#inner fortress

[pencil-merchant]

Weekly meeting of mysterious masked mann co. employees

do yall think Spy ever gets jealous of pyro being the number 1 at being mysterious?

[fivedollarfred]

Behold! The picture I started months ago, lost motivation for, and have been finishing up the past four days!!! I'm so happy how their faces turned out :,)

I have the headcanon that Scout is really good at throwing basically anything, including knives. I mean, need I bring up le Guillotine?

The program crashed right as I was finishing it up and let me tell you I almost had a heart attack!

[lobotomysyndromez]

I feel bad for constantly yapping about Pilot to my friends so I need to do it here

They’re very aware they’re a bad person and are aware that they take it too far all the time when it comes to insults/arguments even off duty. It’s not that they don’t care they just know they’re too far gone. They’re really mean to certain people (Spy mainly.) and they know it but they just brush it off.

Then they get pissed when someone treats them like shit back, they don’t understand why no one wants to drink with them so they smoke outside alone at like 11PM because they’re an asshole.

Like not even a fun asshole most of the time, they’re just mean and seemingly apathetic. They have bad/low empathy I think, it really depends . They make me so crazy

Their behavior can’t even entirely be excused by a shit childhood because it’s been decades they had plenty of time to change . Like their background is a reasoning but I don’t want it to be an excuse

I knowwww tf2 is inherently comedic and ofc they’d be treated that way in most of the media 😭 but I def think in like the comics or sfm’s it’s something you could absolutely pick up on .I don’t know I don’t know !!!

They come from a household with such prissy perfect expectations so it’s like. A caged dog trained terribly being set free, they’re so self destructive but that’s ALL they know they’ll be your best friend your guard dog or they’ll slowly pick at your psyche

I will write a fic on them soon I promise gauhhh

[everyday-normal-medibot]

DAY 21

I AM STILL SCARED. BUT I AM TRYING TO RATIONALIZE IT.

I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. I’VE BEEN FEELING DIFFERENT FOR THE PAST FEW DAYS. FEELING LIKE EVERYONE WAS OUT TO GET ME. IT HAS HALTED MY RESEARCH.

THIS ISN’T THE FIRST TIME SOMETHING LIKE THIS HAS HAPPENED, THOUGH THIS WAS A DIFFERENT CASE. I WISH THIS WOULD STOP HAPPENING. I THOUGHT THAT BEING OUT OF THAT... PRISON WOULD FIX THINGS, BUT IT DIDN’T. I’M STILL BROKEN. AND I THOUGHT THE OTHERS WOULD TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THAT, BUT THEY HAVEN’T YET, THANKFULLY.

MAYBE I SHOULD JUST TRY AND FORGET THIS ALL HAPPENED. I’M SURE IT WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN.

I HAVE LOTS OF RESEARCH TO CATCH UP ON, AFTER ALL!

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

100 Vocabulary Words for Gothic Fiction | For Writers

Hello Writers! I've put together a list of 100 words to help you expand your vocabulary for writing gothic fiction in October. I categorized the words for easy reference. I did some research using thesauruses and dictionaries to compile this list for you. I hope you find it helpful! 👻🎃

Atmospheric Words

Tenebrous - dark and gloomy

Oppressive - overwhelming and unpleasantly powerful

Ominous - suggesting evil or harm is imminent

Eerie - strange and frightening

Uncanny - mysterious and unsettling

Nefarious - wicked or criminal

Malevolent - having evil intentions

Sinister - giving the impression of evil

Melancholy - deep sadness

Lugubrious - mournful or dismal

Sombre - dark and gloomy

Dreary - dull and depressing

Desolate - empty and lonely

Bleak - cold and depressing

Dank - unpleasantly damp and cold

Character Descriptions

Pallid - abnormally pale

Gaunt - thin and bony

Haggard - looking exhausted and unwell

Cadaverous - corpse-like

Wan - pale and sickly

Spectral - ghost-like

Enigmatic - mysterious and difficult to understand

Brooding - appearing darkly thoughtful

Tortured - suffering mentally or physically

Macabre - disturbing due to focus on death or injury

Architectural Features

Gothic - relating to medieval style architecture

Dilapidated - in a state of disrepair

Decrepit - worn out or ruined due to age

Crumbling - breaking into small fragments

Decaying - rotting or decomposing

Ramshackle - in a state of severe disrepair

Crypt - underground room or vault

Turret - small tower on a building

Parapet - low protective wall along the edge of a roof

Buttress - structure built against a wall for support

Supernatural Elements

Apparition - ghost or spirit

Phantasm - figment of the imagination

Specter - ghost or phantom

Wraith - ghost or spirit

Revenant - person who returns as a spirit after death

Ethereal - extremely delicate and light

Otherworldly - belonging to an imaginary or spiritual world

Paranormal - beyond normal explanation

Preternatural - beyond what is normal in nature

Occult - supernatural or magical

Emotions and States of Mind

Dread - great fear or apprehension

Foreboding - fearful apprehension

Trepidation - fear or anxiety about something that may happen

Anguish - severe mental or physical pain

Despair - complete loss of hope

Melancholia - deep and long-lasting sadness

Hysteria - exaggerated or uncontrollable emotion

Delirium - state of confusion and hallucination

Madness - state of severe mental illness

Obsession - persistent disturbing preoccupation with an idea or feeling

Gothic Settings

Moor - area of open, uncultivated upland

Wasteland - barren or desolate area

Labyrinth - complex maze-like structure

Catacomb - underground cemetery

Dungeon - dark underground prison

Mausoleum - building housing a tomb or tombs

Sepulcher - small room or monument where a dead person is laid

Necropolis - large cemetery, especially an ancient one

Citadel - fortress that commands a city

Monastery - building occupied by a community of monks

Weather and Natural Phenomena

Tempest - violent windy storm

Miasma - unpleasant or unhealthy smell or vapor

Fog - thick cloud of tiny water droplets

Mist - cloud of tiny water droplets in the air near ground level

Gloom - partial or total darkness

Twilight - soft glowing light from the sky when the sun is below the horizon

Umbra - the fully shaded inner region of a shadow

Penumbra - the partially shaded outer region of a shadow

Crepuscular - resembling twilight; dim

Tenebrous - dark, shadowy, or obscure

Literary Devices and Narrative Elements

Foreshadowing - warning or indication of a future event

Omen - event regarded as a portent of good or evil

Portent - sign or warning that a momentous or calamitous event is likely to happen

Harbinger - person or thing that announces or signals the approach of another

Presage - sign or warning that something will happen

Doppelganger - look-alike or double of a living person

Grotesque - comically or repulsively ugly or distorted

Gothic double - character representing the duality of human nature

Unreliable narrator - narrator whose credibility is compromised

Frame narrative - story within a story

Liminal Spaces and Concepts

Threshold - strip of wood or stone forming the bottom of a doorway

Liminal - occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold

Betwixt - in between

Interstitial - of, forming, or occupying interstices (small spaces between things)

Twilight zone - undefined or intermediate area between two distinct states

Purgatory - place or state of temporary suffering or expiation

Netherworld - imaginary subterranean world of the dead

Abyss - deep or seemingly bottomless chasm

Void - completely empty space

Chthonic - concerning, belonging to, or inhabiting the underworld

Miscellaneous Gothic Terms

Sublime - of such excellence, grandeur, or beauty as to inspire awe

Ineffable - too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words

Eldritch - weird and sinister or ghostly

Atavistic - relating to or characterized by reversion to something ancient or ancestral

Numinous - having a strong religious or spiritual quality; indicating the presence of a divinity

Happy writing, and Happy October! 📜🕯️- Rin T.

[deadbirdsings]

Does anyone else cringe at everything they do? Like to an unholy extent?

Of course; everyone does that; what an idiotic thing to say.

Ok, how about this one:

Does anyone else have “revelations” often, but then forget them completely after a short while?

Is that a symptom or am I just that tuned in to divinity FM?

Anyways

A find at value village.

[cloudwisp]

Husband Wriothesley, who teases you for being a lightweight when you’ve only had one glass of wine during date night as he makes the journey back home with you on his back. You’re an adorable giggling mess, unable to contain your love and affection you reach around to smooch his cheek and playfully bite his shoulder because that’s what he does to you—words alone can’t express just how much you adore this man and you have to channel it through other means. He warns you that if you keep giving him bite marks he might just drop you and loosens his grip to make it seem so. He chuckles at the sound of you squealing as your arms and legs tighten around him and he readjusts his hold on you so you’re secured once more. He wonders how such a sweet thing like you can cause so much trouble. Not that he’s complaining, he actually finds it quite endearing.

Husband Wriothesley, who kneels down to help you slip on your heels after you’re dressed in a gown to attend the evening shows at the opera epiclese. You’re holding onto his shoulder for support while he moves with ease to slide your foot into your beautiful new pair of heels—his fingers gently wrapped around your ankle and thumb rubbing soft circles against the bone for a moment before he works on the other one. If only he could trail kisses up along your leg and inner thigh, but he supposes that will have to wait until later tonight unless he wants to get an earful from you about not wanting to be late. All your husband asks for in return is sweet kisses from you, when you both kissed plenty not even ten minutes ago but it seems he can’t get enough of his darling wife.

Husband Wriothesley, who begins to make drafts and plans for a summer house surrounded by greenery with breathtaking views on the first year of marriage. It’s a different kind of life compared to the apartments next to the bustling streets in Fontaine city, along with the Fortress also being your second home. He includes all the features you’d want in a dream home. Like a stargazing room with glass ceiling panels so you can admire the stars and moon at night. A secret library where you can hideout and bury your nose in books for hours on end, or even a beautiful porch on a wooden deck with cushioned chairs overlooking the verdant field where maybe someday you both can watch your children play together. Wriothesley is more than willing to give you everything you want and more in this lifetime and he always make sure each gift counts.

[waves-against-a-cliff]

After the End - Post-apocalypse Omegaverse AU

Summary - You set up a wonderful maze for these trapped mice

Tags - Omegaverse (duh), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, non traditional dynamics, all of the 141 are alphas, you're an omega. Eventual smut, dub-con, knotting, mating press, polyamory, alphas love alphas. 141 x reader, self harm, injuries

Masterlist

Pateron, KoFi, and Throne

A/N: If you want chapters early then check out my Pateron or KoFi

It wasn't difficult to form a plan in your mind. First you'd draw some blood, the thing that led them to you in the first place. You'd make them go around in circles until they landed themselves in different traps along the way. And while they acted like mice in a maze you would observe as the scientist making notes.

You made a clean cut into the palm of your hand and winced at the bite of the blade. It was sharper than you thought and cut a bit deeper than you wanted. You sucked in a breath before you smeared some blood onto a tree.

You wandered your forest for what had to be at least two hours, clouds had gathered and had dimmed out the sun. It was a forewarning of snow to come and the wind had already started to pick up. You had made a very intricate maze for them, misled by your own blood no less.

Finally you began your long walk home, you pulled your coat tighter around you and stuffed your barely scabbed over hands into your pockets as the wind blew harder. Soon enough the snow would start to fall and they'd either have to try and find their way out of the forest, hunker down for the night and loose your foot prints or keep going through the snow and darkness.

Your omega purred at the idea of the warmest surviving all of this. Oddly, you found the idea of one of them, maybe even two, surviving just to be able to breed you oddly romantic. Instead of giving up or dying, they pushed through just to have you. A small rumble started in your chest as you thought back to the two brown eyed ones.

"Fucking hell," Ghost mumbled to himself, his ankle was twisted oddly and his ass hurt from the fall. Worse? The sky had started to shit out snow. They (Soap and Price) had the most genius plan of splitting up to try and find the omega. Ghost had caught onto her scent and followed it.

Followed it right into a bloody trap. It was at least 12 feet deep if he couldn't even touch the top while jumping and he could jump if he wanted to. He was stuck in a hole, with no idea on how to get out without help and he wasn't going to try and shout for it. God only knows how far away the rest are.

Fuck his head hurt like a bitch. He had to give the omega credit. She had set up her forest to be a fortress and a death trap. Pits, tripwires, all kinds of little tricks hidden away. Each step he had taken made him hold his breath.

He had heard a loud BOOM some miles away and very, very distantly Scottish yelling. Maybe he had gotten off lightly with a twisted ankle and was stuck in a pit for a while. Still, his inner alpha whined knowing his fellow packmates were likely in danger. His base urges didn't even care about the omega when his pack was getting hurt. He couldn't help but wonder how Price was doing.

Price was stuck upside down. He had caught a glimpse of the omega, who had turned her head towards him and wore a frankly smug look. He had tried to order her over but she stuck her fingers in her ears and walked away. All of the blood flow was ending up in his head and it made him feel sick. Worst? His knife had fallen out.

It laid on the snowy ground and mocked him. This was the fuckin' worst. Maybe he should have just let the omega be but that thought made his own alpha stir and snarl. This felt like some bizarre courtship ritual but instead of blankets and food it was surviving the omegas own traps.

If what he heard a while back from Soap was anything to go by, his Scottish sergeant was not having a walk in the park either. It sounded like an explosion and he hoped it wasn't very damaging.

He glanced over when he heard someone approach and Gaz emerged. "She has running in fucking circles Cap."

[idkyetxoxo]

Cregan Stark - Frozen Ties

Summary - Forced into a marriage to secure alliances, she navigates the confines of her new life facing emotional turmoil and a complicated relationship. An unexpected act of kindness from her husband kindles hope, making her reconsider their union and find warmth in the icy politics.

Pairing - Cregan Stark x Targaryen reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2437

Masterlist for Cregan • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Mother, this is absurd! You can't promise me to him, you can't just send me away like this," I cried, my voice breaking as tears spilt down my cheeks. 

I stood before my weary mother, who wrung her hands together anxiously, her face etched with sorrow.

"My sweet daughter, I wish things were different, but this is necessary," she said, her voice heavy with regret. "You must marry him. We need the North's support."

"They have already declared for Rhaenyra," I protested, frustration making my voice tremble. I knew all too well how Aemond's newfound power had corrupted him.

"Does he truly think I can change Lord Stark's mind?" I continued, her hands gently cupping my face as she wiped away my tears.

"You know what Aemond is," she said softly.

"A monster," I mumbled, and she sighed deeply.

"That is not how you should speak about your king," a voice cut through our despair. We both turned to the door, where Aemond stood, composed and authoritative, his hands clasped behind his back.

"You, dear sister, will fulfil your duties as required," he said, advancing toward us with purposeful strides.

"I don't want to," I said defiantly. Aemond's face darkened with fury, his eye narrowing into a cold, merciless slit. He snatched my chin with a brutal grip, his fingers digging into my skin like talons, forcing me to meet his unyielding gaze. 

Alicent gasped, calling out his name in alarm, moving swiftly to try and intervene.

"Do as you're told and ensure he listens, or you'll be of no use to this family," Aemond commanded, shoving me back with a harshness that made me stumble. 

Tears flowed freely as I stared at the ground. 

My fate was sealed, and there was nothing left for me to do but accept it.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

The icy winds of the North tore through my cloak, each gust slicing into my skin like a blade. The endless expanse of snow and the pale, unforgiving sky mirrored the numbness that had taken root in my heart, where warmth and hope had once dwelled.

Each step toward Winterfell felt heavier, burdened by the weight of my impending marriage.

Upon arrival, I was met with a formal courtesy that did little to ease my anxiety. Winterfell, with its majestic yet unwelcoming presence, felt like a fortress of cold indifference. The great halls, silent and vast, bore witness to my inner turmoil.

Lord Cregan Stark awaited me in his dining hall, a brooding figure amidst the cold stone and flickering hearth. I entered with a mixture of trepidation and resolve. 

As he rose from his seat, his gaze was steady and unreadable.

"Lord Stark," I began, my voice trembling slightly but firm, "I need to understand why you agreed to this marriage. You have already pledged your support to Rhaenyra. How can you reconcile this with what's being forced upon me?"

He regarded me thoughtfully, his eyes reflecting years of experience and wisdom despite his youth. He gestured for me to take a seat across from him, and I did so, my heart pounding in my chest.

"When I pledged my support to Princess Rhaenyra, it was with the hope of ensuring stability and peace for the realm. Yet, the realm's stability is fragile, easily disturbed by shifting allegiances and the ambitions of those in power."

I leaned forward, gripping the armrests of my chair. "But why this marriage? Why agree to something that feels like a betrayal to your cause and to me?"

His expression softened, and he leaned back, considering his words. "In the intricate dance of politics, difficult choices must sometimes be made. This marriage, though forced, is intended to secure a delicate balance. The North's support is crucial, but so is the stability of our alliances. A strong marriage alliance can offer more security than mere pledges of support."

"But at what cost?" I asked, my voice trembling as a fresh wave of fear gripped my heart. "At the cost of my happiness and dignity?"

He looked at me with sympathy and resolve. "Sacrifices are often necessary for the greater good. I understand the personal toll this takes on you, and it is not a decision made lightly but it is my duty to ensure the North remains a steadfast ally, and this marriage is part of that duty."

I stared at him, struggling to reconcile his words with my reality. The burden of my impending marriage, the personal sacrifice, and the political manoeuvring felt overwhelming.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

A month had passed since our wedding, and the reality of my new life had settled in with an unrelenting chill. Each day felt like a repetition of the last, my existence reduced to a monotonous cycle of needlework and solitary moments with the horses. 

The stark beauty of the North, once so captivating, now seemed to mock me with its cold indifference.

I spent my mornings hunched over delicate threads, my fingers moving with mechanical precision. Needlework, though a distraction, was a constant reminder of how far removed I was from the life I once imagined.

In the afternoons, I would find myself wandering to the stables, seeking the comfort of the horses. Their warmth and calm offered brief solace from my sorrow. I cherished them, knowing they were the closest I would ever get to the dragon I longed to see again. 

As I brushed their coats, the tenderness in my touch reflected my deep yearning for connection. Yet, despite their gentle company, they could not fill the void left by my unmet desires and the strained nature of my marriage.

The horses, though beloved, were not my dragon.

Evenings were the hardest. As night fell and shadows lengthened across Winterfell, I retreated to my chambers with a heavy heart. 

The bed that once promised comfort now felt like a cage, and sleep came with difficulty. I would lie there, staring at the cold stone walls, my thoughts racing through a labyrinth of regret and despair.

Cregan, despite his stoic demeanour, was not blind to my misery. He saw the weariness in my movements and the sorrow in my eyes. He knew that the woman he had married had become a shadow, trapped in a life she had never chosen.

One evening, as I prepared for bed, I heard a soft knock on my chamber door. Cregan entered without waiting for an invitation, his presence a contrast to the cold, impersonal walls of my room. 

"May I join you?" he asked gently, though an underlying tension lingered.

I nodded, and he sat beside me, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that belied his usual composure.

"It's been a month," he began, his tone measured yet empathetic. "And I can see how this life has taken its toll on you."

I looked away, unable to meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his words. "You have no reason to concern yourself with my happiness, Lord Stark. I am here to fulfil my duties, not to seek solace."

"That's not entirely true," he said softly. "You are my wife, and it is my duty to ensure you are content, or at least as content as possible in this harsh land."

I sighed, the words catching in my throat. "This life is a cage, and I am its prisoner. I find no joy in my days, no comfort in my nights. I am lost in a place that is not my home, with a future that was never mine to choose."

He reached out, placing a reassuring hand on mine. His touch was warm, a contrast to the cold that had settled in my heart. "I understand this is not what you envisioned. But perhaps, if you allow it, we could find a way to make this arrangement more bearable."

I looked at him, my heart aching with a mix of gratitude and scepticism. "What can be done? I am bound to this life, and it feels as though my desires and dreams are nothing more than echoes in the wind."

"I am a dragon, I am blood and fire," I declared with a fervent intensity, my voice echoing the fierce spirit within me. "You are ice and snow. We were never meant to be." 

The words seemed to strike him deeply, causing a visible pain to cross his features.

His eyes met mine, filled with sadness and something softer, perhaps understanding. He took a deep breath as if steeling himself for what he was about to say.

"Perhaps we weren't meant to be," he conceded, his voice low but firm. "But here we are, bound by vows, by duty, by the threads of fate. And I refuse to believe that fate is so cruel as to leave us without choices."

I scoffed, a bitter smile curling my lips. "Choices? What choices do I have? I did not choose to come here, nor to marry you. Everything was decided for me—by kings, by lords, by the whims of men who never cared to ask what I wanted."

He flinched, as though struck, but his hand remained steady on mine.

For a moment, there was only the sound of our breathing, heavy and uneven. The tension between us was undeniable, a taut string ready to snap. 

His eyes bored into mine, his frustration clear but his sincerity even clearer.

"Then tell me," I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to steady it. "What is it you want from me, Lord Stark? What is it you truly desire?"

He hesitated, his expression softening as he seemed to search for the right words. "I want... I want us to find a way to coexist, to find a small measure of peace in this storm. I want us to try, together, to build something from the ashes of what we were forced to leave behind."

The words hung in the cold air between us, carrying both a challenge and a plea. I could feel my defences wavering, the walls I'd built around myself beginning to crack. I wanted to dismiss him, to cling to my anger as if it were a shield, but a small part of me buried deep beneath the resentment yearned for something more than this constant battle.

He watched me closely, waiting. I turned my gaze away, my heart heavy, unsure what to believe anymore.

"It might please you to know," he began, his voice carefully measured, "that I have made arrangements for Silverwing to be brought here."

I stiffened, my heart stumbling over itself at the unexpected words.

"What?" I asked, unable to hide the astonishment in my voice. I searched his face for any sign of deception but found none, only a quiet, earnest expression.

His smile widened just a fraction, his eyes holding a glimmer of hope. "I have had my men prepare the likes of a dragon pit to house Silverwing. It should be ready soon enough."

Before I could fully process the relief and joy that surged through me, I found myself instinctively pulling him into an embrace. The news of Silverwing's impending arrival filled me with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and happiness. 

The thought of being reunited with my dragon, my closest companion, was a balm to the loneliness that had marked my days.

He chuckled softly, his arms encircling me with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the chill of Winterfell. The sting of regret crept in for the harshness I had shown him mere minutes ago, for pushing him away when he had only tried to reach out.

As I pulled away slightly, I met his gaze with sincere eyes, the fire within me dimming to embers.

"I apologize," I said, my voice laced with earnestness. "I don't mean to suggest that you have been cruel to me. On the contrary, you have shown me a kindness that I didn't expect. Many men would not have endured their wives' coldness and indifference as you have."

His expression softened, and he nodded in understanding. "I meant it when I said that I do not wish this union to be a dreadful one. You are my wife, and I am your husband. Despite our differences, it is important that we strive to understand each other."

I sighed, feeling a sense of contentment wash over me. Perhaps I had been unfair in my judgments. 

Throughout the past month, he had never forced me into anything I wasn't willing to do. His patience and compassion had been genuine, and I began to see the depth of his character beyond the surface of our arranged marriage.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward once more and leaned down, pressing my lips to his in a kiss. It was a kiss of new beginnings, of understanding and tentative acceptance. 

In that moment, it felt as though we were discovering each other anew, exploring the possibilities of what our union could become.

The kiss deepened, each touch and caress reflecting a newfound willingness to bridge the gap between us. As we finally parted, the air between us seemed lighter, filled with the promise of a more hopeful future. 

With a tender smile, I looked into his eyes and took a courageous step. 

"Perhaps," I said softly, "if you are willing, you could stay with me tonight. We could share the same room, just to see what it might feel like."

His eyes warmed with surprise and appreciation. "I'd like that," he replied, his tone sincere. "I'll stay with you."

As we settled into the bed together, the room was bathed in the soft glow of a single candle. The warmth of his presence beside me was a comforting contrast to the coldness that had previously defined our interactions. We lay quietly for a moment, adjusting to the new closeness.

Cregan's voice broke the silence, a thoughtful note in his tone. "Would you like to go hunting with me next week? It might be a chance for us to spend some time together outside of these walls."

The idea of joining him for a hunt was enticing, and I smiled at the thought. "Yes, I would like that very much," I replied, my voice soft with genuine interest.

He smiled back, a sense of relief and anticipation in his eyes. "Then it's settled. We'll go hunting next week."

As we lay next to each other, the shared warmth and the promise of the coming adventure created a sense of closeness that had been missing for so long. 

The night was filled with a quiet intimacy, and as sleep began to claim us, I felt a glimmer of hope for the future we might build together. 

In this cold land of ice and snow, perhaps there was room for warmth, connection, and the kind of companionship that could grow into something truly meaningful.

A/n - Get you a man who builds you a dragon pit cause you miss your little beast

[hailproject]

Внутренний мир! Inner world!

Осада крепости один из четырех главнейших сюжетов Борхеса.

Самая главная крепость это наше тело. И эта крепость падёт.

Внутри всегда сидят предатели, выдающие себя за друзей. Только лишь стоит задремать охране, они вынесут ключи внешнему врагу.

Патологоанатом вспорет твое брюхо, словно пельмень вилкой, и увидит насколько прекрасен твой внутренний мир!

[wrioluvr]

thinking about wriothesley giving you a handjob ♡

no pronouns for reader, reader has a cock

thinking about wrio doing his best to please you. you thought he was joking when he offered to help you relieve some stress, until he took off his gloves and pulled you into his lap, whispering lowly into your ear to show him your cock.

"hmm. somebody's packing." he smirks as your cock springs to its full glory, admiring from over your shoulder. "don't say shit like that, it's embarassing!" you whine, not used to having this much attention on it. but from wrio? you were so turned on, it was throbbing, begging to be taken care of.

he starts by spreding your legs open a little, so he can rest his hands on your inner thigh, gently caressing it to get you even more aroused. his large hands, weathered from many years of running fortress of meropide, start running up and down your length. your own precum served as lubricant, heightening the sensation of every scar's roughness teasing your cock. he pays extra attention to your tip, making a circle with his index finger and thumb, and moving it in circular motions around your head like it was a fleshlight, while his other hand plays with your balls. (if you're uncut, he makes sure to pull the foreskin back just below the head, or make you grip him tightly by running a finger between your foreskin and head in circles until it's red and weeping. cruel, i know.) he knew exactly what he was doing, and it was driving you crazy.

"damn, wrio...where'd you learn that?" you pant out, barely able to keep your eyes open.

"oh you know...here and there."

"what the fuck does that me- hnnnnfgh." you can't help but swallow your words as he makes the special effort to run both his hands from the base all the way to the tip. he smirks, enjoying the noises you were making.

"tell me, has any another man in fontaine touched you like this yet?"

"uhmm....no...."

"i can tell you're lying."

"f-fine....lyney did....."

"you're telling me that little twink got to pleasure you before i did?" you feel his hands tighten their grip around your cock even harder, eliciting another groan from your lips. "yeah..but....but like...it wasn't anything serious...." defending your whorish behaviour is kinda hard when you're being milked to your last drop.

"no matter. i'll make you cum so hard you forget all about him, alright? ♡" placing his palm face down onto your tip, he rubs it sensually, not minding at all how his hands were practically coated with your fluid. you leaned back into him, unable to speak, only able to let out moans, and just letting him torment your cock. quickening his pace, he starts to jerk you off even more intensely, but being the tease he is, he speeds up when he notices you not moaning his name, and slows down when you start to pant louder. he places two fingers on your frenulum, rubbing the sensitive area in circles. that was the last straw. "fuck, wait- wrio! not there- aaaAAH! ♡" rutting your hips into his hands, you let out a fat load all over him, some of it spilling onto his thighs. your face is one of pure bliss, leaning your head on his shoulder and breathing heavily, taking a moment to compose yourself. wrio removes his hands from your cock, staring fondly at how your thick cum drips from his fingers.

"i'm glad you enjoyed that, but you got some on my desk, darling."

"shit....sorry."

you wonder how you should tell lyney about how you can't come fuck his ass next week...

[littlemsshoney]

Hannibal falling in love

It is ridiculous how wrapped around your little finger he was.

From the first moment he laid eyes on you he found his new fixation. Every time you were in the same room with him his gaze was fixed on you, observing silently every detail, getting to know you before you were even introduced.

Of course he would be very careful, almost suspicious of any new person being added to his social circle. For a man obsessed with his social image he had to be cautious of any potential competitor and you were just lovely. So charming, well educated, funny, and polite.

He found you unusually enchanting. Of course he recognised your beauty but there was something less superficial about you that just pulled him in.

The feeling was known to him yet very rare as it never seemed to have a happy end. He knew he tended to be quite intense with his emotions and that never ended well so he promised himself it wouldn’t be that way with you.

It wasn’t long till you happened to be invited to the same dinner parties through common friends. How could he not observe you when you were sitting opposite of him only a few centimetre out of his reach? Every time you happened to talk he found the perfect opportunity to study you, the way you spoke, the way you smiled, the faces you made when you found something funny, stupid or ridiculous. You tried to be discreet not to offend anyone but he noticed, he noticed and he loved every expression your precious face made.

If you happened to sit next to him he would already know what perfume you wore, what scented shampoo you used everything. (And he wouldn’t mind doing some personal research about you beforehand)

With every joke of yours he found himself truly laughing and when you spoke his inner monologue quietened and he didn’t have to pretend to be listening because he actually did.

For a man like him who spent most part of his life stuck inside his head, building fortresses against the cruelty of people you quickly broke down everything while having him feeling so comfortable and at ease with you. You had him hooked.

Of course he noticed the way other people looked at you. Women and men with their envy and lust and he wouldn't be jealous if he only knew you were his.

During his sessions he found himself unable to focus on anything, his mind just replaying every conversation you two had over and over like a broken radio. Almost every night he was awake at the most unholy hours, his mind unable to rest and stop thinking about you. That was when he knew it was inevitable.

His insomnia and love for you he treated with writing love letters and sonnets, making sketches and drawings of you as he imagined you, all of them hidden and locked in the drawer of his office and his heart too.

Now not only were you dominating his every through but his whole life too.

He would take notes into his head of your interests and would say all the perfect things to keep you interested. What were your hobbies? Art, literature, music he would become an expert for you. He knew everything from Taylor Swift's latest album to the full analysis of your favourite poem. He would do and learn about anything you liked and was passionate about, just to keep you talking to him with that sparkle in your eyes. He could do it for hours, days and every minute for the next of his life.

I hope you don’t share your affections with anyone special because if he found out which he would, they would be the next missing person in town or worse.

When you became used to him and you got to know each other better he found his chance to invite you to one of his special dinners. Only that one would be even more special as you would be the only guest hence having his sole interest. He had one whole evening to amaze you with his culinary skills, deep, meaningful conversations about art, philosophy and life. At the end of the night he had you feeling it too.

And when the time came and you became his you and the whole world would see just how smitten he is.

He laughed with every joke, he listened to you carefully and everytime your name was mentioned he couldn't help but smile. Any little things that caught your eyes you would have and if you asked for the moon itself he would find a way to give it to you.

He didn’t mind, he actually loved it. That was love for him. He wanted to be your loyal servant and your beloved and feared god all at once. Could you give him this and he would give you the world.

If you didn’t however return his affections or god forbid you betray him that would be a very different and tragic(for you) story.

[callsigns-haze]

His Shadow: Chp 7

masterlist part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

Azriel, secretly juggling his responsibilities and personal life, maintains a hidden relationship with YN, who works at a pleasure house in the Hewn City. She was his light, his love, his passion. Yet being his darkest secret is a hard role because life in the Hewn as a young female isn't the easiest as the two of you hold an even dark secret yet to be told...

Pairing: Azriel x reader

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Discussions of parenthood and the challenges associated with it, including postpartum experiences

Azriel returned to work the following week, but the moment he stepped into the River House, the atmosphere shifted. The usual ease that surrounded him had been replaced with something colder, darker. His shadows clung closer to him than usual, swirling in restless patterns around his frame, a reflection of the tension simmering beneath the surface. He was always a quiet presence, but today, there was a weight to his silence that everyone in the room could feel.

He didn’t greet anyone as he entered the main hall where the Inner Circle was gathered. Rhysand, Cassian, and Mor were deep in conversation, their laughter dying down when they noticed him. Feyre, seated by the window with a book in her lap, looked up from her reading, her brows knitting together in concern as she sensed the shift in his energy.

Azriel’s golden-brown eyes scanned the room, taking in each of their faces, but he said nothing. His usual mask of calm and control was firmly in place, but there was a hardness in his jaw, a tightness in his shoulders that betrayed the anger simmering beneath the surface.

Rhys was the first to speak, his voice casual but laced with a hint of wariness, as if he sensed the storm brewing beneath Azriel’s controlled exterior.

“Azriel, you’re back. Everything alright?”

Azriel’s gaze flickered to Rhys for a moment, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice flat, devoid of the warmth that usually colored his interactions with his High Lord and brother. He didn’t bother with pleasantries or explanations. He crossed the room with a purposeful stride, heading toward the large oak table where papers and maps of the Illyrian war camps were spread out. His movements were precise, methodical, but the tension in his body was unmistakable.

Cassian and Mor exchanged a quick glance. Cassian, always the one to break the silence, leaned back in his chair, trying for a lighthearted approach. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, brother. Rough week off?”

Azriel didn’t answer immediately. He focused on the map in front of him, his hands moving with practiced ease as he made a small adjustment to one of the marked positions. The silence stretched for a moment too long, thick with unspoken words. His shadows, usually so controlled, twined more erratically around his hands, curling like smoke over the parchment.

“It was fine,” Azriel finally replied, his tone clipped, as if that would be the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

Everyone could feel it—an undercurrent of anger, or perhaps frustration, that Azriel was working hard to bury. It wasn’t like him to let emotions get the better of him, but something had shifted in him during his time away. He was always a fortress, a man of shadows and secrets, but today, that fortress seemed more impenetrable than ever.

Feyre closed her book, her voice soft but cautious. “Azriel… if something’s wrong—”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he cut her off, his voice sharper than he intended. His eyes flashed as he glanced at her, realizing too late that his irritation had slipped through the cracks in his carefully constructed mask. He let out a slow breath, forcing the tension in his body to ease, at least outwardly.

Rhys raised an eyebrow, not pressing further, but his gaze lingered on Azriel, studying him. They had known each other for centuries—there was little that could be hidden between them. Rhys knew something was off, even if Azriel wouldn’t admit it. But pushing wouldn’t help. Not yet.

Cassian, sensing the shift, tried again. “You sure? You’re wound tighter than a drum, brother.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. He knew Cassian was trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn’t working. Everything in him screamed to confront them—to demand answers about the spying on YN, about their constant presence in Hewn City. But he didn’t. Confrontation would only bring their secret crashing down, and he couldn’t afford that.

So instead, he stayed silent, letting the tension coil inside him like a tightly wound spring. He continued to scan the maps and documents in front of him, forcing his mind to focus on the task at hand, but it was a losing battle. His thoughts kept drifting back to YN, to Knox, to the spying, to the way Rhys and Cassian had been watching her at the pleasure house.

The room grew quieter, the air thick with the tension everyone was pretending wasn’t there. Even Mor, usually so full of energy and warmth, seemed unsure of how to break the ice.

Rhys sighed, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “Azriel, if you need more time—”

“I don’t,” Azriel interrupted, his tone final. “I’m here. Let’s get to work.”

His words left no room for further questions, and though Rhys and Cassian exchanged another glance, they respected his silence—for now.

But as Azriel moved through the motions of the day, reading reports, discussing strategies, and mapping out potential missions, the weight of the unspoken truths lingered. The anger, the frustration, the protectiveness he felt for YN and Knox—it all simmered beneath the surface, ready to erupt.

No one said anything, but they all felt it. Azriel’s anger wasn’t directed at them—not exactly. It was the situation, the impossibility of keeping his family safe while maintaining the secrecy he had so carefully built. The Inner Circle didn’t know it, but they were walking on thin ice, and Azriel was holding himself back from shattering it.

That evening, the tension from earlier still lingered in the air, but Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel decided to return to the pleasure house in Hewn City. It had become an oddly routine visit for them since Azriel first suggested the place weeks ago, and tonight, though there was a storm brewing inside him, Azriel forced himself to follow along. It was better than sitting alone, brooding on things he couldn’t yet fix.

They landed just outside the dark, glittering entrance of the pleasure house. The usual lights flickered along the ornate arches, and the murmur of voices inside could be heard, thick with a mix of laughter and quiet conversation. Rhys opened the door with a casual ease, and they were greeted by the familiar scent of perfume and the low thrum of music in the background.

The three of them settled into their usual booth, a secluded corner where they could have privacy despite the bustling atmosphere around them. Cassian ordered drinks, and they fell into conversation about the war camps, the strategies they had discussed earlier in the day. But even as the others talked, Azriel’s mind was somewhere else.

The entire time, his eyes kept drifting toward the entrance to the back room, where YN usually worked. He hadn’t seen her yet, and something about it unsettled him. She was supposed to be here—she had mentioned her shift this morning, hadn’t she?

Finally, after some time had passed and YN still hadn’t made an appearance, Azriel couldn’t ignore the growing unease gnawing at him. His shadows stirred, as if sensing his concern, whispering around him in silent confusion. He caught the eye of one of the waiters walking by their booth, gesturing for him to come over.

“Where’s YN?” Azriel asked, his tone casual, but there was an edge of urgency he couldn’t quite hide. “She was supposed to be working tonight.”

The waiter, a tall, thin male with pale skin and sharp features, blinked at him in surprise. “YN? She didn’t come in tonight,” he replied, his voice soft but filled with uncertainty. “I’m not sure why. There’s been no word from her, and… well, without her, the pleasure section of the house isn’t being properly run.”

Azriel’s brows furrowed at the response, his stomach sinking slightly. “She didn’t show up at all?”

“No,” the waiter confirmed, glancing nervously between the three powerful males in the booth. “It’s been chaotic. She’s the one who manages the more… intimate services here, and without her presence, things are a bit—disorganized.”

Azriel’s mind raced. YN was meticulous about her work—she never missed a shift, especially not without warning. She hadn’t mentioned any change in her plans that morning when they spoke. If anything, she had seemed resigned to going to work, despite how much he hated her returning so soon after Knox��s birth.

“Thank you,” Azriel said, dismissing the waiter. His shadows curled tighter around him, reacting to his growing confusion.

Azriel’s shadows clung to him tighter, a swirling mass of anxiety as they walked through the dark streets of Velaris. He kept his pace quick, but not quick enough to draw more suspicion from Cassian and Rhys, who followed behind him. Every step felt like a weight in his chest, his mind consumed with thoughts of YN and why she hadn’t shown up to work.

“Where exactly are we going?” Cassian asked, his tone casual but with a hint of curiosity. His wings flared slightly, catching the cool night air.

“To check on something,” Azriel muttered, not breaking his stride. He didn’t want to tell them more. He couldn’t. Not yet.

Rhys’s gaze was sharp as ever, watching Azriel closely. “You’re worried about her,” he said, more as a statement than a question.

Azriel’s jaw clenched. He could feel the weight of Rhys’s violet eyes on him, probing, trying to read deeper into his actions. His shadows rippled with unease, but he didn’t slow down. “She didn’t show up for work. It’s unlike her,” he replied, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Cassian glanced over at Rhys with a raised brow. “You’re this worked up over someone skipping a shift?”

“She’s reliable,” Azriel said, his voice sharper than intended. “Something’s off.”

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a glance, their curiosity piqued, but neither of them pushed harder for details. They continued walking in silence, though Azriel could feel their unspoken questions hanging in the air. It was unlike him to be this open with his concern, especially about someone they didn’t know. It wouldn’t be long before they pressed him for more information, but for now, they followed.

Azriel’s shadows stretched out ahead of him, sensing the path to the apartment. His heart was pounding, every instinct telling him to fly ahead, to get there faster, but he couldn’t afford to tip them off. Not when everything felt so fragile.

Rhys broke the silence, his voice calm but laced with curiosity. “So, who is she to you, Az?”

Azriel’s lips pressed into a thin line, his shadows tightening around him protectively. He wasn’t ready to answer that question. Not now. “Just someone I work with,” he replied coolly, though even he knew how weak the excuse sounded.

Cassian let out a low whistle. “You’re acting like she’s more than that.”

Azriel didn’t respond, his steps quickening as they neared the apartment. His mind was racing, and he could feel the tension coiling tighter in his chest. He needed to get to YN. He needed to make sure she was alright.

When they finally reached the street, Azriel stopped, turning to face Cassian and Rhys. The apartment was just ahead, and he wasn’t ready for them to know—wasn’t ready for them to see.

“I’ll handle this from here,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Rhys tilted his head, his expression unreadable, but there was something knowing in his eyes. “You sure about that?”

Azriel held his gaze, not flinching. “I’m sure.”

Cassian looked ready to argue, but Rhys placed a hand on his shoulder, silently telling him to stand down. “Alright,” Rhys finally said, though his eyes lingered on Azriel for a moment longer. “We’ll wait here.”

Azriel gave them a curt nod, though his heart was still racing. He could feel the weight of their eyes on him as he turned, heading toward the apartment alone. His shadows swirled around him, and though he kept his face impassive, inside, the panic was clawing at him.

He had to get to YN. He had to know she was safe.

---

YN’s heart pounded in her chest as she heard the angry voices just outside the door. She hadn’t been expecting anyone—certainly not the five men she could now see through the small peephole, all armed with knives and swords. Their menacing glares sent a wave of fear crashing over her, but she pushed it down, her instincts taking over.

Knox.

Her thoughts flew to her son. She moved quickly, grabbing the tiny three-week-old from his crib and rushing to the closet. Inside, there was a basket filled with blankets—Azriel had used it before to hide things in plain sight. She carefully placed Knox in it, her heart clenching as he made a small sound. "Shh, sweet boy," she whispered, her voice trembling but firm. "Stay quiet for Mama."

Once she pushed the basket to the back, she grabbed a clothes hook and quietly wrapped it around the closet door, securing it as best as she could. She prayed it would be enough to buy them time. She wasn’t sure how much time they had, but she had to defend her son, herself—everything she had left.

Her fingers brushed against the cool steel of one of Azriel’s knives. He always made sure she had at least one hidden in the apartment, just in case. She gripped it tightly, her palms sweating, but there was no room for hesitation now. Her other hand went for the large pan in the kitchen—a ridiculous weapon, but Azriel had taught her that defense meant distraction first, striking with the most unexpected object.

Her shadows stirred around her, curling and writhing in anticipation, feeding off her fear and anger. It was their little secret, the shadows. No one knew she had them. Not even Azriel. She had kept them hidden, a part of herself she never let surface, but now—now she needed them.

The door slammed open with a thunderous crash. The men charged in, their faces twisted in fury. YN's heart raced, but she didn’t freeze. She acted.

The first man lunged toward her, knife raised high, but YN swung the pan with all her strength. The clang of metal on metal rang out as the pan hit the knife from his hand. He stumbled back, shocked, giving her enough time to drive Azriel’s knife into his side. He let out a pained grunt, eyes wide, before collapsing.

The second man charged her with a sword, but YN’s shadows snapped to life, dark tendrils wrapping around his legs, tripping him just enough for her to slam the pan against his head. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Her shadows retreated, swirling back into her, but they were weak—too weak to keep fighting like this.

Two down.

Her chest heaved as she turned to face the rest. These men were stronger, larger, and they weren’t going to fall for her tricks so easily. The third man, faster than the others, dodged her swing and grabbed her wrist, twisting it painfully until she dropped the knife. She tried to use her shadows again, tried to summon them with more force, but they sputtered, flickering weakly as the man backhanded her across the face.

She stumbled, her vision going black for a moment as pain exploded across her cheek. She tasted blood, but she couldn’t stop. Knox. She had to protect Knox.

The fourth man kicked her hard in the stomach, sending her crashing to the floor. She gasped, the wind knocked out of her, but her mind screamed at her to get up. She clawed at the floor, trying to reach for something—anything—but the fifth man grabbed her by the throat.

Cold, rough hands squeezed around her neck, and YN’s world spun as she was lifted off the ground and slammed back down. Her head hit the floor, dazing her, but the worst part was the grip around her throat tightening, cutting off her air. She gasped, her fingers clawing at his hands, desperate for breath. Her shadows flickered again, weak and useless. She couldn’t focus—couldn’t control them in this state.

Her vision blurred as the man leaned over her, sneering. "Stupid girl," he hissed, his grip tightening as black spots danced in her vision. The world was slipping away, her strength failing as she gasped desperately for air.

But even as the darkness closed in, YN’s thoughts were with Knox. She could hear him, small and quiet, rustling in the closet. He needed her.

---

Azriel’s heart raced as he neared the apartment, the shadows around him twitching with anxiety. He had been about to open the door when he heard the sounds of a violent struggle from inside—a cacophony of grunts, crashes, and muffled cries. His pulse hammered in his ears. It was YN. He knew it instantly.

“Rhys! Cassian!” he shouted, his voice echoing down the empty street. His urgency was raw, fear clawing at his insides. They had been waiting outside, but now, he needed them.

Rhys and Cassian came running, their faces taut with concern. “What’s happening?” Rhys asked, but before Azriel could answer, the three of them burst through the door.

The sight that met them was horrifying. YN was on the floor, her face twisted in pain, her hands clawing desperately at the man strangling her. The other men were scattered, injured but not out. Azriel’s rage surged as he took in the scene.

Without a second thought, Azriel dove into the fray. His shadows lashed out, extending like living whips to entangle the nearest attacker. The man staggered, his weapon slipping from his grasp as Azriel’s shadows tightened around him, pulling him away from YN.

Cassian was quick to join, his wings flaring as he threw himself at one of the attackers with a roar. His movements were a blur of strength and precision, and the man he targeted barely had time to react before Cassian’s fists and kicks overwhelmed him. The man went down hard, crumpling to the floor.

Rhys, meanwhile, moved with a grace and lethality that left no room for hesitation. He focused on the fourth attacker, his eyes sharp as he dodged a blade aimed at him. With a swift flick of his wrist, Rhys disarmed the man and delivered a decisive blow that sent him sprawling.

But the fifth man—still holding YN—was the greatest threat. Azriel’s vision narrowed as he saw YN’s struggling form beneath him. Anger surged through him, fueling his movements. He lunged at the man, tackling him with all the force of his shadowed power.

The man grunted in surprise, losing his grip on YN momentarily. Azriel seized the opportunity, tearing the man’s hands away from YN’s throat with a savage strength. The man twisted and fought back, but Azriel’s rage was like a force of nature. He threw the man against the wall, sending him crashing down, but he didn’t stop there.

Cassian and Rhys were already on the remaining attackers, their movements synchronized and brutal. Cassian had managed to pin one man to the ground, delivering a series of calculated blows, while Rhys’s elegant strikes were precise, disarming and incapacitating with deadly efficiency.

Azriel stayed by YN’s side, his heart pounding as he gently held her hand. Rhys moved efficiently around the room, assisting with the attackers and making sure the area was secure. The tension in the room was palpable as Azriel’s gaze remained fixed on YN, willing her to wake.

Minutes felt like hours as he waited, but finally, YN’s eyelids fluttered open. Her gaze was unfocused, but she managed to lift her trembling hand, pointing weakly towards the closet. Her lips moved, though no words came out. Azriel’s breath hitched as he followed her gaze, his eyes locking onto the closet where Knox had been hidden.

“YN, where’s Knox?” Azriel asked, his voice tight with worry. But her eyes were focused on the closet, her small, desperate gesture the only direction he had.

He turned to the closet, his fingers shaking as he fumbled with the clothes hook she had used to secure it. It was a clever move, one he had to admit, and the hook was proving to be stubborn. Azriel’s frustration grew, but he fought to stay calm. His heart ached with every second that ticked by.

Rhys knelt beside YN, his expression a mix of concern and determination. “Azriel, be careful. If she moves around too much, she could cause herself serious injury,” Rhys said firmly, his hand gently pressing YN back down to the floor. “We need to keep her as still as possible until we can get a healer here.”

Azriel nodded, focusing intently on the hook. After a few tense moments, he managed to pry it free and pull open the closet door. The sight that greeted him—a small, terrified baby wrapped in blankets—was both a relief and a fresh wave of anxiety.

With trembling hands, Azriel reached into the closet and carefully lifted Knox out of the basket. The baby’s tiny face was scrunched up in a frown, but Azriel’s soothing presence seemed to calm him. He cradled Knox close, his voice a soft murmur as he whispered, “Shhh, Daddy’s here.”

Knox made a small, inquisitive sound but settled against his father’s chest, finding comfort in the warmth. Azriel’s heart ached with relief and love as he held his son. He glanced back at YN, who was watching him with exhausted but relieved eyes.

Cassian, who had just finished dealing with the remaining attackers, joined them. His eyes widened in shock as he saw Azriel holding Knox, the tiny baby resting peacefully in his arms. Rhys stood nearby, his expression a mix of awe and concern.

“Azriel, I didn’t know…” Cassian began, but the words trailed off as he looked between YN, Azriel, and the baby.

Rhys placed a reassuring hand on Cassian’s shoulder. “We need to get YN to a healer now,” he said, his voice steady but urgent. “And make sure Knox is taken care of. Azriel, can you manage?”

Azriel nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at Knox. “I’ll make sure they’re both okay,” he said, his voice firm despite the turmoil he felt inside.

With Knox safely in his arms and YN being carefully tended to, the reality of the situation began to settle in. Azriel knew there would be many questions and difficult conversations to come, but for now, his focus was on ensuring the safety and well-being of his family.

Let me know if you'd wish to be tagged! Comments and reblogs are really appreciated!

What worse can happen now huh? Hehe......right?

[everyday-normal-medibot]

DAY 18

THEY’RE ALL LOOKING

LOOK AWAY

LOOK AWAY

THE MASK IS MINE

I WON’T LET THEM GET TO ME

I WON’T SURRENDER

I WILL BE THE ONE TO SAVE THEM WHETHER THEY LIKE IT OR NOT

[suuuupernovaaa]

In Secret ft. Benjicot Blackwood

You’ve been meeting Benjicot in secret for some time now, and he’s done hiding.

Tags: Benjicot & Bracken!Reader, no use of y/n, mature 18+

Roughly a 30 minute walk from Stone Henge, your ancestral home, was a rock formation in the woods. Possibly a long forgotten home or shed of some sort, it had long turned to ruins out here in the wilds of the riverlands. Weeds and wildflowers sprung through the cracks in the crumbling structure, pulling it back into nature slowly but surely over time.

It was here that you’d been meeting Benjicot Blackwood in secret for nearly three years now.

This was the place where you’d first met, shared your first kiss, and dreamed of a future together that was not possible with the feud between your great houses.

The Blackwoods of Raventree hall despised your Bracken bloodline, and it was a sentiment your family returned. If anyone found out that your Saturday walks were to meet the enemy, you’d never be allowed outside your fortress walls again.

The day was hot and you shed your outer dress, holding it in your arms and donning only your inner clothes as you walked. The sun crept across the skies, and only the shade of the forest kept you from truly suffering in the heat.

Benji was already at your ruins when you arrived, seated on the ground and leaning back onto his elbow, picking wildflowers and discarding them into the grass. He glanced up as he heard your approach, and his solemn expression melted into a smile.

He stood up, eyeing you from head to toe with that ever-growing grin on his face. It took all your self control to not sprint the last two paces between you.

The days between your meetings felt like their own individual eternities. You lived for these moments, these few hours on Saturday in the ruins with Ben.

He wrapped you in his arms when you reached him, and spun you in a circle. You laughed and he held him tightly once he sat you down, two feet firmly on the ground.

“So eager for me that you’ve undressed already, have you?” he teased, peppering kisses all over your reddened face.

“It is quite hot, Benjicot,” you replied tersely, and he laughed.

“Sure, sure.” He pulled you flush to him, and began slowly inching your under clothes up, up, until you were bare from the waist down, his hands digging into the flesh of your backside, and kissed you firmly on the mouth.

As they always did, your lips parted for him, giving him eager entrance, and you sighed when his tongue met yours.

He pulled you up by the shelf of your behind, and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he backed up, sitting on the edge of the stone ruins.

You could feel his hard length beneath you, and you moaned as his mouth left yours and trailed hot kisses down your neck.

“Are you wet for me already?” he whispered into the skin of your neck, and you could only nod in response.

He bent forward, holding you tightly as he laid you on the ground, now kneeling between your open legs.

“I think of your cunt constantly,” he breathed, his lips trailing down your chest. “How wet you are for me, and how you moan my name. Gods, it’s all I think of.”

He took one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling firmly, and your back arched off the itching grass as you gasped. Only seconds later, his hand found your dripping center, and he pressed circles into your clit with his thumb while two fingers pressed inside of you.

“Oh, Ben,” you moaned, your head falling to the side as you met his fingers, thrust for thrust.

He let go of one nipple with a pop, and before moving to the other whispered, “How fast shall you come for me today, my little love?”

You could not answered as he continued rubbing your clit and petting your inner walls. You were coming apart before him so quickly, but you could not feel embarrassed.

You reached down and as quick as you could, untied his pants and released his throbbing cock. He hissed when you wrapped your hand around it and started pumping, eager for him to join you in pleasure.

“Gods, yes, that’s so good,” he hissed, and brought his mouth to yours again in a sloppy, desperate kiss.

It was not long at all before you were tumbling over the edge together, and you screamed his name as you did.

He collapsed on top of you after, his head on your chest, and you breathed rapidly together for a while.

This was everything you lived for. Being here with Benji, bringing each other pleasure or just talking, it didn’t matter. It was all you wanted.

After a while, he propped himself up on his elbow and smiled down at you with such joy and intensity that it made you blush.

“You must marry me, my lady,” he said, and your smile faded.

“Don’t tease me, Benjicot. You know we would never be permitted to wed.”

“And if we married in secret, forced their hands, would you leave your family and join mine?”

You furrowed your brow and reached up to cup his cheek.

Abandon your family? Your parents, siblings, all those you’d known and loved your whole life? They’d never speak to you again if you married a Blackwood - especially the Blackwood heir.

Could you be enemy to your family the rest of your life?

Your eyes met Benjicot’s again as he stared down at you with the wildness and intensity he was known for.

The alternative was each of you marrying another. Maybe never meeting in secret again as life’s burdens made it impossible. You took a moment to sit in that reality and imagine what was worse: losing Ben, or making an enemy of your family?

“I would marry you, Benjicot Blackwood, if you are being serious,” you replied.

His answering smile was enough to tell you, this was the right decision.

“Meet me here tonight, when the moon is high. Bring only what you can carry. You’ll be my lady-wife when we are finished, and we’ll never be parted again.”

[fakesimp]

Drunk — ft. Wriothesley

Nsfw ; Pussydrunk! Wrio ; Oral [ Receiving ] ; Overstimulation ; Established Relationship

‼️Minors DNI‼️ — Fem! Reader

He is, tired.

Very, very tired. His sanity holding onto a thin thread, if anybody have the guts to make a ruckus, he's gonna lose it.

Though luckily, that day nothing much happened. Just him cooped up in his office as he finish his stack of paperworks, nothing else after that.

The moment the clock hits 6 pm, he dropped everything, and just straight up left. Not even bothered to glance back at the paper he left as is, it's not like anyone would dare to enter his office. Other than you, of course. His beloved, his sweetheart. One and only.

Now he made his way out from the fortress, all he could think about is just, you, you, you, and you. All day. Each day, hour, minute, second. Not a moment goes without you invading his mind, not that he's complaining.

His heavy boots stepped out, to the surface, no longer under the water. No longer surrounded with iron and steel, only fresh air. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of the sea. Letting himself bask into this moment of solitude, before coming back to your shared house with him.

Well,

He was planning on doing a cuddle session with you to be fair, since he's, pretty tired to do anything. But somehow, seeing the sight of you, in the kitchen. Wearing his shirt? Do you even wear anything underneath? He leaned against the door frame, watching you move around the kitchen. His jaw clenched when you tried to reach up to the cabinet above.

Lord did he almost lose his mind when he sees how his shirt is pulled up a bit, revealing you're wearing, nothing, underneath that shirt.

He immediately have his arms around your waist. Pulling you into his arms, "You're crazy for walking around with no panties on." He mumbled, you didn't hear him came home. He usually would greet you by the door, but this time he didn't. "You surprise me!" You squeaked, before slowly leaning back against him. He chuckled, muttering an apology.

Then his lips graze along your neck, his hand wander down to your hips, tugging on your (his) shirt. "Do you really, wear nothing underneath?" He asked, curious. "Well, go ahead and check Wrio." You taunted, making him frozen on the spot for a second before he picked you up, throwing you over his shoulders and just walked out from the kitchen.

Opening the bedroom door, then drops you to the bed before he went back to close the door, he turned to you. Loosening up his tie even more before he threw them to the side, taking off his gloves, and crawled to the bed. Hovering over you he whispered, "Naughty," he chuckled. He then proceed to push the shirt up, revealing your hidden curves that's completely bare, for him to see. His icy blue hues flickered down from your face to your body, then further to your heat.

"Were you pleasuring yourself, hm?" He asked as his calloused hand moved from your waist, hips, then hovering over your folds. "M, maybe.." You responded with uncertainty, making him shake his head in amusement. "You know being honest with me is a wise decision than lying, right?" He softly pressed his finger onto your slick, earning a low hum from the man. "So wet, have you come yet?" He then moved himself down, spreading your legs open.

He looked over at your wet folds, he chuckled softly, "Have you?" He asked once again, "N, no.." He hummed before started leaving trail of kisses on your inner thighs, softly nibbling at the soft surface. "I have no plans on doing anything today, but .. seems like fate says otherwise." His face hovered to your folds.

"A taste, may I?" He asked, but before you could reply, his face have already on your pussy, his tongue lapping your wet folds. A low groan escaped his lips as he taste you, the lewd noises coming from your lower half make you feel embarrassed but soon your embarrassment is replaced with pleasure.

He sucked, lick, suck, repeatedly, lapping his tongue over and over again and again. And without you realizing it, you're close. "W, wrio— cum— cumming—" You whined loudly as your fingers ran through his hairlocks, earning a low groan from him. "Cum." He said in between as he moved his tongue even faster, making you squeal.

Your moans fed him, telling him to do more. When you came, he let out a low growl as he moved his face away for a moment. Watching your body twitching, his rough hand gently squeezed your thighs. "More?" He asked, you whip your head down to where he is, his face looked serious as he asked. "A brea— aH—" Just when you thought he'll give you a moment of breathing, he didn't, he dove back to your pussy once again. Lapping your already swollen folds, your body shook as your hand gripped on his hair harder. Tugging on him, "W, Wrio— nNh!— Wriothesley—" You called his name again and again like his name is an enchantment.

He didn't stop, he continue on eating you out like there's no tomorrow, even when you've came for the second time, he kept going.

Your taste, truly got him addicted.

. . .

"Sorry, Sweetheart." He kissed your shoulders, his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you close, letting your back pressed against his chest. "I'll buy you a cake tomorrow," he whispered, "Mm, my favorite?" "Absolutely." He chuckled as he nuzzled his face to your nape.

"You taste so sweet by the way—"

"Wriothesley!—"

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