#now excuse me ill go scream into the void

[eli-artsblog]

Prince dynamite

[allycat75]

Just a reminder of why I am here, lest you think I actually believe a certain Dumb Fuck from Boston is actually reading this blog.

In case it wasn't obvious, addressing specific posts to a particular person is but a literary device (such that it is on Tumblr). This blog is a way for me to scream into a void and if you don't like what I have to say, please respectfully leave and try to refrain from misrepresenting me on other blogs. I may not be your cup of tea, but I will not be minimized.

What I am screaming into the void about:

Mr. Dumb Fuck roped us all into this by trying to convince us he is stunningly happy in a relationship when it is obvious to almost anyone he is not (and if he is, he has to be the most toxic boyfriend/hubby ever). He even tried to help his cause by doing a bad job on purpose, but that act to save himself came crashing down on those who called out the Emperor who had no clothes, hard. Because when we pointed out the many obvious inconsistencies, we were branded as crazy, stupid and jealous. Then there is the gaslighting with changing timelines, photoshopped pictures, ghost sightings/weddings, poorly acted jump scares and general mindfuckery. He can't now un-invite us to the party because he doesn't like what we are saying. We will defend ourselves from lies and manipulation and not accept the negative labels thrust upon us. Too often, women are dismissed for being irrational and this stunt highlights the incredibly antiquated and misogynist trope.

The little wifey is an awful person and by tying himself to her like this he tacitly provides his approval to her racism, antisemitism, fatshaming, arrogance, immaturity, clout-chasing and entitlement, forever. That hypocrisy cannot go unnoticed considering his former stance on these subjects and his role as the face of the insipid ASP. I am a member of a few of the groups the wifey and her crew target so no one gets to tell me I am taking this too seriously or I am being too sensitive. As Secretary of Education Miguel Cardona discussed during a recent talk on an unimportant, ego stroking website, passiveness normalizes destructive behaviors and beliefs toward marginalized communities, at a time when we in those communities feel unseen or unprotected.

The fact that he looks absolutely miserable, with no light in his eyes, and discusses his life as if it is not his own is more than a little unnerving. This is in no way to shame him, but rather out of a genuine concern for his wellbeing. If I were to encounter someone on the street acting like he did as described in the near career ending GQ article, I would be compelled to call someone to assist this man in distress. And I don't buy the excuse of "he's just tired" or "he is working hard".  He is running from who he has become and doesn't know where to go.  These posts are a way for me to work out frustration of not being able to help someone who is in clear need of it.  And yeah, maybe it is none of my business, but just as if I ran into the GQ version of him on the street, I couldn't just stand by and do nothing. 

This circus also shows how his behavior parallels the issues of the world at large and how we accept things we shouldn't. We have kept quiet about unchecked privlege, intent vs. impact, performative activism, being child-like vs. childish, ageism, greed and corruption, mental illness and wellness, self awareness, the power and weaponry of sexuality, toxic masculinity and misogyny, generational wealth, integrity, alternative facts and emotional truths, misinformation and disinformation, imbalance of power, value placed on hard work, attributes of healthy relationships, preciousness of time, and the effects we have on our fellow mortals, all of which has got us to now, on the brink of societal destruction. And we see this epitomized in the microcosm of this shitshow. I use this blog and the unlikely, fucked up muse that inspired it to think about how we all cultivate our points of view and perhaps pressure test what they really mean to us and how we express them in our daily lives. Others who find my blog may feel lost and alone, as we all do at times, in need of some comfort or inspiration. While the quotes, infographics and articles may be very pointed, they are there for everyone to enjoy and interpret. The Song of the Day, however, is purely about me and what I woke up singing or feeling. Nothing to do with BDF, but still for everyone to appreciate.

So that's about it. I hope you have more clarity about what I am trying to accomplish and again, if you wish to be negative, you can see yourself out. Thank you! 👋

[dontfindmerain]

she'll get me high (but at a cost)

my very late submission for the Common Fanfiction Trope Event created by the amazing @drop-of-void

CW!!! mentions of abuse, use of the word 'slut/whore', mentions of drugs, implied death, mentions of a gun, you/your pronouns, no use of y/n

wilbur x abused!reader - 877 words

notes: ive been very ill but i didnt want to miss out on the event so as per my usual way of turning assignments in, im doing this on the last day :) poorly written and not proofread, but enjoy

more notes: the character abusing the reader is not given a name and is referred to as he or him and is separate from wilbur.

“Fucking hell- You stupid whore you can’t do anything right c- can you?” he hiccups, slurring all of his words and screaming at you. “I tell you to go buy the drugs you fucking buy them!”

“You- you didn’t give me any money…” you whisper. He only looks at you for a moment before shoving past you and rummaging through the entire house. He comes back a while later on the phone with someone.

“... want as much as I can get for ‘em. No no, I promise, they’re quite the pretty thing. Five hundred? Oh come on. Fine, three hundred. Yeah yeah, we’ll be there soon. No, I won't damage a single hair on its head. ‘Their’, whatever.”

He hangs up and grabs your arm harshly, “Come on slut, we’re going for a ride.” He drags you to his beat up, shitty excuse for a car and restrains you, putting a blindfold around your eyes tightly. He throws you into the backseat and you can hear him start the car. He drives for a long while, swerving quite a lot. You would’ve slept if you weren’t scared shitless. At first all you hear is regular traffic and people bustling in the streets, which slowly turns silent. The sound of cars passing becomes less and less frequent, concrete roads turning into dirt as he leaves the city behind and drives faster. The faint light you can see through your blind fold is gone now and hours have passed.

When the car slows to a stop, he grumbles and gets out, leaving you there. You hear muffled talking and then yelling and then-

A loud gunshot sounds from outside.

You flinch when the car door to your left opens and you scream and kick when the mystery person drags you out.

“Hey hey- Stop- OW- Fucking stop kicking me- Darling I’m trying to help you-”

You stop. The voice belongs to a man, but not the one who brought you here. It’s sultry and… British?

The blindfold is lifted and your eyes are blessed with the sight of the most attractive man you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s on his knees to be at your level, in a white button down and black slacks. His sleeves are rolled up and the top three buttons of his shirt are undone. Holy fuck.

He chuckles, (music to your ears), and smiles at you. “Hello there, love. Might wanna close your mouth before you catch some flies, yeah?” He says, pushing your jaw closed with two fingers. Your face turns red and you look away from him, finally taking in your surroundings. The two of you are alone in a large clearing surrounded by tall grass and towering trees, the sky is almost pitch black and car lights illuminate his silhouette. He looks like heaven. You look at him again and speak in a broken tone, “Who are you?”

“The name’s Wilbur,” he replies, too casually, as if your meeting is the most normal thing in the world.

“Wilbur what.. What the fuck is happening?”

“Shh, come on pet, let's get you somewhere safe,” He coos, gently picking you up and placing you into his vehicle, climbing in with you to set you on his lap, “It’ll be alright love.” He speaks with two men outside for a moment, something about taking care of someone, before closing the door. Wilbur holds you calmly, softly speaking words you can’t understand and petting your head.

“Sleep, pet.” He commands, so sweet and addictive you’re sure he’ll rot your teeth.

Exhaustion from the adrenaline leaves you unconscious within minutes.

When you wake up, Wilbur is carrying you in his arms. He walks into a bedroom, shutting and locking the door and placing you onto soft, silk sheets darker than the night sky. “There we go, sweet thing,” he whispers, almost as if he’s talking to himself. He tentatively lifts the hem of your shirt, “Darling? Can I get you into some clean clothes?” The raggedy shirt that hung loosely of your frame was worn and smelled of cigarettes, weed, and sweat. You nodded and let him pull you apart, piece by piece until none of your body was covered.

It took everything in him not to worship and praise your body then and there, physically having to pull himself away to get some of his own clothes for you. When you slipped his large t-shirt over your head, it only made you more irresistible.

Wilbur showed you around, gave you his guest room, "If you disagree with the colours or the furniture just let me know and I'll have them changed to whatever you like, flower."

He was kind, loving and attentive. He kept your favourite foods stocked in his pantry and offered to take you shopping for clothes, but you wore his anyway, finding comfort in his scent surrounding you. 

His.

It was his arms you woke up in the next morning. His clothes you wore as you padded down the stairs, barefoot and confused. His table you sleepily ate breakfast at. You didn't ask any questions. You trusted him blindly, willingly.

Because this had to be better than every other morning you spent searching pointlessly for food in that shitty basement.

Right...?

[alpydk]

🌿 🌸

Good morning anon. Thanks for the ask, talking about fics I love! I did a huge post the other day so quickly going to add them in here as well. - Recommend only one hahahahahaahahahahahaahaha.

🌿Rec someone else’s BG3 fic and tell us what you like about it!

The 5 from the other day (Find the post here to see why)

Alchemy 410 Broken Horizons Weave me the Sunshine Professor Dekarios Twin Compasses

And now some more that I didn't link Weave and Woods - @weaveandwood - Honestly I just love the pairing. Auroria is such a good character who I genuinly see ending up with Gale. And it's not been all that eay relationship where they fall in love and are happy. They have their challanges. I most of all love seeing her learn new spells because that doesn't really happen in fics and its great to see. (Especially how proud she is with it.) "The second, third, fifth, ninth tries were similar. On the tenth try, she thought she saw a few sparks of electricity surrounding the arrow, sending a surge of pride through her. She was close, she could feel it. " - Come on Ori, you can do it!

---

Strange Highways - I have been on about this fic since chapter one. No fic has caught be like this. It's like it calls to my chaotic nature and I will keep screaming it into the Tumblr void like some insane looney fan. Just me alone with my billboard - READ THIS FIC. It's Cazador in a rock group in the 80's. It's funny, has amazing music referances but most of all it's just so fucking good to read.

The words spoke to his soul, into the very depths of it. He felt them with every cell of his body. This was not like the weak melodies bards played back in Faerûn. This music had authority. It had power.

Master of puppets, I'm pulling your strings

Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams

Blinded by me, you can't see a thing

Just call my name, 'cause I'll hear you scream

It was perfect. He imagined saying the words, making them his own. This was a supreme incantation, it had to be. This one would make people obey. Just Fuck Yeah!

--- Paperback Writer - (Short 600 words) - Haarlep edits Raphael's novel. It's fucking funny and I love it. Simple as. "Quivering, the hero took my hand I’m pretty sure Tav told you not to touch them, and it made you pout for a week."

And now the non Bg3 ones... because oops...

RE: Umbrella Asylum (Resident Evil) - @judasiskariot - It's got that lab, depressing, in your head build up mood. You know the one, everything is clinical but there is evil shit going on. The descriptions are fucking beautiful and I love it. "Icy blue eyes that were at least as cold as the black lenses of the glasses." - Just that about Wesker. I still think of it even now. ---- La Petite Mort - One of the most beautifully written crackfics I've ever read. Barbie/Dracula. - Just try it and love it. He should have gotten rid of her by now. Made a meal out of her, at least, even if only the once: her blood will surely be sweet, so sweet, heady and deep and dark when he drinks from her.

But he keeps finding excuses.

Not yet. If I'm honest my reading of fics has been limited recently. I have a few too many that just seem to have been abandoned and I'm becoming hesitant to start up reading newer chapter fics. I'm also a little put off when I see things at chapter 54 and then find its over 200k worth of words to catch up on. Yeah, I need to have people recommend fics to me so if people want to send me asks with their recs go ahead.

🌸Rec one of your fics and tell us what you like about it! Only one.... But I'm so good. (They say, going through the 40 fics knowing they really could be better.) I'm my own worst critic. Fuck it, you get more than one. This is my answer!

Cabinet of Oddities - It's Nana's story. What started all this chaos. It is love and adventure and mental illness and healing all rolled into one big Galemancer sized ball. 56k words of just me. I may also be writing the sequel/prequel right now... “A kiss does not necessarily have to mean love though, just as a hug certainly does not. Is that what you were expecting to feel?” He looked into her eyes. He had always been that of the hopeless romantic. As much as he wanted to believe his own words, he knew he was not the type to kiss without love, or at least potential love.

She gazed back at him. “I’m not sure. I wasn’t expecting to feel fear though.”

“And, do you fear me?” He hoped that she would say no. That maybe this feeling could blossom, that all their unspoken feelings could be revealed and yet he was also nervous of her answer. That if she said no, it would be something else holding him to this mortal coil, someone else who would eventually realise he was not good enough.  Just look how fucking good that is. (I'm not allowed to be down on myself so the other end of the spectrum it is)

--- Tattered Souls - RuganxGale (Also writing the sequel right now) - This is my ZhentWeave baby. This is all for me. I love it and that's all that matters. Honestly writing something like has been extremely liberating and I recommend everyone write something like this at some point. “Just get out of here...” Rugan’s voice was weak, his gravely tones quiet, and he tried to lift himself from the ground.

Gale spoke calmly, keeping his eyes on the mercenaries in front of him. “Not without you.” He could unleash the lightning bolt and possibly fire a magic missile before being hit if he moved quick enough.

“This isn’t your fight.” A hacking cough brought up small amounts of blood, which were spat onto the ground. “Just leave.”

An arrow flew from a trigger-happy archer whistling past Gale’s ear and he almost unleashed the lightning bolt in reaction, stopping only as he saw Rugan stand before him in defence of the female Zhentarim.

“Gale, not your fight...” Love me some cliches and tropes. Love them.

--- Okay, last rec. Not that anyone will read all of this, anyway. You're all looking for your own fics after all (I do that then get quietly depressed when my name isn't on the list... But we all do that, right? Right???)

Where is that child now, I wonder? - Gale past short (500 words). I keep thinking of this one a lot recently. Of young Gale and his relationship with his father. This is probably more a head cannon than an actual fic but it's stuck with me. - I recommend a read if you're looking for ideas. "No! I won't let my son read poetry and become like a delicate flowered prick of an elf. Weak, pathetic! No, he will do as I say and do it when I tell him to!" 

Again, thanks for the ask. I do love talking about recommendations and I have a number of Chase whump fics on the bookmarks list, as well as a few quick one shots I've enjoyed. Would love recs from others as said - The more angst the better. :)

[snarkylinda]

I’m very glad you’re talking about spencer being parentified because it feels like people sometimes gloss over it a bit? or maybe I’m just looking in the wrong places. if this isn’t something you do in you’re blog feel free to just. not respond but do you have any more thoughts or. idk headcanons on how that might have affected him as an adult?

Hi anon! To be honest I have no idea what is essentially discussed alot on the fandom other that a tiny fraction of it I expose myself to because 1#I am too tired and old to deal with fandom discourse about my blorbo, and based on my previous experience with fandoms I KNOW that the most popular the character, the bigger the discourse so haha no- 2# I joined in late lmao literally a couple of months ago, so I am super out of the loop just screaming to the void in desperate needs for someone to scream back 🤲🏼 do this kind of asks actually made me so happy agahagaha 🥰🥰 Buckle up bois this is LONG-

Ok now to those that might come across this and ask themselves what the hell does being parentified means, it's a broad term used for the phenomenon of (at best) a child sharing parental responsibilities due to x circumstance, or (at worst) downright having the parent/child dynamic completely swapped, with the child being the caretaker for the parent and household. You don't have to know deep CM lore knowledge to realize the latter is Spencer Reid to a T. Hell, they aren't even subtle about it lmao:

Btw parentification is often mixed in with abandonment and while they share the "child being forced to grown up" too quickly, the former is often distinguished by the fact that, more often that not as is this case, the parent still cares for them but are unable to do so how it should be (tho there are several cases where parentefication is an part of willing neglect, sadly) and added to the fact that they have to look after themselves- they have to look after another.

This is a really complicated, broad topic and I just mentioned this to go full disclaimer and that I don't blame Diana at all for how messed her son ended up since she can't help it- and to make a joke about how Spencer was abandoned and parentified. Also harassed. Guys he wasn't even 18-

Anyways but back to your question, how do I think that affected Spencer growing up....well in everything basically lmao

But I will take on two instances that had stood up to me the most: emotional management and hiding secrets.

The second one is easier: you would catch this man dead before he vents to you over something other than his shitty dad (that I find very funny tbh) and when he does is because he is at his limit and about to fucking cry.

Now don't get me wrong: we all are entiltde to our privacy. These are grown ass adults and they have lives outside of their working circle....

Right?

Haha we have an problem-

So yeah, Spencer kind of actually needs to rely on his co-workers because he has literally nobody else to rely on-

And yet

Oh here is the thing- Spencer is one polite boi but he is also blunt, if he doesn't want someone on his business he says so (look back when Alex discovered him and Maeve) this is literally "I wanted to tell you but I feel like I shouldn't"- this is not season 1 mind you, this is season 11, and yet here he was one of his oldest friends literally grabbing him by the arm and having to tell him it's never a bother- I am the only one fucking crying at this?

Excuses seems to come to Spencer like it's second nature- "sorry a tube on my apparment broke" "Oh I....I tripped!" "There was a lot of traffic so..." "I was watching an movie" and I am not am expert on USA's history or some shit, but Child Protection Services had been a thing since at least the 60s, so I don't think that a 10yo living alone with his mentally ill mother would have flown well- you get the idea.

I think this scene summarizes the whole thing perfectly

Get it? it's irony. (I love how Spencer is about to say something like dismissive "thank you" but because this shit hit too close to home to comfort he just gave a polite smile and walked away. That silence was LOUD) Because Spencer had always had done the former but the latter er.... :D

And it's not only when it concern Diane btw, any problem whatsoever Spencer would rather lock himself up (literally lmao) that sit down and talk about it- it's only when his bs is exposed and he can't refutage (like that little scene after Gideon's death when Rossi asks him if he had been there all night- he points out the fact he is wearing the same cardigan as the day before) that he opens up....or he runs away, which leads me to the second big point that I think shows how much Parentification fucked him up:

Spencer has the emotional maturity of a teenager.

I talk about this literally all the time so I'll be shorter lmao basically Spencer... has an issue- ok he has lot of issues- and that is the way he dislikes direct confrontation, so whenever he is hurt or angry he would rather be dismissive and passive-agressive that talk it out with the person- even going as far as turning away and storming out of the room.

(Here is the part where I put the screencaps but him storming off would be out of focus so lmao er.... Elephant Memory, Memoriam, Proof, a little part in 15x2 and The Gathering)

Now... I do think that a grown-ass man doing this shit is hilarious, like I love Spencer's bratty side so much lmao but it's an clear sign of someone that never learned how to deal with his emotions on a healthy way, someone that 6 out of 7 days of the week had to interiorize everything in and because of that holds on so much....resement, so much repressed anger but also without an stable force on his life to help him manage that- so we are left with an teenager trapped in an adult's body, loss at how to handle shit like he always did.

....And want to know the worst part about an Parentified boy onto adulthood?

That they don't know better.

[septembersghost]

Am I a bad person if I really want to listen to Taylor today...not excusing her but I miss her music so much

anon bestie. first, *hugs*. second, i do not know how to stress, plead, implore enough with you all that loving music is not a moral or immoral action. yes, of course there are particular artists i myself would never engage with (and that is due to extremes), and there are artists i just don't like for whatever reason and that's subjective. on the "i would never engage with ___" side, i can say that for myself, confidently understand why, yet recognize i still don't have the right to tell others to follow suit. people have different boundaries, different tastes, and different ways of going about separating their enjoyment from other issues.

i know there's sincere concern about supporting "problematic" artists, particularly financially, and i do think that's an important conversation to have, especially when we're discussing people actively doing harm to others or platforming hate speech. taylor is not an abuser, taylor has not been trumpeting racist or homophobic etc rhetoric. i also realize the issue of complicity has come into play here because of that man, and that's why there's so much anger and hurt and disappointment right now, but ask yourself: does that man, who is not in any way, shape, or form a part of any of her music, have the power to steal that from you? do you feel like you have to suffer the loss of her music, which is clearly valuable to you, over one dirty rag of a man? i've been upset and critical too, but also feel like there's a call for perspective here. taylor alison swift is not causing the world's ills. tbh that man has no significant power or influence even compared to, like, a local politician. bigotry should be confronted and called out. at the same time, this is a microcosm of a conversation, and that doesn't mean it's not important to have it, and that doesn't mean people aren't absolutely valid in their criticism or hurt, what it means is that it is not impacting society as a whole. we get very caught up in fury over small things, especially when it's connected to something we are invested in, because it feels simpler to fix or righteous in some way or like the onus is on us to definitively prove we're upstanding people who don't condone harmful things, and that's fine, but at what point does it become futile? at what point are we just screaming into the void and self-recriminating for approval?

part of what's making this harder is we've connected taylor's music to her very personally, and she has fostered that herself, but i think now is the time to change that a bit. detach it from her however you can and think about what it means to you. you singularly not listening to her on streaming is pennies she won't ever notice are gone, it is causing her zero consequence whatsoever, but it sounds like it's hurting you. that, to me, isn't fair. you're suffering for her mistakes? or because that dude is a dirtbag? you do not have to punish yourself and crawl on your knees for forgiveness because you'd like to play my tears ricochet every once in a while. how exactly is the moral burden on us, as listeners, when we aren't condoning any -isms, we just want to hear songs we love?

i sound hyperbolic here but i'm really serious, it's concerning me that we're tying individual morality - am i a bad person inherently? (bad people don't tend to ask this question because they don't care). does listening to this artist whose work i enjoy taint me in some way because they've done things i disagree with? - to enjoyment of art. it's frighteningly conservative to think that you and your character should be called into question because you love something that isn't causing any outside harm. engagement with art cannot make you a bad person! it's (if you've seen the good place) chidi and his almond milk. we're damning ourselves for miniscule actions and so trapped in the anxiety of that it causes far more important things to slip by. what matters is what we do, how we engage with others, how we take action in the world.

the fact that you're worried about this, which means you've been aware and empathetic during this time, proves you care and are not a "bad" person. i haven't been listening to her and it's not because i think that's giving me moral high ground (it isn't), it's because i am very sensitive and don't want any of that music emotionally tied to what's been going on because i do actually want to go back to it someday, it's too cherished and too intrinsically part of me not to, and at the moment distance itself is healing. i also don't believe her music being such an aspect of my heart says anything about my moral fiber, you know? if i suddenly wanted to listen to red tomorrow, i'd give myself permission to do so knowing it is no measurement of my intellect or my moral integrity, and we've got to stop acting like art can make you good or evil.

sorry this became a very long soap box essay! but i'm worried at how much of this specific idea, of someone so far removed from us making a bad choice reflecting on you and making you personally responsible or irredeemable for that, is being perpetuated. listening to an artist because they make you happy or bring you comfort is not having a measurable impact on human rights or global crises, and it just feels super unfair that we're burdening and judging each other with this idea that enjoyment or passion for something harmless makes you fundamentally bad. the world is hard enough. i promise you that it's okay to allow yourself joy.

[frogofalltime]

(i'm so sorry, this turned out to be a full essay. nobody has to actually Read this. i'm just posting into the Void because it feels better than keeping all these feelings inside.)

being at my parents' house after living away for a year is so weird. every time i return here i feel like i've stepped back into the person i was a year ago. i sleep in their room, i wear their pyjamas, i slot back into the roles they used to fulfil. if i could just switch off my brain, maybe i could go back to how things were before, when everything was buried deep inside my chest and almost nobody in the world aside from one or two friends knew that i was anything other than a girl.

and yet i also feel like i'll never be that person ever again. it's as if they were a character i played for a while, but now i have jumped off the stage, and landed in a place that feels so much better. i don't want to perform anymore; i just want to be Myself. i want to Scream and Yell and tell everyone i met before i went to university last year that they never knew me, that the old me was trying so hard to be something i am not, that i was never a girl and i just pretended to be because that was what i had to do. i want to shout at the top of my lungs, i'm a boy, i'm a BOY, please let me dress like one, please let me be what i am ! please love me even though i am not what you thought i was !

but i also know i Can't say that because they will never accept me. they probably won't even believe me. my parents won't ever call me Son; they'd never stop calling me their Daughter, unless they decide to disown me. they will think i'm mentally ill, brainwashed, or even possessed; they'll stay awake at night praying because they think i'm a sinner and going to hell, and i don't want them to go through that. many times i have tried to explain it to my mother but she wasn't receptive at all, so i diluted it down to basically nothing, feeble excuses for why i changed my style and cut my hair. and then my father. i can't even say a word to him. it wouldn't be safe.

every She, every Her, hurts me like an arrow in my chest. i don't want to be seen as female. i want to change my name because it feels like it doesn't represent me. i want to get top surgery and never again have to close my eyes when i shower or wear uncomfortable layers to hide my chest. but i don't think i ever can. what else am i supposed to do with this pain but endure it ? i have to keep acting, for everybody's sake.

i'm only here for three more days. i've survived so much longer in the past ! i'll be Home soon, but even there i won't be free, because my housemates also think i'm a girl. in fact they arranged their accommodation to be religious and female-only, but here i am, a fraud and a liar and definitely Not A Woman. if i told them this, i don't know how they'd react. i am sure it would not be positive.

at least my friends know the truth, and they do support me. i have a Found Family that genuinely cares and understands, and i don't know what i would do without them. maybe next year i will be able to live with them and that way i won't have to pretend anymore ? or even if that doesn't work out, at least i have stopped pretending to myself. i don't have to keep trying to "fix" my dysphoria by forcing myself to be feminine (which, of course, makes the dysphoria even worse). when i'm away from my family, i can dress how i want. i don't have to repress everything "deviant" about myself like i used to before. i am what i am and i love myself for it. nobody can take that away from me.

in fact, i'm really happy. truly, i feel better than i ever have before. realising that i am trans, that i always have been, and finally embracing it, was the most freeing moment of my life. it just hurts that i can't share this joy with my parents and that i have to hide what i am around them. but we can't have everything in life, i suppose.

[wakanai]

when I tell you I tried looking for videos-

ayt here's some links TT

okay this may/may not be inaccurate to my memory BUT just in case, ill explain why hehe

so from my understanding, SCP 682 is

an unkillable lizard

very smart but cannot be killed. the scientists are trying to kill him but they cant. SCP 682 lives in constant suffering because they put him in a container where he's in pain

and every time he breaks out of the container, he kills people

its said he kills anything and everything

but there was this one time, a little girl was put beside him

and he didn't kill the little girl but was actually really chill and even protective of her

so it kind of shows that scp 682 isn't a completely heartless monster and i get the vibes that he just wants to chill and go back to his own place without suffering from humans

anyways, I THINK this reminded me of you in a way cause

a. unkillable lmao

b. smart. cunning. can be manipulative.

c. but can also be really chill. like yk, he just wants to be free, my guy TT

d. can be kind too and would prob be really decent if the scientists didnt constantly attack him lmao

e. i get the vibes that scp 682 is just attacking out of self defense/aggression and wouldnt actively try to harm ppl if ppl just didnt go near him/try to capture him every single time

-- not sure how this relates to you tho sdjia but uh free scp 682 lore i guess TT

also lmao you're a mori kinnie thats so cool haha

when i saw your red flags, i was like UHMM-

but yk everyone has their toxic traits

and im glad you became a lot calmer too like ☺️💅

(don't mind me, I just remember that one post where your friend was like 'oh wow congrats for staying calm!' and gave you 1,000 pesos. cause honestly that was such a slay)

as someone with a mom and best friend who have anger issues and manipulative tendencies (TENDENCIES btw. its not a toxic relationship dw) -- i can..idk i can kind of see you better now. (IDK HOW TO SAY IT PROPERLY HELP TT)

cause like the first time, when you posted about being a mori kinnie and stuff, i was like 'omy this person is scary' --but the more i got to see stuff, the more i was like 'oh...this person is kind of...a normal person too' LMAO. EIFRHEJG help 😂😭

but yeahh TT TT

hehehe ughhh TT

anywy have a good day

xoxo

(ps the first time i saw your rant posts i kind of got mad because of what happened to you)

(i have this thing where i talk for too long im sorry TT.

TW: don't continue reading if you dont want to be reminded of some bad things in the past/if ur trying to move on already)..

.

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.

.

.

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okay so like. the post that made me mad was when ur dad and his gf were fighting because the gf said your dad cares about you more than the dog.

that genuinely made me mad cause like

"BITCH, obv he cares more about his child. Thats HIS child TT. why would you expect a guy to care more for a dog than his own child like- TT TT. bruh be fr." ofjaijfe (please excuse my harmful language btw TT)

and the thing w the teddy too. hays. anyways.

im glad you got through it and continued living and slaying hehe. lezzgo man <33

plus points to ur dad btw, he seems rlly cool <3

(and yes, I read personal posts sometimes TT. it appears on my feed sometimes. tumblr may seem like screaming into the void but people can see it. like even if ur posts have 0 notes, that doesn't mean no one's read it <<< jus saying in case you'd rather not have people read your personal life huhu TT. please lmk if anything i say makes uncomfortable, im dense as a brick sometimes cause im an oda kinnie /j. ) but yeah TT. jus lmk if anything i say bothers u, ayt?

yirrr

ok i think im done now.

stay hydrated and have a good day ig TT

and dont forget to listen to 'love my body' by hwasa! (shameless recco. cause that song is currently in my head) <333

anyways yeah

xoxo

and have a good day

mwa

(ppl sometimes think im weird unique ✨ because i do things that aren't 'normal'

idk if doing this is normal but like, just know that i did this because i felt like it TT. so there we go. yeah. haha. hope u dont think im weird or creepy TT

and lmk if you do so i can back off lol.

ok thats it good day mwa mwa )

A friend told me I would be a SCP because no matter what I eat or what disease I have I'm always alive and I don't know how to make him believe I'm not one 😔

[strangepumpkinfantasies]

My Prompts 🗡️

‘‘You stayed for me, I like that’‘

‘‘I’d do anything you want please don’t go’‘

‘‘I want you to be mine’‘

‘‘I knew you were jealous’‘

‘‘Heart cookies’‘

‘‘Took you so long, now make love to me’‘

‘‘Slow down babe, we have all the time in the world’‘

‘‘Quit teasing or else’‘

‘‘You better behave, my homeboys are watching’‘

‘‘I don’t want an apple pie, I want a creampie’‘

‘‘Fine by me, just don’t cry about it later’‘

‘‘The sight is astonishing’‘

‘‘You like riding motors?’‘

‘‘I prefer riding your motor *wink*’‘

‘’Excuse me? what’s my name again?’‘

‘‘Please, I’ll be a good girl.’‘

‘‘Call me a whore all you want, but Ik you want to touch me’‘

‘‘That’s so wrong, we can’t’‘

‘‘I want you to take my virginity’‘

‘‘If you weren’t so crazy I’d say you were insane’‘

‘‘I know you’re my kidnapper but I don’t care’‘

‘‘You’re such a brat’‘

‘‘You’re hot and I’m crazy for you’‘

‘‘What? You want me to get you pregnant?’‘

‘‘Let’s consummate our marriage’‘

‘‘You think you own me asshole?’‘

‘‘I’d gladly end your suffering’‘

‘‘The fuck I look like to you’‘

‘‘You’re gonna regret inviting me to your house’‘

‘‘I’m not the right guy for you’‘

‘‘That’s what you get for embarrassing me in front of everyone’‘

‘‘I won’t kill you yet, I thought I might have a little fun with you first.’‘

‘‘Sit on my face, lemme slurp you like it’s pasta’‘

‘‘As long as I’m your boss, you’ll do as I say’‘

‘‘Have some dignity, I said I don’t want you’‘

‘‘Stop with all the drama, isn’t that what you wanted?’‘

‘‘I’ll fuck your brains out’‘

‘‘I own this cunt, what you thought?’‘

‘‘I might be mentally ill but I know how to pleasure a women’‘

‘‘Please I can’t take it anymore’‘

‘‘I’m preparing you for the bigger prize’‘

‘‘No, not in my workplace, they’ll fire me’‘

‘‘That’s the beauty of taking a risk’‘

‘‘You can’t dominate me, I’m the man here’‘

‘‘Trust me, you don’t wanna trigger the monster in me.’‘

‘‘Sorry, I don’t do slow or gentle’‘

‘‘I’m a monster, I can’t be loved’‘

‘‘Being on your period or not you’re taking that dick’‘

‘‘Keep your mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you’‘

‘‘Try and make me’‘

‘‘Get naked or I’ll slash your throat’‘

‘‘No, we’re in public’‘

‘‘I thought you were better than that’‘

‘‘You’re so weak but has a sharp mouth’‘

‘‘I’m having you for dessert’‘

‘‘So you like choking? little slut’‘

‘‘I want everyone to hear your screaming’‘

‘‘I am dangerous so don’t uncuff me’‘

‘‘Bullshit! you’re drunk’‘

‘‘Playing tough, where’s your confidence now?’‘

I’ll write for the following:

Simon Ghost Riley

John Mactavish {Soap}

Evan Peters as {Kit, Tate, James, Kai, Jimmy, Kyle, Peter max}

Bill Scarsgard as {Himself, Roman, other..}

Billy Hargrove

Billy loomis

Manny montana {As Rio}

Damon Salvatore

Niklaus Mikaelson

Thomas Shelby 

Void Stiles 

Derek Hale

Isaac Lahey

Theo Raeken

Michael Myers

The joker

Yuri Boyka

Eddie Brock

Enzo

Peter Parker

Kai Parker

Others:

BTS members

GOT 7 members

BIGBANG members

BLOCK B members

MONSTA X members

NCT Lucas

Other korean actors as well.

Whenever I start simping over a new character, it’ll be added to the list.

Chose whatever you like from these prompts with whom you want it with, either from this list or not I accept new ideas.

A/N : Yes I’m bold enough to write any genre so don’t hesitate. 

S* Smut

F* Fluff

A* Angst

And yes I write non consent / Violence / Dark shit.

As long as you’re +18 we’re ready to dive in.

So don’t be shy, send requests.

Check this out: {Recently written}

Billy Loomis series.

[woahtics]

✨ an updated list/ rank of all my tics ✨

motor tics:

neck jerking: 3/10 its so repetitive and it hurt me when happens too many times

back+neck jerk: 2/10 ITS SO VIOLENT FOR NO REASON i feel like one of these days ill end up with a broken neck i hate it so much is so violent 😣

"look at the sky RIGHT NOW": 4/10 it's so dumb my neck just goes up and sometimes my column goes with it and i feel like i will fall on my back 🥴

blinking: 6/10 doesn't really bother me but when im outside it can be really awkward if someone's on my sight

eye rolling: 2/10 I HATE IT it hurts and i cant see shit and people can have the wrong impression if i do looking at them

eyes shut: 1/10 HATE IT SO MUCHHHH when im walking with my dog and my brain just goes hmm what about walking ON THE VOID NO SIGHT NOTHING BYT BLACK i hate to wait so i can /see/ again

bite/ jaw thing: 6/10 it doesn't bother me even if it might be bad for my teeth but its loud and annoying for others

bonk [body part - usually head] with my fist: 0/10 bro wtf why am i hitting my head so hard

slapping/ punching my face: 0/10 it deserves its own category cuz it HURTS SO MUCH i hate it so much my cheek and jaw hurt why are my tics so VIOLENT

shaking hands: 8/10 happy happy chemical 🙌 but it looks dumb when im outside (it looks like im stimming and i do stim but they. are different things.)

bonk on my chest + middle finger: 2/10 its my only copropraxia tic and it sucks :( sometimes i hit my chest too hard or hurt my hand if im wearing neckless 🖕

shaking my head: 5/10 i can use the excuse im fixing my hair but if it's way to many shaking i feel dizzy

the "arms go up" tic: 3/10 what the actual fuck why my arms are up i look like a inflatable station doll thing (+ when it happens with the back/ neck jerk its a 0/10 i feel like im gonna crack my back and fucking die)

closing both eyes hard + making a face: 1/10 I HATE IT wtf is wrong with my brain whats with the "i cant see" + "look like a toodler" combo

back jerking: 2/10 strong premonitory urge builds up like AGONY FROM HELL 💀

hitting things/ threaten to throw stuff: 3/10 hand go UP and im so scared to actually throwing stuff or hitting things (it happens rarely)

🤙 hand: 5/10 socially awkward but i look like a cool surfist

snapping fingers: 6/10 usually before other tics but it makes ✨music✨

snapping fingers making a "z" in the air/ snapping them 3-4 times: 4/10 i took it from pose. please im not a gay man from the 70s can i just be free (im literally a lesbian tho so dont get this comment as homophobic i just. why.)

breathing tic: 4/10 i cant breathe properly during it and it looks like im having an asthma attack 💔

shrug/ shoulder jerking: 5/10 not bad but i dont really like it its premonitory urge burns my column for some reason ?

knee going off: 1/10 i hate it WHY DO MY KNEES JUST STOP WORKING where do my bones go 🥸

literally hitting my little sister/ friends: 0/10 wtf why do i do that i feel so guilty of hitting them and going "sorry" after is almost involuntary at this point

typing tics: 5/10 if its a repeating tic i can just delete after it but if. its the. add dots. tic. it kinda pauses my thoughts too and. im to lazy to delete the dots

clapping hands: 4/10 it does bother me when im im class but other than that. usually happens when im listening to music or excited so i can disguise it well

kissing (?) the air: 3/10 hate it it looks like im making a face or something and its ridiculous.

vocal tics:

material gurl: 4/10 its a new tic, not that bad, but i often get stuck on a mat- mat- mat- loop until i can say material gurl (+ happens with the 💅 hand)

whistle: 2/10 HATE IT its annoying outside and it can be LOUD.

AHHHHHH: 3/10 i scream like im one of the chipmunks from alvin and the chipmunks and sometimes,, its a long long scream 😞 (and sometimes it comes out almost as a moan pls is so embarrassing)

ªªªª: 6/10 i scream. while. whispering.

ah: 5/10 i just literally say "ah" or open my mouth and emit No Sound its weird but not that bad

wow!: 4/10 happens a lot when someone shows me something its funny but so annoying

pop sound: 3/10 dont really like its loud and repetitive (palialia is that you)

click tongue(?): 5/10 don't really know how to describe it it has 2 ways to happen but yeah mid tic (BUT WHEN IT HAPPENS WITH THE BLINKING TIC IS HORRIBLE PLS)

ecolalia: from 2/10 to 8/10 depends on what/who im echoing and if the situation dont become awkward after

palialia: 4/10 repeating its cool ig but i dont like the stutter sometimes i cant say the most simple words and have to say a synonym for it 😞

"b": 6/10 when my sister says "ah" i tic back "b". like im a 6yo reciting the alphabet.

"gay": from -100/10 to 9/10 - if im with family BAD BAD NO NO RED FLAG if im with my friends or alone its so funny sometimes i look at them or a meme they send to me and just say "gay🏳️‍🌈" in a dead tone

"oh no": 7/10 i say it whenever something mildly bad happens it can be funny but if I say out of context its a 2/10

that one "what did i just say" tic: 2/10 i dont like shouting out whole ass phrases I didn't think of and didn't knew i was going to say until its already said

"haha": 6/10 not bad just a deadass no tone laugh

"hmm": 4/10 i dont like it but its not that noticeable so im ok with it

doing the sound my mom's car does when it's backing up: 5/10 its like a clock sound and its silly haha im a car kind of funny

"hum": 2/10 it sounds like a moan so awkward and dumb hate it

[thesacramentoflove]

(Good Omens) Beelzebub x GN Reader:

3k words - The reader runs into Beelzebub while chasing their daughter, and Beelzebub decides to follow them.

-----

Something stirred, deep within their heart - a feeling so pure, so unbridled…perhaps it was love? They couldn’t be certain, but the tiny wings of many a butterfly toiled to trace the lining of their stomach. They wanted to understand the feeling - that which had been hidden from them for millennia. To whom was it directed? What purpose did it serve? Nothing thus had sent them into such a state of confusion. This feeling…it shouldn’t have been possible. But, perhaps it too was a cog in the wheel of the Great Plan. After all, God often sacrificed sense for inanity.

No…it couldn’t be love.

But this…it seemed so innocent, and the implications…they didn’t bear considering. As a demon, a being avowedly void of the very capacity, well…they should've been immune. It should've been a far-flung fantasy, a tale only told as fiction. But seeing you here, a child hanging from your arm…Beelzebub could feel a spark of…something. It was something wrong, they were certain - positive, and therefore very, very wrong indeed. It was something that defied logic, that gave the demon pause and instilled a confusion deep within. Your meeting, albeit temporary, had hindered their plans to a great extent. They were supposed to be monitoring Crowley (a task annoying in and of itself), not…following some human. Not even an hour had passed since your paths had crossed, and yet they felt such intrigue.

The way you handled your child with care and compassion beyond anything they'd seen thus far, the elegance that shone through even the smallest of movements, that smile…

Beelzebub wasn’t sure which, of the aforementioned, they favoured most. It was a difficult choice, since their mind hadn't bothered to list all of the qualities they'd become privy to. It took neither genius nor seer to tell that you glowed. You glowed with beauty, with love, with…everything demons couldn’t hope to match. You were angelic, without a whisper of effort. You didn’t claim to be an angel, but if ever you did, the smell of humanity would betray you.

Humanity…that was your sole flaw, but your very essence. For Beelzebub to pursue it, to want to…

All of this, all of it…was the result of a single interaction - one that you probably didn’t even remember. You had quite literally crashed into them, while on your daughter's tail. In her defence, she was playing Tag…amid a rowdy throng of people. And in your defence, you had warned her. Several times, in fact. But a child so young is an angel in theory and a devil in practice, paying attention to little unless it interests them.

The memory of your bodies colliding was still fresh in Beelzebub's mind. They could almost…feel you, as though you were still there, still in their arms. It hurt that you weren't, and that you fled so quickly. They remembered the rushed apology, the eyes that avoided theirs, and the glimmers of panic and guilt that couldn’t be concealed. It all happened within a moment, and then you were gone. Beelzebub had put their actual job on hold, to track you down. That might've been an honour, for a demon. The reminder of your humanity was…painful. Your human vessel would eventually expire, falling victim to the curses of illness or age. For that reason, humans were lesser, they were expendable.

That's why, the war…

Beelzebub shivered at the thought, a string of new emotions tying up their heart. They felt…desperate, protective and scared. The threads of fate would not waver at the behest of a demon, but…did humanity, all of humanity, need to be slain…? What if a single human and their child…what if they survived? Would such a thing be questioned, or challenged? If there was a way to keep you, even at the expense of your freedom…

But…was it that same freedom, and all your human traits, that made you desirable? Would you hold that same calibre, if you surrendered your humanity? Would you become an angel and thrive in Heaven, or would some horrible secret rear its head at the time of judgement? Would you join the fallen…the demons? Would you join Beelzebub, and reign at their side, for all eternity? Or would you condemn them, as God already had? Beelzebub found themselves unwilling to entertain such thoughts. Of course you would still be you, angel or demon. And…something had drawn them to Earth, on this day. Something wanted you to meet, they were certain! And, well…demons had ill fortune, but…God would never be so cruel, right?

Something had called to Beelzebub, planted the thought of visiting Earth in their head, and watched it flourish. It had offered up Crowley as an excuse, used the lack of trust between demons to its advantage. Beelzebub had been played right into its hands. But from here, they walked the path blindly. There were no further directions, no sign saying 'THIS IS WHAT YOU NEED TO DO'. They weren't sure how to talk to humans, how to appear as a friend instead of a foe…

Everything was just so complicated. But there you were, playing with your daughter on the grass, and weaving flowers into crowns with the delicacy of a feather. The smile you wore was bright and beautiful, luring Beelzebub in like a moth to a flame. They just didn’t understand why. Why did your arms suddenly look so inviting, and your lips so soft? Why did time seem to still, why had the sun framed your head in such a way that it appeared God herself had descended from the heavens to bestow a halo atop your head?

Why were you so angelic, yet…so human?

God must have been testing Beelzebub. Again. Their heart was beginning to fracture under the weight of decisions. Mere decisions! It was ridiculous…Beelzebub was never so indecisive. This should've been a trifle, in comparison to all the decisions they had to make for the upkeep of Hell. But…how could they choose between advancing (which could result either in rejection - Beelzebub did not get rejected - or you and your child fleeing in palpable terror), or staying rooted in place (during which time you could either make your exit, or someone could 'pick you up' - was that the correct human term?). This choice was so difficult because…something, some flicker of what could only be described as goodness, begged them to leave you untainted, to simply walk away and never return.

It seemed to scream, "Do not sully the human incarnation of this angelic being."

Beelzebub knew that their approach alone would expose you to all kinds of…unpleasantries - even if they themselves had no intent to do you harm. Which they didn’t. And for that matter, they never would. Though, the words of a demon gave little reassurance, and it wasn’t like you could hear them.

They dared not dwell too long on the choices - human life was fleeting, and an hour's silent contemplation to them could be several years to you (unlikely, but they did lack very basic knowledge, so their fear-driven assumption could be excused). They didn’t want to wait…they wanted to call out, to cradle and protect. They wanted the trust of both yourself and your child, but…they still didn’t know why. A human would've laid the blame on love, but love was something demons didn’t understand. They had renounced that right at the moment of their fall. Demons couldn't…love, they couldn’t care for anything! No…it wasn’t love.

Though clearly, there were two exceptions: Crowley and Beelzebub. The latter briefly wondered if the former felt such intense emotions towards his angelic companion. Though, they had met far more than once, and Crowley hadn't made a habit of stalking Aziraphale. What Beelzebub was doing…that was stalking. And it was creepy. Their eyes were so focused, tracing every inch of your body. You wouldn’t know how to act if they just…appeared before you. No, that was definitely a bad idea - bad as in bad bad, like, really bad.

However, their hesitance left an opening for someone else - a wild animal, a vulture, someone who cared nothing for your heart, your mind or your child…someone who only wished to conquer your body. And as if to mock the demon, such a person did show up. Beelzebub was now certain this was a test, with their go-to option (murder) nowhere in sight. No…you seemed much too frail. You shouldn’t have to witness such a graphic display. Beelzebub watched for a moment, as a new form of anger took hold. That human was too close to you. Your smile had fallen, happiness abandoned and discomfort rising to its place. Beelzebub didn’t like that. Not at all.

But this was a test seemingly impossible to pass, and designed for failure. Though, if Beelzebub knew one thing, it…wasn't tests, or humane ways to deal with a given situation. What they knew was confrontation.

This wasn’t your fight, and Beelzebub was poised to prove that.

The stage was set, and they moved towards it, determined to do something…anything, to return your smile to you. This human could rot in the deepest pit of Hell, eternally isolated from both sunlight and warmth, from contact, and most importantly, from you. After today, this cretin would never bother you again, on pain of, well…pain. There wouldn’t be a murder…not yet. Your comfort was the priority, and Beelzebub had to remember that. It couldn’t be jeopardised.

They reached the scene within seconds, acting on the immediate instinct to shield you and your child. Panic and fright painted both your faces, tarnishing that beautiful innocence. That could not be excused. Beelzebub glared at your harasser, but this was a poor deterrent. They backed up a mere three paces, before sneering - acting high and mighty, as though they weren't in the presence of a Lord of Hell, a revered demon.

Still, they addressed you, venom dripping from their words. "I didn't know you had a…partner. When were you gonna tell me that, sweetheart?"

You did nothing to deny the accusation, instead vowing silence and looking between the two figures. You seemed weary, as you should, but you were thankful for the intervention. Without it, well…your imagination conjured some disturbing almost-realities. This new person, whether in or out of the binary, was…helping you. Though their presentation could lead you to believe they weren't interested in good deeds, they were…helping.

And then it hit you. The familiarity hadn't registered until now, as you couldn’t see their face, but…you knew them. Or, at the very least, you'd seen them, bumped into them. Great, now you were panicked, scared, and embarrassed, all in front of your child. You held her close, throughout this entire ordeal. A part of you wanted to run, but you had to somehow repay this stranger's kindness. And you had put them in a potentially dangerous situation, albeit without intent. You hoped this was kindness, and not simply obligation, civic duty or something to a similar effect. That was the impression they gave, but…ulterior motives seemed to be a curse of humanity. No-one was genuine anymore.

"They don't like you. So leave. Now, before I do something I can't take back." It was the first you'd heard of their voice, but you never knew you could find such comfort in a tone so exceedingly dull.

The human seemed to waver. "…Oh yeah? What, you gonna kill me or somethin'?"

"I might." A real and viable threat wove its way between those words. For all God's shit, Beelzebub was prepared to neither play nor gamble - not with you on the line.

And in the intermediate moments, the human acquired a sliver of common sense. Beelzebub was the threat, and the sooner they recognised this, the better.

They stepped back, sputtering out the pathetic excuse of "I, uh…I left my cat in the oven!"

Sheer horror led your child to cry, "Kitty?!"

"He means cake, angel." Though, your thoughts didn’t carry such surety: I really hope he means cake.

Beelzebub watched the human retreat, but kept an ear open for you. Nothing would distress you now - not with their protection. But they had to be absolutely certain. Their expression softened, senses still sharp, still looking out for you and any danger that might endeavour to betide you. They didn’t know how to speak with humans, nor how gentle it was possible to be.

But the effort could be made. "Are you…okay?"

Their question, though rather sudden and unexpected, was…calming. You could tell they cared. "Um…we're okay, yeah…thank you. You didn’t have to do that, but…I'm glad you did. Are you okay? That was a short exchange, but it was charged."

Yeah…you must've been an angel. "Yeah. 'M alright."

"That's good." You smiled. You smiled. "Thank you. Again. Oh, (C/n), what do you say to them?"

At the prompt, the little child at your side shouted, "Thank you for saving us!"

You giggled at their choice of words, while Beelzebub just stared, stunned. "I'm sorry about her, she's easily excited. Cute though, isn't she? She's usually the one protecting me. You showed her up…"

Your tone was so light, so warm, so full of…something - something special. It was greater than relief, or gratitude. Well, it seemed greater. Beelzebub couldn’t really be sure, but it zapped their confidence and made almost…made them weak. And weakness…that was dangerous. Well, it was supposed to be. Yet somehow…it didn’t feel that way. It felt like a thundering heart, a sudden and creeping heat, a soft, fluffy…something, that was so alien but at the same time, so nice.

When Beelzebub didn’t respond to your prompt, you coughed and said, "Well…is there anything I could do? To repay you, I mean…I have to repay your kindness. Um, would you like a coffee, or dinner, or…you could choose something? Sorry, I don't know what you like…"

"I like…" Beelzebub looked around, trying to find an answer in all that surrounded them. They were desperate to keep you talking, to keep your eyes on them, to make you stay. "…those."

You followed their finger, laughing as you did. "The ducks or the flowers?"

Their confusion was so strange and child-like, you couldn’t help the laughter. Still, you had never been one for judgements. You replied in earnest. "The ducks are the animals in the water, the small, fuzzy ones. Ah, see the one over there, flapping its wings? That's (C/n)'s favourite. We come here to feed them, on occasion. And flowers are those - you see them coming out of the ground? They're really sweet, and every flower has a different meaning, but no-one knows them all. It's like a secret language! (C/n) and I love that a lot…"

"You like them? Do you give them to other huma- other people?" They asked, now with a genuine curiosity.

You giggled. "I don't, not personally, unless it's a daisy from the park, which I'll give to (C/n). But…I don't really…have anyone else to give them to. It's usually a romantic gesture, and I don't…I'm not…with anyone."

You hadn't meant it to sound so much like an invitation.

"Oh. Good…Why not?" Beelzebub's tongue couldn’t decide on a narrative, torn between sympathy and a sort of cruel relief.

But in spite of this, your smile refused to fade. "Well…I'm perfectly capable of raising a child alone, and no-one ever really…made my heart soar, I suppose. My other half was…not one of God's nicer creations, I'll say that. I have a catalogue of words I could use, but…well, they would put a dampener on things."

Beelzebub nodded, noting that for later enquiries. "Are they dead?"

You laughed, both amused and taken aback. "No, no…to me, perhaps, but…no. Ah, if you're asking because of the past tense, I only used it because we aren't together anymore. We're, um…four years divorced. I just…focused on raising (C/n), rather than tending to my romantic needs. She is, and always will be, more important."

"What did you mean," Beelzebub started, furrowing their brows. "with the bit about your heart? The 'heart soar'? What…is that? How does it work?"

"Have you ever heard of 'Cloud Nine'?" You waited until they shook their head, to continue. "It's a feeling you get when you're around someone you love, where your heart starts to beat really fast, and you feel like you can fly to great heights. You feel weightless, like any sudden wind could take you into the air. Oh, it's such a magical feeling!...Have you never felt it before?"

As you spoke, Beelzebub's experience, their feelings, gained clarity. Things just…clicked. Had it been that easy all along? And had they known…? Had their heart simply pulled the veil over their mind? Could demons love? Part of them wanted to scream; love was sacred - the antithesis of hatred and the enemy of all evils. The very act, the very thought…were so unbefitting, so un-demon like. But this seemed beyond merely act or thought.

"That's how it feels." They stated, with faux confidence.

"So you have! Isn't it just wonderful?" You paused, then gasped rather loudly. "Oh my…I can't believe I forgot to tell you my name! I'm (Y/n), it's a pleasure to meet you!"

They took your hand, after a fierce internal debate. Their face, however, remained neutral. "Beelzebub, and likewise."

"Oh, you have a biblical name! Those are always so fascinating!" You gushed, taking them by surprise.

"You have a…name. A nice one." They stammered, new to both giving and receiving compliments.

You laughed again, a sound too sweet for their ears. "You don't get out much, do you? Um…would you like to get some food? Provided you can deal with (C/n), of course. We could…talk? Get to know each other…? You seem really nice, and I'd like to, um…"

Demons didn’t eat, but at this point, Beelzebub would do anything to stay at your side. Their acceptance came easily - too easily, by their standards. But they were beginning to reject those standards, at a hawk's pace, rather than a snail's. It might've been concerning, but…why should they care? Loving a human was bad, and demons thrived in the bad. Bad was good, in their books - or at least, the demonic equivalent. And 'good' wasn’t a descriptor that suited Beelzebub, but 'bad'…now that was. Surely then, a little greed couldn’t hurt. But it wasn’t material greed, no…it was far more personal, more intimate. They hungered for your affections, for your hand…for everything about you.

Their very nature justified this sin. Such beautiful, glorious sin. If Beelzebub could fall any further…they would do so with a glad and willing heart.

So this is love. They thought, as a smile crept to their lips. Forbidden love.

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

Just a 1am thought for you. You sneak onto Captain Blowhole’s ship bc the dicks just that good. When he catches you, he has to punish you of course. And find a way for you to work off your room and board in the captain’s chambers.

BITCH HERE IS YOUR WORST/BEST NIGHTMARE COME TRUE. THIS IS FOR SURE GOING TO HAVE ANOTHER PART TO IT. I ACTUALLY AM TOTALLY INTO THIS SHIT NOW. IM A PART OF THE PROBLEM. 

@safarigirlsp LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO! 

The swells swarmed the Atlantic in a storm like no other. Forty feet or more surrounding both sides of the Jolly Roger, crewmen frantically battening down the hatches, while Captain Flip manned the wheel as it spun furiously in the mood of the thunder and lightning. 

“Hold the sheet!” his crewman barked at the others spinning the mainmast as not to have it be struck down by the bolts that Zeus had rained down on them. 

“Watch the starboard side!” another shouted into the void of sopping men, struggling to keep the course for their next destination. 

“Captain, we need to find a shoreline or…. We’ll never make it!” his trusty first mate, Ron screamed his direction as his bulging muscles turned the captain’s wheel to the direction he pleased. Noticing his hat had flown from the gusts of wind, Ron picked it up and handed it back to him once the course was turned back to his liking. 

“Prepare for the worst, mate,” Flip solemnly nodded out of breath from keeping the course. He knew it was nearly impossible that he and his crew would make it out of the cursed triangle alive. He swore to himself when setting sail not even days prior that nothing ill would befall them. Karma certainly had its way of biting him back just as bad, if not, worse. 

Ron nodded back to him, returning to his post to keep the ship on course for as long as the storm would let the loyal crew set sail. Flip gazed out at the catastrophe before him, nearly tearing up at the fact that he may never get what he was fighting so hard for. He watched in slow motion as his crew battled the unforgiving waves, crackling lightning illuminating their horrified faces, the thunder drowning out their screams for help. 

Just then, a humongous bolt cracked down from the heavens into the front of the sip, sending a voltage of electricity through the wood of the vessel, causing a complete catastrophe. Crewmen flew into the abyss, shards of wood lost at sea. The last memory Flip had was his listless body sinking into the oblivion.

__________

His hearing returning to the real world echoed a mysterious melodious tune. A humming both angelic and alien in nature, his eyes fluttered as he took in his surroundings. Running his hands through the warm sun-kissed sand, his naked back on the heavenly shores of paradise. 

Putting his hand up to block the sun, of course to no avail due to the looming figure blocking the light. Thinking the shadow was a figment of his imagination, he moved to rub his eyes, groaning and flexing his tired biceps in the process. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, feeling like he had been hit by the largest monsoon this side of the Seven Seas. 

“Where the fuck…” he stammered off taking in the environment around him, the crashing shores, the palm trees swaying in the breeze, the beating sunlight of late morning, and that figure becoming more clear in his line of sight. 

The flowing locks in the breeze, the sunkissed skin of a goddess, the perfect form laying against the coarse sand, surrounded by sounds of seagulls and crashing swells. He blinked a few times to take in the fact that you were perched in the spot he’d seen previous, and sat forward, his muscles bulging, slightly burned himself from laying passed out in the morning light. 

“Hh-hello?” he questioned your direction, bringing his large hands around his thankfully clothed legs. You glanced over his direction, your naked form sprawled out facing away from him, only to show your globed asscheeks in the sunlight. Your alluring eyes batting those perfect lashes, your lip pursing into a gorgeous pout. 

“Well good morning to you there, sailor,” you sang his direction, rubbing your delicate hands over your side. 

“W-what happened to me? How in the fuck did I get here?” he suddenly and blatantly questioned you, still turned towards the ebbing waves of the Atlantic. 

You chuckled, playing with the shell you’d found while waiting for him to wake up, “Well, I saved you.” 

His eyes perked up at the out of this world comment you’d shrugged off, “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me, sailor,” you smiled over your shoulder, still rolling the shell in your hands, “I. Saved. Your. Ass.” 

Flip sat there completely dumbfounded. This gorgeous creature, dove into the abyss during a storm, of which he’d never seen previously, and rescued him from imminent death, dragged his burly over two hundred pound body, and brought him to an unknown shore, where you could have left him to rot in the sun and die. He wasn’t convinced given the fact that he hadn’t seen you on the seas the night before.

“No. No, you didn’t,” he shrugged and laughed as if he’d finally snapped. 

Taking his sarcasm as a complete insult to your kindness, you whipped your ethereal figure around, bearing your bouncing nude breasts and plump pussy to his eyes. 

“Yes. I. Did,” you asserted in the most melodic tone, floating towards his hulking body on the sand. “What?” you pouted, “Does my lil’ buccaneer not want to grasp the fact that lil’ ol’ me came from the depths across your lifeless frame, and scooped you out of near-death to save your worthless lil’ life?”

“Wait…” he stopped, standing to full attention, rippling pectorals, toned arm muscles, and a stern face staring into your soul, “you came… from the depths?” he cocked an eyebrow. 

You saddled towards his six-foot three-figure, no doubt him staring at your bare chest as you near him, and tilted his chin to your eye level, “Yes, sailor boy, I saved you. Do I need to spell it out any more than I already have?” boring your eyes into his, no doubt taking in the intense amber fired color they emitted as they scanned your every crevice. 

“N-no. No ma’am,” he gulped inward, simply agreeing under your entrancement.

“Thank you,” he whispered out, his trance only causing more tension between the both of you. 

“You’re welcome,” you murmured inching closer to his pink, full lips, taking in the rum-soaked breath he emitted. 

His eyes closed, and he moved in for the kill. Your lips suctioning onto each other, holding them there for fear of one rejecting the other. His calloused hands moving in synchrony against your warm body, feeling every single dimple, and curve you had. The left resting on one globe behind you, and the other snaking into your beach kissed locks, pulling ever so slightly. Your hands shot to his girthy chest, rubbing and caressing his peaked nipples beneath your dainty fingers. He gasped as you pinched the sensitive skin, pulling away looking half-lidded at your glorious features. 

“Who the hell are you?” he rubbed his thumb over your cheek, massaging the back of your head, causing your eyes to roll back into your head. Pulling yourself close against his swollen lips, you whispered on his breath, “Your dream come true.”

He smiled ever so slightly, letting out the smallest of chuckles, and shoved you back into his waiting lips, this time in a searing kiss that had his hands traveling down to lift you off the ground by your thighs. He shoved his tongue down your waiting throat, creating a symphony of moans and suction as he turned you around to lay your needy body on the sand. 

He loomed over you, pressing his very noticeable bulge against your pelvis. Grinding on you, eliciting more groans from his chest. He broke the kiss only to trace his wet lips along the outline of your neck, trailing to your budding breasts. He took one in his mouth, sucking ever so gently, and massaged the other with his mammoth hand. The sounds escaping you, only spurring his motions on even more so. He did the same with the other until you were writhing in pleasure and the buds turned to stiffened peaks. 

“God, sailor, I need you,” you pleaded, nearly out of breath, “Please.”

He looked up from the trail of his kisses on your stomach and settled his smiling face over your entrance. 

“Oh, now you wanna play nice with me? You haven’t even told me your name gorgeous,” he teased licking a stripe along your moist slit. 

“Uhhhh, fuck sailor, I could say the same to you,” you sang in euphoric pleasure. 

“Ladies first,” his hot breath sending vibrations along your clit. 

“Y/N,” you stammered unable to fully speak. 

He started to suck a welt on one of your thighs, and after breaking the suction looked up and moved his face to other, never breaking eye contact with your stare, “absolutely mesmerizing, Y/N,” bearing back down on the flesh, sucking for all it was worth. 

Just as he was satisfied with the bruising, he whispered back to you, “name’s Captain Flip Zimmerman,” and dove nose-first into your waiting hole, eliciting a scream from your lips. 

He traced circles around your pulsing vagina, humming at the thought of how turned on he was making you. His nose grazing your stiffening clit, every time his tongue entered your pussy. You twitched at every pulse his face was giving you. 

“Good, God Captain,” you cried out, “I-I’m gonna c-c-cum!” 

He moved his perfect lips to your aching bud, enveloped them in a French kiss, and sent you into the wildest orgasm you’d ever encountered. Crying his name out over and over again as he sucked relentlessly on your arousal. 

“There’s my pretty girl,” he cooed as you moaned in complete euphoria, “sing to me my sweet siren.” 

He slurped up your sweet release into his desperate mouth smiling in pleasure as his beard tickled your overstimulated pussy.  You came down from the high, as his face connected back to yours. Your hands brushing through his ebony locks, tasting your spend on his saliva. 

“Captain,” you gasped in between his kisses, “I need your cock.” 

He looked up with eyes black as his hair and began to pull his pantaloons down, releasing his Kraken of a cock to your hungry eyes. 

“You like what you see, siren?” he noticed your gaping mouth at his large member. 

“My God, sailor, your so fucking big,” pulling your hand over your precious lips, “do you think it will fit in my tight lil’ pussy?” 

“It will,” he moved to gather the wetness from his tip as well as the spend from your weeping entrance, and moved the mixture up and down his shaft. 

“You’re gonna take your Captain’s cock whether you like it or not,” he beamed back up at you, pushing his sword into your hole in a punishing motion. The stretch causing you to cry out over the crashing waves on the beach. He stilled, watching you writhe in pleasure and pain, drinking in your perfect little moans as best he could.

“Captain, please move, my pussy is so tight, I need you to stretch me out,” you begged, tears rolling down your face. 

“You’ll be patient and keep me warm, siren, I like watching you bend to my every will.” 

He stilled for a few moments, watching the tears roll, your lips gape open, and your sweet cunt flutter around his large dick. He could cum right there, he thought, watching the shadows dance on your pretty face. After a few moments of admiration, he pulled ever so slightly out and pushed back in.  

Setting a grueling pace, he emitted the deepest groan his chest could muster upon hearing the slapping of his balls on your ass, the squelch from your wet pussy taking every inch of him. He watched your face twist and turn as he pushed in and out, his pupils only dilating more as he took you in. 

“Siren, get on your hands and knees, face in the sand, ass up,” He pulled out, watching your tears fall at the loss of contact. You did as you were told, bearing your sand clad ass to his feining stare. He smacked it and a gust of sand fell to the earth, the roughness causing an instant handprint to show on your bare skin. 

“Motherfucker!” you steamed into the beach. 

“Watch your mouth, siren,” he smacked another hand on the other cheek, “no one like’s a dirty lil’ whore mouth.” 

He shoved his dick back into your gaping hole, setting an even faster pace than previously. The moans you both emitted spurring the release even sooner than you’d thought. His hands white-knuckled the sides of your hips, pushing your body impossibly closer. His balls slapping your skin, emitting howls as he plundered your special spot. 

“Fuck, Flip,” you groaned, “I-I can’t hold on much longer, I’m gonna cum again!”

“I’m. Almost. There. Gorgeous,” he punctuated on every thrust, bringing his hand to rub his thumb along your puckered asshole. Without warning, he punctured the perfect little hole, sending you into another earth-shattering orgasm. 

“Jesus. Fucking, Christ,” he screamed as you milked his cock of his sweet, succulent, spend, “Captain is blowing his whole load!” 

He stuffed you full of his cum, thrusting a few more times just to be sure it stayed up in your heat. Both breathless, he leaned over you, sweat dripping from his brow, hands gripping around your stomach. He pulled out, turning you over, admiring your utterly fucked face. 

“You alright, gorgeous?” he laughed towards you. 

“Y-yes, sailor,” you relented, “I’m more than just alright.” 

You pulled his face towards yours, tasting his salty sweat in his mustache. He grabbed both cheeks and shoved his tongue back down your throat, causing you to melt into his brawny body. 

He pulled away, “where did you actually come from?”

You smiled, looking away bashfully, “you really don’t understand do you,” pulling away and getting up from the spot you’d both wrecked each other in. You walked towards the waves, letting the cool water caress your feet the further you stepped in. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” he questioned almost alarmed. 

You looked back towards him, the smile eroding from your face, “home,” you said clear as day. 

And with that, a waterball formed around your goddesslike figure, consuming you in a snowglobe of sorts. A bright light emitted from your middle and expanded all the way around the cocoon. Your form changed from legs to a gorgeous aquamarine fin, your skin melding to the attachment, and the globe took you further out to the ocean. 

Flip stood there, dumbfounded again. He blinked a few more times, not even realizing what he had just seen. 

“Did I…” he told himself, “W-what the fuck.” 

He sat back down on the beach, contemplating what had just occurred, trying to justify the possibility that this was just his imagination. 

“I need a fucking drink,” he concluded. 

He scoured the island in search of more answers, only to come upon another impossible find. 

His ship. 

Parked on the beach, like it hadn’t been through any kind of storm in the slightest. 

He noticed his crew as well, packing goods away like he hadn’t witnessed them sinking to Davey Jones’ Locker the night before. He blinked several times, thinking it was all a mirage, or that he may have been drunk to no avail. 

Ron noticed his Captain gawking at the ship, and flagged him over, “Hey there Cap! Where ya been?” 

“I-uh,” he had no words for what had happened. 

“Hey Cap? Let’s get you back in the boat,” Ron pat his back, leading him to his quarters on the hull.  

After making sure Flip was okay to be left alone, he went back to his duties. 

The Captain sat at his wooden desk, feet perched on the top, his hands running through his mustache, trying to piece together what had just occurred. 

The storm, the destruction, you, his ship turning up unscathed. 

You. Holy shit. You. 

A fucking mermaid. You were a creature of the ocean, who had happened upon him during his hour of need, scooped him up and saved his entire livelihood in the process. You were enchanting. A literal siren song. He played through the moans you made, the sarcasm you shot at him, your whole aura was absolutely mesmerizing. He’d never encountered anything as perfect as you. 

He wanted to find you again. To feel your soft skin on his beard, look into those piercing eyes, and hear his name on your lips. He had to find you. If it meant he didn’t have any other purpose than that on the ocean. 

As he made his mind up, he took all the texts he had on your kind to study the lore, hoping to find the answer he so desperately needed. Upon hours and hours of inspection, he stopped at the Holy Grail. Picking up the map slowly, he chuckled like he’d lost his mind. 

The City of Atlantis. 

That had to be home. You had to be there. 

“Fuck,” he groaned out, now knowing what he had to do. 

He set the course, watching his crew scramble to get the ship headed the correct way, smelling the salted sea air on his nostrils. He tipped his buccaneer hat and looked into his spyglass. 

“Here we fuckin’ go boys,” he muttered, gritting his teeth, anxious to see you in the flesh again.

__________

CAPTAIN BLOWHOLE IS OUT TO FIND HIS LADY LOVE!

THANK YOU FOR YOUR THIRSTY ASKS PLZ SEND MORE I LOVE YOUR SICK MIND. 

🖤,

ray-nal-beads 

[angelic-kisses13]

Claiming- Part I

Authors Note: Here is Part I I hope you enjoy! 

Warning: Violence, gore, swearing, Vampire Charles Brandon, mentions the word Rape (Not described) 

“Master, the treaty has been fractured. Two bound of blood plotted against the all-knowing, thus leading to a betrayal of the Children of the Night. Inevitable despair of two warring Kingdoms will befall both heads of houses. “

“How do we halt this coming demise, Mother Seeress?” 

“The Treaty dictates an eye for an eye.”

Another war was close to brewing and Charles was close to just sending his men out and taking care of the neanderthals across the river. The memory of his best Generals head rolling across his throne room was forever ingrained. The trail of blood forever staining the stone. He remembered the rage and remorse that colored his person as he noticed the missing fangs. He had been dishonored by the beheading but the knowledge that someone had dared desecrate his culture and lineage would forever strike fear in his people. He would never forget the scent of the vile human carcass that dared trespass on his land. Since he was king, however, he couldn’t do as he wished, without causing massive disruption to his kingdom and the other neighboring ones. 

Charles forced his tightly wound body back against the carriage wall, he was on his way to the disgrace of a kingdom now, the King claimed to have a peace offering for him. A sacrifice for the vampires so that they would hopefully look past their transgressions. 

Charles was surprised at himself for the amount of rage he held for the whole notion, he was never one for sacrifices but he had to uphold the ancient traditions. It would make matters worse and as much as a war sounded fun and a great time killer, he wasn’t willing to put his people through that. He had seen enough bloodshed to last millennia. 

He was dragged out of his thoughts by the carriage stopping and his footmen opening the door for him. He sighed but pulled his robes around his body carefully, arranging them neatly. He climbed down the carriage steps, dusk had fallen and he relaxed under the twilight. 

A scuffle to his left drew his attention and he watched as a young woman was dragged across the courtyard, insults flying from her lips faster than he could process. A smirk fell across his lips as she turned and spat at the guard who had the gall to slap her ass in a warning. She was a plump thing, where there should have been harsh angles on her body, were instead rounded curves that screamed for him to run his fingers over. He had always had a soft spot for women who had more meat on their bones. The fact is that he had more to hold onto, more to drink from and more space to paint his mark across, making their skin his canvas. 

“I REFUSE TO BE USED THIS WAY! I AM NOT SOME COMMON CRIMINAL YOU CAN DO WITH AS YOU WISH!” Her words made his eyebrows raise in surprise, now this was going to be interesting. The guards all laughed in delight, 

“You’re the only criminal that no-one has claimed. The King, for whatever reason, paid your bail, therefore, you are owned by the King and he can do with you as he wishes.” Just as he was about to follow after the young woman, a stable boy came running up, he bowed before Charles, his little body shaking at the sight of him. 

“Y-your Majesty, the K-King awaits yo-your arrival.” Charles hummed as he put the young woman out of mind and followed the boy into the palace. The boy left him standing in front of the throne room doors, where two guards stood on watch. He watched out of the corner of his eye, as one of the guards turned his head and glared at him with disdain. 

A smirk fell on his features as he swiftly pinned the guard to the wall and bared his fangs, a glint entering his eyes as he sealed the man’s fate. He drank for a few moments before pulling away and dropping the man to the ground. He smoothed his cloaks out before entering the Throne Room. He was instantly assaulted by the familiar stench, his eyes narrowing on the three occupants of the room. He sniffed a couple of times, trying to ascertain the culprit. His senses zeroed in on the Prince. Satisfied he was the vile carcass, he then spots the trophies around the young man’s neck.  

“His Majesty” stood at the top of the stairs in front of his throne overlooking his kingdom from the stain glass windows, the prince lounging behind him, drink in one hand, the fangs of his General lay nestled against his greasy portly neck. His scrawny half-Witt of an advisor stood off to the King’s left. They were whispering, but Charles could hear every word. 

“King Charles’ sacrifice refuses to come out, the stupid girl is going to put us all in jeopardy with her tantrums.” 

The King sighed as he reached out and patted the Advisors shoulder, 

“Try and convince her one last time, King Charles will be here any second and I don’t want him to have more reasons to go to war.” The advisor bowed before turning around and halting in his tracks, Charles watched in quiet delight as the Advisors knees buckled beneath him. 

Charles grinned, the blood on his fangs glowing in the candle-light as he licked at the drop of blood on the tip of his left fang. He preened as the blood from the advisor’s face drained, an audible swallow was heard before the man kneeled. 

“Your Majesty. It is a humble delight to see you.” King Indulf stiffened before turning to face Charles, a strained smile painting his features. 

“Advisor.” That was the only word needed before the poor man was up on his feet and hurrying, in a dignified manner, back towards the Throne Room’s doors. It was silent as they appraised the other, looking for any tell-tale signs of weaknesses. One could only hope for a quick signal to end the other. 

“Charles, how kind of you to travel and accept our gift of dinner and women. I’m sure the one we have picked out for you will be enough to appease.” His tone was bordering cordial and impertinent. Charles’s jaw tightened, just as he was about to voice his displeasure about the ordeal, the doors were opened and in walked a delicate flower, brown hair done up in the traditional braids and pinned into an intricate bun on the top of her head, her skin was painted flawlessly and her white dress left nothing to the imagination, her skin showing through the sheer fabric. 

She bowed at their feet, before coming and kneeling on the second step, her hands resting on her thighs, back straight, head tilted to the right, baring her neck showcasing her pulse and vein beautifully. She was stunning, but she was meek and unfit to be the sacrifice.

“She is a fine specimen but she is unfit for the role, far too weak, Indulf.” The King spluttered, his face an ugly puce color as he refrained from shouting. 

“We were just supposed to give you a woman to sate your declaration of war, Charles. As you can see, we have lived up to our deal.” Charles snorted, unable to contain his mirth for a moment longer. 

“You stupid excuse of a King. The terms of the sacrifice were agreed upon when the contract was drawn up. Every detail drafted down for future generations. It outlines everything specifically, clearly, you have read it to be able to coach her on how to sit and dress. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice? This “sacrifice” is dying. Do you believe that this painted whore would hold the same status as my best General?” His voice became a roar by the end of his rant, his eyes a burning crimson. 

“King Charles, she was the only eligible candidate we had, surely you can overlook the one rule.” 

“Surely, you have noticed your ill-mannered son displaying the fangs of my fallen comrade. The contract is void, prepare for war Indulf, you have insulted me and my people one too many times this evening.” He hissed and turned on his heel, preparing to depart when the throne room doors were thrown open and a woman came in kicking and screaming. Her eyes flashing as her mouth opened in a snarl. She was tossed at King Indulf’s feet. 

Charles had just enough time to move out of the way before she was up and throwing herself towards the Prince. Her screeches and wails filling the hall, 

“I WILL NOT BOW DOWN TO YOU! I AM NOT YOUR CONSORT! I AM WORTH MORE THAN THAT!” The Prince quickly grabbed the little spitfires’ wrists before throwing her down and backhanding her face. She sprawled across the stone floor, a hand reaching up and brushing over her busted lip, coming away red with blood. 

“THAT IS ENOUGH YOU INSOLENT BITCH!” Charles’s eyes flashed when the scent of her blood hit his senses. She was delectable, fiery, and willing to fight to the end. 

Her chest heaved as she watched them, her tongue darting out to swipe the blood up. She grinned at the three men, her teeth painted in her blood. Charles had to suppress the growl that threatened to escape his mouth. He wanted to grab her by her meaty hips and pin her against the floor, his tongue diving into her mouth to lick every last drop of her blood from her teeth and tongue. Charles took a step forward only to be hit by the vile stench of the Prince. She was covered head to toe and it brought the memory of his dead General to mind. 

The enraged King frothed at the mouth, “I paid your bail, you ungrateful heathen, that means I own you, I can do with you what I want when I want. You are to be my son’s consort, a high honor if I do say so. One someone like you shouldn’t get, but your parents were good people and I promised I would look after you.” A manic cackle fell from the woman’s lush lips as she rolled from her side and onto her knees.  

“My parents were traitors that you honored to make yourself look good, they don’t deserve to have me as their daughter. I will never be your sons, I would rather be his sacrifice,” she angrily threw her arm out, finger pointed towards Charles, “than live in this palace and be raped by your precious prince another day.” 

“You think you are worthy enough to be a King’s sacrifice?” Indulf’s body was vibrating with barely contained rage. 

“I’m worthy enough for your son to be sullied over.” A laugh escaped Charles as he kneeled down in front of the woman. 

“My little lamb,” He smoothed his thumb over her bruised cheek before pulling his hand back, her warmth seared his skin, she was perfect. A raging inferno waiting to be tamed. He looked up at the King, a challenging glint to his eye. 

“Sacrifice accepted.” The occupants of the throne room gasped in shock as Charles bent down and swiftly picked up the dirtied and bloodied rag of a woman, before disappearing, a cool breeze rustling through the room in his abrupt departure.

Taglist: @agniavateira @cavillanche @cavillunraveled @dancingwendigo @dreamwritesimagines @ficsandcatsandficsandcats @hlkwrites @hnryycvll @honeychicanawrites @iloveyouyen @johnmotherfuckingshelby @ladyreapermc @laketaj24 @littlefreya @ly--canthrope @mary-ann84 @mrsaugustwalker @ohvalleyofplentyyy @omgkatinka @sciapod @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @supersweetstache​ @thethirstyarchive​ @the-winter-witcher​ @thegreattodd​ @tumblnewby @viking-raider​ @white-wolf-of-rivia​ @witcherwrites​

[castielsbeeslippers]

Part I

Summary: Dean regrets it instantly. The way he snapped , the words that tumbled from his mouth. The small argument between him and his little brother had escalated into a full blown screaming match , and now Sam was gone. Dean takes off to clear his head and ends up in an erie cemetery where he believes he is alone.

On ao3

Thank you to @wantstoflyafraidtofall for being beta 🖤you’ve helped me immensely! 🥺

The rumble of the classic car’s engine shook the stillness of the cemetery grounds rustling the leaves and still the air hung heavy.

With a soft screech of it’s black tires the car came to a stop. Dean must have driven over thirty odd miles to get away from that old motel that his younger brother had already abandoned. Dean just had to get away to anywhere but there.

He closed his tired eyes , feeling them sting.

He killed the engine and let himself go.

His guilt escaped from his gut-wrenching sobs. He was truly alone.

(The dead would never tell.)

Dean ran his callused hands over his soft eyes and sighed into them. He drug himself out of his classic car and did his best to pull himself together with each step.

He looked over his shoulder... nothing but the empty road.

He didn’t want to face the world or the reality of it all....His brother was god knows where because of him and that absurd fight. Dean had really crossed the line this time. A knot formed in his stomach as he recalled his harsh words.

The emotions bubbling inside him didn’t have a name. Frustration and fear didn’t seem to even scratch the surface.

His boots crushed the moist earth beneath them with unforgiving force.

A distant snap jolted Dean from his thoughts.

Dean without hesitation ripped his gun from his pocket aiming directly ahead into the stillness.

“Show yourself.” He spit into the air.

Whatever ghoul or spector was about to rue the fucking day. Dean was ready to whiplash himself from numbness to rage.

The wind only whistled in reply. It was probably just some wild animal. He let the mind drift for a moment keeping his defensive stance , still unwavering not letting himself be convinced.

Something far off rustled like a scared flock of birds, a whooshing sound rushing all at once into Dean’s ears.

Dean spun himself around only to see again the empty road that was now laden with a thick white fog... that Dean knew had to have just crept in.

It sent a chill down his spine.

‘Haunted cemetery, no shit’

He tensed his shoulders, mentally cursing himself. He already felt like roadkill and this was just adding to the fun.

Dean whipped his head back leering into the cemetery, his eyes catching on a shadowed figure.

Dean held his breath and crept forward his gun leading the charge.

The figure moved from darkness laying steady steps.

“Stay right there.” Dean warned through his clenched jaw.

The figure did not. His looming shadow turned to a man in a soft dirt colored trench coat, his hair a black tussled mess.. and his eyes pure electric.

Dean’s breath hitched , his eyes searching the man frantically.

His gun, unamused and unmoving.

“Hello.” The man spoke with a gentle monotone.

“Stop.”

“You can lower your weapon , I bear no ill intent towards you or any other human.” The man's voice boomed again.

Not human. Dean figured as much. He tore his eyes away from the man's eyes and steadied himself again.

“What the hell are you?” Dean growled. The figure's calm demeanor only pushed his buttons more.

“I’m Castiel, Angel of the Lord , Thursday’s Angel if you prefer a shorter title.” The self-proclaimed Angel said with a shrug.

“Yeah okay , and I’m Queen Elizabeth.” He chuckled darkly.

The Angel’s blue eyes gleamed as he tilted his head at the man's comment.

“You’re looking much younger.” He told the hunter flatly.

“Tryin’ to mess with me?” Dean snapped back.

“He’s not dead, Dean.”

“Excuse me?” Dean’s stomach lurched.

“I’m not supposed to be here, Dean.” The angel shook his head softly with a frown.

“I’m not even sure where “here” is.” He admitted.

Or when. He didn’t add.

Dean grit his teeth , the way he said his name with a familiarity on his tongue made Dean’s whole body tense up.

“Start talking , you’re acting like you know me.” Dean demanded no question in his tone.

Castiel smiled. A wide smile.

“I’ll tell you everything Dean, assuming you can do the same ”

Dean’s jaw clenched.

Castiel tilted his head to the right , careful to keep his lips in a line leaving his eyes wide, unblinking.

This Dean stood before him, turmoil swirling beneath his skin. Castiel felt Dean’s mind rapid fire, laden with guilt, which was so familiar, lost and searching.

How desperately the angel wanted to part the dark clouds and bring comfort to the man before him.

‘Gently , slowly. ’ He thought to himself , he didn’t want to approach this the wrong way.

“Would you sit with me?” Castiel asked cautiously.

His trench coat flowing softly after him as he turned on the ball is his dress-shoes.

Dean's eyes ever glued to the angel before him.

Dean held right to his pearl gripped pistol, still heavy in his right hand, he nodded and swallowed his protest.

“Sure.” Was the only thing he could muster.

They sat in silence for a while before Cas broke it with a soft boom of his voice.

“Dean,”

Dean's body thrummed again. The way his name was said made something deep inside flutter.

Dean only looked at Cas in wait for a reply.

The prominent sensation was still buzzing , the tickle of electricity on Dean’s skin that grew stronger with each step he took towards the angel-shaped man.

The metal bench was cold and damp beneath them. Castiel gave no reaction to this and Dean chose to ignore the damp spots forming on his jeans.

Dean carefully tucked his gun back away against his better judgement in an attempt to be polite, but something deep in his mind felt this “Castiel” could be trusted. He felt like he was losing it.

“I haven’t met you yet. This you….in the time I’ve come from we’re, and I quote “best friends… if you can believe it.” Cas started off slow with caution in his low tone.

Dean so far wasn’t buying it.

And Cas knew it just by the look in his eyes.

“I’m afraid I don’t know how much more I can say ,without upsetting the cosmic balance Dean...but I hope you can at least trust I care for you a great deal.”

A beat.

“You and your brother.”

That woke Dean up.

“Sam,” Dean grit out.“You mentioned him before, what do you know about my brother you holy tax account stalker.”

“I know he’s safe, I’m afraid I-“

Before Castiel got the rest of his sentence out Dean had jumped from the bench and was now standing in front of his eyes.

“Tell me.” he demanded.

“Dean please, you need not worry let me continue.”

“Please” he huffed softly.

And with that Dean did. He sat back down, still tense as he had been.

“He’s simply ‘blowing off some steam as you would put it.” Cas said softly.

“Yeah real awesome intel. Where ?”

“Not far, but please Dean give him some space lets-“

“Space?” Dean snapped.

“I can personally assure his safety… after we converse we can even go to him.” Cas said calmly.

“You want to just talk?” He raised his brow.

“I do.” Cas replied.

Dean swore he could see the gears turning in the dark haired angel’s (man’s?) head.

Reluctantly Dean gave in he really wasn’t sure what was coming over him. No matter how sincere those baby blue eyes were, he shouldn’t trust him. Not this quickly.

“Alright then start talkin’” Dean gave a huge sigh, his shoulders still stiff and unflinching.

“Please allow me a moment of just being… we’ve been through much...” the familiar words he’d spoken, and yet to speak forming on the tip of his tongue.

“Yeah… sure” Dean’s tone softened without permission.

He felt those damn eyes again all over him.

Castiel drank in this younger Dean. Still tough as nails, still loved his brother more than his own hide, but still, while familiar, Castiel couldn’t get enough. Not that he kept his eyes to himself at any point but this was something else. A Dean before perdition, before he’d rebuild his soul… his every fiber and cell.

“Listen .” A hard swallow. “I don’t know what we’ve been through in the future, but I’m not really getting this whole “Angel of the Lord shtick.”

Cas laughed lightly. Not at Dean, it was too gentle.

“You never really had faith in them.” Cas found himself putting emphasis on them…

It was them not him… Dean has faith in him. He was sure of that, even if he hasn’t always been.

“But you’re... Different?” It came out innocent.

A nod. “It’s the cracked chassis.” He said plainly.

Dean didn’t fully understand but he got a pretty good idea.

“You called them dicks with wings.”

“The other angels.” Cas added after a moment of silence.

Dean huffed. That did sound like him.

There was a lull in the conversation, the fog still thick around them.

“So... you really don’t know how you got here?” Dean finally settled on what to say.

“I have a working theory.”

“Which is?”

“I’m simply supposed to be.”

“That’s not what you said earlier.” Dean reminded him , not the slightest convinced.

Cas let himself smile again, his crows feet visible and crinkled.

“Changed my mind.”

“Alright.” Dean said standing up from the bench.

“Let's get a change of scenery, this place isn’t exactly what I’d call a hang out spot.”

Cas’ chest got tighter with a small rush of nerves.

“We can head towards wherever my dick brother is hiding out.”

“Alright, Dean.” Cas conceded , he really wasn’t in any position to argue with him.

This is part one ✨I might be posting this on ao3 but I’ll be and part two to tumblr soon ~ this should only be two or three parts in total ✨🖤

Tag list : @my-favourite-hellatus , @nguyenxtrang , @i-dont-even-wanna-know , @withclawsandsympathy , @sideofangels , @hazel-eyed-bi @lilac-void ,

🖤Feel free to ask to be added or removed ✨

[alottanothing]

Left to Ruin: Chapter Twenty-Three

Summary: Ahkmenrah wakes to find chaos befallen his great city.

Previous Chapters

Word Count: 3212

Warnings: A N G S T 

Tag List: @xmxisxforxmaybe, @r-ahh-mi, @hah0106, @rami-malek-trash, @diasimar, @sherlollydramoine​, @flipper-kisses​, @ivy-miranda-2390​, @txmel​, @sunkissedmikky​, @concentratedsassandcandy​, @edteche2​

(Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N:  I don’t have much to say this week, just thank you for giving the previous chapter love, and I hope you can forgive me for this chapter, and the next. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Again, as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible

The walk back to the palace after a night along the shores of the Nile felt like a shorter journey than the same path they strode only hours before. Nevertheless, Ahkmenrah was wholly at peace, enveloped in the warmth that true love kindled. Hope swelled in his breast too, a dull ember of blissful bright light, stoked to a flame by the news of his unborn child. The thought and the threats of war were far out of his mind, lost in the tranquility Nouke showed him on the beach of the mighty river. And the pharaoh hoped, beyond all reason, that terrible dread would stay lost.

When their feet led them home, the king and queen took their time placing the stones back into their respective places—a puzzle that had become second nature after dozens of trips—and they left a single brick askew with the promise of another trip beyond their cage. They stood for a long moment, marveling at the majesty of their garden under Khonsu’s glow. The picturesque sight pulsed with a blissful aura, the familiar fragrances and sounds forever adhered to their happiest memories. With a content sigh, Nouke wrapped around Ahk’s strong arm, their fingers intertwined as she rested her head against his shoulder with a soft smile on her features.

Ahkmenrah’s expression was a mirror of hers, the muscles of his face upturned with an air of whimsy as he recalled visions of he and Nouke running and laughing amid the lush green. He watched as his younger self chased his best friend in loops around the fountain before she playfully shoved him into the crystal clear waters, laughing. All too quickly those phantoms of his past faded to a far superior scene. This time he envisioned his children running and playing the same games, laughing and screaming gleefully while he and his beautiful queen lounged nearby, watching merrily.

Ahkmenrah would always fight for that future; whatever it took.

When those illusions faded too, they made their way through the quiet halls, stopping just shy of their bed-chamber doors. Ahk turned and met his guardian with a smile.

“Have I ever thanked you for never telling anyone about our secret passage?”

A kindhearted smile ghosted over Kamuzu’s lips, “There’s no need, my King.”

Ahk’s smile grew as he thought of every venture he’d ever taken through that crumbled wall; Kamuzu was always there, and never had he tried to keep him in his royal cage or told a soul where he had gone. It made the pharaoh profoundly glad.

“Rest well, my friend.”

“And you, my king.” Kamuzu bowed his head to each of them. “My queen.”

“Goodnight, Kamuzu,” Nouke said with a sweet smile.

Ahkmenrah watched his Medjay protector go, the tendrils of his love-filled heart reaching out to the man who had kept him safe his entire life.

It wasn’t until Nouke gave his fingers a squeeze and his arm a gentle tug that he turned his attention back to her as she coaxed him to follow. The glow of the torches was both inviting and whimsical as he watched the flickering luminescence dance across his wife’s figure, making her seem even more ethereal than he already thought her to be. A yawn broke his concentration; the dull light soothing enough to also remind him of the weight of his day; sleep was a pleasure he longed to partake in.

Nouke surrendered his hand as she politely excused the maidservants and the guards with a wave, and the pharaoh thanked them for their service as they left. When the heavy thud of the doors falling shut echoed in the vast room, Ahkmenrah turned his sights to where his wife stood near their son’s cradle. The way she swayed gently—like reeds in the desert breeze���as she hummed a lullaby, was spellbinding to behold. She smiled down at the sleeping boy, her open palm caressing the tiny swell of her belly. Ahk’s heart fluttered, and he sighed as he fixated the picture in his memory.

Ahkmenrah’s bare feet barely made a sound as they crossed the room to wind himself around Nouke’s strong frame, pressing against her back, his chin resting on her shoulder.

“I hope we have a girl,” Ahk mused, dreamily fanning his palm over the slight bump of his wife’s abdomen. “A little princess as beautiful as her mother.”

Nouke hummed agreeably, and he could hear her soft smile.

“Whichever the gods see fit to give us will be a blessing.” She kept her hand over his and added, “Prince or princess.” 

“You are right, of course.” Ahk laid a delicate kiss to the exposed skin of her shoulder, over a mark he’d suckled into formation as they made love on the banks of the Nile hours before. “But a king can hope.”

Nouke spun lithely in his arms and combed her fingers through his hair as her arms circled his neck. “Yes...a king can hope. But now the king must rest. Dawn will come early, and there is much to do.”

She kissed him before his lips could twist into a frown with the unpleasant reminder of duty, but she deftly chased it away. Nouke bled into all of his senses as he pulled her close: the texture of her lips and the nectary taste that coupled with every sweep against his. Every soft swell and curve of her body pressing against him as the floral scent of her perfume filled his lungs. Its sweetness was dull under the unique musk of sand and reeds: a fragrant remnant of their excursion on the shore.

Nouke was savoring him too; the pull of her mouth was a slow and sensuous expression of worship that made Ahk crave more than sleep.

When their kiss parted, his queen stayed close, circling the tip of his nose with hers before giving him a chaste peck, then led him to bed. Nouke curled against his side, and sleep found them both quickly.

The peaceful void of dreamless slumber had been elusive for the pharaoh of late, despite the joy in his life. His mind was overrun with concern and the well-being of those he loved, even without the threat of war. Some nights he would pace and ponder until his head hurt, or until Nouke coaxed him back to bed. She would lay his head against her chest, her fingers gently sweeping through his hair as she lulled his frazzled mind into submission—allowing sleep to, at last, claim him. Other nights he just laid with his eyes locked on the ceiling until the night sky was swallowed by the sun.

He hated those nights the most.

However, that night, the thoughts in his head were quiet and hopeful despite the threat they faced. For hours, or perhaps only minutes, the pharaoh found sleep restful nestled with the woman he loved until a strange commotion slowly pulled him from that dreamless void.

Ahkmenrah tired to ignore the somehow distant, but close, ruckus; clinging to sleep with a mighty grip. But when the sound of a shout mixed with the sound of the clamor, Ahk’s eyes fluttered open. It only took a moment for them to adjust to the darkness, his focus getting lost for a second in the peaceful sight of Nouke sleeping next to him.

The pharaoh smiled and carefully pulled free, standing to stretch his limbs as a yawn overtook his features. With a few lazy strides, he wandered to his son’s bedside; the upward curl of his lips growing as he looked at the sleeping boy.

There was where he lingered, watching Sekmen sleep—the strange commotion momentarily forgot—as he let his mind think more on the future awaiting him: evenings in his beloved West Garden with two children to play with. The notion filled his stomach with eager butterflies, his smile growing impossibly wider until that peculiar clamor hindered it.

All at once, the flitting butterflies in his belly lost their whimsy, quickly metamorphosing into sick, twisting knots. Smoke was drifting into the chamber from the open balcony much too thick to be from simple torchlight. Frightened screams registered next, rendering the pharaoh frozen as he turned his ear to listen.

More cries haunted the air, the sounds making his heart hammer and his skin coat with nervous sweat. Fear and curiosity coupled to urge him to investigate the billowing smoke and the refrain of laments as his breaths slowed.

Ahk could smell the fire—see the floating pieces of ash in the air—he could hear clearly the screams as he stepped onto his balcony. The pharaoh leaned over the rail, fear a curiosity writhing in his gut, and the devastation he found made his eyes grow impossibly wide, his mouth dry and his heart heavy with dread. Before he could take in the horror below, he hastily stumbled out of range, narrowly missing the strike of an arrow as if flew past his face.  He gasped as he careened backward, falling to the ground, the pain of the impact dull as panic consumed his every sense.

Quickly, the pharaoh staggered back to his feet and once more took to the wall of the railing, peering at the mayhem below.

And suddenly, Ahkmenrah felt ill.

Men were scaling the palace walls, setting alight anything that would burn: wood, idols, plants, people. The metallic clang of weapon on weapon split the air like thunder between horrified screams. Soldiers, guards, and Medjay laid dead or dying while their comrades fought the slew of invaders trickling over the high walls.

It was a sight Ahkmenrah never dreamed of seeing, and never would he forget it. Fear spread through him, ripping like icy claws. Kahmunrah had been right; it was too late to negotiate. War had come to them, and Egypt was not prepared.

A chill shook the pharaoh as he fought to quell the flooding of tears in his eyes; every one of his senses working at an impossible pace to comprehend the chaos. He needed to be strong, and to stay calm; if he allowed fear to settle too deep, he would surely seal his fate.

With a deep inhale Ahk attempted to push through the pandemonium of his emotions only to choke on the tainted air. He coughed and gasped and tried again, filling his lungs swiftly—like a man drowning and wheezed once more.

With the crook of his elbow to shield his breaths from the ash and smoke, Ahkmenrah slowly backed away, unable to tear his sight from the siege of his grand palace until it became too much. In an instant, his fumbling feet spun and broke into a run, his heart pounding in his throat, the mist in his eyes a cumulation of fear and the burning sting of the smoke-filled air.

His voice was raspy when he woke his wife as softly as he could, not wanting to cause her any more panic than he could spare. 

“Nouke.” Ahk shook her shoulder gently, but with enough force to pull her from sleeps grasp.

She threw him a look of irritated confusion, her heavy eyelids blinking slow.

“Get Sekmen,” the pharaoh ordered lightly. “We must find safety...now.”

Nouke shook her head slowly, still trying to fight off slumber’s laden trance, “Wha—”

A scream echoed through the chamber from outside, and the queen sat up straight, eyes blown wide. 

“What’s going on?” she asked, fear in her tone as she threw on the nearest article of clothing she could find.

Ahkmenrah did the same and chanced another glimpse from the balcony to gauge the severity of their situation—a foolish hope of finding peace, gone. Mere minutes had passed, and everything was worse. Men poured over the walls like water from a pitcher, their weapons glowing a fiendish orange as the surrounding flames reflected from the sharpened surface. Each of them was poised and ready to strike, militant men who knew war and had mastered it, unlike the pharaoh they sought to destroy.

“How could it have come to this?” Ahk said to himself in quiet disbelief as he watched his home fall to ruin. 

“What’s happening?” Nouke asked again from inside their chamber.

“We are being ambushed,” he finally told her, unsure of how to break the news without panic twisting onto her face.

Ahkmenrah crossed the room with purpose and retrieved the mounted khopesh on the wall nearest the door. 

For years the weapon served as no more than a decoration—a gift given to him by his father for completing his lessons in the training yards all those years age—that until then, the pharaoh had forgotten about. 

The moment it’s cumbersome weight was in his grasp, his memory flooded with visions of the summer his father taught him how to swing a blade. Even as a boy he’d never come close to mastering it—he should have tried harder.

Those few hours in the training yard, sparring with boys his own age, were lessons Ahkmenrah had allowed himself to forget. Those boys were always better than him, and it was those boys who became his soldiers, soldiers who were fighting and dying to protect a man who could not protect them.

Ahk’s stomach churned at the thought; they were fighting and dying—skilled men—what chance had he?

All at once, the pharaoh was too weak to wield his blade properly. Every ounce of strength he had he used to watch Nouke gingerly gather their son into her arms as he stood frozen. When her amber eyes locked with his, fear was hidden under her tightly bound composure. But Ahk could feel it.

“What do we do?” she asked, her voice impossibly calm.

“We need to find my brother.” Ahk knew she wouldn’t want to go to Kah, but the pharaoh could think of no better idea. Kahmunrah knew how to stay alive. “He will know what is best to do, and where to go.”

Nouke swallowed her prejudice and nodded, letting all her trust fall on his shoulders. “Okay.”

Ahkmenrah swallowed twice to fight the lump forming in his throat, suddenly more afraid than ever—he could not allow himself to let her down.

“Maybe they aren’t in the palace yet,” Nouke said, glancing towards the door.

Ahk turned his ear to listen; chaos rang, but it was impossible to discern where the clamor came from. Every scream that colored the air with shadow made the tension more palpable, forging a dreadfully crushing atmosphere. It stuck to the sweat covering Ahkmenrah’s skin; every bead at his temple feeling a thousand pounds.

When Sekmenrah began to fuss, the pharaoh wondered if his son could sense it too. His face was crinkled in fright, his tiny whimpers shaking his entire form as he clunk to his mother helplessly. The sight was like a knife in the pharaoh’s heart.

“Hush, my little prince,” Nouke murmured gently, rocking the boy to soothe him.

The sound of his mother’s voice and lulling gestures seemed to settle him until a loud bang hammered against the chamber door, causing them all to jump.

Instinctively, Nouke’s free hand gripped tightly at her husband’s bicep as she moved closer. “Ahk...” her voice was pleading and scared.

“Behind me,” he urged, quickly.

Another knock pierced the air, and Ahkmenrah stood with his shoulders squared, feet firmly planted, shielding his family as best he knew how. Adrenaline was beginning to eat up his fear allowing his focus to hone. Silently he prayed to any of the gods still listening to send him the strength to protect those he loved. Ahkmenrah could not lose them, he simply could not.

One more loud bang echoed, rattling his bones and some of his fear rekindled when the doors burst open like the sound of an explosion.

Medjay flooded into the pharaoh’s bed-chamber, their eyes lit with fire, blood on their weapons. Several barricaded the doors with only their joined strength, pushing against the entry with all their might.

Kamuzu was at their lead, shouting orders, his weapon stained red. The king was never more happy to see his dutiful protector. Kamuzu’s muscled arm was wrapped protectively around a young woman who was sobbing loud enough to muffle the clamor. 

“Set?” Ahk squinted through the haze.

“Ahkmen!” 

Setshepsut tore out of the Medjay’s grip and sprinted into his arms and he secured his footing so as not to fall as she collided against him. The abrupt onslaught of relief of knowing his sister was still alive crashed against the pharaoh with enough force he almost tumbled backward anyway.

“Set!” His own tone matched hers: glad but overrun with sorrow.

Setshepsut clung to him like a frightened child to her mother, sobbing into his chest as he held her. Nouke hugged around her too, as best she could, keeping her hand on Ahk’s arm.

A question pulled at Ahkmenrah’s brows, one that Kamuzu answered before the pharaoh even truly knew what it was he wanted to ask. 

“Her husband was found dead at his post. Not two minutes later, this started.”

“Satauhotep?” Ahk pulled his sister a little snugger as he fought back the lump in his throat. “He’s dead?”

Kamuzu nodded. 

The adrenaline vanished and suddenly, Ahk could feel his grasp on everything slipping. Each of his senses felt cold and emptied, as though his spirit was falling into a nightmarish black void. Nouke and Set clinging to him were the only tethers that held him within his crumbling reality.

He held all the power in the empire, and yet, the pharaoh had never felt more powerless.

“How did the Nehesyw and their allies get into the city?” Ahk asked, turning his gaze to Kamuzu.

His guardian pursed his lips as a strange somberness settled over his features that made Ahkmenrah’s stomach feel sick.

“No, my king. This is not the Nehesyw.”

“Who?” Ahk asked, his voice low.

Kamuzu hesitated, eyes drifting to the floor as he gathered his words, then he looked back to the pharaoh as though he was trying to save him from the truth by stalling.

“Kamuzu...” Ahkmenrah pleaded. “Who?”

The king’s Medjay protector sighed and shook his head apologetically. “It is your brother’s men who have lain siege to the palace.”

That bottomless black void returned, seeking to devour him, but this time, fire surged through Ahk’s blood, combating the lingering dread. 

“Kahmunrah is behind this?” His voice was scarily calm despite the anger writhing inside of him.

Kamuzu nodded, “The men he collected—they fight for him; against your guard, against your Medjay.”

“And my soldiers?”

“Some fight for you, others, against you,” Kamuzu confessed. “Tahut-Mut leads his garrison against you.”

Of course, Ahk thought. How could I not have seen that?

The siege Ahkmenrah had caught Kah and Tahut discussing was underway, and Ahk would never forgive himself for missing that clue.

More unsettling, however, was the blatant fear smoldering in Kamuzu’s eyes. In twenty-five years, Ahkmenrah had never seen a look of such distress on his guardian's face. And when Kamuzu finally spoke, his voice was gruff and soft—mournfully broken—the timbre of a man who was completely blindsided.

“You are in danger, my king.”

And Ahkmenrah knew then, the odds were against them.

[lancermylove]

Regret (HC)

Fandom: BSTS

Pairing: Rindou x MC/Reader

Warning: Contains blood, animal death, MC’s death, violence, angst, suicide

Requested by: Anon

Prompt: Okay.. Um this is a fantasy request! I hope it’s not to hard!! For a bsts and for Rindou senpai 😊 So... Rindou is a prince gonna get married with the MC but a random girl with a mark on her head says she’s the true lover of Rindou The father of Rindou says to ignore the Mc so he does.. MC makes friends with a cat but next day rounds it’s dead.. The girl comes and laughs then the MC gets so mad she puts a knife into her stomach.. she gets beheaded the next day.. What would Rindou’s reaction be?  Oh and Yeah! I didn’t give you the option thingy I couldn’t write anymore because I had to many letters— I hope you saw that before this— Can I get a head cannon? You do not need to do it if it’s to hard!! If you do it.. Thank you!!!!

A/N: This turned out to be FAR longer than I expected haha. 

———————————————

"Prince Rindou, I cannot tell you how excited I am. Well, excited and nervous! I can't believe we're getting married soon." 

Rindou chuckled and stroked MC’s cheek with the back of his hand, "I am just as excited, my soon-to-be princess." 

She looked around the courtyard to confirm that the two of them were alone. Leaning closer, MC placed a soft kiss on his lips, "I love you, Rin." 

While the two of them shared kisses, a pair of purple eyes stared at MC in anger. 

The next afternoon, Rindou decided to take a walk through the nearby forest. He generally visited the forest daily, but since he got engaged, he didn't have enough time. 

"Someone, please help me." An alluring sweet voice called out nearby. 

"Hm?" The prince followed the voice to find a beautiful woman with long purple hair. "Are you alright, Miss?"

"Prince Rindou, my foot is caught under tree roots. Please help me." 

Rindou didn't hesitate to help her. Once freed, she bowed and batted her eyelashes at him, "Dear Prince, if you permit, there is something I wish to tell you." 

He nodded his head. 

She brushed her fingertips on a green triangle on her forehead, "Prince, I am your true lover. This mark proves my loyalty to you. The woman you are with, she is an imposter." 

"E-excuse me?" Rindou frowns upon hearing her words, "I would kindly ask you to not speak ill of my fiancée." 

"If you don't believe me, then kindly ask your father, the king." With those words, she bowed again and left, her hair swaying behind her. 

For the time being, Rindou decided to ignore her words, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get them out of his mind. 

"Father, may I speak to you?"

"What is it, my son?" 

"I met a woman with a green mark on her forehead. She said that she is my true lover; moreover, she said to speak to you." Rindou frowned sightly, recalling the conversation. 

"Ah, so you have finally realized the truth, prince." The king smiled, "She speaks the truth." 

"Surely, you jest, father." 

"I do not. She is your true lover. Your betrothed is an imposter. Listen to me, son, cut all ties with the imposter, and ignore her." 

"B-but..." Rindou sighed and averted his eyes. He couldn't believe his ears. 

His heart didn't agree with his father's words, but the king wouldn't lie to his son, right? 

With a heavy heart, Rindou went against his heart and chose to ignore MC. 

No matter how many times she came to visit, the guards refused to let MC inside. She waited for Rindou, but he came to see her. 

Not knowing what to do, the confused girl roam around aimlessly through the woods, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rindou. 

'Rin, why are you ignoring me?' 

Meow. 

She looked down to see a grey cat with white paws rubbing against her leg. 

"Where did you come from?" Smiling, MC kneel and stroke the cat's head. The tiny creature stares at her with big blue eyes while purring in content. 

The following day, she make her way back to the area where she met her new friend. "Kitty, where are you?" 

Drip. Frowning, she wipe away the liquid from her cheek. Drip. MC once again rub her cheek, but this time, she look at her hand to find it stained red.

"B-blood?" She lift her head and scream, falling onto the ground. "KITTY!?"  

The once sparkling blue eyes now stared at her lifelessly. Tears race down her face as she avert her eyes from the corpse. 

Suddenly, MC heard menacing laughter nearby.  

Looking around, she saw a voluptuous woman with purple hair and eyes, laughing. 

MC's sadness turned into anger. How could someone laugh at her pain?

"Sorry, dear, but you left me no choice." She made her way to MC, hips swaying from one side to the other. 

"You...you did this?" MC stood up, balling her hands into fists.

"But of course. I still don't understand...how could the prince fall for someone like you?" She scanned MC up and down. 

"The prince? Why would you bring his name into this?" 

"Do I have to spell everything out for you?" She rolled her eyes and smirked, "The prince is going to get married to me soon. I am his TRUE lover. As for that cat...think of it as a gift from me and the prince." 

"You are going to get married to Rin? Shut up...you liar." MC said, gritting her teeth, "And gift? Do you call taking the life of an innocent creature a gift? You monster." 

Not being able to take much more, MC pulled a hidden knife from inside her sleeve, and without warning, she stabbed the lady in the stomach. 

The enchantress staggered backward and collapsed, hitting her head against a tree.

For a few moments, MC stared with her mouth open. 'What have I done?' 

Covering her mouth, she stepped away from the lady's bleeding corpse. 'I k-killed her.'

MC turned on her heels and ran as far away as her feet would take her. 

Meanwhile, a guard from the palace found the woman's body and immediately informed the king. 

The next day, MC sat with her knees pressed to her chest. She still couldn't get the woman's image out of her mind. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. 

"Open up!"

Startled, MC stared at the door. "Who could that be?" Wiping her tears and fixing her hair, she opened the door. 

Two guards, clad in full-body armors, grabbed MC's arms and dragged her towards the palace. 

"H-hey, let me go!" She tried to pull her arms out of their grip in vain. 

Only when they reached a scaffold with a guillotine did the palace guards release her. 

"W-what is this?" MC asked, staring at the large metal blade with wide eyes. 

A third guard walked in front of the scaffold, unrolled a scroll, and began to read aloud. 

"Yesterday, a guard found the corpse of the prince's fiancee in the forest near your town. The townspeople recognized the knife and stated that it belongs to you. MC, you are being charged for murdering the prince's betrothed. Under the orders of the king, you are to be executed by beheading."

"N-no, this is a mistake! She was the one who killed-" 

"You, who murdered the kingdom's future princess, have no right to speak. Execute her at once." 

The executioner tied MC's hand and placed her head under the blade. Not listening to her protests, ignoring her tears and screams, he untied the rope holding the blade.

With one clean hit, MC's head fell into the basket in front of the guillotine.

"What is all the commotion?" Rindou stepped out of his office and saw a few maids gossiping. Seeing the prince, the maids quickly scurried away.

A sense of foreboding tugged at Rindou's heart. He quickly made his way to the king's office. The door was slightly ajar. 

"Has the execution taken place?" 

"Yes, your highness." 

Rindou recognized the voice of his father's righthand man. 'Execution? Who got executed?' 

"The audacity of that girl to murder the future princess. She ruined our place!" The king hit the table with his fist, "My son believed that the enchantress was his true love. Had all gone according to place, the prince would have been killed by now." 

Rindou's eyes widened as he covered his mouth. 'My father wants to kill me?' 

"Sire, please calm down." 

"How can I be calm? Regardless, have you brought her head as proof of her execution?" 

Against his better judgment, Rindou peeked into the room through the gap. 

The king's righthand reached into a black satin bag and pulled the head out by the hair.

The prince's face drained of all color. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to look away, but he couldn't pry his eyes away from the dangling lifeless head. 

Tears clouded his eyes as he stepped away from the door. Still covering his mouth, he sprinted back to his room. 

Rindou fell on his knees and threw up on the marble floor. The image of MC's head flashed in front of his eyes. 

'She was my t-true love...what have I done?' He shut his eyes tight and cried his heart out. 

As hours passed by, Rindou spiraled further and further into darkness. He rocked his trembling body and kept repeating in his mind, 'It's all my fault. She is dead because of me. I killed my true love.' 

Not being able to take much more, he rose to his feet and started walking towards the window. 

His eyes and face void of color. His mind constantly blaming him. His body no longer under his control. 

He walked towards the image of MC holding her arms out for him. 

A small smile formed on his lips as he held his hand out to her. 

He felt nothing. No pain, no sadness, no joy. 

The kingdom mourned over the prince's loss, but Rindou was finally with his true love.