#it's desecration of his last wishes

[abrahamvanhelsings]

"goodsir is neoliberalism bc he tried to kill those guys blah blah blah" they kidnapped him and then they made him cut up men to be consumed as an act of control and pure humiliation by threatening to kill probably the last man he still liked in that party, forcing him to be complicit in an act he is viciously against, and to be complicit in the survival of the very men who betrayed the whole expedition and who are using him like a tool. and then the guy he's trying to protect comes up to him to sob and monologue at him about cannibalism and religion and acts of survival and belief as some kind of justification for the fact that he's an absolute pussy ass bitch who'd rather lie down and take it than stand up in the face of acts and circumstances he finds abhorrent. and goodsir was supposed to not be a cunt abt that? lol

[tea-of-destiny]

me, gently shaking my 3ds as the credits of last specter roll: tell me your secrets evan barde

[littlexdeaths]

pushing up daisies - e.m.

kas eddie munson x fem reader

treat me bad like i’m no one's daughter,

body bag, baby, i’m a goner…

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: ANGSTTTTT, mentions of eddie’s death and the upside down, canon divergent (reader is chosen as vecna’s last victim instead of max), established relationship, soft!dom eddie, biting/blood drinking, lil bit of jealous eddie, public sex, unprotected piv sex, cream pie

based on love is a… by pvris

word count: 2.9k

a/n: this is honestly something i am so incredibly proud of, so i hope you all enjoy it. a big thank you to my babes @undead-supernova @strangerstilinski and @lokis-army-77 for helping me with parts of this fic, i love you all so much 💕

The sky was dark, storm clouds rolling in as you trudged through the rusted gates of Hawkin’s memorial cemetery.

Only the booming sounds of thunder and your labored breathing filled the morning air. Rain droplets poured steadily onto your head, dripping down the collar of your rain jacket. The clothing seemingly useless as the heavy rain soaked you to the bone.

The wild daisies clutched in your fist were beginning to wilt as your eyes scanned over the sea of headstones. Your throat tightens once you find his, now wishing that Dustin had been lying to you.

The words BURN IN HELL FREAK were still visible, despite the male’s best effort to clean them off the previous day. It had been less than a week since the funeral, but that was plenty of time for someone to vandalize his headstone. You hated this town.

Reaching the now desecrated grave you sigh, gently running your fingers along the top of the headstone. The rough edges scraped against your fingertips as you knelt down in front of it. Letting your hand fall into your lap, glancing down at the sad excuse of a bouquet in the other.

He deserved more than this… he deserved more than anything this shitty town had to offer.

“Hey Eds,” you whisper, despite the desolation surrounding you.

You carefully set the daisies onto the ground, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill past your waterline. The white of the flowers contrasted sharply against the dirt, which was quickly turning to mud beneath your knees. But you didn’t mind.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to the funeral,” guilt laces your shaky voice as you tug your lower lip between your teeth. “I just… I couldn’t see you like that.”

Despite the feeble attempts that Dustin and Robin made to coax you out of bed that day, nothing was going to change your mind. You didn’t want to remember him that way, as you were already grappling with the image of him dying in Dustin’s arms.

A memory that haunts your dreams every night.

“I hope you can forgive me,” you mumble, reaching into your pocket to pull out his lucky set of dice. A sad smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as you begin to place them along his headstone, “I brought a peace offering.”

A loud crack has your eyes flicking up, body jolting in surprise as a bolt of lightning strikes a tree in the distance. The impact splits the trunk down the middle, the wind picking up speed and taking your flowers with it.

The torn petals spread across the unkempt ground, the gesture now ruined. Just like everything else you touched.

You blame yourself for his death, knowing he would still be here if Vecna hadn't chosen you. You would live through a thousand years in a prison of your own mind, let that monster drain you of your entire existence— if it meant Eddie would have lived.

“It’s all my fault,” you don’t stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks, staring intently at the stone in front of you.

Edward Lee Munson, now at peace.

Those bold words stare back at you, mirroring the stone that sat just a few feet besides his. One you had become very familiar with over the years.

Elizabeth Ann Munson.

Beloved wife and mother, may she rest in peace.

While hers were more faded, they still brought you a small sense of comfort. Knowing that Eddie was with her now, he was safe. But that comfort wouldn’t heal the hole that had been punched through your chest.

“I miss you,” you hiccup, your tears steadily flowing now, the moisture beginning to blur your vision. “It w-wasn’t supposed to b-be you.”

Your soft cries soon morphed into pained sobbing, your shoulders hunched over as you dug your fists into the earth. You were grateful that Steve had let you come alone, not wanting anyone to see you like this.

In the short time that Eddie had been gone, you felt suffocated. With Vecna still alive and plotting, you were constantly being watched. Your friends not knowing if the demon, creature, whatever he was— would come back to claim you for good.

Part of you hoped for it, mentally pleaded to be taken away too. Because a life without Eddie, wasn’t a life you wanted to live.

A loud scream pierces the air, and it takes you a moment to realize the sound has come from you. Your chest heaves from the force of it, allowing your head to tilt back as your eyes slip shut. Enjoying how the rain soaks into your pores, washing away any trace of your tears.

You sit like that for a while, as the storm continues to wage on around you. Silently wishing that the rain would wash you away too. Dirt is caked under your fingernails, mud coated your shins and the hem of your skirt. You knew you couldn’t sit out here much longer, as your teeth started to chatter from the cold.

Your head falls forward, allowing yourself one last look at his headstone. The red paint has stained it horribly, tainting the last thing he had left in this world.

“I’ll come back tomorrow and clean this shit up, I promise.” You say, lifting up your pinky towards the block of stone. You hold it there for a moment before your hand falls back to your side.

“I love you, Eddie,” you sniffle, wiping your nose on your sleeve as you start to stand. Turning around as you begin to wipe the dirt from your knees.

As you take a step forward your shoe begins to sink into the wet soil, almost swallowing your foot whole. An annoyed huff leaves your lips as you try to pull it back out. But any attempt is stopped short as a cold hand wraps around your other ankle. A deep groan echoes in your ears as your eyes widen in fear.

This was it… Vecna’s come back for you.

While everything inside you begs you to run, your body remains frozen. Hyperventilating as the ground beneath you begins to shift, your feet sinking in deeper as another body fights its way out from the earth. A strained grunt of your name snaps you out of your petrified state, recognizing the voice immediately.

This was a cruel joke, knowing he was taking on Eddie’s form just to hurt you more. So you decided you wouldn’t stick around to witness it.

If you were going to die, it would be by his own hands.

“No!” You shout, yanking your ankle out of that icy grip as you make a break for it.

You don’t make it very far though, only reaching the edge of his grave before you lose your footing. The tip of your shoe catches on a tree root, sending your body tumbling forward onto the wet ground. The impact knocks the wind out of you as you struggle to take a breath in. Your nails dig into the grass for purchase as you try to crawl away.

The feeling of two hands wrapping around each ankle has you screaming, thrashing about as you're dragged back towards the grave. The male flips you around, unable to hear his broken pleas over the sound of your own shrieks. You keep your eyes focused on the storm clouds above your heads, desperate for some kind of distraction. You wouldn’t look at him, you couldn’t.

This wasn’t your Eddie.

A dirty hand grips onto your chin, tilting your head down as he wedges his body between your thighs. Forcing you to face him, his dark eyes ablaze with fury— a sharp contrast to the way he gently cradles your jaw.

“I’m not in the mood for games… just get on with it,” you snap, letting your eyes slip shut as you wait for that familiar pain to shoot up your spine and through your skull.

But nothing happens.

You crack an eye open only to find the brunette staring back down at you, confusion coating his features.

“… get on with what, sweetheart?” His voice cracks, the look on his face mirroring his tone.

“Killing me,” you state, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

There’s a moment of silence between you before he starts laughing, the booming sound instantly melts your insides. It was something you thought you would never hear again.

“I guess my entrance was very Night of the Living Dead, huh?” He teases with a wide grin as his head dips lower— his drenched curls sticking to your cheek.

When you feel Eddie’s lips connect with the base of your throat, your breath hitches. Heat pools in your middle as he inhales, groaning deeply. The sound vibrates against your skin, sending shockwaves through your system.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he hums, his hands running down the length of your sides. The male grips onto the soaked fabric of your dress, slowly inching it up until his palms are splayed across the tops of your thighs.

“You’re so warm,” he continues, his nose grazing along your collarbone as you grip onto the shoulders of his oversized suit jacket.

“H-How are you here?” You question with a small whine as he lightly nips at your throat, chuckling deeply.

“You brought me here, sweetheart.” His words are spoken reassuringly, but they don’t offer you any comfort.

“So, this is a dream,” there’s no question in your voice, only a trace of melancholy.

But Eddie notices it immediately, his head lifting from the crook of your neck. His dark eyes met yours for a moment, a look of determination flashing through his irises.

“Does this feel like a dream to you, baby?”

Before you can reply, his lips brush against yours. Any worries that this wasn’t real melt away with each press of his mouth on yours. Silencing the fear that this will all disappear the moment you pull apart. The storm rages on as he kisses you with an electricity that rivals the lightning above you.

“Definitely not a dream,” you mumble, earning a soft chuckle from him.

You swallow the sound as you kiss him deeper, his ringed fingers gliding further up your thighs and under your dress. Your own slip underneath the collar of his jacket, sliding it off of his shoulders. Letting the rain soak into his white dress shirt, the fabric clinging to the muscles in his back.

Your hands quickly rake through his hair, tugging on the drenched curls as his mouth trails along your jaw. Continuing lower as he sucks harshly on your skin, enjoying the way your body responds to each press of his lips. A breathy whine spills past your own as his fingers reach the elastic band of your panties.

The tension between you continues to mount as you eagerly drag his mouth back to yours. Eddie’s fingers curl under the waistband, snapping the lace against your skin. You barely register the tearing of that same fabric, too preoccupied with his lips on yours. The clinking of his belt soon follows, aiding him in pushing his slacks down his thighs.

“Please,” you plead, lifting your hips against his. Not wanting to waste another second to have him buried inside you.

The brunette gently shushes you, pulling back for a moment as he rubs the tip of cock through your drenched folds. His pupils dilate as he takes in the way your lips part under his thumb. A shaky breath escapes them as he lines himself up with your entrance.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he coos, caressing your cheek as he guides his hips forward. Slowly slipping into your awaiting heat with a strangled groan, “I’ll take care of you.”

His actions are gentle, as your bodies become reacquainted with each other. Eddie guides your hands above your head, fingers lacing together in the dirt. Your thighs are snug around his hips, desperate to keep him as close as humanly possible.

He rocks his hips into yours at a deep but leisurely pace, letting him savor every moment he spends inside you. As neither of you know what will happen after this is all over, it’s not something you want to think about.

Being here, in this moment, with him is the only thing that mattered to you.

The ferocity of the storm drowns out the cries that leave your lips, much different from the agonized ones you had let out earlier. Everything feels heightened, pleasure coursing through your veins with each stroke of his cock.

There’s a sudden shift in his demeanor as his eyes glaze over with an almost dangerous glint. Similar to that of a predator who had locked eyes on his prey. Your heart rate increases as a deep growl permeates the air. His fingers slip out of yours, instead digging into the soil beside you as his body goes rigid.

The brown of his irises disappear from view as he squeezes them shut, worry beginning to fill your chest. Your hands reach up to cradle his face, feeling how tightly his jaw was clenched underneath your fingertips.

“Eds,” you call softly, but the male remains frozen above you— a statue of Adonis.

He was losing control, ready to slip through your fingers. But you had already lost him once, and you weren't about to let it happen again.

“Stay with me,” you implore, softly pressing your lips against the furrow between his eyes. Brushing the dirt from his cheeks as you continue to trail tender kisses across his face.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he finally speaks as your lips hover over his, your breath mingling together.

“You won’t,” you promise as your nose nudges against his.

Eddie seems reluctant as he opens his eyes, crimson beginning to bleed into his irises. “But there’s something different…” he trails off, searching for any trace of fear reflecting in your eyes. “I’m different.”

“I don’t care,” you don’t miss a beat, capturing his lips with yours once more.

He moans into your mouth, hands encircling your waist as you lift your hips, encouraging him to thrust deeper inside you. Your tongue slips past his lips, gliding along his front teeth. Coming to a sudden realization as you feel the pointed edge of his canines.

Logically you should feel frightened, but it seems to have the opposite effect on you. Your kisses become frantic as your walls flutter around his shaft, the sensation causing him to moan out your name. The pace of his hips quickens as your nails dig into the drenched dress shirt covering his back.

Your lips separate as you gasp, his cock hitting that spot that has you seeing stars. The both of you falling closer to that precipice with each thrust of his hips. But it’s not quite enough, needing to connect with him on a new level.

Eddie peers down at you in awe as your head falls back, baring your throat to him. “Do it,” you insist, guiding his mouth towards your neck.

You can sense his hesitation, his lips ghosting over your skin instead.

“Please, Eddie,” you beg, his groan vibrating against your throat. “I want you to.”

The sincerity in your tone squashes any doubts still lingering in his head. Allowing his teeth to graze against your tender flesh, testing his resolve.

“I trust you,” is what he needs to hear before he sinks his teeth into your neck.

Your body arches into his chest, trembling as that familiar wave of euphoria crashes over you— pulling you under completely. Eddie drinks from you greedily, continuing to work you through your high as his own steadily approaches.

“Taste so fucking good, sweetheart,” he moans as his teeth detach themselves from your throat.

His tongue darts out, lapping up the blood that begins to trickle down the curve of your neck. The sight of his mark on you is almost enough to send him over the edge. But your pretty whines are the final nail in his coffin, hips stuttering as he fills you with his warmth.

“I love you.”

Those three little words are whispered against your collarbone as the male collapses onto you. A content smile spreads across your face as your fingers card themselves through his curls. The both of you soaking up this moment of bliss for as long as you can.

The rain above your heads has finally slowed to a drizzle, the pitter patter of the droplets matching your heartbeat. You don’t know how long you laid there like this, bodies intertwined on his grave.

But it didn’t matter, as long as it was him you were entangled with.

“I love you too,” you reply a while later, the male humming as he lifts his face from the crook of your neck, crimson smeared across his lips.

A fond look falls over his features as he leans down to kiss you again, the metallic taste of you lingering on his mouth. A thought suddenly occurs to you, causing you to giggle against his lips.

“What’s so funny, sweetness?” He muses, pulling away from you with a raised brow. You tuck a loose curl behind his ear, a teasing smile playing on your lips.

“Just trying to think of how to explain this to Steve.” You watch in amusement as a scowl appears on his face.

“Poor thing is gonna think I was mauled by a wild animal,” you tease, gesturing to the bite mark on your neck.

You see a flash of jealousy in his eyes, a low growl rumbles through his chest as his lips reattach themselves to your throat— causing you to squeal.

“Harrington’s just gonna have to deal with it,” he answered smugly, hugging your body closer to his.

The both of you completely unaware of the looming figure watching you from the tree line.

tagging some lovelies: @xxbimbobunnyxx @munsonhoneybaby @rowanswriting @voyeurmunson @nailbatanddungeon @vecslut @likedovesinthewnd @lofaewrites

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Rainy Season - Part 6

If You Told Me To

Azriel Eris x Reader

Eris has a little chat with Azriel. As Y/N braces herself to face her mate for the first time since leaving him - she calls in reinforcements. Eris calls in one of his own.

A/n: This is the second to last chapter of the series. Chapter 7 will be the final chapter followed by an epilogue. I have been excited to share this chapter as, lyrically, the song it’s titled after is one of my favorites. Enjoy!

Part 5 Part 7

Warnings: Language

The Shadowsinger sat chained in a cell beneath the Autumn Keep. Comfortably lit, temperature regulated, nothing egregious. There was a dark, selfish part of Eris that would not have minded a bit of suffering to befall the male, a little seemed fair given the hell he’d put Y/N through. But Eris couldn’t do that to her. Certainly there was a small part of the mating instinct that would have left her in pain to see her mate - a title he didn’t deserve - hurting.

Eris begrudgingly placed a glamour over her scent that clung to his skin like fine perfume, such a waste to cover it with his own autumnal blend. It was not his place to explain or unveil anything regarding the relationship between them, Eris would have to tread carefully in his questioning.

He almost, almost said “fuck the glamour” and let that intoxicating-as-hell summer storm scent of hers fill the air and marched straight to the dungeons in his sweats and a linen tee, let him see exactly what Eris had been up to all morning. The look on the Shadowsinger’s face would have been so damned satisfying.

Alas, he chose to play the part of pompous High Lord, dressing in the most lordly of attire.

“Well, well, well, what brings you to my humble abode, Shadowsinger? You could have just knocked.”

Azriel snarled through his gag, nose flaring. To put it lightly, he looked rough. His once golden skin paled, dark circles prominent beneath his eyes, and multiple large purple bruises littered his skin.

“Ah, right.” Eris cleared his throat, giving the tattered male before him a disapproving stare. With a quick flick of his wrist the gag disappeared.

“Just let me fucking talk to her.” Azriel growled, his shadows darkening the cell.

Eris inspected his cuticles, refusing to drop the air of irreverence he’d intentionally given off. “Who would you like to speak with, Shadowsinger?”

“You fucking know.” He growled, rage limning each word.

“Say her name.” Eris replied cooly. Needing to make a point to himself.

“Y/N.”

And in that moment Eris realized just how far gone he was in his desire for Y/N. It was dangerous, the fiery rage that burned through his chest at the sacrilege of her sacred name falling from his desecrated lips.

Though Eris refrained from any external display of that inferno blazing inside of him, the slight tick in his jaw must have given him away to the awaiting Spymaster.

Azriel pulled and jerked with all of his might against the chains and Eris was well aware of his power, the entire Autumn Court was. Eris had backup measures in place that - even with his contempt toward the male - he did not wish to use.

“Stop pulling on the chains, Azriel.” Eris commanded.

The use of his given name instead of Eris’ typical “Shadowsinger” caught Azriel’s attention and the look alone on the his face could have killed a lesser male as Azriel’s furious gaze met Eris’

“If you fucking hurt her, I will rip you apart limb by limb. I will make it slow-“

Eris cut him off. “Was it those theatrics that won her heart, Shadowsinger? Truly, you bore me.” Eris returned to examining his nails.

“Fuck you.” Azriel growled.

Eris would ask Y/N’s forgiveness later for what he was about to say. At least he’d made an honest effort to keep his feelings for her separate from the situation at hand.

Without missing a beat, the High Lord goaded, “Funny you should say that. Was it not your fucking around that put you in this position in the first place?”

Azriel lost it. Eris couldn’t recall a time in his centuries of living that he’d seen such display of rage. He yanked at the chains with all of his might, his centuries of strength training apparent as the sounds of the rage and the grinding of stone on metal filled the cell. His efforts nearly successful in ripping free from the wall.

“I’ve asked you once to quit pulling, Shadowsinger. You are in here with just cause and will answer as such. You can behave like a civil being or continue the brute act and I will be forced to take matters into my own hands.” With that, fire sparked and was contained within his palm.

Azriel banked slightly at the display and for a moment Eris felt a twinge of remorse as his eyes landed on those scarred hands.

“Spare me your pity, High Lord.” Azriel spat the title with venom.

Eris shook his head, pacing alongside the cell. “Oh but I do pity you, Shadowsinger. Not in the way I hold back my fire given your past circumstances, that is basic decency on my part.”

With a mock bow, he continued,

“What I pity is how you wage such concern over Y/N’s well-being within my palace walls while blatantly disregarding the fact that you are the one who broke her with your own two hands. And now that she has built herself back up shard by fractured shard into something far stronger, even more rare than the shining gem she already was, you appear like a thief in the night. What is your plan, Azriel? Are you here to break her again?

Eris stepped closer to the cell. Flame igniting those amber eyes as he crouched down face to face with the bound Shadowsinger, grounding out in a low, predatory tone. “Because you won’t this time. Diamonds don’t crush under pressure.”

And with that, Eris stood back up, placed his hands in his pockets, that casual irreverence once again masking his features. “And I find diamonds to be quite precious, so I’ll be sure to cherish mine with the tender, loving care that she deserves.”

Azriel seethed, shadows raging violently within the cell. And Eris wasn’t certain but he could have sworn that anger was directed at their master himself.

Eris waited for more violence, for the filth that would spill from his mouth but the Shadowsinger only hung his head low, and to Eris’ surprise, large, salty tears began falling from his face.

Eris said nothing as Azriel sobbed. Why kick the male when he’d already downed himself? So Eris stood and waited. Eventually Azriel looked up again, “Please, just let me talk to her.”

Eris paused, taking stock of the broken male before him.

Just when it appeared to Azriel that he’d deny him, Eris replied. “You are fortunate that your mate is far more benevolent than I, she has agreed to speak with you.”

Azriel let out a large, broken sigh of relief.

Eris only smirked. “But she has conditions.”

—————————

I don’t want to look back on these days, knowing all the things you’d never know if I never said a word and let you go.

“You don’t have to do this, Y/N.” Eris spoke softly.

“I do, Eris. What he did, it’s too much. Too far. If you weren’t the ruler that you are, this might have been treated as an act of war.”

Eris shook his head. “You’re right. What he did is not acceptable by any means. But you, you shouldn’t have to deal with this after all you’ve been through.”

“It’s the right thing to do.” She spoke firmly.

He pulled her in closely, resting his chin on her head, those warm arms wrapped tightly around her easing the bitter cold threatening to frost her heart. “He never deserved you.”

Eris knew a mask when he saw one. Knew them far too well. Beneath the strong exterior she was presenting, his brave girl was nervous as hell.

I don't want to steal you away or make you change the things that you believe.

Eris escorted Y/N to a large meeting space by a roaring fire, sitting her at the head of the table, he to her right. One with a lesser sense of hearing might have missed the increase of her heart rate. That mask beginning to slip.

“Look at me, minx.”

Her glassy eyes met his as he reached forward, his hands enveloping hers. “You owe nothing to anyone. Nobody. Not to the Night Court, to my Court, or even to the Summer Court beyond what Tarquin has contracted you to do, and you especially owe nothing to the Shadowsinger.”

Her lip quivered and he spared her the discomfort of replying right away by continuing, “If it is your choice to hear him out, I commend you. You are far more brave and strong than you realize, and the fact that you are giving him your time today is an act of kindness in itself. Do not feel that you are obligated to comfort him or give your forgiveness.”

Eris lightly placed a broad palm on her chest. “What’s in there points true. Follow your heart, little fox. Do not do or say anything for anyone’s benefit but your own.”

Eris gave her the time she needed to collect her thoughts. His thumb brushed soothing strokes over the back of her hand as she composed herself.

Her voice cracked only slightly when she asked, “Is what I’m doing wrong? Are my conditions too harsh?”

Eris took a moment. Her heart racing like the best of a hummingbird’s wings as she awaited his response. He didn’t want to steer her any particular direction. Obviously, he wanted her by his side. Hell, he needed her by his side, she was as essential as water to him at this point. But her happiness and well-being mattered more than his needs.

He didn’t want her to go back to the Night Court as he knew Azriel would try convincing her to do. A selfish part of him begged to take her hand and bow on his knees before her. He was at her will and would serve her for the rest of his days should she only ask. But she needed to make this choice for herself. She was a summer storm, his little fox, who was he to stop her from flowing whatever direction she willed its winds to take her.

So, he wouldn’t ask her to stay or think of him at all during this meeting with her mate. However, he would emphasize what she likely already knew, that he had already fallen in love with her. That he fell in love with her spirit the moment that filthy string of curses fell from her pretty mouth when they met that first day. He wouldn’t pressure her by speaking those words aloud just yet, but he could show her in the best way he knew how given the circumstances, by empowering her.

“Y/N,” he broke the silence. “I meant what I told you. What you are doing today is brave. You are strong. To face a male who has not earned your time or presence in front of his own family to hear out his side of things, or whatever it is he wishes to say - you are so much stronger than you realize. Do not worry about what he or anyone at this table will think or feel. You hear him out and you choose what is right for you. The only person owed anything today is you and what you’re owed is peace. You deserve the world, fox.”

Those shining eyes of hers welled up. He lifted her chin with a long finger, “No tears, little one. You go in there and you take your power back. I will be out there.” He nodded toward a corridor to the eastern wing of the keep. “If you need anything at all, I’ll be waiting for you.”

She placed a delicate hand on Eris’ muscled bicep. “Eris…”

“Yes, fox?”

“I don’t want to do this alone.”

I want to drink from the words you say and be everything you need.

The creak of an oak door captured their attention. A sentry entered the room, his steps echoing throughout. “High Lord, Lady, the guests are arriving.” The sentry looked to Eris, “along with the guest you personally requested.”

Y/N turned toward Eris, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“Bring her in.” He replied to the sentry, turning to face Y/N. “I thought you may want someone in your corner for this meeting.”

————-

Camila, Y/N’s sister, burst through the door, all bronze skin, bouncing black curls, and smiles. “Sister!!!” She squealed.

Y/N looked to Eris. Immense gratitude radiating from her lovely face. He nodded toward Camila, gesturing to go to her. The sisters ran to eachother, nearly tackling one another to the floor.

Camila giggled, gasping as she fought to catch her breath. “I saw a red-headed male outside with long hair, gorgeous tan skin, a wicked smile, and-“ she whispered not-so-subtly in her sisters ear “worship worthy thighs, handcrafted by the gods themselves.” She dropped the whisper act, continuing, “Oh my gods, Y/N, and a scar over his eye! Giving him that sexy mysterious look that you only ever read about in smutty novels.”

Eris choked as he realized who she was talking about, capturing the attention of Camila. “If I’d known what you were hiding here, High Lord, I’d have ventured over from the Summer Court much sooner.”

“I hate to disappoint you, Camila, but Lucien lives in the Day Court when he’s not at his apartment in Velaris.”

Camila’s mouth dropped into an “O” as she realized who the male was. “Well, onto the next one then. Who else are you hiding around here for me to fall in love with?”

The laughter was broken when the Oak Door opened again, a sentry announcing the next guests. “the High Lord of the Night Court and his general.”

Darkness suddenly overtook the room, and an instinctual part of Y/N caused her to pale. She’d very rarely seen Rhysand’s darkness so adamant, and it was never a good thing. Cassian kept a straight, stoic face, warrior’s stance on full display. This male, this was the Lord of Bloodshed and not the lovable giant she’d known for decades.

She remained frozen, Camila gasping in horror before deciding that she’d rather stare daggers at the brothers of the male who cheated on her little sister. Rhysand took in the room, paying no mind to Camila’s violent glare. When he realized Azriel was not in the room, his eyes landed on Y/N and the darkness immediately faded away. Rhys’ expression softened as he directed his footsteps toward her, opening his mouth to speak, but it was Cassian who yelled, “Y/N babygirl! Look at you!”

The giant male bound right past Rhys, running to her. Leaving no time for Y/N to brace herself as he whisked her up into a bone crushing hug, spinning her in circles. “Fuck, I’ve missed you. Never leave without saying goodbye again.”

As soon as Cassian said it, he faltered, gently setting her back down with his eyes downcast. “I had no idea, Y/N. We only found out the real reason why you left yesterday.”

Eris gave distance to the trio so she could speak with the males, Camila coming to his side. Eris couldn’t help smirking at the glare she gave to the Night Court’s High Lord and Cassian. He leaned in to her ear, his low voice barely a rumble, “I’d never admit this to them but while they are brutes, they’re not so bad.”

Camila only scoffed, waiving a dismissive hand in his direction.

It was true. Rhysand had given her space to heal but regularly sent check-in’s to the Summer and Autumn Court High Lords to ensure her well-being. Both Tarquin and Eris had to swear not to tell her, but Rhysand had contributed significantly to Y/N’s extremely generous salary as emissary between the courts. She didn’t know what emissary’s typically made so she never thought about it, but it certainly was not the substantial amount that she was being paid.

Once Cassian was finished fawning over his “favorite little ass-kicker” Rhys stepped forward.

“Y/N” he said. Eyes roaming up and down her body. She was more filled in and fit than she had been when he last saw her, the radiance had returned to her skin, the light in her eyes shone bright as the stars of Velaris. Gods, he’d forgotten the way his brother’s mate rivaled even the most vibrant of summer sunsets.

She held her chin high, meeting her former High Lord’s violet gaze. Rhys pulled her close and she melted into his arms. Not just her former High Lord but her friend. She knew this. And the warmth of his strong arms embracing her reminded her of exactly that.

That stinging rejection of Azriel’s betrayal had somewhat tainted her view of the Inner Circle’s love for her. They had accepted her into their little family immediately when she and Azriel mated and she thought they’d dismiss her just as quickly when she left.

His breaking of what they had did not change that the inner circle cared for her. Rhys held her close for nearly a minute, burying his face into the top of her head, whispering how sorry he was for not realizing just how awry things had gone with Azriel and Elain. She felt guilty for leaving them.

“Don’t you for one moment regret this, Y/N. You will always have a place in my home but there are bigger things in this world for you.” He nodded toward Eris briefly with a cheeky expression that felt a lot like understanding, approval even.

She swatted at him. “Get out of my head, busybody.”

“It was written all over your face, darling.” He shrugged.

Cassian cut in. “We wanted to come in first to assess the situation. Everyone else is in the entry hall. Are you sure about this, Y/N? You don’t have to see him if you’re not ready.”

Darkness flared around Rhys again as he nodded in agreement.

She stepped to Eris’ side with renewed confidence. “I’m ready.”

Eris commanded his sentries. “Go ahead and bring them in.”

Resisting the urge to press a parting kiss to her forehead, he gave a reassuring brush of his hand against hers and began to step away.

She grabbed his wrist. “Please, stay.”

Her pleading eyes spoke what she couldn’t “I can’t do this without you.”

So, he stayed by her side as they waited for the impending shit show to unfold.

I could be so good at loving you, but only if you told me to.

————————————————-

Tags: @going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @lisanna2000 @fxckmiup @sheblogs @emryb @one-big-fangirl @historygeekqueen @isa1b2h3 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @theravenphoenix26 @sidthedollface2 @i-am-infinite @caraaaaugh @evergreenlark @darkbloodsly @piceous21 @anxious-study @chessebookgirl @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @crazylokonugget @mysticalfuncollectorus @starsinyourseyes @b0xerdancer-writes @inloveallthetime @thegirlinshadows101 @viistrength @grunchwench @starryhiraeth @macimads @feiwelinchen @acourtofbatboydreams @nebarious @haechansleafblower @melsunshine @thegirlintheshadows101 @plsfckmern

[charliemwrites]

Part 6 of childhood friend Simon

“You missed a spot.”

“Like hell I did.”

Simon’s eye twitches as you snort, turning back to your phone. “Some sniper you are, blind bastard.”

The silence stretches for one, two, three…..

“Where?” he sighs.

“Left side of your jaw.” You gesture at the spot just near where it curves, a few centimeters from the corner. He runs his thumb over the spot and finds a patch of stubble.

“Fuck.”

“‘Like hell I did’,” you mock.

He narrows his eyes, points threateningly. “Watch it or I’ll shave an eyebrow.”

You snort, unconcerned. “Remember that time I did shave my eyebrows?”

He smirks as he runs the razor over the bit he missed, double checks he got it, then rinses in the sink.

“Wasn’t it because of some stupid YouTube video?”

“Yes, and I still have nightmares about having to draw them in.”

He nearly snorts water everywhere trying not to laugh, quickly wiping his face off with the towel you hand him.

“Didn’t your mum start calling you caterpillar girl?”

Your mouth drops open, scandalized.

“Simon Riley you swore you’d never bring that up again!”

He laughs outright as you chase him from the bathroom, whacking him in the arm. When he puts his hands up in mock surrender, you give him one last swat for good measure.

“Assaulting a military officer is illegal.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re legally dead, aren’t you? So wouldn’t that be desecrating a corpse?”

“I’ll have to ask Laswell.”

“Or we could ask Johnny. I bet he’ll know.”

The implication of Johnny knowing versus having an opinion is not something Simon’s equipped to parse before his first cuppa.

“Johnny’s just gonna side with you.”

You shrug - because it’s true. Johnny may be Simon’s (other) best friend, but he’s also a shithead that takes every opportunity to fuck with Ghost. And with you around “protecting” him, he’s been an absolute bastard.

“Then we’ll ask Gaz and John too,” you offer as you step into your shoes.

You’ve been lining them up next to his boots off to the side. The contrast of big, black leather next to your much smaller trainers would be almost comedic if it didn’t make his chest warm.

A reminder that you’re here with him, in a place he usually spends all his time wishing to see you. He’s called you countless times on the same bed you’ve been sharing for the past week. And now you’re wearing his official SAS hoodie (complete with his name on the back) and invading his wardrobe, about to go with him to breakfast in the mess.

Johnny, in a shocking twist, doesn’t think it’s desecrating a corpse to smack Simon.

“Well, he’s Ghost, aye? So it’d be exorcising him, no?”

Your eyes go all big as you turn to Simon with unholy delight. He makes a mental note to throw Johnny onto the mat once more than usual during their next spar.

That’ll have to wait though, because he’s promised you range time and then the obstacle course. Johnny tags along, interested to see your marksmanship when Simon’s talked it up so much.

He watches on, pride bright and hot in his chest, as you walk through all the steps he’s taught you. It’s even his favorite gun in your steady hands, fingers elegant as you load, chamber. Click the safety off and settle into your preferred stance.

The first two shots hit the target, though off to the side, the second closer to center than the first. You pause, take a breath before he even says anything. Then fire again. And again. And again. Until the mag is empty and he brings the paper target back.

A neat cluster of 15 holes, dead center.

“Atta girl,” he rasps, tugging you into his side and pressing a kiss against your hair.

“I did good?” you ask, beaming.

“Lass, even those first two would have been the end of some poor sod,” Johnny chimes in, patting your shoulder. “Guess the LT isn’t such a bad teacher after all.”

Simon narrows his eyes. “Was that even a question?”

Johnny shoves the ammo box at you. “A pint says you can’t do it again.”

“You’re on!”

—

The obstacle course is slightly less of a success.

“Oh, hey, Si,” you giggle, clinging onto the rope for dear life. “Ya come here often.”

He snorts. “Did you get stuck?”

“No!” You huff, scowling. “Im just… hanging around.”

He’s enjoyed watching you navigate the course - more importantly, he likes that you enjoy climbing around. Even if he’s had a small heart attack every time your foot slips or you wobble.

“Oi, you’re holding up traffic,” Gaz huffs, rapping his knuckles against your foot.

“Do you mind?” you call back. “Im telling Simon bad jokes.”

“Oh, by all means then.”

Simon snorts, jerks his head for you to continue. Johnny laughs as you shimmy along, laughs harder when you almost fall flipping him off.

Once you make it to the other side, Gaz climbs up after you and starts demonstrating how to do the next section. Simon and Johnny follow along, the latter cheering you on.

Movement from the corner of his eye draws his attention; Price, determined set to his shoulders. Simon recognizes the glint in his eye.

“Got ‘em?” Simon asks, hopeful.

Having you spend all day with him on base has been a subconscious fantasy come true. You, close by and safe, under 24/7 guard. But the circumstances have made his skin crawl, made it difficult to enjoy the novelty. Woken him up in the small hours of the night and hug you as close as he can without waking you.

“Fuckin’ got ‘em,” Price confirms. “Laswell’s got the docket prepped. All that’s left it briefing and prep. You can be wheels up in a few hours.”

Simon cracks his neck, anticipation sparking in his veins. His gaze slides to you, to his teammates helping you down from the wall. Price follows your gaze.

“You good for this one, Simon? Got your head on straight?”

Simon flicks him a look. “You know I’m good.”

“I know Ghost is good. What about Simon?”

He blinks, gaze going back to you. You can tell already even from a distance, by the set of his shoulders, that something is going on. You’re still relaxed, but there’s a questioning curve to your mouth as you stop at his side, fingers curling in the sleeve of his shirt.

“Something happened?” you ask.

“We found the group targeting you.”

“Oh!” You arch your eyebrows, eyes bouncing between him and Price. “You’ll be taking care of it, then?”

Simon turns back to Price, a silent “well?”.

“We’ll discuss strategies during the brief.”

You perk up. “Do I get to come?”

“Might as well,” Price sighs. “Let’s go.”

—

In the end, of course Simon is going to go. You’re his girl, always have been. He trusts his team, but when it comes to you, he’ll see this done right. And the only way to be sure, the only way to have peace, is for him to eliminate the threat himself.

Johnny’s coming along, of course. The slightest bit of tension in your shoulders eases when Price decides it. Simon presses his thigh into yours.

When the brief is done, strategies and timelines set, you follow him back to his barrack. He gears up while you sit on the bed, idly inspecting his vest while he straps into everything else.

“Nervous?” he asks.

You tilt your head back and forth considering. “Not more than usual before you leave. It seems like this is pretty standard for you, more or less. Why, should I be nervous?“

He snorts. That’s his girl. “No.”

You hum, picking at the Velcro of his SAS patch. He pauses, watches your face. You’re not anxious, but there’s… something.

“What’s up, buttercup?” he asks, chucking you gently under the chin.

“I…” you pause, hum. Try again. “I don’t like that you’re going out just because of me.”

He frowns, settles on the edge of his bed. You lean with the dip in the mattress, pressing warm and solid against his side.

“I feel like… like I messed up somehow, and now you have to fix it for me.”

He blows out a breath, yanking the mask off. You tilt your head to look at him, eyes soft, the tiniest frown on your face. He peels his glove off too, to cup your cheek. Revels in the warmth and smooth skin against his scars and callouses, always a little surprised when you lean into it.

“I’d get you world peace if you asked for it,” he replies.

“You’d be out of a job,” you half-joke.

“You are my job, daft thing.” He shakes his head, leans in until he can thunk his forehead gently against yours. “You’re what brought me back from the grave. Knew I still had work to do, that you still needed taking care of.”

You sniffle a bit. Always do when he digs up the words to remind you how much you mean to him. Not that he thinks you ever doubt it. How could you? But sometimes, he thinks, it bears repeating.

“You haven’t made a mess, luv. But even if you did, I’m always right here with a mop, yeah?”

He’d burn alive just to keep you warm. Drown to fetch you a glass of water. Anything, everything. Just so long as you’re still here, still his.

“I’ll take care of this and then come home to you. Due for a holiday anyway.”

You close your eyes, a faint little smile tilting your lips. He can’t look away. Never can.

“We can go on that camping trip you’ve been talking about,” you say.

“Yeah, luv. Toast marshmallows like the old days.”

You hum, a proper smile finally blooming across your face.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Promise you’ll come back. Both of you.”

“Promise. Be good for Price while I’m gone.”

You open your eyes, a mischievous sparkle in them. “We’ll see.”

—

You see him off on the tarmac, serene and assured. Stripped of faith and belief, there is one certainty in your life, always and forever. And it’s Simon. He’s going to come home to you, because he promised he would.

“Raise hell, Si.”

“Already raised the dead,” he muses, hell shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Aye, I’ve got just the C-for it.”

You groan at the joke, but don’t deny Johnny a parting hug and peck on the cheek. “Look out for each other.”

“Will do, hen.”

You don’t hug or kiss Simon. Don’t need to, you’ve said your goodbyes. You squeeze his hand and then step back as he heads for the plane with Johnny chattering all the way.

“Alright, little miss?” Price asks when it’s just the two of you.

“Always,” you reply, turning to smile at him.

You have to be, for Simon.

[mr2swap]

Living with Bullying

-I HOPE THAT AFTER THIS YOU KNOW THAT NOTHING HAS CHANGED FAGGOT, IT DOESN'T MATTER IF YOU HAVE MY DAD'S BODY NOW, FOR ME YOU WILL ALWAYS BE MY BITCH!

This is wrong... I thought I could have my revenge. Alex Anderson has made my school life hell, every day I used to get hit and insulted by Alex and his friends, but now it seems that even at home I can't defend myself even after swapping bodies with his muscular dad, at least now I'm not a pathetic weakling teenager.

The first time I saw Mr. Anderson was when Alex got in trouble for putting my head in the toilet in the school bathroom, he and I were in the principal's office when a huge six-foot man came through the door. , he was extremely hot, he looked really young for Alex's father, he came dressed in his builder's outfit and he reeked of a strong musk that it was inevitable not to smell, so I guessed maybe he had gotten his girlfriend pregnant in high school.

Without saying a single word, Mr. Anderson put his hand on Alex's shoulder and he froze, it was the first time he had seen Alex behaving so submissive, while the director explained what happened, Alex's gaze went to the floor as his father's huge hand pressed harder and harder on his shoulder. Mr. Arderson frowned throughout…GOD WAS SO HOT WHEN HE GOT ANGRY!

Since then I started planning my revenge I wanted to give my Bully a little of his own medicine so I had no choice but to spend everything I saved from my bar mitzvah and hire a fortune teller who fulfilled my wish.

He gave me a strange bottle and instructed me to drink it before going to sleep, and to think about my "target" Mr. Anderson's hot and muscular body and from thinking about the smelly and hairy body so much I had to masturbate fantasizing about my desire from the older body of Mr. Anderson, a few minutes later I ejaculated my small load into my boxers and fell exhausted.

The next morning I woke up in a hot room, the unmistakable smell of Mr. Anderson's sweaty armpits now coming from all over my body, I looked down to see hairy abs resulting from several hours in the gym and hard work in the sun.

Despite now being 38 years old Mr. Anderson's body libido was that of a teenager, my blue underwear was about to burst from the huge cock I now had on my long hairy legs, I was so horny I didn't even reveal my cock before jerking off to Mr. Anderson's morning boner, my hands were huge, hairy, and calloused.

The semen shot out into my underwear, thoroughly wetting my balls and staining the underwear I had woken up with. Ejaculating on Mr. Anderson's body was equivalent to 3 on my old teen body, I wiped my dirty hands on my hairy chest, massaged my pecs, and occasionally pinched my nipples with Mr. Anderson's hard hands.

-Hey, dad, the bathroom is...- I didn't realize that the door was open and Alex entered quietly, and we looked into each other's eyes for a couple of seconds that seemed eternal, then without saying goodbye he left my room. I couldn't help but smile on my face, which was now covered with a thick beard. Everything was working perfectly, as soon as I pissed I was going to torment Alex like he always wanted.

Iused my long hairy legs to walk out of Alex's father's room and went straight to the bathroom, my still erect cock bobbing up and down as I walked through the thought of masturbating in front of the mirror and desecrating the hot body with my own hands. and hairy body of my Bully.

I was too overconfident that I didn't notice the moment Alex appeared behind me when I could finally look at my handsome face in the mirror, not letting myself react to his attack he pinned me down and then took my dirty and stinky underwear away. all the semen and stretch it all over my butt, it was very painful, I couldn't help but use Alex's father's mature and thick voice to moan femininely in pain.

-You really thought I didn't find out about all your voodoo shit last night "dad"- He knew it, I don't know how but he knew that I wasn't his father, my muscular body was prepared to subdue his son like many times but now... I was terrified of Alex my body trembled, tears of pain dirtied my face as usual, and my huge cock still with a painful erection escaped through a corner of my stretched and dirty underwear. All my revenge had gone to shit. Now I have no escape from Alex even at home.

Hello, if you liked this story and you want more, you can take a look at my Ko-Fi page to see my most recent stories, see my new stories and support me to continue creating this hot content.

You can also join my discord server if you are interested in seeing some previews of my stories or looking to RP with some of the guys on my server or talk to me

[poppy-metal]

need inmate!patrick to ask naive reader to send him a pair of her panties :((( and of course she does it!!! anything for him

-🐞

hhhhh they're so innocent :((( not really sexy at all - you don't even know how to be sexy, or what kind of gratification he'd be getting from your underwear - but he asked and you listen <3 they're white cotton - simple and girlish - with a pink heart in the middle next to the day of the week. Thursday, because that's your favorite day - because it's the day patricks letters always come to you in the mail. you tell him that in the letter you send along with the panties - you wish you could have something of his too, because of course you think it's something innocent like that.

and of course it isn't.

the fact that they're so unsexy is what makes patricks cock pulse, honestly. you're not a hussy. you're so pure at heart and good. right down to your pristine little panties. he'd feel about about what he does to them except he's long ago accepted that he's a piece of shit - he's communicated that to you more than once as well, and you're still here sending him letters, puckin' up those ears of yours to whatever he tells you like the good girl you are and sendin' over a pair of your panties.

he imagines them touching your cunt - your virgin cunt - he wants to ask for a picture of that, too, but he also kinda wants to wait to see it for the first time in person - when he sees you. he has no doubt you're plump and soft like velvet. silky and wet - twin lips that'll just bloom apart for his touch to reveal a pulsing wet center - a tiny little entrance into that molten pussy - he thinks of desecrating all that innocent flesh with his thick meaty cock as he fists your panties up and down his length. alone in his creaky bunk at night - thinking of sinking inside that luscious warmth, forcing himself between your welcoming thighs - touching you in places you've never been touched before, making you cum - he's going to fucking ruin you.

in his letter back to you, he doesn't beat around the bush. he wants to make you feel things. he wants to be the reason you get those little flutters in your cunt that make you bashful and confused. he'll explain them to you in due time. show you how to take care of them.

thanks for the gift, sweetheart. I like that you listen so well - it makes me happy. I don't like repeating myself. I guessed from the way you write and the things you've told me about your life, but you're really a good girl, huh? not many women your age are still wearing panties like the ones you do. nearly blinded me they're so white. soft, too. that's pure cotton. know that cause the fabric here ain't shit and makes your ass itch. liked feeling it in my hands - imagined you sliding them up your legs and thighs until your bare pussy is resting against them. bet it feels good. bet they hug that tight little peach of an ass real good too. I won't lie to you, they didn't last long in my hands before I had to feel them on my cock. needed that soft cotton on my dick - same cotton that's touched that sweet cunt - fuck. you drive me fucking crazy. next time you pull on your thursday panties I want you to think about me in my cell stroking the meat between my legs that makes me a man, different from you, need you to feel that cotton press against your bare cunt lips and think about my cock, baby. can you do that for me? need you to think about it long and hard and then tell me how it made you feel, to think about it. don't be ashamed - tell me everything. I want to know.

[quitonly]

If this Puss in Boots is such a big deal, maybe we shouldn’t be desecrating his grave. PUSS IN BOOTS: THE LAST WISH (2022)

[joequiinn]

PREVIEW | You Can Have My Hate | B.H. x reader

summary: Unfortunately, you got stuck with Billy fucking Hargrove as your partner for your final assignment in history class. Also unfortunately, Billy discovers you have a killer body underneath all those baggy clothes…

a/n: Billy is a disgusting little man and i love him dearly. as the title says, this is a preview of something i've been working on! the fic is already at 6.5k words and still isn't done, so i decided to put out a little snippet to see if there was any interest, so please let me know if you'd like me to finish the fic!

notes & tropes: fem reader, curvy + large chest reader, foul and suggestive language, canon typical Billy bullshit, awful behavior from both Billy and reader, minor allusions to sex but nothing happens (yet)

music inspo: Closer by Nine Inch Nails

preview wc: 1.9k

You let me violate you | You let me desecrate you You let me penetrate you | You let me complicate you

“Damn, little miss straight-laced,” Billy’s hooded eyes slowly crawled down your body, the corner of his mouthing pulled back in a lecherous smirk, “is that what you’ve been hiding under all those baggy clothes?”

God, you hated Billy Hargrove. Absolutely despised him with every fiber of your being. You knew you should’ve begged your history teacher for a different partner, should’ve gotten on your knees and pleaded for literally anyone other than Billy fucking Hargrove to work on this assignment with you. An idiotic football player or a bitchy cheerleader would’ve been better than this. But no, you didn’t beg and you didn’t plead, so now you were stuck, and god if this wasn’t about to be the worst couple weeks of your life.

Ever since Billy showed up in Hawkins at the beginning of last semester, you detested him. Everything about him screamed disrespectful, hateful asshole, and so having two classes with him meant you had witnessed your fair share of this behavior. Why so many girls wanted to fuck him and why so many boys aspired to be him was a mystery to you, because you could see from the start that he was a no good piece of shit.

But, in a way, you were lucky because you were literally a nobody. And nobodies went unnoticed, which meant not having to deal with bullshit from 90% of your peers. Hell, when your history teacher was pairing everyone off and told Billy who his partner would be, his response was an amused “who?” as if he didn’t believe this person - you - even existed. He had gone the entirety of the school year not having a single clue that you existed, and damn you wish it had just gone on a little longer. You literally had one more month left of senior year, one more month until you never even had to think about Hawkins High again, and the last thing you wanted was to spend half of that month in misery while trying to put up with Billy fucking Hargrove.

This assignment shouldn’t have even been worth shit to you, considering that your grade was nearly perfect and it was your last big project before graduation, but that’s where your history teacher hooked all of you - if this assignment wasn’t completed, then you guys wouldn’t be able to receive your diplomas. Or so he said to deter kids like you from flaking on it - you didn’t know if your boring old history teacher had that kind of authority, but you weren’t about to risk finding out.

And for kids like Billy? Kids who didn’t give a shit, who were already struggling to pass? The grade on this assignment was make or break. Not that it affected you any, of course - Billy could fail his senior year for all you cared. But shockingly enough, he was the one to make a point of its importance to you, the one to emphasize that he had to pass this class and graduate. It was curious to you, since you’d never once seen Billy care about school, but perhaps he was also beginning to feel the fire under his ass to leave Hawkins.

So, for the past week now, you’d been meeting with Billy at the school library, trying your best not to rip out your hair while you did the majority of the work. Hell, you could’ve told Billy just to fuck off and let you work on your own - you’d still let him put his name on the assignment and everything. But for whatever reason, you didn’t and so now you were subjecting yourself to tolerating his bullshit.

And that’s what you were doing right now, sitting across from Billy in the library and using every fiber of your being not to lose it on him. He had been particularly difficult from the moment he sat down, his foot bouncing impatiently and his expression condescending each time you tried to talk to him. He was making it very clear that he’d rather be anywhere other than here. The warm temperature of the library combined with your frustration at Billy was causing you to feel a little toasty, so you caved and tugged your large sweater over your head, leaving you in a tight, black tank top that left little to the imagination.

And said tight, black tank top is exactly what Billy was ogling, making you sneer and immediately regret taking off your sweater.

You never liked showing off your body, never liked the attention it drew you. You wouldn’t say you were self-conscious necessarily, you didn’t hate the way you looked in the mirror or anything like that. But you were very aware of how men looked at women’s bodies, and as someone who hated most forms of attention, you weren’t going to have any of that. So you wore baggy jeans and oversized sweaters, hid your frame under clothes that were always a size or so too big. It kept eyes and hands off of you, and you preferred it that way.

But damn it, it was so hot in the library that afternoon and you weren’t thinking clearly. You couldn’t believe your own stupidity - you just had to take off your sweater in front of Billy fucking Hargrove, a boy who only ever saw women as either sex pots or prudes. His lewd gaze was making you feel even more hot under the collar, but shit did you want to put your sweater back on already despite the heat.

“Will you please focus, Hargrove?” You begged in an exacerbated tone, trying to cross your arms over your chest in a way that wasn’t obvious while looking back down to the textbook open in front of you.

“You expect me to focus now, after you whipped those out?” Billy took such obvious joy in knowing that he was making you uncomfortable. He leaned forward on the table, his eyes once again traveling a salacious path down the curves of your body, “It’s Friday night, I got a pair of double D’s sitting across from me, and you’re asking me to focus on a damn essay?”

“Shut up.” You threatened between your teeth, trying not to raise your voice and draw attention. Your eyes were dark with frustration as you stared at Billy, who simply looked back at you like he didn’t give a damn, like he was just waiting for you to cave to him.

And how the hell could he tell you wore a double D?

You sank in your seat a little while attempting to cross your arms even more aggressively in front of your chest, feeling your cheeks growing red. Billy gave you that smooth, lazy grin that you’ve seen him use before, his eyes hooded as he leaned back in his chair. The feeling of his indecent gaze on your body practically made your skin crawl.

“Fine, Hargrove,” You quickly grab up your belongings and shoot to your feet, fumbling with your bag and sweater to make sure they kept your chest covered, “if you wanna be a prick who won’t focus, we’ll do this next week.”

You started to march out of the library, to retreat to safety. You didn’t like the way Billy was looking at you - it was objectifying and disrespectful and vulgar. Billy never once gave a fuck about - or even noticed - you before, but the second you remove a stupid barrier of clothing, suddenly he’s oh so interested. He was such a pig.

But shit, why was it also… kind of hot?

No, it was not hot.

You couldn’t let yourself even entertain that thought because there sure as shit wasn’t anything hot about it. It wasn’t hot that he objectified you, it wasn’t hot that he drank your body in with impropriety, it wasn’t hot that his tongue ran slowly along his lower lip as his eyes met yours with practiced allure.

No, no, no! You could’ve kicked yourself. Nothing about that should’ve been hot, god damn it.

“Oh, come on, killjoy,” Billy grabbed your wrist, spinning you back around to face him, having followed you through the library. His grip was firm as you looked between his face and hand and back again.

The library wasn’t exactly busy on a Friday afternoon, but you looked around to find that the librarian and another student both looked in your direction. It made you even more nervous to know that eyes were on you; what if you got in trouble, what if the librarian reprimands you both for being disruptive? You looked back to Billy, your brows furrowed in annoyance as you whipped your wrist out of his hold with hostility.

“I’m serious, if all you want is to slack off and look at my tits that’s your business.” You immediately clamped your mouth shut, your eyes widening slightly - that is not what you meant to say at all. Oh god, why the fuck did you say that? Shit, you should’ve just told him that you’d regroup next week, that you weren’t going to put up with him. But no, instead you said arguably the stupidest thing you could, and it was clear on Billy’s face that he was relishing in your stupid words, enjoying them even.

He looked back down at your body, luckily hidden behind your bag and sweater, “My business, huh? Sounds to me like permission to stare.”

“No.” You answered firmly; your cheeks and neck felt so fucking warm. You tried to get back on track, tried to shake off the stupid thing you said just a moment ago, “I just want to finish this project. So, go home and jack off to your Playboys all weekend, and then maybe we can actually get some work done next week.”

Despite your jabs, Billy still grinned wickedly, dipping his head a little as he took a step closer, his voice low, “So, that’s what you’re thinking about, huh? Me jacking off? You enjoying that thought?”

Your mouth opened and closed as you tried to find some quick response to that, but you couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. A sound of disbelief left your throat as you gaped with loathing at Billy for a moment. God, you felt like a damn fish trying to breathe out of water. With a glare in your eyes, you clamped your mouth shut, which seemed to be a great amusement to Billy, whose smile widened as a laugh escaped him.

“God, you make it so easy.” He said, shaking his head, “You gotta lighten up, you know?”

You sigh loudly, eyes still staring at him harshly, “Whatever, Hargrove.”

You attempt to walk away once more, but yet again Billy snatches your wrist, “Wait, wait, wait…”

“Stop acting interested in me all of a sudden,” You try to shake your arm out of his hold again, but this time Billy’s grip is tighter, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Look,” his tone was firm as he instructed, “let’s go back over to the table, get some more work done, and I’ll give you a ride home.”

Your eyes narrowed into slits as you studied his face, “I don’t need a ride.”

“You don’t have a car.” He countered immediately.

“I don’t need a ride from you.”

“You don’t, but isn’t it generous that I’m offering?”

“More like devious.”

“I’ll be a total gentleman.”

You laughed right in his face, “You don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

[bucknastysbabe]

i'm like two years late but i finally binged the 1st and 2nd season this week! currently obsessing over the concept of cole w/ rhaenyra's valyrian-looking (but bastard nonetheless) daughter, returning after 5 years on dragonstone. thoughts?? anyway glad i found your blog it's actually making me more insane <33

Yessss I like this and decided to make an angsty lil songfic!!! Thank you for waiting! I’m so glad you love my stuff it’s so rewarding!!!! COLEWIVES RIDE AT DAWN TO PONDER LIFE ON A LOG AND BE HORNY

I hope you enjoy mwah mwah❤️

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Song fic, Velarystrong Princess, TW: very twisted thinking, homicidal ideation, hate sex, sadism/masochism themes, bastardphobia and dornish racism match made in heaven, obvious poison tree allegory and trying to work through both sides own mistakes screech, ye olde seroquel hours, Criston gets his head fucked with, angst, dark, rough sex, quickie, pnv!sex

Taglist: @aemonds-holy-milk @aemondfairy @elaratyrell @fairysluna @lovelykhaleesiii @peachysunrize @starogeorgina @towriteloveontheirarms @zaldritzosrose

You were ten years of age leaving the Red Keep. There was naught much but scorn and pain surrounding the place. As Rhaenyra’s first, you were a baby girl born with dark hair and dark eyes. Save the silvery streak in the thick curls— still, that wasn’t much to help.

You could cry and yell until you were blue in the face claiming your dark eyes shone like indigo in the right light. Aegon would laugh and laugh. Queen Alicent had remarked in passing that your features were too ‘strong’ to overlook. She didn’t mean the Valyrian traits.

Your family left for Dragonstone, anger in your heart, wishing them to choke on their words. The whole lot of the green-clad faction. The morning upon leaving was seared into your heart, tucked away to stew upon. You were straggling behind, trying to decide whether to desecrate something in the room or not.

A knock upon the door made your head whip up. You opened the heavy oak up, staring at one Ser Criston Cole. Your mother always instructed you to stay away from Alicent’s loyal kingsguard. His dark eyes scanned over you and the room. His head tilted toward the right as he gruffed, “It’s time to leave, Princess.”

He spat the last word out like bile. It made your skin prickle uncomfortably while grabbing your soft-knitted dragon dolly— black as night. You walked beside the knight, knowing he’d never much liked your mother or any of you, your ‘father’ Laenor, and Ser Harwin. You missed Ser Harwin as he was good and kind.

Ser Criston looked down at you, his lips twitching.

“Do you suppose you’ll enjoy your new home? A fine one for the future Princess of Dragonstone.”

You eyed the bigger man back, anger growing in your chest. Instead, you replied quietly, not wishing to incite his notorious rage, “I do not wish for it. My mother has enough issues. My brother Prince Jacaerys shall receive the inheritance.”

It’s people like him who made you decide that at such a young age. The anger, the scorn, the stares all the time from court and ‘family’.

Ser Criston let out a bitter little laugh, “Hah- you might be smarter than the whole lot. You’re sharp and strong.”

That was the end of talking with Ser Criston. The seed had been planted along the many others. Alicent, Aegon, Aemond, Otto, the list went on and grew.

You were back in King’s Landing once more. Now a woman grown of eight and ten. Everything felt different and the old burning in your chest began to rise once more. You hoped the deep anger would shield you from this cutting place— something to keep the pain from sinking in. You were here for another claim of bastardy, this time from the Sea Snake’s brother.

You weren’t a child anymore. Under your veil of anger and haughty face, there remained a well-developed princess. Lovely sweet fruit and honey, hiding the blackened insides. The stares of the staff and onlookers in the yard shifted to the now older children of Rhaenyra.

Jace and Luke watched the much taller form of Aemond sparring with the white knight. You had learned the truth about him after bothering your mother enough. He was still handsome, spry, and dangerous despite his age. Aemond made Criston yield, turning to face your brothers.

“Nephews, have you come to train?” He asked.

You stood behind them, frowning, sharing none of the shock and awe they displayed. Aemond likely suffered from the same as you— swallowed whole with righteous anger. Ser Criston peered at the boys, then you.

All three of you passed, the knight sipping from his wineskin. He was leering, thick brows down as dark orbs roved your face, down to your tits and hips. You spat, “Mind yourself, Ser.”

He almost choked on his water, Aemond’s brow raising and Jace grabbing your arm to speed along.

How dare he look at you like some slab of meat when he hated everything you were. Who you were born from. Jace murmured, “Come now, don’t let him rile you up, you know how it’s going to be here.” Luke was frowning, the princeling worried.

As the day passed, you felt your mind head in different directions. Your mother had even checked on you, asking why you were so distant. You shrugged, claiming to be unsettled by the events of earlier. Daemon sliced the man’s head in half in front of everyone.

As they dressed you in a room, you pondered Cole. How it would feel to slap him, make him admit he wanted another princess. He desired a bastard, a bastard born of the woman he lived to hate. You wanted him. The hate in your heart needed suffering for him— even if it reflected on your hypocrisy.

The conflicted feelings turned swiftly into conviction through the wretched dinner you sat through. Putrid comments from your uncles. Fighting and laughing, crying and dying, the premonition that this would be the only time all of the ‘family’ would sit in a room.

It was sad in a way. The fact that everything had been cleaved in half before anything good could come forth. Not that you could do anything. You’d reap what they had sown, the sins of the forefathers. You could wallow in feelings that always turned back to the same damn thoughts.

Let them all burn in agony. Feel the pain you’d dealt with for years, a firstborn bastard with a cunt. It was such easy pickings when your mother remained heir. As she was entitled to be. Sometimes it seemed easier if she just let Aegon’s idiotic self become king or hire some faceless man to kill them in their sleep.

There you were. The anger and fantasies took the pain of real life away. Blooming in a million separate ways, oh, but what if? Your lips curled up walking down the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, fingers trailing across the walls after being dismissed from dinner. You narrowed your eyes at the familiar form placed outside your door.

You stopped near Ser Criston, leaning against the frame of the door. He nodded, “Princess.” Criston had spat it at you like an insult again, likely ruffled from your behavior earlier. Why was he here of all places?

“Shouldn’t a warrior like you be outside of Luke’s door so Aemond doesn’t go carve his eye out?”

His eyes narrowed, yet Criston’s lips spread into a thin smile. The marcher replied, “No. It’s for protection. A pretty unmarried princess like you? Most men here would open their door. So in you go.” He opened the door, jerking his head with a grimace. You caught the implication swiftly, bristling.

“Oh? Because I’m on the wrong side of the blanket you think me to go out and fuck the men of the castle? My wretched uncles, who don’t give less of a shit about me?”

You shook with anger, trying to shove the pure hate back into the little pocket in your breast. Ser Criston gripped your arm, escorting you in with a growl, kicking the door shut behind him. He tossed off his helmet, hackles raised as his eyes studied you, his other hand coming up to hold the other arm as you tried to squirm away.

Criston’s voice was more shaky than you expected as he spoke. It was a bladed jab, “I’d almost say she birthed you on her own if it weren’t for that hair, you’re just as spoiled and miserable as your mother was at this age. You’re reckless, not to be trusted.”

Your lips pursed as he held you in place. The anger wanted to burst back out, fire and blood indeed. No, no, you needed to nurse it for when the time was right. Even if the little metaphorical pocket you’d sewn the seeds of resentments into had grown into a cavern. A void of straggling branches and vines only filled for a moment.

If the knight in front of you knew how fucked up you were, he would likely seal you off in the black cells. Father above, your mother would too. You’d be mad and alone— but the fantasies and resentments would keep you company.

Eyes gliding up to Cole you finally replied, “I suppose I am reckless. This place makes me mad. How you tolerate it is beyond me.” You’d rather not speak on your mother at the moment, but you sighed, “My mother has done good by me. She’s loved us all. Yet she doomed us with our nature, especially with my little silver brothers.”

Criston seemed to like your response, hands easing off you. He hummed, “You are sharp. Of tongue and mind. That’s never changed. Alas, you’d never know peace until you’re well married off and away.”

You crossed your arms, putting some paces between you two. There was a manic laugh bubbling from your chest, a harsh noise, “I’ll never know peace wherever I go. None of us will, alas certainly not you either. Not with what weighs on your soul.”

The Kingsguard’s long legs closed the space, hand darting out to grip the side of your head as he growled, “Don’t speak of things you know nothing of. Ill-begotten wretch.”

You grinned.

Criston didn’t have the luxury of nursing his anger. It appeared the more he tried to hold it in, the more it seeped out. His entire body was on the attack as he glared at you, eyes wide, teeth close to baring, thick brow twisted up. He didn’t sew a pocket and you wondered if it was worse or better for the soul.

You leaned up into his angered visage, lips close to his, your lips split into a mocking smile. Something was invigorating about this— watching his nostrils flare as the brunette sharply exhaled. He hadn’t released your head, breath choppy.

“You’re confusing me,” Criston gritted out.

“I want you of course.”

Spoken as if it was the most simple thing. Gods this felt fucking good.

He smashed his lips to yours, nose bumping together as he turned his head, lowering to your height. Your nails dug into his neck, inexperienced lips molding to his pace. It was rough, brutal really. Criston’s tongue ungracefully slipped into your mouth when his hand slapped your ass, prompting you to yelp.

You smacked him back on his cheek, pulling away. Criston growled, “You’re definitely on the wrong side of the coin and blanket, get over here.”

You surged back to smash your lips against his, gripping at a handful of dark hair, groaning as teeth and lips meshed. He turned you toward the bed, bigger frame crowding yours, shuffling steps until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You hissed as he pushed you back, your body bouncing once.

Criston immediately pinned you down, his cold plate digging into your soft skin. He breathed, “Sick goddamn spawn. I see the thorns underneath.” One of his knees propped against the bed, teeth subtly dragging down your throat. A hand kneaded and groped your breast, drawing a low moan from your throat— the edge of pain sent more throbbing below.

You wanted him to hurt. Moreso you to hurt and throb with pain, entering that state of bliss within. All of Criston’s physical soft spots were practically hidden, you reaching down to undo his sword belt clumsily. The knight smirked.

“You want my cock? Fitting for a natural born off a whore.”

You spat back, “Says the man who fucked the whore and now wants her filthy bastard. Is it my cunning, sly nature? My natural wanton lust that weakens you so?”

He gritted his jaw, hand slapping down next to your head with a curse. Criston swallowed heavily, both of his hands rucking up your dress, ripping anything in the way. He’d rip you too. A nice surprise you supposed, perhaps not for him.

You taunted with a grin. “You’re weak you know? Must be the Dornish blood. Ser Criston, you just need the feeling of a noble cunt to keep you going, hm?”

He was feverishly undoing his breeches and padded tunic. Shoulders shaking with anger, disappointment, something else. Criston cursed as his fingers slipped again, huffing, “Fuck you.”

You waited with a smug look, looking forward to this new, powerful experience.

His dusky cock was flush and hard, bigger than what you imagined. You weren’t sure what the imagination even was— your fantasies were feelings, not pictures. He felt at your bare cunt, thick calloused fingers unceremoniously delving into the slick heat.

You grunted, the pain giving way to more. So much more.

Criston pulled his fingers back, brows raising in alarm as the maiden’s blood covered his fingers. You watched him and quickly jerked his hand over, eyes flicked upwards. The man shook harder, gasping, “Gods fucking dammit— damn you, damn you!”

You suckled your essence and blood off his fingers, biting at the tips, just enough to leave the fingers throbbing. The anguish upon his shining eyes and his furrowed brow was gorgeous. More arousal filled your belly, moaning softly. He rumbled out a low noise, breath heavy, the knowledge he’d fucked something up due to instinct again eating the man alive.

“You broke it, now take me,” you demanded, licking blood off your lower lip.

Criston let out a harsh noise akin to a sob as he aligned himself with your soaking pussy. There was a long pause, likely a useless prayer in his head. He inhaled against your pulsing neck. You moaned again as the thick tip of his prick entered. The earlier stinging and pulling returning, the pain sending your lashes to fluttering.

“Mm- fuck- don’t stop, hard, I want it hard,” you rasped.

Criston moaned weakly, jerking his hips forward, breath hitching against as he had filled you to the hilt. Guilt and shame roiled off his frame. Meanwhile, you could breathe it in, feeling like a god. The power you held over this sick, pitiful man who happened to be a warrior. Your walls shifted and burned, something to relish.

“Come on now, take me Ser,” you cooed, a hand skating down his neck to squeeze. He thrust again, the pair of you gutturally groaning. You spread your legs wider, planting them on the bed, shuddering at the fullness and dull throb.

He began to shake the bed with the force of his fucking, grunting, and huffing into your neck. Criston would hold up sometimes to mutter pitifully, shivering from head to toe. His handsome face screwed up, thick brows knit as he groaned.

You panted, “Feels so good, fuck.”

The friction was nice, but his broken mumbling made you grow dizzy with arousal. Guilt lurked beneath, you shoving it away with a grip at his hair or bite to his jaw.

You were crying out in ecstasy now as he had both knees on the bed, holding your hips up as his throbbing cock pushed and pushed into your soft core, the heat growing overwhelming. Sweat shone on your brow and breast, Criston faring no better. You felt like a ragdoll, the white knight doing all the work, yet you pulled the strings.

You smiled in delirium, imagining him guiltily stripping his cock for days after this. Unable to look you in the eye ever again. Gods, gods, you needed this more. Criston moaned your name, his shaking hand peeling off your hip to swirl at the sensitive little nub at the apex of your thighs.

You cried out again, arousal surging into your veins, squirming and milking his cock. Criston’s hips stuttered as he whined something about forgiveness. Your chest felt full and fuzzy, content, idly wondering if he was always so emotional.

Soon, the stuffed feeling of your cunt, the nerves singing from his insistent rubbing of thumb had you on the edge, mewling in bliss. You whined, “Yes, so good Ser Criston, ’m gonna come, my white knight.”

He broke down again, falling forward and sobbing into your neck, the sound of his pain like a bolt of ecstasy. You clenched up around him, head thrown back as you moaned and huffed, lips curled up as the burn spread across your frame— cunt weeping and pulsing around him.

“Fuck yes! Yes!”

It wasn’t much long after you writhed and clawed at his throat, Criston pulled out, sniffling and sulky as he came with little whines, face dark with embarrassment and self-hatred. His cock spit onto your thigh and the bedding as he heaved. He sat on the bed, big mournful eyes on you, the evidence of his lust.

You easily rolled away, panting. With a stretch and final savor of the ache, you padded to the washroom to ring the bell for servants to draw a bath. Leaning against the frame, you watched the broken man, lost in his thoughts, silent tears down his flushed cheeks. You scoffed, “Fall to your needs again? Perhaps you’d be a better guard dog if they gelded you.”

You turned without a word more.

He was crying softly in the other room, once again broken down. You had nothing to say. Ser Criston deserved to remember what he was, a whore.

Cherishing your newfound feelings, your chest had begun to ache for more. You sighed, internally nursing those seeds, some had sprouted, you couldn’t let them grow much more. Only allowed for when the time came. Now was a tease, a glimpse of something much more powerful that would emerge when the realm erupted.

He left eventually, you sitting in a tub, eyes closed, humming softly as the servant brushed your bastard hair. Dripping with honey, filled with thorns and poison. Mayhaps you’d be too gone a day, but now? There was much more to life yet again.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy love day Shana! I would *love* some more of the WWX and Jiang Yanli runaway story! I love it so much!!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Jiang Cheng would very much like to throw all the Lan and Jin disciples out from Lotus Pier because they’re all irritating as hell and even worse when they’re together, but there’s the issue of keeping them from spreading rumors and that Lan Wangji and Jin Zixuan are going to refuse to leave.

Jin Zixuan is fair enough. That’s his wife and child. But Jiang Cheng give anything to be able to kick Lan Wangji into the nearest lotus pond rather than put a roof over his head.

He wants to lie down and not think for a little bit and he wants to hide his face in his older sister’s skirts like when he was a child and he wants to hold onto Wei Wuxian so he can’t leave him again but none of that is reasonable or justifiable or fair.

So instead he watches as they discuss what to do next, how to handle this without kicking off another war.

It’s good to be concerned, and careful, but he doesn’t think there’ll be another war from this, even if they just them back into society with minimal explanation. At least, there won’t be as long as they don’t start killing sect leaders.

Things are different now than they were thirteen years ago.

He has a much firmer grip on his clan and the place of the Jiang in cultivation society isn’t desecrated and limping along. The same can be said of Lan Xichen and the Lan.

Nie Mingjue was an ass last time, somewhat understandably, but both Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen are better equipped to talk him down and pacify him this time. Besides, Jiang Cheng is a lot more willing and able to kick his ass about it if he has to.

While he would very much like to avoid doing anything with Lan Wangji, he knows he would help, that now that Wei Wuxian is back it’s going to be hell getting that asshole out of their hair. They might as well put him to work.

He real problem, the thing that just shoehorning them back in place stupid rather than inadvisable, is the Jin and the minor clans that have clustered around them.

Jin Zixuan and his ilk aren’t a problem, of course. But Jin Guangshan and the older members of their clan that are still loyal to him, which is a rather large amount, don’t like anything that upsets the balance of power away from them and they do their best to crush it. And often succeed.

He wishes he’d known, he wishes the letter A-jie and Wei Wuxian insist they’ve sent had gotten to him and that he hadn’t spent the past thirteen years drowning and curdling in his grief, he wishes they hadn’t had to survive on their own, hiding and lying and running, and that he could have helped them.

But despite all that, he understands why A-jie felt the need to take her son and run from Koi Tower.

[katesmemes]

feel free to change any pronouns, etc. || may contain some nsfw!

"I don't think that blush is your shade."

"I'll probably just stay home."

"This is the first critical rager of the year."

"You know what your doctor said."

"You need socialization."

"Why don't you use my tanning bed?"

"You're in need, babe."

"I'm really sorry you got electrocuted."

"Are you hot for anyone?"

"[Name], [Name], [Name], [Name], [Name], [Name], [Name]!"

"I don't know who that is."

"He doesn't play sports; he's cerebral."

"This party is gonna be clutch!"

"These things will turn your feet into hamburger helper."

"It's not haunted, just abandoned. Desecrated."

"Well, I heard [Name(s)] do witchcraft over there."

"I've never seen anybody there."

"I think it's really peaceful and quiet."

"I talk to him sometimes."

"I brought this for you."

"It's kinda morbid when I wear it so I wanted you to have it."

"That's really weird, [Name]."

"I just don't think anyone should be forgotten."

"Y'know, I wasn't gonna say anything, they were such a mess, but you look amazing now!"

"Oh my God, [Name], bag your face!"

"How do you know my name?"

"So what exactly happened to her?"

"I can never ever talk about it, for personal and legal reasons, and i also pinky swore, but I guess I can tell you. I trust you."

"I'd be screwed up if I were her, too."

"Hi, sorry, how do we know each other?"

"You're being so dramatic."

"This is not what I expected from you; you have so much potential."

"Lets find somewhere for you to sit for a bit, yeah?"

"I hate parties like this; I don't even know why I came."

"Your hair feels like easter grass."

"You know it's not nice to lead people on."

"I wish I was with you."

"It's okay; everyone does it."

"You should probably get going."

"Did you smash the mirror in the bathroom?"

"Do you know what happens to people who act out?"

"How about an apology?"

"I feel like I may want to apologize for what happened last night."

"Well, I'm glad you're okay."

"Oh, is there pizza left?"

"I think I'm gonna skip the movie."

"I'm just really tired from work."

"Do you know how hard that is on the groin muscles?"

"It doesn't even hurt anymore."

"Do you like this song?"

"We're better off up here in case anyone comes home."

"I haven't said this many words in a row in forever."

"I hate to say it, but you're either crazy, or just goddamned inconsiderate!"

"You're kind of absurd, aren't you?"

"I really don't get your fixation with that one."

"There are plenty of halfway-dece guys who would date you."

"I wanna help you, I really do, but I dunno how."

"It's a waste of time to try and fix a boy; it's better to just accept a guy's flaws."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"What happened to your neck?"

"You don't want to hold my hand?"

"This whole place gives me the creeps, okay?"

"I thought that was a really cool thing to say."

"Don't feel bad about what we did!"

"You saved me."

"Is that a rad new trend or something?"

"I don't play with dolls anymore."

"I'm sure there's some explanation."

"You know I'm usually pretty cool about things, right?"

"I have a bad feeling about this."

"You have no idea how scary this is."

"I actually feel like something's wrong."

"People are so afraid of death because they dunno when it's gonna happen to them."

"I'm not afraid of death anymore."

"I don't wanna die a virgin."

"I want to do it with someone I truly love."

"You're so supportive."

"I love our conversations."

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude."

"How about I drive since you're not feeling so good?"

"Your boobs look great by the way."

"This is just too freaking much."

"It's your fault we're screwed."

"You act like you're happy for me, and you care about me, but you're not really happy for me."

"You couldn't let me have this one thing?"

"You knew I liked him and you went after him on purpose!"

"I swear, I would never do that to you!"

"Guys usually only want me for one thing."

"It just was never gonna work out between us."

"I don't have feelings for you like that."

"Do you know how uncool that is?!"

"Uh, you're not making any sense."

"Thank you for being nice to me when no one else was."

"You're the type of person who usually bullies me or looks right through me, but you didn't."

"You actually went out of your way to try to tell people I was part of your family."

"You really actually wanted me to be your sister..."

"You're a great person, [Name]."

"Listen, we're running out of time."

"Make love to me."

[hypnoneghoul]

Cosmic Love

WC: 1,3k

Relationship: Swiss & Mountain

Tags: Domestic Fluff, Song Fic, Really Deep Love, Poetic Fic (I hope at least because that was the plan)

“You’re everything, sweetheart,” Swiss says and even though Mountain is asleep, the corners of his lips curl upwards slightly. “You’re everything, darling,” Mountain says and even though Swiss is already grinning, his smile seems to grow and brighten.

Notes: This is kinda special, I took this and made it bigger and better and deeper. Also this is dedicated to @arkeusruin because you don't even know how important your words on friday were. Thank you, you're awesome <3

Read under the cut or on AO3.

To Swiss, Mountain is the prettiest creature that has ever been called up from the Pit. A deity, truly. 

“You are so beautiful it's hard to believe you’re real sometimes, my love,” Swiss whispers to him, laying on his side and watching, adoring, loving. “Especially in moments like these.”

He is sprawled out in their nest, wrapped in soft sage sheets and bathed in sunlight coming in from the window. His hair is down, the loose amber strands spilling down his shoulder and chest in a way that looks as if Lucifer himself had gently laid each individual silky wave in this perfect composition.

His face is fully relaxed, a thing so rare Swiss' heart hurts whenever he is rewarded with getting to see Mountain like this. His eyelashes kiss his pink-tinged and freckle-adorned cheeks and his plush lips are slightly parted. The multi ghoul could swear it is an invitation to slot his own against them.

His whole lean body lies limply, but not disorderly—long limbs arranged in a careful, yet unconscious, way. It is just asking to be painted, to be preserved. Such beauty can not be wasted.

Swiss would, if he only had the skill. He would never dare to try, would not risk the desecration of portraying Mountain as less than he really is.

“You’re everything, sweetheart,” the multi ghoul says and even though Mountain is asleep, the corners of his lips curl upwards slightly. Knowing, understanding.

Mountain is to be worshiped and that is something Swiss can do. That is something he does, and will never stop. In any way he would desire, Swiss will worship him. Will pray to him for the gift of it.

He smiles softly and sighs. Words come to his mind and while there is not enough in any language known to man or demon to describe the love he has for Mountain, there is one thing that feels close.

And so Swiss starts to sing quietly.

I'd rather take my whiskey neat

My coffee black and my bed at three

You're too sweet for me

You're too sweet for me

He will sing more and he will wish he had more to give, but for now, Mountain sleeps.

And Swiss watches.

Swiss could cry with love when Mountain wakes. He stretches, as if showing off his perfect body first thing in the morning, and there is a deep rumble coming from within him. Content to be waking, ready to face another day with his mate by his side.

The multi ghoul ends the feast for his eyes and moves closer, truly gluing himself to Mountain’s side. He breathes in his scent—the smell of the first days of summer—and a pleased trill leaves his lips, “Good morning, my love.”

The earth ghoul does not reply, only his purring increases in volume. Swiss understands.

He wraps his hands around Mountain and squeezes him as if he could pull him into his own body and keep him there, safe and sound.

“Wanna stay in here for a bit longer?” Swiss asks and his mate nods gently, rubbing his face against the multi ghoul’s chest. He smiles and settles, letting his eyes slip shut again.

It is soft and warm and just perfect and it is one of those moments that the both of them wish could last forever. Mountain stays awake. It is most likely Swiss who dozes off again, but his mate does not mind.

The silence is comfortable around them and the earth ghoul does not feel the need to fill it. When he starts to sing, it is an expression.

I will leave you notes

Under your door

Under the singing moon

Near the place where your feet pass

Hidden in the holes of wintertime

And when you're alone for a moment...

Kiss me

Whenever you want

Mountain could cry with love as he watches Swiss cook. It is nearly like a dance, the way he moves along the counter, grabbing this and that to make a delicious meal for his mate and the rest of their pack. He is purring—most likely unconsciously—content to pour his feelings out into something physical, something to share.

The earth ghoul sits on the edge of the counter as he sips his tea, feasting his eyes on his mate over the rim of his mug. He chirps when Swiss moves closer to him and steps between his legs to press a kiss to his freckled nose. “What’s that for, my heart?”

The multi ghoul does not reply, only his purring increases in volume. Mountain understands.

He sets his tea down before wrapping his hands around Swiss. He squeezes him as if he could pull him into his own body and keep him there, safe and sound.

“Want to take a break from all the cooking?” Mountain asks, but his mate shakes his head gently, rubbing his nose against the earth ghoul’s shoulder. He smiles and nods, letting him go so he can continue.

It is soft and warm and just perfect and it is one of those moments that the both of them wish could last forever. Mountain stays seated on the counter, watching.

The silence is comfortable around them and neither of them feels the need to fill it. Swiss turns on his music quietly, anyway, but Mountain does not mind. When he starts to sing, it is an expression.

You keep me all together

You take me out whenever I'm lettin' down

You got the motions baby

I got a notion maybe I'll stick around

Because, oh

I can never doubt you for too long

I can't see no reason

You're my kinda lover

To Mountain, Swiss is the prettiest creature that has ever been called up from the Pit. A deity, truly.

“You are so beautiful it's hard to believe you’re real sometimes, my heart,” Mountain whispers to him and his chest squeezes painfully as Swiss smiles. “Especially in moments like these.”

His arms are wrapped all around the one he calls his love. He is smiling as they dance. His hair is down and the night-colored locks jump with his movements, as fluid as the rest of him.

His face is glowing, tawny brown skin shimmering in artificial light not holding a candle to his own shine. His smile is so bright that it could resurrect a dead star and it is framed by plush lips simply begging to be kissed swollen. The whole picture is adorned by two molten drops of gold that Mountain would gladly drown and melt himself in.

Swiss’ whole body—muscled, yet soft around the edges—moves smoothly like water, his hips swaying. It is just asking to be painted in his movement, to be preserved. Such beauty can not be wasted.

Mountain would, if he only had the skill. He would never dare to try, would not risk the desecration of portraying Swiss as less than he really is.

“You’re everything, darling,” the earth ghoul says and even though Swiss is already grinning—oh, so widely—his smile seems to grow and brighten even more. Grateful, appreciating.

Swiss is to be begged for his blessings and that is something Mountain can do. That is something he does, and will never stop. For anything he would offer, Mountain will beg and pray. Will worship him.

He smiles softly and sighs. He regrets not being as good with his words as he would wish to be, but those already resonating through the room feel appropriate.

And so Mountain starts to sing quietly.

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

He will sing more and he will wish he had more to give, but for now, they dance.

And Mountain watches.

[cherryplasmids]

i can write a thesis on why prime is such an amazing show but i would like to point out three things i had issues with. this isn’t coherently written, just rambles i want to get off my chest

1. the fact that we didn’t get to see knockout mourn breakdown’s death IRKS ME. there’s barely any mention of BD after mech kidnapped and committed acts of body horror against him. even when he is mentioned, it’s always in a flippant manner. that was KO’spartner (in all ways) and we don’t see, in any way, that the death actually hurts KO.

in fact, KO should have become an autobot as a result of BD’s death/body desecration. no one gave a shit about BD, including megatron—someone KO expected to have at least a shred of worry over a loyally capable decepticon soldier. no dice—KO was demoted from prolific medic to loser lackey ( he's still fun tho! i still love him!) as the episodes go by with still no opportunity to mourn. at least with the autobots they’d have some apprehension over his defection, but OP would have understood.

imagine the miko and KO interactions if he expressed reluctant and embarrassed interest in human culture!!!!!!

HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN AN AUTOBOT EARLIER

(by association, BD should have switched sides after he realized that his comrades, except KO, left him for dead after the initial mech experiment)

(i just wish we got to see more of them together)

2. dreadwing should have been better utilized. not sure if the writer’s didn’t know what to do with his character, but megatron literally made him 2nd in command, then he would disappear for episodes at a time. when he did appear, he failed at every mission given to him. he definitely should have switched sides, too. then again, not sure what could have been done with his character as an autobot either

3. beast hunters…lasted like four episodes. branding wise, titling season 3 like that made it out to be more than it actually was. predaking as a whole was also useless to me. his entrance was grand, but the payoff was totally not worth it in the end. compared to ultra magnus who’s entrance was lackluster, ended up being a necessary addition. i didn’t even like him in the beginning, but i grew to really enjoy his character development—especially his relationship with jackie

[lets-try-some-writing]

(you might get double of this same ask bc I'm not sure the last one went through so ignore this one if it did)

Just thought of a weird thing where cybertronians aren't created by the allspark or any other canon variation but are instead made a la vampire/cybermen from Doctor Who style, where already living organisms are turned into cybertronians. I just think it'd be interesting to see how this au would play out (especially with the kids- would they get turned by the Deceptions for some reason- evil or otherwise- or, in an angstier way, by the Bots?). I just think it'd be interesting

This concept has me in a CHOKEHOLD. Now I NEED to write for it. I've always found these sorts of ideas interesting. This is going to be LONG though.

The Weakness of Flesh

The legends said that during the beginning of all things, Unicron created his minions of chaos. They were wrapped in living material, organic matter, and cast out amongst the stars that were forged from Primus's radiant light. World filled with organic life flourished, creatures spring up left and right, and in that moment, life filled the previously empty universe. The preachers said that Primus saw this desecration of his holy lands and strove to return all to the light of his being in the creation of his own champions.

From the strongest of Unicron's minions, Primus took them unto himself and raised them up. He remade them piece by piece, stripping away the weakness of flesh for the eternity of a frame of metal. From his own frame he cut until the swirling nebula of his lifeblood fell upon the creations of Unicron he chose. The tainted creatures of Unicron basked in Primus's essence and consumed it, the impurity of their beings washed away with every sip. Many of the chosen perished in the light of Primus's essence, too tainted to survive. However thirteen endured the changes and were born anew, each strong and gifted with power unique to them based upon what they once were.

The records said that once they were made anew the first thirteen fought against the chaos god at Primus's bidding and struck him down. It is said that they then used their gifts to reforge Primus's slumbering frame to be a world upon which they could live. However none know precisely what happened, only that the thirteen gathered up organics made of the chaos god and brought them to Cybertron, the slumbering form of their Sire. There they each took upon themselves organic creations and shared their lifeblood as Primus had with them, changing the organics to match them in image. Then just as the work began, it ended with conflicts among the thirteen as those with the most converts fought amongst themselves.

Little is known of their battles, but in the end, Solus and Liege fell, many retreated to the stars, and Onyx, Micronus, Nexus, and the Thirteenth quietly vanished after draining their energon for others to consume. With time, those that remained also vanished into obscurity, lingering but never acting in any significant way.

Those were the times of legends, and that is what the preachers said.

Whatever really happened, Cybertron was born and on its surface a race reliant on others to reproduce was formed. Made of metal and with cores formed from the essence of the divine, Cybertronians stormed the galaxy with Primes, those with the purest bloodlines, on their side. Those who wished for young travelled far and wide across the stars, searching out organics who they found to fit their bloodline and be worthy of conversion.

While they lived, Predacons gathered the strongest young of organic species after having them fight to the death in pits. The young that lasted were treated as treasures during conversion and cared for with utmost patience and love as they endured the torment of transformation. Although when Predacons arrived to search out young, war almost always followed as the organic worlds they travelled to fought against them bitterly for the sake of their children.

Minicons searched out the most intuitive and thoughtful through trials of knowledge. They spent vorns dutifully travelling to places of learning and high activity to find ones who might be worthy. Often they were heralded with great gusto when they came as it was seen as a blessing for one's child to be made into an immortal. The young they took unto themselves were always treated gently and raised with care, for every convert is a blessing due to how dangerous the process was.

Grounders rarely left, but when they did hunt for young, they searched across the stars for those of stalwart hearts. Those they gathered under them in droves, often turning many at a time and training them all lovingly. The arrival of a grounder in search of young to convert was often seen as a blessing or a curse depending on the world. For a grounder searching out young will not leave until they have at least one, no matter the circumstances. The grounder in question would serve the community they were trying to collect a child from, but they were known to get aggressive when unable to take a child into their fold.

Fliers were similarly conservative in their hunts for young, but when they left to search, they too were not content with merely one when possible. Their arrival was heralded similarly as well, often leading to great celebration or debate. Fliers came in trines, and that meant more potential danger. Not only that, but they were not nearly as willing to bargain as grounders. If they found young they liked, they took them regardless of the parent species's feelings on the matter.

Beastformers wandered the stars carefully selecting young. They took in the lost and the homeless and never asked questions about the children they took in who came from broken homes. They gathered those that others didn't want, and that was fine with them. They needed no heralding, they only wanted family.

This was the way of things and all the galaxy knew of the Cybertronian hunts for young. Some would offer up children in tithes just to avoid conflict. Others would train to possibly be worthy of being accepted as an immortal. And some still fought bitterly against the waves of Cybertronians coming for young, waging war and fighting tooth and nail to keep their young to themselves. Whatever the case, this was the way and Cybertronians continued their existence through the welcoming of new blood.

Orion Pax was taken up from the rubble of a long forgotten world, the last survivor of a deadly plague while still a young child. None knew exactly what he was or where he came from considering his organic form did not match that of the race that lived upon the planet. Still, he wandered the surface, lost, starving, and struggling bitterly against death as he hunted for something, anything to keep him alive. He lived wild, hunting and rummaging through what he could to get by. Alpha Trion of all mecha sensed his presence and collected him, taking INCREADIBLE care when it came time to convert the organic child.

Orion Pax was not given just Alpha Trion's essence, no, he was also infused with the energon of the other Primes that Alpha Trion managed to save for this very purpose. Orion didn't know nor did he care. He survived the changes and his flesh was stripped away in favor of metal and a spark. All the Matrix did when he gained it was wake up the dormant power within him, forcing the power of the divine to change him into something greater, something purer.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Mortal to Immortal

The conversion process was by no means an easy thing to endure. There was a reason that potential young were taken only from among the strongest, be it in mind, body, or spirit. Few survived the process without dedicated care and love from their Sire. All sorts of issues could come up if a Sire was negligent or failed to provide adequate amounts of energon to sustain the young during the change.

Outliers formed randomly, there was no notable event that caused their existence. However ghouls, spark eaters, and terrorcons were a legitimate threat when young were not tended to. Ghouls were born of a lack of energon, their bodies unable to fully finish development due to the neglect or lack of a Sire leading to them having to supplement on the energon of others their whole lives. Spark eaters were born of a lack of love from a Sire, resulting in their sparks forming incorrectly and requiring the essence of others to try and stabilize their own self destructive being. And of course Terrorcons came from a sparkling perishing halfway through the process due to neglect and their unfinished frame being reclaimed by the chaos god.

So many threats were involved with the changes, and yet it was required to sustain their species. However with how time intensive the changes are, the war put a damper on reproductive efforts.

The only sparkling among the Autobots who was brought into the fold was Bumblebee, and that was only because he was on the brink of death in his mortal frame when Optimus and Ratchet took him in and agreed to bring him into the fold together. Even then Bumblebee's changes were carefully observed and every moment not at war was spent tending to him. There simply wasn't enough time or peace to really bring in more into the fold.

Thus when the Autobots and Decepticons arrived on earth and found it to be somewhat safe, the urge to bring more into their folds was strong but controllable... up until the children got involved. Cybertronians all have a natural urge to want to bring more into their fold once they are old enough and their bloodline stabilizes. It is even more powerful when there are too few of them. The Decepticons kept themselves in line, with few being willing to raise a sparkling during war. But the Autobots? With how often the children got into dangerous situations, they found themselves with little choice, especially after Starscream nearly nabbed Miko for his own purposes and Soundwave almost made off with Rafael.

There was no choice. The children needed to be brought into the fold before the Decepticons lost control and took them into theirs. It was a matter of safety, there was no other way. As such quietly the team prepared the necessary items and began designating Sire's while also readying their offerings to the humans in exchange for their young.

Arcee was given sole responsibility over Jack, a position she carried with pride when Optimus granted her his blessing for her to be Jack's Sire. Bulkhead and Wheeljack were given Miko to Sire, to which both were ecstatic and immediately began preparing the correct offerings. And lastly Rafael was taken on by Ratchet, and by extension Optimus. Bumblebee was too young to raise a sparkling, but Primus did he wish he could when the plan was announced. None were all too proud of having to take the children from their caretakers and their race of origin, but it was for the best.

June was offered respect whenever she came to base, often with Arcee bowing kindly and offering up small gifts and tokens which the nurse took with confusion. Miko's host family and biological parents found themselves wired with extra cash from an unknown source. Rafael's parents were anonymously gifted strange artworks and also wired cash. The children didn't know, but they didn't need to until the time came. It was best they remained unknowing.

As all that went on, Optimus worked with the team to carefully prepare small injections of energon to be given to the children. He took energon from the designated Sires and offered it to the children in drinks he bought using a holoform. It felt underhanded, but the changes would be easier if the children were unaware for as long as possible since it wouldn't stress the mind quite as much. He added some of his own energon to all the children's injections just to stabilize things and ensure the children came out strong, but beyond that the only child he focused his efforts on was Rafael. It was not his place to interfere with the others.

Day by day over the course of months, the changes began.

Arcee treated her boy as gently as possible as his body ached and his internals seemed to burn more with every passing day around his chest. She cradled him when he fell asleep at base, singing to his slowly forming spark to calm it and cause Jack the least pain. She took great care to ensure Jack didn't receive too much energon and was there to quietly run scans and slip his Cybertronian painkillers when the aches grew worse in order to hide the truth from June for as long as possible. She stopped raising her voice, attentive to her boy's sensitive hearing and vision during the changes. She knew the changes, although those memories were distant.

Bulkhead and Wheeljack tended to Miko with utmost care as she came to them exhausted and unknowingly searching for attention as her slowly forming spark cried out. They held her near their sparks and sang to her as she slumbered all while quietly doing their best to soothe aching muscles and burning limbs as metal overtook flesh. They gave her higher doses of energon in order to speed the process along, but they never rushed Miko to do anything, instead being soft and loving with her even when she grew angry or snapped as new emotions ravaged her mind.

Ratchet and Optimus were well acquainted with the changes and cared for Rafael with practiced ease. Ratchet soothed aching muscles and stressed skin with special ointments and massages meant to lessen the pain. Optimus sang and used his field to care for Rafael's young spark, knowing full and well that his larger energon donation in Rafael made the boy more open to his affections. Together Ratchet and Optimus worked as one unit, both caring for Rafael physically and emotionally as his Sire's to be and both allowing equal amounts of their energon to be given to the boy. Bumblebee for his part did what he could to keep Rafael distracted as his bones slowly were remade and he began to loose feeling in his limbs as flesh was converted to metal.

The changes were necessary for their own safety. It was better they were brought into the fold by Autobots instead of Decepticons, especially since with the changes, their minds would shift and alter too. However this reality did not make it any easier when the children began to grow aware of how they were changing and their parents grew suspicious too.

[duskoon]

Yandere!AlterEgo!Ashiya Dōman Short Blurb: Tw: Gn!reader, Yandere themes, Obsessive/Posessive behaviors, Manipulation, Desecration of the dead, Invasion of Privacy, Sadism, Implied one-sided infidelity, Caster of Limbo/Dōman is a warning himself. Taglist: @bluemoondust, since you liked my last ramble regarding my take on fate. Here is a blurb for one of my personal favorite servants in the game. He is so petty, yet such a multilayered character. I will probably write a hc’s for him soon after my other request.

⛦ Yandere!Ashiya Dōman who for some odd reason took a sudden interest on you. There’s something familiar and appealing about you, that he couldn’t put his fingers around it. Something that makes his spiritual core aches and coil at the sight of you.

An incessant need—an obsession, hunger, and a curse if you will— to know more about you, akin to that of a begruding spirit that refuses to move on until it satiate it’s vindication.

⛦ Yandere!Ashiya Dōman who drives you away from Chaldea in hopes of getting you alone. Using every trick and scheme in his book to lure you to him, like a pied piper. Instead of a magical pipe, it was a shikigami conjured in the image of your deceased loved ones.

⛦ Yandere!Ashiya Dōman who adores and drinks upon every expression that comes out of your visage like the finest of sake. The joy that adorns your face after saving a soul at death’s doorsteps, and the sheen of sweat as you pull through the toughest of battles with your servant alongside Mash and Fujimaru.

Yet, the most worth ravishing of all was the pain etching on the contour of your face and bleak eyes; As your world slowly fall asunder by his hands—be it directly or indirectly. It brings him the zenith of elation.

⛦ Yandere!Ashiya Dōman who can’t help himself but hijacks visit you in your dreams. The humble priest, as he calls himself, is far too curious about your inner workings. He wants to pick you apart piece by piece, like jigsaw.

To see the side that you fiercely hide away from the world, the most intimate and shameful part of you. Your own secret garden. His sharp green talons softly caressing your cheeks, as he observe you sleeping. Careless, to the beast’s in a man skin wandering freely in your mind.

Oh. How he wishes to sully you. To witness you become the thing that you have sworn to defeat. To see one of humanity’s saviors fall down to the depths of limbo. Where he awaits and welcomes them within his coldest embrace.

⛦ Yandere!Ashiya Dōman who is cackling vehemently; Going through your memories seething in green, as he sees an image of him of all people here.. Ha. Even in death, his most hated rival still mocks him. Yet… Why! Why! Why was he here?! You were supposed to be his and his alone for the taking.

His eyes grows darker like a sea of an endless abyss, while his smiles expands in madness showing the sharp fangs that laid beneath his faux friendly smile.

⛦ Yandere!Ashiya Dōman who tries to rewrite your memories. To erase him and your allies from the necropolis of your mind, yet failing miserably. Your soul, mind, and heart was protected heavily by him that much he can infer. But… why?

⛦ Yandere!Ashiya Dōman who finally recognize for who you are, or rather were and why he latched onto you. It makes sense, now. Your essence were that of the beloved wife of Seimei. Ahh.. Fate.. What a cruel mistress, yet she brought you to him once again.

This time, however, he won’t fumble like he once did. You'll be his like you were meant to be, especially now that damned adversary of his is gone for good. Ahh.. You'll be singing his name like a mantra, even if he has to get persuasive and pacify you like he did back then.

“𝑵𝒏𝒏𝒏𝒏𝒏.. 𝑵𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆.. 𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆.. 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒑𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆.. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒌’𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕..”

Footnotes:

• You could say a shikigami is the Japanese equivalent of a familiar, but that's my interpretation.

• The rival refers to Abe-no-Seimei, who bested him multidudes of times in onmyōdō. Which—oversimplification— caused Dōman to be exiled from the capital (Heian-kyō), hence the hatred.

• Secret garden: are essentially the person’s heart and desires. Usually—within Fate CCC— it is uncovered by others. In the case between a servant and their master, it’s purpose usually is to strengthen their bonds.

• Seeing how manipulative Dōman is, he would probably find a way through his darling’s garden. Which, ngl, is terrifying even more so if he wasn't contracted with his darling (not in a servant-master relationship with his darling, meaning he could not be restrained with command seals).