#like it’s been beaten to the ground thousands of times

[maebyshifting]

hi!

i know someone asked you this before but what do you thing about aging up to date people? do you think it's ok?

for example, i'm currently 18 years old in my dr, but i'm scripting myself to be 25 to date a person who's in their mid to late thirties

i don’t think i’ve ever actually talked about the age debate on here but this is always my take: aging others up or yourself is fine, for a lot of us these people we’re shifting to we’ve known and loved since we were kids (or were teens/younger) and so there’s no reason to be upset about it. aging yourself down is also fine as long as you’re not doing it for weird reasons; some people want the childhoods they never had, and that’s valid.

at the end of the day: i’m not the shifting police, i’m just a normal person like y’all. as long as you’re not being creepy or anything it’s your dr and you don’t need others to dictate what you can do in it.

[gracieheartspedro]

Propositio

pairing: marcus acacius x afab! reader (daughter of marcus aurelius)

word count: 6k words

description: after assembling an army to win back rome, you finally get to confront the traitor to your cause. general marcus acacius.

warnings: DUBCON. this is for 18+ readers ONLY. lots of blood mentioned, marcus is mean, talks of execution, physical violence, choking, name-calling, manipulation (reader is manipulative, he is too), betrayal, misogyny, proposing a horny ultimatum, nicknames (little dove), unprotected p in v, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), he finishes inside you, he leaves blood prints on you, talking you through it, you and marcus are unhinged. (please let me know if I missed anything or mistagged)

dedication: my sweet sweet @amanitacowboy !! thank you for helping me with this, lindsey! you saved my ass by helping me edit this and your encouragement really got me through writing all of this. *MWAH* forehead kiss

author’s note: you whores asked, and I delivered. now please be kind and share and leave a comment!! you guys rock!!

You never thought you would see the day when Marcus Acacius would be behind iron bars. But here you are, standing before the slated door, watching him with his face in his hands. He looked despicable, completely unknowing of the situation in the city's streets. 

“You care to stand for your Empress?”

His big brown eyes lift from his fingers, glaring at you. He easily recognized your voice, it was something that was imprinted in his mind. “Empress?”

You smirked at his absentminded statement, trying your best not to show your pleasure in hearing him call you that. 

“Rome has fallen, General. And you are here. Shameful that I had to do this all on my own when I inquired to you about a months time.”

He stands up slowly, his tunic and face stained with blood and dirt. He had wounds littering his arms and legs, all dripping blood onto the sandy ground. You could only imagine the horrors he experienced at the hands of the twin emperors. You had no time to grieve for him though, because he is now trying to size you up through the cell. It makes your lips curve up. 

“I would have been inclined to help you, but I was too occupied fighting for my life,” He bites, gritting his teeth. 

Your eyes rake him up and down, noting his beaten-down expression. You have spent so long resenting the man who lied to you, that finally getting to stare him in the face was gratifying. He was already paying for his consequences, and not even at your hand.

“I was, too, General. I put together an army of eight thousand strong. For a woman, I did well.”

He puts his arms through the rails, leaning forward. His hands are close to you, but not close enough to touch you. He looks so different from what you remember. Maybe it’s the new scars that litter his face, one particularly on his right cheekbone. The struggle for power and the war he waged seemed to have caused some fine lines as well. 

He is not the same soldier you knew years before. 

“Now that you rule Rome, what is your first move? Kill all the loyalists?” His voice is gruff, almost like he had something caught in his throat. 

You had pondered this day for so long. You were hopeful he was still alive so he could watch you do everything you had planned to do. You remember him telling you that you would make a great ruler someday, but that would probably never happen since you were a woman. He liked to remind you of that often. 

You felt the urge to get in his space and pester him, as you had done time and time again. 

You turn away from him, looking around the tables that surround you, searching for a way to get closer to him. You spot a ring of iron keys and snatch them up. You go through each one, finding one that matches the keyhole. You hear a click as soon as you turn it, the door sliding open. Instead of letting him come out, you stand in his space. All that occupies the room is a wooden bench, a small window, and a table with an empty bowl.

“These quarters meeting your standards?” 

The iron door shuts on its own, rattling as it locks itself. Marcus grimaces, annoyed with your words about him and his situation. “Are you planning on keeping me in here?”

You cross your arms, completely disregarding his question. You did not feel like appeasing him that quickly. “The bench should be a bit softer for your aging back. I am positive you are not getting good sleep.”

The Marcus you knew before was polite and calculated. This Marcus was tired and unhinged. As soon as he notes your condescending tone, he realizes how easy it would be to kill you in the privacy of his cell. You would never expect that from him, he thought.

He reaches out, grabs your shoulders, and slams you against the dirt walls. Luckily, your head does not slam against the mud, only your back. 

The air leaves your lungs as Marcus pins you. You were not expecting such a response, but you stayed unwavering in your expression. You already had your reasonings for being bitter towards the man. You were now ensuring he would never do another malicious thing towards you and that meant putting him in his place. 

“You evil conniving whore,” He seethes, as you try to push out a breath. When you finally bring air back into your chest, you laugh out, your breath hitting his face. 

“Talking dirty to me, General? I thought you were a gentleman.”

He grunts, wrapping his large hand around your neck. You know this is compromising, dangerous even, but you knew deep down that if he killed you, he would only be hurting himself. Rome needed you. He knew that better than anyone else. 

“What are you going to do? Tell me,” He seethes, his fingers squeezing harder the more the seconds pass. 

You try to speak, but he’s cutting off a lot of your air. You wedge your hands in between your bodies, pushing his chest back a bit. He was so warm. “Kill the loyalists. And for this, I may kill you.”

He grits his teeth, “You are not going to kill me.”

“You do not know me very well then, General.”

He removes his hand, knowing very well he bruised your neck in the process of getting information out of you. He is still very close to you as you catch your breath, fanning his sweaty hair off his forehead. He is trying to read you, but for some reason, your coldness informs him of nothing. Your intentions were usually blatant. Not today. 

“What good does killing me do?” He inquires, his arms still caging you in. You cannot lie that you check out his muscular arms as you think about your next statement, considering that he’s more built than he was when you saw him years ago.

Marcus was always enjoyable to look at, but in this very moment, you could not stand the sight of his conflicted expressions. You did not understand why he was rattled and confused. He had no right to be. 

Suddenly you are back in the juncture where you found out the Senate knew about your impending invasion. You had only told one person inside Rome of your grand plans and he was supposed to be helping you. 

But instead, he was the one who informed the council. Your blood boiled at the horrid information. You had to get revenge. The General needed to pay.

“I do not bode well with traitors, General. You betrayed me.”

He scoffs, his eyes trained on your lips, “You know well I did not intentionally try to eradicate your plan. It worked anyway, why does it matter now?”

“You told the Senate that I was raising an army, am I correct in that assumption?”

“No, I told one Senator, one I thought I could trust, that I was aiding you to raise an army. It got me locked in this hell.” He gestures to his surroundings, finally backing away from your space. “I did not want to intentionally ruin this. You know that I would have done anything to see another Aurelius guide the Empire into what it should be. You are the hope Rome still has left.”

Your family history was the only way you had a pathway to be the Empress. You were technically the last of your family and you knew that would be your path to the position of the Roman Ceasar. Plus, Rome adored your Father. He was the greatest ruler Rome ever had. You had his heart and his compassion, unlike your older brother who ended up dead in the middle of the Coliseum due to his hunger for power. Your sister was practically useless when she lost her son, so it was up to you and you alone. 

When the Twins took over Rome, you knew you had run away to farther lands to raise an army, appealing to every land that if you were not to aid them, they would get eliminated by Rome’s tyranny. Within 3 years, you had many countries and armies by your side, ready to take over the empire in your name. 

Once the Twins knew of your plan, they sprang into action. They wanted your head. You had to fight to get into the walls of Rome and every soldier was directed to kill you at first sight. You had some close calls but you were decent with a sword and your guards were even better with theirs. Once you got to the steps of the palace, by some stroke of luck, the Twins were already dead. The rumor had spread that you were taking back Rome and the citizens took care of the last task you had without even asking. 

You raise your chin, not giving in to Marcus’ game, “You almost got me killed. For that, I cannot forgive you.”

He winces a bit, putting his hands on his hips. “You never were very forgiving.”

“Hm, you perceive me well,” You sneer, trying your best not to take note of the ache around your neck. You bring your hand up to feel out the irritation. Marcus zeros in on your motions, smiling a bit. 

“I was stuck looking after you for many years, remember? I know you better than you know yourself, little one.” 

You think back to the days of being an obsessive young woman who was looked after by many guards during your father’s reign. Your favorite was always Marcus. He would let you get away with the most chaos. He was about ten years your senior. He knew it would be easier to let your childish nature roll off his shoulders than try to reprimand you. The few times you remember, you begged him to let you hold his sword and he refused telling you, ‘Women do not carry such weapons’. So instead of giving up on the conquest, you snuck into his sleeping quarters and stole it. When you showed off to a bunch of drunk soldiers, you thought Marcus’ face could not get any redder. He was so mad at you that he almost cursed you in front of your father. 

You sickly enjoyed aggravating the man. Always have, always will. 

You were starting to realize that you had a very broad history with the soldier. How were you to kill him?

“Tell me, Marcus. How would you like me to do it?”

He is quick with his response, “Do what, exactly?”

“How do you want me to kill you?”

He shakes his head, recognizing the look on your face, which suggests that you are only toying with the idea and are in conflict with yourself. 

“You are not going to.”

You begin to realize you are showing too much honest emotion. He is too quick to notice such things about you, which annoyed you quite a bit.

You smile, trying to flip him off your trail. “But I am, General.”

“You are not going to kill me, girl. I will not die under your hand.”

He is not backing down, which only frustrates you further. You step past him, getting a big whiff of blood flooding your nostrils as you do. The unfortunate man has not bathed in weeks. The blood staining his body is probably of dozens of different men. 

You peek out the iron bars to see that you two are still alone. You had three guards standing by not too far from the exit of the cells, but you instructed them not to follow you in.

“Then how would you like it? Another man’s hand?” You are silent for a moment, turning back to him, “I have a whole army.”

“Are they here now?”

He glances around his quarters, pondering how he is going to get out of this situation. You watch him carefully calculate his next move. His hand palms his face and his growing facial hair. He finally eyes you and you can tell he is getting tired. He knows he has only one choice. 

“What do I have to do to get you to forgive me?”

You snicker, knowing he is going to have to do more than ask for forgiveness. You sickly want to watch him appeal for your mercy.  “Get on your knees and beg.”

“I am not begging.”

“Then you die.”

He saunters over to you, his dirty fingers reaching up and tracing the hair on your arms. You take note that he’s touching you more cautiously than he was moments before. “I told you that I did not intentionally betray you.”

You stare down at his movements on your bare skin. “And I told you I do not care of what your intentions were.”

He smirks, cocking his eyebrow up. He knows that you will show some mercy to him because deep down, you could not stand the idea of losing him. He was a part of you, whether you liked it or not.

“You will let me live. You are going to let me lead the army like I once did,” He remarks, very certain of himself.

You scoff, tilting your head back, “You sound sure of yourself, Marcus. I do not think you understand-“

“Do you not remember telling me that I was the only man you trusted with your mind, body, and soul? What happened to that woman?”

It was something you had told him years before after he finally gave in and fucked you. It was probably the best night of your life, having him ravish you and please you. In a lustful conversation, you informed him that you only trusted him with your entire being. Looking back, you were a bit too vulnerable. You visibly cringe remembering it. 

As you scan his face, your annoyance for him only grows as he uses that moment as a pawn in his appeal to get out of this.

“That was before, this is now.”

“So you lied, too,” His fingers drag up and down your arm, his nails leaving marks as he does, “Why would you lie to me?”

You know that he is trying to flip the circumstances back on you. While the manipulation was easily sensed, you could not help but continue to entertain it. Privately, you thrived on the disorder of it all. Marcus was the only man who could talk this way to you. He did know you very well. 

“You know this is not the same. The entire army of Rome had orders to behead me. That happened because of your gossip.”

He shakes his head, his dirty curls taking up space on his forehead again, “It is to me. You said I was the only man worthy of protecting you. If I were not held up in a cell, I would have ended this war before it even began.”

“I do not wish for your protection, not anymore.”

He did not anticipate you resisting his every advancement. You usually cowered your head and accepted whatever retort he gave back, but this time, you were ready with a riposte immediately. 

He coughs out a laugh, “You will when the entire Roman army turns against you. All I do is say the words.”

You knew that Rome would bow to you without resistance. His army had heard too many awful things about him by now. He was down in the pits for treason. You knew that he was only saying this to get back in your good graces. Deep down, you had already decided that this argument was useless. Marcus may have deceived you, but you know he would have never deliberately given you up. It would make no sense for his safety, also. By the looks of it, he fought for a long while to stay alive in the Coliseum. 

But you wanted to get him to believe that you still could not trust him, just to put him on edge. You desired some revenge after such emotional turmoil.

“They would never betray me,” You reply, bringing your hands together in front of your stomach. You wait for him to take the bait. 

Marcus notices your lip twitch. You are bluffing and he is unsure why you would be trying to stir up his emotions. You were good at bringing him no peace and since he was so exhausted and hungry, he was getting angrier than he was accustomed to. 

He sighs, trying to blow off some of the steam rising to his face. “They have gotten more loyal to me during this previous reign. They would be rather disappointed to find me dead by your hand. You will not kill me.”

You stare at him, your lips pursed in faux contemplation. 

“You are right. I will not.”

The response throws him off balance. He stumbles a bit. “What?” “Instead, I will have someone else do it. I will watch them as they give you a soldier’s death. A beautiful shining blade at the very top of your spine,” You walk closer to him, your hands still adjoined at the bottom of your abdomen. “Slicing you all the way down your midsection. I will enjoy watching the blood spill out, staining the marble floors of the palace.”

He steps towards you, his jaw clenched. He is sick of the back and forth when he knows you will not make good on your plans. He is peering at you suspiciously before his hand reaches up to your soft cheek. For some odd reason, you believe he will be gentle. But he is not. He grabs your face roughly, squishing your cheeks against your back teeth. “I am beginning to lose my patience. Are you sure you want to do this, little dove?”

The nickname. It was something he used to call you when you two were intimate all those years ago. He saw you as a delicate thing back then. The woman you had morphed into was foreign to him. You were more maddening than ever. 

“I will do whatever is good for the Republic, General.”

He uses all his strength to shove you backward into the bench. Your ass falls against the wooden plank that Marcus had been sleeping on for a fortnight. The wood is rough against your thin vein of fabric. 

The shock of his violence sends wetness pooling between your legs. You had only seen Marcus rough with you once and it was never to this degree. He may have given in to you with aggressive and unforgiving hips, but this was another level of hostility. Your heart begins to race as he stands over you, his tanned body heaving in frustration. 

He squints at you, “Good for the Republic, huh? What good is a dirty little whore to the Republic?”

You try your best not to give in at this moment. And Marcus knows it. Your face twists, your nose pointing upward like you used to when you were a young woman. He suddenly recalls a moment where you were being reprimanded by someone of higher rank and you had crossed your arms over your chest and crinkled your nose like you inhaled something awful. It was a facial expression he would never forget. A simple indication that you were wrong and someone else was correct. 

You are noticing the way his eyes are tracing your face and you try to keep yourself as still as possible. “You are speaking to your Empress, Marcus.”

His eyes rake your body, almost like he is looking for something. He smiles, “My Empress who I am aware has a dagger stored somewhere on her body and yet she has not used it on me yet. Why is that?”

You are not ready for what is next on Marcus’ mind. He pushes your thighs apart with his knee, forcing you to look at him again by aggressively holding onto your face again. You wince when his filthy fingernails dig into your cheeks. 

“Marcus-”

“Why have you not already plunged your dagger into my heart if you want me gone? Why do you need someone else to do your work?” 

He is mocking you, his tone not giving you a break in the slightest. Somewhere deep down, Marcus knows something is up. With the way your body is giving into his every move, he can tell your intentions were simple: to make him the fool. 

And you were doing a very good job. Because he is getting very antsy. You pull your head back, trying to add some distance between him and yourself. But his face is so close to yours, that you can smell the metallic scent of blood from his skin. Your eyes avert away, not wanting him to finally look inside and read your mind. 

You manage to muster up something. “Because I still very much enjoy watching you writhe under my thumb.”

He is seething, his face is beet red. The way you are positioned, so impurely before him, brings his hateful aggression to full-blown rageful desire. 

He is eager with his movements and you are fallen at his mercy. Within only a few moments, he is hiking up your stola moving the fabric away from your lower half. You groan out as soon as his fingers grope you. You believe every breath has left your body. 

He chuckles darkly to himself, “Me? Writhe under your thumb? Is that so? You only came here to watch me suffer?”

“Yes-” “You believe some impish whore, like yourself, can here and make me completely fall apart? Hm? How about I load myself in that pussy of yours and we see who truly falls apart first?”

He was not wrong with his words, but they were so unhinged. You had never heard Marcus talk like this to you. While he was quick with his language, he was still always very respectable. 

His proposition was not completely unwelcome. 

“You do not know what I want. Why are you doing this?” 

You try to manage as he spreads around your dampness with his fingers. You had not been touched like this in so long so you were easily swayed why the action. You lull your head back, making it pretty obvious that you did want this.

He hums to himself, watching your body squirm under him. “Do I not? Here you are, so easily taken down by me, a traitor. What kind of emperor falls to her knees for a man who allegedly betrayed her? What good chance will Rome have with a leader like that?”

You watch as he tears up the fabric, completely revealing your naked core up to your lower breastplate. He stares down at the state of you, grinning to himself wickedly. You can not think of a single word to say to him, so you just lament with your hands at your side. 

He strips off his tunic, leaving him in just his subligaculum. The cloth was tented by the strain of his hard-pressed cock. 

His body was covered in blood and dirt, the tunic not absorbing all of the fluids from his battles. His skin is splattered with it. He watches you stare at it intently, huffing out. 

“So what will we do, Empress? How about… If you fall apart first, I am free. If I release first, you kill me. How about that?”

You watch as he palms his cock over the cloth. Your mouth starts to overproduce saliva as you observe his action. You knew you were not going to win such a thing, and that is completely okay with you. Marcus knew this, too. The last time you two were intimate, he inserted himself into you for a whole minute before you were squeezing around him and begging for more. 

“That is a deal I can agree with, General.”

He nods arrogantly before he grabs your hips, kneading the flesh. You watch him spread his bloodstained hands all around your legs, hinging your knees with his forearms. 

“Do not even need to warm you up,” He uses his left hand to guide his cock through your seeping folds. 

You do not prefer the sound of no foreplay, but you do not think it is your time to say anything. As soon as your lips open, Marcus dribbles spit down between your bodies, landing perfectly right at your slit. It’s obscene, his actions. But instead of gasping at the immortality of it, you are breathing out in pleasure. His member splits you open, every ridge pressing against your insides. 

“Marcus, my Gods,” You whine, trying to gain some sense. “I need your fingers first.”

He scrunches his nose, guiding himself into the hilt. “No, you do not. You will take me like this first.”

“Marcus-” “And after I watch you fall apart on me, I am going to,” He pulls his cock out of you begrudgingly slow, “Make you fall apart on my mouth. And then when I get two out of you, I will fuck you again with my cock. When my seed spills inside you and leaks down your legs, I will send you out to the streets and have you clear my name.”

And then he slams into you again. He is very girthy, which is a lot for your untouched cunt. You had no formal stretching before he entered you, so it hurts a bit as he speeds up his incursion inside you. 

He plants his hands right on your hips, his hands expanding down your side. With the way your head is propped up on the wall, you are practically forced into watching him fuck you with such vigorous speed. He’s animalistic. His hands leave blood prints on your body, sticky and off-putting. 

You are so enamored with him, that you do not even begin teetering on the edge of your release. He notices this as your cunt squeezes his member, which encourages him to speed up his pistoning hips. 

“Oh, dove, I feel you,” He extends his thumb down to the very top of your slit, “Your flower is just seizing around me. You are about to cum.”

You try to tense up a bit, but your body feels weightless. “No. No, I can not.”

You can not stop what is impending. He rubs circles on your sensitive bud, sending your back lurching away from the wall. 

“Ah, yes, that’s right, dove. Release on my cock. You know you want to,” He is gritting his teeth, eyes gazing directly into yours. 

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, trying to hold back, but him grinding into you sends you over. A scream rips through your body as you careen forward towards his shoulders. You hold on to him like he is going to dissipate away, grabbing at his back. Your climax is white hot almost as if your entire body was lit on fire and quickly extinguished. 

“There it is…” He fucks you through it all, his thrusts slowing as you relax yourself against the wall again. “I win.”

His words set you off. The high of your release is now ruined by his statement. Your arms are still lazily around his shoulders. You glare up at him, seeing his smug smirk painting his lips. It’s truly sinful. 

You use all your strength and pull him down towards your lips. You capture him in a kiss that you almost believe he is going to pull away from but does not. You just want him to stop speaking for a moment so you settle with the reality of the situation. You would have to face Rome and tell them that the traitor is being let off for his crimes against you. 

You were still better than the alternate reality of Rome. Under the Twins, they would see no peace. With you, the only chaos you would pursue is General Marcus Acacius. You could live with that.

He tilts his head back, trying to pull away from your mouth. You lock your arm around him, holding him there a moment longer. His lips manage to trail away.

“You won this. But I won Rome.”

He chuckles at your statement before reminding you of his promise, “I am not done yet, Dove.”

His tacky fingers grab you roughly, lifting you off the bench and towards the table across the dirt floor room. He places your feet on the ground, your back to his much taller figure. His cock is still solid, pressing right into your buttcheek. 

“Bend over.”

You practically snap your neck trying to look back at the man. 

He does not take kindly to that, using his hand to push your face to look towards the wall again. “Do what I say. I already told you what I was to do.”

You lean your body over the furniture, holding onto the edge as you feel Marcus’ hands slide across your back, all the way down to your ass. You hear a commotion but you are too afraid of what he may do if you look back. You then realize he’s on his knees behind you. When he settles in the dust, he uses both hands to spread you open. He wastes no time, diving face-first into your dripping core. Your cunt is already so sensitive that when you feel his tongue flattening between your slit, you cannot help but squeal. 

Your sounds provoke Marcus to think back to the nights when he was alone on the front lines of war, lying in his tent, thinking about the first time he tasted you. You had never experienced pleasure like that, and he vividly remembers pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you with his tongue. It was his favorite thing about your intimate times together. The memory was enough to have him erupting all over his stomach night after night.

And now here you are again, right under his thumb. Or rather, his tongue.

“My Gods, Marcus, please.”

His ministrations change from eager licks to suckling on your most sensitive bud. Obscene wet noises begin reverberating off the walls, filling the room with such crudeness. His nose is pressed into you, sucking in your sweet scent. 

You silently prayed that no others heard you two. 

The warmth in your stomach fills again. Your legs feel like they may give out from under you. Luckily, Marcus has his hands right where your thighs begin, spreading you open, but also holding you up. When the wave of pleasure hits, your legs shake and your throat lets out a guttural moan. 

He licks up whatever your body offers him before he is back on his feet. His chest presses into your back as he traces the outline of your body with his digits. You feel so winded from your comedown, that you can hardly say anything. Marcus’ face creeps to the side of yours, nudging your cheek with his nose. 

“You taste like heaven, little dove.”

His words are such a drastic shift from what he was saying to you before. But while his words were charming, his actions were still brute. He reaches down to his swollen cock head and begins to drag it along your slick. You cry out, your body still recovering from the last moments of his stimulation. 

“Marcus-” “I am going to fill you with my seed now. You will take every last drop because of what you just put me through,” He slides himself back into your cunt, painfully slow, “You are so convincing when you want to be.”

You grunt, trying to prop yourself up on your elbows. When Marcus notices your movement, he takes the chance and grabs your arms in a very rough manner. His hands are gripping you so tightly, you anticipate another mark. He yanks your body closer to his, wrapping your arms between your bodies, locking you up. It was not the most comfortable position, but the feeling of his cock slipping in you further distracts you from the affliction. 

“You played me for a fool. You were always going to let me go. You just wanted me to fill this greedy pussy.”

He fucks into you, letting out his own passionate grunts. His words rattle in your mind as your whole body jiggles over the edge of the table. 

He had you all figured out. It was unnerving how well he could read you, but it was not surprising. He had been around for most of your life, looking after you and being your most trusted confidant. Even if he let something slip to the wrong person, he was still going to be the one person you looked to in every crowd. 

Now that you have experienced this side of him, you only love him more. He has always been intimidating, but never this all-consuming. 

“Need you always, Marcus,” You whimper, trying your best to not ruin his pace. His cock stretches you so deliciously, you wish to have it with you at all times. 

His release comes hurriedly, his body becoming heavy on top of yours. He slams your body down on the table, his arms breaking most of the fall. You can feel his seed emptying into your spent hole, warming you inside. The string of words leaving his lips, that’s right dove, take all of me, your greedy hole just missed me. 

You can not help yourself. You smile. 

You really wish you had watched him fall apart, knowing it was probably a sight to behold. There was always next time. 

He unwraps himself from you and stumbles back a couple of steps. You lift your tired body, turning around to face him. You know if you step forward, you may crash to the floor. Leaning on the table was your best course of action. 

He is smirking himself, his cock still half hard on his leg. “Need me, huh?”

You knew he would find time to hang onto those words. You breathe out your nose, a bit caught off guard. “Yes. I always seem to need you when I feel vulnerable.”

“Well, coming from the Empress of Rome, that surely means a lot. That you look to me in such times, I mean.”

You bite your cheek, contemplating your next big plans for Marcus. You did not want him to leave your side now that you ruled over him. You felt a gravitational pull from him. Now with him here in front of you, that was even more apparent.

“Well… General..” You try to find a way to word your next course of action. He looks at you earnestly as you speak. “You will be pardoned under my rule. But you will not be returning to your men. I will see you through as my personal protection.”

He furrows his brow at you as he picks up his abandoned tunic. “Pardon me?”

“You are directed to be my personal guard, Marcus. Your troops will now be under the rule of another. If you see issue with my ruling, I will happily leave you in this cell.”

He wants to be angry, but he simply cannot be. Truth be told, he was ready to retire from being the leader of the world’s largest array of soldiers. He was just not expecting you to allow him to do such a thing.

He cracks a smile at the thought of you leaving him in this cell.

“What you order, goes. I will happily take on that role, Empress.”

All he knew was to be strong and even-tempered when he directed his armies. Now in a time of peace, under your rule, he needed to find calamity somewhere else. And he knew that would be right at your side.

tagging all who wanted this: @layaispunk @tammythr @amanitacowboy @noladyme @kluvspedro @fangirlcentral1

[schoenpepper]

Isekai'd Chronicles 0

Intro: The prologue to your reincarnation adventures~

Warnings: otome games, bad writing, awful grammar, reader has a sister, proofread by quillbot, lots of mentions of death

A/N: The reader is kept as gender neutral as my brain could possibly allow. Also, I have different endings planned per route, and maybe (very small maybe because I'm not too comfortable with it) a couple of harem-ish routes. Anyways, enjoy.

Masterlist

You didn't like otome games, and certainly not harem ones. When your younger sister had begged, pleaded, and cried for you to join her in this weird, "innovative" two-player otome game, you had half a mind to just lock yourself in your room and ignore her. But you don't. Because some god probably has it out for you, divine intervention leads to your agreement, and the better half of Friday night and early Saturday morning is spent flirting with beautiful men on the 32-inch television screen in the living room. Summer vacation means neither of you get grounded for doing so, but there was certainly a healthy scolding waiting for you both come Saturday afternoon.

Fortunately for you unfortunately, the scolding never comes. As it is in every cheesy harem isekai manga, the next time you open your eyes, you're already in another world. Hooray! The same game that you and your sister spent hours on is now your reality. When you look into the mirror, you're even more surprised to find that staring back at you is a cute little bun with clear skin, gorgeous eyes, and beautifully silky hair. Aren't you happy you're super adorable now? Except, this is the face of the villain. That bratty, desperate, and pathetic duke's heir who was an obstacle in all 14 routes and the three different harem endings. It's okay. It's fine. If you never fall in love with the male leads, then you'll be safe!

Safe from falling to your death, getting poisoned, turned to sand, stabbed, drowned, sunk to the bottom of the ocean in a rickety little box, beaten to death, beheaded, hypnotized and made to kill yourself against your will, cursed to melt into toxic sludge, getting an arrow shot through your heart, burned alive, getting hanged in front of thousands of people, or being mauled to death by animals…

Make sure not to fall in love, okay?

The villain's endings—none of them end with you staying alive. So you steel yourself and look at the pudgy cutie pie in the mirror with renewed resolve. You'll live to the end! You'll study hard! You won't fall in love with any of the love interests! Ever! In any case, you are human, and most of the love interests are of other races from other lands, meaning you won't even be seeing their shadows for several years. Right now, you estimate that you should be about 3 or 4. The game starts when you and the main characters are 16 years old in the super-unexpected and never-been-done-before magic academy setting. You have at least a decade to shape yourself up and grind to an OP level; that way, if you still find yourself hunted by hot men, you can at least defend yourself. Hopefully. As a human duke's heir, however, there are two male leads you know from the start. They're also pudgy little cuties right now (all the love interests are at this point in time), but they're dangerous. Because you could fall in love, which is a big no-no. But since you were a teenager in your previous life, you wouldn't fall in love with 5-year-olds. Automatically, they're struck from your mind as "love interests." Still, you can't let the danger be on its own, so you decide to tell your parents that you no longer have any interest in your weekend tea parties at the palace (that the little villain had begged for). You can avoid them easily, and so you will. As a three-year-old, there's not much you can do for now, but one thing you can do is get a tutor to teach you the ins and outs of the universal language (convenient otome game logic). You busy yourself with studying the alphabetical and numerical systems and make a staunch decision to be a good duke's heir and, in time, a good duke ruling over the dukedom.

Fate decides to tear your plans apart little by little, pop the pieces into a blender and add some water to turn it into a paper-flavored smoothie.

[leviathanspain]

kiss it off me

carmy berzatto x reader

synopsis: the woman who made him a man is back in town and he can barely hold it together

a/n: i tried to make it cohesive without rushing it, but oh well..enjoy!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

no one ever forgot their first time.

it was the sweetest taste, your cherry flavor stained lips, chapped from the dry chicago heat. he remembered the way they felt, soft and rubbery, his teeth had caught on them. then the fruity flavor had turned to iron, but he still kissed you as hard as he did the first time.

after he had bitten you, you had asked gently if he had ever done this before. carmen answered honestly, and you promised you’d teach him everything you knew.

but that had been years ago, and a lifetime of memories had occurred since then, that when richie had mentioned your name, carmy couldn’t place you.

“what was it again?” carmy asked, hands on his hips as he thought hard of what richie had just said.

“y/n. come on, cousin, don’t tell me you forgot!” his neck vein popped out, and carmy shook his head, his hands rubbing across his face as he thought hard.

“was she in school with me? how do you know her?” carmy shot out any questions that could connect you to him in his mind. it sounded familiar, the way richie said your name with thousands of memories behind it.

richie shrugged, “you brought this girl around to every single thing your family threw! she was your little girlfriend-“

“holy fuck- penny?” it was as if all the gears in carmy’s head had finally turned at the right time. he remembered you, of course he remembered you. he had to sift through all the bullshit of the past decade but now, it was like a fresh breath of air.

“penny? i swear her name was y/n.” richie raised his eyebrow, “i saw her at some magazine stand down the street, and i swear she looked familiar-“

“pennington. penny’s for pennington. i-“ carmy chuckled slightly, “mikey called me bear once, when she was around. and she had wanted a nickname like that.” richie could see the warmth in carmy’s face as he talked about you.

richie nodded in response, giving a second for carmy to come back down to earth. “i invited her to opening night. she’s one of those people who mold shit outta clay-“ he demonstrated with his hands, carmy’s eyes just staring out.

“cousin-“

“you invited her to opening night?” carmy echoed, and richie stared, hands falling onto the counter. he nodded, irritated with carmy’s absentmindedness.

“i want to be someone to be remembered.” the crinkle of the empty beer cans underneath your feet, followed your speech, “i want to be an artist!” your hands shot out, the drink in your left hand had partially spilled, but you didn’t seem to notice as you took another swig of it.

carmy’s face was hot. he felt it heat up after his first drink, and now had spent the entire night nervously pulling at his collar, trying to keep up with you.

you had driven him out to the suburbs in your mother’s beaten up volvo. he had gotten drinks, but hadn’t revealed how. but it didn’t matter, as the two of you were out, feet dangling above the ground, sitting in the trunk.

you turned to look at him. he looked beautiful in the moonlight, his blue eyes were deep, like pools of water that you wanted to get lost in.

“don’t you want to be an artist too, carmy?” your voice was soft, set to the pitch of innocence as you brought your hand up to caress his cheek. carmy was shy, eyes always darting away from yours, hands drawn up to his sides. it had taken a lot of convincing for him to even come out with you, but with the beer he had brought, you realized he could still surprise you.

it was in between your question and his answer that you had kissed him. it wasn’t the first time, there had been many more times since. but the passion was the same, the desire for more was always weighing heavy.

“yes..” carmy spoke, closing his eyes as your hands began to unbuckle his belt. he shivered, grabbing your hands, he helped you undo his belt, breath hitching as you kissed him harder.

carmen had been incredibly stressed all day. he had been stressed ever since richie had told him that you’d be coming to opening night. he had tried not to induce an attack, last time he saw you there had been a fight, and it was silence ever since.

but now, just the idea of your presence loomed over him like doomsday. today, even without you, could make or completely annihilate his career. but he was ready to face either or. you had taught him that, better or for worse.

“hey cousin!” richie thundered through the kitchen doors, his suit was dark and sleek, contrasting the chef coats everyone else was wearing. “y/n is at table five. sugar is talking to her, and it looks very,” he paused, and looked at carmy, “interesting.”

carmy sighed, “fuck.” he was busy, too busy that it should be inhumanly possible. he grabbed a towel, one that hung loosely over his shoulder and wiped his hands, “what did she order?” he looked around at all the other workers, looked at their plates and tried to guess.

richie smiled, crossing his arms across his chest as he spoke, “nothing.”

carmy had felt his face rise with heat as he slammed through the kitchen doors. he felt embarrassed, a little shocked even, that you hadn’t ordered anything for dinner.

he turned to the sound of sugar’s laugh, a familiar sound, he had found himself already walking over to the table. you hadn’t seen him yet, natalie had all your focus.

“hey-“ he greeted. sugar was the first to turn, and happily greeted her brother. you followed suit, but you didn’t say anything as the two exchanged a few words. instead you stared at carmy, years older, and completely unknown to you.

“hey bear.” you greeted, voice sweet on his name, you stood up, going in for a tight hug. he smelled of food, not surprising for someone who was just in the kitchen.

“hey pen..” he returned your greeting, and looked at his sister, who excused herself politely.

the two of you just stood for a moment, carmy watching as sugar circled around to talk to richie. carmy turned back to you, and extended his hand to your chair. you both sat, now face to face.

you looked different. the teenage invincibility had been exchanged for a confident, self assured adult. your eyes were still the kindest ones, he felt at ease just staring into them.

his eyes avoided your lips, avoided what they reminded him of.

“richie tells me your a sculptor?” carmy didn’t know why, but that was the first thing he had thought to ask. you laughed, surprised at his question too. but you nodded nevertheless, “yes, a local gallery is displaying some of my work. that’s why i’m back.” you played around with your silverware, and cleared your throat, “this is really lovely, carm. it’s-“ you looked around at it all, at the bustling scenery with various happy customers. “i’m really happy for you.” you finished.

carmy nodded, “yeah. thank you.” he blinked, and remembered what he had wanted to really ask. “are you not hungry or-“ you followed his gaze to the empty plate in front of you and you laughed, “oh- right!” you shrugged, “i don’t know actually. i guess i wanted to see if it was really you.” the way the words came out felt wrong, and you were quick to explain yourself.

“i didn’t mean it like that-“ you assured, and carmy laughed slightly, “i just hadn’t seen you in years that i almost didn’t believe it.” carmy nodded, “well, i’m here..im right here.”

the two of you locked eyes in that moment.

it was a special moment, something of substance that could ground carmy, and remind him of all the good things in life.

you tore your eyes away, and awkwardly laughed, “my show is next friday.” a card had appeared in your hands, and you were scooting it across the table to him, “i already gave one to your sister, and another to richie when i first saw him. you don’t have to come, i just figured-“ you looked around and he nodded, “yeah. no, totally. i’ll go.”

he found himself agreeing to go before he even fully thought it through.

he stood up, grabbing the card he tucked it into his coat. you looked up at him, eyes twinkling.

“bye carm.”

“bye pen.”

“you’ve got to calm down.” sydney had found herself at the end of an almost accident. carmy had forgotten the safe word, and nearly ran into sydney, who was carrying a large pot of boiling water.

she had set the pot down, realizing that there was something wrong with carmen.

carmy ignored her, and continued to furiously cook.

“hey-“ sydney put a hand on his shoulder but that seemed to make it all worse. carmy flinched, and dropped his spatula. he stepped back and shook his head, “back off, chef.”

“carm-“

“now.” his tone cut deep, and sydney nodded, annoyed with his response, she went back to work.

carmy’s hands were stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. wind cut at his face, weaving through all the people on his way to the gallery.

he had checked the date and time multiple times, all day. he wanted to get it right, be there for you like you were for him. it had been a week since opening night, and he had thought about you every single night since.

you waited for him. people kept coming up to you, congratulating you on your new work, but none of it mattered. the work wasn’t for them, it was for him. and he was late.

“i could stay-“ carmy looked around nervously, eyes darting anywhere but the pools of pain in your eyes.

“no.” you bluntly said, “you will not stay here. you cant stay here. trust me carmen, you’re better off.” you had come to terms with the fact that if he stayed, he would be another mikey.

that’s why you had begged mikey not to let carmy work at the beef. he would never leave if he did.

carmy sighed, exhausted from the hours of arguing, “we’ll talk every day. i’ll- i can make time, between class-“ he tripped over his own words, and you had to stop him before it got worse.

“carmy-“ the way you looked at him made him realize that this was it. there was not going to be any calls, or any relationship because you were breaking up with him.

“i got into art school. i’ve been wanting to tell you, but i hadn’t made a decision.” you paused, “this is what’s best for both of us, bear.”

you had spotted him walking in. in the sea of pretentiousness, there he was. his wool jacket, perfect against the chilly weather, it had reminded you of all those winters during school.

“carmy!” you called his name, and waved him over. he weaved through to you, and greeted you with a hug and a kiss, “hey.”

he looked around at all artwork, “looks incredible.” he realized that along with sculptures, you had paintings as well. it was a cohesive collection, something that would definitely get talked about.

but as he looked at more work, he realized with a pang what the theme was. you followed him as he walked all around the gallery, until he finally got the main piece of work.

it was behind a rope, a blue velvet rope on all four sides as carmy, in statue form, looked out into the room of people.

“holy shit-“ he sounded breathless, eyes glued to a perfect posed, stone version of himself.

you watched his expression, unable to decipher how he was feeling. whether he was happy about it or not, you couldn’t tell.

more people came behind you to admire the statue, and carmy looked away, “is that it?” you nodded, and reached out, “come on, there’s one more thing, exclusive for the muse.”

muse, he whispered under his breath. he was your muse.

you took carmy to the office of the gallery. you had set up shop there, your belongings were scattered across the desk. you walked up to the desk, and leaned against it.

carmy walked in after you, and looked expectantly at you. you sighed, “you were the reason i came back. this,” there was a window where the statue could be seen, along with other pieces inspired by him. “was for you. you’ve been something that i’ve been trying to make right.”

carmy shook his head, “i’m not some broken toy that you can fix, penny.” your nickname cut like a blade in that moment and you exhaled. “i know that.” you replied, “i just- i cant get you out of my head, carmy. for years i’ve tried,” you stood up off the desk, and walked towards him.

carmy instinctively wrapped his hands around your waist, sitting them perfectly on your curves. you both remained silent as you got closer. but he was pulling you in too, just too close for comfort.

“come on, bear.” you whispered, nose dragging across his cheek, you closed your eyes and hoped he’d kiss you.

carmy shivered, his grip on you tightened as he kissed your cheek. it was soft, innocent almost. you opened your eyes, bringing your hands up to his face as you pulled him in for a kiss.

it was new. you hadn’t kissed him since you were teenagers. he was inexperienced, but he was willing to learn. but now as you kissed him, you realized that he’s kissed hundreds of people since then. but you didn’t care. you loved his taste, cigarettes and everything sweet.

he kissed you harder, his hands tightening on your hips that it was almost painful. you couldn’t help yourself, you pressed against him, carmy’s back digging into the wall behind him.

“fuck-“ you kissed him more, lips dragging from his to his neck. he shivered, but didn’t say anything as you began to kiss him lower and lower.

the bustling noise of the people outside broke him out whatever this was, and carmy put a hand on yours, which was right on his belt buckle. “not here.” he panted right into your lips, “later you can kiss it all off me, but not here.” he felt naked, those people out there were gawking at his stone figure like some lost greek artifact.

he couldn’t do it now.

you nodded, lingering in his eyes, “of course, bear. time and place, i’ll be there.” you leaned in for a kiss, which carmy happily gave away. a part of him wondered what this would be. he couldn’t think, he wouldn’t.

“i’ll- im gonna go, pen.” he had taken a minute, looking at the door for a moment before opening it. he exhaled deeply, stepping out as the door shut behind him.

you watched him walk, his broad back being lost in the crowd of onlookers. you tried to ignore the urge to smile, but even then, you couldn’t hide it.

[comicaurora]

tldr I committed to a bit too hard

The slow-dawning sunlight dappled down through dense, rich foliage, scattering golden lace across mossy trunks and grassy hillocks. The light caught on the forest floor in a thousand glassy dewdrops and bent, fisheyed, in globed inversions of the canopy above.

No breeze stirred the forest so early in the morning, but a thin mist gathered in the valley under the warming air. Sunbeams lanced through the fog, pale in the dawn but soon to brighten and intensify. For now, the air was damp and cool and still, and the scent of the night lingered.

Pip bent a pawful of grass to the side and sniffed the air suspiciously.

It was too quiet, too still. And with no wind, she couldn't mark the position of the strange beasts and their odd, dusty, acrid scent that had no place in these woods. It hung low and directionless over the peaceful morning, distant but permeating, like a faraway fire.

She adjusted her backslung blade, wrapped her cloak closer around her and dropped onto all fours, nose pointed straight ahead and whiskers standing at attention. Her dusty green-gray wrap would shield her from all but the most attentive prying eyes, and - she quirked an ear, just to be sure of the silence - most of the forest was still asleep, unlikely to mark her passage.

She managed to stifle a flinch as a sound that wasn't a sound bypassed her ears and rang straight into her head.

Pip? Where'd you go?

She exhaled softly through her nose, the barest expression of frustration she allowed herself.

Scouting, Alder. Go back to sleep.

She set off before he could reply, scurrying silently along the mossy forest floor, tracing a sinuous route through the canopy's shadow to stay out of the slow-brightening sunbeams.

Scouting?!

The thought squeaked with disbelief. She didn't answer it.

Alder never had fewer than three thoughts at a time, and the more agitated he became, the harder they became to sort through. A jumble rang in her skull, a snatch of Eldest told us- and moves like thunder and have to hide, that last one echoing in six different ways with the significance it held in his mind. She concentrated on tracing her silent route, one shadow to the next, and came to a stop under a broad-leafed stalk as Alder's distress built to a crescendo.

If she kept moving, eventually she'd slip out of his range. Wasn't that a tempting thought.

I said go back to sleep, she sent, and with an afterthought of inexpert kindness, added I'm being careful. It'll be fine.

The chattering ground to a halt, and she felt the effort it took him to focus his thoughts down to a single thread. Come back, Pip. We have to stay hidden until they're all gone.

We can't hide if we don't know where they are.

Pip caught the beginning of his protest and shook herself violently, breaking off the connection. It was rude, she knew; closing her mind completely was one of her rarer talents, but unlike her other oddities, this one she wasn't particularly respected for. Her skills as a scout were admired precisely because she had such sharp senses, physical and mental both - some days she could even hear the slow, tangled thoughts of the Long Shadows - but when she didn't want to be disturbed, she could wall herself off from the others as thoroughly as if she'd been on the other side of the forest.

And right now, picking her way between treetrunks and sniffing her way towards the bizarre menagerie that had invaded her forest, the last thing she wanted was to be disturbed.

Her right forepaw sank in unexpectedly soft soil, and she recoiled with a stifled gasp. Her eyes darted across the swath of ground, analyzing its shape - and then she widened her scope, scanning the yards beyond that first strange softness. In a low-lying, hollowed track between two thick-rooted trees, the carpet of grass and flowers were flattened and crushed into a felted mat, mud bubbling through it in irregular patches like sickness in a wound. A wide track had been beaten into the soil by dozens - at least dozens, she amended - of flat-pawed creatures. Their dusty, acrid stink lay heavily over it.

She drew back from the unnaturally soft soil. Even with her diminutive size and weight, there was the risk of getting mired in unexpectedly watery ground, and while rescue was never far away in these woods, she certainly didn't want to weather Alder's overconcern or Eldest Luma's quietly smug passivity. Instead she skirted towards a point where the track narrowed, lashed her tail for a momentary burst in balance, then sprang over the mud and latched onto a tree root on the other side, freshly ripped free from the soil and scored with dozens of thin scars from the claws of the marching creatures. She scurried up and settled at the tree's base, where the gnarled roots tangled into a more-than-sturdy foothold overhanging the morass.

With the newfound advantage of height, she surveyed the terrain. The tracks overlapped one another in a mad scramble, pouring up from the lowland forest and curving up and away.

They moved with surprising organization for such motley creatures. She counted at least four very different sizes of print in the track, some barely longer than her own body (nose to the base of her tail) while some were large enough to crush her underfoot without even noticing.

The tracks were only a few hours old. The swarm must have passed in the early pre-dawn. She strained her memory to try and recall if she'd felt any tremors from down in the sleep-halls of the hollow, but if she were honest with herself, they were too far down and too well-insulated by the soft soil walls to have marked their passage.

She turned her attention to where the trail vanished from sight, curving over and up the slope. The land in that direction was treacherous and, to the mind of her people, best avoided. Gravel slips and rain rivulets ran down between the massive plates of rock that jutted out of the soil, and even though trees and flowers overgrew them, their roots could not be trusted to hold the ground together enough for safe passage of one of her size. Fresh rainfall unearthed and dislodged glassy chips of stone, and the soil turned to mud and slipped between the boulders, exposing treacherous chasms that could swallow an unwary traveler. The shattered earth built up and up until it abruptly skewed and slanted down in a gentle curve, like the ground had been struck with a terrible force and the shattering had rippled out from the center. And in the heart of that broken land, glimpsed fearfully from treetops or the shadow of the stones, lay the stronghold of the Long Shadows.

Once, long redmoons ago, Pip had traveled three days and nights to scale the shattered peaks herself, to see the stronghold with her own eyes (mostly due to a burst of rebellious curiosity after a scolding from Eldest Luma). The works of the Long Shadows could always be distinguished from natural formations or nests - they had a love of smooth things, and the stone they shaped stretched cleanly skyward and bore no footholds beyond the straight, geometric fissures that ran up and through them. So Pip already knew that the stronghold was encircled by a massive shadowcrafted cliff, pale and smooth as ice and taller than trees, and it surrounded the entire stronghold just behind the shattered peaks. Beyond the wall, great columns and cliffs jutted skyward, more smooth handicraft of the Long Shadows. At times they were even spotted outside the walls, tending great swaths of land in the same precise straight lines they shaped their stone. Those tracts bore vast quantities of food in unnatural abundance, some that grew nowhere else in the valley, but the Long Shadows guarded them closely and harshly punished intrusion, and the Eldest three generations before Luma had forbade anyone from entering (or even approaching) their strange geometric works, no matter how lean the winters became.

She debated following the trail. It would inexorably lead her towards the stronghold, but if the creatures were focused solely on the Long Shadows, that was valuable information to bring back to the hollow. No doubt Eldest Luma would be pleased to have yet another reason to avoid the Long Shadows and their works.

A sudden awareness prickled in the small of Pip's back, shivering up into her ears and all the way down to the tip of her tail. Her gray fur bristled and she froze, eyes darting wildly, seeking the source. The feeling had no obvious impetus, but she trusted her tail with her life, and something was happening. Something sourceless, something…

At the base of the root she was balanced on, a sprout punctured the trodden soil and curled upwards, splitting into pairs of pale green leaves. She watched as it climbed to twice her height in less than three beats of her racing heart.

Instinct took over. She scampered up the tree like a shot, finding footholds in the bark with a practiced ease that belied her jolting terror. She plunged into the safety of the leafshadow and clung to a branch, breathing fast and shallow and trying very hard to stay quiet.

Below her, a green carpet spread across the mire as grass and flowers bloomed impossibly fast.

The Weeping Shadow was approaching.

Pip strained her ears and caught the hint of a whisper of movement through the grass, distant and soft but certainly coming closer. It was pointless to cast her eyes towards the darkness - The Weeping Shadow was, in the stories, always swathed in gray, near invisible in the shadow of the canopy, and it passed in many tales without a trace, save for its flowering footsteps as its passage drove the forest to frenzy.

But it never came so close to the stronghold. The Weeping Shadow's domain was the deep and tangled woods, much further into the valley than even the hollow. It haunted the river and the wild places, and its realm was thick with plants of impossible vitality and sweetness - but not even the bravest scout dared its domain, even when hunger was rampant. The fruits of the Weeping Shadow's realm were steeped in an absolute sorrow whose depth defied comprehension, and the slow pulse of its thoughts churned in dark and wrenching misery that could be heard across half the valley. It was too much for the mind to take for long, and scouts that had strayed into its influence took moons to recover from the borrowed grief.

That had been the prickling on Pip's neck. The slow approach of the Weeping Shadow was already casting a pallor on her mind - and it was getting closer.

Pip's thoughts scrambled for her next move. If she stayed hidden, the Weeping Shadow would pass nearer to her than anyone had ever dared. She flattened her ears against her head and focused on the walls around her mind. Could she close herself to it strongly enough to hold out?

A wild fear beat against her ribs. She wanted to stay clinging to this branch forever, but she also wanted to bolt, to sprint the length of the branch and fling herself into open space, trusting the soft soil to cushion her fall - or rather, if she were honest with herself in that moment, heedless of what the fall might do to her. The desperate urge to flee was strong in her people, and here, faced with a terror closer than ever before, it was nigh overwhelming.

But Pip had a third instinct that overruled all others when she allowed it, and it had been slowly growing in her mind ever since she'd slipped from the hollow before the dawn. It was a hunger, of a sort, and one that warred always with fear. The hunger was curiosity, a thrumming urge for exploration and understanding that spurred her on through peril and dark for the promise of clarity on the other side.

The beasts in her forest were descending on the stronghold, and their passage had stirred the Weeping Shadow from its domain. Something was happening - something vast, something perhaps unknowable. But it would certainly stay unknowable if she didn't even try to know it.

And perhaps the Weeping Shadow knew.

Pip had more control than most over the openness of her mind. It alarmed her peers, sometimes, that she could pass among them in silence, unreceptive to their soundless speech. It unnerved them more, for those who knew - from a time when she was more open with her secrets and her strangeness - that she could at times hear the deep thoughts of the Long Shadows, and stranger still, sometimes even catch a shred of their meaning. The idea that the minds of the Long Shadows could in any way compare to the bright, clear thoughts of her people was on the surface laughable, and just under that surface, frightening. Still, she knew it was true. Their minds were dark, slow places, but they contained meaning and knowledge, most beyond the reckoning of her kind.

The mind of the Weeping Shadow was an abyss of grief and sorrow, but if she could attune her senses to it - if she could withstand its pressure - she could, perhaps, glean its purpose in the shattered peaks, and what it knew of the creatures that she pursued.

The underbrush cracked. Pip flattened herself against the branch and peered intently at the sound as the rolling wave of green spread under the tree, blanketing in every direction.

A shape moved in the shadow of the trees, ponderous and slow.

Pip felt her eyes grow hot and stinging, the space behind them heavy with unshed tears. A borrowed bottomless grief encroached on the walls of her mind, lapping at it like a swelling river threatening its banks.

The Weeping Shadow broke from the treeline and stepped forward.

It towered, even from Pip's high vantage point. It was gray and still and almost shapeless in the dim of the canopy, but twin lights glimmered near its summit, pale green like the sprouts boiling at its feet.

Pip's head pounded. The pressure of its presence was terrible. It was vast, yes, but the power of the sorrow within it seemed vaster still - like all the forest around it was desperate to weep, and the Shadow was the only part of it that could, yet it refused to.

The Shadow tilted its head down, and the lights of its eyes vanished in the gloom. But it was not weeping, Pip knew. It was… looking.

Looking at the tracks under its carpet of grass.

Pip gritted her teeth, gripped the branch, and opened her mind.

It was gentler than she had anticipated. The pressure and power was indescribable, but once she stopped trying to push it back, she found it moved her rather like water would - with force, but without pain. It was almost easy to let the thoughts of this vast creature buffet her where they would.

The words in the Weeping Shadow's mind were unknown to her, but she felt a snatch of them repeating over and over again. The words mattered less than the feeling that drove them, and as she focused, she realized that the Weeping Shadow was, in some way, at war with itself; the thoughts were not all in agreement. The repetition smelled of deep, old terror, but its loop was broken over and over again by a different, newer thought - one that Pip herself was intimately familiar with, strong enough that she needed no translation to parse it:

But I can help.

Dimly, in her faraway body, she felt tears pouring from her, hot and desperate from a grief she couldn't fathom. Her claws gripped the bark of the branch. The Weeping Shadow's thoughts, at the moment, were focused on its inner war, but it did nothing to shield Pip from the substrate of its misery. Still, she was onto something. If she could just push through, she might learn what the Weeping Shadow understood of the intruders to their forest.

Pip dug deeper. The Weeping Shadow knew what these creatures were - knew what they intended - believed it could help in some way - but what did it know of them?

Running below the looping dread and the punctuating bursts of hope, Pip glimpsed a glimmering ribbon of understanding wending its way just below the Weeping Shadow's conscious thought. It snaked under the fear, coiled around the thought of help. This had to be the knowledge that had motivated the Weeping Shadow's unheard-of migration. This was the mystery of the creatures answered.

This, perhaps, was Pip's only mistake. As she caught the thread of that understanding, it abruptly yanked against the current and plunged her down, down, down into the icy depth of the Weeping Shadow's truest misery. Its knowledge of these creatures came from the same bone-deep wellspring as the torrent of tears, and Pip screamed aloud as it battered her mind full-force. Alien thoughts crashed against her, unbearably loud; the grinding of bone, the shifting of stone, the pounding of waves greater than any river, the splintering of mighty trees. A twisting, a breaking - a power like a maddened, wild animal, thrashing and uncontrollable, kept in check only by its own terrible exhaustion and grief. She was so, so small, and somehow in the depths of this vastness she was even further diminished, crushed to a single point of light-

And something was watching her.

With a last mighty burst of willpower she released the thought-thread, flung herself away, and tumbled off the branch. It was something of a mercy that she was too stunned to feel the impact, and the carpet of seedlings cushioned her fall.

The first thing she became aware of was her breathing, high and fast and shallow in time with her racing heartbeat, real panic and borrowed sorrow draining away with shocking rapidity. Second, she felt the pain; her head pounding with spent exhaustion, her paws cramped in every joint, her back and shoulders bruised from where the impact of the fall had driven her scabbarded blade against her spine.

The third thing she became aware of was the shadow stretching towards her, claws stretched as long as her whole body, the deep purple of the skies after dusk.

The Weeping Shadow loomed over her, vaster than mountains. Two points of green pierced out from the dark.

She ran.

[txttletale]

Hi! Do you think you could link me to some resources about the problems/ evils of the EU? Would love to find some but it's hard to know what's reliable when I have no base knowledge in this area + you seem very well informed :)

sure. let's start with what the EU does to its own member states--in 2009, the EU bailed the greek government out of severe debt on the condition that they establish brutal austerity measures, cutting public spending and welfare. these measures served to immiserate and destroy the lives of thousands of greek people:

Greek mortality has worsened significantly since the beginning of the century. In 2000, the death rate per 100,000 people was 944.5. By 2016, it had risen to 1174.9, with most of the increase taking place from 2010 onwards.

[forbes]

Since the implementation of the austerity programme, Greece has reduced its ratio of health-care expenditure to GDP to one of the lowest within the EU, with 50% less public hospital funding in 2015 than in 2009. This reduction has left hospitals with a deficit in basic supplies, while consumers are challenged by transient drug shortages.

[the lancet]

The homeless population is thought to have grown by 25 per cent since 2009, now numbering 20,000 people.

[oxfam]

the most brutal treatment, however, the EU of course reserves for migrants from the global south. the EU sets strict migration quotas and uses its member states as weapons against desperate people fleeing across the mediterranean. boats are prevented from landing, migrants that do make it to land are repelled with brutal violence, and refugees are deported back to countries where their lives are in lethal danger. these policies have led to many, many deaths--and the refugees and migrants who do survive are treating fucking inhumanely.

After a perilous journey across the desert, Abdulaziz was locked up in Triq al-Sikka, a grim prison in Tripoli, Libya. Why? Because the EU pays Libyan militias millions of euros to detain anyone deemed a possible migrant to Europe [...] A leaked EU internal memorandum in 2020 acknowledged that capturing migrants was now “a profitable business model” [...] in Triq al-Sikka and other detention centres, “acts of murder, enslavement, torture, rape and other inhumane acts are committed against migrants”, observed a damning UN report.

[the guardian]

Volunteers have logged more than 27,000 deaths by drowning since 1993, often hundreds at a time when large ships capsize. These account for nearly 80% of all the entries.

[the guardian]

Refugees and asylum seekers were punched, slapped, beaten with truncheons, weapons, sticks or branches, by police or border guards who often removed their ID tags or badges, the committee said in its annual report. People on the move were subject to pushbacks, expulsion from European states, either by land or sea, without having asylum claims heard. Victims were also subject to “inhuman and degrading treatment”, such as having bullets fired close to their bodies while they lay on the ground, being pushed into rivers, sometimes with hands tied, or being forced to walk barefoot or even naked across a border.

[the guardian]

In September, Greece opened a refugee camp on the island of Samos that has been described as prison-like. The €38m (£32m) facility for 3,000 asylum seekers has military-grade fencing and CCTV to track people’s movements. Access is controlled by fingerprint, turnstiles and X-rays. A private security company and 50 uniformed officers monitor the camp. It is the first of five that Greece has planned; two more opened in November.

[the guardian]

i could go on. i could cite dozens more similarly brutal news stories about horrific mistreatment, or any of the dozens of people who have killed themselves in the custody of border police under horrific conditions. the EU is a murderous institution that does not care about the lives of refugees and migrants or about the lives of the citizens of any member state that is not pursuing a vicious enough neoliberal political program

[kiquebi]

I was yapping to @pineconnie abt Parrot making Wifies cookies the other day and this thing spawned in my docs. Hi Connie :D.

This was supposed to be small drabble but it turned out to be a 1140 word monstrosity instead lol. As usual, feel free to drop any constructive criticism if you have any, I’m still pretty new to writing fanfics. Have fun!

———————————————————————

“So you’re saying this Wifies guy left you stranded in the middle of nowhere after traveling with you thousands of blocks from spawn?”, Theo asks as he swipes at Parrot with his netherite sword. Parrot blocks the heavy blow with his shield, chest heaving. Theo didn’t hold back, casual spar or not.

“Well, he did say he wanted us to hide from the mafia. But don’t you think that’s useless?”. Parrot tries to get a hit in, but Theo just weaves around and takes another swipe at him. “And this is the same guy that helped you win Capture the Flag and get your council seat?”. There’s a hint of bewilderment in his voice, but Parrot doesn’t have time to dwell on it before Theo sweeps his legs from under him.

Parrot hits the ground and he feels his body go slack. He groans. Theo had beaten him in every round so far, but he didn’t seem to have any intentions of stopping until Parrot actually managed to get him down on the ground today. His arms burn from exhaustion and he squints against the bright sun. A shadow blocks the blinding rays and his vision clears to see Theo holding out his hand to him. Parrot takes it and Theo hauls him up with one arm, a satisfied smirk on his face.

Theo takes off his shades to wipe the sweat off his brows. There’s a look in his eyes Parrot can’t decipher as he faces him, “He’s that farmer in the purple, right? Can’t exactly blame the guy for not wanting to go head to head with all those diamond players like we did.” He puts his glasses back on and pats Parrots on the shoulder, “From what I’ve seen, he seems like a half decent guy. The way he looks at you all the time, I don’t think he meant much harm. Why don’t you two talk over lunch or something?”. The familiar flames of anger begin to lick at Parrot’s heart, but he finds that what once was a burning inferno of rage was now a tamer flickering ember.

Parrot doesn’t say anything to that, merely looking down and shifting his weight from one side to another, but Theo seemed satisfied enough with his reaction. He moves back into position and Parrot goes back into stance and their clashing begins again. But Theo’s words continue to ring in his head after their spar no matter how many times Parrot tries to forget them.

They continue to linger even as Parrot laid in bed that night, pondering over the past few days. He didn’t understand what Theo had meant about the way Wifies looked at him, but it has been different without Wifies at his side. Wifies did help him in that fight with the ice, so he supposes that he should thank him for that. He’s not completely forgiving him, but a gift wouldn’t hurt right?

And that was how Parrot found himself in the kitchen the next day with a bag of flour, sugar and a couple eggs in front of him. He remembers that Wifies mentioned liking red velvet cookies once but he didn’t have a clue how to make those. Surely, Parrot reasoned, chocolate chip cookies were close enough, containing chocolate and everything. He didn’t have any luck finding chocolate chips in the pantry but luckily, he managed to get a chocolate bar off Ratrick. He did have Parrot fork over most of his strength pots, but Parrot figured he could just get more at the farmer’s compound later.

Baking the cookies went relatively well, all things considered. The first batch Parrot made had come out burnt at the bottom but the second only came out a little misshapen. The chunks of chocolate he had cut out looked the right amount of melty and the cookie itself was just a little past golden brown. Parrot couldn’t afford to taste it but it smelled okay, so he decided to wrap that batch up.

It’s late-afternoon judging by the sun outside, so he figured Wifies should be free right about now. He pulled out his communicator and sent Wifies a message, 'Meet me in front of the statue’.

Having messaged Wifies, Parrot threw the cookies inside a bundle and flew over to find Wifies sitting at the base of a stair in front of the statue. Wifies seemed to perk up at the sound of him landing, and he quickly stands to face Parrot. Standing face to face with Wifies again after all that’s happened, Parrot looks at him. Really look at him this time.

He notes that Wifies’ hair seemed unkempt and under his eyes were bags even deeper than the ones he had that time when they were confined in Proton. There’s a weariness in the way his shoulders slumped and how his eyes just barely fail to meet his and Parrot’s heart aches.

There’s a festering emotion in his chest he can’t identify as he pulls the bundle out of his inventory and practically shoves it at Wifies. “I made something for you”. Wifies fumbles to catch the bundle, eyes wide in disbelief. “For me?”, his hands are shaky as they reach in and pull out a cookie. His eyes lit up at the sight of it and Parrot can’t seem to remember the last time he saw that expression on Wifies. Parrot watches as Wifies’ face breaks out into a tentative smile and he quickly adds, “This doesn’t mean I’m completely forgiving you though”. The sinking feeling in his chest grows as the words leave his mouth, but there’s no point in taking them back.

Wifies huffs and his eyes crinkle as they move towards the ground. The smile on his face is smaller now, but it’s there if Parrot looks closely enough. “Yeah, of course Parrot. Of course”, Wifies softly murmured as he brings the misshapen cookie to his mouth.

Parrot’s eyes follow the cookie as Wifies brings it up to his mouth, but he looks away just before Wifies could bite into it. He finds himself shuffling his body to face the setting sun instead, it’s light giving the buildings around them an orange hue.

It’s silent for a while, just of two of them and the rustling of the trees. But Parrot was never one for patience and he breaks the silence, “So, how are they?”. He hears the sound of Wifies moving to face the sun as well, and his voice is soft as he responds: “They’re delicious. Thank you Parrot, I really appreciate it”.

The silence returns, but this time it stays as they both move to sit on the stone stairs. It’s a comfortable silence, occasionally broken by Wifies munching on his chocolate chip cookies, but that’s enough for the both of them for now.

[serickswrites]

Hey :)

No rush🖤 just wanted to know if you're going to continue the Monster series? ; the one where the team thinks whumpee betrayed them but they disn't and it was whumper

Again no rush,sry if i'm disturbing you with this💓

Love your writing💛💗💛

Anon! I am definitely going to be continuing this series (sorry it took so long to answer this). It's written and plotted for a total of 6 parts including the first part. Please enjoy part 2!

Part 1

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, burns, branding, physical violence, unconsciousness, beating

Everything was pain when Smallest Teammate came to. They were chained to a wall in a darkened basement and their body hurt. The team had been thorough in their beating and Smallest Teammate was paying the price. At least Whumper wasn't there when they woke up.

There had to be a way they could escape. Had to be a way they could get out. They had to get out and warn the team. Convince Team Leader that Whumper was the liar and traitor and that Smallest Teammate had been innocent. They had to or else Whumper would hurt the rest of the team.

The basement door banged open and Smallest Teammate flinched. So much for finding a way out before Whumper came in. "Well, well, well," Whumper said excitedly as they walked down the steps, "it looks like your luck has finally run out, little mouse, and I've caught you."

"The team will figure you out!" Smallest Teammate knew that Whumper would hurt them, torture them, most likely kill them, but maybe that would buy the team enough to realize who Whumper truly was.

Whumper rolled their eyes. "I highly doubt that, little mouse. They love me. It's you they think are the problem. It's you who should be afraid. I'm going to enjoy taking my time with you, little mouse."

Smallest Teammate opened their mouth to reply, but Whumper kicked out at them. Whumper's foot connected with their ribs and Smallest Teammate found themself gasping for air. Whumper kicked them again. And again. And again. Smallest Teammate's already bruised and battered body was in worse shape than before. Every kick hurt a thousand times worse than they had when the team had beaten them. Every punch. Every vicious blow was made a thousand times worse by Whumper's anger and desire to hurt Smallest Teammate.

Finally, Whumper stopped. Smallest Teammate could barely keep their eyes open. They fought to stay conscious. They had to stay conscious or Whumper would grow bored and potentially hurt the team. Smallest Teammate moaned with pain as Whumper lifted them beneath their armpits and carried them to a table in the corner of the room. Smallest Teammate couldn't fight back as they were chained down.

They were barely tracking Whumper's movements. Barely tracking anything. Whumper's face suddenly loomed over them. "This is going to be so much fun. You're mine. All mine, Smallest Teammate. And I intend to milk you for every last drop of pain I can. So don't think I'm going to be killing you any time soon. I'm going to enjoy myself long before I kill you. And everyone will know that you were mine once you're gone."

"I...I...I--" Smallest Teammate tried to get the words out, but their head was fuzzy and dark. They opened their mouth to try again when Whumper pressed something to their forearm. Smallest Teammate howled with pain as their flesh seared around the brand Whumper had pressed to them.

"It's my name, you know. Everyone will know that you are mine. And that I had you first." Whumper smirked as they ground the brand down further into Smallest Teammate's arm.

Smallest Teammate wailed with pain. They screamed and tried to move, but couldn't because of the restraints. They cried and begged Whumper to stop, but Whumper did not relent. It was only after Whumper had pressed the brand a third time to their body that Smallest Teammate let the darkness that had been waiting claim them.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@acer-whumpstuff @eight-littlenightmares @daffodilsinspring

[firstdeerwife]

C.13

Childhood

Alastor's memories often intertwined with violence, with the sound of screams and breaking glass.

From a very young age, his life had been a constant storm, a cycle of unbearable shouts and silences that haunted every corner of his home.

His father, a cruel-tempered white man, and his mother, a strong but trapped Black woman, were the embodiment of everything that was wrong in his world.

Alastor, barely a child, watched his mother endure constant abuse. Every time his father returned drunk, the shadows of the night seemed to stretch further.

But in the midst of that chaos was his mother.

A strong woman, with skin smooth as mahogany and eyes full of unshakable kindness.

Despite all she suffered, she always found a way to smile at Alastor. Her love was the only thing that kept the boy sane in that hell.

Despite everything she endured, she always managed to smile at him. Her affection was the only thing keeping him grounded in that inferno.

"Never forget that you are special, Alastor," she would say, caressing his face after each of the brutal fights with his father.

"You have a light inside you that no one can extinguish."

He clung to that love, seeking refuge in the warmth of her hugs, in the sweetness of her voice. Alastor was a mama’s boy, and for him, his mother was everything.

Whenever his father hit him, his mother was there, healing his wounds, promising that one day, things would get better.

But Alastor knew those promises were empty, that the world would never change for them.

One night, when Alastor was just a teenager, his life took a definitive turn.

His father came home more drunk than usual, staggering through the door with bloodshot eyes and trembling hands.

Alastor watched him from the corner of the room, trying to disappear into the shadows.

He knew what was coming.

“Damn you, woman!” his father growled, searching for his mother with uncontrollable rage.

“You can’t hide him from me!”

His mother tried to protect him, as she always did, placing herself between him and his father’s fury.

But that night was different.

The man left his mother unconscious on the floor, beaten so badly there was a large red pool under her head.

When the man raised his hand to strike Alastor, he stopped him, grabbing a kitchen knife with trembling hands.

The gleam of the metal under the dim kitchen light was enough for Alastor to understand that something was about to break.

“No!” Alastor murmured, his voice barely a whisper as he looked at his father with a mixture of terror and resolve.

The man laughed, a bitter, broken laugh, before lunging at him.

What happened next was a blur. The sound of flesh being pierced, his father’s scream, the body falling to the floor.

Alastor's mind slowly processed what he had just done.

Blow after blow, with blind violence, he unleashed all the hatred he had accumulated over the years.

When he finally stopped, he was covered in blood, his hands trembling.

Never again.

It was that night Alastor realized that the power of violence was something he could control, something he could use.

He had protected his mother once again, but this time at a terrible price.

His father’s blood stained the floor, and with the knife still in hand, he looked at her with tears in his eyes.

“I did it for you, Mama. I did it for you…”

But something was wrong.

His mother’s figure remained motionless on the floor, her mahogany skin bathed in a spectral light, completely still.

Alastor, trembling, ran to her, falling to his knees beside her body. He shook her, calling out to her in desperation, but she didn’t respond.

She was gone.

In an instant, his entire life changed. His mother, his pillar, his only source of love and warmth in that cold and cruel world, was dead.

He clung to her lifeless body, the weight of the pain crushing him. He cried like he had never cried before, his tears mixing with the blood on the floor, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces.

“I did it for you…” he repeated over and over, but it no longer made sense. His mother was dead, and with her death, something inside Alastor extinguished.

That was the last time he cried.

In that moment, with his mother’s corpse in his arms, Alastor made a decision.

He would never feel that much pain again. He would close his heart to the world, harden himself, and never allow anyone to hurt him again.

And so began his path toward darkness. Violence was no longer just revenge.

It was control.

For Alastor, love, compassion, and hope died along with his mother that night.

And in their place, only the coldness of a heart that would never feel again remained.

But Alastor, far from feeling relief, felt something deeper, something dark growing inside him.

He realized, at that moment, that the world would not improve on its own. That violence was the only answer in a world as cruel as his.

That was how Alastor began his journey into darkness, becoming the killer that New Orleans feared.

Because for him, death wasn’t just an act of revenge. It was an act of control.

The fear and submission he had felt his entire life were replaced by a dark determination.

He would never let anyone control him again.

He would never be the victim.

Masterlist

[magnoliasandarson]

birds of a feather pt. 2

Dick wasn’t sure what to make of the Redhood Jason. His baby brother, his Little Wing- back from the dead. He was gloriously and miraculously alive, but there was something different. For one, he was jacked. His Jaybird had been five-foot-nothing when they buried him, but he was now a tank given human form- well over six feet tall, at least two hundred pounds.

Then there was the less obvious. Jason had always been a dynamic fighter, explosive and quick on his feet, but where he once moved like lightning, he now moved like wildfire, fluid and lethal. Dick recognized the brutality, the swiftness. Somehow, Jason had been with the League of Assassins. It was easy to put two and two together; someone had dumped the corpse of his baby brother into the Lazarus Pit. His brother hadn’t turned away from the light; someone turned him. They would pay dearly. 

He went to Bruce immediately and demanded they kill call Talia. But Bruce didn’t react the way Dick expected. He didn’t fly to Nanda Parbat; he didn’t swear vengeance in the name of his son. Instead, he said, “This changes nothing,” and went to find the Redhood, stone-faced and deathly quiet.

Dick hesitated for all of a minute before suiting up and running after Bruce, taking care to stay just out of sight. He’d known Bruce for half his life and had spent about as much time cleaning up his messes; he knew when the elder was going to make a mistake he’d dearly regret. He wanted to be wrong. 

Still, Dick crouched in the rafters of the warehouse and watched. He wanted to sob, wanted to scream, wanted to rage as his Little Wing tossed the hog-tied Joker onto the ground in front of him. Keeping the fucking clown as a barrier between him and his father. His fingers flexed involuntarily around a WingDing as the Joker started cackling, “How sweet! It’s a family reunion!”

Jason yanked his helmet off and tossed it between him and Bruce- no man’s land. In a fucked-up way, Dick almost laughed. Jason was still Jason, even under all the rage and madness. Thank fuck Dick had found and defused that bomb- Jason’d probably go on too long, and they’d be blown to pieces. 

Any semblance of a smile faded away from his face when Jason spoke, “Ignoring what he's done in the past. Blindly, stupidly disregarding the entire graveyards he's filled, the thousands who have suffered, the friends he's crippled.” Barbara’s agonized face as she stared at the Batgirl suit from her wheelchair flashed through Dick’s mind. His knuckles popped as he clenched his fists. Jason wasn’t wrong. Dick had believed- had known- what Jason was saying was true; he’d beaten the Joker to death with his bare hands, all for Bruce to bring him back. 

 Dick shifted his weight, ready to drop down in a split-second, “You know, I thought... I thought I'd be the last person you'd ever let him hurt. If it had been you that he beat to a bloody pulp, if he had taken you from this world, I would've done nothing but search the planet for this pathetic pile of evil, death-worshiping garbage and then send him off to hell!” Oh, Jaybird. This was all wrong, all so fucking wrong. Bruce had lost his mind when Jason died; why wasn’t Bruce telling him?

Finally, finally, Bruce opened his mouth, “You don't understand. I don't think you've ever understood.” Dick was going to kill Bruce. Then, he was going to cart his brother off to therapy and ice cream.

“What? That your moral code just won't allow for that? It's too hard to cross that line?” So much therapy and so much ice cream. Maybe even a trip to a bookstore. Or an island. Just anywhere but Gotham.

“No! God Almighty, no. It'd be too damned easy. All I've ever wanted to do is kill him. A day doesn't go by that I don't think about subjecting him to every horrendous torture he's dealt out to others, and then... end him.” Barbara’s beaten form in a hospital bed, Jason’s tiny grave- Dick felt all too prepared to assume the burden for Bruce.

The Joker laughed again, “Aw, Batsy’s thinkin’ bout lil ol’ me!” Jason slammed a boot into the clown’s side, and Dick found himself almost cheering.

Bruce carried on, too stuck in his self-flagellation and morality, “But if I do that, if I allow myself to go down into that place... I'll never come back.” Boo-fuckin-hoo, Dick would stop Bruce if he went too far. He'd done it before.

“Why? I'm not talking about killing Penguin or Scarecrow or Dent. I'm talking about him, just him. And doing it because... because he took me away from you.” Dick was afraid that if he exhaled, he’d scream. It took him months to realize that Jason wasn’t his usurper- that he was just a kid who needed a family. If Jason thought for a minute that Dick hadn’t wanted to burn the world to ashes-

“I can't. I'm sorry.” Fuck this.

Jason chuckled, low and uneven, and Dick felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise, “You don’t have to. I will,” he pulled a gun from his hip, cocked the hammer, and lowered it to point at the Joker’s laughing face, “Him or me, Bruce. Either kill me, or I kill him.” No, no, no, no-

Bruce reached into his utility belt and drew a Batarang- NO

Time slowed. Was this how Wally felt?

Dick launched from the beam-

Jason turned away from the Joker, his mouth opened to speak-

The Batarang glinted in the flickering lights as it flew-

Dick screamed his brother’s name, arm outstretched-

“JASON!”

A river of red opened and poured out of Jason’s neck-

Jason fell to the ground, clutching his throat-

Dick was frozen. He was standing on solid ground. His brother was bleeding out ten feet away, with the Joker howling in laughter on the ground next to him. Dick could sense Bruce Batman behind him. Unmoving.  

It wasn’t something many people acknowledged- even in his own family- but Dick Grayson was a weapon given skin. He had trained with Raptor, Lady Shiva, and Deathstroke. They didn’t specialize in nonlethal force. Dick had mutilated, tortured, and killed in the name of justice. Batman just killed his brother. Carelessly, he flicked a Wingding into the Joker’s neck, slicing his carotid like Jason’s.

"Let him go," Dick triggered his escrima stick, sparks of blue crackling into existence, "now."

He turned to face the man he had loved as a father who killed his brother, his voice uncharacteristically solemn and steady, “You killed my brother.” Blue lightning crackled into existence, drowning out the sound of the Joker’s dying giggles.

Bruce’s Batman’s face was carved from stone, even as he raised his fists, “You broke the code.”

“Fuck your code,” Dick launched himself at Batman, escrima sticks raised, “he was your son!”

Once upon a time, many years ago, Bruce had taught Dick to fight, but Dick wasn’t trying to fight his former mentor; he was trying to kill him. Batman swung at Nightwing, aiming to shatter bone and rend flesh. They had crossed the point of no return, and they both knew it, “He came back wrong.”

Dick roared in rage, primal and furious, not speaking a word, slamming a well-placed kick into Batman’s weak knee. He was done talking. He’d tried to talk to Bruce Batman for years. If the old man wanted to fight someone, he’d be reminded why Nightwing was his contingency plan.

Batman fell to one knee, slashing out with a Batarang, but Nightwing caught it with an escrima stick, knocking it from the elder’s hand, and slamming the other into the side of his head. Dick dodged a sloppy punch, flipping out of the way with agility Batman could never match. 

“Stand down, Nightwing,” Batman bellowed, “That’s enough!” He staggered back to his feet, catching the younger in the ribs with a gauntleted fist. The force of the punch threw Dick, tossed him through the air onto his back on the ground, a pained gasp leaving his lips.

Dick snarled, a horrifying imitation of the smile he was famous for, “Never again.” He’d never stand down again, not for Batman. He launched into the air off his shoulders, his feet connecting with the Bat symbol, knocking Batman onto the concrete. 

Nightwing knelt on the Batsuit, pressing a Wingding into his throat, “You slit his throat.” Tears blurred his vision as he cut through the armor, the blade touching his former mentor’s skin, drawing a single drop of beaded blood. 

“Dad?”

In a heartbeat, Dick was on the floor between the Joker’s corpse and his brother. He thought he was dead; he didn’t check- “Jason,” the word left his bloody lips like a prayer, “fuck, Jason.” He pressed his fingers to his brother’s throat- there was a thick scar under the gore but no open wound. Jason’s pulse was fast and erratic- but it was there.

“Dickie?” Jason’s voice was small, croaky. Batman had probably cut into his vocal cords when he threw that stupid Batarang. (You should call them Batarangs- like Bat and Boomerang!)

“I’m here, Little Wing,” tears dripped off his chin onto his brother’s face, “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” 

Distantly, Dick heard Batman jump out of a window. He didn’t care. He was holding his brother, his blessedly alive brother, fuck Batman. Birds of a feather stuck together.

[ms3ox]

w i f & e

In which, Alastor has his ego beaten into the ground, and still can't find a good reason to hate you.

Part I/???

Tags: Slow Burn, Really Petty Enemies to Lovers, Unintentional Marriage (soon)

Notes: I have a good ~40 pages of this already written. Lmk if you guys want more.

______________________________________________________________

At one point in time, Alastor could definitively say that he didn’t care what happened to his wife. 

You were… auxiliary at best and a nuisance at worst. A mess of naivety, youth, and a bumbling sense of goodness. Its truly a marvel how someone so seemingly innocent made her way down to the Pride Ring. But perhaps that was it. Pride. At least, that was his working hypothesis. He couldn’t say for certain what landed you eternal damnation, and perhaps it was none of his business anyway what with the way you kept it strictly under wraps. In another life, perhaps, Alastor would be curious, but time is wasted on flights of folly such as deducing the nature of his benefactor’s death. You had spiraling horns etched into your skull, so you were, in one way or another, just like the rest of them. 

It isn’t until he feels that tug that he realizes what he feels is nothing short of care. The phantom tugs at his chest, at his heart, a pitiful plea for help, but one that smells so familiarly sweet that he knows who it is and where its coming from.

And despite the way this growing humanity makes his fingers strain and curl, he dissolves into shadow and slithers toward your pull. 

---

Boredom is the worst part of Hell. 

Killing and eating can only be so much fun. After disposing of his… hmm, how many now? After disposing of his thousandth body, he finds that the appetite following the kill is nigh on nonexistent. He’s just… restless and bored. There are no turf wars around, no drama within the collective of Overlords, Hell, even Vox has been a doldrum of content lately- a stream of useless garbage that seems even more mind-numbing than the demon’s usual flare for juicy gossip and electric presentation. 

Deal-making is the same as it always has been, too. Alastor finds himself putting in all the work, all the fanciful and dandyish flare to impress his prey before ripping their autonomy right out of them with a handshake. And they’re all the same. Scared, hopeless, down on their luck. Reluctantly trustful of a smile before regretting it for eternity. When one owns thousands of souls… none of it feels… fulfilling anymore. The blood-red skies of Hell seem to fade to a miserable, dried brown- the same sky he’s been staring up at for the past century. 

God, he is so bored. 

This is the real torture. The real damnation. 

Rosie must see the apathy in his eyes and dullness in his smile because her face quickly contorts into something concerned the moment he enters her emporium.

“Alastor?” She would whisper with that soft concern the ladies in his life harbor for him. Even that has become dull to him. “You look all outta sorts, mister. What’s goin’ on, hah?”

And just like many of the concerned ladies in his life, Rosie is quick to offer a solution. He sits with his fingers steepled and his gaze far, far away as Rosie explains another deal opportunity to him. For once, Alastor doesn’t feel like being theatrical. Boredom has sucked the life out of this radio broadcast. Newcomer… Naive… Struggling in Hell, yada yada. 

“...I’ll consider it.” Is Alastor’s simple and placating reply. 

—

The first thing Alastor notices is that you know your way around a knife. Not necessarily how to fight, but you seem to have a keen eye for all the mortal points on a demon’s body- and when executed correctly…

“Impressive, my dear!”

The dandyish facade and wide smile return again like muscle memory- perhaps that’s what it is after decades of tricking demons into eternal bondage. Your eyes narrow suspiciously as the tall, creepy man in the red coat takes measured, clacking steps toward you. Soon enough, Alastor finds himself on the sharper end of your bloodied little pocket knife. Come to think of it, Rosie had said something about the demon being somewhat adept with a weapon… He’s sure there’s more information that his boredom has glossed over and tucked into his memory, never to be found.

“Alastor,” He says without so much as a flinch, taking the other end of the knife and shaking it as if it were your hand. “Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure.”

He pays no mind to the way his blood seeps around it. He’ll visit the tailor for new gloves later. And… perhaps a dry cleaning, what with the violent spray of demon blood that the little demoness incurred with your paltry knife skills and scarily surgical precision. But you seem to pick up on the fact that no amount of ferality and intent to kill can bridge the sloping gap in power between you. Your eyes narrow.

“Do you want something?”

Alastor hums, tapping a finger to his chin. His polished shoes clack with every circling step he takes around you, you and your tattered rags you call clothes.

“Want is a strong word, my dear.” He taps your head with his microphone, then points to the disgustingly garish Embassy as another day drops from its count. “Our annual cull is coming soon. You won’t want to be a street urchin when God’s little pests arrive.”

The mention of God seems to set you off in some way. Your shoulders square, your eyes widen, and there’s some kind of hunger in your black irises that catches him off-guard for a moment.

Interesting…

“I believe it would be in your best interests to seek protection… Shelter…” He circles you once more before arriving at your front. Alastor extends his hand, bending down to meet the sprightly thing eye to eye. Your scleras are pure, white… untainted. Something he hopes to rectify.

“Let’s make a deal.”

A blade narrowly misses the underside of his rib, and he only realizes that when he sees one of his blackened, eldtrich tendrils squeezing at your wrist, keeping it firmly steady while it hovers just before his coat. Alastor clicks his tongue, straightening his posture. He could kill you…  but that feels like a waste of resources.

“Calm yourself, dear, I haven’t even outlined the terms!”

The girl’s eyes narrow even more, if possible, your thin brows furrowing in a way that casts angry shadows over your features. This was going to be a hard sell. But… Alastor’s been known to play with words. His hand finds your straining wrist, replacing the hardness of his power with a gentle touch.

“Pledge yourself to me and I-.”

“No.”

Alastor can’t help the sharp feedback his microphone makes at your sudden dismissal. You will just not let him get a word in edgewise, hm? His jaw hangs open in shock before he quickly rectifies himself, smoothing down his suit. Okay. He can work with no. He’s walked this path many times before. They always come crawling back, one way or another. 

“Hm. I hope you keep this conversation in mind then.”

He hums a jaunty tune as he leaves the stubborn girl to the shadows.

---

[whatitshouldvebeen]

After your most recent fic I couldn’t n help imagining, how would Johnny react if he did accidentally kill the reader? Like maybe one of his beatings just goes too far, do you think he would be regretful or would he really just not care? I love all of your work 💕

Johnny Slaughter x Reader

Too Much Trouble part 2

Contains: death, extreme angst, don't read if you're sensitive 'cause I almost cried writing it

Johnny knew something was wrong the moment your body shuddered and went limp. 

Well, he knew something was wrong before that point. You were what was wrong. You and your annoying bullshit, the way you wouldn't leave him alone, the way you reached out and cupped his face and choked out you loved him as he strangled you. 

Why wouldn't you shut up? If you had just stopped following him around apologizing, begging for his forgiveness, asking what you could have done differently, this wouldn't have happened. 

His frustration peaked when you insisted he needed help, claiming his anger was an overreaction. You didn't get to decide the impact of your actions on him. If only you had focused more on his feelings than on justifying your mistakes, perhaps you'd have realized the need to stay silent.

But, no. You continued to express concern for him, wanting him to understand your perspective. As if he could comprehend the world through the lens of someone so foolish and lacking self-preservation. Being so fucking stupid as to claim he was the one with the problem as you were the source of every single issue in his life. 

In his mind, there was a snapshot of who you were supposed to be: docile, sweet, a homemaker, a mother, a comforter, an absolver. You always forgave him, you never gave up on him, and you never once even considered leaving him.

But when you strayed from that image; when you were stressed, when you were upset or angry, and especially when you dared to talk back, you weren't the person he idealized you as. You were pathetic, stupid, weak, and you disgusted him. 

So it felt natural when he beat you, strangled you, smashed you against the wall and threatened you. After all, you weren't behaving. You weren't conforming to his idealized version of you. You weren't the person he cared for, you were someone else entirely. And god, he hated it when you weren't the vision in his mind's eye.

But the moment that shudder coursed through your body, the hands that had been in the process of beating you stilled. The mouth that had been wishing your death silenced. The hate that had been coursing through his veins chilled. 

"Quit messin' around," he said, shoving your back as you lay face down on the ground in a pool of your own blood. You only jostled, then lay silent. 

Johnny shoved you again, then again, and you rolled over on your side. Your eyes were dull and lifeless, bloodshot and swollen from crying and being beaten. Your mouth hung open limply, blood trickling from your split lip.

Disbelief flooded him. You'd survived worse before, why did you give up this time? You told him you'd never leave him! You swore it on your life! Yet, you were gone. You'd lied. You did leave him. 

He didn't recognize the foreign feeling twisting in his stomach. Regret? Remorse? Wasn't this what he'd been wishing for every goddamn time you'd made him beat you back to your senses? 

He wiped his cheek. Your blood mixed with his tears, smearing across his face. 

"Baby?" He said, much softer. He rested a gentle hand on your shoulder. Your face was smashed almost beyond recognition. Your throat was purple and black. Even your tongue was swollen, holding your shattered mouth open. 

He sat on the floor, cradling your battered form. One hand stroked your hair, patches having been torn from your scalp when he flung you around the room. "Honey, this ain't funny. Quit pretendin'."

Johnny knew. He knew what he'd done. He finally freed himself of you. So why did it hurt? Why was his heart fracturing into a thousand glass shards, stabbing through his chest, more painful than any wound he'd ever sustained?

Tears were streaming down now, but he didn't notice until they splattered on your face. He angrily wiped them off you, which turned into a frenzy of trying to clean you. 

He ripped off his shirt and used it to rub away the blood until he could almost see the woman he could remember. The woman who would light up when he returned. Who would run into his arms, squeeze him tight, and tell him she missed him. Who told him she loved him as the last thing she said every night, even if he hardly ever responded. 

Who carried his baby.

Cold dread filled him. His baby, only two, and already their momma was gone. 

Johnny knew he wasn't a good father. He was hardly ever home, and when he was he spent more time annoyed with the kid than spending time with them. He'd get pissed when they repeated themselves, or when they'd beg for his attention, even though he knew they weren't doing it to anger him. 

And now their mother was cold, lifeless in his arms. The woman who had protected their kid on those days when he'd had enough of their whining and wanted to leave them in the woods. Who had assured him that he'd love them when they got older, and swore they were only so annoying because they didn't know any better. 

He sobbed, then. He couldn't remember the last time he cried, but he was broken now. He held you tight and moaned, his body racked with tormenting pain. He hated you, but he realized he loved you even more. Only, it was too late. 

All he wanted to do was to bring you back even just for a moment to tell you how much you meant to him. He told your corpse all the things you'd hoped and prayed to hear every moment of your life. 

He said he wished he would've treated you better. He told you he loved you and he'd never again take you for granted. 

And there you lay, like all the times you'd told him you loved him and he responded with silence or distain. For the first time, he felt how you felt every moment of your life. 

He loved you even if you never returned the sentiment again. He loved you, even though you could never love him back. 

He loved you, but it'd always be too late.

[bisexualchaosdemon]

What if Neil was trans and had a baby after Mary died?

I've seen a few atfg fics where Neil has a sibling or kid but all the ones I've read were heavily influenced by Mary's presence. It got me thinking about what it would be like if she wasn't around when the kid came into the picture. I wrote a little prologue, lemme know if it's something you guys might wanna read.

**trigger warning: mentions of SA, forced pregnancy, and traumatic childbirth**

Hope was a dangerous, disquieting thing

🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵Prologue🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵

When Neil was fourteen, his father caught up to them in Seattle and he got separated from Mary. Nathan went after Mary and a couple of his men went after Neil. While they were apart, Neil was raped for the first time and Mary was beaten for the last time. Somehow, they both escaped, managing to reunite at one of their emergency rendezvous and take off running.

That's where their luck ran out though because they only made it to California before Mary's injuries finally bested her. In the end, his mother couldn't go on but she made Neil promise to keep running because one of them had to make it. With no other choice, Neil burned her body, buried her ashes on the beach, and did what he had promised.

Then, impossibly, things went from bad to worse — After a month of just sort of drifting in his grief, Neil found out he was pregnant.

He had no way out this one, there was no backdoor to slip through or bus to catch. He couldn't risk someone contacting the police or social services when a fourteen-year-old turned up at a clinic to request an abortion without parental consent. And, even if they weren't incredibly dangerous, any illegal methods for a termination risked Nathan tracking him down. So, with no choice but to keep the pregnancy, he spent the next eight months jumping from place to place, trying to remain out of sight whenever possible. And he hated every minute of it.

He spent the entirety of his pregnancy terrified and alone, and he gave birth alone too. He hadn't been able to see any doctors or go to a hospital for obvious reasons. He tried his best to have a healthy pregnancy but the research he had managed to do on childbirth was extremely limited. He didn't even know what was happening really before he ended up giving birth in a back ally somewhere — fourteen years old and completely alone.

The baby hadn't cried at first and Neil had never been more terrified than he had been in those few seconds. That first cry brought a relief heavy enough to break him completely. His plan the whole time had been to give the baby up, just leave them at a fire station somewhere and pray they'd have a better life than he did. He thought about it a thousand times but every time he looked at his daughter's face, and he just couldn't do it. He couldn't give her up. He didn't want to be alone again.

So he picked himself up, skipped town with his daughter craddled close, and decided to do the one thing he had always wanted; He cut off all of his hair, taped down his chest and started telling people he was a boy. He had always felt like being a girl wasn't right for him but he never dared voice this while on the run with his mother. Without her controling everything though, he was free to do this one thing for himself, and he hoped it might even help him stay hidden. More importantly, it helped him reclaim part of himself he thought he lost after the rape and pregnancy.

The first few years, they moved around a lot because Neil was always worried someone would start to notice the teenager and baby without parents anywhere in sight. However, when his daughter was almost three, they ran a ground in Millport, a dying town where they could squat in an empty house unnoticed. Neil just needed a moment to breathe. So, he got an ID that said he was eighteen which let him go to high school and play Exy without anyone needing to speak to his parents. Then he forged the signatures of their fictional parents to get his daughter enrolled in preschool and after school childcare for the days he had practice. Finally, he got them phones for emergencies and pretended to be his mother any time someone called.

He became Neil and he gifted his daughter his middle name, Anastasia, and on paper they became the Josten siblings.

He knew they would need to pack up and leave soon enough, but he was exhausted and he just wanted Ana to have a semi-normal life for a year. He'd clear out after graduation and figure out where to go from there. But just as their time in Millport is running out, in walks David Wymack with an offer that's too dangerous to trust but too impossible to leave behind...

[shira-cosmic-star]

I’ll become the Monster

warning: slight gore, blood mentioned, angst, war, medieval times

He stares out into the open field. The rain and thunder was the only thing he could hear. Millions of bodies were on on the ground with a puddle of their own blood.

He had to do it, he had no choice. It was him or it would be her. So he made a monstrous choice. He used his men as sacrifices. His trusted soldiers, his friends, his family. He did it all for her.

His beloved wife, his safe space, his whole world, the love of his life. The rain grew harder and the sound it makes grew louder. The thunder crackled over and over. He was no longer a man. He was no longer righteous or brave. He told himself over and over. That he did it, only because he had to.

Now, as he stands in the field. The enemy was defeated. But many lives were taken. Now, he will forever remember this moment. This tragic nightmare, he lost his best friend, his comrades, his army, and his family. They trusted him, they listened to all of his commands, they followed him to depths of all of their despair.

But at what cost? Surely they all had families to go home to. Friends they wanted to see again. Their wives who bared their children. Their freedom, surely each of them had something to live for. So why? Why did they follow him to the end of their lives?

It was because he was kind, merciful, righteous, brave, and smart young man. He was the one who looked after everyone. Considered all of them as friends and family. He respected each of them. They laughed, they joked, they cried, they eat together, the shared stories and memories.

They fought together.

Why did it end this way? How could this have been the only outcome? Was there another way? Or was it fate that it ended this way? He, all alone. Standing in the middle of a bloody cold field, were thousands of his men. Sacrificed their lives, it was a win that the war is over. But it doesn’t feel like a win.

It was a lose, lose situation.

As reality hits him with each passing second. He falls onto his knees. He looks up into the sky. The rain drops glazed his face. His bloody beaten up face. His clothes soaked in blood and rain. His sword next to him after he had dropped it. He, no longer felt human.

He was a monster, he knew the risk. He knew the cost of all of this. But to protect his love. He had to do it. If he was the same man he was before the war. His love would be left in a hands of a dark cruel man. A man that wasn’t him. He couldn’t let that happened. So he took a thousand men’s lives.

As he watches the clouds as if the rain was trying to wash away his sins. He sobbed, a weeping sound streamed out of his mouth. A scream was heard, it was his own. Filled with rage, despair, and pain. He wept for his men. He, had became

The Monster.

———————————————————

(Edited)

Hehe, just some free writing. I’m trying to break through this writer’s block. So I was told to free write. Tell me what you guys think! Which character do you think this is?

Also this isn’t Tokyo debunker original kinda is setting. I thought I changed it for a bit.

[only-by-the-stars]

WIP Wednesday again...

... so here. Have this, the very last Song of a Champion snippet. ;w;

The silver did not vanish, however. It coalesced into two forms. One was a battered, beaten, but still whole sword, that looked to be of Zora make. It dropped onto the ground, landing with a soft clink beside a patch of forget-me-nots. The other— The other was a shimmering sphere, hovering above the flowers much like the one that had transformed into Zelda. Under the gaze of Mipha’s disbelieving eyes, it too spread and swirled and took a distinctive shape. That of Link, tumbling down to land in a heap amidst the blooms, stirring and sighing as Mipha stared, beginning to shake where she stood. Link. It was Link. Not a memory. Not a dream. Not a ghost. Here. Real. Alive. “Go on, then.” Zelda’s voice broke through Mipha’s dazed reverie, a hint of teasing buried beneath the weariness and the warmth. “He’s been waiting a very long time for you.” Zelda nudged her shoulder with her own, but Mipha barely felt it. She was already off and running, dropping both sword and paraglider behind her as she sought to reach him. The exhaustion in her limbs made the gap between them feel longer than it really was, but she shoved it away and ran. Ran to him, ending their separation after so, so very long. Link… you’re… I’m… Mipha lost her footing as she reached him, tumbling down onto her knees just as he rose to his, but she didn’t care. Her mind still locked in chains of shock, she opened her mouth and spoke, breathlessly, the only thing she could think to say right now. “Link…” His golden hair was an utter mess, hanging around his face in long, disheveled locks that still looked as tangled and dirty as they had at Fort Hateno, his hair-tie barely hanging on at the ends. Under his unkempt bangs a pair of heart-stoppingly beautiful cerulean eyes fixed on her face, meeting her own stunned gaze. For a long moment he seemed to freeze—the whole world seemed to stop—and all Mipha could hear was her own thrumming pulse, the few breaths she dared to take. Link’s ragged breathing, as they stared speechlessly at each other for the first time in one hundred very long years. Then—with what seemed like a Death Mountain sized effort—he turned his lips up into a smile that didn’t quite reach those staring, yearning eyes, and spoke in a voice she had longed to hear for what felt like an eternity. “Hey, Mipha.” It sounded so… casual. No—it was meant to sound casual. She could hear it all hiding under the surface, though: the love, the fear, the fragile hope. It stabbed into her heart like a thousand blades, tightening her chest, her throat. Mipha swallowed down the lump that had grown anew, and fought to speak, to give words to this moment though she scarcely knew what to say. All her thoughts were fleeing. Yet she needed to say something. She needed to say so much.

[mskenway97]

life or taste

Okay i write this different for some ideas in my mind thanks to @callsign-relic's tasty AU

If you are sensitive to this, I warn you not to read from here.

Warnings: soft vore,unwilling vore, size difference, biting.

I just had to stay at the base, but Miko had gone through the portal. She never thought about it before entering. The battle was in the middle of a forest. I didn't want to lose Miko along the way, there had come a time when I had lost sight of Miko and the explosions that could be heard.

A sepulchral silence around me, I had the feeling that I was being watched. I grabbed my phone and tried to call Ratchet, but I saw that there was no coverage.

"Shit, Shit… Calm down, I just have to think clearly. Don't imagine that I'm in a horror movie scenario, and at night… "I thought as I started to hear some howling.

That feeling of being watched… It was increasing more and more. Until I saw some red optics in front of me. I didn't hesitate anymore, I started to run, I felt my breath hot. If this was a nightmare I wanted to wake up now.

I heard the decepticon's footsteps, it wasn't too close nor too far away it seemed it was playing with her.

The footsteps started to disappear, I could only hear my breathing and my heartbeat at a thousand per hour. I started to hear the footsteps continue as I found a cave to hide in without anyone catching me. I looked at my cell phone again, still without reception. I hugged my legs and stayed inside the cave.

"Will someone have noticed that I'm not at the base? Who is the decepticon looking for me? In the darkness I couldn't see who it was. This is a disaster" I thought

I started to hear some footsteps near the cave, I tried to hide as best I could in the cave until I saw a servo trying to catch me, I tried to run to the bottom of the cave but unfortunately it was not very deep and I tried to resist. Believing it was the decepticon I resisted as best I could only to see that it was useless, but I felt it wasn't holding me tightly, when it pulled me out of the cave I could see some optics that were very familiar to me.

-Y/N, thanks to Primus I found you - said the soft and strong baritone of Optimus looking at me worried - What were you thinking about?

-I was trying to stop Miko, I lost my way…. I felt that someone was following me.

-Well, well it looks like someone has beaten me to it….

I opened my eyes wide as Optimus protected me with his servos. The decepticon that had been chasing me was the leader of the Decepticons himself. What did the Decepticon leader want from me?

-Ratchet, I need a groundbridge," I heard Optimus say.

There was no response on the other end of the line, Megatron was laughing on the other end.

-The reinforcements aren't coming…. It got my attention watching that little girl run for her life," I heard Megatron say.

I felt Optimus' servos gripping me tighter, Megatron on the other hand was swinging his sword ready to attack.

I saw that Optimus dodged, he took me with him to leave me in some safe area.

"Stay hidden, don't move," Optimus told me as he went to fight Megatron.

Although he was at a distance, he could clearly hear the clashes of metal and the shots of the two titans. Curiosity could lead me closer to the combat area. The forces were equal between the two, they seemed too focused.

I was not focused when I saw that Megatron was pointing his gun at me, Optimus saw me and parried the shot in front of him, shooting him in the Chest plate, causing some of the energon to fall to the ground.

-Optimus! -I said as I saw him get on his knees from the pain, Megatron pointed the sword at his Helm.

-Always defending the weakest… It seems that you are very fond of this thing…-I heard Megatron while I felt his servo grab me.

I felt immobilized as I saw a cruel smile at the Decpeticon leader.

-There is a way you can survive… If you accept my conditions you will both come out alive but the little girl may not like the terms… You are small and resistant… But how do you know taste? Human, enter the jaws of your protector… Optimus and perhaps you will be saved…

-No! -I heard Optimus scream as he tried to get up, I was watching Megatron bring me closer to his mouth, I saw his teeth near him.

-If you don't decide quickly, I will end up making you enter mine and taste you to my liking. While your beloved guardian dies. You being my little pleasure for life - I heard Megatron say cruelly.

I was terrified just the thought of entering, it gave me chills, I saw those dentas too close to me. If I didn't decide quickly the Earth would be doomed and Optimus, the autobots would be lost forever.

-Come on, little one… Decide

-You don't have to do this Y/N - I heard Optimus when I looked at him I felt so guilty… I couldn't just watch him die, not after everything we've been through.

If I have to choose between the jaws of the beast and the noble warrior. I have a clear choice.

When Megatron was almost about to put me in his mouth-I'll do it! - I screamed as I felt that he had stopped looking at me with a cruel smile.

-Good decision… I'll give you 10 minutes to enter, don't make me wait

Megatron left me in the servos of Optimus, who had a distraught face plate, believing that this was all a nightmare.

The relationship we had was close, he became my guardian. I was secretly in love with him, I wanted to know him but not literally inside. I felt his servos shake.

"Don't worry… I'm not going to judge you, people need you, just do it," I told him while he tried to hold back my tears.

Megatron was aiming his weapon at him, while Optimus removed the battle mask from him, I was slowly approaching his mouth. I saw the inside of him, the gloss of him and the dentas of him. He entered me little by little and carefully. I was starting to feel parts of my body covered in what seemed to be slime, his gloss was around my back.

-Shut your mouth, taste it with your glossa - Megatron told him.

Optimus did so reluctantly, he was beginning to feel various parts of my body that were being covered by his gloss. Certain parts of my body were giving me some excitement or it was also due to lack of air. I moaned a little without realizing it.

-Wow, it seems that the little girl is enjoying being in your jaws, Optimus… Doesn't she seem delicious to you? Don't look at me with that face… I was watching you both closely. "Some of my spies said she was your little pet," Megatron told him.

I felt like I was almost going inside so Optimus was almost going to respond, but he had to restrain himself.

-Oh wow, can't you talk? Your sweet little one is being too busy for you. Now the poor thing must be scared of what's going to happen to her… Turned into a little sweet… That's looking at me with rage… But why just give her a glossa? "When we can give you two," Megatron told him.

When I heard that I felt Optimus's mouth and gloss tighten around my body. I was short of breath when I felt it.

Megatron grabbed him by the chin making him look at him -I can finish them both off quickly if you don't obey… The sacrifice of your little pet would have been in vain…

Then I heard a silence, to see that Optimus's mouth had opened a little, to feel another different sensation, another glossa… Then I realized that you were kissing, I felt the touch of both glossas playing with my body, competing to see which one had the greatest control over me. I ended up in so many positions… my mind was already starting to get clouded by the pleasure since his lips were touching certain parts of my body that were making me shake non-stop.

Megatron stopped to watch him lick his lips, while both Optimus and I were exhausted.

To see that the kiss continues while I feel both glossas around me again but this time when I finished I was in Megatron's jaws that I began to taste and feel the small bite on my arm and legs.

Then the process was repeated again, it seemed that Megatron and Optimus were still carried away by the feeling. While I felt somewhere between his glosses, between pleasure and fear. I couldn't see what was happening to Optimus but his side wasn't as pleasant as mine either.

We reached a certain point when Megatron was comfortable with both of us.

Megatron smiled diabolically as he grabbed Optimus's jaw again - I'm still left with the feeling that I need something in my tanks.

The look of horror on mine and Optimus's face could be seen from a distance.

"We hadn't agreed on that," I said nervously while the Decepticon leader laughed.

-Oh, you thought you were going to get away with it, that's not going to happen… You'll be a good little sweet…

I was horrified to hear it, how could it end like this while I felt Optimus' glossa pushing me inside. I understood what he was doing…

-Do what you have to do… - I said as I felt like I was sliding deeper.

Megatron was realizing what Optimus had done.

Megatron was going to attack him until Bumblebee and the rest came to help them.

Megatron ended up retreating far away but satisfied with what he had done.

Ratchet asking what had happened and where he was.

Optimus was unable to respond he felt so guilty, so destroyed…his little y/n didn't deserve to be inside his tanks. He felt remorse… But he had to protect her from ending up in a worse fate even if it was inside her.

Luckily the advantage is that he could get you out of there… No organic matter was consumed.

But that day would not be forgotten by Optimus or me.

Those horrors would remain in my mind for life.