajie has a good point about hurrying up, and sends Dragon Horse sprinting. Owned, Bajie.

These hijinks lead to Tripitaka being galloped way up the road, all on his lonesome, where he is surrounded by bandits who want to mug him:

Pardon me. Not mug him. They are… self-appointed… tollway men:

They take payment in the form of clothes, horses and gold. And they don’t give concession rates to monks. Failure to pay may result in detention up a tree until one of your mates can come up with the money.

Now, what did I say about Tripitaka being better when Wukong isn’t around? There are no tears here: Tripitaka handles it like a pro. Sort of. He explains that, as a monk, he’s not exactly their best bet if they’re looking for sweet cash money. When they demand his clothes and horse instead, he just calmly explains that his robes aren’t worth stealing. He also implicitly threatens them that they’ll get a bad incarnation if they’re mean to him:

I love this little backgrounder about how the robes are made. It seems like the patchwork thing is a true story. Apparently, traditionally:

“Jiasha are made by piecing together sections of cloth donated from members of the community in a patchwork-style design. Unlike patchwork, the arrangement of panels is very specific, influenced by the Buddhist mandala motif, with a core center and flowing symmetry. The modest cut of the jiasha and pieced-together appearance references the rags worn by the Buddha during his ascetic period.”

Anyway, the muggers slash tollway men still aren’t impressed, so Tripitaka starts lying and pretending that Wukong will turn up any minute with the cash they want. That’s fine, but the narrator has a mega brain fade:

What? “Never lied in his life before”? Uh, remember two chapters ago, when Tripitaka was swearing to love and cherish the queen of Woman State til death do they part? Yeah. That little thing.

In any event, this is where Tripitaka begins crying. Well, fair enough. He did really try. The bandits tie him up and leave him dangling from a tree, where Wukong finds him.

I have to say, I love Wukong’s personality in this chapter, dubious as it may be. He’s so jovial:

I love him trolling the bandits, channelling pretend spirituality:

… before sweetly telling them that perhaps they should actually give him THEIR money:

And playing with the bandits - telling them they can have his staff if they can pick it up:

Ah, the iconic needle/staff in the ear:

But I’m interrupting myself:

Wukong is having a blast. Needless to say, he kills a few bandits. The rest flee.

Tripitaka proceeds to absolutely lose his marbles about Wukong committing homicide. And don’t get me wrong: it’s homicide. But Tripitaka manages to do it in a way that makes him come off as a jerk - which is quite something, when you’re protesting homicide.

When he discovers what’s happened, Tripitaka loses all spiritual composure. He starts acting like a road rager stuck in peak hour traffic, muttering low-grade verbal abuse:

Wukong isn’t even in earshot at this point. When he does get within earshot, Tripitaka continues:

Spite? That doesn’t sound very spiritual!

He attempts to give the bandits a proper burial, which seems nice at first. He gets Bajie to bury them, and tries to find incense and candles for the ritual - or substitutes, at least. But once he starts praying, it becomes clear what his real motives are. All he wants to do is suck up to the deceased, point the finger at Wukong, and make sure no ghosts come seeking retribution against him. It’s totally self-centred and fear-driven - not coming from a genuine place of caring for the deceased at all:

There is more to his prayer, and… it isn’t great, either. It’s just him telling the bandits that he, Tripitaka, tried to play nice (so it’s their own fault they got killed); that their deaths are Wukong’s fault (not his); and that he’s been very nice to them by doing this funeral ritual (ie he didn’t perform this funeral for selfless reasons: he did it so they will give him credit).

He could at least have wished them a positive reincarnation. Or something, anything, that was purely for their sake and not for his. Alas! Our young Tripitaka still has a way to go, spiritually.

Bajie sees through Tripitaka’s pseudo-spirituality, and teases him:

Wukong is less amused. He seems to find the ass-kissing funeral schtick ridiculous and kind of cowardly. Wukong isn’t afraid of any ghosts coming after him and makes this clear - perhaps more to make a point to Tripitaka than anything else:

Next, they find shelter at an old couple’s hut. The old man is nearly hysterical at the sight of the disciples, and won’t calm down. His wife is far more grounded, and gets him back on track.

I love how blunt people are about Bajie’s looks, and how indomitably cheerful Bajie’s response is:

They all have dinner, during which they find out that the old couple’s son is one of the bandits. Wukong offers to kill the son (huh?!), but the old man prefers him to stay alive, so he’ll have someone to dig his grave one day. The disciples gently remind Wukong that it’s none of his business.

Let’s cut to the middle of the night, where the bandits gatecrash the old couple’s house and decide to kill Tripitaka & co in their sleep. The old man tips them off.

I want to pause here to observe how bizarrely calm and composed the old man is. This is a guy who became hysterically scared just looking at the disciples’ faces. Now he’s in a tense and unexpected emergency situation, trying to sneak one group of guests out of the house, lest his other guests murder them. Yet he acts like it’s nothing. Is this not the first time that his bandit son has tried to murder a houseguest? Tripitaka is shaken by the news, but the old man sneaks them out and falls back asleep without a second thought:

Of course, the bandits give chase, and Wukong kills many. He goes out of his way to identify and behead the son of the old man - then show off the head to Tripitaka. 

Why Wukong would do this, I have no idea. Is this meant to indicate something about Confucianism? Or is it just Wukong’s usual love of homicide? I feel like I might be missing some cultural context.

Tripitaka falls off his horse in fright, yells at Wukong and, as soon as he’s able to stand again, breaks out the band-tightening spell on him. This, to me, is where Tripitaka crosses the line. It’s like he’s performing the Cruciatus Curse:

More than ten times? It's awful.

Now, just a heads up. I was VERY upset that Tripitaka did this, and I wrote a lot about it. But I realise we all have different perspectives. So if you don’t feel like reading a giant essay about why I felt this was so bad, here is a pretty picture of a traditional jiasha for you, and let’s pick up again next week.

Alright, brave reader. Here’s my reaction to Tripitaka’s torture spree.

I’m not saying that it’s inherently wrong to punish somebody for homicide with something along these lines. It would be a very different story if Trikitapa had taken time out, reflected on the whole thing, and soberly decided that it was necessary to do this as a punishment. But it just seems like he’s lost his temper and lashed out.

I think I’m more annoyed with Tripitaka than Wukong, because Wukong has never pretended to be anything other than a fighter and killer. Tripitaka acts like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth and preaches compassion. Wukong didn’t want to become Buddhist and has only done it under duress. Tripitaka may not have chosen to become Buddhist originally, but he seems to have embraced it pretty enthusiastically. Wukong’s job is to keep Tripitaka alive on the road, so Tripitaka can get to the west - and Wukong is well and truly doing that job, even if Tripitaka doesn’t like the way that he’s doing it.

It’s easy to criticise others and backseat drive. Tripitaka is expecting Wukong to be both a consummate fighter and spiritually precise. Maybe, for Wukong to be the fearless fighter that he is, he needs a certain level of callousness. Wukong goes into situations that nobody else will - again and again. Who says it’s so easy for him to be proportionate when he’s fighting? It’s not always possible to be in two different gears at once. Tripitaka is all too ready to criticise and demand, without ever having walked a mile in Wukong’s shoes.

And Tripitaka seems to expect more of Wukong than Tripitaka expects of himself. Tripitaka hasn’t even tried to learn self-defence. He has not tried to become more well-rounded. Yet he tortures Wukong because, in his eyes, Wukong is not perfect enough or sufficiently well-rounded. I think Tripitaka should have to try to learn the 72 forms himself before he gets to even THINK about using torture on Wukong.

I never expected to find myself defending a killer - even a fictional magic monkey killer. Let me be very clear, I condemn homicide completely. I’m just saying, I think Tripitaka is a prick to use torture here. It was different when he used the band-tightening spell to try to prevent Wukong from killing somebody. That’s fair enough. But using it to lash out is inexcusable.

And it’s totally hypocritical. Tripitaka claims that he’s trying to teach Wukong compassion. It’s like he’s saying, “So help me God, I’ll beat you until you’re more compassionate.” How is that meant to work?

It disturbs me on the level of allegory, too. Like, if Wukong represents the mind-heart, what is this saying? That the mind-heart has to be dominated through force and brutality? Really?

After the band-tightening spell, Wukong begs Tripitaka to use his words, and Tripitaka obliges - saying he doesn’t want Tripitaka as his disciple.

Horrifyingly, Wukong kowtows to the guy who just went full Voldemort on him. I’m gonna say that kowtowing to someone who just tortured you seems like an excess of filial piety. But at least Wukong isn’t getting violent with Tripitaka like Tripitaka just got violent with him.

He begs for an explanation. This is pretty staggering. As wrong as it is for Tripitaka to use the band-tightening spell like this, it should be obvious to Wukong why he’s angry. Wukong clearly hasn’t listened to a word Tripitaka said, and he is a massive jerk for that.

Tripitaka explains (unsurprisingly) that it’s due to all the unnecessary killing, and tells him to get going before he uses the band-tightening spell again. Wukong vanishes.

Oof. Well, that was all very unpleasant. But I certainly want to see how this turns out next week.

@journeythroughjourneytothewest

---

Image credits: The usual spiel. The images above are either AI, or random pictures from the web that I’ve modified, or a Frankenstein of both. They are not original. The AI image generation is by Stable Diffusion. The pre-existing images should turn up with reverse googling, but feel free to ask and I’ll dig up sources.

[a-roguish-gambit]

Some very personal head cannons I have for dragons in general that I'm going to apply to Dragon Gambit

So being an animal nerd I know a lot of things about the animal world and have just had some general experiences growing up cuz I was a dragon kid instead of a unicorn kid or a wolf kid or something. So I have collected random head cannons over the years about dragons either relating to things in the natural world or just things I picked up while growing up and I'm going to smoosh them on to Gambit in this AU. Enjoy:

1. Dragons like shiny things because it helps warm up their bellies when light reflects off of them also metal conducts heat a lot better so again nice and warm. Because dragons are less sensitive to heat as in the burning sensation as I've mentioned before: please imagine Gambit using a hot slide on a summer day in his Dragon form to warm himself up. Rogue is very confused as to how he's not literally dying or being cooked alive but he assures her he's fine.

2. When I was growing up there was this like animatronic at this theme park that was fantasy themed called the pumpkin eating dragon and they would like have these shows with him that were sort of little kitty comedy act and then they would feed him pumpkins between jokes and the kids love watching him crush them so now it's just seared into my mind that yes dragons love pumpkins they can't get enough of them. So imagine the x men decorating for Halloween and Gambit is in charge of pumpkin carving. He does a great job of it even gets all the pumpkin seeds separated for baking into a delicious treat. But no one sees the pumpkin insides or the excess rinds go into the trash or anything....then Jubilee finds Gambit cooking it all in a mixing pot like a soup with brown sugar, a bit of butter, vanilla, maple syrup, hazelnut, and cinnamon. He tries to insist that "it's just really good guys try it" but none of them want to. Not even rogue is willing. He ends up eating the whole thing and none of them can look at him the same way again.

Storm and jean think it certainly smells good but Storm is apprehensive to try it. Growing up in Africa she has never had anything pumpkin before and she knows things like pumpkin pie aren't made from the same kind of pumpkins as Halloween ones. And jean refuses to eat them because she's grown up being told and believing pumpkin guts are gross. The only other person willing to try it is Bobby but he will never admit to the other x men he has eaten Halloween pumpkin.

3. Lots of reptiles don't have great hearing but can feel vibrations in the air and ground through their jaw bones, particularly snakes, because the bones that we have in our ears are actually still part of their jaws. So frustratingly for many people, including Gambit who does not understand it himself, he can "hear" where people are in the room and it's really hard to sneak up on him, but you may have to repeat yourself several times to get his attention.

Also he cannot stand pop rocks and a lot of other super fizzy things. He says that "it feels like something is screaming in my mouth" and nobody except storm and jean seem to get what he means.

4. Bearded dragons are a species of reptile and they go crazy for dandelions and bee pollen. I like thinking dragons like these things too so Gambit having to avoid munching on very tempting looking dandelion flowers in public and him secretly sprinkling bee pollen on his food. No one knows what it is when they catch him doing this. Rogue secretly finds the jar in his room later with the picture of the beardie on it and swears to never tell a soul, but is very relieved.

Things stay under wraps for a bit till Scott finds a baggie of the stuff in jean's things, and he freaks out thinking Gambit got Jean hooked on something and Gambit has to come clean with the bottle of Bee pollen.

[the-chronicle-of-holy-days]

Day 17

Liber LXV Liber Cordis Cincti Serpente

V

Ah! my Lord Adonai, that dalliest with the Magister in the Treasure-House of Pearls, let me listen to the echo of your kisses.

Is not the starry heaven shaken as a leaf at the tremulous rapture of your love? Am not I the flying spark of light whirled away by the great wind of your perfection?

Yea, cried the Holy One, and from Thy spark will I the Lord kindle a great light; I will burn through the great city in the old and desolate land; I will cleanse it from its great impurity.

And thou, O prophet, shalt see these things, and thou shalt heed them not.

Now is the Pillar established in the Void; now is Asi fulfilled of Asar; now is Hoor let down into the Animal Soul of Things like a fiery star that falleth upon the darkness of the earth.

Through the midnight thou art dropt, O my child, my conqueror, my sword-girt captain, O Hoor! and they shall find thee as a black gnarl'd glittering stone, and they shall worship thee.

My prophet shall prophesy concerning thee; around thee the maidens shall dance, and bright babes be born unto them. Thou shalt inspire the proud ones with infinite pride, and the humble ones with an ecstasy of abasement; all this shall transcend the Known and the Unknown with somewhat that hath no name. For it is as the abyss of the Arcanum that is opened in the secret Place of Silence.

Thou hast come hither, O my prophet, through grave paths. Thou hast eaten of the dung of the Abominable Ones; thou hast prostrated thyself before the Goat and the Crocodile; the evil men have made thee a plaything; thou hast wandered as a painted harlot, ravishing with sweet scent and Chinese colouring, in the streets; thou hast darkened thine eyepits with Kohl; thou hast tinted thy lips with vermilion; thou hast plastered thy cheeks with ivory enamels. Thou hast played the wanton in every gate and by-way of the great city. The men of the city have lusted after thee to abuse thee and to beat thee. They have mouthed the golden spangles of fine dust wherewith thou didst bedeck thine hair; they have scourged the painted flesh of thee with their whips; thou hast suffered unspeakable things.

But I have burnt within thee as a pure flame without oil. In the midnight I was brighter than the moon; in the daytime I exceeded utterly the sun; in the byways of thy being I inflamed, and dispelled the illusion.

Therefore thou art wholly pure before Me; therefore thou art My virgin unto eternity.

Therefore I love thee with surpassing love; therefore they that despise thee shall adore thee.

Thou shalt be lovely and pitiful toward them; thou shalt heal them of the unutterable evil.

They shall change in their destruction, even as two dark stars that crash together in the abyss, and blaze up in an infinite burning.

All this while did Adonai pierce my being with his sword that hath four blades; the blade of the thunderbolt, the blade of the Pylon, the blade of the serpent, the blade of the Phallus.

Also he taught me the holy unutterable word Ararita, so that I melted the sixfold gold into a single invisible point, whereof naught may be spoken.

For the Magistry of this Opus is a secret magistry; and the sign of the master thereof is a certain ring of lapis-lazuli with the name of my master, who am I, and the Eye in the Midst thereof.

Also He spake and said: This is a secret sign, and thou shalt not disclose it unto the profane, nor unto the neophyte, nor unto the zelator, nor unto the practicus, nor unto the philosophus, nor unto the lesser adept, nor unto the greater adept.

But unto the exempt adept thou shalt disclose thyself if thou have need of him for the lesser operations of thine art.

Accept the worship of the foolish people, whom thou hatest. The Fire is not defiled by the altars of the Ghebers, nor is the Moon contaminated by the incense of them that adore the Queen of Night.

Thou shalt dwell among the people as a precious diamond among cloudy diamonds, and crystals, and pieces of glass. Only the eye of the just merchant shall behold thee, and plunging in his hand shall single thee out and glorify thee before men.

But thou shalt heed none of this. Thou shalt be ever the heart, and I the serpent will coil close about thee. My coil shall never relax throughout the æons. Neither change nor sorrow nor unsubstantiality shall have thee; for thou art passed beyond all these.

Even as the diamond shall glow red for the rose, and green for the rose-leaf; so shalt thou abide apart from the Impressions.

I am thou, and the Pillar is ’stablished in the void.

Also thou art beyond the stabilities of Being and of Consciousness and of Bliss; for I am thou, and the Pillar is ’stablished in the void.

Also thou shalt discourse of these things unto the man that writeth them, and he shall partake of them as a sacrament; for I who am thou am he, and the Pillar is ’stablished in the void.

From the Crown to the Abyss, so goeth it single and erect. Also the limitless sphere shall glow with the brilliance thereof.

Thou shalt rejoice in the pools of adorable water; thou shalt bedeck thy damsels with pearls of fecundity; thou shalt light flame like licking tongues of liquor of the Gods between the pools.

Also thou shalt convert the all-sweeping air into the winds of pale water, thou shalt transmute the earth into a blue abyss of wine.

Ruddy are the gleams of ruby and gold that sparkle therein; one drop shall intoxicate the Lord of the Gods my servant.

Also Adonai spake unto V.V.V.V.V. saying: O my little one, my tender one, my little amorous one, my gazelle, my beautiful, my boy, let us fill up the pillar of the Infinite with an infinite kiss!

So that the stable was shaken and the unstable became still.

They that beheld it cried with a formidable affright: The end of things is come upon us.

And it was even so.

Also I was in the spirit vision and beheld a parricidal pomp of atheists, coupled by two and by two in the supernal ecstasy of the stars. They did laugh and rejoice exceedingly, being clad in purple robes and drunken with purple wine, and their whole soul was one purple flower-flame of holiness.

They beheld not God; they beheld not the Image of God; therefore were they arisen to the Palace of the Splendour Ineffable. A sharp sword smote out before them, and the worm Hope writhed in its death-agony under their feet.

Even as their rapture shore asunder the visible Hope, so also the Fear Invisible fled away and was no more.

O ye that are beyond Aormuzdi and Ahrimanes! blessèd are ye unto the ages.

They shaped Doubt as a sickle, and reaped the flowers of Faith for their garlands.

They shaped Ecstasy as a spear, and pierced the ancient dragon that sat upon the stagnant water.

Then the fresh springs were unloosed, that the folk athirst might be at ease.

And again I was caught up into the presence of my Lord Adonai, and the knowledge and Conversation of the Holy One, the Angel that Guardeth me.

O Holy Exalted One, O Self beyond self. O Self-Luminous Image of the Unimaginable Naught, O my darling, my beautiful, come Thou forth and follow me.

Adonai, divine Adonai, let Adonai initiate refulgent dalliance! Thus I concealed the name of Her name that inspireth my rapture, the scent of whose body bewildereth the soul, the light of whose soul abaseth this body unto the beasts.

I have sucked out the blood with my lips; I have drained Her beauty of its sustenance; I have abased Her before me, I have mastered Her, I have possessed Her, and Her life is within me. In Her blood I inscribe the secret riddles of the Sphinx of the Gods, that none shall understand,—save only the pure and voluptuous, obscene, the androgyne and the gynander that have passed beyond the bars of the prison that the old Slime of Khem set up in the Gates of Amennti.

O my adorable, my delicious one, all night will I pour out the libation on Thine altars; all night will I burn the sacrifice of blood; all night will I swing the thurible of my delight before Thee, and the fervour of the orisons shall intoxicate Thy nostrils.

O Thou who camest from the land of the Elephant, girt about with the tiger’s pell, and garlanded with the lotus of the spirit, do Thou inebriate my life with Thy madness, that She leap at my passing.

Bid Thy maidens who follow Thee bestrew us a bed of flowers immortal, that we may take our pleasure thereupon. Bid Thy satyrs heap thorns among the flowers, that we may take our pain thereupon. Let the pleasure and pain be mingled in one supreme offering unto the Lord Adonai!

Also I heard the voice of Adonai the Lord the desirable one concerning that which is beyond.

Let not the dwellers in Thebai and the temples thereof prate ever of the Pillars of Hercules and the Ocean of the West. Is not the Nile a beautiful water?

Let not the priest of Isis uncover the nakedness of Nuit, for every step is a death and a birth. The priest of Isis lifted the veil of Isis, and was slain by the kisses of her mouth. Then was he the priest of Nuit, and drank of the milk of the stars.

Let not the failure and the pain turn aside the worshippers. The foundations of the pyramid were hewn in the living rock ere sunset; did the king weep at dawn that the crown of the pyramid was yet unquarried in the distant land?

There was also an humming-bird that spake unto the horned cerastes, and prayed him for poison. And the great snake of Khem the Holy One, the royal Uræus serpent, answered him and said:

I sailed over the sky of Nu in the car called Millions-of-Years, and I saw not any creature upon Seb that was equal to me. The venom of my fang is the inheritance of my father, and of my father's father; and how shall I give it unto thee? Live thou and thy children as I and my fathers have lived, even unto an hundred millions of generations, and it may be that the mercy of the Mighty Ones may bestow upon thy children a drop of the poison of eld.

Then the humming-bird was afflicted in his spirit, and he flew unto the flowers, and it was as if naught had been spoken between them. Yet in a little while a serpent struck him that he died.

But an Ibis that meditated upon the bank of Nile the beautiful god listened and heard. And he laid aside his Ibis ways, and became as a serpent, saying Peradventure in an hundred millions of millions of generations of my children, they shall attain to a drop of the poison of the fang of the Exalted One.

And behold! ere the moon waxed thrice he became an Uræus serpent, and the poison of the fang was established in him and his seed even for ever and for ever.

O thou Serpent Apep, my Lord Adonai, it is a speck of minutest time, this travelling through eternity, and in Thy sight the landmarks are of fair white marble untouched by the tool of the graver. Therefore Thou art mine, even now and for ever and for everlasting. Amen.

Moreover, I heard the voice of Adonai: Seal up the book of the Heart and the Serpent; in the number five and sixty seal thou the holy book.

As fine gold that is beaten into a diadem for the fair queen of Pharaoh, as great stones that are cemented together into the Pyramid of the ceremony of the Death of Asar, so do thou bind together the words and the deeds, so that in all is one Thought of Me thy delight Adonai.

And I answered and said: It is done even according unto Thy word. And it was done. And they that read the book and debated thereon passed into the desolate land of Barren Words. And they that sealed up the book into their blood were the chosen of Adonai, and the Thought of Adonai was a Word and a Deed; and they abode in the Land that the far-off travellers call Naught.

O land beyond honey and spice and all perfection! I will dwell therein with my Lord for ever.

And the Lord Adonai delighteth in me, and I bear the Cup of His gladness unto the weary ones of the old grey land.

They that drink thereof are smitten of disease; the abomination hath hold upon them, and their torment is like the thick black smoke of the evil abode.

But the chosen ones drank thereof, and became even as my Lord, my beautiful, my desirable one. There is no wine like unto this wine.

They are gathered together into a glowing heart, as Ra that gathereth his clouds about Him at eventide into a molten sea of Joy; and the snake that is the crown of Ra bindeth them about with the golden girdle of the death-kisses.

So also is the end of the book, and the Lord Adonai is about it on all sides like a Thunderbolt, and a Pylon, and a Snake, and a Phallus, and in the midst thereof he is like the Woman that jetteth out the milk of the stars from her paps; yea, the milk of the stars from her paps

Source: https://www.deviantart.com/the-stein/art/Persona-Tarot-Card-HD-The-Hierophant-289971469

Yeah, he’s not my favorite as it shows. But the “pillow talk” chapter is such a ✨mood✨

[the-goblin-cat]

🐗 Ya girl Fimeko

Including Image since you and wes have done so for yours so far

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

According to my research, it is an archaic form of the name Himiko, which means "noble lady." A friend of mine pointed out that Fi is not a sound that exists in modern Japanese; this suits me just fine as she is from an original setting based on ancient Japan.

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

Fimeko is a little older than Kotone. Neither of them know their real ages, but to actually answer your question, 21-23 at the start of the story.

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)?

Fimeko's sort-of-husband Naranbaatar. She is a slave in the court of a nomad warlord and he one of his soldiers; Naranbaatar helps her take control of the camp. A real wife guy. They never formally marry but she declares him to be her husband afterward which is good enough.

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

I've been meaning to make up food lore for the Shattered Kingdoms so here we go. There are a number of grains eaten throughout the land that come in the seven colors of the rainbow. The blue one resembles rice and the yellow one resembles millet. They can be mixed together to make a gummy green dough which is rolled out and sliced into noodles. Fimeko enjoys a soup made with peppers native to the plains, bone broth, and these rough, handcut noodles.

💼 - What do they do for a living?

Fimeko was originally a musician. She has since broken her koto and become a warlord.

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?

Now that she's freed herself, Fimeko is taking up more traditionally masculine hobbies like horse archery and sowrdsmanship, because she believes violence is the answer. She still enjoys music, but has banned the koto from her court.

🎯🥊 -merging these

The thing she is unfortunately most talented at is playing the koto, which she hates. She loves to do violence and her husband.

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

If you asked her she would say it's beating Lord Bakuto to death with her koto, but in her heart it's the first day she and Naranbaatar stole a kiss in private behind the lord's tent.

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

In her youth before she learned to play well, she would be punished frequently, often through beatings with a switch. Bakuto did not want her hands harmed so usually the strikes targeted her legs and feet, as one can play the koto sitting down. (sometime after she got good enough that punishments were infrequent, she was made to play standing)

🧊 - Is their current design the first one?

Yes, sorta. When creating her I paid little attention to her outfit; you, chesca, designed that, as well as her makeup

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

Reading about Queen Himiko, one of Japan's legendary rulers (according to China. They may or may not have been talking about Empress Jingu). She was allegedly a sorceress who came to the throne through manipulation and assassination, surrounded herself with female attendants, save for one man, who fed and bathed her. She is associated with fire in a lot of modern pop culture that features her.

🌂 - What genre do they belong in?

Water Maiden is a high fantasy but it dips its toes into political fantasy. She would do well in either.

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

Genderwise, cis. For sexuality, I can only say that she likes men. I will have to play with her more to see if she also likes women romantically.

🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have?

None that she knows of.

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?

Fimeko does not remember her father. Her mother is a person she cared about but rarely saw due to their situation; two slaves with different duties, kept in separate quarters. Her mother died when she was very young.

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

I like the arc I have planned for her, of going from a person with nothing to becoming a dominant power in the setting, the old nobody to nightmare route.

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC?

I have not written very much about her in the last little while, other than revising her origin story a couple years ago. But Water Maiden is always on my mind.

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

She is probably not going to outlive the novel, heh.

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

No but she is triggered by koto music.

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?

Kotone, the protagonist of the novel. They haven't met yet, but sparks will fly. In the non-sexy way. Probably. They were designed to be foils of each other, a blue water girl and a red fire girl, one sad and the other wrathful, strong reasons to hate the world but very different reactions to their respective situations.

🎓 - How long have you had the OC?

I wanna say I came up with Water Maiden in 2016, so 8 years.

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC?

I was most likely 23. I actually came up with the core water maiden concepts about a week before my 23rd birthday but fimeko came about a month after.

[voraciousvore]

The Giant (9/16)

------Chapter 9------

Chester woke up the next morning before me, as his belly was grumbling for breakfast since neither of us had eaten the previous night. I awoke to find myself cupped in his hand as he lifted me off his chest.

"Good morning," he yawned, "How are you feeling?"

I winced and rubbed my bandages. "I'm hurting a little bit. What about your head?"

Chester gingerly touched his own bandage. "It's throbbing, but I'll be alright." He nuzzled me gently with his gigantic face. "I'm just glad you're alive."

"All thanks to you for saving me." I patted the bridge of his nose with my hand. "Let's get some breakfast." Chester carried me to the kitchen and set me down on the counter while he whipped up some French toast. "Chester?"

"Hm?" Chester responded to my inquiry as he cracked some eggs.

"What do humans taste like?"

Chester raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Well... each individual human tastes a little different. Some better than others I suppose. Men tend to have more of a hearty flavor, like a very high-quality cut of meat. Women are more likely to be sweeter, like a fine dessert."

"What about me? What do I taste like?"

The giant got a bit flustered at this line of questioning but still answered. "You're a perfect mix of both. Sweet and savory. Probably the best human I've ever eaten." He flushed at this remark and eyed me cagily. The color drained from my face as I realized his mouth was watering, and the look he was giving me was not entirely innocent in intentions.

"We probably shouldn't discuss this topic while I'm hungry," Chester added hurriedly, averting his eyes and turning his attention back to his cooking. I silently agreed and continued watching him without speaking. Soon enough he completed the task and piled up a mountain of food on a huge platter. Almost without thinking, he placed me on top of the stack and carried the plate to the dining room table. I felt a twinge of alarm at this development. After the horrors of the day before I wasn't ready to be eaten again, not this soon. Was he expecting me to comply with his desires? I wasn't sure.

As soon as he set the plate down, I scrambled off the mound of food and onto the safer area of the table. The giant acknowledged my action with a curt nod and cut off a piece of French toast for me to munch on. He also gave me a monstrous blueberry that was the size of a beanbag chair. Sighing in relief that I was not about to be devoured, I ate my breakfast while he dug into his meal with his usual voracity. I appreciated that he was willing to respect my wishes in spite of his carnivorous urges. Not to mention, it was mostly my fault that I had warmed up his appetite in the first place with my naïve questions. I made a mental note never to broach the subject before the giant was about to eat.

Once Chester had thoroughly cleaned his plate, we went to his study so he could get some writing done. I picked one of my new magic books to read and Chester opened it to the first page for me, then got to typing. The book was written by giant scholars who could not themselves use magic, so it was mostly secondhand information gleaned from old documents, witness accounts, and interviews with human wizards in the distant past, who may or may not have been under duress when passing along the information, with some speculation thrown in. From what I read, there were lots of different types of magic and spells. Not every human was capable of using magic, and even those who could may not be able to cast all categories of spells. The individual had to have a particular aptitude, or consume a special concoction that would grant him magical power. Additionally, a new magic user required the use of a special object such as a staff or wand to channel energy.

Essentially, most magic could be broken down into traditional elemental classifications, such as fire, lightning, water, ice, earth, wind, light, and shadow. There were other oddball categories like blood and metal as well. Even if the spell itself did not explicitly express an element, the underlying type of magic involved had some sort of elemental basis. For example, a healing spell might have light or blood magic as a base, depending on the spellcaster's aptitude.

The book contained a list of ingredients and known methods by which a human could obtain magical abilities. As I scanned through them, I noticed that many were extremely specific and wildly impractical, or were things I had never heard of: for instance, metal magic required a mysterious substance called "milk of magnesia." Interestingly enough, the power of lightning could be unlocked by getting struck with magical lightning, which had happened to me when I was transported to the Land of Giants. So, lightning may be a good choice for me to start with. Blood magic looked like another promising option, since it necessitated the human in question to drink the blood of a giant or unicorn--obviously the former was readily available, not so much the latter.

According to the text, for a novice such as myself, a magical object would still be needed for me to access my potential powers. The book provided a catalogue of materials that would suffice to craft such an object, none of which I recognized. Perhaps Chester would know. Alternatively, magical powers could manifest in circumstances when the spellcaster was under extreme duress or in a life-threatening situation. The aspiring wizard would need to practice drawing out their powers with meditation or chants beforehand. A combination of all these methods may be required for some people, if they were not naturally inclined to using magic.

Since the book was written for giants, not humans, it had pertinent information for them as well. The book sternly cautioned against eating wizards alive, since their abilities were dangerous enough to destroy a giant from the inside. Apparently in the past some scholars had theorized that giants could gain magical powers from consuming human wizards, but this belief was proven false, as no giant had ever been able to use magic, even after filling their bellies with wizards. I took some comfort in the fact that if I ever did learn to use magic, I could save myself from being digested if a giant swallowed me again, a circumstance that seemed likely given I had already been eaten twice now. I was extremely lucky to still be alive at this point.

Engrossed in my book, I failed to notice that Chester had ceased typing and was watching me read, until he gave a small cough to get my attention. I turned around and craned my head back to look up at him.

"Learn anything interesting?" he asked me with a slight tilt of his head.

"Absolutely," I answered enthusiastically. "Actually, I wanted to ask you about something on one of the previous pages over here." Chester observed as I walked over to the opposite side of the book and struggled to turn back the oversized pages. With a small smile, he reached out his giant hand and flipped to the page I wanted with minimal effort.

"Here." I pointed to the materials for crafting a magical object. "Do you know what any of these are?" Chester perused the list with a furrowed brow.

"Most of these I'm not familiar with," he admitted as he skimmed the page. "However..." He planted his finger, thick as a tree trunk, on one of the entries. "This one here. Lapis lazuli. It's a type of stone, should be pretty easy for us to get."

"Great. If I obtain that stone, I could make a necklace or bracelet with it. Then I might be able to use magic," I explained to Chester.

"Ok." He paused for a moment. "Do you want me to go to the market now to buy some? You probably shouldn't come with me though..." His face fell.

"Y-yeah, that's fine. Definitely for the best," I replied quietly. As I recalled the horrible memories of that last encounter, I couldn't stop myself from quaking uncontrollably. In response, Chester reached down and cradled me in his hands.

"Shhhh, it's okay. You're safe now. I'll protect you," the giant cooed in a soothing voice. He pressed his plush lips against me in a soft kiss. "I won't let anything happen to you." I nodded, blinking back tears. He held me against his chest for a few minutes, rocking back and forth gently. Once I calmed down, he put me back on the desk and opened another book for me to read. Then, he left the house, which felt eerily quiet without his massive form moving around. I settled in and began reading while I waited for him to come back.

I'm not sure how much time passed, because I was immersed in my books again, but I did notice that the sky was becoming soft outside and Chester still hadn't returned. The other book I had been reading went into details about specific spells, the type of magic required for their use, and how to cast them. Apparently, spells were not truly based on fancy hand movements or incantations: These devices could aid a wizard in visualizing a spell in his mind, but were not actually a part of the spell. Mostly the process involved drawing up the correct form of magic and willing it to life through force of mind. Sounded mysterious.

I decided to try some of the tips given for magical meditation. All of the books so far confirmed that force of mind or will would strengthen with focused introspection. I laid down on my back, closed my eyes, and daydreamed for a while. I must have fallen asleep because next thing I knew I heard the front door open and close. Chester walked into the study carrying a bag of fast food. Immediately I noticed he seemed off. His face was pale, he had a new bruise on his forearm, and his clothes looked ruffled.

"What happened Chester? Are you okay?"

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it." He sounded tired. I decided not to push the issue. The giant brought his hand down and lifted me up so I was still lying flat in his palm. I looked up at him with dreamy eyes. Even when he looked disheveled, I still found him strikingly handsome. He was deep in thought and distracted, not focused on me. Rather than eating in the dining room like we usually did, Chester went to the living room and plopped down on the couch, kicking up his feet on the coffee table. He dropped me on the couch next to him and turned on the TV. He dug into the bag of fast food and stuffed a handful of greasy fries into his mouth. After handing me a piece of fry and a chunk of his burger, he wolfed down more fries and demolished the rest of the burger. I ate my food in silence and watched him with concern. While it was normal for the giant to eat aggressively, he appeared to be distressed in some way. I debated internally whether to ask him about his mood, but he was the one who spoke first.

"Jackie, why do you want to learn magic so much?"

I was not expecting this question but realized there much be some weight to it, considering his mood. I chose my words carefully but answered honestly. "Learning magic is the only way for me to get back to the human world where I belong."

"I see." There was a long pause. I searched his face high above me and to my surprise he looked dreadfully sad. Almost as if he would cry. He tried to hide it by quickly standing up and mumbling something about needing to wash the grease off his hands. He went to the kitchen and left me alone on the couch. Since I was so small compared to the furniture, I couldn't see him at all over the arm of the couch. What was he so upset about? I didn't understand.

When he came back into the room, I expected him to sit back down on the couch, but instead he turned off the TV and remained on his feet. In the darkness I wasn't able to see his expression, just his gargantuan form standing over me. He leaned down and cupped me in his hands. He took me into the bedroom, where we undressed for bed. The pale moonlight coming in through the window gave everything a soft glow. Chester laid on his side and brought me to his chest. I snuggled up to his mountainous frame, enjoying the warm softness of his giant body. He hadn't said a word but I could still tell he was upset. I decided to try talking to him once more.

"Chester, what's wrong? Talk to me."

He didn't answer right away, instead opting to hold me tighter against his chest. I felt his heart rate quicken. Finally, he spoke up. "I don't... I don't want to lose you."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed heavily. "I don't want you to leave. I'm afraid that if you go to the human realm, you won't want to come back, and I'll never see you again."

I looked up at his face. "Chester... you know I can't stay here forever."

He gazed down at me sadly. "I know. I didn't want to tell you, but I ran into that other giant at the market again. That's why I came home so late. I had to fight him off, and take a roundabout way home so he wouldn't find out where I live."

I shivered at the thought of that horrible giant. Chester sighed again. "I know it's not safe for you in the Land of Giants. I know you have a life back at home, friends and family. I have no doubts that you would be better off living with your kind. But..." He swallowed hard. "You have to understand, I was so lonely, living up here by myself in the woods all this time. And then you came along, a blessing from the sky, a tiny little woman who could fit in the palm of my hand. So sweet and kind, even forgiving me when I had a lapse in judgement and swallowed you. I guess what I'm trying to say is... I think I'm in love with you."

I stared up at Chester in shock. I had secretly harbored feelings for him, but I didn't think he would seriously consider me, an insignificant little human, as a love interest. While he had given me obvious signs of his love, I had dismissed them as wishful thinking on my part and forced down my own feelings. The idea of a human and a giant in a romantic relationship was absurd, and I had felt ashamed of myself for even entertaining it. And yet... his big heart had mirrored mine the whole time.

I jumped out of his hand and clambered up his pillow to his face. When I reached his full lips, I gave him a passionate kiss, the best I could muster despite the vast size difference between us. Even in the moonlight I could see the bloom of pink on his cheeks in response.

"Oh Chester... I love you too! More than anything! I didn't know you felt the same way," I confessed breathlessly. "You need not fear, I won't abandon you." I climbed onto the side of his face and nuzzled his cheek. "Just because I want to see my family doesn't mean I won't come back. After all, if I'm able to manifest portals I should be able to go back and forth as I please."

Chester raised his hand to his face and caressed me with his fingers. "Thank you... I feel so much better now." His eyes were glassy with tears. I curled up on his cheek, under the warmth of his hand, and petted the side of his face. With our hearts full, we fell asleep together.

Chapter 10

Chapter 1

[contaminatedlamb]

Paint ペイント -[tmnt2012] Leonardo x Fem!Reader

summary: To your limited knowledge, something is going on in the midst of New York City. From the Bronx, all the way down to Brooklyn, creatures are emerging from the woodworks to ease their claws into the lives of every inhabitant. From a sous chef who dreams of refining her artistic skills, an androgynous woman with a dark past and a violent soul, to a once lively mutant teenager who's grief has morphed him into a shell of his former self. Together, with the help of their friends, family members, and wary allies— the truth will be revealed. No matter what the cost. Who knew that it would all start with a bit of paint?

notes: posting my first ever fanfiction on tumblr! I hope you enjoy, this is a passion project of mine that I have been working on since 2019. Show some love if you can, and let me know what you think of it! This book is also cross posted on Ao3 and Wattpad. Currently being rewritten as we speak.

warnings: gore and blood.

(Accidentally added a poll and can’t remove it from my draft so here we are lol)

Chapter One - Nothing to see here, folks! Everything is Fine.

You woke up that morning dreading to take out the trash.

It was Friday, that dreaded day of the week. While many celebrated it as the last day before the relief of a weekend, it happened to be only miserable for you. It was the busiest day in Murakami's Japanese restaurant, with all the drunk college men stumbling into the little hole in the wall to harass the three employees, and its blind owner/head chef. They made a mess, per usual, figuring out how to break down the token driven vending machine, demolish the bathrooms, leave their tables in chaotic disarray; all while somehow leaving drunker than before... If that was even possible. You were convinced that it had to do with those 'water bottles' they carried, which you were sure were just filled to the brim with vodka. There were times, when you were busy moping up a spilt drink, dizzy from their boisterous noise and the fumes, that you hoped they choked on their 'water'.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the only reason that you dreaded going to work. Every Friday was also the day where the garbage had reached unfathomable levels of toxicity and needed to be tossed into the dumpster for the workers to take it away the next morning. How was it that the small portion of the human race that came to the restaurant seemed to make the biggest, most disgusting mess possible? New York. Disgusting down to its very own garbage.

Black trash bags would pile up by the pounds against the back door, so much so that it may have become a safety concern and an entire health violation if you thought about it for too long. You were certain that some sort of mutant would sprout from the bags and squeak a pleasant hello~ towards your horrified face. And yet, that wouldn't even be the strangest thing you had seen happen during your almost two years living in Manhattan. You wished you were joking when you told the story about how you had once seen a grown man with a glorious beard dressed as a nun take on a costumed Elmo, who looked as if he discovered cocaine with those tech bros that cluttered the streets of the city. Only in Times Square at eleven at night did something like that happen— and it hadn't even been Halloween! The absurdity of it all meant that you couldn't help but begrudgingly be amused by the chaotic energy of New York City.

Now though, as you stood slouched over, your lower back pressed against the beige wall lined with awards and old pictures of simpler times, you glared with a burning ferocity at the trash bags. The trash bags which always seemed to come up with new scents and would send you to the bathroom to heave up the few crackers you had eaten for dinner. Those black plastic trash voids which oozed and dripped with weird discolored sludge that made the bags stick to the ground when you dragged them through the back door, leaving behind horrible slime trails in their path. Only once before in your life had you accomplished a feat of strength, and that was when you had jumped up from your chair to do one 'pull up' in P.E. at seven years old. You had been extremely proud of that loophole, and it was one of your most cherished memories, depressingly enough. That made this attempt of physical strength all the more difficult, in the end.

At this moment, glaring at the trash as if it had insulted your entire family, you were finally snapped out of the inner roasting that you had directed to the garbage— by being unceremoniously slapped in the face with a pair of neon latex gloves. You sighed loudly, closing your eyes to collect yourself before you, to put it in modern terms, cut a hoe. You bent over and snatched up the pair of yellow gloves with more rage than expected. Straightening, you met the grin of your friend, none other than Sukiyaki Ashika; the source of your constant suffering.

The young adult of Japanese and Pakistani descent leaned in the doorway which led to the kitchen, dark arms crossed over her flat chest, that same cheeky grin that she used against those teenage delivery boys plastered across her Asian based features. It was a weapon, paired with her psychedelic slanted red brown eyes, the sort you saw on vampire men in those terrible low budget movies. These weren't any different. They were real, and they were lovely. It felt at times that she would hypnotize you with her stare, so powerful were they. There were times where you couldn't hold her gaze, having to lose the staring contest by dropping your gaze to the ground.

"Make sure you put on them gloves, by the way." The teenager reminded you, tossing her Wolf cut bangs to the side, the back of her straight black hair cropped short. The bangs were wispy, perfect, flowing in the wind as if she were in a shampoo commercial. It was comical, and you wanted to stab it.

"Yeah— I remember what happened when you didn't wear them that one time." You snorted with a lopsided smile as you slid them both on, the latex snapping loudly against your skin as you raised your eyebrows. "How's your hands by the way?" You questioned, a grin growing across your face.

Yaki made a noise of annoyance as she looked over at the hallway between the kitchen and the main restaurant area, sniffing in distaste. "Its not my fault that the stuff in there stained my hands yellow." She grumbled, looking down at her hands with their splotches of light neon yellow blemished along her pecan brown palms.

"It's literally toxic." You noted, as you wrapped your hands around the tied knots of the black garbage bags, inhaling deeply as you attempted to lift them up. All that was obtained from that movement was a sore back and almost dislocating your wrists. You let out a groan through your clenched teeth, your shoulders shakily sagging.

Sukiyaki guffawed loudly, a grin growing on her lips as she curled a finger around a strand of her coarse hair to play with it. "Awe, babaaa." Cooed the woman, tilting her head to press against the doorway.

"Don't 'awe baba' me." You huffed back like the annoyed teenager you were, glaring at the bags filled with garbage that resembled you, kicking at the receptacle. "You're enjoying this." You huffed, dropping the bags, placing your gloved hands on your hips as you shot the bags another dirty look.

Yaki gave a half shrug coupled with her signature smile as she continued to watch in amusement at the train wreck starting before her. "Put 'cha back into it!" She called as you began to slowly roll each large trash bag across the linoleum floor and through the backdoor. You managed to shoot her a scowl over your shoulder as you began your process of piling all the bags outside the door. Finishing up, you pulled back one of the bags holding the backdoor open, allowing the heavy wooden door to fall shut against its doorway.

You listened for a moment as Yaki faintly sang All Star to herself through the closed door, as you began the long process of figuring out how exactly you were going to drag each humongous bag into the six feet tall dumpster bin. Your arms already shook with the effort, your tendons stretched out against your skin, as you tried your best not to fall over. You would've loved Sukiyaki to help you, or take over even, but you knew it was your turn. If you ended up asking, you knew what would follow. The teasing, the pokes in your sides, ruffling up your hair before she would finally submit and get the job done. Effortlessly tossing in the bags as if she were playing basketball, not a bead of sweat to be found, her hair perfect as always. It was annoying how perfect she was, and this time, you decided that you would put the garbage in its place without submitting yourself to the mortifying experience of asking Suki to help. At least you could try to hold onto a silver of dignity left in your body.

After loud fits of swearing, prayers to God, squealing as the bulging bag teetered back from the edge of the metal container and almost crushed you (if you hadn't ran off before it crashed to the floor) and, embarrassingly enough, a bit of frustrated tears being shed, you managed to shove a bag into the dumpster. Placing each on the edge and shoving them all inside with a loud grunt, you found yourself finding a rhythm. It did little to cheer you up as you felt the muscles in your arms beginning to complain. You were definitely going to blackmail Yaki into buying you some ice cream after your shift was finished— after all, it was the most your roommate could do to soften your pain.

"This is supposed to be your job." You grumbled to no one in particular, feeling the bead of sweat tickle the side of your temple as it slid. You dragged the last trash bag towards the dumpster bin, loudly (and explicitly) directing your frustration towards an imaginary Yaki. Fuming, cursing, you planned in your head, allowing your mouth to run wild. You could mess up her perfectly styled hair (though she would attack your hair then too, and it looked bad enough as it did after a long hot day of work), you could hide her earbuds in her locker (but then she would talk your ear off in the subway home), or, you could smack her with your broom. The broom smacking seemed the easiest, the most surprising, and frankly, the funnie—

Something squeaked back in response.

Your head swiveled around, your fingers gripping the trash bag as it teetered on the edge of the dumpster (dangerously so, as you dug your heels into the ground), your eyes wide, shoulders aching and nostrils flaring. The rats in New York City were as large as an alley cat, and you were not prepared to catch the bubonic plague from one of those buggers. You were pretty sure you had been vaccinated against rabies as a child, but a quick trip to the hospital to confirm that was not something you looked forward to. Either way, the thought of a rat sinking its dagger like teeth into your ankle did not sound fun.

Your eyes scanned the dark narrow alleyway, listening closely to hundreds of flashing cars zooming by on nearby streets, their horns blaring in the distance. Your pupils dilated and adjusted to the shadows cast by the towering buildings surrounding the alleyway, making sense of the shapes along the walls. Garbage bins, loose trash, scattered needles, rotting garbage bags from the business in the next building, cardboard boxes. Nothing. Nothing suspicious at all. Your knuckles turned a shade paler as you held onto the trash bag for dear life, turning towards the giant receptacle, finally releasing as it hit against the bottom of the bin with a loud thud.

Another squeak echoed in the alley as you brought your hands abruptly to your chest, ("protecting your innocent little heart now, baba?" You heard sukiyaki's voice tease you in your mind), your eyes falling towards a pile of trash bags against the opposite wall. Your heart thudded angrily against your chest. It felt as if it wanted to crawl up your throat and escape, running. You wanted to run, but your feet were glued to the asphalt. You cautiously reached for the rickety broom that was propped against the wall, right next to the garbage bin. Isidore must've been here recently, brushing the loose vegetables out into the street to be run over or stolen by the rats. Your fingers curled around the cool blue plastic, your sweaty palms squelching against the material. You were ready to slap any demon rat that came anywhere near you.

You gripped the plastic broom tightly with both hands, watching closely as one of the trash bags began to vibrate. Yes, vibrate; as if it were a ringing phone laid against a glass tabletop. You gulped, shuddering violently, as you began to take delicate steps toward towards the bag.

I'd rather it be a mutant than a freaking rat,— you hoped in your mind. At least mutants didn't try to bite... Right?

A gasp ripped from your mouth as a circular white face popped out with a rat-like squeak from a chewed up hole through the material of the plastic trash bag. There was the sound that you had been hearing all along. It belonged to a 2-D face with two white skinny stick arms stabbing into the bag as it wiggled out its beanpole of a body from the hole inside the trash bag. A drawn stick figure, about the size of your hand. It looked like it had been cut out of paper by a child, the edges showing pencil marks where the shape had been carefully drawn. It leapt out of the bag to perch itself onto the black bulging trash bag, sticking its face forward. Staring. Staring at you.

You didn't realize your mouth was hanging open until a fly smacked against your upper lip and ricocheted away. You spluttered, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth as you took a step backwards. Big mistake. The abrupt noise and sudden movement startled the stick figure. It arched its back, on all four nubby sticks (like a cat, you thought numbly in amusement), hissing at you even though it had no visible mouth. The noise that it emitted was enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight.

You stared at it. This was... unreal. A stick figure, (or a cut out figure?) coming to life, hissing at you like an angry pigeon. Did pigeons even hiss? You couldn't recall, you were just frozen. In utter shock.

...Were you high? Okay, yeah, sure, it was probably those delivery boys, their fault at is, smoking weed freely whenever they dropped off their shipments of vegetables, frozen fish and meat, including the occasional ice cream. At least you hoped; it would certainly make more sense than the stickie in front of you. Obviously, you had inhaled some second-hand-devils-lettuce smoke and now you were high as a kite, imagining a two year old's drawing cut out of a stick figure aggressively arching its back in and out at you as if it were performing some sort of mating dance.

The stick figure hissed once more and you finally noticed a hole appearing on his face, (because of course you assumed it was a male), and tiny paper like sharpened teeth baring at you.

Yeah, no.

You swiftly swung the head of the broom, bristles and all, at the sentient stick figure, slapping the surprisingly light thing in the torso and sending it flying. A loud squeal escaped its empty mouth as it sailed across the alley wall (you stared, mesmerized, wondering how paper could hold such weight), and tumbled onto the sidewalk. It scrambled to its feet, sickly yellow light from the street lamps throwing shadows against its flat white skin. It stared. And stared. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, it hissed once more at you and scurried off. The sound of its flat feet scratching lightly against the ground quickly faded away.

You stood there, sucking and exhaling rapid breaths. You stared at the place where, just moments before, a living drawing had stood.

After a few minutes, you had successfully convinced yourself that none of it had been real, or had even occurred. It was the toxic fumes from the garbage bags, mingling with remnants of the evil weed as your mother called it. It had come together to corrupt your brain and had made you hallucinate for a few minutes— that was all. It was something psychological that you were sure could be explained through a quick google search. You really had to make sure you wore a gas mask next time you took out the trash. That was a joke, but it barely amused you. Maybe it would make Sukiyaki laugh, if she didn't start cackling at your story of weed, poisonous fumes, and stick figures coming out to attack you.

You spent a few spare moments gingerly poking the hole riddled trash bag with the end of your broom, (letting out a gasp when something inside it fell over, causing you to jump), before shaking off that nagging feeling scratching the back of your mind. Everything was a-okay, perfect, absolutely fine... everything was fine.

You cleared your throat, turning swiftly on the soles of your stained beat up, formerly white sneakers, twirling the broom lazily in your free hand. Around and around, you twirled, as if you were trying to mimic the actions of a Jedi. Your heart had calmed down from the mini heart attack it just had, as you wiped your free shaking sweaty palm on your stained light blue jeans. You walked back towards the backdoor, a trembling hum resonating in your throat, dragging your shoes against the dirty concrete floor of the alleyway. Everything was just fine.

You felt the ground tremble before you heard it. The sound of feet hitting the ground behind you, slapping against the ground clumsily, a small grunt following it. Softly, albeit messily, but gently enough that you wouldn't had even noticed. If it hadn't been for the hand that grabbed your shoulder.

A shrill shriek escaped your lips as you swung around the broom (really, this had become second nature after what you had just gone through) spinning around to beat the person who had grabbed you. Grabbed you! This was New York City after all, it was late, and hadn't there been reports of mutants, gangs, and weird looking alien robots in this area as well? You were not the type of person to willingly go if you were kidnapped or, god forbid, harassed. If it came to it, the good Lord had given you two dirty hands for wielding whatever was available. Which happened to be a cheap, held-together-by-prayers-and-duct-tape-broom. Put together, you were the shining representative of all pathetic, weak, easily scared girls worldwide.

Unfortunately, before your weapon of choice could loudly thwack against the face of your adversary, the broom was gripped tightly in a shaking bandaged three fingered hand.

You were face to face with a creature.

You were both breathing heavily in sync. This thing, this animal, was injured and heaving in rhythm with you. How rude!

In the dim yellow light emitted from the streets that dragged into the alleyway, he was red— no, he was green, covered in red. You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to hide the fact that you were beginning to hyperventilate at the pure shock of this mes— wait; was that a panic attack you felt coming on? You hadn't had one in weeks!

He was taller than you, that much you could tell as you stared into his eyes. You were caught in his piercing gaze, your eyes only being able to flicker around before being dragged back into this stare. He appeared to be brawny in his physique, though you on the contrary seemed as breakable as a twig. A huge gash ran across his green face as you, for the first time, noticed a blue mask around his neck that was soaked with... blood. Torn up bandages swayed limply from his elbows, shoulders and hands, with a few knee pads barely holding on. His left shoulder leaked blood through a large open gash that didn't seem to relent with its flow. His right eye was reddened and beginning to swell shut, the other a piercing blue that seemed wrong belonging to a thing like him. Your eyes trailed to his back, oh hello there shell, where large multi colored gashes peeked at her, contrasting against the brown. The streaks seemed as if they were made out of… paint.

Your attention was pulled away as remembered the broom you were gripping with both of your hands, his three fingered hand holding the other side, his own grip in between your hands. You let go, stumbling backwards, your arms outstretched into a t-pose as you stared wide eyed in silence. Whattt was happening? What was this? Why was this? Why? Why?!

A noise that sounded like a pigeon choking on a piece of hot dog meat escaped your parted lips as you pointed at his face. The thing. The turtle. The mutant. With eyes you had only seen before in cliché anime gif's that you would usually spam to your former nanny to confuse her.

He stood there, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable, mimicking the exact expressions that you were experiencing too. He clutched the broom in one hand, his arm falling limply to the side. His grip on the pole was tight, so tight that his knuckles turned white. His hand began to shake. His grip loosened. The broom clattered to the ground. The shaking in his hands didn't stop there. It only spread, up his arms, down to his knees; his entire body seemed to be having a shaking fit. You realized, late as it was, that it was probably the buckets of blood covering him, (hey-o! blood loss!).

You took a small step forward.

"Um..." You cleared your throat, embarrassingly loud as it echoed throughout the alley, trying to draw his attention. He was staring straight ahead, his gaze empty and in some far off place other then the present. "My, my guy." You said, unsure of yourself as you scrunched up your nose at the stupid words spilling out of your mouth. You held out one hand tentatively, eyebrows knitted in concern as you licked your very dry, very salty lips. "Are you... good?"

The mutant hesitantly shrugged, his one working eye squinting and shining in the sickly yellow light. "No." His hoarse voice squeezed out, barely a whisper as it echoed along the dense towering concrete walls of the alleyway. With that one word, he collapsed in on himself, like a soda can being crushed between two hands.

You stared at the pile of blue, green, brown, beige, yellow, purple, and red before you and inhaled deeply. You gazed upon your familiar surroundings, calm as ever, and clasped your gloved hands together. "God..." You declared quite loudly, as if you were confessing to the Lord himself. "I'm high." And with those cheerful words, still trying to convince yourself that this was all a hallucination you turned on the heels of your white sneakers, opened the door, and walked inside. Humming a loud tune, the door shut closed behind you, ringing throughout the alley, out into the empty street.

A squeak rang out from a familiar hole riddled trash bag.

Everything was fine.

[aliypop]

That's Alright for Such a Night

(Rewrite Chapter 2)

Word Count: 2.666

Writers Note: A rewrite to the original, I realized I had wanted to expand on the story again

Warning: mostly fluff / Historic Language and Values

Pairing: POC OC x Elvis

Plot: During the Louisiana Hayride two breakout stars meet in a rush only to learn they've dealt their cards in the hands of fate.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

 Lousiana, 1954

"Say you wanna join my bandmates and me. We're going to a diner just up the street,"

"I... Don't know-"

"CECELIA!" her mother shouted,

"On second thought, I change my mind."

"So you'll come with us," Elvis asked, a grin on his face as Cecelia nodded. Cecelia, Elvis, and The Blue Moon boys had made their escape. They were walking down the brisk streets of Louisiana. Cecelia shivered a bit, forgetting her cardigan sweater in her mother's car. Elvis had taken off his pink suit jacket and wrapped it over her shoulders, 

"You didn't have to do that,"

"Eh, wouldn't want you gettin sick here." he winked at her as Cecelia playfully rolled her eyes at him. 

"Well, thank you kindly, Mr. Presley. But I can take care of myself..." 

"Anytime, Ms. Valmos. And I wasn't sayin you can't." He responded back to her, the two walking closer toward one another. 

"CECELIA!!! CECELIA!!! IS THAT YOU!!!" Everyone, including Cecelia, had turned around when they heard the yelling from behind getting closer to them,

 "Sounds like you got fans."Scotty smiled,

"Rosa Calhoun!!!!" Cecelia ran towards her. Rosa had been best friends since Cecelia and her mother moved to Georgia when she was sixteen. The one smiling face she could always find in a crowd.

"What're you doing in Louisiana," Cecelia questioned,

"Well, I was in town shooting a movie, heard you were performing, and- Are you okay?" Rosa whispered, taking notice of the guys around her, "They ain't following you, are they..." 

"I'm fine, Rosa. Actually, this is my friend, Elvis Presley, and his group, the Bluemoon Boys." Cecelia smiled, introducing her to them all. 

"Cece... the curl is drivin' me insane..." Rosa blushed, staring at Elvis' cowlick. Elvis winked as Rosa pretended to swoon, or at least Cecelia hoped she was.

"Mind your P's and Q's, will ya." Cecelia nudged her shoulder.

"Say you should join us..." Scotty winked as Rosa clutched her chest. After all, she did have a thing for men who were a bit older than she was. 

 "Where you fella's going?"

"To the first Lunch Car, we see..." Bill Black responded.

"But it's dinner time, isn't it," Rosa questioned, 

"That's just its name, Rosa." Cecelia winked,

Arriving at the diner, they had taken their seats in a booth. Cecelia sat next to Elvis, and Rosa sat between Scotty and Bill while Sam pulled a chair to the table. 

"This may be the first integrated place I've been in," Cecelia mumbled as Elvis nodded, 

"I'd have to agree on that. Well, no, there's this one place in Beale Street an-"

"California is pretty spiffy on it," Rosa shrugged, "But uh, what're we orderin'?" she asked as Cecelia laughed along with her.

"A celebration feast!" Scotty and the boys shouted,

"Why not! On me, my treat." Elvis smiled, 

"Are you sure? " Cecelia asked as Elvis looked into her brown doe eyes. She really was being sincere, "You don't have to spend your 18 bucks, I-"

"Cecelia..." his blue eyes looking deep into her soul, "Allow me to treat the soon legendary rock n roller to a meal." Cecelia nodded as he put his arm around her.

"Alright, but don't spend it all in one place, Pres." she ruffled up his hair as he brushed it back.

"Alright, so everyone knows what they're orderin?" the waitress asked, 

"6 of everything," Elvis winked as Rosa and Cecelia laughed. Sometimes, he swore he was so charming. 

"Alright, make it 6 of everythang..." the waitress said,

The food had come, and they had all eaten everything. Rosa and Scotty had taken it upon themselves to share a Milkshake. Bill and Sam were by the phone, and then Elvis and Cecelia were by the Jukebox. He was mesmerized by her, and she felt the same way as him. 

Earth angel, Earth angel, will you be mine?

"You wanna dance?" He asked,

"I'd like that..." Elvis led her to the dance floor. His hand was on her lower back, as hers was on his shoulder.

Earth angel, Earth angel, the one I adore

Love you forever. And evermore.

I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you.

The two swayed to the lyrics as she looked up at him. He was tall and handsome, but she wasn't his, and he couldn't be hers, and it pained her heart already that she knew this. 

"Practicing for a dance, huh?" Cecelia said, her head on his chest, 

"Oh, uh yeah ... yeah." he had damn near forgotten about being Dixie's prom date,

 "And you, you must get a slew of guys just uh waitin to ask you out to any dance, really."

"Actually, I don't," 

"Why's that..." The two kept dancing, 

"Picky with love, I guess," she glanced at his lips. Those beautiful pillowy pouty lips that she just wanted to place hers on top to feel and taste what it would be like to know what pure bliss would feel like. 

"You deserve to be picky,"

"Whys that Pres."

"Well, Valmos, You're pretty, an you got talent. I'm sure you got a great brain in that head of yours and..." he was lost in her eyes again. And the light reflecting on her tawny brown skin, enamored by her very features that he wanted to kiss so much, not to mention her body in her wiggler dress, but damn, he had a girl back home who he promised to be true to. 

"And what else..."

"Nothin', I forgot." 

Oh, oh, oh, Earth angel, Earth angel, please be mine.

My darling dear, love you for all time.

I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you.

"There you are!" Midge and Cheryl burst through the door. She was still in his arms as Midge groaned, "Denise is going to murder me..."

"Midge... Cheryl. Hi, have you met Elvis..." she introduced him as he waved, not dropping her from the dip he had her in

 "Your mothers looking for you, and she's pleased and pissed at you,"

"Oh great..." Cecelia sighed as Elvis brought her back up from the dance floor. 

"Does this mean I..." Midge and Cheryl nodded as she sighed, but she was having so much fun. For once, Cecelia felt,

"Time to go and say goodbye to uh.."

"Elvis, Ms. Guess, I'll See you around, Cecelia."

"If I'm not dead, Pres." she winked. Elvis walked back to the booth, a bit broken-hearted. What if he never saw her again?

Midge took her back to her mother's car as if it were a walk of shame, "Your mother will have your entire ass for fraternizing with a group of White boys, you know." Cecelia only rolled her eyes as she kept walking, 

"Don't see how, when she literally sings with Sinatra..."

"He's Italian."

"Well... I had a swingin good time, okay." Cecelia sighed. She could feel the glare coming from her mother through her Mercedes car window. 

"Where were you..." Denise asked as Cecelia mumbled something under her breath.

"I went to go eat with some friends I made..."

" Cecelia, something could've happened to you."

"Rosa was there!"

"Hiya, Mrs. D," she giggled as she made a phone motion towards Scotty.

"Once again, something could have happened to you both..." she sighed, "Do you not know what they're doing in the deep south to girls like you." Denise groaned, 

"Hey, Rosa..." Denise glared at her daughter again, "I thought I told you to stay away from her... She's fast..."

"Sorry, Mam-" Denise glanced at Cecelia, "Mother... It won't happen again."

"It's better not. Now, you two get in. I have news." 

Rosa sat in the back as Cecelia sat in the passenger seat.

"Lousiana Hayride wants you to perform every Saturday Night starting next year." Cecelia smiled, 

"But they were going to pay you less, so...I pulled a few strings..." 

"Like what..." Rosa said, 

"Well, remember how I said we're moving to Nashville,"

"Yeah, you did..." Cecelia looked confused.

"Well, if cut you a country blues hit or a rock one before the Hayride and its sales, you'll get the same pay." 

"Well, how soon can you operate that studio of ours?"

"Now you're making sense. 

Nashville Tennessee, 1955

"That's all of it." Denise sighed, "Here we are back in the country..." she groaned as Cecelia grinned, sitting on a tree branch in their spacious yard. Denise could take the girl out of the country, but never the country out of the girl. Cecelia and Denise had now moved into Valmos Manor, owned by Cecelia's great-grandmother Calpernia. 

"Hey, Cece!"

"Rosa!"

"Oh, Jesus..." Denise laughed,

"Seems we're neighbors!" 

"Seems so!" 

"You going to the concert tonight!" Rosa nearly shouted as Cecelia looked at her mother. While she was now hanging upside down from the same branch.

"You have a record to cut..."

"For research..." Cecelia cheesed as her mother shook her head. 

"Oh, alright, but I'm coming with you girls."

Cecelia silently groaned. She wanted one show to herself and a friend at least once.

"Who's the headliner?" Cecelia asked. Rosa then shouted back from her fence.

"I don't know, it's like a bunch, but Scotty is gonna be there and Elvis Presley is goin-"

"Elvis..." Cecelia gasped, "I'll get dressed right now!" Cecelia ran past Midge like she was Jay Garrick

"Where's she going..." Midge asked, "Is she testing her lipstick again?"

"Again?!" Denise questioned what she meant by again.

Dresses, slacks, blouses, and jeans were all scattered around in her room as she tried to pick the perfect outfit. Cecelia hadn't seen her friend Elvis in a year since 1954, which was like an eternity. 

Sure, they wrote to each other, but now he was near where she lived! And she could see him tonight if she could find something to wear. Picking out a vibrant pink pencil skirt dress and her pink scarf around her neck to match, she finally felt ready. That was once she'd put on her iconic red lipstick and her hair in a poodle updo. 

But before she left, she had one more thing to do. She kissed her Elvis poster and her Dean Martin Poster next to it. Running down the stairs, Cecelia saw her mother, who gave her a smile as she glanced at Rosa.

"I can see all of your imagination in that dress ..." Denise shook her head at Rosa,

"Perfect!" she giggled. Rosa walked in with her black and white Polka dot dress, waiting for Denise to go upstairs to show Cecelia it had shorts underneath, 

"It's cute, why the shorts?"

"In case Scotty wants to pick up where we left off,"

"Wouldn't you do a dress then... Woah, wait, are you and Scotty boiling the cabbage."

"Yeah,"

"Lucky..." 

"You could boil yours too, kid. If you put down the comic books once in a while and saw the babes in front of you."

"I'm savin myself for someone special." Cecelia smiled. She was proud of that. And she meant what she said.

"Like who Elvis Aaron Presley~" Rosa teased, "You wanna pull his cowlick? Don'tcha? Play a little house..." 

"I wanna do more than just that, I wanna-"

"Want to what..." Denise glanced,

"Uh, go to the concert." Cecelia smiled, clearing her throat as Denise pulled the top of her dress up,

"That's what I thought."

Overton Park Shell Memphis Tennessee 

"Oh, he looks furious..." Rosa mumbled, watching Elvis Perform.

"The guitar isn't his, and it's missing two strings... " she sighed. She knew how that felt. She lost her Falcon once during a performance. And it threw her off.

 Elvis had tried his hardest to focus on the slightly crappy night he was having until his eyes saw, "Cecelia," he mouthed as she waved. Scotty shook his head playfully as Rosa waved,

"People can see you two..." she hit her playfully as Rosa laughed.

"That's the point." 

"Your mother can see you too..."

"Shit..." Cecelia groaned.

"I'd uh, I-I like to invite a friend up, if that's okay..." Elvis said as Cecelia playfully frowned, "Don't know if I can find her, she's, uh, in pink and... Oh, found her!"

Helping her up on the stage, Cecelia took his hand. Silence filled the crowd, a few cheers, mostly deathly glares, but Cecelia was used to it. After all, she'd been this color her entire life. Might as well be comfortable in it, she figured. Denise and Midge were worried, and so was Rosa, 

"Don't worry about them..."

"Pres..."

"Do you trust me," Elvis whispered,

"I don't know if I should," Cecelia whispered back

"Good enough for me, doll."

"I don't have a guitar." Cecelia began to look around,

"Use mine." another man said, giving him her guitar.

"Thanks?"

"Ready when you are." Elvis smiled,

"Lovesick blues boys." she said as the song started, "I'm gonna sing you, lovely folks, a song about heartache, it's got pain and misery written all in it. So pitch an ear an listen," she said as the band played. 

"By the way, I'm Cecelia Valmos." she saluted as Scotty, Billy, and Elvis followed her lead.

I got a feeling called the blues, oh Lord

Since my baby said goodbye

Lord, I don't know what I'll do

All I do is sit and sigh, "Oh Lord."

Cecelia grinned as she danced a little, Elvis following her steps. The crowd was wild. As Cecelia looked back at Elvis, she had asked him to join her in the last part of the song. It was the start of something legendary, and Denise, although regretting it, could certainly taste it.

"Lord, I love to hear her when she calls me sweet daddy."  Elvis turned to her as Cecelia nearly laughed at his attempt to yodel. 

"Such a beautiful dream. " Elvis leaned into the microphone as Cecelia watched him sing to her, beckoning her to come closer to him, which she did.

"I hate to think it's all over; I've lost my heart, it seems." Cecelia leaned into the microphone, the two playing their guitars. Rosa and Midge were impressed, but the papers wouldn't be.

"And I'm lonesome. I got the lovesick blues". 

When the song was over, they went backstage, laughing and giggling, picking up where they both left off. 

"Elvis, that was brilliant!" Cecelia chuckled as she held onto his shoulder.

"Didn't take you for a Hank Williams girl."

"My daddy was a Blues and Folk singer, so... it runs through me like a bad meal." she joked as he laughed. Denise was in the corner with Hank Snow, talking business. At least it was what Cecelia supposed was going on, 

"Oh, uh, sir, your guitar." Cecelia tapped him on the shoulder, 

"Call me Johnny Cash." he winked at her,

"You can call me any time..." Rosa mumbled as Scotty looked at Rosa, who was making a call me gesture to him.

"Don't mind her. You were amazing out there." Cecelia smiled, 

"Me, no, you and him, that was amazing. I would've thought you made it up the way you came up there. You two fooled us." Johnny then walked off. 

"You gonna tell him,"

"Nah," Cecelia laughed, "So you're touring in Memphis?"

"I Could ask you the same thing," Elvis smirked,

"I live in Nashville now." Cecelia smiled,

"You moved here!" he grinned as she smiled at him, 

"Yeah, we settled in today!"

"So we could go out?" he mumbled,

"I wouldn't mind. It gets lonely, and I'm usually just makin records under my mama's label. I haven't even any friends but Rosa..."

"Scotty darlin! I'm just messin with you!" 

"Are you really."

"I wouldn't leave you for that glass of country singin water." 

"Promise?" 

As the two began to walk off, Hank and Denise both walked down towards the two, 

"That don't look good..." 

"Ms. Valmos, How'd you like to headline For Elvis Presley in Texas?" Hank asked.

"Sounds fine. Why do you ask?"Cecelia questioned,

"Cause you're going on tour,"

Taglist: If you wanna be tagged let me know!

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@sissylittlefeather

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

MORE TO COME IN CHAPTER 3!

[letterfromtarnish]

Port Manteau

Hello to her Royal Majesty Queen Luminessa,

I hope this finds you in as good as spirit as i find myself in these days. It has been roughly a year since last we wrote correspondence I apologize for my absence as it poor manners to keep a not only a lady, but a good friend in waiting. Since last week spoke Chance gave me his blessing to grow the name Grimmawk outside the hush tones of fearful villages and whining vampires. Ive made my way to Port Manteau gaining passage from our mutual friend the King of the Pirates. There was something amazing about being out on the ocean again. I love my husband dearly but absence truly makes the heart grow fonder and I see him more in my thoughts and think of him in laughter aboard the fine vessels that Qui-Lon leads through your ocean. The vast blue field that lay before me once struck fear into my heart and now since making your acquaintance has left me doing nothing more the longing for my friend to escape her responsibilities and visit with me on my escapades.

We talked for hours about everything: Politics of the day, where one might find fun in the various ports of the archipelago. He urges me to visit Hyranor. A New King has taken a seat in that backwater country by the name of Lucius Pinn. He has in the past sought council from my husband in obtaining eternal life before he gained his blood soak crown. Chance turned him away simply stating

"One does not ask for power, You simply are or you are not and Lucius Pin is not."

I may seek to open trade once Mallum has an established market but i get ahead of myself. Ive gain an audience with the Royal Family using my husbands name less like a key and more akin to a battering ram to open the doors to trade. They fear him and in turn fear me. Its so strange as Chance has not killed and eaten any man who hasn't deserved it and I myself have never truly ended a life with any sort of malice but to hear the courts lords and lady's whisper you would think we were boogie men. they dare not say it to my face but my ears gather their words where their courage will not.

Do they see you as a monster or god Lumi? Chance says not to worry myself on it.

"They can not fathom anything not fearing death. We to can die but time will never be our assassin. Darkness to them is the essence of evil, but to us it is merely the absence of light."

The courts of Mallum work in black and white while most of the world is in shades of grey. Their blindness is my advantage and I plan to exploit it and maybe teach a few out there that in the absence of light, good things exist in the dark. Right soon. Ive enclosed a case of waterproof silks that i had enchanted for you to give to your tailors. Send my regards to Tippy.

With Love and respect your humble servant

Count Dion Alexander Grimmawk

[zeldaelmo]

@tobythetrashyartist made awesome art for this story, more tomorrow!

Fair warning: Link is in a bad spot at the beginning of this, expect hints at alcohol abuse, bitterness towards religion, and general calloused thoughts.

Believe

Link drew his knees closer and pulled the thin blanket provided from the mobile home over his head like a hood. Maybe that would finally stop his teeth from clattering. He shot the ice-cold heater an equally harsh glare. So what if he didn't have the money to pay for electricity, were they going to let him freeze to death? 

Cursing into the white air that his breath left behind, he rested his forehead on his knees, letting as little warmth as he could escape. 

Yeah. Yeah, they would let him freeze to death. Not here, of course. They would kick him out by the end of the week because he didn't pay his rent either. 

His dead phone sat on the edge of the moth-filled mattress, next to a list with a lot of names crossed out. He hadn't even asked for money, for heaven's sake, he had asked for a job!

“A temp job? Now? It's Christmas, honey. Ask again after New Year."

Woohoo, Christmas Eve, everyone's favorite day of the year. He grabbed for the bottle of cheap whiskey a kind soul had left at the door of each mobile home. The liquid lacked its typical golden shine in the dark. Link raised the bottle towards the window, so that the muddy city light filtering in illuminated it and tilted the bottle. Half-empty. 

Stiff fingers fought to twist the lid open. He raised the bottle to himself. "Merry Christmas, Link. May your wishes come true, this year." Snorting, he took a swig, the liquid tingling down his throat. Warmth. Finally some good old burning warmth. He lifted the bottle again, the glass scraping against his chapped lips. The strong, cheap smell promised a quick knockout. He hadn't properly eaten in days, maybe he could even leave the rest for tomorrow.

In the distance, the bells of a church rang for the first evening mass. Link wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Not even in this God-forsaken place, they would leave him alone. As if praying had ever solved anything.

The bottle nearing his lips again, he paused. Those bastards kept their churches warm, right? It was probably the only open public space tonight with everything else closed. Maybe… Barking a laugh at himself, he put the whiskey down. Just look at him, seeking God's warmth like a lost sheep. Well, he had never cared much where his money came from, he would surely not make an exception for a warm evening. 

He gathered his phone and the charger; who knew if God's endless goodness hadn't led to an unsupervised plug socket? Halfway through the door, he groaned and went back. Old habits die hard, no matter how low he was, he couldn't leave 'home' without brushing his teeth.

Outside, it was even more unruly. The thin layer of snow that had fallen yesterday had long turned into squishing mud with the texture of goo and the biting wind found every seam of his denim jacket. Most of the people didn't acknowledge his existence apart from the occasional 'accidental' shoulder bump. He didn't mind. Let them balance their shiny carryout bags home to a loving family, he was just fine without either. So what if nobody had been there to pick him up when he was finally — he stopped in front of a display window, rubbing his palm over his shaved head. It didn't matter. Nothing of all this mattered. The hair would grow back, everything was behind him now. 

Link buried his hands in his pockets and picked up his pace again. The closer to the cathedral he came, the more the people changed. Heels clicked and slithered on the cobblestone, men put their hands on their hats to keep them from becoming a victim of the wind. Maybe this had been a stupid idea.

He pulled his collar up, ducking his head. The guy in the woolen coat and the woman plus the little girl with matching dresses looked a lot like one of his former schoolmates. Was there a side entry, maybe? It was a freaking cathedral, there had to be more than one way in. 

His wet and numb feet carried him to the left… What was the word? Side aisle? Might as well. The door here was still sickeningly pompous, but only a quarter of the size of the front entry. Warily, he turned the doorknob. Oh. It moved. The door swung open, musty and damp air hitting his iced face. Well, it was warm, at least.

He couldn't see anyone else in the small corridor. Iron candle holders lined the stone wall and Link followed the direction of the music. Maybe he was behind the organ? 

It didn't matter that much. The warmth let his shoulders finally drop from their hunched position and the red skin on his fingers began to burn. He moseyed further along the corridor. He had no plans to join the worshippers, but an open door didn't necessarily mean he was welcome to stroll around. A night in a cell would postpone his hypothermia, but he had enough of that for the rest of his life.

The corridor opened to something like an aisle. It must have been upwinding; he was now above the main hall. Rattly, wooden chairs were piled up and in the corner, something big was stored under a canvas. Frowning, Link turned a chair over and sat down, backrest between his legs. Odd. There even was a cherub or some other kind of statue here, why did they use something like this as a storage room? 

All the better. If someone found him, he would say he came to pray to the… what was it? And… Did the statue glow?

He picked up the chair and sat down again directly in front of the figure. The glow was gone and he shook his head. Probably the whiskey. 

There was no badge or inscription, just a thick woman carved out of stone. His eyes were drawn to her smile. The statues of Jesus Christ or other saints he remembered from his childhood didn't smile — how could they when suffering was their main character trait? Why did she? Curious, he traced the smooth stone with his fingers. Her arms were crossed over each other in a praying position. To whom did she pay respect? Wasn't she a Goddess herself? Wings spread from her back, maybe she was just a forgotten angel. Like him. A bitter snort left him; more forgotten than angel.

He crossed his arms on the backrest and rested his chin on them, breathing the warm air. His shoes had begun to dry and even the muscles in his back slowly uncramped. The choir down in the main hall sang Christmas choruses but the sound was muffled enough that it didn’t bother him too much. If his stomach wasn't sour from hunger, it was almost nice. 

His eyes fell back on the statue. She smiled, unwavering. 

"Must be nice," Link said to the stone. "To be so happy all the time, I mean. Or are you smiling despite it all?"

He tore his mouth into a grin, a stale attempt at mirroring her. God, when was the last time he had smiled? 

"See? I'm bad at this. That's why you have cool wings and I just have a pair of worn-out sneakers." He wiggled his toes. "Wet and beyond cleaning, on top of that."

Sighing, he turned his attention back to the music. They probably offered some kind of shelter to people like him, a soup, maybe a place to sleep together in a room with others. It was Castle Town's biggest church, after all. 

The religious brainwashing was one thing, he could deal with that. The problem was that it wouldn’t be long before the Jasons and Jeffs and Johns would find him and hiss from the corner of their mouth what great deal they could make if only he lent them a hand. And before he could shake his head, he was neck-deep in trouble. No, he was better off alone.

The statue still gazed at him. Well, he couldn’t expect her to turn her head towards the music and make fancy dance moves. He felt… observed? No. Seen. He rubbed his forehead with two fingers. Of course, a statue of cold stone was the first who properly looked at him in years, sure, Link.

The organ down in the main hall of the cathedral boomed his thoughts out. The mass must be finished. 

Sighing, Link stood up and peeked down. Yes, the people were going home. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his arms — just when he was warm again. 

With a chuckle, he rested his palm on the arms of the statue. "Nice to talk to you. Maybe I'll stop by again. I really appreciate your ability to listen. Link is the name." He dropped his hand, lingering. He couldn't fight it, he didn't want to go. "I… I don't know if you do this prayer thing. But if I could ask for something…" He sighed again, rubbing his palm over his head. What was he doing here? "If… if I could ask for something it would be a new start. I… I don't really have anything to offer in return. Just a dry spell at the moment, I mean, I'll get over it, it's just… anyway. I gotta go before I get in trouble."

He made a few steps, went back to put the chair back, and disappeared as quietly as he had come. The door clanged shut behind him and he didn't look back. If he was confident enough, nobody would say anything. That always worked. 

The cold had him in a death grip a few steps into his way home. He pulled his shoulders up again and pushed forward. Maybe he could at least try to keep his feet dry, this time, or he would wake up with eight toes instead of ten. 

The shop windows became smaller and more shabby the longer he walked and soon, they lacked the glittering Christmas decorations, and old boxes and other rubbish clattered the space behind the glass. At the gate of the mobile home 'park', he had to squeeze himself past two street cats fighting over the content of a trash can. On his first week here, he had tried to befriend them, but all he got was a nasty bite that wouldn't heal. 

A faint light shone out of his window and he frowned with the key already dangling from his stiff-frozen fingers. Did they turn the electricity back on as a Christmas gift? He hurried. Now that would be something!

He pushed the door open and froze. The light didn't come from a lamp he hadn't switched off, it didn't even come from electricity at all. 

A woman stood in the middle of his room, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders to her hips. She turned toward him and the filigree jewelry that adorned her head and her dress jingled. Link shut his eyes, fingered for the door handle, and tugged it close. It had been hours since he had the whiskey and it hadn't been more than a few sips. One by one, he peeled his eyes open again. The most astonishing thing about her wasn't that she seemed to float or that faint glow that radiated from her, no. It was her smile. A smile he had spent two hours staring at. A smile that had made him feel welcome. A smile that was once again directed at him.  

"Good evening, Link." Her voice was more melodic than a summer breeze rustling through the leaves of a linden tree.

Link swallowed against his suddenly dry throat and stretched his hand out toward her, his words coming out as a whisper.

"Who are you?"