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ourstarscollided · 4 years ago

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jatp fanworks appreciation - day 1 (writers)

motivation - so in true me fashion and my aversion to brevity, i've made three (3) posts (see also artists, gifs/edits) to celebrate the wonderful people in this fandom who have made my jatp tumblr experience what it is; a community of people who simply shout into the void about their love of a ghost band and their fearless female leader. i've enjoyed simply being on the sidelines admiring everyone's love for the show, but i thought this would be a good time to really show my appreciation for all these wonderful people, because if i've learned anything from this pandemic, it's that there is NEVER a wrong time to tell someone that they are simply ✨the best✨.

disclaimer: i don't interact with most of these people personally and i simply absorb their content from afar and scream about how wonderful they are in the tags.

This list kind of became a fic rec, so if you're looking for some wonderful fics to read (or reread), I've also included my favs from the author here as well.

Okay this is gonna get a little long so please bear with me. But I just wanted to preamble this by saying that the fanfiction written by the jatp fandom is what resparked my love for reading fiction after about 3-4 years of not reading for leisure (be an adult they said. it'll be fun they said.). So I'm really grateful for that? I don't interact with a lot of people, just because it makes me a little anxious, but I will constantly yell about your content in the tags as if I were on a set of bleachers with a megaphone.

I also know there are so many wonderful fic writers out there (on Tumblr and not on Tumblr) that make amazing pieces of work, and this is just a tiny peek into that, and is not at all conclusive.

Without further ado here are some writers who live rent free in my head, in alphabetical order, so feel free to just skip to your name to avoid my rambling:

@bluefirewrites -> your Merry Ex-Mas fic had me on the edge of my seat every single time you updated. I am so in love with how you wrote the characters into this and at how many words you churned out for this fic. This was filled with so much adventure, and it was really welcome during a time when the world wasn't allowed to travel. And I simply love all the other drabbles and fics you write, but I especially enjoy the hilarity of Ray Molina, Crime Scene Photographer and Matchmaker.

@captainkippen -> I'm pretty sure Love Drunk was one of the first fics I ever read in this fandom. Your stories and your writing feel so goddamn real and I find myself so immersed in the worlds that you've created. I have reread most of your jatp fics and I still manage to find myself stupidly grinning at my phone each time. Your stories flow so easily and are such perfect characterizations of the characters we know from the show, but elevated to fit into your verse. I cannot say enough how wonderful your writing is and how talented you are!! (also a slight nudge that I am still very much following along with The Key and the Crown and I hope you continue it!)

@catty-words -> Your???? Exhaustive??? Music??? Lists???? The amount of work and dedication and microanalyzing that you put into pulling out every detail from each scene is so admirable. You not only manage to find the details, but you also give us EVIDENCE via your intricately selected gifs. You could've just put the video of the performance, but no, you take your time to find that specific 1 second shot to emphasize your point. And your little fics that you sometimes throw out into the world? They're so beautiful, and so fun to read and I enjoy them so much! (I am STILL screaming about this band's a snack) Thank you for validating my yelling in the tags, and for feeding my hyperfixation to this show. (I'm sad these lists are ending soon, but it's about the journey ya know?)

@lydias--stiles -> I don't even know what to say here because I've yelled so much about your fics that I feel like there's really nothing else to yell. Your Road Trip AU was also one of the first ones I read in this fandom, and really just made me go absolutely feral. Pretty sure I absorbed the rest of your fics in an ungodly amount of time and I just simply think you are incredibly skilled and talented. Every time you post a new fic I always wonder what it's like to be in your head because the ideas you come up with are so unique and so well thought out. Thank you for all the art you create for this show, I will constantly be in awe of you. (Special shoutout to the 5+1 fic that became a 31 chapter monster)

@pearlcaddy -> This list would not be complete if I didn't mention you. First of all, thank you for suggesting this wonderful week, it has been so lovely to see so much love being spread around today. Secondly, I never thought I'd find myself reading a Buffy or a Wizarding World crossover fic, considering I know nothing about those two things. And yet I found myself on various nights after work at 3 in the morning just silently screaming and/or crying into my phone. Your writing is so insane. Your world building is so insane. Your banter/dialogue is insane. The way you capture the love between Julie/Luke in different universes is so perfect. Thank you for gifting us these beautiful pieces of art, and I hope you know that you have at least made one person (me) a very happy reader. I also really admire your dedication to "this will only be a oneshot", only to write like 4 other POVs for it. (Special shoutout to 100 Bad Days)

@ruzek-halstead -> Literally every single fic you have written lives rent free in my head. The way you've managed to build this universe of different Julies and Lukes, and each one still captures the essence of them is astounding. You've extended their characters beyond what we know from the show and I am just in awe of everything you write. Please know that dead of night is both triggering to me and yet the most hilarious thing I have read. (Special shoutout to the Fake Dating Christmas AU and of course the Cinderella Story AU)

@serendipitee -> Your stories and your writing are absolutely magical. I think Write It Down was one of the first multi-chapter fics that I followed super closely and whenever you updated, I would literally drop what I was doing and read it instantly. You have such a way of building the plot and the characters for all of your fics and drabbles, and making the reader just want more. Please know that I am so obsessed with Oh, She Waltzed With the Dead and I cannot wait to see where you take the story!

@sunsetcurbed -> I have no words for your writing. I am simply in awe every time I read something from you. The way you've got down Alex and Willie's voice to a tee is so crazy good. You write their characters and their stories with such grace and care, especially with how you approach the topic of mental health. Thank you for all the research you do and for also writing in your own experiences. I literally binged the Princes Diaries AU during work and lost a good half day to it, and I regret nothing because that fic left me in SHAMBLES. I secretly adore the way you say you're going to keep a fic short, and end up writing an insane amount of words for it. (I have not yet left my obligated long-ass comment on Chapter 4 of the College AU yet because I am still processing the fate/destiny concept.)

@tangledstarlight -> Gahh. Rosie. Please. This is going to sound a little repetitive considering I just screamed at you last night, but now I guess I will just have to publicly confess my adoration for you!!! Thank you for being my first online friend in a very long time, and for putting up with me yelling at you about everything (and also nothing at the same time). I can't believe all it took was one message about your Royals AU for you to post it, but I will gladly take that credit any day. You are so so so incredibly talented with your writing, and your ability to transport me to another world while I read your fics is unparalleled. I adore the way you can come up with a new story to write every day, and then proceed to throw it into your pot of other WIPs. I am so so so so lucky to have gotten to know you and am incredibly grateful that I now have someone to cry about everything with 🧡 (If you read anything from Rosie, you need to read her Seasons/Long Distance Juke "friendship" fic and the Reggie x Photography oneshot that made me bawl my eyes out.)

@thedeathdeelers -> No thoughts. Just soulmates. Jk jk, you know I love your Reggie x Ray x Carlos fics, and I will scream in the tags about it until the day I get more of those fics from you. This is lowkey a threat, but wrapped in kindness. You are so wonderful to see on my dash (albeit scary at times because of the sheer amount of headcanons and theories running through your head), but you radiate such positive energy that it's impossible to not want to jump in and scream about soulmates with you.

Some special mentions to fics that also live rent free in my head:

@sunsetsandcurves wrote a Willex Cruise Ship AU inspired by a Simple Plan song and it’s something I never knew I needed until I read it.

@phantom-curve wrote a Juke fic based off of Coney Island and I would just like to say, yes, it did shatter me. (Here’s the fluff sequel that makes up for it though)

@unsaidjulie wrote the Juke dog fic of my dreams and I simply cannot express how much I want the Molina’s to have a dog now.

@pawprinterfanfic managed to get me incredibly invested in a Star Wars AU even though I know absolutely nothing about Star Wars. I just know that I would die for two (2) space boys.

@sanssssastark your Later universe made me realize that I do very much want there to be more mature content for this fandom (and you constantly deliver).

@theobligatedklutz wrote a Tangled Willex AU that makes me screech every time there’s an update. Just read it.

@alexthedrummerboy your talent knows no bounds when it comes to your Social Media AU. Also she’s written ORIGINAL songs for Alex and Willie?!?!?!

@gennified has this really wonderful modern take on pride and prejudice for Willex and I’m so obsessed with how much miscommunication there is.

@bananaleaves okay, I just found your Tumblr today, and I know you don’t know me in any capacity, but allow me to scream about THIS FIC RIGHT HERE. If anyone in this fandom is to read ANYTHING, it’s this fic. This was one of the best things I’ve read in a long time and absolutely wrecked me. Please just read this.

This turned out WAY longer than it was supposed to, and I’m SO SORRY. (I also tried to make sure I got everyone’s pronouns right, so PLEASE let me know if they’re wrong!) A final sincere thank you to everyone in this fandom who writes. Your talent knows no bounds. Gonna stop talking now before this becomes an essay....

#jatp fanworks appreciation week #fic rec #if i realize that i've missed someone i'm gonna bite the bullet and send an ask to you okay. i will not let my anxiety STOP ME FROM #YELLING HOW MUCH I LOVE PEOPLE'S WRITING!!#idk what else to tag this other than i genuinely think this show saved my mental health and so have all the fic writers.#gonna post this now before i chicken out oky aklfwjepofae #motivation monday

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crimeronan · 5 years ago

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no supernatural au concept i haven’t been able to stop thinking about since considering ronan and opal were once the same age

the lynch family has a reputation. partly it’s because they’re fucking weird, but let’s be real -- every rural town has its share of characters. weird farmers are par for the course. if the lynch family just kept to themselves at the barns, no one would know they existed. however niall lynch is a swaggering larger-than-life storybook hero who loves attention and scandal, so: the lynch family has a reputation

by and large, the household is made up of known entities. niall, the irishman who never shuts the fuck up. aurora, the quiet beautiful wife with the bizarrely gorgeous beadwork at craft fairs. declan, the eldest son who’s got one foot in DC and won’t ever look back when he gets there. matthew, the youngest boy with the enthusiasm and adoration and intellectual prowess of a golden retriever puppy

however. the lynch twins are largely folkloric

it’s not just that they never seem to appear in public. it’s that there are a dozen decade-old stories told by knitting folks on their porches that cannot POSSIBLY all be true, including:

the lynch twins set fire to the post office

the lynch twins stole four pallets of soda from the back of a truck unloading at the henrietta general store and drank all the evidence

the lynch twins lured a man into the woods and stabbed him in the leg

the lynch twins helped the local vet’s office coordinate 30 TNR procedures because they’ve befriended a colony of feral cats

the lynch twins trained a rotating cast of corvids to shit on the mayor when he leaves his office every evening

the lynch twins were banned from three local churches after incidents involving a statue of mary, stained glass worth several thousand dollars, and the preacher’s microphone respectively

adam doesn’t give much of a shit about local gossip but has gleaned quite a bit of it when being deferential and polite to middle-aged women at the dollar store. it takes him a month of attending aglionby to put together that ronan and declan are siblings (they look unbelievably alike, but their body language and speech are SO different) and another week after that to realize ronan’s one-half of the unidentified lynch family variables

“isn’t there another one of him?” adam blurts

declan looks up and blinks, nonplussed rather than smooth for once in his life. “excuse me?”

adam’s eating lunch and has ended up at a table with declan not because of friendliness, but because declan’s taking a break from his roving cast of intransient social interactions to work on college apps and adam’s getting a head start on homework. neither is here to make friends. adam nods across the room at ronan, who appears to be constructing a fully landscaped mountain sculpture out of french fries

declan says “god, i wish” as ronan upends a bottle of ketchup over the fries and causes a volcanic eruption that obliterates everything in the lunch table’s path

that tells adam absolutely nothing but also he doesn’t really care. later, when he and gansey are friends, and he’s no closer to understanding ronan but much more actively annoyed by him, he asks gansey the same thing

“oh, his sister!” gansey says, and beams. this at least explains why she doesn’t go to aglionby. “she’s great. she’s taught me a lot about what plants want to kill you”

adam can’t decide what to make of this. once upon a time he’d think that the affection of someone like gansey predisposed the mysterious lynch sister toward being like declan, but it turns out gansey reserves that ebullient expression for losers like him and ronan and noah alone, so. more data necessary

it’s important to note that this isn’t like, occupying a huge part of adam’s mind. it’s just idle querying because he likes knowing things. to that end, he asks ronan once if he’d ever met ronan’s sister when adam attended the public junior high. they’d be in the same grade, right??

ronan gets weird and evasive with some response about how she homeschools with his mom, and adam’s like okay, some religious cult thing with the women running the farm. whatever. not my issue

adam and ronan get slowly closer over time, etcetc, you know how it goes. eventually adam's invited to the barns. his first few visits are normal. suspiciously normal. aurora is loving and gentle in a way that makes adam skittish - probably more due to his own issues than any Actual malevolence, but who knows - and there is zero mention or sign of a girl living there

it doesn’t Really bother adam, but it kind of bothers him. less because he’s dying to meet her and more because equations that don’t add up make him nervous. his running list of theories include 1) she doesn’t exist 2) she’s dead 3) she’s at some elite boarding school for girls in connecticut 4) she’s an emancipated minor 5) she’s not an emancipated minor but has run away anyway 6) she’s a fugitive from justice 7) she’s in prison 8) she’s dead but, like, worse this time

adam carefully and subtly raises his concerns to ronan by asking, “so is your sister being tortured in your attic or what?”

ronan, reasonably, is like, “the fuck?”

adam’s like, “look, all i’m saying is that when a twin goes missing in a story and no one seems to care, something sinister’s afoot. that’s all i’m saying here.”

ronan’s like, “say the word ‘afoot’ again. you sound like gansey. come on”

he takes adam out for a walk in the woods, which seems like a pretty murdery way to respond. adam, uncomfortably aware of that rumor about luring people to the woods and stabbing them in the leg, is like okay i’m about to die here. i’ve uncovered a lifetime movie plot and now i’m gonna be buried in unmarked barrel #457. what a way to go

this is pretty much confirmed when he gets attacked

he hits the ground before he’s really registered anything beyond a surprise impact. it drives the breath out of his lungs. he flips onto his back right away. ronan’s got half a foot of height on him and stupidly long legs so a sprinting escape doesn’t seem viable. he’s gonna have to rely on the old-fashioned power of fingernails and kicking

he has time to see a pair of blown-pupil eyes WAY too close to his face before the weight disappears from him. the culprit is a girl, late teens, with hair that’s probably blonder when the matted dirt is washed out of it. “for fuck’s fucking sake,” ronan is saying, hauling her to her feet and blessedly away from adam’s vulnerable internal organs, “why. WHY.”

“holy shit.” adam sits up, clutching his chest. he can feel every bone in his body. “god. god. god”

the girl is almost as tall as ronan. she’s dressed in some kind of baggy coverall-ish getup that might once have been an army parachute. she is not wearing any shoes. there’s some blood on her face from a recently-opened scab, and also a black speck on one cheek that adam thinks is a smashed fly

“you didn’t jump gansey!” ronan is saying, extremely exasperated. “why!”

“i didn’t have my hammock yet when gansey first came,” she says. she does not sound remotely sorry

adam looks up and discovers that there is in fact a hammock stretched between the trees. it’s one of those heavy-duty camping numbers with thick canvas and a full insect net. it’s also thirty feet in the air. there are branches on the way down, but they are very precariously spaced. adam does not want to know how she parkoured to leap onto his shoulders

“when you snap someone’s neck,” ronan says, “i’m not helping you hide the body”

“who says i haven’t already?”

“the fuck? and you didn’t ask me to help hide the body?”

she darts a few feet away and pulls herself into a tree. adam watches with slight fascination as she shimmies out along a long branch until it dips under her weight. as he gets to his feet, trying to piece together his wilted dignity, she rides her makeshift nature elevator down until she’s staring into his eyes again. hugging the branch like a snake. absolutely no consideration for how normal human beings behave. it’s almost marvelous

“sufficiently free of my attic, parrish?” ronan asks

“uh, yeah. yep”

“so this is opal,” ronan says

opal flips over so she’s hanging from the branch like a sloth. then hooks her legs around it and reaches down until her palms are flat on the ground. cartwheels out of the tree like a particularly feral acrobat. adam jerks back to avoid being smacked by a faceful of twigs at the whipcrack slingshot of the branch bouncing back

opal pulls a pocketknife from one of the folds in the DIY parachute sewing machine tick protection onepiece from hell. adam eyes her warily

“opal, this is parrish. or adam. whichever. don’t stab him”

“god,” adam says again

opal beams. she opens the pocketknife, but all she does is start cleaning bits of plaque from between her teeth with the tip, which is somehow so much worse than stabbing. adam looks at ronan and finds him pinching the bridge of his nose. it occurs to adam that this is the only time he’s EVER seen ronan express any sense of embarrassment in any social situation. ronan has no sense of propriety. adam didn’t know he was capable of feeling embarrassed

he immediately likes opal just for that.

“yes,” opal says, unconcerned, answering a question no one’s actually asked. “ronan is the normal one”

#i spent nearly. 2 hours writing this stupid thing. this concept is so excellent #trc #pynch #opal lynch #my writing #this was SUPPOSED to be short enough i wouldn't have to readmore it but. shrug emoji #adam parrish #ronan lynch

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certifiedceraunophile · 3 years ago

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Hello! I’m your Klaroline Swap gifter👀 I am sorry it's taken me this long to reach out but I've finally gotten to it! I am excited to be writing for you and wanted to ask a few questions about your gift. Wanted to know about your all-time favorite tropes and side pairings? Any Caroline friendships you like? Any tropes or pairings you don't like? Any pet peeves with KC fic? Any smut preferences? Anything you especially want to see or any info you'd like me to know? Hope you have a great day!💖

Heyyy!! Thank you for sending me this ask, and please don't apologize, it’s all good 💖 I hope you're having a great day too! So I’ll just jump in and answer all your questions ✌🏾✨

I am so so sorry it got this long, like so long, I really tried to condense it, but I have no concept of short and concise so now I have to put this below a cut 😭🙃😭

All time favourite tropes:

[see here's the thing I dont exactly *know* what tropes are so I'm just gonna yeet a bunch of HIGHLY specific prompt-thingies that make me tingle at you and you can do w them what you wish- like take out certain parts you want to use, or base other tropes off of them anything you wish really, even if you choose to ignore all of them I won't be holding it against you dw!]

Ok so I love love the "I was just captured by the bad guys and very harshly uh demanded to sell you out, but I didnt, bc even though I might posture like you’re the scourge of the earth and would gladly see you dead, I in fact, do not want you dead and will therefore not be selling you out and will handle mild -emphasis on mild please do not hurt either of my babies too much- torture instead and oops! look at that, you just overheard this exact exchange where I stand my ground and refuse to betray you, and now you’ve gone feral over your loyalty kink and are spouting promises of never letting go of me, which honestly I cannot bring myself to be mad at."

I love love love the forced bedsharing trope which then leads to accidental cuddling, where one party [caroline] is just very very annoyed that their body sought the warmth of a cockroach fucknugget being [klaus] and the fucknugget party is just very very smug about being the other party's personal space heater, and nuzzles them and cuddles tighter and asdfghjkl I'm getting tingly just thinking about it, and like says w a husky sleepy voice “don't move” and cuddles closer. jfc please I’m a basic bitch with very basic wants.

I absolutely LOVE the "we work on opposite enemy sides, but now we have to band together to defeat one common enemy and honestly I am NOT glad that I constantly wanna throw you against a wall, and not all reasons for said wall-throwing are strictly to inflict violence on you."

I also LOVE the "fuck youre bleeding/hurt/injured and fucking hell I dont know why my hands are shaking while I attend to your wounds but god it is, and now I'm not sure exactly how deep you've furrowed into my heart and stuck yourself there like a dickheaded leech."

Now I feel like I have given you many tropes, but I also feel like i didnt in fact help you at all, bc I'm not sure these are uh tropes?? but anyway those are some highly specific...scenes?? I have a very deep bias for

[you obviously dont HAVE to write ANY of them if you dont want to]

And also if I had to give you a clear cut trope to follow, I absolutely LOVE the enemies-to tentative allies-to lovers trope, in which one party is just working really really hard to get to the lovers part, and the other is working really really hard not to get to the lovers part, but caves later on, bc really the fucker grows on you. [Featuring Klaus as the "high key besotted already pursuing Caroline"-person, and Caroline is the "I am very very annoyed w this wooing, but I am more annoyed this wooing is working"-person. And also, I like my Klaus E V I L, But really really really *soft* for Caroline.]

Also if by tropes you meant settings, Like AU's, literally anything works, I have a personal bias for Crime AU's when it comes to enemies to lovers, and Canon is the ultimate enemies to lovers AU, but honestly you can use which ever one you want, I am not entirely sure myself if I have a specific preference here, AH, Fantasy, Supernatural, Scifi, it's all good.

[I however am not extremely fond of Historical Settings]

Again you are not required to follow any of these tropes at all if you don't wish to, I just require you to have a lot of fun writing and love the beauty you write yourself first!

Side pairings:

Ok I LOVE me some Kennett [kol + bonnie] but I also LOVEEE kolenzo [Kol and Enzo], I also am extremely just *heart eyes* at Bonenzo [Bonnie + enzo], but I absolutely DIE for Kennettzo [which is OT3 of Kol Bonnie and Enzo]

Kalijah is also a-ok w me, and I feel like I dont have any other side pairings I'd like die to see I guess. If you choose not to go with these side pairings its perfectly alright.

Caroline Friendships:

Ok this I can answer without rambling like an idiot, I love love love love :

Bonnie + Caroline [like i love this so much it physically hurts me, they both deserve so so so much better]

Kol + Caroline [I will literally touch a frog, and I have a phobia of frogs, to have one full conversation w these two idiots]

Enzo + Caroline [Honestly enzoline brotp makes me wanna sob happy tears bc they are so perfect together]

Katherine + Caroline + Rebekah [bad bitch meets head bitch meets super bitch, what could possibly go wrong]

Tropes and Pairings I dont like:

NOTPS:

Kolvina, stebekah, delena, stelena, datherine, steferine, Haylijah, Marcel+Rebekah, Matt+Rebekah, Bamon, Kai+bonnie, beremy.

And I think that's about it? mostly I just hate elena stefan damon and hayley and I am not fond of them w anyone, I hate all canon Rebekah relationships, and I dont like seeing Bonnie with anyone other than enzo or kol.

Tropes:

I am totally not fond of the Kill Liz for plot reasons trope, like seriously killing Caroline's mom is not ok w me, but I am totes fine if she's like already dead as part of Caroline's backstory, just don't show me Liz dying in the story as a part of the plot.

Any form of sire-bond-y or like sire-bond adjacent or like any form of deal/bargain/agreement that gives Klaus even a tiniest bit of power over Caroline's free will and choices, is just not for me, like at all, no matter how well it's done, I can't stand it.

not fond of any form of prisoner/hostage tropes, like klaus kidnapping caroline or caroline kidnapping klaus and holding each other hostage and stuff like that.

Death as a plot point doesnt work for me? and really I'd prefer if there were no major character deaths at all.

Friends to lovers trope is not for me, childhood friends to lovers trope is definitely not for me.

I don't like any sort of redemption arc really, anything that starts with Klaus as a “bad” dude and ends with him being a relatively “good” dude is not for me.

Any form of infidelity, like ofc especially in between Klaus and Caroline is just [shudder] hard pass, but like I also hate it when Caroline or Klaus cheat on anybody at all.

Also all the tropes and like themes I'm not comfy w that I mentioned in my original Gift Request still stand.

KC Pairing Pet peeves

ok This I can answer easily bc I have like a FEW,

I hate a woobified Klaus so much, like so much, I hate all TO!Klaus characterizations but this one is the worst, absolutely not here for it, I am not here to feel sorry for this mf I want to feel really deliriously GIDDY at how evil he is and how whipped he is for Caroline, but like concentrating on Klaus's manpain is not something I really wanna read.

Caroline excusing Klaus's bullshit, or like being a push over-y “it's ok, I understand why you did it” person is not for me, bc she never was one to begin w, she never did rationalize or justify Klaus's behaviour, she always held him accountable and told him what a difficult son of a bitch he is every chance she got.

I don't like arcs where Caroline is Klaus's redemption? like Caroline bringing Klaus into the "light" or whatever I am not here for it, like at all, I like Klaus staying evil while being endlessly in love with Caroline, and Caroline being able to be w a man she knows is a selfish evil ruthless grade A asshole, but will literally also choke himself to death for Caroline, cuz the man is whipped as fuck.

I also absolutely am not a fan of arcs where like Caroline remains "pure" or whatever, like that's just not for me, I am totally fine, actually MORE than fine for ruthless Caroline who is willing to do deplorable shit to get to her goal and protect her people, like Caroline being extremely almost evilly pragmatic just gives me a boner, and pretty sure gives Klaus one too. Klaus "protecting" Caroline's so called innocence is uh off putting for me personally. And her remaining this pure white light princess of good and Klaus being attracted to the *good* in her is um, nope.

Smutty Preferences

Honestly I’m very easy when it comes to smut [and u totally dont have to write me any if you dont want to]

I do not like:

non con/dub con, anal sex, Strict and/or elaborate Bdsm themes, [light undertones are ok], drunk sex, sex that’s basically infidellity [like caroline/klaus cheating on someone else w each other] , gagging, choking, Extremely rough emotionless sex, sex as a bargain, or as a part of a bargain.

Smut preferences:

I like reading oral sex, especially Klaus going down on Caroline

light bondage like being tied up [either Klaus/Caroline I enjoy both]

Sex toys are really really good, like love reading Klaus using one on Caroline, or Caroline using one on herself and Klaus watching

I do have a special love for praise kink, especially Klaus being really just in awe of Caroline during the do and expressing it uninhibitedly

Dirty Talk is GREAT

I enjoy both Klaus and Caroline in a dominant role, but I usually love it when both of them share the dominance equally, I’m just not into “Yes master” and “Yes mistress” level of dominance. I guess the word I’m looking for is Vanilla dominance lmao.

Bloodplay is also great if they're vampires.

And Klaus and Caroline leaving marks on each other is *swoon*.

I love reading possessive!klaus and possessive!caroline in equal measure so really your choice.

Hot and Dirty sex with a an undercurrent of emotion and devotion, want and need and all that nice stuff is great!

But I do have a list of words I’m not really a big fan of coming across when I’m reading smut:

Any word for vagina that’s not wetness, or folds or lips, is squicky, cunt is not a problem, pussy however is squick.

Clit is clit; little nub, bundle of nerves, all of that makes the med student in me really anxious lmao.

Any word for Cock that’s not cock is squick.

Juices, cream, semen are squicky, I just prefer come or release.

Ok these are seemingly innocent words but moist, engorged, gaping, drooling, sopping are not words I like seeing in context of smut.

So yeah that’s about it, I know hi, it’s been what, eleventy bajillion years since the beginning of this ask, I am so so so sorry for being this difficult, and really, LIKE SERIOUSLY, except for my squicks you are more than welcome to just skip past everything else, since I’m not really that hard to please, as long as the no-no’s are not there in what I read and the dynamic I asked for is even just vaguely followed I will be really really really happy and really I just want you to have fun writing whatever you feel like cooking up, I’m superrrr excited to see your interpretation of my request!!!

[Also Please please send me another ask clarifying you got my answer and also telling me I haven't frightened you with this long ass rambling list of okay’s and no-no’s bc honestly I am just anxiously debating if I should answer this ask like this or yeet half of it and vaguely rewrite the answer.]

Hope you have a great day lovely!! I am once again sorry for being this difficult. ✨💖🤝🏾

#kc sweet swap #anon ask

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frenchtoastie · 4 years ago

Note

Concept: you brush and wax and braid my hair so finely and tightly that there isn't a single strand out of place, it is smooth and silky and perfectly controlled.

Then I begin telling you what to do. I tell you how to take off each piece of your clothing, then how to touch me, then how to take off each piece of my clothing and what to do with each piece of my skin you exposed. Where to kiss me, where to leave marks, where to trail your fingers.

I tell you when you can ask me to touch you, and when I can no longer control myself I grab your hair and pull your face to mine to kiss you so intensely it feels like I am going to devour you. I suck on your tongue so fiercely you think I might tear it out of your head, but then I stop and return to my instructions.

Every time I do this, and every time you touch me just how I tell you to, I make the faintest little noise that might almost be a moan, and by the time all of my clothes are off you see that my expression is less controlled and my hair has begun to slip out of its geled smoothness.

With each instruction, with each touch, with each kiss, my noises become louder and fiercer, becoming snarls, and as I tell you how to move your tongue over my thighs, slowly leading your mouth toward taking me in, you see the braids in my hair slipping.

You can't see for a bit while your mouth is pleasuring me and your head cannot move but after some time your obedience interrupts my ability to give instructions and my words turn into a feral growl. My fingers wrapped in your hair I pull your face away from my crotch and stare into your eyes hungrily. My own eyes are wide and my hair has come undone entirely, fraying in all directions around my face like a lion's mane. But you have only a moment to take in the sight before I spring upon you, my words replaced with barks, growls, and roars of possessiveness.

I crouch over you, holding you down first by the shoulders, pressing you onto my knee in between your legs as I bite and kiss and suck on every inch of your face. Then I grab your neck from behind with one hand, my fingers wrapping nearly all the way to your throat, and my other hand finds it's way to your crotch and works it's way inside you while I suck on the tender flesh beneath your perfect breasts.

I squeeze one of your things between my legs, rubbing my taint against you as I hold you with enough strength that even with both arms free you are powerless to struggle against me. At least consciously--at some point I work you so strongly that your body convulses violently in reaction, your back arched with pleasure. I retrace the trail of suction and bite marks on your torso with kisses, and then hold you tenderly in my arms as you surge with pleasure, just tightly enough that I can continue to please you.

Then, as I slow my touches and you sink into exhaustion, that's when I have my way with you.

Oh well THIS is something to wake up to in the morning before work :0

Maybe… I’m gonna think about this while I’m there for 6 hours…

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years ago

Text

ancient names, pt. vi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt vi: dark, and drenched in longing

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~4.7k

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Language, some “light” religious blasphemy (it’s Far Cry 5). Strong canon deviance from here on out. Mentions of blood/carnage, the frantic energy of people who both hate and are attracted to each other. Also, for this chapter in particular, the forced use of psychotropic drugs (also canon-typical?? I guess). John being himself. Per usual.

Notes: Hi! I'm going to keep these short and sweet because, basically, I have nothing to say for myself. I hope you guys enjoy! I mean it when I say every interaction makes my day. I swear I'm just as awkward in a real conversation as I sound in these notes and I'm not scary at all, so please feel free to come and say hi!

As always, thank you again to everyone who reads! I am so happy to be back in a writing groove with these two idiots again.

Theirs was a strange sort of allyship.

Tentative, to be sure, and certainly strained. But if four days ago you’d told John that he’d be sitting in a van with Junior Deputy Elliot Honeysett driving him straight to his brother, the man she'd slapped cuffs on and tried to arrest at the behest of a U.S. marshal, he’d have laughed in your face. The idea was ridiculous. Expansively, endlessly, incredibly ridiculous.

And yet, if John ignored the clink of the cuffs binding them together, and the knowledge that this van belonged to a strange, traveling band of cultists, he almost felt like he had been tricked into some kind of fucked-up romcom. As soon as they hit the highway, Elliot turned the radio on to the resistance’s repaired music channels, smoked her cigarette down, and leaned back against her seat as though she had not been viciously threatening to kill him just days ago.

Did she still think that? Did he care? John felt his brows furrow and he turned his head away, watching the treeline. He didn’t think he cared. He would say, so what if Elliot still wants to kill me? She needed him, and that was more than he’d gotten out of her in the whole time that she’d been under his thumb.

He didn’t care if she still wanted to kill him, and the thought that maybe she might did not thrill him, and he was not distracted by the stretch of her midriff when she shifted in her seat, and—

—And these were all things that he didn’t struggle with, certainly, because if asked, John would say that yes, he supposed that Elliot Honeysett could be considered conventionally attractive , but only when she wasn’t baring her teeth like a wild animal, only when she didn’t have a gun in her hands, only when she wasn’t making you say please to save the life of someone you didn’t even know the name of.

So, yes, he supposed, she was pretty: and John did not know why in particular he had to leap through those loops to get to that point silently, by himself, but, here he was.

“Oh, I love this song,” Elliot announced suddenly, turning the volume up and startling John out of the reverie he’d plunged himself into. His eyes narrowed when he recognized the song; the very typical back-water-town radio station playing Guns’N’Roses was not beyond his comprehension, and yet he found himself displeased nonetheless.

“Really, deputy?” John asked, staring at her across the console. “You love this song?”

Elliot dropped her glasses— my glasses, John reminded himself irritably—down the bridge of her nose so she could stare at him over the top of them. “It’s a classic, John.”

The radio blared the chorus of Welcome To The Jungle , and John said, “I cannot take you seriously with this music.”

She laughed, apparently pleased by his disdain, cranked the volume higher. Over the sound of aggressive guitar riffs sliding up and down and Boomer barking excitedly in the back, John shouted, “Why don’t we just alert everyone of where we are, hm?”

“Oh, you’re spoiling the fun.” She turned the volume back down, tsking her tongue, and John rolled his eyes. It was so very typical Elliot, to want to enjoy herself at the exact moment that he was trying to remind himself of all the reasons that he disliked her.

A period of silence stretched between them; tranquil, blissful, just for one moment, before John’s gaze slid back to her. She did look peaceful, at that moment, her ponytail smooth and adjusted, her brows relaxed, coughing occasionally into the crook of her elbow but otherwise breathing fine. Relaxed. At ease—with him, of all people. Wouldn't she be furious to know it?

John’s fingers itched. Soft, he thought, reminded of Joseph’s words; you have to love them, John. It wasn’t his style, not particularly, more suited to persuasion rather than fostering mercy as Joseph did.

He kept his voice light and casual when he asked, “Where did you get your scars, deputy?”

He watched—and watched and watched —to catch her reaction. He couldn’t see her eyes through the reflective shades she wore, but he did see the way her fingers tightened on the wheel, saw the push and pull of her jaw muscle as her teeth worked in her mouth, grinding, perhaps crushing the words she wanted to say between them. He braced himself for the vitriol; it would certainly be something along the lines of, I got them from Go Fuck Yourself USA, John, I’m the goddamn mayor or any suitable string of expletives.

Instead, Elliot prompted, “Who’s asking?”

John’s eyes narrowed. “Pardon?”

“I said, who’s asking?” she reiterated, not once looking at him. “Is this John Seed, or John Duncan?” Hearing her say the name like this—as though John Duncan were at all comparable to the man that John Seed was—made his chest prickle, anger and disdain welling up inside of him.

“That’s not my name,” John bit out. “Don’t play games with me, deputy—”

“I know your fucking cult psycho-bombing tactics, Seed,” Elliot replied, her voice sharp and quick as a whip. John opened his mouth to protest, but she went on, “You might think you’re being clever, waiting until I crack a smile to ask me an invasive question, but you’re not. First, you ask me where my scars come from, and when I open up about my past traumas—”

“So it’s a trauma,” John insisted, but Elliot was already railroading on; any footing he felt he’d was gone.

“—then you say some stupid shit like, have you ever really felt at home with your family, Deputy Honeysett? I could give you a home, Deputy Honeysett, which you would say, because for some reason you don’t understand the concept of someone being a Junior Deputy or having a first name—”

“It was just a question, Elliot ,” John interrupted, effectively ending her barrage. “I was only trying to make small talk with you. I noticed them back at the ranch, and since we’re in a car for several hours together, I thought…”

Elliot’s lips pressed into a thin line. “There’s your first mistake, then. You tried to form a cohesive train of thought.” Her voice dripped with a honeyed, pitiful timbre, “I know how hard that is for you.”

“Alright, thank you for this stimulating conversation, you literal child,” John snipped out. “And you’re still wearing my fucking glasses, by the way.”

“Take them back, then.”

John stared at her. The idea of putting his hand close to Elliot’s face was not only a dangerous one because it was in close proximity to her teeth—proven by her many run-ins with his acolytes before to be suitable weapons in a pinch—but because he worried.

He worried that the willingness for soft contact would make him soft, the way it had felt when Elliot tucked herself against his chest to combat the chilly Montana evening. He worried that getting familiar and comfortable with a feral and untamed creature like Elliot Honeysett would change him, and to be changed by someone like her —

“Consider them a gift.” He kept his voice clipped. “From me to you. They’re Gucci, you know.”

“Oh, very generous of you, Herald. What, little old me, nobody Elliot from Hope County, Nowhere-Montana, with her first pair of Gucci shades? Why, I’d never .” A little bit of a sweet Southern-belle drawl slipped in there, and John didn’t know if it was because of the dramatics or if it was an accent she’d mostly lost and only occasionally regained.

But his stomach twisted a little when she used his title, the patronizing drip of her tone going straight to the headache blooming behind his eyes. “You know, deputy—”

Instinctively, he paused; he waited for her timely interjection, as she was so comfortable doing, but yet again the moment he anticipated it she remained silent. Elliot arched a dark-honey eyebrow and waited. John cleared his throat.

“I think I’ve never met a more troubled woman than you,” he continued casually. “To suspect me of such foul intentions when I only want to know my driving companion better, I’m genuinely wounded.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” Elliot acquiesced, and for a moment—just one teeny-tiny moment—John thought she meant it; and then she said, “But I’d prefer we not get too friendly, as you were just considering drowning me in a river filled with drugs just a few days ago, and...”

The blonde’s words trailed off. The van rolled to a crawl, and when he looked forward, he saw the remains of the fire assault that they had just escaped a day ago; two Eden’s Gate trucks, and flimsy barricades that had been pushed off of the road. No bodies in sight.

It was almost a relief, if he was being honest—he wasn’t sure how many more flower-stuffed corpses he could see before he finally decided to rip his own eyeballs out.

Any playful heat had died out of Elliot’s expression. She was somber now, the lines of her expression harder than before. In the back of the van, Boomer whined, and John could hear the swishing of his tail against the floor.

“I don’t like that they took the bodies,” she said after a moment.

“Me either.”

The next thirty minutes of the drive passed in strange, awkward silence. Elliot looked like she wanted to say something and wouldn’t; he could feel her gaze dipping over to him on occasion, but each time he thought her mouth was opening to let out what was on her mind, she’d just exhale. By the time they’d cleared the field where the tracks from their last ride had dug in and left the barricade far behind them, dark, heavy storm clouds had rolled in; he rolled his window down and felt the heady pre-storm humidity like a slap in the face.

No good, John thought, a few drops hitting his hand before he rolled up the window. He felt the thunder rumble deep in the marrow of his bones. The rain went from a drizzle to a steady silver sheet, and then to a torrential downpour by the time they’d been driving for just under an hour, and eventually Elliot pulled to the side of the road.

“We have to pull in somewhere,” she announced. “This van is great for toting cults around, but it’s not great for avoiding hydroplaning off of the road.”

“Well, isn’t off-roading your specialty?” John quipped. She shot him a glare, pushing his sunglasses up onto her head and nestling them into her hair.

“Yes, actually, now that you mention it,” Elliot replied tartly, “but not when I can’t see where I’m fucking going.”

“We’re only an hour and a half or so away from Joseph,” John insisted. “You really don’t think you can make it there?”

Elliot heaved a sigh. Her fingers fluttered over her forehead and the bridge of her nose like she had a headache that was a twin to his own, and every time he spoke, he was exacerbating it. That was probably true—and John was happier for it because the times when Elliot had been most compliant were when she was the most genuinely inhibited.

“I don’t like not being able to see who’s behind us or coming around the corner,” she insisted after a moment. “It doesn’t matter how close or far Joseph is. What matters is that there’s a group of nutjobs out there who apparently have insurmountable resources to take over a whole county in a single day, and I will not —”

She stopped, as though to calm herself, and John waited; impatient, but silent.

“I will not,” Elliot finished, “get kidnapped by one more fucking cult, John Seed.”

Lightning crackled in the distance, and the rain pelted the windshield violently. Another rumble of thunder went spiraling above them; Boomer whined, his ears flat against his skull. John could see Elliot’s fingers gripping the steering wheel until they went bone-white, but each time her grip loosened to let the circulation back in through her fingers, they trembled.

“Fine,” John said. “Pull off into the trees up there, then. We’ll take a break and pick up again when the rain lets up.”

“Thank you,” Elliot said, pulling down from the side of the road and winding her way out of sight of any traffic that might be coming; no venom laced her voice, only relief, and there was no follow-up jab, either. Under the shelter of the trees, the rain felt less violent, and already John felt the tension fleeing his own shoulders.

As soon as Elliot turned the van off, the motor ticking absently, John rumbled, “I think that’s the nicest you’ve ever been to me, deputy.”

She got up out of the seat, shimmying her way past the console and into the back where Boomer had been enjoying the right, pulling hard enough to yank John’s arm and force him to shimmy back with her. The gesture was awkward, and he only complied because he didn’t want to be sitting in the front seat with their arms slung at the angle to allow her back there.

“It’s incredible what a little decency can get you,” she deadpanned. She opened the back door of the van to let Boomer out, the dog taking off happily into the brush. Stretching out her legs in the more spacious, empty back of the van, Elliot wiped some rain from her face and made herself comfortable. John settled against the wall of the car, absently pulling at the cuff still locked around his wrist.

“I can be plenty decent,” he replied, almost sly, a little grin ticking the corner of his mouth upward. “But you already knew that.”

Elliot groaned. “You’re still on about the fact that one time in a bar like, three years ago, you hit on me when I was drunk and you might have had a chance?”

“I think we both know there’s a little more to it than that.”

She rolled her eyes. She could not have, perhaps, been more dramatic than she was in that moment, although John reminded himself that he had often considered Elliot could not be more of many things—impatient, infuriating, prone to violence—than she already was, and she had proved him wrong many times before.

“All I’m saying is,” John continued, “somewhere, deep down in that teeny-tiny heart of yours, deputy—”

“One time,” Elliot interrupted, holding up a finger to accentuate the number. “One time, many moons ago, I thought a man named John in a bar was objectively attractive. This was before I knew what your personality was like.”

John laughed. “You don’t need to like someone’s personality to fuck them, deputy,” he said and basked in the way her expression scrunched up, as though a particularly sour flavor had just seeped into her mouth.

“I do,” Elliot replied, “and every day, I thank God that Joey Hudson had the good sense to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

“Amen.”

Her gaze flashed with something that might have been amusement. She coughed into her elbow, turning her face away from him to glance out the window at the trees, their branches and leaves swaying in the wind but becoming more and more still the deeper into the woods they went.

“So you think I’m attractive, then.”

“Please stop talking,” Elliot groaned, head lolling against the back of the driver’s seat. “John, if I tell you that I think you’re handsome when your mouth is closed, will you shut the fuck up?”

John’s mouth curved in a half-grin, his chest welling pleasantly at her words. It may have been more than a little petty, to like the words coming out of her mouth—Elliot Honeysett, who would probably strangle him to death with her bare hands if given the opportunity, admitting that he was handsome.

“I might be more inclined,” he offered, sly. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m closing my eyes,” she announced, kicking her legs out and nudging his foot out of the way.

Absolutely childish, John thought absently and without much fervor, compliantly moving his foot out of the way for her. “Just use your words, deputy.”

“Certainly, anything for you,” Elliot purred. “I want you to shut up.”

He flashed her a grin, leaning his head back against the window. Rain pattered against the glass, and somewhere out in the distance, he heard Boomer’s happy bark as he did whatever it was that dogs did in the woods; hunt smaller things, perhaps.

“It’s nice to want things, isn’t it?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot did not know how long she had been asleep when she finally woke up.

She knew that she had been allowed to sleep uninterrupted, which was the first red flag—there was no way that John would just let her sleep and sleep and let the day tick them by. As she slowly came to, through the corner of her eye she could see that he’d fallen asleep, too, shifting restlessly against the window.

The second thing she realized was that the rain hadn’t stopped, and the reason that she became immediately aware of it was that the back doors of the van were open. She hadn’t done it, obviously, and she couldn’t fathom why in the world John would leave the back doors of the van open, so then the question in her foggy mind persisted; who?

And then someone grabbed her ankle and pulled.

The back of her head hit the metal floor of the van with a heavy thud , the world spinning in her vision as she was pulled closer to the outside world, even as her legs kicked. Panic rose in her throat, violent and hot, and instantly her hand went to reach for John, his name spilling out of her mouth in a desperate attempt to wake him up.

His eyes fluttered open. Groggily, he said, “Elliot?” and as she was yanked violently down he got pulled, too, slammed forward face-first into the floor of the van, biting out a swear that only barely registered in her mind as she struggled to wake up.

She twisted to look at her attacker—a tall redhead with a nasty scar dragging his lip in a permanent sneer. Elliot recognized him as the same red-head that had been handling Faith for the woman from before, the same man who’d nearly rammed his van into hers on the road just a day ago.

His hand fisted in the front of her shirt; he drawled in his thick, round accent, “Go back to sleep, little one,” and slammed her head back against the floor with purpose, her vision going sticky, staticky black on the edges.

She felt the heavy pain blooming behind her eyes. The weight of it dragged her eyelids down; she swam in inky black, only vaguely aware of the sound of raised voices, the feeling of a damp cloth being draped over her mouth, the sensation of floating, as though she were drifting underwater with everyone else shouting above her; all of these things began to fade, slipping through her fingers like sand until there was nothing left except for the empty, hollow black filling her up.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Elliot?”

It was John’s voice, she thought, or maybe not; it was hard to tell. Hands pressed to the tops of her shoulders, the pressure a welcoming comfort. Her chin was tucked against her chest, and she lifted her head—not without significant effort—and opened her eyes.

The world pulsed around her, colors bleeding brightly and violently against her irises. She was in a field—

(I’m in a field? But the floor—)

—and John was kneeling in front of her, his hands coming up to take her face. There was no smugness, no venom in his expression; only concern.

“I was so worried,” John said. “I was so worried about you, Elliot.”

“John,” Elliot said, and when she said his name it felt like the letters were spilling out of her mouth, choking her on the way out. A warm breeze tickled the edges of her vision, and the sunlight hemorrhaged into the grass, into the ground, oscillating in time with her heartbeat. A strange, sticky feeling wound up inside of her.

John said her name again. When she looked at him, his eye sockets were blooming, beautiful purple blooms pouring out of them, brushing his cheekbones like eyelashes. The feeling in her chest deepened; grief, she thought, with desperation, agony, hollowing her out, dread , filling her back up again, nothing but a vessel for the deepest emotions to be carried in.

“I was so worried about you,” John said again. Soft petals tumbled out of his mouth when he spoke. He gripped the sides of her face and pressed their foreheads together, and she started to cry, shaking her head. “My Elliot,” he said, over the sound of her crying, his thumbs brushing the tears from her face, “my Elliot.”

She thought that her skin must be burning, from the inside out, everywhere his hands touched; sliding down her throat, along the slope of her collarbone, gripping her shoulders. Hungry, and burning, lighting her on fire as he murmured, “My Elliot.”

His hands skimmed her face. They felt different, then softer and more slender; she closed her eyes tightly, willing the horror of it to go away, for the clammy terror to slip off of her skin.

“Open your eyes, mor. Did the visions scare you? ” a soft voice asked, the words slinking across her skin, serpentine and cold. She did as she was told, even when she thought, I don’t want to open my eyes, her body operating obediently.

Soft, dark eyes. Wisps of dirty-blonde hair that curtained Elliot’s face. Her head was in the woman’s lap and the night sky stretched, cloudy and endless, above them. Ase smiled at her dreamily.

“I saw your color the minute I laid eyes on you,” Ase whispered. She said the words like they were meant to be treasured, kept between them, only them. Elliot’s eyes fluttered and she tried to will herself to move. Her body was non-compliant, heavy as lead, and the warmth of a tear moving haltingly down her cheek made her skin prickle with goosebumps.

With the touch of a doting mother, Ase wiped the tear from her cheek, the pad of her thumb sliding along the slope of Elliot’s cheekbone, and then brushed the hair from her face. Now, Elliot could see more clearly the way her pupils were blown wide, swallowing up the color of her irises, crushing it in the event horizon of her eyes. She murmured, reverently, “I saw your color, mor, I saw you. Have you ever felt seen? We waited for you, for so long.”

Elliot moaned, misery stinging in the sound. Her lip trembled. She thought, I don’t want to be seen, the way Ase reiterated it making her vulnerable. I don’t want to be seen, I don’t want this. But she couldn’t make the words come out, her jaw hanging slack when she opened her mouth, the knowledge that they had done something to her flickering only briefly through her mind before it was swallowed up by something else.

“I’ll let you go.” Ase’s voice remained silken, spinning around her, weaving a cocoon. “I’ll let you go, mor , but only because I know that you will always come back to us.” She skimmed her fingers lovingly across Elliot’s forehead and whispered into her skin, “Now go back to sleep.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

John found her curled up, her fingers sinking into the earth like she was afraid she was going to float away, and sobbing.

His head was pounding; he felt disoriented, and panicked, the same kind of strange, distant panic that happened when he fell asleep during the day and woke up to it being night. He could only remember the sound of Elliot saying his name jerking him out of his sleep in the van, the sensation of getting pulled forward violently, and the feeling of someone slamming his head into the side of the van.

And then, waking up in a field, in the dark, alone.

He had struggled to his feet when he awoke. He had thought, the handcuffs are off . He had thought, I have to find Elliot. And then he’d started walking, saying her name, until he heard the sound of her crying and found her.

“Elliot,” he said urgently. His mouth felt incredibly dry; he was worried that if he spoke too much, his skin would split. He reached for her when she turned to look at him, and when she saw him she moaned, the sound that came out of her the same kind of sound an animal with its leg caught in a trap would make.

A slur of protests came out of her. A line of no’s that all blurred together, but when brought her to a sitting position she only shrunk away from him a little. He took the sides of her face in his hands and searched her for any sign of wounds or harm that might have come to her: but there was nothing. She was, it appeared, physically untouched.

“Hey,” John managed out. “It’s me, Elliot. I’ve got you.”

She blinked blearily at him. Her face was flushed, puffy, and tears dotted and darkened her lower lashes. Her pupils nearly ate up the entirety of those baby blues; clearly, she’d been drugged. She said, “John?” and he nodded.

“Yes, Rook. It’s me.”

“They did something to me,” Elliot said, her voice rising in her distress. “John—”

“They’re gone,” he said, without confirming her fears. “We have to move, though. Can you stand?”

The blonde hesitated for a moment and then nodded—he supposed she would have to fight through the remains of whatever they had put in her. He stood, taking her hands and helping her as she wobbled to a stand as well. It was hard to figure out exactly where they were, with no road in sight, but the haze of his sleep—which he now thought must also be medically induced—was still weighing on him.

“We have to move,” he said again, Elliot’s fingers clutching his hands so tight it almost hurt. He scanned the horizon of the field, touching on the dip of a hill, a river, and then a treeline. His eyes strained. He thought he might have seen headlights through the dim of them, but it was hard to tell.

It was also all he had to go on.

“Come on,” John said, her hands still locked around his like he was anchoring her to the earth. Unable to guess what they’d drugged her with, he imagined it probably felt like that.

“John,” Elliot said, her voice impossibly small as they began to walk, her steps halting and uneasy, “They did something to me.”

His jaw tightened. He hated this; he hated Elliot like this, emotionally wounded and voice wobbling, because all of a sudden he thought that this was not the Elliot he knew, not his Elliot at all. Where was the venom? The steel? Where had she gone?

Buried, he supposed, under psychotropic drugs, of which he knew not the origin nor the duration.

The rain clouds had moved along; the earth smelled wet, and fresh, the scent of it welling up inside of them, and as they walked his mind felt clearer and clearer. With clarity came the knowledge that they had been trapped; the cultists had had them, and had chosen to leave them alive. For what?

“I know,” John said again, his voice rough with his forcefully-induced sleep. Elliot’s fingers dug into his arm where they clutched, the feverish pitch of her body heat seeping through his clothes from how close she lingered. “You’re fine, deputy, I’ve got you.”

He tried not to think too hard about the voice that echoed in his head, for now.

#far cry 5 #john seed #fc5 #john seed/oc #john seed/deputy #enemies to lovers #what can i say these two psychos were made for each other #this chapter features: elliot being an absolute mess #per usual #she just wants to hang out w her dog ok #leave her alone #ch: john seed #ch: elliot honeysett #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #fic: ancient names #my writing #john seed/ofc

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fandom-will-be-my-fall · 5 years ago

Note

Spill your heart out about Walter.

Okay so I basically got this question in what, January?? but I’m answering it now since I just rewatched the movie and have inspiration, sorry for the late reply Anon

Okay so, to start off this post with some keyboard smashing because that my primary go-to for expressing my emotions

sgklhfsgjksdlgdghkjlgjhOHUFLUSKHDGSLIDRGKJGKFSDHGlhjglksdhkglshglllllfa. knjcthxiudhusmnvsoidhéytbvonjyxclkkvbr. haeylicfvshdkgikc

HANDSOME BOY. HANDSOME. ‘NUFF SAID.

I could legit stare all day at his beautiful face… look at him. Enchanting sky blue eyes… fluffy, wavy brown hair, cute round cheeks, lovely smile… those hidden freckles that you can hardly spot and only in certain screenshots but nevertheless they’re there to raise the cuteness factor… ALSO HIS LASHES. MAYBE IT’S NATURAL?? MAYBE IT’S MAYBELLINE?? WE SHALL NEVER KNOW

Here you may be able to spot the freckles if you squint hard enough. I have 77 screenshots but this is the best example I could find.

Secondly… well, he’s a sticc. A short sticc at that (though still slightly taller than me bc I’m smol), but a sticc regardless! And that seems to be the most attractive cartoon body type for me. Don’t judge me, I just have a thing for twinks, I’m… twinksexual or whatever.

Look at him! He would fit through my doorcrack.

(Maaaybe the reason for me liking sticcs so much is partially the fact that I like the idea of a boyfriend I can protect and support, physically and emotionally. I’m mad at the universe for not letting me scoop him up in my arms bridal style and smooch the HECK outta him.)

I’ve encountered a few posts that claimed he’s got cake but, come on. That concept has canonically been proven to be false, even by Lance. This man is flat and you can pry this opinion off my cold, dead hands.

Speaking of hands! I like his big ol hands. Nice shape. They look soft. I wanna hold them.

According to a DVD commentary, and the visual facts, he has no shoulders whatsoever. Back in Venice Killian was able to restrain him effortlessly with only one foot on his chest, even as he kept struggling ans squirming and generally put in as much effort as he possibly could. Before then, he claimed the database was the first thing he has ever caught in his life.

Conclusion, our boi’s very much NOT athletic. Which makes sense for a scientist, braining all day and stuff, and because he probably barely even eats, or sleeps which are by the way both pretty concerning implications but anyway.

STOP BEATING UP THIS POOR FRAGILE LAD FOR GOD’S SAKE. Makes me want to protect him even more. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but you get what I mean.

Now, on to the actual reason I’m so head over heels for him, a.k.a his personality.

He is one of the sweetest, kindest, purest boy characters I have ever seen in fiction, if not THE number one himself. (All my other cinnamon roll crushes are, or have been a villain at some point and WILL resort to violence if provoked.) Look at him, his pacifism… is unbreakable. He’s dead set on making the world a better place, by peaceful ways, and helping humanity. If that’s not a quality to be cherished then IDK what is.

And he’s just such a refreshing character. He likes pink, K-dramas, glitter, kittens, things that aren’t traditionally “masculine” (but is never made fun of those things in particular in the movie) and I love that. Nothing’s sexier than a man who’s, despite society’s shitty standards, openly and unashamedly himself!

His femininity is, if anything, just another turn-on. (This didn’t intend to sound sexual… but oh well.) I love his little hand gestures and mannerisms, dorky ramblings, the way he says “yep” popping the “p” at the end, all the small yet significant traits that were incorporated into his character. Bless you, SiD creators, bless you.

Have I said that he’s a genius?? Which is pretty obvious but c’mon, he graduated at 15!! He can modify human genes!! He successfully turned a man into a pigeon on the first try!! (The serum wasn’t the first prototype but we can assume he didn’t experiment on living humans with the previous ones.) And he’s still just 20!! Like what is that if not hella fucking impressive???!??

His inventions, to the untrained eye, may seem “stupid” or “childish” but alas! The observer couldn’t be more wrong! Because despite the odd designs and themes they’re all highly effective, as we have witnessed in the battle against Killian. And he is extremely creative for coming up with such ideas! Told you he’s brilliant!!

Which makes me all the sadder about how much they underappreciated him at the agency. In his words, nobody ever listened to him, or gave him a chance. They just left him and his “weird” ideas next to the men’s bathroom and called it a day. How could they be so blind? Didn’t they see the potential in his inventions? Oh well. Maybe I’m just being a smartass bc I have more knowledge, living outside that universe. But I’m totally right.

And I was honestly ready to throw hands with Lance for hurting the boi even further. (I’d stand no chance whatsoever, but still.)

Oh no baby please don’t cry.

He did cry in that scene though… you could see a tear rolling down his cheek and if it wasn’t for the machine beeping… He did have a pretty rough day afterall. But HEY, if we dwell on it too much the scene loses its comedic effect!! A guy gets sad over a stupid soap opera, har har har!! Now let’s move on, keep it fast and snappy for the kids, don’t let them overthink it!! Can’t have any emotional breakdowns onscreen. Keep it lighthearted y’know. Then let’s kill a random side character and have our dear protagonist almost die twice.

(Well jokes on you Blue Sky! I’m no kid, but a devoted fangirl who can and will overthink any material of my fictional faves at any given opportunity.)

You know what else I love about him though?? His love for animals!! And pigeons, especially Lovey!! He loves her so much, gives her gluten free breadcrumbs, nuzzles her, the first thing he does when he finds out Lance can talk to the pigeons is ask if she loves him too!! Like… That’s so pure and wholesome.

This here. THIS RIGHT HERE. BROTP forever.

(Not gonna lie, I used to be crazy for pigeons for like, an entire year or something. Not as in looking up all the facts there are about pigeons as I do nowadays with cartoons, but I’d feed them regularly and write my little observations on their behaviors. Did you know they sometimes scratch their neck with their leggies like dogs do?)

I think I’ve summed up mostly everything I love about this nerd. Oh wait, almost forgot the sass!! I love how sassy and smug he can be sometimes, in like, a really harmless way but it’s still a very nice characteristic.

Since I’ve ran out of coherent things to say, here’s an incomplete list of things I want to do to Walter Beckett. Put at the end of this post so those of you who were only here for the analysis part and not the selfshippy gushing don’t have to read further:

kiss he

like seriously

just kiss he a whole lot

cover his whole face in kisses

one kiss for each of his freckles. a finishing kiss onto the tip of his nose. then repeat the cycle

hug him. hug him like the world is ending. hug him so tight he can barely breathe

then ofc let go and apologize bc I would never hurt him on purpose

cuddle him

hold him close, let him lay his head on my chest

run my fingers through his hair

listen to his breathing

discover that he’s fallen asleep on me and smile fondly, then soon drift off to sleep myself so we can wake up entangled in eachother the next morning

fuck he

pin him to a wall and snog he

make him go cherry red

fluster he

compliment him. praise him. appreciate him. he’s a prince, a hero, an angel, a wonderful human being and he needs to know this

feed pigeons together

listen to his scientific ramblings and bird facts

write him love letters and give them to him. maybe read it aloud myself if I’m feeling brave so I can see his reaction in real time

serenade he

be the love of his life, and have him be mine

just… soft things, man

cook something for this malnourished sticc

make him small handmade gifts

they’re nothing like his gadgets but I tried

draw he

have him be my muse in general

not like he isn’t now but it would be lovely if he was real too

carry him bridal style

be the feral cryptid that lurks in his house when he isn’t around

sing along to cheesy pop-song together really badly

watch cheesy rom coms

flirt with eachother clumsily until we’re both laughing at our awkwardness

or, alternatively, shower him with compliments until he literally cannot handle it

have sleepovers together

give him hand kisses

be of emotional support

#picpost #fangirl #walter beckett #F/O #didn't plan to make an entire essay #though on the other hand I exactly knew this would happen

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realityhelixcreates · 5 years ago

Text

Beta, Theta, and Me

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Avengers (Movies) Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: PG Warnings: Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not right now) Characters: Loki(Marvel) Additional Tags: A/B/O, Sorta, More Of An Exploration Of Life And Self Expression Within An A/B/O Framework, Loki Does What He Wants, But Loki Does Not Actually Do What He Wants, Antagonistic Bosses, Loki Has A Throne Now, But It’s Not What He Wanted

Summary: Loki puts you to work immediately, but some of his idea of what 'work' is seems strange.

Lunch was made nervously: it had been some time since you last had the opportunity to actually cook something on a stove, with dishes, and ingredients you had to prepare yourself. Spaghetti, you decided, was the best way to go. You knew how to make it all in one pot, which had always saved you time on dishes.

Loki didn't speak a word to you while you worked, just staring out the windows in contemplation. The view from here was oriented to the back of the building, where the fire escape was, and the dumpsters just across the street. He probably couldn't see them from this far off the ground, but you wondered if Stark hadn't put him here on purpose, as a mild insult.

It was strange to think you'd spent the last week sleeping on that fire escape, so far below him.

When you brought the meal to him, he gazed at it, unimpressed, and made no move to eat it.

“This looks incredibly messy.” He said. You should have known a prince would be prim about food. “You will have to help me eat it.”

“What?” You asked. Surely he wasn't that prim!

“I am not at present easily able to lean forward.” He explained. “I will need you to feed this to me. Do not make me repeat myself.” He added, at your hesitation. “I will need much from you that your unrefined living has apparently made you unready for. Do not sit there thinking up a sonnet about it, just do it!”

You hurriedly scooted a chair over next to him, spinning noodles into a little ball on the fork, and holding it out for him. It gave you the weird feeling of feeding a giant baby bird; you needed to get the food directly into his mouth, but you couldn't just jab, or shove.

“It is passable.” He declared after the first bite. “Just make sure not to get any of that sauce on me. Now, where is your portion?”

“Mine?” Though your stomach had been growling wildly, and your mouth watering the entire time, you hadn't cooked more than one portion. You'd still been in the headspace that told you to wait until it was safe to steal from the trash.

“I didn't know I was supposed to cook anything for me. I thought it was just supposed to be for you.” You said honestly. If you'd known, you definitely would have made a big meal for yourself.

Loki breathed a sigh. “ I suppose there is no help for it then. What use is a servant who collapses from hunger? You must take a bite yourself, after each one you give me.”

“What?” You repeated.

“Do you not hear me, or are you just that dull?” Loki asked.

“No, it's just...I've never done anything like this before.”

“Oh, I know.” Loki said. “Assigning me an incompetent servant is just one of Starks many little insults to me.”

“Sorry.” You mumbled.

“All part of the game, my dear. Stark is a fool if he thinks I cannot spin gold from dross. Now take your bite.”

You swirled a few noodles onto the fork.

“Is this sanitary?” You wondered aloud.

“Given that you came to me filthy and stinking, and I've seen you grubbing around in the garbage down there, I shouldn't have thought that would be an issue with you.”

You jerked back. He knew?

“My eyes are much better than yours. Than any humans. Even in twilight, I could see you. Oh, but humans really are a pathetic race; abandoning their own to the point that some of you apparently go feral.”

“Now that's not-”

“Not true? No? Tell me then, why are your greatest examples of so-called civilization filled with homeless, and poor, and dying? Your most advanced spaces overflowing with suffering? Your loftiest monuments to your own achievements tower over the corpses of those who were crushed in order to build them. I meant to usher in a true golden age, unlike anything humanity had ever experienced! Peace, prosperity, unity, all of the things you cannot seem to find for yourselves.”

“How many corpses for your monument?” You asked. He scowled.

“Eat the food.” He commanded. “I do not carry any diseases, and I do not fear yours.”

Huffily, you took your bite. It wasn't half bad. Could have been better, if you weren't so out of practice.

“Good girl. And now mine.”

Back and forth you went, turning a simple lunch into something uncomfortably intimate. He watched you like a predator, and you tried to distract yourself with what your paycheck would get you. Fingernail clippers. A toothbrush. Socks.

There were so many things, big and little, that you needed in order to get established.

“Are you lost, feral thing?” Loki asked, jerking you out of your thoughts. “I will be leaving the dishes to you, for obvious reasons.”

“Oh. Yeah, right. Lemmie just take care of that.”

Meal finished, you hurried to the little kitchen to do the washing up. It had been a good idea to limit the amount of dishes you'd used, because soon enough he had you out on the floor, sweeping. And then up a ladder, cleaning the windows. And then dusting. And then beating the rugs out on the balcony. And then sweeping the balcony. And, of course, cleaning the bathroom, which barely looked used.

What, did alien lordships not need to shit?

There was a separate room, which housed an actual bathtub, a huge round thing that was clearly meant to hold more than one person. You cleaned it too, though, from the thin layer of dust, it seemed that it hadn't been used either. Also in the room was a small, wooden closet, that you finally identified as a sauna, which you also cleaned.

He practically had you scrubbing the walls, before suppertime finally rolled around.

“Cook enough for yourself this time as well.” He said. “Then you may take time to yourself for the evening, though I will have one last task for you, just before I retire.”

You opted for chicken fingers and french fries, finding them both in the freezer, ready to prepare.

Loki was very unimpressed, though whether it was by the humble nature of the food, or the very concept of dipping sauces, you weren't sure. He seemed especially outraged by barbecue sauce.

“Humans have no refinement!” He complained. “A riot in the streets or a riot on the tongue, it matters not, as long as you can somehow lose yourselves in something!”

Apparently ketchup was exactly as offensive.

After dinner, you washed the dishes, then went to your apartment and lay down on the floor, in the place you intended to put your future bed. You didn't really have anything to occupy your time, so you lay there, eyes closed, waiting for dinner to digest.

You were startled awake by the sound of Loki's voice right by your ear, calling your name. You must have inadvertently dozed off. You hurried out of your apartment and into the penthouse in order to find him.

He was positioned next to a big fireplace that was decorated like something out of a fancy mountain lodge. All that was missing was a bearskin rug, and an animal head mounted above the mantel.

Loki was reading a book in a language you couldn't quite make out, and he didn't bother looking up as you approached.

“Uh, you called?”

“You heard. Good, you can hear me. Yes, there is one last task I need to to perform this evening. I need you to go into my room, remove your uniform, and lay down in my bed. Then-”

“Gonna have to stop you right there, champ!” You exclaimed. “Absolutely not! Not happening. I don't care what you say, that's not part of the job! That's never going to be part of the job, and honestly? Fuck you for thinking you can just take whatever you want from me! Did you treat your old Asgardian servants this way? Disgusting! Hey...are you laughing or choking?”

He was laughing, though it clearly pained him. You glared.

“Are you done?” He asked, once he'd gotten control of himself. “If so, then I ask that you look at me and apply a little critical thinking. Why should I desire a feral dumpster rat? And how, exactly, do you expect me to perform, when I am...like this?” He gestured to the bulky neck brace.

“Well...” That was a good point. “What was all that 'get naked and get in bed' stuff then?”

“I never said naked, I said to remove your uniform first. I want you to warm my bed up before I sleep. Just lay there for about thirty minutes, then dress and leave. It was a perfectly respectable profession on Asgard, usually undertaken by those who, for whatever reason, couldn't do much else. I don't see why it should cause so much fuss here. Do you think yourself above the task?”

“No, I can do it.” You said. “We don't really have a 'bed warmer' job here, though I wouldn't be surprised if the rich were forcing their help into positions like that. But when people tell you to do that kind of thing 'here', it's assumed to lead to other things. The upper classes seem bent on just taking whatever they want from those they have authority over, and you killed a bunch of people and wanted to take over the world. Why should I assume you're any different?”

“Because I do not come from barbarian stock, feral thing. I am the son of kings. Now go lay down. Set a timer. Reflect on how much better a master I am to have than apparently anyone else on this forsaken planet.”

You grumbled a bit, but mostly just to yourself. This had really been a hell of a day.

*****

Loki's room was huge, but not as ostentatious as you'd thought it would be. For some reason, you had envisioned gold and jewels on everything, maybe stained glass in the windows, and you were still hung up on the idea of bearskin rugs.

The rugs here were not bears though, but intricately patterned weaves in green, yellow, and black, three colors that dominated the decor. Plush rugs and tapestries that served as curtains, blocking out nearly all outside light. His lordship must like to sleep late.

It was easy to tell what pieces of furniture came from far away Asgard, and what came from down the street Ikea. His desk, his bed, his dresser and the old fashioned chest at the foot of his bed were all heavy, solid, dark wood, with blackened metal, and green leather. The chairs and side table, however, were simple, painted plywood.

To your surprise, there was a collection of weapons scattered across the desk and dresser. There was a sword, carved with a snake, its edges dark with either corrosion or poison, a weighted net, woven with barbs, and a bow as long as you were tall, with a gorgeous leather and velvet quiver filled with black fletched, ebony arrows. And just...so many knives. From the length of your thumb, to the length of your forearm, with straight, curved, angled, and wavy blades.

Loki must not let anyone in here, for all these to still be here. You were pretty sure that if Stark knew, they'd be confiscated.

Damn, you were going to have to decide whether to keep your mouth shut or not, weren't you?

You stripped out of the loaned uniform, and slipped under the thick, velvety blankets. You'd expected that Loki would have a stupidly large bed, the best sheets the softest pillows, but where to lay? You wriggled your way to the center of the spacious bed-honestly, how many people did he expect to fit into this thing? No, maybe you didn't want to know. Royal orgies were...well, you just weren't interested.

How long had it been since you had lain in a real bed? It seemed like decades. Even then, you'd never been in a bed this luxurious. How soft and silky these sheets were! The blankets were like clouds, and the pillowcases-were they made of satin? That must be how he kept those gentle curls. No doubt it was difficult to tend to his hair with that brace on his neck.

The whole room smelled powerfully of Alpha, always just a little too strong for comfort. Maybe you just had too many negative associations with that scent, but it always made you uncomfortable. No matter how much you tried to relax here, it was keeping you on high alert.

Even when he wasn't in the room, he was still dominating. He could barely do anything on his own, but he was still such a commanding presence. Some of that was sheer regal countenance rather than pheromones. That chemical cocktail might have no effect on you, but force of personality did.

Underneath the Alpha scent was another, heavier in the bed than anywhere else. It was him, of course, the scent that would belong to him alone, Alpha or not. This one wasn't so bad. It was softer, a gentle counterpoint to the harsh Alpha smell.

Tomorrow was payday. Maybe you should get a bed? Or at least a nice futon? You should definitely get some towels, so you didn't have to drip dry every time you showered. But first you should pick up your little caches of things from around the city, if any of them were still intact. That would get you some clothes, some toiletries, a sleeping bag, even some books.

You were turning things over in your head, making lists of things to get, and in which order to do so, when you heard Loki's voice call your name again. You sat up straight in his bed, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Put on your uniform and open the door, you heard. It was like he was in the room with you. You scrambled to get dressed. Had thirty minutes already passed? That was another thing you had to do tomorrow-get your phone turned back on. You really needed access to the timer function.

He was right outside the door when you opened it, gazing at you with mild disapproval.

“That took too long.” He complained. “And your hair is a mess.”

“I was just lying down.” You said, raking a hand through your hair. “And if I was already taking too long, stopping to fix my hair would have taken even longer.”

“I don't pay you for sass, girl.” Loki sniffed.

“You don't pay me at all.” You said. “Tony Stark does, to take care of you.”

“Then take care of me. Help me into bed.”

You sensed trickery, but helped him stand anyway. He leaned his weight on you, and your body nearly buckled. Standing, wrapped in a robe, you could tell that he was thin, so how could he possibly weigh so much?

You led him to the side of his spacious bed, where he carefully flopped down and had you pull the blankets up to his shoulders.

“It is still cold.” He complained.

“Uh, well, I was in the middle of the bed.”

Loki frowned. “Pray tell, how did you think I was going to get into the middle of the bed?”

You didn't say anything. You should have thought about that, but you were just so disoriented by this new life you found yourself in.

“You are like a prey animal, just reacting to outside stimuli.” Loki pointed out. “I need you to possess wits. Go now, and find some.”

That was a dismissal, if ever you had heard one. You hurried out of his room and into yours, changed out of the Asgardian work uniform, and into the Stark uniform, then entered the elevator.

Tonight you would gather your things. Tomorrow, your apartment would be that much closer to a home.

#betathetaandme #loki x reader #loki (marvel)

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infinitehours · 5 years ago

Text

From Dusk to Dawn, an Elder Scrolls Online short fic

Rivenspire spoilers and Daggerfall Covenant questline spoilers (specifically Stormhaven and main quest). I did like the ideas behind the Rivenspire storyline, even if I did not always like the execution. Author notes are first, then the story. Leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed!

Author notes before the story: I’m actually not done with this story. It’s still got another part to it that I just haven’t had the inspiration to write yet.

This is my character Elyssa. She's the youngest of my line-up *(only 18), and that distinction is important. Naive and more than a little too trusting. She's also probably the only one who would purposely go out of her way just to coax a bunch of vampires into letting her stay the night, if only for the "coolness" factor of getting to stay the night at a vampire castle.

Once upon a time, I had plot bunny idea of a conversation concerning my traumatized Vestige about Molag Bal. I say traumatized because...let's be honest here. The amount of stuff the Vestige goes through is alarmingly dark at times. It wasn't until I got to Rivenspire that I recognized the perfect situation this conversation could take place, and that the Count's status as a vampire who received his vampirism directly from Molag Bal (only to turn around and embrace morality) added an extra layer of meaning here. I hope that explains why I did this in the specific way that I did. That vampires, and their abilities, are they themselves almost representations of Molag Bal's whole concept of domination and submission. I like that bit of symbolism. I don't think this particular story would have had as much of an impact otherwise.

It's canon that there are different strains of vampires and that they can do different things depending on the strain. What's not entirely clear to me is how those mechanics always work (because we don't always see them in game), so forgive me for making a few things up. Additionally, ZOS confirmed they were changing how the feeding animation looks to something "more traditional" so I'm assuming we're going to get people biting necks in the update. Which is a lot better than the weird ridiculous looking funnel of blood, if I’m being honest here.

(one of the other reasons I wanted to write this was to come up with an explanation for why the Count is kind of...irritated all the time, lol)

Content warnings: A little bit of Molag Bal torture going on here. Vampire biting. Otherwise I can’t think of anything.

***************

~~~~~~~~~~

“Difficulty sleeping?”

Those were the first words out of his mouth the moment she stepped lightly into the study. Even without turning around, even without her making a sound, he seemed to be keenly aware she was there. It might have been unnerving if she didn’t know anything about him.

“Nightmares,” was her reply, the shadow of a sad smile coming and going on her lips.

He nodded silent acknowledgement as she took one of the carved wooden seats available. For a moment, she watched him as he stood with his back to her; he was stock still, almost statue-like, save for the occasional instance in which he turned the page. He wore a different set of mage’s robes than he did earlier. It was similarly a deep, dark grey, but this one had a few threads of red woven in a delicate pattern across the length of it.

“I suppose it quite normal for a mortal to have those when staying in a place like this.”

He said it flatly, and it was difficult for her to work out whether he was irritated at the idea or resigned to it.

“I assure you, my lord Count,” she responded carefully in turn. “I’ve been having nightmares long before I accepted your very generous offer to spend the night.”

Platitudes. That was surely the best way to handle a noble, undead or not, right?

“But if it is at all upsetting to you that I’m here,” she continued, hastily, “It would be a simple thing to pack my affects and travel to Shornhelm.”

He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I am not bothered. And it is likewise too dangerous to travel the roads at this time at night.”

His eyes still never seemed to pry themselves away from his research as he propped open another tome on top of a large pile of books that conveniently reached his height.

“Vampires hunt best at this time, I’m sure.” she said, off-handedly, her fingers dancing through the length of her reddish brown hair that was now free of her usual, careful braid.

“There’s no sun to burn our skin, and our eyes are much better attuned to the dark than a mortal’s. The bloodfiends, who are nothing more than feral members of our kind, operate much the same. So long as the people stay indoors and within the city walls, they should be safe. But a lone traveler, even on horseback, may offer up a too tempting target for them to resist. You’d be snatched in the gloom and none would hear of it until the morning.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that, though in her mind’s eye she played out a scene with her own mangled corpse lying by the side of the road. Pale, glassy-eyed, bite-ridden and completely drained of blood. She scowled at the thought, and shifted in her chair.

“It may not come down to that,” She said, her voice lacking the confidence she’d hoped for, “I’d say I’m pretty good at fighting bloodfiends; and, in fact, I’ve already fought some of them at night...”

“I don’t doubt that, Elyssa. But is there any real reason to risk yourself unnecessarily? Stay here for the night, and I promise you can leave in the morning. As early as it takes the sun to rise to the sky and offer you its protection.”

Her scowl deepened. Did he think she was scared to spend the night at his home-castle-place-thing? She knew that he was probably used to being a little bit defensive when it came to dealing with others (and that it was kind of her fault for somewhat insisting on staying to begin with), but he can’t honestly think she’d lost her nerve, could he?

“Count Verandis. I seem to have accidentally given you the impression that I’m uncomfortable here or that I desperately wish to leave if only you’d allow me. Trust me when I say, if I was that desperate or felt like I was in that much danger, I would have already broken one of your pretty stained glass windows and JUMPED myself to freedom.”

She gestured towards the entryway. “Although I’d probably just try the front door first. Something tells me you wouldn’t stop me, even if you do think it’s foolhardy for a mortal to be prancing about in the dead of night.”

He still didn’t turn away from his books, but from the angle of where she sat she could see the edge of his mouth twitching into, what she’d hope, was something akin towards a smile. Or maybe that was just a trick of the light.

“I appreciate your consideration for my family home. Stained glass is difficult to procure these days.”

She smiled at that (he HAD made a joke, right? That was meant as a joke, wasn’t it?), and adjusted herself so that she was lounging a bit in the chair. Difficult to do, since the wood wasn’t exactly comfortable. Her plain beige dress, what she usually wore to sleep, wasn’t padded enough to act as a cushion either. She frowned for the third time that night, and straightened back up.

“Do you want me to leave you to your studies?” She asked politely, just as the thought occurred to her. It would act as an excuse to go back to the upstairs bedroom; one of the few rooms that actually had a bed in the entire castle.

“It’s not necessary.” He stated.

She waited a moment.

“…May I ask a question?”

“If you insist.” Again, in that flat, dull tone of his that never seemed to hold much emotion.

“Are you always thirsty?”

This gave him pause, and she could see a few of his fingers ghosting over the latest text he held open before committing to turning another page.

“At some level, yes. But if you’ve practiced for as long as I have and feed regularly, it’s barely noticeable.”

“So me being in this room for you is, thankfully, not distracting?”

“Your presence isn’t, no.”

Her eyes narrowed in on the back of his head. He was possibly, in a roundabout way, implying that her comments were distracting. It was another one of those statements that made it hard for her to figure out whether he was pissed off, slightly annoyed, or just bored.

“Would you like a bite?” She suddenly asked.

“What?” This time, he DID look up. Even more, he turned to stare at her with something akin to surprise.

She sat to attention with a triumphant smirk. “Finally, a normal emotional reaction!”

And with that proclamation, his expression hardened and he returned to his books.

“I do not have time for childish endeavors, Elyssa.” He said sourly.

“You just seem so….I don’t know. Detached. Either that, or irritated at everyone all the time. It’s hard to tell with you. I think that may be the bulk of the reason why a lot of people may be uncomfortable around you. It’s rather nice to see you actually have some…well…life left in you.”

“When you’ve lived as many years as I have, my child, and watched just as many of your friends age and die…short-lived humans, no less…people you’ve formed attachments to and cared for, again and again…You find ways of…removing yourself from all of it. If only to ensure that it need not affect you as hard each time.”

Elyssa considered this. “So…when you say you ‘care’ about the people of Rivenspire—“

“I do care,” He snapped his latest book shut and spun to face her. “I may not be able to feel as deeply as a mother who lost her first child, but I do care about what happens to the people of Rivenspire. I still remember what it was like to lose family, to lose loved ones, the depths of that pain. Even if I cannot experience it fully for myself anymore, I remember enough to never wish it upon anyone else. This is why I detest the idea of ever sharing this gift of mine; inflicting it upon others so that they would have to spend decades just learn how to control their despair enough to function. Can you fathom, can you even imagine, the maddening realization that most everyone you love will soon wither and fade except yourself?”

He approached her at her chair, and though his voice still held that air of mild detachment, his glowing red eyes seemed to burn all the brighter with an inner light.

“You’re correct in the sense that I do have difficulties expressing this. That I no longer have the capabilities to show others, in any genuine way, the measure of my desire to help. Mortals rely so much on interpreting emotions through body language and tone of voice, and I am far beyond the point where I can easily weep in the presence of those who are weeping…or even do a decent attempt at trying.”

As he came to stop in front of her, he actually knelt to the ground. To her level. Eye to eye.

“There’s a reason, in my belief, why the divines would dictate life to be so short and sweet. Those of us who are cursed to live longer than normal risk…losing things in the process. I often find myself wanting to socialize with mortals just to get some of that back. A sense of personhood and direction. Passions and strivings. It’s truly remarkable to see reminders of how easy it comes to you.”

He carefully reached out his hand towards her cheek, as though she represented this. As though she were a symbol of this very discussion. Just as the tips of cold fingers brushed against her skin, she turned her head just a tad in an attempt to see it in her peripheral. It was difficult to say whether he interpreted that as a flinch or he suddenly remembered himself, but he withdrew his hand again.

“I apologize.” He said, getting up and returning once more to the bookshelves. “I did not mean to touch you without permission.”

“What? My cheek? That’s not a crime.” Elyssa replied, still trying to absorb everything he just told her.

“Countess Tamrith would likely disagree with that assessment.”

“Countess Tamrith isn’t here. And before you go back to your no-doubt riveting literature, I should tell you that I was genuine in offering my blood to you.”

He turned once more to her, an eyebrow delicately raised in questioning.

“Is that so? I believe the good Countess would now consider you to have committed a sin.” He asked, and his eyes stared straight at hers for a good measure.

For her part, believing that he was testing her resolve, she sat up straighter and met his gaze head on.

The room was silent for a moment.

He took a tentative step towards her, and she was a little ashamed that the unexpected movement caused her to flinch. He stopped at the sight.

“We do not usually find people who willingly volunteer so soon after finding out about our condition. Are you sure?”

“Y-Yes.”

“You certainly do not sound it.”

Elyssa huffed out the breath she’d been accidentally holding. “Well…it isn’t as though I get bitten by a vampire every other day. I’m not sure what to expect. Does it hurt?”

“It’s a bite, Elyssa,” And this time, she was sure those glowing eyes of his were laughing at her even if his mouth didn’t show it. “Pain is usually involved in those. I can, however, promise that it is certainly not excruciating.”

“Well that’s a relief…I think.”

He carefully stepped towards her while she sat stock still and staring straight ahead. For every moment that he moved closer, she grew more and more uneasy.

“Should I stand up, then?” She said, trying to distract herself from imagining the pain too much; she’d a bad habit of blowing things out of proportion.

“It would be much preferable if you remained seated...Else the dizziness may cause you to fall. It may even be better if you were to lie down…”

“Sorry, but there’s no way you’re going to get me onto your dining room table. That would just be too…” She recalled to mind an earlier scene of stumbling upon them whilst they sat around a half-naked Dark Elf “….awkward. Awkward and probably uncomfortable. For me, that is. No idea if you feel a hundred percent comfortable with people just casually laying on-”

Her spiraling commentary came to a screeching halt when she felt his hand rest lightly on her shoulder. The very same shoulder twitched, of its own accord, and he removed his hand shortly after.

“That’s the third time you’ve flinched,” he accused.

“No it’s not!” She blurted out. “That’s barely the first!”

“Elyssa…”

“I can do this! I’m not a coward!” She insisted, finally turning to face him as he stood right next to her.

“Nobody is calling you as such. But this is also not necessary, and I believe I made it quite clear that my household only feeds on the willing.”

“I am willing! I just….I…” Her resolve withered a bit in the midst of staring him down.

His eyes glowing red and unnatural. A sign, perhaps from the Divines, as to dangers that could lurk behind them. The same kind of red eyes on the bloodfiends she’d been fighting ever since she came to Rivenspire.

“…I…I just need a moment,” she finished, knowing full well that it was an admission of defeat.

He sighed and walked back to his books. “Go back to bed, Elyssa. I need to focus on figuring out what Montclair’s next movements may be.”

She sat there for a few moments longer, but he was firmly encased back in his notes and didn’t turn around again to acknowledge her again. The obvious signs that the conversation was over.

He thought she was just being childish.

It stung a little, the obvious disregard. Ignored and brushed aside so casually. It almost felt a lot like the time her papa had caught her ruining one of his prized books even after she promised she wouldn’t touch it. Except this was pretty much a stranger, and she couldn’t discern whether that made it somehow worse.

The feeling, the blatant disregard, threatened to stifle the little study they were in, and it became too much for her to bear that she did decide to leave.

Slowly taking the steps back upstairs to the bedroom.

She passed a dead mouse and thought idly about it; one of the things that Adusa had done to help the servants prepare the room for her was to take out a couple of live mice. They didn’t get many guests, or so Adusa said.

But she wondered if the mice weren’t just the natural result of vacancy; the bite mark on this one suggested they were also kept around as a midnight snack.

She chuckled a bit at that as she crept onto the double bed. The fresh sheets had been thoroughly washed with soap, she had been told, and seemed so very new that they did not even have the usual frayed threads at the end or faded patterns. And they were just a little bit stiff.

The mortal servants didn’t stay here; there were additional rooms downstairs beyond the storage alcove. This was purely a guest room. ….And it almost felt fake. Like the immortal Count of the castle had attempted to make something seem homely, only for it to just perceptively feel off.

Perhaps the room had seen such rare usage that it failed to ever take on the personalities of those who had used it.

It might have even just been the fact that there were three very obvious coffins resting in the main hall, visible from the guest suite balcony.

It wasn’t bad...it was just…

“Comfy yet, little sweetthing?” The Dremora playfully poked her with the end of a very sharp and very pointy rod.

Elyssa struggled yet again, but the bars of the humanoid shaped cage held fast.

Cadwell…

Lyris…

The Prophet…

The only three kind voices in that entire prison, and they were screaming in agony right behind her.

“What are you doing to them?! Stop it!” She cried out, trying, in vain, to turn her head to look at them.

“Now now. We assure you, they’re being WELL taken care of.” The Dremora poked her again right at her collarbone. “Just as you will be!”

The screaming behind her increased, as if to prove a point.

“But ooh. Oooh. It seems you have a guest, sweetling. Someone is here. Just. To see. You.”

More Dremora came, dragging a human alongside them. The woman was pushed in front of Elyssa’s cage.

“….I asked you for help…” The woman said, tears falling freely as she looked up.

A shiver went down Elyssa’s spine as soon as she realized she was staring at the face of Duchess Lakana.

“Y-your Grace…”

“I asked you for help…and what did you do?” The Duchess pointed an accusing finger. “You left me! You left me alone with that man, that murderer!”

“I didn’t…I didn’t mean to….I didn’t mean to, I swear. I didn’t know it was him…” Her eyes began to water up, a mirror of the Duchess’ own face.

“How could you? You said you would help me! Why didn’t you do everything you could? Why didn’t you stay with me?”

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry!”

“And you spared him! You spared that monster! How could you do that after he killed me?!”

“That’s enough of that!” The Dremora interrupted, prodding the Duchess to move along. “Put her Gracious Grace alongside the rest of them! You’re starting a nice collection here, my little sweetling.”

And as soon as the Duchess was dragged out of sight, Elyssa could hear her start to scream as well.

“Stop it!! Let them go!!” She rattled the cage as hard as she could.

“Ooooh. Making demands, are we? Do you truly think you’re in any position to save them? Look at you. You couldn’t save the Duchess. You couldn’t save that family of that poor werewolf Duke. You couldn’t save your darling dearest father…”

The Daedra leaned right into her face, its teeth pearly white and crooked. And the smell coming from its breath was positively putrid in an indescribable way that had no easy comparisons anywhere on Tamriel.

“…In fact, you can’t even save yourself.”

And with that, the Dremora rammed the rod straight into her shoulder, causing her to jerk back and scream.

Scream.

And Scream. And fall back onto the…

….

…sheet covers…

Elyssa was shaking. Her eyes darted back and forth as she ascertained that yes, those were indeed sheet covers. She was in a room with a bed and nice looking wooden furniture.

In a room made out of stone.

A house.

No, a castle.

That’s right. Ravenwatch Castle.

There were no Dremora in sight. No screaming. No water tainted blue with an eerie light.

No crags filled with bleakest rocks that spread out like daggers.

No distant tundras with nothing but dead plants the eyes could see.

No cages….

Elyssa took one, long, swipe of her hand against her brow, pulling away the sweat that had collected there. She must have dozed off just then, only to be faced with yet another nightmare.

She tried to push it straight out of her mind and attempt to go back to sleep, but her legs demanded to wander. That, and she was sure that if she closed her eyes again, the Daedra would return to haunt her.

Her feet took her back downstairs. The shaking ever present in each and every one of her steps. Soon enough, she found herself back at the study. The doorway leading outside, the dining table, the whispering quiet of the night; it all gave the comforting confirmation that the horrors she’d just seen really were just dreams.

Adusa was out scouting the nearby towns and municipal villages. Melina was out gathering supplies. The mortal servants were likely fast asleep in their own quarters. Gwendis was….well, Akatosh only knows where Gwendis went off to. But sure and steady, Count Ravenwatch was still working in his study. And the nightmare was fresh enough that she felt drawn to sticking around with the only conscious person she had easy access to.

The scratch of a feather quill paused only briefly as she stood at the threshold.

“Contrary to whatever you may believe, Elyssa,” The Count stated, never looking up. “The sun does not, in fact, rise every twenty minutes like you seem to do.”

Her shaking died down just enough to allow her the dignity of a glare in his direction. Now she was convinced: the real reason people were uncomfortable around him had absolutely nothing to do with his status as a vampire.

“Bite me,” She seethed back at him.

She’d meant it as an insult. A come back. But she realized her mistake when he stopped writing to give her back one, long, unamused look. Complete with an eyebrow raised.

“Did we not just have this conversation?” He said, turning to another page.

“I don’t care. I’d rather have conversations all night long if it means I don’t have to go back to sleep.”

She started pacing a bit around the study’s doorway, if only to give her mind something to focus on and her legs something to do.

But as she made a few passes, she noticed he had stopped working and was watching her. This time with a far more unreadable expression than the blatant apathy.

“What are your dreams about that has you so terrified?”

“Coldharbour,” She whispered, just barely under her breath. It must have been loud enough for him to hear her, because his eyes grew a little wider.

“You’ve…actually been there?”

The moment she stopped her pacing was the moment her shaking started up again. She looked him in the eyes, but found she couldn’t stand to do that for long and had to look towards the floor.

She could hear him whisper something unintelligible; cursing, perhaps, under his breath in Aldmeris.

“You carry a much heavier burden than I initially thought.” He said, “You’re far, far too young for all of this…”

“I can help! I know I can!” Elyssa insisted, “I’m not afraid of Coldharbour! I’m not afraid of the bloodfiends! I’m not afraid to get bitten! I can prove it! You can have my blood; take it!”

It was supposed to be a reaffirming statement, but her protestations almost made her sound even more childish.

“Elyssa…” he spoke calmly. Carefully. “Why is it so important to you that you give me your blood?”

“Because you need it, don’t you?” She said, frustrated. She began her pacing again.

“That’s not the reason.”

“Because I want to be helpful!”

“That’s also not the reason.”

This time, she stopped pacing and got angry.

“Because if I don’t give everything I can, and something happened to you, or the High King, or the people of Rivenspire, it will be all my fault again!!”

She yelled it out, and her body feeling a little lighter as she did. Even as her eyes had begun to water just a bit.

“There it is…” Verandis said softly.

And he left her a moment to go over to the cabinet by the door.

“One of the greatest strengths…” he said, and she could hear him fiddling with something. “…Of the Daedric Prince of Domination is not just in his talent to forcefully suppress a person’s free will or inflicting their greatest fears, but in his capacity for making them feel guilt.”

He returned with a glass of a deep red liquid. “Physical pain may fade with time, but guilt has a habit of remaining. What’s worse, it’s often the sufferer that fosters and grows it. Is there any torture more perfect than that which the victim inflicts upon themselves? Sit down, Elyssa.”

“What…?” She glanced from him to the glass as he sat it down at the table between the two chairs in the study.

“If you still insist that I taste your blood, then I must insist that you sit down first.”

Her eyes grew wide a moment, but she clenched her fists out of resolve and held fast as she cautiously took the seat to the right. He maneuvered the chair opposite to rest closer to her, taking a seat himself.

Her fingers were still trembling as she reached up and undid the top button at the back of her dress, but she hadn’t a clue whether they were trembling because of this or if they were simply leftovers from her fitful sleep. It may have been both.

“I don’t...need to take off my clothes completely, do I?” She frowned in disgust at the thought. She hadn’t considered that part, but the Dunmer from before had been…well…half-naked.

“No,” He said, firmly. “A shoulder is all that’s required. Are you ready?”

She glanced at the filled glass.

“Do you always take a shot after you’ve already had a drink?” She joked weakly.

“The wine is for you, Elyssa. I think you should drink at least a little of it when I’m done. Now, are you prepared?”

Her hand reached up to pull down one of the shoulders of her dress, just enough so that her collarbone showed. Her fists clenched and unclenched themselves as she rigidly held them in her lap. If she were ever bitten by a vampire, this is what it would feel like….

Finally, she nodded.

A touch at her shoulder caused her to flinch again, but they were only fingers. He was gently moving a strand of hair out of the way.

“Tell me. I saw you speaking to Melina earlier and it caught my attention. Did she find a particularly interesting rune?”

She brightened up a little at that.

“Oh! Well not exactly; we were just talking about this one-ow.”

She was simultaneously a little irritated and a little grateful. The skeever only asked her that as a distraction… and she actually fell for it.

Vampire fangs were apparently large enough that it felt a little like someone had just happily jabbed a pair of sewing needles into the tender part of her shoulder. She’d had worse injuries before, but it wasn’t very pleasant either.

…And it was just a tad bit awkward. For obvious reasons.

Did the servants really do this on a regular basis?

Just as she considered the pain, a wave of a new sensation came with it. He was right; it did have the effect of making a person dizzy. Dizzy and…a little hazy. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that she’d self-induced upon herself for the past couple of days, but she was actually starting to feel…calmer.

Numb.

After a few seconds had passed, it no longer hurt. And she was no longer sitting up straight in the chair, but rather lounging. The hard wood had suddenly felt a lot more comfy.

She could still feel him there. It was hard to ignore his mouth (although she valiantly tried anyways, if only to make it a little less awkward), but she couldn’t really feel any blood actually going out of her (probably a blessing). One of his hands helped to hold up her neck, and the other right at her upper arm to hold her steady. It was just as well; the numbness had the effect of making her feel like a puddle of water.

She could also feel him pull away. Replaced with the feeling of cloth at her shoulder. Elyssa turned to look and found him softly pressing either a handkerchief or a napkin to the wound (for her sanity’s sake, she decided it was the former rather than the latter).

“That didn’t seem like much,” Her speech was a little slurred.

“Do you still wish to fight the bloodfiends while conscious? If so, then this is all you can afford to lose. You already run the risk of injury on the battlefield.”

He motioned for her to hold the handkerchief there. “It will stop bleeding in a moment. How do you feel?”

“Rather nice…” She said with a slightly loopy smile. But then she frowned. “Am I supposed to find it nice?”

“All vampires have some level of hypnotic ability. Some use it to effect of creating slavish thralls. Mostly, I suspect it’s there to ensure that any prey doesn’t try to escape our grasp. For this reason, I think it tends to show up often in mortals who have been recently fed upon.”

Elyssa thought about Kallin and the almost eager way he introduced himself to her so soon after the Ravenwatch vampires had dined upon him.

“So…do you influence your servants to give you their blood?”

“I do not always willingly inflict this effect, Elyssa. Think of it more as a side effect than something I always have a conscious command of. Anyone I feed on could potentially feel like this.”

“But you have some control of your hypnotic ability, don’t you…?”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking of me. Here.” He gestured for the handkerchief back and for her to fix her outfit.

“If you’re implying that I somehow force or coerce my servants to give me their blood, the answer is ‘no’. I made no such demands of them, nor would I need to. There are plenty of people in Rivenspire of the unsavory variety; bandits, cutthroats, and the like for whom death would be deserving. So it would be no trouble to us if Kallin should ever wish to seek employment elsewhere. I would not stop him. Only ask that he keep the secret of our gifts to himself. Not everyone in Rivenspire knows of our nature.”

She adjusted her dress back to normal after looking at the mark. The wound had stopped bleeding; only two pinpricks of red against her skin to mark that anything had actually happened.

“I don’t oversee a prison here in my home.” He said.

With it being so fresh in her mind, it was difficult to keep her thoughts away from her dream; the bleakness of Molag Bal’s domain and how it contrasted with the Count’s own castle. In spite of the coffins (and questionable décor)….this was practically paradise compared to Coldharbour.

Then again…wasn’t anything paradise compared to that place?

“You should have a few sips of wine.” He said, interrupting her reverie.

She nodded and took the glass, letting the liquid swirl within before bringing it to her lips. It was a tad sweet, and something she must have needed because she took in a large gulp of it.

“The numbness is wearing off…” She said, contemplating the glass in her hand. “…And I have to face my dreams once more…I don’t want to go back to sleep and see Duchess Lakana again…”

“The Duchess of Alcaire…I understand that it was you who thwarted the Daedric plot behind her murder.”

“But I couldn’t save her! She was so….she was so scared. And she said she was all alone there. The soldiers wouldn’t even allow her to see most of the entourage that came for her from her father. I said I would help her and then…then…”

She tried not to get too emotional by taking another large gulp of wine “…I should have stayed right next to her instead of running around…”

“We are all bound by our limitations, my child. In your case, you cannot possibly be everywhere and save everyone all at once…”

“No. But I could have made sure I brought her murderer to justice…”

She finished the glass and set it back on the table, balling her hands into fists again.

“…I let him go. He looked so guilty…and his mind had been manipulated by Vaermina…I thought it was the right thing to do. At least, that’s what I told myself at the time.”

Elyssa looked down at her hands, clenching and unclenching them, staring at them as though she’d hoped they would somehow provide a better thought process.

“Now I’m wondering if I was really right. The Duke seemed a little bit angry at my decision…”

“He was likely grieving.”

“And the knight in question - the one who killed her? – he himself said that he felt guilty and deserved to die.”

“Those who feel guilt are not always guilty of anything. And he, as a knight, was likely considering the strained political relations going on within the Covenant. His duty to preserve the alliance may have weighed heavily on him to the point where he thought sacrificing his life should be a consideration.”

“But he seemed so…I don’t know. He was acting so normal when I met him; when he supposedly was under Vaermina’s sway. I have to wonder if he didn’t secretly want the Duchess to die after all…”

“Now you’re being a bit unfair.”

“But…He could have resisted.” She said, finally. “He must have been able to resist. He should have tried. He was acting so normal most of the time that he had to have some control of his senses. If he had put a little effort into fighting back, maybe she wouldn’t be dead. Maybe I would have been able to stop him. Or maybe I wouldn’t have even had to stop him. If only he’d considered alternatives…He could have just kidnapped her instead, but no. She just had to die! He should have been punished for that...He should have died, and I should ha—“

His hand was at her shoulder again, and that numb feeling came back with such a vengeance that she had instantly slumped back into the chair. Her anxiety laced rambling put to a halt with a slack jaw.

Her breathing steadied. Her eyelids drooped. Every muscle in her body had completely and utterly given in to a state of soothing relaxation.

“Stand up, Elyssa,” he commanded.

A floating, freeing feeling washed over her as she did as she was told. The room had gotten brighter, the hallway lighting almost dancing in front of her eyes.

“Come with me upstairs,” he commanded again.

And she felt compelled….no, she felt like it was wonderful to move forward. He followed behind and caught her by her arms to direct her around the dining room table.

They walked, slow and steady. Elyssa was sure that if she hadn’t been held by the mer behind her that she’d fall flat on her face. The numbness took all anxiety away….to be replaced completely with contentment and a calm sort of happiness…It was the most relieving feeling in the world.

“Molag Bal,” He said, “Would certainly love to have you convinced that weakness is a sin. That people with weaker wills, much like the knight you speak of, deserve to be punished and tortured.”

They began to ascend the stairs, and Elyssa swayed a bit. She had been trying her best to focus on walking, but the comforting numbness was making her a bit sleepy. Besides, her feet and legs appeared to find themselves all on their own, without any effort on her part.

In the back of her mind, there was some measure of concern that something was wrong here. But any attempt at trying to grasp what exactly was amiss slipped right out of her thoughts.

“But we all have our weaknesses, Elyssa,” Count Verandis continued. “There is not a person in all of Tamriel who is devoid of them. For me, it is the sun. For you? Right now, it is your generous acceptance of others who are different than you; the trust that you easily form with strangers in spite of how unusual they may be or, in this case, whether or not they are a vampire. Acceptance and compassion are very much virtues to be exalted, but in the hands of the wrong people they can become weaknesses to be utilized against you.”

They reached the top of the stairs and made their way into the guest parlor. Each step forwards made her feel like a leaf on the wind; dancing across the floor as though her body was lighter than air. The furniture danced alongside her, swimming in her vision. She heard every word that he said (in fact, it held the bulk of her attention, as if she couldn’t ignore him even if she tried), but finding a response was difficult as she couldn’t formulate the thoughts to say anything.

“I am grateful for your trust, Elyssa. Far too many have unfairly scorned or judged us for our condition without ever trying to become acquainted with who we are as people.”

He stopped her just as they reached the table. She frowned with disappointment; she wanted to keep moving around. It felt nice.

“However, imagine for a moment,” He whispered lower, closer to her ear. “How disastrous this would be if I had a more destructive desire. What would happen if we had met on a dark, lonely night and I had no code of conduct to dictate my thirst? I would beckon you, entrap you just like this. How easily you would come to me, following me out of sight of any living person who might help you. Can you imagine what I would do then with such a feast all to myself? This feeling, this enthrallment, would be the last sensation you ever felt; helpless to do anything as I gorged myself on your life’s blood.”

Fingers appeared at her throat, ever so gently pressed against her skin, against the pulse beating there. And almost automatically, she found she had lifted her chin even more to better allow them. She felt a tinge of fear break through the numbness; fear of the mer at her back, at the way her own body rebelled against her wishes to expose her own throat… and a growing, frightening consideration at the back of her mind that he might, just might, take the offer. In spite of whatever he may have said about their feeding habits before.

“Tell me,” He said, “Many members of my kind would insist that they have the right to feast on mortals because their prey is weaker than them. Would it be just and proper for me to rip your throat out all because you are powerless right now? Do I have the right to murder you just because I can? Because I’m stronger?”

A small bubble of panic managed to sober her up enough to try and wiggle free. But the movement was half-hearted; she still did not feel like she had complete command of her body. Even though he did not hold her very firmly, her little movements seemed insufficient to loosen his grasp. Attempting to maneuver limbs felt like trying to wade through dense tar. And as the words died in her throat before they had the chance to pass her lips, she was met with the horrific realization that she was trapped at his whim without so much as the ability to scream.

She had never been so terrified of him before that moment.

He removed his hand from her throat to grasp both arms in an attempt to hold her steady; her struggling had given her an awfully dangerous sway that threatened to cause her to hit the table. Or the floor. Whichever unfortunate hard surface she reached first.

“It’s all right, Elyssa.” He said, his voice kinder. “I give you my word; your life is safe within my home and among myself and my household. I’ll release you very soon, I promise. Relax now, or you’ll hurt yourself.”

As if that was also command, a new, fresh wave of numbness and calm settled in, and she felt too exhausted from her last struggle to resist it. It took over once again, and the world went fuzzy.

“Sit down,” he commanded, releasing his grip on her arms to pull out a chair. And she obeyed, taking the offered seat.

He went to stand before her with crossed arms. They remained like that for several minutes before she began to notice that she had feeling back in her legs. The calm was dying down. Her fingers could twitch at her will. Her arms now moved unimpeded. And with her newly re-acquired control of herself, she immediately proceeded to do the thing she wanted to do the most:

Look up and glare at him.

(Punching him was actually the first option, but she was tired and felt that it required more effort than she thought he deserved)

“How are you feeling?” He asked, unphased by her expression.

“Pretty pissed.”

“As well you should be. But recognize that it is my fault for exerting my power over you. It is not your fault that you hadn’t the strength to resist back. You can’t hold yourself responsible for my actions or the actions of any others…Just as you should not hold other people responsible for the actions of Vaermina.”

Her glare lessened as she contemplated this. “Do you…suppose that was a taste of what Sir Hughes felt? The same sort of influence he may have been under?”

“I cannot guess what sort of Daedric magic Vaermina used, but I can almost surely guarantee it was potent.”

She was silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond. So she looked down to fiddle with her fingers.

His demonstration made an impression.

“Never doubt that you made the right choice to spare that knight’s life,” He said, softly. “He was not a cultist, nor did he willingly implore Vaermina for any of this; she forced her influence upon him by taking advantage of the little bits of doubt that we all experience when it comes to change in our lives. No mortal deserves death all because they were weaker than a Daedric Prince. If we should go by this logic, then all but a potential handful should be summarily executed right here and now.”

“…Yeah.” Elyssa sighed, avoiding his gaze. “I think a part of me realizes that. That I don’t actually blame Sir Hughes, I just…”

“…You still feel a little guilty because you happened to be there. And you’re desperately trying to look for an excuse to assuage that guilt.”

“Yeah,” She winced to hear it aloud, but he had put it very succinctly.

“Her death wasn’t your fault, Elyssa. You cannot hope to control what a Daedric Prince decides to do; you can only hope to try and stop them. Even then, such foes are so formidable that it isn’t a guarantee that you will be successful.”

He leaned against the table. “I would consider it impressive that you were even able to save the poor soul manipulated by Vaermina. He may be punished in exile, but that is a far better, far more appropriate fate than what the Daedric Prince of Nightmares had in store for him, I can promise you that. I don’t think I need to remind you that Daedra often treat mortals as toys, and are known to mercilessly toss aside those that have passed their usefulness.”

“I guess…” She sighed again, gaze transfixed to the floor in front of him. But then she remembered what had just happened, and she snapped her head back up to glare at him. “I’m still angry at you, though.”

“And I apologize that I frightened you. I do regret that. Make no mistake, it is wrong to affect people’s minds in such a way, and I apologize for that as well. But I thought it would give you some perspective as to what it feels like to be influenced in such a manner. At the very least, I would hope that it proved to you how difficult it is to escape.”

“How do you escape?” She had a terrible thought pass through her head about having to face a much more sinister vampire who would use this technique.

“Different strains of vampirism, different capabilities. But in this particular case, there were several factors working against you.”

He gestured to her.

“First, you had allowed me to feed off of you, which, I believe, actually helps with this. Second, you trusted me. At least, enough to stay the night without any discernible fear for your own safety. I was able to take advantage of that to exert a much more potent sway. If you recall, you had regained some ability to fight back the moment I lost that trust and started to frighten you. Unfortunately, you had, by that point, been under my control for a bit too long that it was difficult to break through.”

“So…Feeding, length of time, and trust. Did I get that correct?”

“For my particular type of vampirism, yes. You’ll likely meet many others whose abilities operate under a different set of rules. It does, however, take no small amount of effort to inflict such hypnotic influence, so it is doubtful that you’ll meet very many opponents who would consider using it against you in the heat of battle.”

She nodded. “That’s comforting a bit…I think.”

Silence settled over them.

This time, it was Verandis who sighed.

“I cannot speak for the Duchess,” he said, “But I am quite familiar with both the High King and his brother, the Duke of Alcaire. And I can assure you that neither of them would want you to be this distraught over Duchess Lakana’s death. Especially not to the point where it is affecting your sleep.”

“Yeah, about that. I still really don’t want to close my eyes. So do you have anything you need that I can help with?”

“Blood loss and exhaustion doesn’t strike me as a particularly brilliant plan for fighting off blood fiends.”

“I can’t.” Elyssa stared him straight in the eye, trying to keep the twitching of her mouth from grimacing too much, “I really, really can’t do this. I can’t go back to sleep right now; it’s just going to be the same nightmare again. Like it was yesterday. And the night before that.”

He stared back at her without comment at first, but eventually uncrossed his arms to head towards his alchemical table in the corner.

“How about,” He said, “I brew you a sleeping draught.”

“But—“

“You needn’t drink it if you don’t want to. But I’ll leave it here with you, just in case.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Is this going to be like the last potion you made for me, where I wandered about in your memories?”

“No memories. Just a typical sleeping potion.”

Her nose rankled at the undesirable scents and burning smells that were already coming from the station as he worked.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I didn’t really mind stepping into your past. It was kind of fun being someone else, actually. Just not sure I’d want to do it on a regular basis, because it was also kind of disorienting.”

“Considering everything you’ve told me, I believe we shouldn’t have a repeat of that. I’m already beginning to regret what little I’ve shown you; I think you have enough worries without me adding more of my own to your pile.”

She could hear sounds of him pouring liquid into a container, and soon enough he approached her with a bottle of something blood red.

He held it out for her and she reached for it, but his grip held fast.

“Please look at me, Elyssa.”

Her blue eyes looked up to find contemplative red.

“Never let Molag Bal win by accepting his ideology,” He said, resolve in his expression. “Believe me when I say, he would cherish such a submission from you. Weakness is not a sin…and the powerful should always strive to protect, not abuse. Remember that.”

She nodded slowly in response to the seriousness in his words, and he released the bottle to her grasp.

“….Vampires fall under the realm of Molag Bal, don’t they?” She asked, holding tight to the vial, “To the point where I even heard that Coldharbour is where their souls go when they die. Is that one of the many reasons why you have an honor code? Not just to be a good person, but to fight back against him, even if a little bit?”

The flickers of a very sad smile tugged at the edges of his lips.

“…Have a good night, Elyssa. May your dreams bring you a much-needed and well-deserved rest.”

And with that, he left her to go back downstairs.

She stared at him as he went. And stared at the potion he left her when he was gone.

After crawling back to the bed, she pulled out the stopper to take a little sniff of the concoction. It smelled awful, like most potions do. And she winced as she pulled back to take a tiny taste of it.

Fortunately, the taste wasn’t half as bad as some of the magicka brews she’d had before; this one only had a faint note of rotting eggs and cabbage, instead of an overt one. That was an improvement.

After much staring and much consideration, she held her nose and downed the rest of it in one swallow, smacking her lips with a sour expression as she finished.

But the taste lingered, and soon enough she crept out of bed to go back to the parlor. Rustling through the pantry next to the alchemical vials was a bottle of unopened wine. She silently gave a prayer of thanks to the Divines that bottles of wine were so readily available in a house full of vampires just as she popped out the cork and took a long swing of it to try to drown out the disgusting rotten eggs.

With the taste gone and her thirst satiated, she made her way back to the bedroom. A wave of dizziness and exhaustion had quickly crept up on her, and she mumbled her discontent under her breath; apparently it was a very, very potent sleeping potion.

Just before she came upon the bed, all the furniture in the room performed perfect backflips.

Her whole world spun around…

…And faded to black.

#from dusk to dawn

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optimizche · 6 years ago

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Eureurong {Part 1} (Park Chanyeol/Reader)

Author's note: Werewolf! Chanyeol. Also, the title takes me back to the good ol' days.

It was a bitterly cold morning that you woke up to. The sun was rising, bringing back colours to the world. Well, not colours. Singular. Colour.

Everything outside, wherever you looked, was covered with a thick, ivory blanket of snow. And it was still snowing, almost as if the gods had taken it upon themselves to drown the world with snow.

The state of the weather gave you a small respite: there was no way you were going to be able to get to work today. The diner you worked at was going to stay closed.

Sighing, you extracted yourself from the warm comfort of your bed. Grabbing your dress-robe, you put it on, slipping your feet into the cosiest, fluffly slippers you owned.

Grabbing your phone off the nightstand, you scrolled through the notifications, as you padded into the kitchen of your small cottage. Putting your kettle on the stove, you began to brew a cup of tea.

Much to your dismay, you hadn't recieved any message from him. Chanyeol.

Your boyfriend. If you could only call him that. He was so much more than just your boyfriend. He was your protector. Your lover. Your mate. And also, a werewolf.

Three nights ago, Chanyeol had asked for your leave.

"I won't be able to see you for a few days, my love," he had said, while the two of you had been curled up in your bed, recovering from a fervent session of lovemaking.

"But why?" you had asked, running your hand along his bare chest.

"I have to stay away from you. My heat is upon me," he had responded.

Despite being a human, you were aware of the concept of heat. It was yet another characteristic that came along with his lupine attributes. But being his mate, you weren't able to understand why he wanted you to stay away from him during his heat. And you had voiced as much to him.

"But won't it be better...if I was by your side? During your heat?" you had asked, a flush rising in your cheeks.

He laughed and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "I'm worried that I will end up hurting you. Our kind, we're especially aggressive during our time. My pack-mates, some of whom have she-wolves as mates, they end up hurting their partners in their heats. And you, my love, you're a human. Much more fragile and delicate than a she-wolf. I cannot hurt you. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did."

And so, with much reluctance, you had relented.

And three days in, you were missing him. Terribly.

You hadn't heard from him despite repeated assurances from him that he would be able to handle his heat. But his assurances did nothing to allay your stress, because you knew that this was his first heat after he had mated with you.

His choice of choosing a human, you, as his mate had caused a great deal of discord between him and his pack-mates. His brothers. Being the Alpha of the pack, everyone had expected him to choose a she-wolf, one who matched him better, in ever aspect of life. One who could give him little wolf pups. Something that you were reasonably sure you could never give him, being of different species.

Your equation with his brothers was also a cause of heartache for you. Most of them looked down upon you, disdain and antipathy in their eyes whenever you were around. To most of them, your relationship with Chanyeol was unnatural. An abomination.

The only reason why they tolerated you was because of the fear and respect they had for their Alpha.

To most of his pack members, your relationship with their Alpha was an anomaly. An abnormality. They detested the very thought of a human mating with their supreme. But here you were. Living, breathing proof that such a relationship could exist. And in their eyes, every breath that you took challenged their most basic beliefs.

Although not one of them had tried to harm you in any way, knowing full well that raising even a finger in your direction was asking for death. You were Chanyeol's mate. No one could touch you. But you could feel the hatred they harboured for you deep within their hearts. The venom they held against you was almost palpable. The spiteful glances. The hushed but bitter murmurs whenever you were around.

It hurt you, despite Chanyeol's best attempts to assure you.

Lost in your thoughts, you had just about taken a sip of tea when you heard a knock on your door.

It made you jump. Who could be calling upon you in this weather?

Your question was answered when you opened the door and found Sehun and Yixing, two of Chanyeol's pack-mates, standing outside.

They both wore worried expressions on their faces.

"He needs you," Yixing said.

"Now," added Sehun.

You knew who he was. And you immediately nodded, making your way to your room to get dressed.

If it were any other members of Chanyeol's pack, you wouldn't have trusted them. But Sehun and Yixing were the only ones who had shown you the slightest bit of kindness.

And if they said that your mate needed you, you believed them.

_____________________

The two took you deep within the woods near your cottage. To where Chanyeol's den was.

It was a stone cottage. Almost like your own. But much more spacious.

Once you reached there, you quietly murmured your thanks to Yixing and Sehun, your heart pounding with anticipation as your ran toward the heavy wooden door and pushed it with all your might.

With a loud creak, it opened.

And the sight that greeted you was equal parts arousing and worrying.

Chanyeol was lying on the floor, completely naked upon the ice cold stone. Enclosing his wrists and ankles were heavy, bulky manacles, the chains of which rattled as he thrashed against them, battling against his instinctual needs.

It was his appearance that caused a direct rush of heat to pool between your legs. Completely bare, his skin was flushed, sticky with sweat. His hair was askew and his bottom lip was red because of the number of times he had bitten it. And between his legs, his cock stood erect and stiff. Almost rock-like and just as unyielding. Flushed a deep red, tip weeping precum that trailed down the shaft in pearly, sticky dribbles.

"Chanyeol," you gasped.

And his eyes flew open.

"_____________?" he asked, his tone one of disbelief. He was looking at you as if you were a mirage. A vivid hallucination as a result of his heat.

His eyes held such a tormented look that it broke your heart. Your mate was in such obvious discomfort, that you wanted only to relieve him. At any cost.

Your hands sprang into action, stripping yourself out of your clothing, until you were as naked as him. Goosebumps erupted all over your body, your nipples hardening, every inch of your exposed skin being kissed by the cold. With a quick motion, you undid your hair, letting it fall freely.

His eyes widened when you approached him, realization dawning on him that you were actually here.

You knelt on the floor and leaned in to kiss him. Hands weaving into his hair, you kissed him messily. Open-mouthed.

And he kissed you back ravenously, growling in satisfaction upon your taste on his lips.

"Little one," he said to you when he pulled away. "Why are you here?"

You smiled at his use of the nickname he had given you. You were hearing it after three whole days, after all.

"I'm here to relieve you," you said, using the keys Yixing had given you to unshackle him.

The second you freed one of his wrists, his hand came up to cradle your face.

"You don't understand, I'll break you," he said, worry and concern evident in his voice. But the desire darkening his irises was all the confirmation you required.

"I'm stronger than you think," you said fiercely, unlocking the shackle on his other hand.

Chanyeol's eyes said it all. He was warring with himself. One one hand, he didn't want to hurt you. In any way. And on the other hand, the wolf inside him, maddened with lust, wanted to fuck you upon every single surface of his den. He wanted to take you over and over until his den smelled of nothing but a heady combination of your come mixed with his.

He was having difficulty in restraining himself, especially now, when you were naked before him. Everything about you called out to the wolf within him. The lure of the creamy suppleness of your skin against his. The way you were biting your lip, working on the locks around his ankles. Your innocent doe eyes, that made you look like the most delectable prey. The scent of your arousal, the ultimate siren call, permeating his senses, begging him to just fuck you.

The moment the final manacle clattered to the floor, Chanyeol attacked you with a feral growl.

A hiss escaped you when your back came in contact with the stone floor that felt more like a slab of ice. But relief came immediately when he lay upon you, pressing his body flush into yours, chest to chest, while he nuzzled your neck.

You let out a gasp at how high his body temperature was. He was burning up like a furnace. Feverish.

"Are you sure?" he asked in a strained voice, rolling his hips into yours, running his enormous length along your folds.

And it was then that you realized how much he loved you. In spite of being driven to the very brink of insanity because of his heat, he was still asking you if you wanted to do this.

You cupped his face in your hands and lifted his head up from your neck. "I'm your mate, Chanyeol. Your wife. Your she-wolf. So fuck me like it."

And how passionately he kissed you upon hearing your words.

There was no time for foreplay and nor was there any requirement for it. You both were prepared. And his relief took priority.

When he sank into you, you cried out, throwing your head back against the floor. His cock had swollen to almost twice its size during his heat. And even though your pussy was sopping wet for him, the penetration made you feel like you were being split in half. In the best way possible.

Once he had bottomed out, he muttered a curse against your breast, his hand groping harshly at the other. His other hand had a bruising grip upon your thigh, holding you open to him.

His eyes were pitch black while he fucked into you, with thrusts so deep that you were seeing stars. Your vision blurred, white hot lights bleeding into your sight and loud cries leaving your lips.

You knew full well that his pack-mates outside could hear you, but overwhelmed by ecstasy, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, Chanyeol raised his face from your neck, where he had been sucking a bruise into your skin.

His words were punctuated with the repeated smacks of skin on skin, his balls slapping into your wet flesh.

"Let them all know you're mine. My mate. My queen," he husked, his already deep voice laced with lust. "Next full moon, I'll fuck you in front of all of them. That'll show them. They'll know that you belong to me."

You let out a high-pitched keen at his words, imagining him take you before the eyes of his pack. Outside in the forest, your naked bodies glowing in the moonlight, moving together as a single entity. While they all watched...

He grinned, his teeth biting into his bottom lip. "You like that idea don't you? Your sweet cunt seems to like it even more, the way it is sucking me even deeper into you..."

"Fuck, Chanyeol..." you moaned.

You were hanging on the very edge, your release so close that you could almost taste it.

And when you came, three thrusts later, your orgasm was so intense that it knocked the air out of your lungs.

Chanyeol groaned at the sensation of your velvety walls tightening around him. But exerting an extraordinary amount of self restraint, he held back his own release.

For a while, he just kept plunging sedately into you. And you knew he was enjoying the way your drenched and tight cunt felt around him.

Even as you recovered, basking in the sweet afterglow of your orgasm, enjoying the slow drag of his cock within you, you could hear the low growls outside.

His pack-mates.

And you could tell that there were more than just Sehun and Yixing outside.

Chanyeol sensed the presence of them all too. And the corner of his mouth turned upward in a smirk.

In a blink of eye, Chanyeol had carried you over to his bed.

His bed.

A structure that was built with wrought iron, large enough to accommodate his gigantic frame and then some. Every inch of the space was covered in fur. Pelts of other wolves. The ones that he had defeated and slain in battle over the years.

And you knew that he had never lost.

Placing his large hands on your hips, he flipped you around, onto your stomach. He lifted you, so that your ass was in the air and you were holding yourself up on trembling arms.

This was his favourite way of fucking you.

The way of the wolves.

Hands palming your rump, he spread your cheeks apart.

"You're so pink, my flower. Swollen. Succulent," he said in a lust glazed voice. And you whimpered, biting down on your lip.

His breath was fanning over your wet flesh, before he sank his teeth into one of your cheeks.

You moaned, the knowledge that he had left another mark on you making you wetter still.

And then, before you could open your mouth and just tell him to fuck you already, he sank into you.

A loud cry left your lips and suddenly all the quiet growls outside fell silent.

Hands firm upon your hips, he pulled you back into him, impaling you upon his length, making you meet his every thrust.

Your own hands grabbed fistfuls of fur beneath you, your back bowing under the severity of the pleasure.

Mouth agape, you cried out his name, your voice a mixture of anguish and ecstasy.

The way your walls clenched and gripped him, reduced him into a mess. Nails digging into your skin, he pulled you flush against him, your back against his chest, bodies slick and sliding with sweat.

"My bitch," he grunted into your ear. "The way your sweet cunt sucks me in. Fuck. I can't wait to see you grow big with my pups in you. You'll look so beautiful with a swollen belly," he rasped, one of his hands running over your lower abdomen.

"My wolf. My mate. My Chanyeol..." you sobbed, eyes scrunched shut as you focussed on the heat flaring up in the pit of your belly. Turning your head, you met his lips.

Open mouthed, you devoured each other hungrily, one of your hands clutching at his dark hair.

"I'm gonna... I..."

"I know, love," he breathed, his hand sneaking in between your legs, fingers rubbing into your clit. "Come for me. Take my seed."

That was all it took for you. And with a lusty moan, you shattered.

He followed just a moment later, his milky and viscous seed spilling within you in hot squirts. His deafening roar as he reached his climax could be heard all through the woods, you were sure.

Slumping into the furs, limbs boneless and jelly-like, you lay there. Sated.

Chanyeol turned you over onto your side and lay beside you. Hand on your thigh, he slung your leg over his hip and he pushed his now softened cock back into you.

"I'm not letting a drop of my seed leave you, my love," he said, pulling you into his arms and pressing a kiss to your lips. "And after a while, I'll fuck more of it into your womb."

"Little pups," you whispered dreamily, your eyes closing as you fell asleep with a small smile on your face.

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bipercabeth · 5 years ago

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i love love loved your breakdown of Lover & i agree with so many aspects of it!! my favs are lover, paper rings, and cruel summer. the album makes me go absolutely feral at some of the lyrics and it’s so lovey dovey my heart can’t handle!! i was wondering what other artists or albums you really like???

oh man you have no idea what you signed up for with this question. i am taking this ask as an excuse to go fully music nerd up in here and i am doing so with no regrets. i’m gonna start with artists because there are a lot that i love that i can’t just pick one album or even a favorite.

frank turner - i literally have a tattoo of his be more kind album art on my arm. he’s got an insanely diverse discography while still staying true to his punk rock roots and i think his evolution as an artist is so admirable. i’ve gone to a songwriting workshop he ran and it was the most eye opening experience. in may i went to his music festival in boston (lost evenings, look it up! he headlines every night, puts together a setlist of his favorite musicians, etc. it’s amazing) and it literally changed my life. every song of his has a point, and every single word drives that point home. his albums aren’t necessarily concept albums, but they’re all thematic and the songs drive home the point of the album as well. when i look at my playlist of favorite songs, his name pops up the most.

bleachers - we knew this was coming. if u have looked at a single one of my posts about music, they always come back to bleachers, specifically dream of mickey mantle. jack antonoff is an incredible songwriter, performer, and producer. i can listen to a track and tell you if he worked on it. i am so ride or die for this man. bleachers has a unique style that i really can’t put my finger on with the exception of their heavy use of synths. seeing their set at riotfest was one of the highlights of whole ass life. their lyrics are sneakily profound, they don’t always hit you upon first listen. jack antonoff has absolutely mastered the art of simple songwriting and how to make the simplest lyrics absolute gut punches.

okay i’m putting the rest under the cut bc i have a lot to say

julien baker - when people ask me to describe my music taste, i usually opt for saying “sad ladies with guitars” and that’s largely due to julien baker’s impact. she is unafraid in her exploration of her own suffering mental health, and it’s absolutely devastating, but it’s also so comforting. it’s the type of sad that tells you you’re not alone in your struggles, and i think that’s where her power is. it’s expression of her struggles without romanticizing them, and i think that’s incredibly important.

will varley - i got into him when he opened for the first frank turner show i went to and absolutely fell in love. best songwriter i have ever heard hands down. i need to give a few examples of my favorites because i do not have the words to describe his talent and do it justice. “Birth, death, weddings and wars / That's all we are good for / If all of the past was played as a song / Our lives are a beat of the drum” “Well playgrounds look like prisons the day after you leave school / And exes look like angels the day before they fall” “He got so many chains wrapped round his eyes that he cannot see / And he'd rather be blind than to realize he's never been free”. I could go on and on just quoting my favorite lines of his, but he’s so incredibly talented. it’s just him and his guitar onstage, but his albums have more production and instruments. very folk/bluegrass in sound. i would die for him.

albums:

punch // autoheart - this is such an emotionally diverse album, i always know i can find something to match my mood both tonally and lyrically. there are slow, melancholy songs like january and santa fe, bops like anniversary and moscow, hauntingly beautiful and profound songs like agoraphobia, and absolute gut punches like sailor song. i listen to autoheart’s other work, but this album is such a distinct work of art that i find myself gravitating towards it regardless. it’s one of the few albums among my favorites that isn’t a concept and doesn’t have a narrative, but i think that speaks to its strengths.

sister cities // the wonder years - this is the one punk album that everyone i’ve introduced to it has liked regardless of their musical preferences. the lead singer’s vocals are absolutely INSANE (and just as good live) and his capacity for emotion is unparalleled. this album deals with a lot of guilt and baggage over the death of a loved one, and it encompasses every aspect of that on at least one song. it tells a clear story and every line works toward driving home the narrative, but never at the expense of honesty. this is a painfully honest album due to how specific it is, and how that specificity gives it universality. the wonder years also have mastered the artistic use of the word fuck, which i admire. there’s nothing wrong with just throwing fuck in a song for the fuck of it, but they write in a way that the word fuck is necessary to convey the emotion they’re trying to get across. “i drew a line in the sand with these worthless fucking hands,” “It's been over a year now / April turns into May / I barely stopped moving / I've been so fucking afraid,” etc. also i could write a whole essay on the ocean grew hands to hold me, but maybe another day. my favorite song on the album. perfect closer. they close their concerts with it and it’s PERFECT. also dan campbell (lead singer) said this is the song they’ve been trying to write since they started writing music and i cannot express how soft that makes me.

routine maintenance // aaron west & the roaring twenties - the good thing is i don’t have to stop talking about dan campbell! aw&trt is his solo project, two concept albums about a man (aaron) who essentially has the worst two years of his life. the first one (we don’t have each other) covers him losing his dad, his wife miscarrying, and then leaving him. heavy shit. but THIS album is about him getting back on his feet, finding music, and eventually making his way back to his family. i have a soft spot for music about healing, and this hits that spot right on the mark.

after the party // the menzingers - more punk! the menzingers are an incredible band, but i love after the party the most because of the narrative (can u tell i like albums that tell a story?). it’s about aging, nostalgia, and self-improvement, and all are really well done, especially in the song lookers. also mastered the artistic use of fuck (”i will fuck this up, i fucking know it”)

sing to me instead // ben platt - i already made a whole post about this

lover // taylor swift - listen i know i just did a breakdown of this too but it’s my favorite ts album okay

stranger in the alps // phoebe bridgers - similar to julien baker in how achingly sad some of the songs are, but phoebe’s music is just a little inexplicably softer. she explores topics other than mental health too, like toxic relationships, normal breakups, and a few abstract songs from another perspective. the album itself is less of a narrative, but there are common themes throughout it!

#music #anon #iris messages #U ARE MY FAVORITE ANON I HOPE U KNOW THIS #THANK U FOR ENABLING ME THIS WAS SO FUN

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bloody-delicious · 6 years ago

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Can I get a matchup please?? I'm a 5'6" trans man with brown hair and blue eyes. I'm shy at first but eventually get super attached to people. I love horror movies and any type of physical affection. I love animals, especially cats. I often use humor to cope with my emotions and have a hard time letting people help me when I'm vulnerable.

I match you with: baby!

• baby can seem intimidating at first glance, and this impression is only further backed by her unpredictable personality and manic behavior, which often presents itself in the form of senseless violence. her character may have developed this way through how she was raised, and by her own family's reckless tendencies. surrounded by gore, drugs, and sex for the majority of her life, baby has grown to be a daredevil and adrenaline junkie. needless to say, you will never find yourself bored with her close by. although she mainly craves chaos and destruction in all possible forms, she finds pleasure in exploiting the innocent and helpless, whether this is through violence, sex, drinking, drugs, partying, etc. being the shy, quiet individual, you will find yourself in a world not many dare to enter in their lives, should you cross paths with baby. her approach to acquainting herself if someone happens to catch her eye is not unlike a feral animal attacking a small woodland creature-she walks with the gait of a predator whose mind and morals have long since expired, a wolfish grin spread across her lips that seems to want to just eat you up, sweetheart, her mannerisms rigid and wild, hands surprisingly strong in their grip and eyes unknowably hypnotic with the corruption and madness contained within them. her tongue is sharp as the knife shell use to pretty you up, and as alluring as the hunters snare. you cannot play with fire and not get burned.

• in the blistering heat of the south, under the bleeding sun walks a woman with the heart of the devil and the flesh of an angel, red gooey hands swinging, dripping at her sides, her soul hungry for more, always more. her lips reveal an insanity on a sugar high, words and phrases mashed together in quick speed and a wicked tone brought up from the depths of her dark soul. baby lives a life of hedonism and hellish delights, and while she enjoys having her fun, she doesnt mind having others tag along, especially if she takes a liking to them. however, it is more likely that one would become a victim rather than a friend if they became the unfortunate target of her attention. still, your demeanor fascinates her, your face when she first knew she had to add you to her collection, your beautiful tears when she woke you in her room as she strapped you to a chair. your suffering is unimaginable beauty to her, though she would not go as far as to inflict any permanent damage. it is hard for her to restrain herself when your choked sobs and cries of pain are the melodies sung by the very angels above, but she manages. she would also be sure to keep the rest of the firefly family at bay, claiming you as her personal victim, as she retrieved you herself. in the time that follows, it is reasonable to imagine she would include you in the "shows" she often performs, always with teasing touches and the occasional rough grasp, feeling your soft skin under her hands. due to her frequent mood swings, you may find her petting your hair in her room as she sits beside you facing the window, watching the sun dip below the horizon, turning the evening sky into a lovely earthy blue and deep lavender as the world falls asleep, the summer air of the night filling your lungs, baby whispering sweet nothings, calling you her pet, her pretty, pretty pet. on the other side, you may find her lashing out in frustration, you, bound to her chair and unable to flee from her fury, those violent hands of hers punching holes in the walls and scratching at them in pure anger until her fingertips bleed raw, incoherent screeches of rage filling the room as she attacks all that is around her, smashing glass and throwing furniture, every so often pausing to make her way to you, forcing her face just inches from yours, white knuckles gripping the arms of the chair, her hot breath on your flesh, wild eyes barely able to stay still in contact with yours, those oh so violent hands picking up glass from the floor and dragging across your cheek and watching intently with what can only be described as pleasure as the red paints your skin.

• it is clear that baby herself enjoys a good laugh, though her sense of humor can be regarded as disturbing and odd. though she always seems to be in an excessively happy state due to her mental issues, she still appreciates someone who can make her laugh. if you tell her a joke, she'll laugh, even if she'd heard it a thousand times, even if what you said wasnt even meant to be a joke at all. if you do manage to open up to her and continue to entertain her humor, she'll grow quite attached. while she does have her bad days, she'll mainly prefer to spend time laughing with you instead of going out and finding other victims to slaughter. of course, she'll never cease her killing rampage, but her body count will begin to lessen as she finds that she would rather be with you. death, gore, and pain are still her passions, but she'll try to shield you from some of her and her family's behavior if she notices that it bothers you-without being too obvious, she also dislikes being emotional and serious. she would far rather stay on her happy high and believe that nothing matters at all. it is unlikely she will ever truly open up completely to anyone, but she will attempt to do little things here and there that she thinks will make you happy. if confronted, she'll dismiss it with a laugh and increase her agression and wild behavior for a period so as to not arouse suspicion from your or her family.

• baby is all too familiar with the world of sex. she often uses her body to lure in potential victims, and sometimes even continues to have "fun" with them before the kidnapping/killing. she loves anything that makes her feel good, anything that gives her pleasure and gives it to her fast-thus, her habits of drinking, doing drugs, killing, and having a lot of sex. she doesnt care for anyone elses well being until she begins to grow feelings for you. she would most likely attempt to seduce you as soon as she kidnaps you, but will not continue if you dont appear to want it as much as she does. baby prefers a situation wherein she and her victim are both enjoying themselves and therefore focused on the task at hand rather than focusing only on how to get away and make her stop. if you and her actually manage to form a trusting, undoubtedly faithful relationship, one in which you would not run away as soon as she turned her back, baby would eventually free you of your chair and integrate you into the family. you can expect her to attempt to seduce you again, but if you deny her, she will question your feelings for her-baby is not familiar with cuddling or anything of that sort. to her, love is expressed through sex, and you being uninterested signals to her that you do not love her. she will need to be taught that affection comes in many forms, and does not exist solely in pleasure. it will be a hard concept for her to grasp, however, after a while, you may wake to her shifting closer to you in the bed, her hands gentle, warmer, as she wraps them around you in an embrace.

#slasher x reader #baby firefly #house of 1000 corpses #the devils rejects

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finsterhund · 6 years ago

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Service dogs “are not here to serve us” rebuttal

Hardcore vegans are known for hypocritical stances such as forcing domesticated obligate carnivores to eat vegan food, thinking sheep don’t need to be sheared, and turning a blind eye to the fact that many animal-free products from developing countries only come over to North America because of unfair treatment of workers. Recently the spying algorithm of my google phone sent an article my way that highlighted some animal rights organization’s preposterous instagram post against service dogs.

The post reads as follows:

The default position of veganism is to reject the use of non-human animals. This includes ALL uses, including service animals.

The key word here is “use.” They are not, and never were, here for us to use. Non-human animals owe us absolutely nothing.

Yet some believe humans do have the right to have certain animals and individuals serve us; therefore, they domesticate them for this purpose. But domestication does not involve consent by all those involved, and there is unequal power in the relationship. Just because individuals CAN be trained to serve us does not mean that they SHOULD.

When we adopt non-humans as our companions, we can save them from further exploitation. To continue to use them as tools for human purposes after adoption goes wholly against vegan principles. Therefore, we remain opposed to the use of animals (such as dogs) for human service, even if the animals were NOT bought from a breeder.

Service dogs and the like are still a WANT and not a need. And regardless of treatment, the use of any animal for service promotes the idea that animals are here to work for humans rather than to exist in their own right as individuals.

If we haven’t already made the point clear, under no circumstances should ANY non-human be used at the hands of humans.

Let it be known. I used to be a hardcore ARA back in the day, and I still have strong opinions for animal welfare. I am notably however, not inherently opposed to humans consuming meat, as we are opportunist omnivores so while we should be working towards humane and sustainable food sources, I think we should still be allowed to evolve out of eating meat at our own pace as a species if we are going to abandon it altogether. Forcing an animal to conform to a dietary restriction they don’t in nature is inhumane, and humans are animals. I also do not believe in full on animal rights. The difference “rights” have as oppose to “welfare” are basically concerning things like body rights, personhood, etc. I do believe in implementing animal rights under certain situations and contexts however, and this does involve dogs. I might touch up on this at a later date.

The relationship the human species has with the domestic dog is unheard of on the same level in any other lifeform on Earth. Tarantulas are known to keep tiny frogs as pets, and we have certainly domesticated many other animals, but a symbiotic relationship as in-tune as humans have with dogs is currently unparalleled. There are many factors that go into this. I for one think that cats are fully capable of developing similar bonds if we didn't normalize letting them run outside unsupervised for days at a time and intermingle with feral colonies, but that’s neither here nor there. Dogs had a head start, and a key factor was that unlike cats, their ancestors shared a similar ecological niche to humans, had nearly identical social structures, and lived in extremely tight-knit familial groups like we did. These similarities would put the perfect ground work in place. There are fossil records that indicated that early man cared a lot for their sick or injured family members, with individuals who wouldn't have been able to have offered anything of working value to their family for the entirety of their lives, based on the state of their injuries were cared for far past when they would have otherwise survived if left to struggle. This behavior is also seen in domestic dogs and their wild relatives. Note: the whole “alpha male” thing were unfounded studies that turns out were done on extremely stressed individuals forced to cohabitate with strangers in captivity and aren't valid.

Dogs have evolved to eat the same food that we do, we significantly changed and altered their physical bodies so they’d be suited to a whole variety of different roles in our society, dogs have evolved to have more specialized eyebrows so that they can better physically communicate with us, and some new studies in their early stages even suggest that we may even have some sort of a proto-psychic bond with dogs. Or in the very least they have evolved to be extremely aware of our feelings based on tiny facial expressions or specific scents. Still no small feat. Particularly sharp breeds mimic human speech based on vocalizations they associate with excitement or praise. Dogs can understand specific words and tones of voice in our language, follow our line of gaze and direction indicated by hand gesture, and generally have cognitive abilities akin to a five-year-old. Dogs are known to empathize with us when we express negative emotions and are well documented for pining for deceased human family members and waiting for them for the remainder of their own lives. Dogs do not understand the concept of death, but they understand the concept of losing us. While there are many animals conventionally smarter than dogs, this bond cannot be replicated to the same extent with them. To a dog, their human is family. To be protected at all cost. Dogs LOVE us. And it’s a pure unconditional love. Flawed only in how innocent a dog is. Unable to understand concepts like good and evil. This is extremely serious. I cannot stress how one-in-a-million, incredible, sacred, and rare what happened between us and dogs is. It’s the most beautiful thing to me that exists on planet Earth. It’s one of the only things that makes me think the universe is more than just cold and unfeeling. If there is anything that could be possibly used as proof of a higher power in this universe it’d be this. Of all the things left up to chance in this universe, humans and dogs found each other. Anyways, sorry to go off. It’s just something I’m extremely passionate about.

The point I’m making of course, is that dogs are just short of actually being members of our own species, and having a service dog is basically the same thing as asking your kindergartner to get the newspaper or pick up the TV remote you accidentally dropped.

In fact, for many service dogs the tasks they’re trained to perform aren't just basically things like those examples, they’re literally things like those examples.

So lets get some misconceptions out of the way:

“Dogs don’t like working”

Dogs love making us happy. They love helping us. They feel accomplished when they have a participating role in our lives. Especially true for working breeds, it’s actually recommended that dogs get some form of training or work exercise as part of a daily or weekly routine for their own mental enrichment. As well as exercise. All breeds generally associated with service dog and guide dog work have extensive histories of performing tasks for humans. And they love doing it! Retriever breeds are literally named after the fact that they came along to retrieve downed prey animals for their humans. This is basically “fetch” with a purpose. And fetch is the most well-known way we play with our dogs in existence. Retrievers are a popular choice for service dogs because their selectively bred “gentle mouth” and retrieving instincts make them the perfect candidate for a pupper who picks up things you dropped, and can bring you a pill bottle, phone, or emergency pager in a pinch. Dogs who also have the body strength for it get exercise and mental enrichment from performing tasks like balance assist. Just like how sled dogs LOVE sledding. Once again, you've likely heard cases of maltreated sled dogs, but the possibility for being exploited doesn't change the fact that if it’s responsibly managed, these dogs enjoy this line of work. In fact, if you have a sled dog and they don’t get to exert themselves physically, often times by needing far more walks and play, they’re going to be bored and miserable. The dog likes and wants to do these things for us. We just have a responsibility to make sure it’s not hurting them. A person can enjoy their job, and it’s only if something happens like they’re not making a living wage that it becomes exploitative. Dogs are the same. So long as they enjoy what they’re doing and it’s not causing them any issues, they’re probably going to have even more enriched lives for doing it!

“Training is abusive”

Proper training is positive reinforcement. There’s some idiots who think that physically punishing a dog is a good form of training, and I’d like to recommend them this to read. Service tasks pretty much MUST be trained with positive reinforcement. In order to encourage them to perform these tasks. Not only that, but training is a form of mental enrichment. Every dog, regardless of whether they’re a family pet or a working animal should have some form of obedience training. It’s good for them! They feel accomplished. It’s a fun bonding activity to do for a few minutes a day. It is possible for a dog to “burn out” (trained too hard too fast resulting in frustration and giving up) or “wash out” (when interactions are inconsistent, leading the dog to be confused and not behave as indicated) so there are incentives in place to ensure that training is well-paced, moderate, and isn't frustrating to the dog. Proper, positive, and well-paced training is a perfect way to add a healthy routine to a dog’s life and strengthen their bond with you. It’s enriching. In the same way that a crossword puzzle on your commute to work is to you. Dogs like making us happy, they like challenge, and they like accomplishments.

“Dogs aren't consenting to the tasks they are performing”

Remember when I said how routine and doing things to make us happy strengthen our dog’s bond and enrich their lives? Remember how I said that many tasks dogs are trained to do are basically playing but with a purpose? Remember how I said that training for service work is entirely positive reinforcement and dogs are incentively encouraged to do their tasks? This is where animal rights vs animal welfare comes in. The notion that animals should have the exact same rights of personhood that humans have is what the angle these people are going with is reflecting. They see dogs being “tricked” to do things. As them being exploited. Even though these things are fun and enriching for dogs. If a task is something the dog can naturally do, and willingly wants to do, or wants to do to show us they care, they are consenting to it. If I really like my friend’s character so I draw them gift art am I being exploited because they’re getting free art? No.

“Service work is harming the dog”

There are situations where a task could be unfit for a particular breed: ie a lean, thin dog who isn't equipped for pulling being made to do a related task, but this is a problem in an individual situation, one that trainers would look into extensively. A happy and healthy service dog is a service dog who is also ensuring their handler is happy and healthy. There’s no reason that somebody would force a dog to perform a task they physically can’t do, because that would just make life hard on both dog and handler. Professional trainers and laws being put in place are also strongly against this sort of thing. We have publicly available guides all over the place to explain which dogs may not be suited for service work based on temperament or size. It ultimately comes down to the individual, like every situation involving neglect or cruelty. Other issues such as not having your dog wear shoes when they spend a lot of time walking on hot pavement, not ensuring your dog has access to cleanliness, food, and medicine, etc. are not issues exclusive to service dogs. They’re issues for dog husbandry in general. Training organizations and certain parts of the world (Like BC!) will pretty much ensure that the dog is at peak health, or they’re taken back. In BC service dogs must look healthy and clean, pass health examinations from a vet, be up to date with shots, and be sterilized. Otherwise they can’t be a service dog. That’s stricter laws than the ones in place for pet dogs. In this situation a service dog has more protections towards their quality of life than a pet dog does.

Now lets dissect the instagram post point by point:

The default position of veganism is to reject the use of non-human animals. This includes ALL uses, including service animals.

1. note how they say “non-human animals” because veganism loves to kick issues with farmers in developing countries under the rug as I previously explained. 2. INTERSECTIONALITY! Humans ARE animals. You should care about the wellbeing of all animals and nature. This includes humans, especially humans being exploited to provide food. 3. I’m also disgusted by their (repeated) claim that service animals are “used.” As if my massive explanation that dogs do this because they love us isn't pretty obvious if you've spent any portion of your life with a dog.

The key word here is “use.” They are not, and never were, here for us to use. Non-human animals owe us absolutely nothing.

AGAIN WITH THE “USE” I’m about to bite you. I suppose if a child wants their parent to read to them or hug them the parent is also being USED? Dogs don’t owe us anything. Yes. 100% agree. They aren't being forced to do these things because we feel they owe us. They WANT to do things for us. Out of the goodness of their hearts. Because they feel accomplished. Because it enriches their lives. Because they LOVE us. Damn it.

Yes, it is pretty unfair that many animals were domesticated for our use. But I’m gonna explain it as gently as I can; dogs and humans have a symbiotic relationship. Domestication, like with cats, started out as an accident. Then we started providing for each other. Here we see the consent thing. (refer to my “dogs don’t consent to service tasks” rebuttal. The term “service” IMO is outdated. They’re not serving us like slaves, they’re aiding us like you’d help a loved one who needs your help. And again, training is ENRICHING for dogs. It’s fun. it helps them feel accomplished. It stops them from being bored. If a dog wasn't consenting to being trained they would burn out.

For someone keen on arguing for the rights of dogs you really are just going to refer to their role in our lives as “tools” huh? A symbiotic relationship where a dog does nice things because we let them know that we’d want them to isn't them being a tool. It’s them showing us compassion and caring for their family. Also LMAO at the breeder part. Comes out of left field.

“A WANT and not a need” oh my god. Fuck you. Living with a dog should be a human right, and living with a human should be a dog right. We exist because of each other, we are made for each other. Our evolution was influenced by each other. There are people who’s lives are made infinitely more livable because of the compassion and care their dog gives them, even if they’re not doing tasks. Dogs pretty much need humans in their lives to have quality of life. I’ll give you a hint. Dogs do exist in their own right as individuals. Individuals who bond with and show their love for their families by doing nice things for them. Why the hell is this so hard for you to understand? Dogs derive enjoyment and accomplishment from the symbiotic relationships we share. Not only that, but based on this instagram post I’d say dogs also have significantly more empathy for others than you do (to be honest I think that’s the case 90% of the time when it comes to humans), because they can understand helping someone out of the goodness of their hearts but you don’t.

If we haven’t already made the point clear, under no circumstances should ANY non-human be used at the hands of humans.

USED USED USED. If you’re so bent out of shape about this why don’t you just rally against keeping dogs as pets in the first place? (some of these people are. I've seen it) I mean, a symbiotic relationship with any sort of power imbalance is in and of itself “use” by your definition.

Reading this instagram post I’m genuinely concerned if this person has ever been in the same room as a dog before. It’s just really insulting.

Growing up as an abuse survivor, all the dogs I lived with were so empathetic. They knew I needed someone to comfort me, to keep me safe, to let me know everything was going to be okay. They knew. The amount of information that could be transfered between our gazes was astronomical. A dog wouldn't come to you in your darkest hour, when you've beginning to lose your voice from how hard you've been crying, and stay with you for hours on end if they didn't love you. Love is about doing things for each other. Willing sacrifice. Empathy and compassion. If you teach a dog ways that they can help you even further, of course they’re going to want to do that. No matter how messed up and grim our society becomes we’ll always be there for each other. It’s the only constant we know. Humans have an obligation to protect this sacred bond but the fact that some people are so convinced of shit like this is just heartrending. Dogs want to do things for us just as much as we should want to do things for them. And when many of these things bring enrichment to their lives, there really isn't a reason not to let them and help them understand a little better.

In conclusion:

#text post #long post #negative #rant #I'm legitimately gutted that these people exist #service dogs

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