#horrifically filthy on the inside

[vashti-lives]

My cat tree needed some new posts so in addition to doing that I cleaned and recovered it over the weekend and Theda was so mad the whole time.

All of my cats were confused, but Theda was mad. I stole her cat tree!! Mother is evil!!!!!! Every time I added a new layer she had to climb on it, regardless of it was screwed down yet.

She’s finally at peace again. In time I may be forgiven.

[chuulyssa]

── ★ 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 !

a/n: i finally reached impel down arc so here's me coping with ace's inevitable death read on ao3

𝙨𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 — stripped and locked up in impel down with your boyfriend doesn't sound too bad, not after the mind-blowing ways he helps you pass your time there

𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚 — fluff, angst, comfort, smut smut pure filthy smut ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎──‎‎‎‎─ tw reader is a strategist on wb's crew, humiliation by stripping and parading by jail wardens, cat-calling by creepy prisoners, overall really uncomfortable till you get to ace, implied mentions of assault, public sex, exhibitionism, bondage by cuffs, nipple play, dry humping, oral both f and m!receiving, face sitting, begging kink, praise kink, cockwarming at the end

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 — ace x f!reader ft. cameo by crocodile

You shuddered from the cold wind as it rose goosebumps on the bare skin of your body.

It had been over an hour since you had been stripped of your clothing, plunged into boiling hot water to get 'baptized,' and hauled all the way here with nothing but a towel covering your naked frame. Slowly, as if to punish you through humiliation, you had been dragged by your hair downstairs, level by level, passing each and every cell filled with prisoners who gawked and wolf-whistled at your thighs and collarbones. They had hurled along each step, making a racquet and screaming for the warden to let you in their cell for 'just one night'. And for a moment, you seemed to think that was exactly what the jailers would do, before they yanked your hair up in another direction, and you heaved a sigh of relief despite the pain. It couldn't have been more horrifying.

Throughout your journey down to Level 6, you had passed many 'hells', as they called it. To think that an organization called themselves the harbingers of peace and unity, only to enforce such horrific scenes, and the even more terrifying formations such as the Buster Call, it was no wonder there was an army working day and night to bring down the World Government.

The stone of the final level had felt cold under your bare feet. Your head had been aching for a while now, and your body was trembling entirely. If it hadn't been for the ruthless jailer holding you up, you were sure your legs would have given in already.

"Move along!" The warden had screamed, and you had bitten a harsh remark before complying.

Here, too, the men of the lockers had screamed in delight at the sight of you, eyes widening out of their sockets and hands attempting to reach out to you from behind the bars. You had nervously hiked the towel that covered your breasts and crotch higher up, locking an arm to the side to stop it from falling over.

The head jailer, Domino, had opened a rather secluded cell. It was hidden well away from the rest, with just one cell in front of it. A man already sat inside it, his head hung low in defeat. She had pushed you inside it with all her might. You had fallen to the ground, the towel coming off your body slightly but still enough to hide the main parts. She had locked your hands apart, uncomfortably close to the other man.

Just as they had been about to lock you away for good with the man, the Warden, Magellan stopped and looked at you.

"To think that you still haven't learnt your lesson after escaping death from the World Government all this time," he snarled at you, and you glared right back at him. "Let us hope you rethink your decisions as you rot away here before your execution."

"I'm not gonna be executed."

"We will see about that. Oh, and," he walked back into the cell and tore the towel away from your body, "this won't matter in a few weeks."

You scrambled to hide yourself as the jailers left, everyone other than the Warden laughing uncontrollably. You could feel countless eyes on you from other cells. People craned their necks to get a better look at your body in spite of the dim lighting of the prison. You tried to move desperately to save some dignity, but the clanking of the chains around your wrists echoed in the room, and the vicious comments only grew louder. You seemed to be the only woman on this level, and the prisoners thus took this as a chance to memorize every curve of your body.

"That's enough," a familiar voice declared from beside you, and the jeering immediately stopped.

Your eyes focused on the man beside you. His messy black hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat from the suffocating heat of the prison. His face looked hardened and tense. Every muscle in his body was coiled like a spring, as if he was ready to burst out in flames at any moment, despite the heavy shackles chaining him down.

Ace’s chest rose and fell with slow, measured breaths, the fury in his eyes growing hotter, sharper, as if silently promising death to all those who had had the nerve to comment on your fragile form, as well as to those who were the cause of it.

"Ace," you said softly, more so to yourself than you did to him. After all, how could he know the countless nights you had spent with the crew, awaiting his return as he sought revenge on Blackbeard? How could he know the sickness that overtook you when you found out of his imprisonment and ultimate execution? How could he know the relief you felt right now, just by the innocent sight of his face?

"Why are you here?" he said quietly, not looking up at you at all.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm a prisoner," you tried to inch closer towards him, but the chains that bound you did not budge.

"If the strategist I fell in love with did not foresee possible capture and execution, then she must be an impersonator."

You swallowed hard. You knew better than anyone that he wasn't angry with you — he was angry with himself. Angry that, despite all the warnings, all the plans, things had gone so wrong. And now, here you both were: stripped of everything, thrown into a nightmare where escape seemed impossible.

Yet now, in this hellish prison, with the cold iron chains cutting into your wrists, all of that seemed to fade into the background. The mere sight of him, alive and breathing was enough to satisfy all the anxiety you had had for the past few weeks.

"You're right," you bowed your head down. "I knew this would happen."

"Then why—"

"I missed you."

A deafening silence hung around the air before his eyes snapped back to you angrily. His entire body tensed, the chains around his wrists rattling as he shifted.

"You missed me?" His voice was low, and the fury in it was unmistakable. "You knew the risks, you knew what they would do to you, and you came here anyway? Why? Because you missed me?"

"You don't get it, do you?" you said softly, eyes meeting his. "I would rather be here with you, in this place, than out there without you."

"You're being stupid right now," Ace growled. His fists clenched in the chains, the metal creaking as if they were just a breath away from snapping under the pressure. "Do you know what you've done? You could've escaped all this — you didn't have to come here. Not for me. I'm not worth the—"

"I love you," you interrupted. The fire in his gaze flickered briefly.

"You know I love you too, but—" His voice softened. He wasn't good with words, never had been, and now, in this moment, he seemed to be fighting against them to keep you safe, even as you both sat in chains.

"If you're dying, I'll die with you," you whispered without hesitation.

Ace's breath hitched. He was angry, yes — but now more than ever, at himself. He couldn't protect you from this. He couldn't protect you from the world that had dragged you both down here.

"You shouldn't have to die with me," Ace muttered.

"But I want to."

"You said you were not gonna get executed," he reminded you, to which you shrugged.

"That was a lie. Of course, given the blocked exit points and the tight security against Whitebeard, there's no way we could escape from here without external help. Even if we do, assuming we got a few allies, what with Blackbeard becoming a Warlord, the chances of survival are 6%, which is not a lot, really."

"Wow. All of that flew right over my head," Ace smiled, one leg hiking over your hip to inch you closer. "Why didn't they dress you in prison clothes?"

"I threw a spear coated with sea stone at Magellan."

"Oh, is that why he was huffing around? That's my girl." Ace struggled to kiss your forehead, so you brought your face closer to his to help him. "I'm assuming they didn't try anything."

You shook your head, and his smile grew. "You look cold, baby."

"You know the drill," you giggled, crawling as close to his body as the cuffs allowed you to be, snuggling into his warmth. The goosebumps that coated your bare skin disappeared one by one. Ace let your hair back with his mouth before leaning down to kiss a cold nipple.

You gasped.

"Don't worry. Look," you looked in the direction he hinted at and watched most, if not all of the prisoners, drop down fainting.

"Conqueror's Haki?"

He winked in return before going back to the other nipple to lick it. Your body shook wildly. Ace's thighs stiffened around yours to lock your position on his lap, and you humped along his clothed cock, getting wetter by the second. Your tits bounced up and down with each movement, and he couldn't help but bury his face in them, sucking hickeys all over the area to make you wear his claim.

It didn't help that his body heat was beginning to rub onto you too, deepening the pit in your stomach. Clasping your thighs together, you nuzzled your face into his neck to lick your way up it. Ace laughed at the attempt, because although both his hands were currently chained to either side of his head, he was still very much in control of the situation.

"This is just like every day in our ship, princess," he groaned. "Tied up like this as I fuck my way into you, isn't that right, pretty?"

You mewled in response, the heat from the friction generating in between the rubbing of both of your crotches growing unbearable now. It was like music to his ears. Ace smirked and started to move his hips in a circular motion steadily.

"Is this enough for you, or should I lend my mouth to you too, princess?"

Your eyes widened and you nodded vigorously, stopping the humping movements before standing up and bucking your hips towards his face. You looked down into his eyes, but they focused on only one thing: the absolutely beautiful cunt in front of them.

The wetness dripped onto his face charmingly, and you swear you could've come just by that sight alone. He moved his head forward before sticking out a tongue and rubbing it softly in one stroke along your slit. You whined, legs giving in, but he held you up by putting his face under your cunt.

You felt your feet being lifted off the ground, and Ace was right under you, drinking in your juices so as to not let even a single drop go to waste. You moaned his name loudly, loud enough that you were scared the jailers might return, or a demon guard might catch the two of you, or maybe even the unconscious prisoners might wake up. But right now, all that mattered to you was Ace, and the mouth he was putting to such good use by sucking your clit like it was his last meal.

Your hips shook violently, and it took all of Ace's will power not to drop you down harshly onto his dick right then and there.

"Didn't know you grew so sensitive without me," he teased, the vibrations of his voice further aiding into your release.

"Shut up," you cried, and he grinned against your cunt.

"Roger that, baby."

At those words, you came as hard as you could. It had been so long since you had felt this good. All those countless nights you had spent putting on Ace's cologne onto his pillows and fingering yourself were nothing compared to the bliss you felt right now, his warm and wet saliva sticking out of your cunt and mixing in with your release.

You got off his face, trembling. You still hadn't gotten completely over the mind-blowing orgasm he had just delivered to you. You watched him lick his lips clean before he tried bending down to lick your cunt clean as well. You giggled, bucking your hips up to allow the access, giving him a loud moan in return.

"My turn," you said, bending down to nuzzle your face on his shorts. It seemed as if the jailers had decided to let your chains a bit looser than Ace's to aid you in covering yourself. If only they knew the way you were putting that blessing to use now.

"Yes, please, baby," he groaned, voice hoarse from eating you out for the first time in months.

You pulled his shorts down with your teeth, batting your eyelashes at him as his big cock sprung free from its shackles. It had been a while since you had taken his whole length in your mouth or cunt, but he seemed bigger than ever now that you were caged together.

"So big, so pretty," you muttered, peppering kisses over his balls and watching him crumble underneath the touches. "I wonder what happens if I do this?" You gave one kitten-like lick along the tip of his cock, and his eyes snapped shut and he bucked his hips up roughly.

"Fuck, ah."

"Crude language," you pouted, and his cock twitched at the sounds you were making. "May I please suck your cock?"

"Please," he choked out a moan, and you smiled victoriously, engulfing his long dick into your warm mouth in one, practised motion. Your cheeks were completely filled, yet you forced them to move up and down to please your needy boyfriend.

"Ah— fuck, so good baby, you're doing as well as always," he mumbled, looking up to the ceiling with tears in his eyes at the growing pleasure.

He was such a reckless mess for you, and you loved every bit of it. Smiling lightly, you bobbed your head up and down his dick to lubricate it with your saliva and make your movement easier. Unfortunately, you couldn't use your hands, but that made the determination in you to help him climax without a handjob even brighter.

"More, more, more! It's so good— ah— I can't imagine what I've been missing out on all these months," Ace groaned loudly, and it took one last effort from you to deep-throat him, making him spasm wildly around, tears reaching down his shirtless body and eyes burning from pure ecstasy.

"I'm gonna—"

You hummed along his dick, which seemed to be the final thing he needed to let go. With one final jerk of his hips, he came down your throat. So much. It was so much, too much for you. And yet, you swallowed everything down to the last drop. You didn't know how the food in Impel Down tasted, but by God it could never surpass the taste of his cum.

The two of you lay in the cell for some time after that, neither of you moving an inch. Although Ace still had limited movements he could choose from, you had longer chains and were thus able to move around much freely. So when your lips finally stopped shaking, you got up from your position to look around at the other prisoners.

"How long are they gonna be knocked out?"

"I don't know," Ace said, spreading his legs to invite you over to sit on his cock. "The Haki effects have obviously worn out now, I have no idea why they're still unconscious. Perhaps just lazy."

"Or maybe sleepy, like you always are," you giggled, hovering his cock, ready to slowly take him in inch by inch.

"That's not nice," he chuckled darkly before snapping his legs up to pull you down onto his cock harshly. You almost screamed, muffling the loud sound of protest against his neck, biting a hickey into it as revenge. He whimpered in response but continued to move his hips up and down nevertheless.

"You won't believe how much I've missed this," he murmured in your ear. "You riding me, looking oh-so-pretty with your boobs bouncing at the impact."

"You're so fucking dirty, honey," you tried acting as if the constant rutting of his cock into your cunt didn't affect you in anyway, but this position made him feel even bigger than your mouth had adjusted to some time ago, and now you felt as if you were gonna be torn up right from the pussy.

For quite some time, the only sounds heard on the entire floor were of Ace's balls slapping against your bare cunt, your squeals whenever his dick hit just the right spot, and his pants whenever he heard the melody that escaped your lips. The smell of sex lingered around the area, and you wondered what would happen if it reached any of the jailers who were in charge of this level, but it was hard to think too much with Ace whispering about all the fantasies he had had about you during his various trips before he got captured, about how every dream you appeared in used to leave him with a hard cock, and how he used to jerk off to the thought of your delicious cunt that awaited him once he reached back home.

You wanted to tell him all you felt too: about how it was getting so hard and suffocating being in the same ship as others without him, how your own fingers could never satisfy you the way his slender ones and coarse tongue did, and how the heat pooling in your cunt grew warmer and warmer till you couldn't take it anymore and at times burst into tears from the faux-pleasure humping yourself dry on his pillows would bring to you.

But you couldn't get a word out. Not with how his dick was rutting into you at a quicker pace now. Not with how balls-deep he was getting inside you now. Not with how you could feel his high approaching rapidly, and how he was getting more-than-ready to get his load into you after fucking you senseless in this dirty, dirty prison ward.

"I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come, I'm—" you chanted more to yourself than you did to him, and he shushed you.

"Hush, baby, me too," he groaned loudly, itching to touch you with his fingers even though he knew he couldn't. "At the count of three, yea?"

"Yes!" You cried back in response, your own hips moving at the speed of light. Ace counted backwards, and you both released heavily, liquids intermixing and spilling onto the floor. Yet the two of you paid no heed, continuing to move against each other like nothing happened. You bounced against him, ignoring the sploch! noises the sound of your cums together made, the stickiness encouraging you to get off your high using the man in front of you as your fucktoy.

Soon, the two of you had calmed down. You were still sitting on his cock, helping him keep it nice and warm. You lay your head onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily. It had seemed like a dream come true for you. Not only had you managed to reunite with Ace, but it was real, you really were there in his arms at that very moment, catching your breath after the wreck you had made on his cock.

From the cell in front of you came a chuckle. Your eyes snapped opened, and Ace lifted his head to glare at the source of the sound. Surely, no one had enough guts to announce their presence and interrupt your intimate moment.

Your eyes landed on a tall figure standing in the shadows of the cell across from yours. His skin was tanned and weathered. His slicked-back black hair gleamed under the dim light, along with a large golden hook in place of his left hand. His eyes were fixed on you both. He looked both amused and disdained. A cigar was perched lazily between his lips. He didn’t seem fazed by the prison, by the chains, or by the two of you tangled together on the cold floor. In fact, he seemed entertained by it all.

"Well, well," Crocodile purred sarcastically. "Looks like I've got front-row seats to quite the show." His smirk widened. "Didn't realize Impel Down had become so... lively."

[livelaughlovesubs]

~ 08.10 - Fyodor ~

Dom!abilityUser!reader x sub!Fyodor - reader is gender neutral

Warning: wrong use of ability, aphrodisiac, handjob, teasing, marking, biting, little manhandling, mind break, sub space (?), cum eating, finger sucking, dacryphilia, use of pet names like baby - darling, kinda manipulation (on both sides), hints of hierophilia

~ Word count: 5k ~

Nini!rant: did I repeat myself a lot during this fic? I hope not…

Kinktober list 2024

Your vision blurred. The smoke burned your eyes and lungs, and a rough and painful ache spread from your chest to your throat. It didn’t help that your consciousness was fading in and out, or that you felt like blanking out every time you closed your eyes. You coughed, repeatedly, enough for blood to drip down the corners of your lips. Its metallic taste was one of the very things still keeping you sane. Then you dropped to your knees, fingers clawing at the filthy floor, nails filled with dirt as everything around you got rendered to ashes.

The heat made you sweat, and even though you could feel a chilly sensation run down your spine, flickering lights and the crunch of wood burning filled your awareness. With the last bit of strength you had, you looked up, arms reaching out to your mentor. They were the one who raised you, and the one who were shrieking and burning on the ground.

“Ughh- guhh…!!” You tried to talk, to call out to them, yet your voice was hoarse. Only groans of pain alongside incoherent grumbles left your lips as a dark figure approached you. The person kneeled on one knee, using their hand to cover your dry eyes as they whispered, “This is the punishment for their crimes, their sins.” Before long, your vision turned black.

An infinite amount of time passed as you slumbered comfortably. It felt way more comforting than the harsh reality you've been exposed to. When you eventually woke up, you were still alive and breathing, there was also no pain anymore. The smoke subsided, the fire ceased and all the burning buildings disappeared, or were you simply somewhere else? How long has it been since you were knocked out? You sat up from where you were and tried to look around, that’s when you noticed the soft cushion beneath you. Someone brought you here, someone saved you-

“You are awake.” A pretty voice emerged from somewhere. You had a surprised expression on your face, though it almost immediately turned into an alert one the moment you saw whom the voice belonged to. “You- you are..! Urghh!” As soon as you raised your voice a little, you began coughing again, the pain also returned as if it was only playing a prank on you. “I’d advise you to not overuse your voice.” The male said, closing the distance between you two, and taking a seat opposite of you.

There was a large window behind him, where warm rays of sunlight gently illuminated the room. Some of the orange light shone upon his silky black hair, causing it to have a colorful glow. The sky was a mix of red and pink decorated with some elements of orange and yellow, all these shades faded and intertwined, creating a scenery worthy of the title 'perfect'. Based on that alone, it must be dawn right now. In your memory, it was in the middle of the night when that horrific accident happened. It means you’ve been knocked out for at least a day.

Now wasn’t the time to admire nature's beauty, you had more important things at hand, for example, the person in front of you. He has been reticent since he sat down, piercing through your skull with his violet eyes. It felt like he was trying to read your mind, this pressure was suffocating. “Fyodor Dostoyevsky.” You mumbled weakly, each word you uttered itched and hurt. This man was the one who burned your home, he’s the one who put your mentor to sleep. But why?

Many strong emotions filled you from the inside, about to make you explode. Though you couldn’t, now wasn’t the time. “Why… did you let me live?” You asked him, hoping to get to know what your value is in his eyes and the reason behind his actions. Was he planning on using you as a war trophy? “What did master do to you?!” Due to your lack of voice, you were whispering, yet the way you stressed your words showed your intentions, you were in despair, and pure confusion.

Instead of answering anything, he poured you and himself some tea, then gestured for you to drink. “It's a simple black tea with lemon and sugar, to soothe your throat," he explained as he reached for his cup, but you bested him to it. Out of concern and wariness, you took his cup instead of yours, not caring about politeness in the face of death. Fyodor didn't stop you, he pulled his hand back to let you have full access to his cup, then grabbed yours and took a sip.

Despite the absurdity of the situation, you were thankful for the beverage, its effects showed in less than a minute. Afterward, he got up to go over to you, he leaned forward to cup your cheeks, and his gesture was painfully gentle. It tugged at your heart, it stung and you felt tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, the loss of someone dear was still a fresh wound.

For some unknown reason, you couldn’t move, too overwhelmed to act, too speechless to push him away. The burning sensation returned, a small part of you wished you could go down with your instructor. “As for your question, it's because I only punish the sinners.” He showed you a look of pity, full of what seemed to be genuine empathy, brows furrowed as he cooed, “Your mentor, he… he has been torturing the innocent souls of this world, there was no other way.” The way he talked was peculiar, strangely foreign yet elegant.

When the news of your teacher being a cold-hearted murderer echoed through your mind, you felt your world crumbling for a moment. They would never do that- right? After all, if they were that ruthless, they wouldn’t have taken you in. You didn’t know where to look at. What if he was lying? Was your faith in your guardian so poorly that you’d believe false information this quickly? Yet you weren’t able to shake off that ominous feeling, that familiar sense of betrayal and doubt.

"I'm sure it came across as quite the shock, but I ask you to believe me." The male said, pulling out a stack of paper from under the desk, and slamming it onto the tea table. "Feel free to look through it, take as much time as you need. And, my condolences." A hint of bitterness laced his tone. Your heart was wavering now, torn between whether or not you should believe him. The way he acted seemed to be real, though it could also be that he was a fantastic actor. In the end, you decided to reach out to the proof he provided you, holding one of the papers as you scanned over it.

It was a detailed report doting down the various crimes your mentor apparently committed, you even realized some of the events, but in a different setting. "Is... is this for real..? Haha- I can't believe it, and, if that's so, I didn't find out all this time?" Your thoughts hung from your lips and showed on your expression, a part of your world was crumbling down on you.

A sense of guilt and dizzy disgust engulfed you, shaking you from the core, and making you question all the memories made with him and your very existence. Could you still call yourself innocent after aiding such a horrible person with such a nativity? Even though you were still lost in your own little space, he raised your chin up, to stare down at you. Your noses were almost touching with how close he was. And with how the light drew across his features, paired with the romantic nature of the atmosphere, you couldn’t stop an impulsive thought from occurring.

The short-lived idea of him being a saint, a divine sent to expose the truth and bring salvation— he has saved you, twice now. You blinked a few times, wondering how you could think of something like that, it was crazy. Your brain must be struggling to process all this information, which led to you having some insane ideas, that must be the case, surely.

The closeness was making you feel dizzy again, eyes staring right into his dark pupils. He was smiling at you, kindly so, though his eyes had nothing but emptiness behind them. Even someone great like him isn't perfect in the art of acting, the eyes are said to be windows to the soul after all. “Y/n.” Fyodor mumbled his voice tender as it wrapped around your heart like a seductive spell, making you feel grossed out by your body's perception of him.

“Focus on me.” The male reminded you, the corners of his lips going up a little. You resumed staring at him, feeling the mood change involuntarily. It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t pretty, and he appeared even more beautiful when he calmly suggested, “Y/n, why don’t you join the decay of angels. By doing so, you can pay for the sins of the deceased, and he'll eventually be able to rest in peace.” He wasn’t asking you, he was making a deal.

You didn't know why but something about him made you feel drawn to him, it made you want to peruse him. Whatever it was that caused you to feel this way, you didn’t want it, it was annoying how it kept clouding your judgment. The thought of joining the enemy group so soon without mourning for the departed didn’t seem correct.

But you couldn’t decline either.

All you could do was stay in your seat, a drop of sweat dripping down the sides of your face as you subconsciously admired him. This bubbling sensation spread to every fever of your being, and in the end, you nodded meekly. The smile on his face widened, and then he asked you, “Y/n, please tell me how your ability works.” Once again, he didn’t seek your opinion, only stating what you had to do. But he was also aware you were an ability user, which might tied into the reasons why he saved you.

With a little hesitation, you reached your hand out to stroke his hair, his didn’t pull back or flinch, as if he was used to it, and nudged into your warm palm. Without missing a beat, you whispered in the still rough voice, “It’s poisonous gas.” As soon as he heard that, he noticed a sweet smell coming from the direction of your hand and he shuddered. Eyes widened while the sickening grin didn’t leave his face, as if he was proud of your small victory against him.

Before he could open his mouth, you added, “It’s not a life-threatening one, don’t worry.” He didn’t look angry, only amused as he let go of you, lingering for a moment longer than necessary before pulling back, sneering almost confidently, “A sly one, aren’t you?” You gave him a bright smile in return, "and you're confident much."

After his touch departed from you, he could feel his body heating up, a strange rush of need engulfing him, eating away at him from the inside. He blamed it on the poison, and he wasn’t wrong. His mind searched for the kind of poison this might be, trying to match the symptoms before he got interrupted by you, or more specifically your hand which had been placed on his head, without him noticing, he must have been careless. You scratched his scalp as gently as he has been treating you. It didn’t look like you were caressing a person but rather a cat, crawling at his skin.

For some reason, his heartbeat went higher and his blood rushed to his head, a meek whine slipping past his rosy lips, “Hmm...” He was in disbelief at his own voice, baffled by how foreign it was. Hell, he didn't recognize himself, this was like a completely different person. “What did you do-” Fyodor's gaze shot up to you, he sensed something ominous.

Consequentially the hand on his head moved down and clasped over his mouth while your other one wrapped around his waist. Then you pulled him closer, getting up in the process and pressing him into the soft cushions. The warmth of your body heat still lingered on his skin, it felt strangely comforting. A heavy blush crept onto his features as he furrowed his brows, both of his hands now crawling at your wrist, trying to peel you off him.

Though he didn’t need to do that, since you were willing to let go by yourself. Alternatively, you were holding his slim waist with both hands now, fingers sinking into his flesh loving yet roughly. “Uh-hmm..!” This time, he placed his hands over yours, trying to signal you to stop. Whenever you pressed down on his hips, a tingly feeling would course through him and he’d shudder helplessly. Poor boy didn’t take it that well, head hanging forward while he gritted his teeth. His pitch-black hair framed his face, sliding past his shoulders and tickling you by brushing over your skin.

“Let go, y/n..” he voiced out those shaky words, letting his facade crumble. You got even closer, nose now in the crook of his neck as you took a deep breath. Then you whispered into his ears, “Thank you for saving me and telling me the— truth…” The last word became so quiet he was barely able to register it. After that, you stuck the tip of your tongue out to lick his earlobe, at the same time you drew circles on his hips with your thumbs.

“Hnngh.. w-what are you..?!” Fyodor winced again. Because you were basically pressing your upper body against his, he couldn’t help but lock his hands around your neck, holding onto you tightly as he pressed his chin against your shoulder. His eyes were half-lidded as more lewd sounds escaped him. At the same time, this weird emotion coursing through him kept making him feel all buzzy inside. Confusion was a word much too vague to explain the state he was in.

On the other hand, you thought the way he held onto you was cute, it was like a little kitten that didn’t want you to leave. “...So please let me repay you.” You uttered, finishing your sentence from before after a long break, then answered his questions, “You are currently under the effects of an aphrodisiac, I thought it might help me service you better.” That’s why he’s feeling this way, so hot and bothered. It was because of your ability.

“M-make it go away then…!” He groaned, glaring at you. You weren’t expecting him to engage in such unsightly acts now, were you? “I am doing that right now. Don’t worry, you’ll feel so good.” A somewhat sinister smile spread on your lips, and then you bit his ear. “UhmM..! No- what?" Fyodor shuddered, head spinning a little from all these foreign sensations. "Are there other ways?” This is bad, it was so pleasurable that it was maddening. His body has become so sensitive all due to the poison, that he was reacting to your every touch, every light brush of your skin against his.

“Begrudgingly, no. Since there’s no other way, try to enjoy it.” You explained, one hand moving to his collar and unbuttoning his shirt while your eager tongue trailed down from his ear to his neck, leaving behind a wet path. “Haaah… you- ughh!” He eventually gave in, squeezing his eyes shut as his body quivered. Now both hands were working on his clothes, but you did it slowly, teasingly slow. At the same time, you licked over his skin, occasionally sucking on a specific area. It didn’t take long until you found a spot he especially liked.

You knew by how he squirmed around, arms losing strength as they limped and fell back next to his body, a dark reddened spot forming where your lips last touched him. It was too much, this drug was making him go insane, he couldn’t think of anything but giving himself to you. “Please..” he begged unbeknownst to himself, feeling you prying his shirt open. Then your knee pressed against his tightly shut legs, trying to separate them and force your way between.

After you did, you grabbed his waist and adjusted his position a little. He didn’t show any resistance, only whimpering in silence as he let you manhandle him. Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes from raw lust, the need for your touch made him so frustrated that he became impatient. “Hurry up.. take responsibility for the mess you made,” Fyodor demanded while wearing a needy expression, you didn't know he was such a touch-starved man. “If that’s what you want.” You smirked devilishly as you took a bite out of him, or rather, you left your teeth marks on his pale skin.

The marks were deep, sinking down on him, like a form of testimony for this shared intimacy. Many hickeys were placed around the bite marks, decorating his sickly-looking body with colors. “Cute,” you commented on his appearance, then moved your lips past his chest down to his belly button. Fyodor didn’t react to that silly compliment, thinking it must have been a slip of the tongue. He let out a shaky breath when he felt you rubbing your cheek against his smooth and soft skin. That single gasp soon turned into a series of huffed moans due to you teasing his nipples.

You used both hands to skilfully circle around the nuds, sometimes flicking them with the tip of your fingers, or nudging them lovingly. Small gestures like this were enough to make him turn his head to the side, cursing out this annoying poison. The more you played with him, the stronger his reactions became. When you got to rubbing his cute and hardened nipples, his thighs squeezed around your waist, subconsciously trying to hide something very inappropriate. But you noticed anyway. He got hard by having his chest played with, enough for him to leak through his pants.

“Fyodor, I didn’t know your nipples were this sensitive.” You gasped excitedly, acting more dramatic than needed. A small yet noticeable wet patch was on his pants, the sticky fluid seeping through the fabric. “It’s because, hah.. of the aphrodisiac.” The male argued, gazing up at you all hostile. “Mhm, sure sure.” Instead of letting it get to you, you continued what you were doing. Humming to yourself before questioning him, “Well, do you want me to touch you?” His eyes basically lit up at that question, drool on the verge of dripping down the corners of his mouth.

“Mhm…” his tone was meek as if he was deliberately hiding his excitement. Putting his pride aside for now, he nodded almost too eager for his liking, and proceeded to avoid your gaze again. Since you got his approval, you decided to take it a step slower, leaning back to take your time to admire him. To worship him. That’s when you noticed how slim he was. Maybe it was due to his hands that were buried in his sleeves, or his shirt that was slipping down his arms, no matter the reason, he looked so petite right now. He was not intimidating or scary at all, not like the demon he was rumored to be.

You’ve already noticed his rather weakly looking physique, but to think it was this apparent. He didn’t really have any toned muscles, nor did he have any colors on his face. To be honest he seemed fragile, like a porcelain doll. When you put your hands on his hips again, gently holding him up and making him arch his back, the only thought running through your head was how easily you could snap him in two, causing you to be even more gentle with him, way more than before. All to take care of this man who was like a saint sent from above.

“D-don’t tease.” Fyodor groaned, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. His arms were still holding your back, clinging to you. Seeing him so needy and defiled made you impatient as well, and you rubbed his bulge through his clothes. The dark patch grew in size, and some of the liquid stuck to your hand. “I-I said don’t tease.” He repeated his words, this time putting more emphasis on his tone, toes curling while he tried to close his legs, of course to no avail. “I doubt this is only the work of the aphrodisiac.” You commented, then pulled his pants down alongside his underwear, revealing his throbbing cock.

It was twitching around in an angry shade of red, leaking pre with no end in sight. “You look like you enjoy it so much, it's so lewd.” You commented, smiling satisfied. The boy glared at you, he didn’t seem to appreciate your commentary, sneering, "Don't let that imagination of yours run wild. It's all the work of your ability." Then he locked his legs around your waist before scoffing, “Just get on with it.” He held you close to him, so close you could hear his weak but fast heartbeats. It had a weird sense of calmness to it.

Ignoring the fact his voice trembled with every word, he was simply too adorable to take him seriously. “Of course, if you allow me the honor of corrupting you?” You asked sarcastically, and your snarky question was met with a fierce glare from him. “I’m not getting corrupted, I’m thriving out the pest inside my body. And may I remind you just whose fault it is?”

Following closely were the muffled laughs from you, hoping to not embarrass him. “Yes yes~ it’s all my fault, so I’m taking responsibility.” Then you wrapped your hand around his shaft, pumping his dick up and down. “HnggGhh! Ah- ahh.. wait, that’s so s-sudden..?!” He moaned loudly, unable to restrain his voice. Your other hand caressed his body, still placed on his waist and holding him up.

“Was I wrong when I speculated you wanted this to be over quickly?” You pressed your forehead against him, slowing down to rub his sensitive gland. More and more precum collected at the tip, dripping down his member, making lewd squelch sounds whenever you moved your fingers. “Haaah…” he squeezed his eyes shut, clawing at your back to balance out the growingly overwhelming sensations. Moaning into your ear, encouraging you with the sweetest melody known to mankind. “Huh? Yes.. you, you weren’t wrong. So hurry… please.”

Right now, you must be grinning so stupidly, totally captivated by him. You quickened your pace, hands gliding across his skin. It was very easy since he had been dripping so much, and you couldn’t stop yourself from making a comment about it, “You are so wet down there, Fyodor. Are you that excited?” He pinched your back, embarrassed by your words, “Don’t- nggGhh… make my body sound so perverted ♡.” Afterward, he continued to try and bite back his moans, but he failed miserably.

“Ah- hmmm..!! It’s too intense, y/n.” Pretty tears rolled down his cheeks as he mumbled as quietly as possible, his voice all breathy and broken. When you noticed these fresh tears climbing down his face, you leaned close to him and licked them away. His tears were salty, like any other human, and they were still warm when they reached your tongue. He sobbed meekly in response to your questionable course of action, his cries stiffening a little.

Why was he crying? Was it due to the embarrassment he felt, or the troubling feelings bubbling inside him? Or because he was too overwhelmed by his own emotions, by this growing heat that was on the verge of exploding? Nonetheless, he blamed it on the aphrodisiac, to shelter himself from the truth, to deny reality once more.

“It’s alright, it’s normal to feel this way.” You whispered against his smooth skin, only moving your lips minimally. With the hand that used to be on his waist, you wiped the tears from the other cheek, watching the water dry after a while, commenting with an adoring voice, “So beautiful.” He was stunned by how tender you were with him, it made his skin crawl and his heart tighten. It was noticeable by the way his blush seemed to intensify. His dick twitched against your hand, uncontrollably so, desperate for more friction and attention. “A-a bit more— I, hic, a little bit…” Fyodor said, unsure what he meant with little, but he knew he was close.

Your hand was all slippery with his juices, and you made sure that he knew every single detail. “Look at that, my hand’s all sticky and dirty now, thanks to you.” To demonstrate what you meant, you raised your hand and held it in front of him, waiting until he opened his eyes to have a look. “Ah..” he winced a little at the loss of pleasure, then buried himself into the nook of your neck, choking out a muffled sentence, “I-I don’t want to see that.. just- make this heat stop… it h-hurts ♡.”

When he did that, you felt your own heart skip a beat, and you cooed at him, “Aah.. right, yes, my bad. You are just too cute.” He held his breath, and only exhaled when he felt your finger wrap around his weeping cock. You kissed his hair, wrapping one arm around his head and playing with the hair on the other side, stroking and caressing it. “So very cute.”

Fyodor seemed to have a rather hard time registering the fact these compliments were meant for him, and not just for the heat of the moment. He stayed quiet, except for the occasional whine that’d escape him when you drag your hand up and down his twitching dick. Then you raised the speed of your hands again, now trying to bring him over the edge. His nails dug into your flesh when he noticed a knot forming in his stomach, toes curling while he gritted his teeth. Your touch was simply heavenly, there was no better way for him to describe it.

"Arghh, y/n..? D-don't stop, don't you dare- i- nghh!!" The male threatened though he wasn't able to finish his sentence without his moans interrupting him. "Hmm~? Why can't I stop?" You teased him, despite knowing the reason very well. Your hand pumped him fast and steadily, slowly down only to take extra care of his tip. He inhaled sharply, opening his mouth to speak but ending up biting your shoulder with a messy expression. "Mfmmhh..! HnnGh~"

A shiver ran down your spine, you could barely stop yourself from grinning as you asked again, "Is something the matter, Fyodor?" If only he wasn't so messed up right now, he'd be seething with anger. Because right now, no matter what expression he pulled, he looked like a ravished and whithering animal. Wet and dried tears continued spilling from his swollen eyes, his entire upper body was covered in marks like a cherry blossom, and his skin glistened with sweat and a heavy blush.

Now moving down to his lower body, which looked like something straight out of a sinful magazine, he was so wet and sticky that he felt ashamed. To be this aroused from nothing but a simple handjob as well, it was a huge hit to his ego. Fyodor took a few moments to collect himself, and once he did, he mumbled almost inaudibly, "It feels too good.. m' gonna cum.." That was the moment you absolutely lost it, you were so infatuated with him it was worse than hypnotise.

Quickening your pace once more, you chuckled happily, "It's alright baby, cum for me, spurt it alll over my hand ♡♥︎" the sudden rise in intensity and pleasure caught him off guard, so badly that he scratched your back, screaming in ecstasy, "aaHhHGgg! W-wait, s-stop~!! It's- it's too muucHhhh! ♡♡ cumming, cumiiinnnng, pull away, it's dirty~ ♥︎♡" The boy looked like he was going crazy from all this bliss, head thrown back while his pupils turned heart-shaped.

He was mewling, drooling, and shaking from his core, brain way too mushy to think, to see if what he was babbling even made sense. Never would you have thought you could turn such a composed and fine man into this dumb little thing, addicted to the sin of the flesh. You kept moving your hand to help him come down from his high, lips pressed against the shell of his ear, "Shhh, it's alright darling, it's okay. It doesn't hurt, right? So it's okay, defile my hand like how I defiled you."

A few minutes passed in silence. You gave him enough time to get used to the feeling and cope with the reality. In the meantime, your hand departed from him, your fingers were all slick with his body fluid, and a pool of thick semen collected on your palm. While you were wondering what to do with it, his breathing was ragged and heavy, looks like he was still not used to all of this. You reached for some tissues from the table, wanting to clear up this mess if not for him to suddenly grab your wrist, bringing your finger to his lips and sucking on them feverishly.

He lapped up all the fluids clinging to you, all while gazing at you with the same eyes as before. Heart-shaped and pleasure-ridden, addicted, and out of his mind. Despite him still having your fingers in his mouth, he cried out, "he heet if stell here, i-if dihmmd woo.." (the heat is still there, it didn't work) before taking your fingers out, gulping down the fluids, and pleading sweetly, "p-please purge me more...♡♥︎♡" This was unexpected, you didn't expect him to react in this way. But you weren't going to complain, you didn't mind taking it a step further. Just...

How were you going to explain that you never used your ability on him?

Tags: @showtime-ss @thisisnotangel @ghostgoosygoose @i-dont-fooken-know @chuuya-brainrot @allyfoxglove @thigh-o-saur @fallenthemisticalyingyang @fem-dom-roze

Nini!rant 2.0:

An aphrodisiac sounds like something really fun, right? Though sadly there is no such thing in real life. According to science, all these foods and pills that claim to raise sexual desire and lust have no real correlation with boosting arousal. Because after all, sexual desire is created due to a series of brain chemistry and sometimes hormones. And that is something so complex it can’t be mimicked with chemicals or food.

Chocolate? The sugar raises euphoria and others, but not lust. Oysters? Apparently it raises testosterone levels, though that’s not arousal neither. Cinnamon and exotic spices? Now that’s a stretch. Sometimes the things suggested by people aren’t even healthy to consume! Like the Spanish fly, which helps with getting an erection. But that’s actually just blisters in the urethra, the tube in the penis…. Cuz the fly comes from blister beetles… yea

Though I’m not saying it can’t work, because sexual desire is created by the brain, right? So if you believe eating a banana helps then you can trick your brain, and it ends up actually helping. Or the rumour with the spices, most of the time it’s about the smell, and if you smell something nice that you like, that calms you, you’re more likely to become turned on then agitated or sad.

I wish aphrodisiacs were real though 😔

[mcondance]

hush baby. william afton. (allusions to daddy issues, general old william using / taking advantage of young reader yk the drill)

william fucks like his age. he fucks like a man who knows what he wants from years of getting. he will get what he wants from you, too.

he drains you of everything you can give him and then, he pushes for more, craving complete control of every thing you feel. its why he picked you, could just see you ending up like this, a slut for his taking, nasty and open to the filthiest things he’s only ever dreamed about.

it’s sad, what you went through to end up like it like this, used and shown no respect in your most vulnerable state, but he pays it no mind when he’s driving into you from behind, towering over your body and stretching your cunt to its limit.

amusement is written over his hardened face, the hilarity of what you allow him to do to you overtakes him as he watches himself breach your entrance over and over again, your cunt having to work to take him like your body knows this is wrong.

but it lets him in, you let him in like it’s right, wince through the pain until it turns to pleasure and he’s battering your pussy with no regard for the pain that’ll resurface the next day.

pain is how he got you, tucked away in your brain, steering you toward a man like him. and pain is how he keeps you, the dull ache of his cock abusing your pussy, the digging of his fingers tucked between where your thighs and tummy meet, the stimulation sending sparks shooting through you.

you’re so nasty when you’ve got a nastier man inside you, when his want to unwind you and use you is reciprocated. drooling on his bed sheets, leaking on his cock, the perverted desire of his heart is realized.

he’s got you singing, speared on his cock and taking it so well. he fucks you like he’ll throw you out tomorrow and you welcome it, soak his cock every time your mind registers the brutishness behind his thrusts, every time he manhandles that spot inside you.

your fingers curl around the column of his headboard, clamping down on them to award yourself some semblance of grounding but it’s in vain, he’s too ruthless and horrific, fucks you too deep with every sob he retches out of your raw throat.

you let him do what he wants, and that’s exactly what he does. you’re all wet cunt and choked moans, a test subject for his disregarded boundaries. his boundaries are your boundaries, the wires crossed and fused incorrectly a perfect path for his will to become reality.

he’s taking advantage of you, it’s what you both know, know what business a man his age has with a girl yours.

but being taken advantage of is how you like it.

every push into you is meant to to hurt, to make those crossed wires fizzle and spark with satisfaction. maybe it doesn’t count as being used if it’s what you want, too. it’s lost in translation, by now, only left with william fucking you exactly how you’d expect him to, how you fantasized about from the moment you saw him.

he’s thankful to have someone like you, someone who’ll let him push and poke and prod and mold into his. he goes crazy every time you bite and choke on your moans, every time you huff and rasp like he’s wounded you but make no move to run from him or to stop. he likes it filthy, and in you, he can have that whenever he wants. he can be what you need, if you let him have you in return. you do let him have you.

you say his name like a prayer, choked and battered and begging for him to twist and turn you inside out just like he wants to. willing to be used, to be fucked dumb and brash.

you like it like this, domination has revealed you as a drooling, moaning, vile mess. it lay dormant, waiting for someone to draw it out. waiting for william to lay you bare and new.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Still got BG2 Bhaal on the brain; particularly the bits where he likes to point out to his "favourite" children that they're demigods born of murder and don't/can't belong with the mere mortals. Usually in tandem with trying to coax them to be a good child and do what they're told by telling them they're special and powerful.

Oh, and the bits were he goes "you could protect your loved ones/"the weak" with divine power, you know..."

"Life... is strength. This is not to be contested; it seems logical enough. You live; and you affect your world. But is it what you need? You are... different... inside. [...] You are born of murder, the very essence of that which takes life."

"Why do you submit to the flesh, when death is bred in your bones? Follow, and receive the gift you are owed by the blood in your veins. Follow, if only to protect the weak that fell because of you."

And, obviously, we see it in BG3.

"Special, yes, special, aren't you? Ssh, don't fight it. You know what you need to do. Take up that knife, do what you do best. Easy as breathing. You'll feel better after."

"See? You are worse than everyone else. Filthy hierophant of the broken and damned. [...] The illithid tide can be broken by you."

"...you can't help but be a prodigy spree-killer. It's in your perfect nature."

A lot of the undertones I'm picking up on are the same ones you get from Sceleritas: "You don't belong with normal people, you're Other and you're better. Normal people will never love you. But Father loves you. Father will give you presents and keep you safe - if you're a good child."

I don't know, I just enjoy the flavouring of Durge internalising the idea that they're fundamentally bad, alien and only Bhaal can ever love them. Adds reasons to pick the Chosen ending - especially the concept that maybe you can keep your friends safe while you destroy the world - kill them last and then yourself, the last living beings. It's a horrific ending and utterly cruel to them, but cults don't encourage thinking skills and Chosen of Bhaal Durge isn't exactly the healthiest person around. The feral ending is even more tragic, and it can make the resist ending more complicated than "yay, I'm free" (yes, my heavily brainwashed Durge is thrilled that daddy doesn't love him any more(!))

-

Companions: "Your father tortures and kills you in dream visions. Repeatedly."

Durge: "Gods don't think like mortals. Father is the Lord of Murder; that's his love language."

Companions: "..."

(One thousand years therapy for the spawn of murder.)

[lavendertales]

SEÑORITA: Chapter 10

pairing: Javier Peña x Murphy!f!reader

summary: Javier contemplates his future. Though he's uncertain of it, one thing he knows for sure: he wants you in it no matter what.

word count: 3.1k

series warnings: reluctant friends to lovers, lots of playful banter, mutual pining, slow burn, secret relationship, filthy smut.

A/N: here we are at long last, lovebugs! I am so thankful for everyone who's supported this series, it encouraged me to keep going especially this year when I've been struggling so badly. I hope you enjoy this drama-free finale❤️

series masterlist | AO3

Javier had made peace with the notion that he would remain forever haunted by Colombia. It wasn’t something that he willingly chose or even wanted, of course, but it remained a fact; he knew he’d never be able to fully escape the life he’d lived while over there, and he’d made his peace with it.

Turns out life had some pleasant surprises in store for him, too.

Saying yes to spending the holidays with the Murphys seemed like it would be something overwhelming for Javier. The mere thought of being introduced to the parents as your boyfriend was enough to make him want to chainsmoke and get drunk for three days and three nights. But as it turned out, the two weeks he’d spent at the Murphy residence had been blissful. Javier would even call himself happy for what feels like a premiere in his life. Ever since the two of you came forward with your relationship, everything else seemed to fall into place and it all became easier somehow. Javier was head over heels for you, he hadn’t smoked in a year, and cut his drinking almost to a drastic degree—yet one thing still loomed over his head, something he hadn’t told you about.

He’d grown to despise his job.

But, much like at his old job, he learned to swallow whatever thoughts and feelings he might have on the matter and do the mature thing and see things through. After all, he has a darn good salary, good apartment, great friends and a terrific girlfriend.

Seemed like the oldest habit Javier picked up, being able to dismantle anything remotely good in his life, would always cast a large shadow that follows him everywhere.

“What’s got you thinking so hard?”

Steve’s voice is tender, caring in a manner, and yet stern and curious all at the same time. It manages to interrupt Javier’s chaotic thoughts, and the latter is nothing if not grateful for it.

Even if he does not express it verbally.

“Not much,” Javier clears his throat. 

“C’mon man, give me some credit. We’ve known each other for a few years now, been through some rough and insane shit. I like to think I know when something’s got you down.”

Javier exhales. It’s one of the few times he wishes he’d have a cigarette in his hand right about now; but the craving disappears as quickly as it had arrived, especially when he knows Steve is right. They have been partners through some of the most horrific things anyone could ever be cursed to see, and if there was ever a definition for a damn good friend, Steve would be it.

“It can’t be cause you’re still nervous about finally meeting my parents,” Steve chuckles, and surprisingly, so does Javier. “You passed the test, you’re officially the best boyfriend my sister’s ever brought home.”

“I’m flattered.”

“I’m surprised.”

The two of them chuckle again, the lighthearted sound followed by another moment of silence.

“Much as I’d hate to admit it,” Steve breaks the silence, “you are the best guy my sister’s ever dated. Compared to the parade of leeches that were around.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Not that she ever brought any of them home to formally introduce them to the family, so it really is a big compliment.”

“Thanks again, I feel all tingly inside.”

“Seriously now, what’s the matter?”

With a final exhale, Javier decides to voice his thoughts for what feels like a premiere in his life. “I hate my job.”

Steve waits, searching his friend’s face for something that eventually fails to appear to him.

“That’s it?”

“Okay, not hate, hate, but… I don’t know, it’s not something I enjoy doing. Not anymore.”

Steve pats him on the back, then gestures him to sit down alongside him.

“First off, I’m a bit relieved,” he begins, much to Javier’s dismay. “I thought you were gonna say something really bad.”

“Like what?”

“Like… I don’t know, wanting to end things with my sister. In which case I would’ve had to kill you.”

“I’m not breaking up with her, fucking hell. Why would I—hang on. So I’m not allowed to break up with her?”

“Why would you break up?”

“I don’t know, sometimes things don’t work out. Constant fights, lies, affairs—“

“You better not be cheating on my sister. I swear to God Javi, if you so much as—“

“I’m not! Fucking Christ, can we stay on topic?!”

“I was just saying.”

“I am not cheating, I am not lying, I am not doing anything bad, okay? I love her, she loves me, and… I’d like for us to get married someday. I think.”

Steve’s jaw drops; the only thing he can do is stare at Javier in awe, trying his best to process the words he just heard.

“You—you wanna get married?” Steve blabbers.

Javier shrugs, then nods.

“With… my sister.”

“I feel like that was implied.”

“So when are you gonna—“

“I’m not saying now. We’ve been together for like half a year only, and… you know me. Takes me time to open up.”

“Wow, okay, this is a lot to process.”

“Good thing we’re sittin’ down, huh?”

Steve chuckles against his best wishes, staring into distance.

“Look, back to the job thing, if it makes you miserable, why don’t you quit? That’s why you left Colombia, isn’t it?”

“Partially.”

“Right. Point is, if you hate the job, quit it. You can find another one.”

“And do what? Do you see me as a barista?”

“A job is a job. It doesn’t define you. And your contributions in Colombia will always remain yours, but—what do you want to do?”

Javier exhales, shrugging again. “I was thinking of going back to Laredo, at least for a little while. Help my pops around the ranch. He’s not getting any younger, he needs some help.”

“Alright, that sounds great, do that!”

“And I was thinking… I’d ask her if she wants to come with me.”

“Hang on. You wanna move to Texas? Both of you?”

“I haven’t asked her yet.”

“What if she says no?”

“Then I guess we do long-distance.”

“Wow. What happened to you?”

Javier frowns.

“You’re—flexible, open-minded, considerate of other people’s feelings… she’s changing you. In a good way.”

The more Javier thinks about it, the more he’s inclined to agree with Steve. He has felt significantly better over the past few months, and even his nightmare frequency has decreased to the point where he’s barely having them. He didn’t want to be as cheesy as to say that you’re the reason he feels the best he’s ever felt since he was a teenager, but what if you are?

What if you are the very best thing that’s ever happened to him?

“So, to recap… you wanna quit your job, ask my sister to move with you to Texas so you can live on a ranch and then ask her to marry you,” Steve says in a monotone voice.

“Basically, yeah.”

“Just talk to her, alright? Talk to her about what you’re thinking, that’s all you gotta do. It’ll work out.”

“Thanks.”

After another moment of silence and a big gulp, Javier adds rather hesitantly, “Do you think she wants to get married? If I ask her… do you think she’ll say yes?”

“She’s the one who has to answer that question.”

“What question?”

Both Steve and Javier turn abruptly to their right, being met with your smiley face. You greet Javier first by briefly pecking his lips, then you nod in Steve’s direction.

“What question am I supposed to answer, you guys?” you ask again, chuckling.

Your smile fades when you see that neither one of them answers you, keeping silent.

“Did someone die?” you ask instead.

“No, no,” Steve fake-laughs to defuse the situation. “All’s good.”

“Okay, so then why do you both look constipated?”

Steve and Javier exchange a glare with one another, thus only reinforcing your suspicions.

“I don’t think I should be here for this,” Steve stands with an awkwardly wide smile. “Gonna give you lovebirds some space and uh… I’ll give you a ring later.”

Javier’s lips pucker and his eyes shoot up right at Steve, whereas you can only stare at them, brows furrowed in utter confusion.

“I mean, on the phone,” Steve laughs, half outside the apartment already. “See ya.”

“That was weird, right?” you ask Javier.

“Don’t look at me, he’s your brother.”

You nuzzle up to him, your hand intertwined with his and your head resting on his shoulder. God, he always smells so nice, of cologne and some musk that you like to think is particular to him and only him.

“So. Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Why do you assume something’s going on?”

“I see you acting like school girls with a big crush trying to keep it a secret. Feel like sharing?”

He can’t fight you; he failed to fight you since the beginning, when he was way too stubborn to even see what was right in front of him, so how could he possibly do it now, when your voice is so sweet and caring and you’re so soft and warm?

“I don’t like my job,” Javier finally says. “Haven’t liked it in a while, but I thought I have to see it through, at least till my contract expires, then I’ll figure it out, but… it’s hard.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How long till your contract expires?”

“Another year, but I don’t think I can stand being around murder cases for that long.”

“I get that. Hits a bit too close to where it haunts you, doesn’t it?”

Javier is the one to meet your eyes first, nodding. Months have gone by since the two of you have become intimate in every possible way, and yet it still surprises him greatly that you are so familiar with the cues of his insecurities and fears, sometimes even when he himself isn’t.

“You should quit your job then,” you tell him, caressing the back of his hand. “You’ll find something else, no matter what that is.”

“What kind of job do you think I could do? Since I trained, this is… this is all that I know.”

“You can do anything you like, honey. You can sell tires, be a flight attendant, anything. That’s not what’s important.”

“What is, then?”

You cup his cheeks, thus bringing him closer to your face as you breathe, “What matters most is that you’re okay. It’s just a job.”

You peck his lips again, and Javier closes his eyes, exhaling a little softer this time. The way you manage to calm him down every time, without fail, is something he would’ve called insanity some years ago—that is, if he would’ve even believed this was possible.

“There’s something else,” Javier murmurs, his forehead pressed gently against yours.

“Tell me.”

“I’m… thinking of going back to Laredo.”

You slowly let go of Javier in order to get a better look at him. You’re not sure what you’re trying to accomplish with such a hilarious move, but it’s the only one your body can come up with for the time being.

It’s not that his news is shocking. Quite the contrary, it’s natural; you suspected at some point Javier might feel homesick, but it seems that actually hearing the words has managed to bring you into an unforeseen state of surprise.

“Okay,” you say after a while, your hands now in your lap as you rummage through his words. “Permanently?”

“I don’t know,” Javier admits. “Would be ironic since I couldn’t wait to get out of that town when I was a teenager.”

You chuckle. “It’s normal, you were a kid wanting to know more. Now you’re a grown man, having seen a lot of the world. Parts of it that could easily destroy someone and yet you—“

“I wasn’t exempt from that, baby. That job did destroy me in some ways.”

“You’re still here though.”

Javier smiles, reaching for your hand. “I’m still here.”

“Going back to your hometown isn’t a bad thing at all, by the way.”

“I know. It feels kinda strange though. But my dad needs help around the ranch, even if he’s too proud to admit it, to me at least, and… that way I could be useful and do things that I know how to do. I could get a job there.”

“Sounds like you have it figured out.”

“Almost.”

You raise your eyebrows, facing him fully again.

“Almost?” you tease with a smile, which prompts him to do the same. “What else are you thinking about?”

“What if you came with me?”

Your whole face lights up, and this time you can truly say you were taken by surprise.

“You’re asking me to go to Laredo with you?”

“I’m asking you if that’s something that you’d like. If not, that’s fine. We can go long distance, I think. Right? I mean, lots of people do it.”

“You wanna do long distance?”

“I’m saying that’s an option.”

“You do realize that’s mostly talking and no sex, right?”

You actually see Javier gulp and visibly reconsider his opinion, much to your personal delight.

“Some sex can be involved,” he pushes much to your amusement.

“Phone sex doesn’t really count.”

“Damn it.”

You chuckle. “But I wouldn’t worry about that, we’re gonna have some great sex, honey.”

“Wh—you mean you’re coming with me?”

“Hell yes. I want to see your roots, meet your family… I hope they like me.”

“Are you kidding me? They’re gonna fuckin’ adore you.”

You smile at him, kissing him again.

“Are you sure about it though?” he checks with you. “I don’t wanna uproot you or anything, and it’s a big change—“

“Do they have a library over there?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Then it’s no problem.”

Utterly bewildered, Javier can only stare at you in awe. He still fears that he’ll forever lack the words to properly express to you how much you mean to him and how he truly feels about you. He’s always managed to avoid sappy conversations and to make up for what he lacks in words with actions, but with you, he feels like he needs to do more.

And there is something more he could do.

“What?” you ask amusedly when his eyes do not peel off of you.

“There is another thing I am thinking about.”

“Which is?”

A smirk graces Javier’s lips, and in that moment you come to realize that not only is it a mischievous smirk, but the reason behind it is something that genuinely excites Javier.

And that is in and of itself something incredible to witness.

“Have you ever thought about getting married?”

You raise your eyebrows and try to stifle a big smile. “About us getting married?”

“No, not necessarily us—well, actually, yes, a little us. A lot. Just—marriage in general. Have you ever… wanted to? Eventually?”

“If this really is how you’re proposing, sweetie, I feel like you can do better.”

Javier laughs out of sheer nervousness by now, but it’s probably for the first time in his adult life when he doesn’t feel embarrassed to be talking about his feelings out in the open.

“I do think about marriage,” you decide to ease his mind and stop teasing. “I don’t think it’s necessary for everyone, but I also don’t think it changes anything in a relationship. If it’s a strong relationship, marriage is only gonna strengthen it.”

“Dully noted.”

“My point is, I would like to get married, yes, since that seems to be the answer you’re after. Haven’t wanted to get married to any of my exes, so.”

“Now I’m flattered.”

“Ooh, so that’s why you and Steven were acting so weird when I got here!”

And then you gasp at the realization. “Oh my God, that’s the question I had to answer, isn’t it? If I want to marry you.”

Javier feels his cheeks flush in the slightest, so he clears his throat and looks away for a little while till he can organize his thoughts.

“Just to be clear, I wasn’t actually going to propose now,” he says. “It was a hypothetical, if I were to ask, would you say yes.”

“You can ask me and we’ll find out.”

Dumbfounded, Javier stares at you for what feels like an eternity. While he’s definitely gotten used to your humor and your bluntness, right now he can’t seem to tell whether you are serious or not.

“Are you serious?” Javier retorts, surprised to find out this is the only thing that he can ask, as silly as it sounds.

“You’re the one who brought up marriage.”

“Yeah but I didn’t mean—I’m not ready now. I don’t have a ring, I haven’t thought about a speech—“

You giggle, pulling him closer to you again. “Aw you’re nervous, it’s so cute.”

“I’m not—“

“It’s cute.”

You peck his lips and smile at him reassuringly. “Look, Javi, it’s great to know that you’re thinking about this too. Means we’re on the same page. But I do think we should give ourselves some more time before making things official. Maybe go to Laredo first, spend some time there with your dad and the rest of your family. Does that sound good?”

“It sounds like a dream honestly. The kind of dream I… didn’t think I could have. Or should have. For a long time there were only nightmares and pain and death, and now… there’s warmth and softness and light. And it’s all because of you.”

“Javi.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

There was no need for Javier to hide his smiles, or hide in general. If anyone would ask him now how he felt, he’d probably reply with “disgustingly happy” because that is the most accurate description of his feelings.

“Are you sure about Laredo?” he asks you, and you roll your eyes at him.

“One hundred percent. Are you sure about marriage?”

“Two hundred percent.”

You smile. “Okay. So when you have your speech prepared and bought a ring—even if you don’t have to, by the way—you can ask me.”

“What if it’s tomorrow?”

“Then I guess tomorrow’s the day you hear my answer to that question.”

Deep down, Javier knows already. He sees the answer all over your face, he feels it in the way you hold him, in the way you kiss him and in the way you ease his mind and cast the nightmares away. He knows your answer.

But it’d still be incredible to hear it spoken from your lips.

previous

tags: @pedrostories @psychedelic-ink @milkymoon2483 @ifall4dilfs @casa-boiardi @fallenkitten @jenispunk

[tiredfox64]

NEED MAVADO AND MALE/GN READER PLEEK

maybe reader is like shang tsung’s prisoner and mavado accidentally found reader after ambushing shang tsung (kinda inspired by the smol reader fic 😭)

Caged Bird

Yip notes: Please...pleek...pleek

Pairing: Mavado x Gn reader

Warning‼️: The only red flag I see is that man but if I take my glasses off I don't see anything

Making a deal with a sad Satan would be easier than making a deal with Shang Tsung. That never stopped Mavado’s drive to capture Kano. The Red Dragons need to get their hands on that filth of a man. They want all Black Dragons to be exterminated.

Mavado kept up his end of the deal. He fought tooth and nail to capture Kenshi and bring him to the sorcerer. In return, he received Kano. He took care of him by torturing him endlessly. It was a treat after all the shit he had to go through. But there is still one mess he needs to clean up. That mess would be Shang Tsung.

He’s no fool. Mavado knew of Shang Tsung’s deceptions and trickery. As if he would walk into a deal without thinking ahead. As soon as he was done with Kano he sent Hsu Hao to take care of his unfinished business. Shame on him for trusting Hsu Hao, he never got a response back. Never trust a jobber to do your job. Mavado had to close this alliance now before things went to hell. Unbeknownst to him, this last interaction with the sorcerer will give him something else.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

Cowards! That’s all Shang Tsung and Quan Chi were. They’re cowards who can’t handle Mavado and his hookswords. One man was outdoing them. He had amazing control over the swords and he used his grappling hooks to avoid their attacks. They need to stop underestimating their opponents if they ever want to succeed.

Shang Tsung nearly met his end when Mavado swung his hookswords near his throat. This was too risky even for a 2 v 1. Quan Chi helped Shang Tsung by casting a spell. Mavado was hit in the face with this cloud made of green smoke and skulls. He blocked his face and slashed at the cloud. Only when it cleared did Mavado realize that they were running away. He can’t let them leave.

He ran after them, bolting down corridors as he kept his eyes on the sorcerers. Twists and turns slowed him down until he was completely lost. The halls echoed the sounds of their footsteps too much. It was difficult to figure out where they were running to. As much as he hated to admit it, he was lost. He kept his cool but he couldn’t help but huff in frustration. Giving up is not an option. He should at least try to find them and end this unwanted escapade.

He wandered around the place to track down his targets. He only managed to stumble into what could only be described as horrific. Abominations made from god’s creations and altered without his permission. Chains swayed in the ceiling, rattling every time a disfigured body tried to free itself. Tanks full of mysterious liquid held the remains of people. The cages held many horrors. Mavado recognized that the creatures inside of them were tarkatans except they were mutated. Their skins were more reddish and had more spikes coming out of their bodies. The foulest ones were bulky like they were pumped full of steroids. He’ll pass on that. The last cage must hold the worst of them all. A being with no light left in their eyes, one who would relinquish any speck of humanity from themselves, one who would—oh, wait, it’s not bad at all.

In the last cage, your body laid on a filthy mattress. The metal frame of the bed looked as rusted as the metal chains that kept you in place. You had your back turned to the bars so you never saw Mavado staring at you.

He was staring for a minute or two. Out of everything he had seen in that room, you were a sight for sore eyes, at least from what he could see. He could only see your back but there didn’t seem to be any spikes coming out of you or discoloration in your skin. He wondered why someone so normal was in this cursed place. Curiosity drives people and it drove Mavado to knock lightly against the bars. They rang out and alerted you that someone was there.

“I thought you said no experiments for today since you had a supposed guest.” You replied in a tired and blunt tone.

You mistook Mavado for Shang Tsung. It did surprise him that you were being experimented on. You don’t have any signs on your body to show you were altered. Not even a blood stain on you.

“You are mistaken.” He put it simply.

You flinched when you heard a mysterious voice. You turned around slowly, suspicious of who was behind you. You worried that this was another one of Shang Tsung’s tricks and he was disguising himself as someone else. The man you turned to was unfamiliar. You took in every detail you could such as his clothes, the tattoo on his arm, his hookswords, and his face. As you did that, he did the same to you.

Mavado examined the way you looked at him. You showed no fear in your eyes not even when you looked at his swords. You looked confused but curious at the same time. Now that he had a better look at you he can confirm you were not mutated or altered. You looked as regular as him. Though he did find you to be quite stunning. He might be thinking that because out of everything he has seen you are the one who doesn’t hurt his eyes.

“By any chance, did your jailer come running by here?” He asked.

You nodded your head no before speaking, “I never heard his footsteps. You were pretty quiet coming in here.”

“That’s because I wanted to take my time…” He looked around the place to emphasize his next point, “Observing Shang Tsung’s creations.”

“Mhm, yes, quite the scientist. Sooner or later I’ll look like one of these freaks.” Your nonchalant attitude soon became somber. You were clearly unhappy with your predicament.

Look, Mavado isn’t a saint. He’s part of a criminal organization but you don’t know that. But if he were in your shoes he wouldn’t want to be turned into a tarkatan. Their lives are full of pain. It’d be a shame if a gorgeous person like you were to be turned into something so wretched. It’d really piss off Shang Tsung if one of his experiments were set free or even stolen. You know what, Mavado has a good set of reasons to let you out. It’s not like you’re gonna argue with him about setting you free.

“Well, you could always leave.”

“Do you not see the chains and bars? I can’t leave.” You looked at him like he was crazy.

“Not without my help.”

You tilted your head in confusion. You were unsure of what he was hinting at. It’s not like he had a key with him.

“I’ll make a deal with you. I help you get out of here, and you come with me. The Red Dragon clan could always use another set of hands.”

He made you curious. You never heard of the Red Dragon clan. You have a bunch of questions as to how this clan is associated with Shang Tsung. You don’t even know the man in front of you. Will that stop you from getting your possible freedom? You have nothing else to lose it’s either this or growing teeth that resemble a piranha.

“Humor me. I’d like to see you try when you don’t have the key with you.”

Watch and learn.

Mavado took his time observing the bars of your cage. They were rusted and they shifted from a light push. They aren’t up to date. A few kicks should do the job but that would be too loud and alert the sorcerers. He better give it one hell of a kick to break it.

He stored his hookswords behind his back before pulling out his grappling hooks. He threw them down, the hook sinking into the hard ground. He gave a test yank to make sure they would stay put. Yup, they ain’t moving. He turned to look at you and he gave a face that made you feel some hope. Mavado had a smug look that said “Are you ready for this, I don’t think you are ready for this”.

“Cover your ears. This is going to be loud.” He warned.

He took steps back and stretched his grappling hooks. The band grew thinner the farther he went back. You stared blankly at the spectacle before you. You covered your ears as he instructed and waited for the solution to come flinging.

Mavado couldn’t back up any further and found that this would be enough. He jumped up and he was flung at the bars at high speeds. They never stood a chance. A loud clashing of metal echoed as the bars fell to the ground hard. It cracked the stones beneath it. There, Mavado stood before you, dusting himself off like what he did was casual. Your mouth fell open.

He retracted his grappling hooks and took out his hookswords to help with your chains. He slashed both of them at the same time. It was so quick and effortless that you didn’t realize he did it until your arms fell to your sides. You looked at your wrist to see the shackles still on you with a small length of chain still attached.

You felt like you could breathe for the first time in a while. That bland attitude you had changed. You were lively instead of acting like a corpse ready for examination. You took a step off of your rancid bed but almost fell. Mavado was quick to catch you and help you stand. He had you move your arm so it could wrap around his neck. His arm wrapped around your waist to keep you balanced.

“Don’t push yourself. Shang Tsung had probably weakened you too much to walk.” He advised you as you two slowly walked out of your cage.

You didn’t care that you were weak. You were just happy to be out and moving. Though it may be cut short with Mavado bringing you to his clan, you will at least bask in this moment.

All that ruckus would of course alert Shang Tsung. He ignored Quan Chi’s advice to not investigate and ran to find that one of his experiments was missing. Mavado was pushing all of his buttons.

As Mavado tried to find an exit he heard rapid footsteps coming from behind. When he peaked over his shoulders, he saw Shang Tsung coming for you both. He was so angry he used his magic to shoot flaming skulls at you two. You would have been hit if Mavado didn’t pull you away in time. Oh NOW he wants to fight.

“Wrap your arms around my neck tightly.” He instructed in a serious tone.

“Why?”

“Because it’s going to be rough for you.”

You had no idea what he meant but you did as he said. You stared at Shang Tsung in horror as he came closer. You didn’t watch Mavado as he used his grappling hooks once more. You heard a snap and after that the only noise left was you screaming as you both were flung into the air.

Good riddance, Shang Tsung.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

“Mavado, why do you always bring random people back to the stronghold?” Daegon asked as he rubbed his forehead in frustration.

“I don’t see any downsides to adding more warriors to our clans.”

“They are not a warrior, they are an experiment.” Daegon corrected Mavado.

“They were an experiment before I recused them. They could easily become a warrior if you let them stay.” Mavado had that same smug look on his face because he knew Daegon wouldn’t deny having more people in his clan.

The demigod sighed before saying, “Fine, but they are your responsibility. If Shang Tsung comes looking for them you take care of that yourself.” Daegon walked off after giving Mavado the go-ahead to let you join.

Hsu Hao just finished getting your shackles off when Mavado came back. He told Hsu Hao to get more supplies to clean you up. He then took your wrist to check for any wounds since the skin seemed damaged.

“So, your name is Mavado?” You asked.

“Yes. I forgot to introduce myself officially. But now you know.” He sat down next to you and began to clean your wrist with an alcohol wipe.

“What should I expect to happen now?”

“For one, you won’t be put into a cage. I don’t think someone like you should be trapped away and left to rot. Second, you’re with us now. And if you don’t want that then too bad, you know too much now.” His tone was joking but he was full-on serious.

You cracked a small smile and rolled your eyes, “Don’t worry, I don’t think I can leave with how weak I am. Plus, I need to repay you back for getting me out.”

“You’re starting to get it now. Soon you will be in good shape and I will make you into a warrior. Maybe then you and I can exact our revenge on Shang Tsung.”

“I’d like that actually.”

Maybe your time with the Red Dragons won’t be so bad. You already have a liking to Mavado, it can’t be hard to like everyone else. Plus, he is quite the looker. Better looking than those tarkatans you were surrounded by that’s for sure.

Yap notes: I will forever see him as Guatemalan and Dominican. Y'all can say he is Puerto Rican or Spanish (From Spain I mean) but imma stay in my silly little word and believe he is like me fr fr. Now If you don't mind imma bite the back of his neck and drag him away like a mother cat would. Adiós!

[daydreamalley]

The fact that there’s only one time in Chuuya’s life that Corruption was activated (outside of the lab) where Dazai wasn’t there in the aftermath and that was when Chuuya was just 7 years old and left in the crater of the explosion he created, in so much pain and with gravity probably still fluctuating around him. Nothing but complete destruction, hell on earth, and suffering for a seven-year-old child.

Chuuya is never in good shape after he uses Corruption, and I imagine he wasn’t in good shape after he used the full force of Arahabaki (and by used I mean when it was forced out of him due to Rimbaud). And like, we’ve seen Chuuya close Verlaine’s gate when he defeated the Beast of Guivre, and it left Verlaine close to death (though I also imagine that’s in part due to the fact Verlaine isn’t really human), and we also saw earlier on in Storm Bringer when Verlaine opened Corruption for only a second and then closed the gate that Chuuya was in agony, left to suffer in the hell of what was left of the street he’d been on. 

That scene of Chuuya lying on the ground in what used to be an alleyway in excruciating pain is already hard to read, and he’s 16 then (still so young) but at least Dazai still comes (even though he doesn’t technically have to) and nullifies the aftershocks of Chuuya’s ability that are causing him so much pain. Causing him to suffer.

But imagine Chuuya at 7 years old, imagine how small that is, probably in nothing more than a hospital gown, lying in the rubble of the giant crater that will one day become Suribachi city, experiencing all that suffering and probably more. He’s completely alone in the hell of his own ability’s destruction, in unimaginable pain. His frail body that’s been in a lab for so long probably spasming with the pain as he feels the sun for the first time in who knows how long. And there was no one to hold him or catch him or for him to fall into. No one’s lap to rest his head on. No one to hoist him onto their shoulders and carry him away from the carnage. No one to nullify the pain he was in. No one to comfort him or remind him who he was.

What did he probably have to do when he woke up? Wait until he had enough strength to sit up, wait until the dizziness abated enough for him to stand, and through the disorientation walk on his own two feet despite the pain. He’d been through plenty of it after all, even if he couldn’t remember why, his body remembered.

He’d have to piece together any scraps of memory he had. His name probably came first. Then the horrific feeling of the power inside him and that he was probably responsible for the hellscape he was trying to navigate, cutting and scraping his bare feet in the crater of what was.  

Find the corpse of some military personnel that’d been killed in the explosion Arahabaki had caused, far enough away he hadn’t been completely obliterated, and at least steal some of his uniform to wear, though it was much too big for his skinny 7-year-old frame. And the shoes wouldn’t do him any good, they’d just fall off, the jacket already kept slipping off his shoulder.

And then, in that moment, he was perhaps the loneliest person in the world. Not later, when he was 16 and had someone to catch him and someone had just attempted to sacrifice himself for Chuuya. No, then he had a semblance of a family. But when he was 7, that was when he was just alone, and in pain, with no one to reassure him that everything was alright, that nothing was his fault. That his destructive power didn’t make him less human. If anything, he was probably lucky no one with bad intentions found him. 

And then who knows how long later, he’d wandered far enough away from the wreckage, under a bridge where a couple of other kids around his age found him. Still without shoes and in a military uniform far too large for him. Filthy and starving, but having the strength, having the courage to ask a kid “what’s that square thing?” “Tell me what that square thing is in your hand. Right now.” Last ditch effort of demanding, because somehow he still had a strong will. And the kid was just holding a slice of bread. Chuuya just wanted to know if he could eat it. 

Like, can we just talk about the tragedy of that? How truly sad it is that when Chuuya asked “what’s that square thing” and the answer was just bread. Shirase just explaining“I was holding a slice of bread,” and then having to show him that it was edible. Like, my god. And then Chuuya just… faints, on the spot “like he was out of batteries,” as Shirase describes. Finally all his energy and willpower to survive depleted in this moment of hopeful safety. Shirase also says Chuuya looked half dead he was so skinny.

But at least Chuuya had finally found some people who’d given him some food and water. At least Shirase decided to take him to some shelter, even if it was in the sewers. He finally had people, even if they weren’t well off, they had something. Finally he wasn’t alone. And when he learned he had something to offer them in return in the form of his ability? Well, of course he was going to use it to help them.

Also, just, his first memory was of being alone and in pain. Where he is now may not be perfect, but thank god he’s come such a long way and has people and a home and food and luxuries. But like, he just has to live with that every day.

Oh, and mind you, all this was happening to Chuuya close to the end/in the aftermath of the war, which was already a bad time for people, as Murase talks about. He says “But it was the end of the war, and there were supply shortages everywhere you went. Some kids from the Settlement appeared out of nowhere and tried to sneak inside to steal some food.” So on top of Chuuya’s personal struggles, there were shortages of supplies everywhere, bad enough that kids were trying to sneak into military facilities for food. 

So, yeah, this actually massively got away from me, into the territory of hcs and back out again. But like, every time we see Chuuya use Corruption Dazai is around, because he really has to be. And I love that. But just thinking about the one time where Dazai wasn’t around after the full effects of Chuuya’s ability and how that was probably the worst time and Chuuya was only 7 and alone and woke up in the middle of essentially hell on earth with like no memories. It makes me want to scream, and that’s why I wrote this. And then I reread the part in SB where Shirase explains how he met Chuuya and just got even sadder. Fun times fun times.

[ghoulangerlee]

t4t copiaether agenda with one of the prompts from that list i reblogged bc this is For Myself :) self care and self love etc etc etc

still set in the same verse where Copia, Aether and Dew are in love and together, immediately post tour when Copia and Dew return to their boy :) (tho not canon with the two fics I wrote on AO3......or is it? Aether's magic bits)

cw for overstimulation and crying but in a sexy way :)

“Do that again- Shit, just like that, right there.”

-

Aether's chest heaves against Copia's ear—he's taking a moment, just one, to lean in close, to listen to the ghoul's steady and strong, rapid heartbeat, settling into the mindset of he's here, we're here, I'm never leaving him again.

"Love," Aether mumbles, slurs out as a hand comes up to pet through Copia's hair, blunt and human nails scratching against his scalp, "You okay?"

Copia hums softly, leaning up into Aether's touch, lifting his head just enough so he can gaze at the love struck, cock drunk look on Aether's face. "Perfect," he says, stretching his way up over Aether so he can press a kiss to his lips, the movement of it all shifting his cock in a way that has Aether's fingers tightening in his hair and his other hand scrabbling for purchase against the mussed sheets of the bed.

A moan, from one of them or both, neither are sure, but when Copia breaks from the kiss, there's a glazed look in Aether's eyes, pupils swallowing up the iris until only black remains. "I love you," he says, the words falling from his lips—but before Aether's able to answer, to draw Copia into another kiss, he's pulling away, settling back on his knees.

Copia's cock, one of the many things that Aether loves about him, is something that had been lovingly picked out, something that Aether had chosen to try—a perfect fit, not too long but thick enough that if Aether wants to feel the ache of it, he will.

And while Copia has plenty of different ones to choose from, they always settle on that one; it's something horrifically romantic and it never fails to make Dew roll his eyes and tease Aether about never wanting to branch out.

It doesn't matter, though, because it's special to Copia in the same way he'd gotten a special harness, just for that one, one that Aether's developed a response to—a dark purple leather that's soft to the touch, sturdy so when Aether's feeling particularly controlling, he can grip onto the straps and guide Copia just how he wants him.

It's the same one now that Aether can feel against his inner thighs each time Copia fucks back into him, soft, skin warmed leather pressing deep brands into him with each low grunt the movement pulls out of him.

Copia only ever really teases Dew unless Aether specifically asks for it, a song and dance that they've had years to perfect; but even now this feels like teasing because Aether's so out of his mind with it that he's not sure if he wants to come only on Copia's cock or if he wants help.

He whines when Copia presses in close, grinds into him deep and filthy with a steady roll of his hips—a choked sound leaves his mouth then, his cock pressing just right enough for him to—

“Do that again- Shit, just like that, right there.”

Copia laughs, a breathless sound that drives another spike of arousal through Aether, "Are you going to come like that if I do?" He asks, though he's so good and complies, keeps grinding his cock against that spot inside Aether that has him squirming on the bed, trying to chase the feeling of it.

"Uh huh," Aether manages to spit out as he tosses his head back and grips tightly onto Copia's thigh, working his fingers under the harness so he can keep Copia right where he wants him. "Uh huh," he repeats, his breath whooshing out of him in one fell swoop as he feels it crest, that low simmer in his veins turning into a bright explosion behind his eyelids as his eyes slam closed and he clenches up tight around Copia's cock, breathlessly pleading for Copia to keep moving.

And he does, he listens and settles a hand on Aether's shaking thigh, keeping him from closing them as he continues grinding into him until Aether's whimpering, letting go of him all at once to cover his own face with both of his hands.

It's only when Copia notices that Aether's shaking does he actually stop, not quite pulling out just yet as he settles his weight on Aether to help ground him.

"You did so well," he murmurs against Aether's hand covering his face, pressing kisses across his knuckles, "Letting me give you what you wanted," he continues, before he's gently prying Aether's hands away, "There you are," he says sweetly, pressing their mouths together in a brief kiss—he doesn't call attention to the wetness of Aether's eyes, feels his own emotions bubble up in him as the months spent apart melt away into nothingness now that he's finally got Aether again.

"I love you," Aether says, voice shaky, "I missed you, I'm glad you're home." His arms wrap around Copia, holding him tightly.

Copia sinks into the embrace, pressing another kiss to Aether's mouth, sweet and light, "I love you too, I'll never leave you again," he promises in the low light of their bedroom, resting their foreheads together.

Aether makes a soft noise, hands splayed across Copia's lower back, in the back of his mind he knows that Copia's finally home for good, but hearing it said, makes the remaining anxiety in his mind disapate.

"Dew's going to be obnoxious about this," Aether mumbles with a little laugh as he feels Copia gently wipe away his tears. "You know how he likes being here whenever I cry."

Copia snorts softly, nuzzling his nose against Aether's, "I'll fuck him to tears too if he starts teasing you about it," he mumbles, and Aether laughs again, sliding his hands up Copia's back to cup the back of his head.

"Easy now," Aether murmurs, "None of that, you're being good for me right now, aren't you, darling?"

Something in Copia shudders a bit and he nods, eyes fluttering, "I am," he mumbles, accepting the kiss that Aether presses to his mouth.

"Good," Aether praises him, sinking his fingers into Copia's hair, "Give me a few minutes and I'll reward your thoughtfulness and focus on me," he purrs, pulling him in for another kiss, this one slower and longer, deeper as Aether licks his way into Copia's mouth.

"Yeah, okay," Copia mumbles a bit dumbly when they part, exhaling soft, shuddering breaths. "I'm all yours."

Aether laughs and pets his fingers against Copia's scalp, "Yeah, you are." he teases, pulling Copia down to rest his head back against his chest, just over where his heart beats loud and steady in his chest.

[winniemaywebber]

It's Been A Long, Long Time • Part 2

💕 Jean 💕

read previous chapter here

warnings: 18+, oral (f receiving), mention of sexual intercourse.

Putting the finishing touches to her famous cherry pie, Jean removes her apron and walk into the living room, trying her best to swipe flour off her dress as she enters. 

“Pie is done, Binger,” she says quietly so as not to wake the baby in his arms. Harry's and Jean's son had taken to mixing up his days and nights. Not a wink of sleep from midnight - what Bing liked to call his witching hour - until at least 5am. It had started to take its toll on the pair of them, the couple sleeping in shifts for the most of a fortnight. Jean missed her husband dearly, despite being back in the same house. There was just something about savoring his arms around her, his nose snuffling into her neck as he slept, the comfort she'd been craving for years. Jean knew it was hard for him too: waking alone from a horrific nightmare, his Jeanie's soft hands not there to soothe him back to sleep and reassure him he's home and safe. 

Placing the baby in his bassinet, Harry gets up from the couch and stretches, yawning heavily before walking into the kitchen. 

“It looks wonderful, my love. He'll love it.”

“Are you sure?” she questions, eyebrow raised a little. “You're sure he said that was his favorite?” 

“Yes, Mrs Crosby,” he laughs, kissing her forehead. “I like to think I'd remember these little things about my friends. Don't worry yourself so.” He pulls Jean into his arms and strokes her back, his nose falling into the crook of her neck. She feels herself purr into him at the sensation, gasping a little. 

“He's asleep,” Croz murmurs. “Come to bed with me, darling.” 

“But Rosie will be here any moment and…ahhh–” Jean can barely piece the rest of her thought together because of Harry putting his mouth on yours, his tongue entering soon after. 

“Fine, we won't go to bed,” he murmurs, pushing her against the counter as he walks them both into the kitchen. “Here is more than fine.” With that, his strong, pretty hands are lifting up the skirt of her dress and gripping her legs, lifting her slightly to get her to sit on the counter. 

“Harry…” she groan as you watch him kneel down in front of her, a smirk about his lips as he pulls her underwear to the side. 

“What, my little wife? Do you want me to stop?” he questions, those brown, puppy dog eyes looking up at her as he begins to plant soft kisses on the inside of her thighs, getting closer to her core with each one. 

“N-no,” she finally stutters out. “It-its just…oh, my gosh.” Her words are cut off by your husband's tongue taking her apart in seconds. He pulls away, gently pushing a finger inside her. 

"It's just what, darling? Tell me. Tell your Bing just what it is.” 

She can't seem to formulate words due to the pleasure fogging your brain, so she just shakes her head, breath ragged from the overload of pleasure rushing through her body.

“That's what I thought,” he murmurs, returning his face to in between her legs, throwing her leg over his shoulder. “Now, let me make my wife feel good.” 

Bing mumbles filthy praise as she writhes in front of him, her vision turning white for a split second. “Wow…you needed that, huh?” He stands up, wiping his mouth and kissing her, Jean moaning at the taste of herself on his tongue. 

“Mhm,” she replies, her mouth still on his. “I always need you.” 

“Good,” he grins. He plants a sweet kiss on her nose, winking as he breaks away. “We'd better go clean up.” 

---

It's just as Harry's spitting toothpaste into the sink that they hear the doorbell ring. They both look at each other, wincing and waiting for the inevitable screech that strangely, doesn't come. Jean takes a final look at herself in the bathroom mirror before running to the door, Harry following close behind her, his hands squeezing her butt as she turns away.

“Hey!” she squeals, playfully swatting at him. He chuckles, pulling her towards him again for a quick kiss. 

The doorbell rings a second time, Croz going to open the door. “Here he is!” he shouts, pulling his friend into a hug. “Robbie Rosenthal!”

“Croz, how are ya?” he responds, slapping him on the back. He makes eye contact with Jean, who remains stood behind the pair of them, giving them time to greet one another after so long. 

“Jeez, Croz,” He pulls away, smiling at Jean. “Wonderful to see ya. And you, of course, Mrs Croz. Always a delight."

"Ditto, Rosie. C'mere!" She herself pulls himself into a big hug, welcoming into the house.

Rosie follows Jean and Harry into the house, placing his bag by the door. 

“How was your journey, bud?” Harry asks, placing a cold beer in front of him. 

“Ah, not so bad,” he responds, taking a sip. “Jo says she's sorry she couldn't be here.” With that, he glances over at Jean, and the two of them share a sad glance.

“Oh, my sweet Jo,” she responds wistfully. Jo had been part of the team of ladies keeping Jean upright in many ways during the time Harry was away. She was always there with a listening ear, a kind heart and a shoulder to cry on when things got especially tough. The true sisterhood had occurred when they moved in together, keeping one another company while their men were in Europe fighting for their country. It was Josephine who'd taken care of Jean during her pregnancy, the one that held her hand while she'd given birth, the first to hold the baby other than Jean herself.

Since the fellas' return home, Josephine had decided to move herself back to her parent's house, to be nearer to Robbie and also to give Jean, Harry and the baby their space as they learned how to finally be a family.

"I can't tell you how much I miss her, Robert," Jean says with a sniff. "I just wish she was able to visit more..."

“I know, Jean. But, she's doing great, beautiful as ever. We've been fixing up a little house to move into after we're married. You guys are gonna come, right?”

“You think we'd miss that, Rose? Come on, man, you know me better than that!” The men laugh, clinking beer bottles as Jean pulls vanilla ice cream from the freezer to serve with the pie when a soft cry pours through from the living room into the kitchen. Jean nods apologetically towards the men and goes to retrieve the baby.

“Hi, sunshine,” she murmurs, picking him up slowly so as to not shock him awake. “That was a good nap, huh? Good boy, I'm sure you feel much better now. Guess who's here?” She lays him down on the changing mat to change his diaper, cooing all the while. “That's right, my boy! Uncle Rosie. Uncle Rosie's here to see you!” 

Jean feels the presence of someone in the doorway, and looks up to see Croz, his arms crossed, smiling at her and the baby. 

“What, darling?” She asks, buttoning the baby's romper. 

“That never gets old, sweetheart. You and him, me being here to see it. I love it.” He walks over and takes the baby from her, kissing his chubby cheeks before kissing his wife's. “I love you, Mrs Crosby.”

“I love you more, Bing.”

Rosie gasps as Croz brings the baby into the kitchen, his eyes lighting up and softening at the same time. He stands up, the chair squeaking on the kitchen floor as he reaches his hands out, holding the baby to his body.

“Hi, buddy!” He chirps, smiling down at him. “How's it goin’? Huh? You running mom and dad ragged? Yeah? That's what I thought, little guy. Good job!” He carries on like this, rambling in a voice that's several octaves higher than you just heard, the baby gurgling in response.

“Oh, you guys,” he says, back to his normal husky tone, his eyes shining. “He's beautiful.” 

---

The rest of the day passes quickly, both men rushing around Jean and switching the baby between them, so she can sit down and rest. Thankful for the extra pair of hands, Jean takes the opportunity to take a long, hot bath and relax, Bing coming in for just a moment to sit on the edge of the tub, telling her a story from their time in England that he'd just remembered thanks to Rosie, that he just had to tell her immediately, all while rubbing lavender soap into her legs. 

While you're getting ready for bed, Jean decides to reread Jo's latest letter, which she plans to reply to in the morning.

Darling Jean,

How are you? Good, I hope. I'm so sorry to read that the little guy isn't sleeping well. I imagine that can be so exhausting.

I'm glad Robbie will be there in a few days. That extra pair of hands around so you can relax will be welcome, I'm sure. I'm just so sorry I cannot be there too, to be with you while the boys share their anecdotes. While our men may have lost so much in the years they were away from us, I'm glad it gave us something: each other. You are one of my dearest friends and I am forever glad and grateful that your Harry and my Robert became friends, thus putting us together. I wouldn't know how to live without you now. 

Back to not being able to join Robbie on this trip: tell him to hurry up and marry me so I'm able to come see you and the baby. Start dropping hints now, lady! I'm dying to see you and my beloved nephew. 

Goodbye for now, my dear. All my love, always.

Your friend,

Jo

Jean smiles, placing the letter back on her nightstand, sniffling a little. She is right, Jean thinks to herself; the men losing so much, yet she and Jo both gaining this friendship is bittersweet. Her - and the other girls - being there for her when Harry came home on leave, her nerves wrecked after not seeing her husband for years. She was one of the first people Jean had told when she'd found out she was pregnant, both of them weeping with joy and hugging. Wiping her present tears away, she runs downstairs to take the baby so that Bing can take the first sleep shift. 

“Harry, darling,” she coos. “You'd better sleep if you want to take Rosie golfing tomorrow morning!”

“Oh, thanks, honey,” he says, clumsily standing from the couch so as not to disturb the dozing baby in his arms. “Here ya go, buddy,” he says, placing the baby in Jean's waiting arms. “Go to mama. Goodnight, my son.” He kisses him on the head, before turning to his wife and placing a deep kiss on her mouth. 

“Hold on, you guys,” Rosie starts, placing his whiskey glass on the table in front of him. “You aren't going to bed together?”

“We can't right now, Rosie,” Jean replies sadly. “Little guy here wakes at all hours, so we take it in turns right now.”

“I'm not having that!” he says, shocked. “Go to bed together, I'm here for a reason. Uncle Rosie and his new best buddy can have a few hours to get to know one another a bit better. You've got jazz, a record player and I've got arms that aren't exhausted to be able to hold him all hours.”

“Are you sure, bud?” Harry says, wrapping an arm around Jean's shoulder.

“Yes, Croz. Go curl up with your wife. I'll be here.”

“Thanks, doll,” Jean says, a grateful smile on her face. “Come wake us if there's any trouble, okay?” She places the dozing baby in his bassinet next to the armchair Rosie is sitting in, and gently pat his shoulder in thanks.

“I wouldn't dream of it. Goodnight, you two!”

---

Jean and Harry ascend the stairs together, breathing a sigh of grateful relief. Pulling his shirt off, Bing walks towards her, his hands finding their way up her night dress. “How's about we pick up where we left off earlier?” he winks, his hands getting further up her bare skin and inciting a shiver.

“Hmm, yes please.”

“Good,” he murmurs, kissing her deeply. “Just be quiet, Mrs Crosby. We don't want the cops called on us.” 

masterlist

part three

[missalicevalentine]

A lil G/T writing snippet I did for fun!

The winter was frosty and Alice honestly was just glad she wasn't outside in the cold. That the cold wasn't nipping at her small toes or her tail wasn't frost bitten. The feeling of her long, elven ears freezing was the worst; and how her nose would turn bright pink. It was, if she was to put a word to it…uncomfortable, miserable and just hellish! She never liked the cold, at least not when it snowed. Rain was difficult enough, but the snow? Oh snow wanted her dead. It was like it knew she was alone out there, like it could wrap its filthy claws around her tiny body. But now, oh but now she wasn't outside. She was—wait, what was the word? The English word for this feeling of security? She couldn't remember…

Now she wasn't freezing her tail off or her teeth chattering. Whatever this ‘T-V’ was was playing loudly and the room was heated up by whatever that thing on the ceiling was. She sat quite comfortably next to her giant Friend. A person she couldn't communicate completely with. They spoke English and Alice, well she spoke her own language. She'd picked up bits and peices of English so far, like ‘food’ and their name, but most importantly ‘cat.’ she didn't like the cat, opting to call it a beast since it had more than once tried to get a hold of her. Still, as she sat next to her friend she wondered what went on in their mind. Why they had opted to let her live in the walls once they found her.

She was staring rather intently at them. Taking in all the horrific and giant features of their face. Her nose and brows knitted together as she studied This human and their short ears and tailless behind. They looked so…almost weird. Without a tail how did they balance? Or without long ears how did they listen for hawks or beast—cats? It seemed her friend noticed her staring, chuckling softly as they reached a hand out to grab her. Alice, well still hadn't exactly gotten use to the grabbing, the feeling of a hand grabbing her was almost, well, uncomfortable. She had tried to stand up in time to walk away but unfortunately for her they caught her with another laugh.

Alice tried to wriggle her way out of their grip but failed rather miserably as they brought their hand to their lap. Their second hand joining and cupping around Alice almost protectively.

“Warm?” They asked, their voice soft as of they were making sure not to startle her delicate ears.

Alice knew what that word meant! It was the word she was looking for! The snow pittered outside the window, freezing everything in it's path well she stayed inside, warm. It felt like a hug, like the worries or rats and cats, hawks and snakes didn't matter. That right now she was safe. Warm; Their hands curled a little more around Alice as they spoke words foreign to her own. A gentle nudge of their finger to get her response had her tilting her head back to meet their gaze. They big, intense and almost terrifying gaze. It would have been scary if she hadn't known how soft they were. They made her brownies and let her sleep and walk wherever! hell! They even made sure getting onto their counter top was easier for her. They were warm. They where this complete blanket of safety; a hand —quite literally— that kept her safe. A friend. A commander. Her clan. Her warm.

“Yes, Alice is, eh—warm.”

Thats my first time writing G/T! An example of how I write if there are anyone down to rp! (Specifically over 18 cause im an adult and don't rp with minors)

[bluerose5]

Astarion gets the Twilight treatment. I take my crackfics very seriously here.

...

"A little help over here!" Erys called out, grunting as he shoved at the slab of stone covering the hunter's sarcophagus.

They were deep within the latest tomb on their journey to find a way to counteract Astarion's... aversion to sunlight, and all paths that they followed led there.

Astarion watched him with a smirk, his hands on his hips.

"Oh, I don't know if you need me," he said. "I mean, I do rather like the view from here."

In response, Erys's tail swayed from side to side, draconic wings giving a slight flutter at the praise.

Of course that didn't stop Erys from turning to narrow his eyes at him.

"Astarion, my love, if you want to know whether this is what we've been waiting for or not," Erys crooned, "then you'll help me."

"Ugh, alright, fine. Spoilsport," Astarion huffed, poking his bottom lip out into a pout. "Although, if I ruin my nails on this filthy hunk of rock, then you owe me."

Erys snorted.

"As if I expect anything less."

Astarion joined him, brushing his fingers over the Infernal carvings upon the sarcophagus, familiar enough with the language by now to understand a few of the words.

"What do you make of it?" Erys asked.

"Blah, blah, something about darkness and light, yada, yada," Astarion muttered.

"Well, I'm surprised you got that much right," Erys taunted, taking Astarion's hand and guiding it over the script as he read aloud. "Roughly translated, it says, 'Bring darkness into light at your leisure, but remember that light shall always expose the true nature of darkness.'"

"So..." Astarion hummed. "What does that entail exactly? Will I turn into some sort of hideous beast in the sunlight instead of turning to ash?"

"Hot," Erys said under his breath; and when Astarion glared at him, he asked, "What?"

"Just help me open the damn thing."

Together, they pushed against the slab.

They pushed and shoved until, finally, the stone fell off to the other side.

A crash roared throughout the tomb, and a cloud of dust sprang up into the air.

Astarion and Erys coughed, frantically waving their hands around until they could see the remains within.

A blood hunter, or what was left of them at least.

And on their finger was a ring, emanating some of the strongest magic they've felt in a while.

"Is that—" Astarion started.

"Maybe?" Erys answered.

"Well," Astarion said, "only one way to find out."

He reached forward, but Erys grabbed his hand before he could reach it.

"Wait," he said, "what if the effects are permanent?"

"What?" Astarion asked. "Wouldn't you still love me as some sort of horrific, malformed beast?"

"That's not what I'm worried about." Erys grimaced. "I'm worried about you making a choice that you might come to regret."

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?" Astarion took a deep, bracing breath. "I have to try. I have to know for certain."

After a moment of searching Astarion's expression, Erys nodded, then released his hand.

Astarion reached into the sarcophagus and wrenched the ring free from the skeleton's bones.

They waited for a lone beat, sharing a skeptical look when nothing happened.

"Really?" Erys raised a brow and searched around them. "No hoards of undead to fight? No angry spirits to ward off? That's it? We can go?"

"Kind of underwhelming compared to the other places we've been to get here, I must admit. Not that I'm one to look a gift horse in the mouth."

When it truly appeared as if their theft didn't trigger any world-ending event, Astarion looked at the engraving along the inside of ring, the words upon the sarcophagus embedded within the band.

Astarion prepared himself for the worst.

He squeezed his eyes shut, then slid the ring onto his finger.

Again, nothing happened.

He peeked an eye open and patted his hands against his face, at least relieved when that remained the same.

"Well?" Erys asked, impatient. "Feel any different?"

"Not really," Astarion answered, his lips tugging into a scowl. "Guess we've come to the moment of truth then. That cryptic warning did mention that light will bring out my true nature or what-have-you. It must mean the sunlight will trigger whatever transformation awaits me."

"Are you sure you're ready for that?"

"As ready as I'm going to be."

"Alright, then," Erys sighed, scratching at his beard. "Time to make camp and wait for sunrise, I suppose."

It all seemed way too easy.

They did, in fact, make camp within the tomb —campfire, bedrolls, and all— but the night was a restless one to say the least.

When Astarion wasn't tossing and turning, trying to slip into his trance, he was up pacing back and forth within the darkness.

Erys eventually dragged him back to bed, unable to sleep without him, heavy wings draped over him in an attempt to keep him there.

Only then, in his arms, was Astarion able to rest.

But he was up at the crack of dawn.

Erys took that as a sign to get the hell up himself, yawning as he made his way outside first.

Once the sun rose, he lifted his hand up to shield his face against the first rays of daylight, peering out between his fingers.

He looked back at the entrance to the tomb, where Astarion teetered on the edge between darkness and light.

Erys reached a hand out towards him.

Astarion nodded to him.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped out into the sunlight for the first time in years since their initial journey ended.

Astarion still didn't feel any change, his brow furrowed, confused by this turn of events.

On one hand, at least the change didn't hurt.

On the other, Erys was absolutely silent.

"Erys," He hissed, panic rising in his voice. "How bad is it?"

The silence stretched on.

Then, out of nowhere, the bastard snickered.

"Are you—" Astarion sputtered, indignant. "Are you laughing at me, you bastard?"

"I'm sorry," Erys wheezed. "It's just that, all of that suspense and build-up, and for this?!"

He barked out another laugh, to which Astarion stomped his foot with a huff.

"Sometimes I could just wring that pretty neck of yours. What in the Hells are you talking ab—Oh."

Astarion opened his eyes, only to be met with the sight of his skin, the same as before except for one teensy-weensy detail.

It was sparkling.

"Huh," he muttered, turning his hands back and forth, but there was no denying reality. This was really happening, apparently. "Never read anything about this sort of thing in all of those dusty, old tomes we dug up."

Erys shrugged.

"Perhaps the ring affects different monsters in different ways. Our buddy in the tomb, ole Hunter-What's-Their-Face, was consumed by the curse of lycanthropy in their final days. Either that," Erys guessed, "or the 'true nature' being revealed relies completely on the individual."

He beamed at Astarion in amusement.

"I think I like the second option more. Would make sense that you, of all people, would become the sparkly, glittery vampire."

"Ha! Whatever do you mean by that, my love?" Astarion crooned with a playful bite in his direction.

The sunlight bounced off his skin in a rainbow of color, casting light all around them.

"Only that I absolutely love that radiant personality of yours."

"You don't say," Astarion drawled, then instantly perked up, twirling back and forth as he basked in the morning's warmth. "You know, as flashy as this may have turned out to be, I'd take this over the alternative any day."

Gathering up their supplies, he reached out and took Erys by the hand.

They followed the path that they took to the tomb, their heads held high.

Erys bumped him with his arm.

"Hey, if anyone asks, we'll just say that this is some quirk of your Fey ancestry. That's if anyone has the courage to ask about it with me at your side."

"Heh, it's as good an excuse as any."

"I can't wait until Gale and Shadowheart get to see this at our next tea time," Erys laughed.

"Is that where we're going next then?" Astarion questioned, embracing the freedom to go wherever their hearts led them, however they pleased. "To Waterdeep?"

"To Waterdeep!"

After all, they owed him that special guest lecture of theirs.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

When a Tomb Becomes a Womb (Part 1: Rings)

Well, it’s finally happened: I wrote a story for a movie rather than YouTube Egos. (Not that this is gonna become a regular thing, mind you. Lisa Frankenstein just so happened to check all the right boxes for my hyperfixation and brainrot.) 

(Disclaimer: While I agree that Creature doesn’t really need an actual name to be a great character, I still decided to give him a headcanon name—which is Callum, since I think it would fit him— just because this entire story is from his perspective. Mentioning his "true," pre-death name just seems logical. Neither of the characters in this story belongs to me. Lisa Swallows and The Creature are the property of Zelda Williams and Diablo Cody.)

(Trigger Warnings: implied murder/death, implied violence, gore/blood, mentions of electrocution and fire, scars, body horror, dismemberment. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

The soil was loose and soft. It yielded to the shovel’s rusty spade quite easily.

Though many emotions were thrumming through Callum’s skull at the moment, surprise wasn’t one of them. 

While dark clouds had clogged up the night sky, hiding the stars and moon and bloating with rain that would fall sooner or later, the current season was warm, and so the ground wasn’t too firm. 

This plot had only been filled hours ago. This grave was fresh; infinitely fresher than his had been.

By now, Callum estimated that it’d taken at least half a day for him to crawl up through the ground and breach the surface like one of the several worms slithering around inside him.

He hadn’t exactly been in the right headspace to consider it at first; back then, all he’d been able to know was light and electricity and shuddering and pain and. . .Lisa’s words. 

Lisa’s words. 

The same thing that fueled Callum to escape his tomb was now guiding him to free Lisa from hers, all with the same amount of violent tremors and desperation.

It was poetic, honestly. 

Perhaps it would’ve been a bit more poetic if he didn’t have to get so filthy in the process.

Oh, well. He could take care of that later. (Besides, the stains on his clothes were nothing compared to the layers of grime and mold and fungus that had been caked all over him on that first, fateful night.)

Right now, unearthing his beloved without getting caught seemed like a much more important thing to focus on.

His grip was vicelike around the wooden handle as he threw one shovelful after another to the side.

Almost there, Callum thought. (If he could speak, he’d be repeating that mantra in a whisper like his life depended on it. Which. . .well, it logically didn’t, but it technically did. The same went for Lisa.) Almost there. 

He’d wanted to take her away sooner. He would’ve been perfectly fine with forcing her family to waste money on a casket. Really, what good was a casket if you buried it empty? 

But the distinct lack of a corpse would have just caused more problems. As dense as her family seemed to be, they’d still know that the shiny, glowing box (Lisa had called it a. . .tanning bed? If memory served?) wouldn’t have been capable of reducing a person to ashes no matter how dangerous it was. 

He knew she wasn’t dead. Not completely; not truly. Yes, the combination of electrical currents and fire may have worked its horrific magic on her body. . .but that magic just hadn’t followed through altogether as it probably should have. 

The way the bed had convinced foreign limbs to function as intended mere minutes after Lisa sewed them onto him. . .the way it had rejuvenated his centuries-dead flesh bit by bit. . .

It had some kind of similar effect on Lisa. The vast majority of her had died, but there was still a strong, stubborn ember of something in her that was very much determined to live. 

Callum knew that very well. He’d seen proof of it before being forced to flee from the fire.

But Lisa’s family didn’t. As far as they knew, she was gone and never coming back. So, if she just disappeared before they could bury her, then they’d have an excuse to try and track her down. And if that happened, neither she nor her husband would get another chance. . .

Callum ground his jaw, putting even more force behind the shovel. 

The hole grew deeper.

The pile of disturbed earth beside it grew bigger. 

The dull, scraping tempo of grave-robbery began to sound like hitching gasps and sobs.

Just as the clouds started ominously humming about their plans for the night, the shovel reverberated after finally, finally, finally striking something much more solid than dirt.

Callum tossed the tool aside in favor of getting down on his knees, now using his hands to clear away a blanket of finer, thinner soil. 

He hoped Lisa could hear him digging. (Though if that was the case, then the state of her brain could potentially make her think that the sounds were echoing from somewhere farther beneath her. Which would be. . .less than ideal, as Callum didn’t enjoy the idea of scaring her again. )

Even in his anxiety, he subconsciously shook his head. Lisa had taken him in and repaired him even after being initially terrified. Lisa trusted him, loved him; if she didn’t, then he never would have woken up in the first place.

More time passed, and a soft, cold gleam suddenly manifested in the darkness.

Glossy wood. 

The coffin’s upper door. 

Callum groped at the edge of it, tugging with all his strength.

An odd, warm feeling skittered up his spine and shook through his ribcage. 

A low creeeeaaak rattled through the air as the lid was pried open.

. . .And there she was.

___

Callum had always been a fast learner, and yet he still had no idea what to make of his pulse. 

It’d been extremely jarring when he’d first awoken. The days that followed, it was irregular. Sometimes he could feel it, sometimes he couldn’t. It was always soft—following more of a murmur than a steady beat—always irregular, barely there at all.

Right now, however, it both sounded and felt very far away. More present than it had been when he’d performed a highly unorthodox beheading on that stain of a man who’d upset Lisa. 

Hell, it almost seemed louder and stronger than it had been on the most recent evening he’d spent with Lisa; the one that saw the two of them embracing and reeling and dreaming together. . .

Everything else was a blur as he brought her to her new bed, carrying her like the bride she was. He had to move slowly, carefully, feeling more anxious and unwieldy than ever. 

Well, at least until he laid her down, making sure the pillow offered enough support for her neck.

After that, he was much, much more erratic.

He sprinted about the house, tearing almost every other room apart as he searched. It felt like several hours had passed by the time he finally found what he—what his beloved—needed: a white, sterile-looking container. He opened it, just to be certain, then tucked it under one arm and hurried back over to the bedroom.

Every square inch of Lisa’s body was blistered to hell and back, adorned by a network of puffy, angry-looking veins that, had her heart still been beating, would have more or less threatened to burst at any given moment. Red and raw, several sections on her arms, legs, and chest having peeled off to reveal glistening tissue.

Her mane of thick, curly auburn hair had been reduced to a few small, fried patches that clung to the charred flesh of her scalp with a strength similar to bubblegum and well-intentioned vibes. There was a possibility that she’d died with her eyes open, but the awful swelling of the skin around their sockets had sealed them shut. 

None of that mattered, of course. 

Lisa was still just as beautiful as when Callum had first met her. She always, always would be. 

. . .Even so, those injuries had to be dealt with. Despite what Lisa had said before about accepting a person’s flaws, Callum’s instincts told him she wouldn’t appreciate being left to resemble a puppet made of half-raw-half-cooked steaks.

Callum set the medical kit down on the nightstand, ferreting out generous rolls of gauze as he loomed over the side of the bed. 

The world finally seemed to slow back down as he got to work.

It didn’t take long for him to find a gentle, precise cadence as he wrapped bandage after bandage after bandage around his beloved’s form. Something in the back of his mind wondered if this was what spiders felt like when they spun strands of silk together to make their webs.

Although Lisa’s skin hadn’t been rendered translucent, the burns in some places went deep enough for Callum to catch a glimpse of her organs. Both of her lungs were blackened, seared, sunken. Her heart was equally misshapen, now boasting a similar appearance to a blob of melted wax, looking like it was seconds away from collapsing in on itself. 

But even as all the carnage was swallowed up by more strips of gauze, Callum could still see the heart twitch. The movement only lasted for half a second or so, but there was no doubting that it’d happened. . .

Lisa still had a chance. She would never be truly alive again, but she could still come back.

She couldn’t wake up by herself. . .but she wouldn’t have to.

He’d find a way to help, just as she’d done for him. 

Callum blinked for the first time all night, and his hands were suddenly free; he was suddenly sitting at the foot of the new bed.

Lisa was cloaked quite literally from head to toe in clean, snow-white bandages. It was like he'd made the perfect combination of shroud and wedding dress for her to wear.

The thought made a small smile tug at his lips. 

Then he shook his head.

He couldn’t relax just yet. There were other things to be taken care of right now. Two other things, to be specific. 

Callum got to his feet and crossed the new bedroom to quietly close the door. He ventured down a narrow hallway, peering at an assortment of unfamiliar pictures hanging on the walls around him. Disposing of them would probably be another chore for him later.

His footsteps sounded hollow and heavy as he descended the staircase. (Unlike Lisa’s former home, the floors of this house were all hardwood rather than carpet. True, they wouldn’t muffle noise very well, but it was still quite a lucky coincidence.) 

He’d found this house completely by accident, when he’d still been trying to follow Lisa’s path. 

Even with the remnants of that lightning bolt sparking in his stagnant blood, even with Lisa’s voice echoing through his resurrected mind, it’d still taken so much time for him to truly wake up. He grimaced at the thought of how long he’d had to crawl around the cemetery before he could stand upright. 

(And that wasn’t even mentioning the state his vision had been in. The layers of rancid slime and dirt clinging to his face had made everything around him blurry and distorted. The fact that his eyes were also full of maggots at the time certainly hadn’t helped.)

He’d had to wander the surrounding woods for hours and hours before he could finally walk. The rot in his bones had kept his movement slow and uneven, but a bad limp was still better than collapsing every other moment. 

Callum wasn’t sure how the house’s previous owners hadn’t seen or heard him that night. They certainly had a few hours ago, but that wasn’t a factor anymore. 

He crept into the living room, where he paced a few slow circles around the fresh corpse lying in the center of all the controlled chaos. The crimson splatters now adorning the floor, the walls, the sofa’s floral print almost seemed to glitter.

Another carcass could be found just a few feet away, sprawled across the wide threshold that led into the dining room. The face was obscured, as blood was still leaking out to add to a large puddle that continued to slowly spread, inch-by-inch. 

Callum folded his arms across his chest, drumming the nails of his replacement hand against his cheek. He remembered what Lisa had said when he’d silently begged her to help him find new parts; a contemplative murmur about there being bad people in the world. . .

Her relief and gratitude when he’d bludgeoned that horrible excuse for a mother to death.

Her cathartic happiness when he’d dismembered the scum who’d tried to put his filthy hands on her.

Her tearful joy when she eventually realized why he’d risked so much to take a particularly crucial piece from the ignoramus who’d dared to play with her emotions. . .

It had all been so wonderful to see.

Those victims had all hurt Lisa, and they likely would've hurt others as well. Their deaths wouldn’t be an actual loss to the community.

But this. . .

Lisa definitely wouldn’t have approved of this. Yes, she’d understand why Callum had done what he’d done; after everything they’d been through, of course the two of them needed a quiet place to stay, if only for a while until they found somewhere better. A place that was a fair distance from both the town and the cemetery. A place just like this.

But. . .

A raspy sigh escaped Callum’s lips. 

He'd work with more tact in the future. 

Once Lisa was awake, things would be better. He’d listen to her input. They would make important decisions together.

Callum’s eyes wandered about, eventually settling on the axe—the same one Lisa had taken from her father’s garage—he’d left propped up against the adjacent wall. It was slathered in gore, to the point that its wooden handle was just as red as the paint on its blade. 

He approached to pick it up, letting the weapon’s belly rest on his shoulder. Then he stooped down, using his free hand to take hold of the first corpse’s wrists. More of the floor was painted red as he dragged it into the kitchen. He retraced his steps to collect the second body, coming dangerously close to slipping on the blood as he hefted his victim onto the countertop.

The next hour or so was filled with dull thuds, with splintery pops and cra-A-a-cks, with the drip-drip-drip of thick fluid oozing down the lower cabinets and plopping onto the floor. 

The axe was too heavy to be the most precise tool, but it was still efficient. It only took a few good swings to sever limbs from torsos and heads from necks. 

Callum couldn’t bury either of these bodies. Not right away, at least. Fortunately, he soon discovered that there were more than enough black trash bags under the sink to work with. 

Lisa’s body obviously needed repair, but he wasn’t sure which repairs should come first. (He knew she’d require a new pair of eyes, but he didn’t want to risk forcing her current ones open just yet.) Would it be better to take off her old limbs and put new ones in their place, or to simply slice off layers of skin and attach a new barrier to her burnt flesh?

Wait and see, a voice in his head suggested. Callum nodded to himself; when Lisa was able to communicate again, he’d organize these plans with her. It was only right, after all. 

Callum set the axe down by the sink, now focusing on wrapping up the detached pieces of human in tight, layered cocoons that crinkled with every second. Packing all the bundles into the freezer and refrigerator in a way that kept them from sliding right back out was far more aggravating than he would’ve cared to admit, but he managed. 

He gave pause, however, when it came to the two remaining pieces. 

A pair of forearms, to be specific, with their hands still attached. 

One from each corpse. 

Something small and metallic glinted around the fourth finger on each of them. 

The first ring had a very simple design: just a smooth, golden band. 

The second ring, meanwhile, was silver, mounted with a shiny stone.

It wasn’t a diamond by any means. Callum couldn’t tell what kind of gem it was, honestly. But it was gorgeous—it’d been carved into a smooth, perfect orb. It reminded him of an ember at the heart of a firepit, boasting a graceful mix of orange and red with a few soft hints of yellow.

The colors reminded him of that one night. 

Callum shoved the forearms into hiding with all the other parts, the two rings now nestled in his palm. With that, he exited the kitchen, an unfamiliar spring in his step as he ventured back up the staircase. Yes, he still had an enormous bloody mess to clean up, but this took priority. 

His odd, partial heartbeat echoed in his ears as he re-entered the new bedroom and knelt down beside the bed. 

Slowly, delicately, Callum took one of Lisa’s hands in his. He pressed a small kiss to her bandaged knuckles before sliding the new ring onto her finger. 

It fit perfectly. Just like the gold ring did for him. 

As for the odd-yet-sweet candy loop he’d made do with for the original proposal. . .well, he decided to leave it on the nightstand. 

Just in case Lisa wanted to keep it when she woke up.

@mblume125 @upstartgeek @paper-cuts-and-fresh-bruises @queenofcandys @magpierose753 @therulerofallpotatos @blue-spider-official @chofisaquino @strangewerewolf @alienbactria @aphroditeinarms @weallpartyatybcpatricksfuneral @scootis-the-scoot. @cherryycocaine @sammispook @creepycrow31 @radisyn @allthesecottoncandyskies @that-random-assassin @shelf-life-of-the-party @big-sad-world @lisascreatures @we-were-d3stined-t0-expl0de @artnormal @cr-0-wsworld @bllops-world @night-writer-writer @bunnygirlgracesworld @occasional-trash @a-live-wire @babi-gir @secretly-larry-daley @fawns-things @confused-hufflepuff-screaming

[phoenix-king-ozai]

Live footage of Azulon when the son he treats like trash and obviously wants his attention to the point he legit names his kid after him but with a more feminine sounding ending kills him after forty years of him being an awful parent: Shoced Pikachu face.

Yeah you can't tell Ozai didn't want to kill Azulon but simply never had the courage to go through with it. A part of me feels he was waiting for the bastard to kick the bucket and I'm of the opinion that outside of fear, the other reason he didn't try tripping the bastard down the stairs was because Iroh would get the throne anyway and whilst Azulon's death can be brushed off as the fucker just getting old, Iroh dying at the same time would raise red flags and it's only when Lu Ten dies and Iroh retracts his birth right does Ozai dare to even try insinuating he should get the throne.

I believe that Ozai and Azulon had a very complex, turbulent, and strained father-and-son relationship. My theory regarding Fire Lady Ilah's death is that she had complications while giving birth to Ozai and died in a traumatic childbirth scenario. Perhaps, Fire Lord Azulon desired to have another child in case of Crown Prince Iroh's death on the battlefield. Ilah probably was at the age where having another child was risky in her mid-40s or possibly infant Ozai burning Ilah alive from the inside out causing the Fire Sages to perform a bloody C-Section which led to her death due to immolation, blood loss, and overwhelming pain.

If this scenario is truly the canon case regarding Fire Lady Ilah’s death. Then I could see Fire Lord Azulon scapegoating Ozai for being the cause of Ilah’s death especially if Azulon forcibly demanded Ilah to conceive another child as a potential backup replacement heir for Iroh’s death in warfare along with the return of Sozin’s comet coming in the next half century. I can see both Azulon and a teenage Iroh resenting, neglecting, and verbally abusing Ozai during his childhood due to their beloved wife and mother dying horrifically in tremendous tormenting pain. Adult Iroh probably later resents and regrets how he and his father treated Ozai during his early formative years as a child and the negative effects it had on their relationship and Ozai’s own relationship with his own personal family with Ursa, Zuko and Azula…

However, I believe that despite the hateful resentment and negatively neglectful child abuse. Ozai during his youthful childhood and teenage years greatly appreciated, admired, and respected his father as Fire Lord and Supreme Commander of the Fire Nation Military and brother as Grand General of the Fire Nation Army. Ozai probably very much idolized and worshipped his father and brother as legendary war heroes and genius strategists who followed in his grandfather's legendary footsteps in achieving absolute victory for their homeland and people against the “barbaric snow savages” of the Water Tribes and “incompetent dirty filthy” Earth Kingdomers. Ozai probably later on during his adulthood began to resent Azulon for his maltreatment and neglect of him despite him being his ultimate idol as shown by his naming of Azula after him. Ozai also probably resents how Azulon values and has a better relationship with Iroh and Lu Ten than him due to Ilah’s death. I can definitely see Teen Ozai being fanatically loyal to Azulon just like Zuko was for Ozai due his exile.

Ozai is more ruthless, brutal, and vicious than his older brother Iroh. Iroh had taken after Ilah's influence and parenting style whereas Ozai had taken after Azulon’s influence and parenting style. Iroh probably is brainwashed and naive to believe that the Fire Nation truly cares about the prosperity of the other elemental nations whereas as Ozai is extremely realistic and pessimistic regarding the so-called “benevolent” plans for the other nations by their grandfather Sozin. Ozai probably internally realized and demoralized himself regarding the Fire Nation's true brutal, vicious, cruel, and selfish desire for imperial conquest. Which is why personality Ozai is much more strict, cold, ruthless and serious than his brother due to their different outlook on society and what it means to be a parent, warrior, and Fire Prince of the Fire Nation.

Ozai's parenting style is very authoritative, demanding, controlling, and ruthless like the Fire Nation Empire itself. Ozai most definitely inherited this style of dominating and vicious dictatorial parenting method from Azulon who inherited it from Sozin. Ozai treats his children more like soldiers and pawns for the Fire Nation's grand schemes and designs. Their happiness, wishes, and desires mean nothing to him to the cost of his family's Imperial Legacy. Ozai and Ursa used to have a happy family with Zuko and Azula, but Ozai "changed" when the children became older. I believe Ozai decided to allow Zuko and Azula to have a happy and "normal" childhood that he didn't experience as a child. However, once Ozai saw a chance in becoming Fire Lord and fulfilling Sozin's dream and legacy. Ozai gave up on the lenient and caring fatherly act because it was unnatural to him given his own personal childhood and relationship with his own father Fire Lord Azulon. Along with the fact that Ozai probably believes that with Ursa gone; he finally can stop coddling his children after their childhood has ended.

Unfortunately, Ozai cares more about the Fire Nation's imperialistic ambitions than the happiness of his wife and children. At the end of the day, Ozai doesn't understand and value the unconditional and pure love of a parent because he probably has never gotten to experience it with Fire Lord Azulon probably being resentful over Fire Lady Ilah's brutal and horrific death in childbirth!

Ozai's harshness and brutal parenting style and domineering expectations are because Ozai wants Zuko and Azula to both prove themselves. Ozai doesn't favor Zuko or Azula. It is about which child will succeed Sozin, Azulon, and his legacy as future Fire Lord. In fact, Ozai doesn't want Zuko or Azula to think that they are the “favorite” child. He wants Azula and Zuko to improve through competition. Because of the “only the greatest of pressures can forge diamonds” & “steel sharpen steel” mentality. Ozai has the mentality of an imperialist warlord. Ozai isn't trying to be the world's most loving and caring father but rather continue and build upon a powerful and dominant legacy that his forefathers had created before him. He wants Zuko & Azula to be cold, ruthless, heartless, vicious, and brutal imperialistic warmongers like him (Ozai), his father (Azulon), and his grandfather (Sozin).

[avirxy]

Angst/Horror prompts: “I gave you everything and this is how you repay me?” for Morgana and “Breathe slowly, show no signs of fear.” for Mary.

Fury, cannot properly describe her simmering mood.

Morgana has been many, many things, a docile princess, an apprentice, a witch, a traitor, the mother of monsters. The list could be parchments long, she’s choosing not to dwell on it.

But now as she is knelt here, forced into a shallow bow before the throne her father once sat, a cruel man in itself.

She’s next in line to befall a horrific fate under the crown.

“Death isn’t enough,” Arthur decrees, pointing Excalibur down at her, in his shadow, below him, “not for you, dear sister.”

She fights the sneer trying to twist her lips. Showing him her discontent will only fuel his pride. And its quite a wide expanse, he’s always been too prideful, even as children.

The manacles dig into her wrists, cutting at the skin, restricting her movements.

Even the knights stay a wary distance away, their swords glinting in the harsh sunlight through the stained windows.

“I gave you everything and this is how you repay me?” She asks pointedly.

Her filthy half brother raises a brow. “Everything? Is that how you dictate treason?”

“Treason,” Morgana laughs hoarsely, “I saved your life too many times to account for.”

“You freed those trolls! You and your magic wielding accomplices!” He bellows and the people nearest flinch, unsteady with the kings rage.

Her handmaiden is amongst the crowd, good, they hadn’t suspected her despite her hand in the freedom of the trolls. Dark eyes scowling up at Arthur, waiting.

Morgana can sense the darkness wafting closer to the girl, intertwining it’s vines of plague upon her.

It seems she’s already decided her fate all on her own, shard of dark magic included, Morgana will let her walk her own path, even if it falls into oblivion.

Some cannot be stopped, their will too powerful to calculate what they could lose, or perhaps they don’t care.

“Your slaves?” Morgana hisses, acknowledging her brother, “Those you bound unlawfully?”

Arthur raises his chin, “Creating those creatures has been the final straw, those hideous amalgamations of human and filth.”

“They are the bridge, a sign of waning times.” She calmly announces. “Your reign is ending brother.”

“Preposterous!” Arthur swings Excalibur, red in the face with his rage. “The dungeons will be the last walls you see, your days end in a cell, wasting away.”

“Merlin, I want her taken—“

It seems then Arthur finally realizes his powerful wizard was never in the room to begin with, what he thought was his shadow wastes away into the dark, a mere diversion.

Morgana smirks.

“You’ve underestimated me again brother, all of you have,”

Murmurs fill the crowd, her handmaiden has stepped back, weaving through the bodies to end up at the doors, the lock swinging between her digits menacingly.

The girl is an incredible listener, Morgana will give her that and as she hears it click into place, locking each and every person in attendance inside, all the corrupt dukes and duchess, nobles.

The cuffs are weak magic, Merlin’s power is great yes. But it cannot hope to defer the sheer magnitude of hate when infused with magic.

Iron slides off her wrists as she rises, and she gets the most satisfying experience of watching Arthur’s face twist in horror, her hand rising to aim a broiling gold blast straight at his chest.

“And that will be your downfall.”

(That one scene in the Wizards intro where they have a proper battle in the throne room would have been so sick, and this kinda..slots into Tulips of Time? In a way)

[kolbietheaggrievedwriter]

And to go back to one of my favourite works, Atris Cloudbarrow + someone else... I'm not sure who she would chat with! Maybe Elliot if you want a prompt or a surprise character is also accepted :P and "are you sure you want to do that?"

This is canon ;3 It takes place when they're kids.

-

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

Elliot whirls around to glare at the dumb girl who gets to steal Niren away for hours at a time every time she shows up - with the grown-up's permission, even. Nothing at all like Elliot, the unwanted bastard who has to either wait until his father deigns to take him along on a visit to the king or a good opportunity to sneak away, the latter of which is getting harder and harder to do as the maids and guards watching him learn to counter all his tricks. It's never that easy.

…It's not her fault, though. Elliot's not like any of his so-called family. He won't get angry and take it out on the wrong people. That's stupid, and Elliot isn't stupid. Niren thinks he's smart and fast and strong (and pretty), and aside from his mom, he's the best person Elliot knows. He can't be wrong, so all that must be true. Elliot doesn't ever want to make it not true, so shifts his glare to the ground.

"Niren said I could visit him," Elliot justifies himself stubbornly. A beat later, he realizes he's only supposed to call him by name when the two of them are alone and frowns in frustration at the mistake. He looks back up when she doesn't immediately call him out on it.

The girl - Atris, he thinks - smiles kindly at him, not seeming the least bit affected by Elliot's initial hostility. "He's sick. They're not letting anyone see him."

He knows that. That's why he has to go see Niren right away. Everyone Elliot's ever known who got sick died soon after. Tucked away in his mother's arms in their cold, leaky shack of a home, he could hear them howl in pain for hours and hours on end. The abrupt silence afterward was somehow always worse, though. It was always horrific. When the guards came to get the body, they would burn their house down just so no one else went in it and got sick, too.

Niren is the prince. He's nothing like the lowly commoners inhabiting the slums of the city Elliot had grown up in, who were weak and filthy and starving and unable to afford even the weakest healer's services. He's probably getting treated personally by the High Priestess of the church, and he's got hundreds of servants looking after him night and day.

Still. Elliot's got this restless feeling inside, an urgent burning need to see Niren with his own eyes and make sure he's not suffering. That he's being taken care of, that it's not worse than he's been told. That he's not going to suddenly disappear and leave Elliot, too, like every friend he ever made before, everyone he's ever dared to care about besides his mom.

Elliot doesn't say any of that aloud. Wouldn't know how to, ten years old and only a single year into actual schooling. It's too big and complicated for even him to really understand. But Atris must be able to tell some of it anyway because she looks at him the same way his mom did every time he realized he recognized the agonized screams ringing out through the night.

"I'm scared, too," she admits softly.

She glances around, like she's checking for prying eyes, and it's only then that Elliot notices she's alone. Like Niren, she's an important noble, so she's never actually unsupervised. They're always accompanied by a guard or a servant. Yet here she is, without either, outside the castle and beneath the window of the infirmary where Niren is supposedly resting. Why did she come here?

It dawns on Elliot like the slap of a ruler against the back of his hand when gets some dumb noble rule wrong. He points at her accusingly and shouts, "You were planning to sneak in to see him, too!"

Caught red handed, instead of looking embarrassed, Atris puts her hands on her hips and raises her chin imperiously. "So what? I'm his fiancé."

To that smug declaration, Elliot can only sputter incoherently. He gets over his indignation quickly enough, though, and they hatch a plan to sneak in together.

Later, sitting at Niren's feet on either side of him on the huge fluffy bed where he's recuperating, they tell him this story, and he laughs so loud, it alerts the guards outside.