#obey me how tos

[jinxthejubilee]

Okay, this might seem like a stupid question, but do the polls just not work on certain phones or something? Cuz I don't have the option to make one, and I have a few questions to ask.

[aeithalian]

What even are the ancient laws?

I've been meaning to get around to this one for ages.

Anyways! Good question, guys! Answer: nobody fucking knows. Sure, we have good ideas. The laws are mentioned every now and then as a "oh, no little mortal child I can't help you - that's against the ancient laws. But hey! You can help me."

Let's be honest: the ancient laws, while there might be legitimate reasons for some of them, have transformed into yet another way that the gods hold themselves as the high and mighty overlords of the world, and keep their mortal offspring below them at all costs. But... why? Are the demigods really that dangerous to the gods? The answer: yes, but not to the gods - to Zeus.

Let's start from the beginning and list out everything we know about the laws. I did the hard work, you're welcome:

1. Gods cannot steal each others' symbols of power.

2. A god cannot initiate a fight with a mortal.

3. No direct interference - gods are not allowed to interfere in the lives and ongoings of mortals or monsters.

4. No more than 3 people are allowed on a quest.

5. Harming the sacred animals of a god is forbidden.

And that's it. Those are the only true mentions of the Ancient Laws in the entirety of the Riordanverse (at least, the Greco-Roman books).

And I think we all know what the most important one is. Direct Interference is the only one we see Zeus actively enforcing (or at least attempting to). But why is that? Well, stealing another god's symbol of power and initiating a battle with a mortal are physically impossible for gods, and the ban on harming a sacred animal is very commonly accepted already, as it's a guaranteed way to get your ass whooped. And the rule about having 3 on a quest isn't really something Zeus is going to spare the effort to enforce - starting a quest with more than 3 will typically guarantee that you come home with only 3, if at all.

But Direct Interference is the most interesting law, simply because it's the one that our demigod narrators are affected by the most, either in the ways their godly parents violate it, or refuse to do so.

There's plenty of instances where this law has had quite a bit of impact on the story and relationships. For example, Hermes used this law as a major reason why he could not help Luke or prevent him from raising Kronos. But let's be honest: besides Zeus himself, Hermes might be one of the only gods that actually obey this rule, despite the fact that he wants to break it. Just off the top of my head, I can name an instance in the series where every single Olympian at least toed the line of violating Direct Interference, except for maybe Demeter. And I'm not sure Dionysus counts, since he has contact with his half-blood children because of his position at CHB.

But there's something interesting even about the ways these gods break the law of Direct Interference. In most instances, these interactions with mortals happen when the god is in disguise, or through dreams. And, based on how little it seems like the gods get punished for breaking Direct Interference, we can only assume that Zeus is not aware of when gods talk to demigods via dreams. I mean, he's probably aware that it happens: Apollo, Poseidon, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Hera, Ares (who occasionally follows the rule, but only as an excuse to not help a demigod out), Artemis (although she is subject to exceptions due to her domain), Dionysus, Athena (I think?), and Hades all do it at least once in the RRverse. I mean, you could also argue that dreams are a more indirect means if interference, but I can also see how that's an iffy argument at best.

So, what does this mean? If there is one thing I know about laws and rules in general is that people tend to break laws if the direct consequences of their own actions don't directly apply to them. Gods would probably respect the law of Direct Interference more if there was an immediate negative effect on themselves, aside from just the punishment.

Think of a law or a rule that people break all the time. Littering, for example. People do it all the time, even though it's bad. But why is it bad? A person who doesn't have a lot of forethought will drop a piece of trash and say 'hey, that doesn't affect me. The planet will suffer and this will be a pain in the ass to clean up, but I'm not the one cleaning it up, so why do I care?' If you don't care about the planet or other people cleaning up your trash, the only reason you have to not litter is that you're afraid of the punishment.

I think the attitude towards Direct Interference is similar. The only reason a god would obey is if they're afraid of the punishment, or if they respect Zeus enough to follow his laws (which, clearly, is not the norm in godly society). And even then, what is a punishment to an immortal being? The only way Zeus punishes gods that really matters to them is turning them mortal - and that's a very rare occurrence.

By that logic, we can assume that a violation of Direct Interference does not actually negatively affect gods all that much. To be honest, it doesn't negatively affect mortals either. Maybe monsters have the short end of the stick, but monsters didn't write the law of Direct Interference - Zeus did. So... why? Why does it exist?

My first thought was the Fates and prophecy - if gods can interact in mortal life without recourse, then it might fuck with the way the Fates operate. But gods have been interfering for the entirety of civilization. If they really had a the power to alter the future just by dipping a toe in mortal life, don't you think it would have been obvious? Even in the RRverse, there are plenty of instances, as I've mentioned, that gods have interfered in a quest, and said quest wasn't severely fucked over because of that interference. Take, for instance, Percy's quest to save Artemis - Apollo intervened, but where were the consequences of that? Where were the earth-shattering effects?

So what gives? Also, I'd argue that the gods would actually obey the law more if they knew it had such a negative effect on the proper functioning of the Fates, especially Apollo since that's his domain. So I'm going to say that's not the case.

So we're back to the first question: why does the law against Direct Interference exist if it has no effect on the gods or the Fates? In all references to the law against Direct Interference in the Riordanverse, never once is it explained why this law exists. Why would Zeus create it if violating it doesn't have some major world-ending effect? Gods are gods: what could make this law so important that it's the only one Zeus makes a true effort to enforce?

Well, it makes sense to me that Zeus would create the law if he's the one who has to bear the immediate consequences of it. Which raises the question: what are the immediate consequences? What reason could Zeus possibly have to separate half-blood children from their godly parents? HMmmmmmmMMMM.

Well, there's another interesting thing about the Ancient Laws: some of them don't apply to mortals. Mortals can steal a god's symbol of power, and mortals can initiate battles with gods. Imagine with me a scenario in which your enemy has an army that is not subject to the same laws you are. Gods are (as far as I know) physically incapable of stealing symbols of power and starting battles with mortals, but what does that matter if they have half-blood children that reach the power of minor gods, like Percy, who can do that for you?

It's a terrifying premise, if you're Zeus. And before you start telling me that I'm going down yet another far-fetched rabbit hole (listen - I always make sense in the end), we've seen Zeus go down this line of thought before, all the way back in The Lightning Thief. Remember???

Chiron said that the reason Zeus blamed Percy for stealing the Master Bolt was because the mines the Cyclopes used to forge the bolts is close to Poseidon's domain, and he thinks Poseidon has it out for him. Now, there's a theory running around the TOA fandom that gods can control how much power they hand off to their children (as seen with Apollo's children, who rarely inherit the power of prophecy, which we're willing to bet is something Apollo is controlling from behind the scenes), and if Zeus knew that Poseidon had had a child, it's possible Zeus thought Poseidon was trying to create a super-child just for the sake of overthrowing him. I'm willing to bet that one of his greatest fears is that an über-powerful child of one of his brothers would be used to steal his symbol of power and then overthrow him. He views demigod children like weapons that his enemies can use because they could be inherently dangerous to the standard structure of godly society. His main fear is somebody with the motivation of Luke having the power of Percy. And what do paranoid kings do when presented with the idea of their greatest fears? Make laws against them.

The only way Zeus could be sure that Poseidon would never intentionally have a child like Percy, then bring him under his wing just in time to start a rebellion against him is to ban that kind of interaction at all.

Counterpoint: you could also say that the law against Direct Interference was a way to protect the mortals against the gods who might harm them or do them dirty. Like getting women pregnant while in the form of a swan. Ahem ahem. Do you get my point, though? It's not like Zeus has any real reason to protect the mortals in this way, since he was one of the main perpetrators anyways, but it is a damn good excuse if he also wanted a reason to prevent a potential revolution led by demigods.

Now, if you'll bear with me for a little bit longer, there is one more interesting thing I'd like to point out: In the entirety of Trials of Apollo, Apollo (a god, obviously) only mentions following the Ancient Laws once. Unsurprisingly, at the time he's mentioning the law against Direct Interference, he's also violating it - when he kills Commodus to save lives, Rome, and for his own peace of mind. So, to me this basically means that Apollo doesn't give two single shits about following laws against Direct Interference.

Connect that with everything else we know about Apollo post-trials: he loves his kids, doesn't want to see them hurt, and is trying to distance himself from Zeus and godly society. Even pre-trials, he doesn't have any trouble admitting that Zeus makes his rules and laws difficult to follow - nobody is good enough in Zeus' eyes. I truly believe, if there's any person who, given the proper means and motivation to overthrow at least some aspects of the Direct Interference law, he would.

Just saying. Feel free to add on if anybody else has more thoughts!

[a masterlist of my other metas]

[itsabouttimex2]

any lmk ideas you wish were touched on more often in fanfic??

Underused LMK Premises

Oh so many dude you don’t even understand-

1. Courtnapping as a legitimately bad thing. Not “ooh it’s romantic for demons” or “it’s just part of their culture” or “it’s proof of how much they love you” but like… a portrayal of courtnapping that actually demonstrates how viscerally dehumanizing it is to be stolen away by someone you might not even know and treated like a prize who can be won with the right application of charm or power.

(Like I’ve used it I think only once before and pretty much stopped at the “this is what demons do in general thing, but the potential for varied application is just… so high.)

Especially for mortals- imagine being bruised and battered from a long period spent unconsciously slung over someone’s shoulder or under their arm, strewn over a lounge chair or tied up in front of the kitchen table, seething. Eyes focused and hateful, knowing that this would happen eventually if they let down their guard or let a demon too close. It doesn’t matter how the monster peacocks about with that tome or this battleaxe, it’s not attractive, it’s not sexy,- and nothing can steal the feeling of violation that settles in over having been stolen from home in your sleep so you could get an extended IRL version of “I showed you my dick please go out with me” from a thirteen foot demon who is more interested in wooing you than actually wanting you.

Or just… old demons who mumble and huff about “losing their traditions” or “young demons going soft” as they look at woven tapestries in their homes, proud depictions of past conquests standing frozen in time, unaware that their great-great-grandson would lose his newest baby to a hysteric mortal’s iron-toed boot, wild with unforeseen hormones brought on by demonic birth, unaware that his youngest granddaughter would face a life of misery as she grew up, constantly stolen back and forth by two demons as part of a glorified pissing contest, both more interested in one-upping each other than the sapient being they steal from her room each night.

Young demons secretly taught by the last crotchety stalwarts of an old generation that “What you want is yours to take, if you can take it,” before their parents can snatch them away from great-great-great-grandfather and hurry off, praying their little one is too young to understand what was said. Growing demons brought up with those horrid words rattling their horned skulls, heeding and obeying them, then wondering why their dearest friends snap and crack as they’re “spirited away”. Grown demons who come up lonely and tired, seeing their diminishing race in a world flourishing with soft little mortals and wondering spitefully “Why did we ever stop conquering”, only learning the answer at the blunt end of a glowing golden staff when their time is near, the finishing blow timed to the cheers of their captives.

(If I ever write a satire fic, it will 100% be about a Y/N who gets isekai-ed into LMK, but instead of any of the cool or attractive protagonists, they get courtnapped by a crusty-handed, balding and portly demon who doesn’t practice hygiene or housecare. Just to put into perspective how actually awful the whole “I’m being kidnapped as a spouse” thing would probably really be if it wasn’t your attractive, young, in-shape, washes regularly blorbo doing the snatching.)

2. With this, demons just… not understanding mortals. Not for lack of trying, and not for lack of wanting, but through simple psychological incompatibility.

Demons struggling with empathy toward mortals because their minds are shaped by instincts that value strength, endurance, and survival of the fittest. Emotions that seem obvious to humans, like fear, discomfort, or sorrow simply not registering for demons in the same way. They see these reactions, but interpret them through their own lens, often believing that mortals are playing games or faking them or maybe outright performing.

Communal demons in broad daylight snatching up children for hours or days, only to return them with scars and bloodshot eyes, and wondering why they receive no gratitude for, in their opinion “taking up parental duties” without so much as being asked. After all, isn’t a little bit of “toughening up” good for children?

Demons who don’t understand “allergies”, especially when they range from “mild cough” to “near-instant death” and maybe misunderstand how epi-pens work- “Is stabbing the flesh a way to bleed the illness”, asks an curious demon with ancient eyes, worn hands, ragged skin, “and will any weapon do?”

Demons who become artists that need calligraphy tools so large they get mistaken for weapons. Demons who don’t understand tipping culture and assume they’re being fleeced. Demons who need custom chairs and custom clothes and custom bedding. Demons who pick fights on behalf of their friends and coworkers, and then to combat this, demons who get hired on as protection against “honor battles”.

Demons being demons, not just immortal humans.

3. Characters with variable ages that widely differ- like, I’ve gone on here and there about my view on ambiguous ages for characters and why I love that trope so much and how it makes a series infinitely more attractive to larger crowds and audiences than a concrete “14” or “23” or “46”, you know? And the fact that MK and Mei and Red Son could be sooo many different ages all in different configurations is super interesting to me!

Like, imagine- Adult!Red Son with Teen!Mei and Teen!MK, having an absolute full-throttle meltdown when he realizes that the two upstart semi-mortals who keep beating his demonic ass are teenagers. Red Son being both mortified at his continuous defeats and furious at these children’s parents for allowing them to fight in such high stakes.

And then with that slowly growing sense of pity and anger he just scoffs and shakes his head the one time they maybe aren’t in such high spirits (drenched from rain and wind and exhausted from the vigor of battle) and whisks them off to his family’s lair, throwing a demon-sized towel for them to share as he whips up something spicy for the kids.

Children.

They’re children.

He goes home and thinks on that, and then decides that maybe he just doesn’t want to fight them anymore.

Red Son then being reverse adopted by Pigsy + Mr. and Mrs. Dragon because, hey, if he’s playing big brother, might as well let him. Then Red gets to learn what (mostly) healthy family dynamics are through direct interaction and then hold his parents to those standards and basically everyone heals together.

Or hey, Red Son being a teenager while MK and Mei are adults! The two heroes doting on this ever-furious demon with treats and drinks to “cheer him up” after his frequent losses and kinda… accidentally teaching him what unconditional kindness is by becoming surrogate older siblings to the kid.

Red Son freaking out because his parents are going to be mad about this loss or that failure, and

(Red Son getting a phone call in the middle of a fight because PIF is mad he didn’t take out the trash lmao)

4. Y/N being protective of Sun Wukong.

Man, I don’t know if it’s just me but I don’t touch most romantic Shadowpeach x Y/N fanfics at all because I know I’m in for more of the same “Macaque legitimately being an awful person to someone he’s sharing a mate with/to one of his two mates and Y/N thinks it’s funny/doesn’t care” and just like… dude.

Like I know I’ve talked about how much I hate Fanon!Macaque, the simpering sadsack who only exists to get babied and patted on the ass, all his actions whitewashed and cooed over, so like, obviously I wasn’t gonna be a fan of this.

Maybe I’m just not the target audience here but like holy shit… why? It’s never portrayed as unhealthy or anything more than a silly goofy thing that Macaque is constantly tormenting someone he either is supposed to love or share a lover with, and the reader in regard to that mistreatment is little more a drooling dumbfuck without enough braincells to breath through their nose.

I don’t get it. A Y/N who says “Teehee my mate is being abused ‘oh noes’ but Maccy needs cuddles so I’ll disregard one half of my relationship~” is not a Y/N I care about, and I don’t see what’s so compelling about neglect and mistreatment portrayed as the order of the day. I don’t see the merit in “I’m Y/N, and I’m stupid and blind to abuse!”

Cause I think it’s so much more interesting if it’s like…

“Do that again and you’re out.”

And Macaque whips around in shock, looking up from the shadow portal he just shoved Wukong into. “Excuse me-“

“Do that again,” you repeat, voice low and tense- Wukong would be fine, you were more angry than worried-, “and you’re out. Gone. Out of my house and out of my life.”

“I wasn’t-“

“I don’t give a fuck, Macaque! You will not MISTREAT my mate in my own house!”

“I- it’s not- I don’t-“

“I DON’T FUCKING CARE! HE’S NOT A FUCKING PUNCHING BAG, SO I’M NOT LETTING YOU TREAT HIM LIKE ONE!”

You know, a scenario where Y/N isn’t a passive enabler of abuse and bullying, and they actually have a voice of their own outside of “Teehee Mac you’re sooooo mean to my lover but I’m totally okay with that for some reason!~” but also gives Macaque explicit instruction on what he needs to do in order to better the relationship (ex: not abuse their other mate), in which they aren’t stupid or unforgiving and all three can grow together, instead of the usual: “Macaque isn’t ever a bad person. But when he is it’s not a big deal. But when it is his victims “deserve” it.”

5. Transhuman identities and abilities. I mean, just… there’s shapeshifting and magical artifacts and all manner of mystic trinket in the world. Does being gay or trans really matter when anyone can learn the 72 Transformations and become what they wish? Is it any bigger a deal than your child deciding they’re going to live life as a dog, or a demon? Are there potions to make these transformations permanent? Can a person become a demon, instead of transforming into one?

Does being immortal fuck with your taxes? Does knowing magic fuck with your insurance? Does your family look at you differently after you’ve tasted that ambrosial nectar, consumed that slice of eternity? Do they fear or long for a taste? Does your grandmother refuse to come to your wedding, ashamed that you would “break yourself from the cycle”? Does your mother cry into her hands that you wed a demon? Do you run to an old monastery to elope, wed by an old monk with ancient eyes because no other soul will officiate you and that demon? Will you be welcome in the celestial realm if you wed a heavenly soldier? If you take the hand of a god? What will you have you learn? How long until you feel at “home”?

Just… humans getting into mystical trouble outside of battles.

(If anyone else has some stuff they’d wish was expanded on more often, feel free to add on in the comments or reblogs!)

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

So, in addition to a preview of the Norm one-shot, I've got this look at part one of a long-form two-shot that's been sitting in my drafts since I was about halfway through my first run of the show. I have a (now quite old) ask that fit the vibe of it perfectly, and I've been whittling away at it when the inspiration strikes. I still have quite a bit of work to do on it, including edits, as I'm predicting a final length between 13k-15k words. Could end up more, as I'm really terrible at this sort of estimation, but I wanted to let everyone know I'm still hard at work in the smut mines even if posts have been light lately. Please enjoy a preview from this upcoming Cooper Howard/The Ghoul piece:

Faim Pour Deux

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

Warnings: smut (18+), angst, drug use, jealousy, mild violence, age gap, sexually rusty old men, amateurish strip teases, nipple play, fingering, dry humping, reader not-so-subtly trying to tempt Cooper to fuck her until he snaps.

"Why don't you get a little more comfortable, darlin'?" Cooper asked, his tone brighter now, a step closer to the normal, cocky timbre you'd known him to have, but still soft as the patter of the rain on the dilapidated roof as he gestured to your unzipped vault suit. "Hop up and take that off for me."

You didn't hesitate to follow his instructions, though you struggled to figure out how to back up off of his lap as your feet dangled off the floor. Cooper offered no assistance, sitting back to watch you slide yourself backwards towards his knees, your cleavage spilling out of your undershirt as you pushed yourself with your hands. Once you found your feet, cheeks already hot from your fumbling dismount, you toed out of your boots before clearing your throat, hands coming up to your navel to grab at the cool metal zipper where it hung, half-undone.

"Take a couple steps back so I can see all of you."

This command took you somewhat by surprise, but, again, you obeyed, double checking the floor behind you before taking two steps back, avoiding his eyes. Rethinking your approach, you grabbed your left sleeve by the wrist in your right hand, tugging it awkwardly to free your arm, jerking the tight material down over your sore bicep in a rather unsexy move before twisting to repeat the move on the right.

Twilight was quickly turning to night, and the few chem lamps you'd set up only provided enough light to see well a few feet in front of you. Shyly, you stole a quick glance his way, struggling to make out any details at this distance, save for the shape and slight glint of his flask as he lifted it to his mouth and took a long draw off of it. His entire upper body was almost completely shrouded in the deepening shadows, but you could see those eyes, sunken deep into that face, glittering darkly at you, trained on you.

"Slowly, now." came that rough voice once more, slightly muffled by the back of his hand passing over what remained of his lips. "Gimme a little show."

You felt your face instantly flame up twice as hot as it had been, your already fluttering heart shifting up another gear into a full-on thunder. You had no idea what he meant—undressing itself wasn't enough of a show? Were you supposed to sing and dance while you did it? Recite US Presidents?

A handful of heartbeats passed, and you realized you were hesitating, but the ghoul in the corner didn't say anything. Your focus shifted, warily, back to removing your remaining sleeve, choosing to work it down from the shoulder instead, this time, focusing on the "slowly" until you could figure out the "show" part. After a few moments, you'd worked the top half of the grimy vault suit down to your hips, letting the arms hang loose at your sides.

If Cooper objected to the way you were going about things, he kept quiet about it, which would be uncharacteristic. He sat, still staring at you, reclined back in the chair as he reached for something else on the table beside him. The familiar sound of a shaking Jet container filled the air as you grabbed the stained, barely-mended tank by the hem, peeling it over you head, leaving you in nothing but your now sad, ratty bra above the waist. The hiss of the canister buzzed down your spine as the material passed over your eyes, giving you goosebumps as you looked to him once more, feeling drawn to that gaze. Your hands moved back to your waist to push the garment the rest of the way down, brushing across your soft abdomen on the way.

The ghoul interrupted you, wordless, his mouth fixed in a sort of pucker as he held the hit of Jet deep in his lungs. He snapped quickly, sharply, his free hand raising up off of the scuffed chair arm, his sewn-on index finger pointed to the ceiling, drawing a series of tight, quick circles with it. You'd seen that gesture before, you realized, feeling that squirming feeling in your gut again. Quickly, you turned to face the door, your back now pointing at your companion.

The feeling of his intense stare still burned into your back, but knowing that, at least for a moment, he couldn't see your face, couldn't read every single thought and emotion off of your like he seemed to so often be able to, let you breathe slightly easier. The arousal that simmered between your thighs was rolling into a boil as you pushed your rear out, back towards him, bending forward ever-so-slightly at the waist as you slowly, slowly rolled the increasingly restricting suit down over your buttocks.

You could swear you heard him sigh in the dark.

Shimmying until the entire garment hit the floor, pooling around your ankles in a faint cloud of dust, you stepped out of it as delicately as possible, sliding it beside your bag with your foot. As you straightened back to your full height, you decided to turn and face him, making eye contact as he took another hit from the inhaler, setting it aside as he leaned back fully into the chair. He tilted his head sideways at you, studying you for a few quiet seconds.

"Let your hair down." he said, voice strained with exhalation.

It took a moment to wrestle your hair down from the old elastic that kept it out of your face, but when the tendrils tickled down your back at last, it made you shiver, your body tingling.

The old man was silent for several seconds, looking you up and down with an expression that was tough to decipher. You'd almost begun to worry that he didn't like what he was seeing before one of his hands snaked down from the arm rest into his lap, palming at his crotch visibly. The other hand extended towards you, that deadly trigger finger crooking towards you commandingly, his gaze never leaving you.

"C'mere, kiddo."

[aspiringtrashpanda]

HI TUMBLR USER ASPIRINGTRASHPANDA im a big fan of your work please keep it up!!!!!!!!

would it be too oddly specific to request raph introducing mc to hella britney spears obey me? :D

HI TUMBLR USER SHOOTINGSTARRFISH IT WOULD BE AN HONOR TO WRITE ABOUT HELLA BRITNEY SPEARS OBEY ME. 💕

Characters: Raphael, MC, appearances by Solomon and Simeon Raph shows MC his pet. pure fluff! No warnings apply

“Ah, welcome,” Simeon smiled from the doorway of Purgatory Hall. “I heard from Luke that you were coming by. Are you seeking refuge?”

You shuffled your feet, ducking your head as shame prickled the nape of your neck. “How did you know?”

His eyes squinted, that pretty jingle of his laugh filling the air between you. “I think I can see smoke coming in the direction of the House of Lamentation.” 

“Oh. Yeah, you see…” Where did you even begin to explain the domino effect that had happened this time?

“No need,” Simeon came to your rescue, gentle gaze oozing sympathy. “I know those brothers well enough to surmise what happened.”

When you winced something akin to an agreement, he ushered you inside, sheltering you from the occasionally overwhelming presence of your favorite brothers. As you toed your shoes off in the entrance, the scent of Simeon’s cooking washed over you. You may as well have turned into a cartoon caricature of yourself, floating towards the delightful smell in the kitchen. 

“Luke and I are making lunch.” As if he even had to clarify. He did, however, add, “but you’ll find Solomon and Raphael in the living room,” which was basically Simeon for don’t bother trying to help.

Making the familiar turns throughout the first floor, you lifted a hand to wave at Solomon and Raphael, only to drop it to your side when you found them. The two men stood side by side, folding laundry. Or, more like Solomon was hauling clothes out of a basket, molding them into a roughly square shape, and placing them on the coffee table… Just to have Raphael re-fold them right beneath his nose, with piercing eye contact. 

You watched for a few seconds before making your presence known. There was a twinkle in Solomon’s eyes, a twitch to his neutral lips that had you wondering if he was intentionally ruffling the angel’s - currently withdrawn - feathers. 

Solomon’s amusement was lost on Raphael. You were certain you could see the cogs whirring in his brain beneath his ashy hair. The crease of his brow told you he had absolutely no idea how Solomon could be so bad at laundry. 

“Hi,” You broke through the silence, putting on your cheeriest smile, “How is my favorite Purgatory Hall resident today?”

As you saw the confusion give way to suspicion in their twin looks of surprise, you considered that perhaps you, like Solomon, also liked to stir the pot. It was funny, how they both straightened their spines, puffed out their chests, sized the other up while simultaneously pretending to be unbothered. Subtle peacocking, in a way. 

You would do the same to the brothers, but… Well, then you would just end up at Purgatory Hall once more, wouldn’t you? Such a taunt was sure to start another fire of some sort between the Rulers of the Underworld. 

“Well, if it isn’t my adorable apprentice,” Solomon beamed, reaching behind the laundry basket to procure a bowl of pastries. “Can I interest you in a macaroon?”

“Did you make them?” You eyed the fluffy cookies. They did look good…

“Of course!”

Never mind.

“Ah, sorry Sol, I ate before coming here and I’m stuffed.” You lied. Thankfully, Raphael’s malfunctioning tastebuds saved you from further scrutiny. He lit up like the heavens above, blue gaze sparkling like sapphires as he snagged one of the sweets.

“Truly delicious, Solomon.” Despite his praise, Raphael remained as stoic as ever. Only the slightest glimmer of joy dancing in his eyes gave away his genuine gratitude. “I must get your recipe. Michael is so fond of sweets.” 

“I’ll make sure to bake him a special batch at the end of the semester,” Solomon preened beneath the compliment, “You could send him my regards.”

And just like that, the angel’s guard flew back up, an expression edging confusion finding solace in your hum of surprise. What on earth - er, the three realms? - did Solomon want to send regards to archangel Michael for? 

As Solomon turned back to the laundry, excusing himself by claiming he had to retrieve another load from the dryer, Raphael eyed you with unveiled curiosity. You shrunk under the intensity of his stare. It wasn’t often you found yourself alone with the latest exchange student from the Celestial Realm, and you weren’t sure you would ever get used to the way he watched you so carefully. Though he rarely voiced his thoughts, his stare had a certain weight to it. One that told you that he was questioning every flex of your fingers, every slope of your lips, every shift of your limbs. Why he found you so interesting, you weren’t sure. 

As for you… Of course you found him interesting! Luke had said it himself - Raphael was the youngest angel to ever be given the rank of seraph! He was quiet and mysterious and so very guarded. You never knew just what he was thinking at any time. You could examine him for hours and you were certain boredom would elude you.

In fact, you were about to find out who would win a casual staring contest between the two of you. Almost taken aback by your confidence, there was a split second where you thought he was going to cave, his jaw clenching and his lips pursing in a pout you almost considered petulant. But then, he steeled his resolve, doubled back with a burning question in his gaze.

You had no answer for his silent inquisition, but you felt scorched regardless. 

“Hey,” He blinked slowly, forfeiting. “Do you want to see my spears?”

“Actually…” You were answering before you even knew what you were going to say. “Yeah, I do.”

“Come with me,” He nodded curtly, exiting the living room with little warning. 

Nearly tripping over your feet in your haste, you raced after him, the flutter of his Celestial Realm clothes a flash of ivory turning a corner. Your heart thudding in your chest, you felt your anticipation growing with each step. You had heard so much about his rain of spears! The terrifying display of violence that struck fear into even Belphegor’s heart!

And so, you were completely flabbergasted when Raphael spun around from the corner of his temporary bedroom, brandishing… not a weapon. 

You almost considered it anticlimactic, but the disappointment lingered for less than a second. Your brain’s buffering complete, it reached a very reasonably enthusiastic conclusion: Raphael was cradling a hedgehog. Not just any hedgehog, but a shadow hedgehog native to the Devildom. Its charcoal quills quivering under your awestruck gaze, you hit the brakes on your excitement, your index finger hovering an inch away from its curious nose.

“Can I pet it?” You whispered, even though no one had told you to keep quiet.

“He likes when you rub his forehead,” Raphael matched your volume, lifting the little mammal closer to your face.

Sure enough, the shadow hedgehog squeaked in delight as you carefully ran the pad of your finger up his nose to the patch of fur between his ears. “Is… Is his name Spears?”

Raphael looked at you incredulously, as if the answer was obvious. “His back is made of a thousand spears.”

To accentuate his point, he gently stroked the needles laid flat over Spears’s back. You smiled, “Shadow hedgehogs are known to inflate like pufferfish when they feel threatened.”

Raphael regarded you with a stern frown, “I would never harm Spears.” 

“No!” You squawked, startling the hedgehog. He hissed softly, nuzzling into Raphael’s thumb for reassurance. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

A pensive hesitance fogged those sapphire eyes. Cradling his pet close to his chest, he seemed to calculate the potential risks in his head before offering, “Would you like to hold him?”

Did you ever! Your hands shaking, you extended them towards Spears, your palms pressed together in a makeshift platform. “Okay…”

It tickled, the way his little paws scurried across your skin. His nose - wet and cold - nudged against the base of your thumb, his miniature spears raising in apprehension until he deemed your hands safe. Then, he sat still and allowed you to marvel at his pristine quills and beady onyx eyes. He was an awfully cute hedgehog. 

“You know, in the human world, there’s a musician named Britney Spears.” You weren’t entirely sure why you were bringing up the pop star. You were positive she was not to Raphael’s liking. 

“Are they any good?”

You sidestepped. “They’re iconic.”

His silence seemed louder this time, his lips twisted into the smallest frown as he watched his pet tentatively lick at your palms. With a resolute jerk of his head, he decided, “I will allow Britney to be his middle name.”

“Middle name? Like, Spears Britney… Last name?” 

“His first name is Hella.” 

“What?” You blinked. Listen, you led quite a bizarre life. From being yoinked into the Devildom, to nearly dying at the hands of Levi because you lowkey cheated at a quiz show, to actually dying in a different timeline for wanting to hug Belphie, and then to somehow becoming the apprentice of the world’s strongest sorcerer. And yet, this hedgehog’s name managed to be the oddest thing you had heard yet.

Raphael shrugged, “Solomon assures me it is a name for only the most honorable warriors in the human world.”

Your lips curled inwards, sucked by the force of your inhale. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

Still, your voice wavered with amusement. “Hella…Britney Spears, the shadow hedgehog.”

“Yes,” Raphael confirmed, pride overwhelming his gaze as he gently took the little mammal from your hands. “The best around.”

The glint in his eye told you that arguing would only end in a rain of actual spears. All you could do was nod, thank him for sharing a piece of his life with you, and echo, “The best around.”

*・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜

My requests are open! Find out more HERE. Banner by the incredible @4laurus, Beel fan extraordinaire.

ALSO HERE IS HELLA BRITNEY SPEARS OBEY ME.

[riyva]

'what a sweet way to wake me up, baby?' | l.mk

pairings. mark lee x fem!reader warnings. explicit content, minors don't interact (18+), food play, oral sex, unprotected sex summary. you just want to give him a nice morning treat.

the morning has come, and you’re the one who woke up early. mark is still asleep, and now is the perfect time for his treat. you tip-toed as you walked out of your bedroom, not to wake him up. you went to the kitchen to make some milk and took some leftover cookies from yesterday. you brought the milk and cookie before heading back to your bedroom. you’re not surprised that mark is still on the bed, sleeping like a baby. he might be exhausted from last night.

you removed the duvet and crawled over him. mark was so deeply asleep that he didn't make a single movement. you kissed his lips and neck and licked his nipples while his shirt was on. your lips went down to his waistband; you used your teeth to pull it down until his dick was finally free. his dick was also asleep, i see. then i have to wake it up, right?

you ate a cookie dipped in milk before proceeding to wake him up. you let a soft moan at how it tastes perfect—wondering how this could also be perfect for you, baby. you licked his pinkish tip before taking it in your mouth. and you felt his dick getting hard and earning soft groans from his mouth. hmm. he’s waking up, i see. you pulled out, and you saw his pre-cum licking out; you didn’t want to waste it, so you licked it out. and you retook him; you swirled your tongue around him while massaging his balls.

after a few minutes, you felt his hand on your hair, pushing you to go deeper. “fuck, baby.” you pulled out, leaving a popping sound. you went up to kiss him. “good morning, markie.” he chased your lips, locking them to his, and he pulled your head to deepen the kiss. moans filled the room, and hands roamed each other’s bodies.

“what a sweet way to wake me up, baby?”

you just sweetly smiled. “we’re just starting, baby. so buckle up.” you took the glass of milk and a sip—you didn’t swallow it; instead, you went to his lips and fed him the milk. he didn’t even protest, so he opened his mouth to accept the milk until nothing was left. he liked it.

he grabbed your frame before flipping you, and now he’s on top of you. “you know that i love milk, but i think i love how you make me drink it, baby.” your entire bedroom was permeated with lust. you want to make him feel good, and no one can stop you, even him. he lowered his head, and you were happy to have him kiss you once more. you put your arms around his strong shoulder and flipped him over.

you grind in his member earning a moan from him. he grips your hips as he thinks he might cum while you're doing this. you licked his shell up close to his ear and said softly, “gonna make you feel good, baby, and obey mommy, ‘kay?” mark moaned under his breath as shivers of ecstasy ran up and down his body. since he is the one who often performs all the work in bed, he prefers your dominating side.

he spanked your butt, “give me what you got, baby.” you removed his shirt and shorts, which left you in awe. you let your hands wander all over his well-built body.

“just lay down, and i’ll do the work, m’kay?”

“yes, miss-ma'am.”

you poured the milk into his beads and licked it off. down to his torso and to his member. the room filled with groans, moans, and curses as you retook him with the milk. you swirl your tongue around his tip and lick the slit where his pre-cum leaks out. it tastes weirdly with milk, but it’s okay with you. you didn’t waste any drop, so you also licked and sucked his balls. you bobbed your head, bringing it all the way to your throat —where it made you feel a little queasy. your face flushed from the cheeks to the neck, and your eyes started to water. he yanks on your hair as he pulls down your head until the tip of your nose touches his abdomen. you paused to catch your breath, poured the rest of the milk into his dick, and continued to bob your head and massage his balls as he cum down to your throat.

you stood up and stripped all of your clothes while mark was catching his breath from the mind-blowing orgasm. you start kissing his thigh and work your way up to his lips. then, you sat on his face.

“eat me.”

he doesn't need to be told twice. he pushed your hips lower to his and kissed your labia before separating your folds until his tongue went to your sensitive bud; it sent an electric shock to your body. when he shoved two fingers in you, your head jerked back and you nearly lost your vision. mark was a mess; your juices went to his nose, cheek, chin, and neck. you were dripping so badly. he looked at your reaction, just seeing your face filled with pleasure, his dick going hard again and yearning to be stroked. you pounded his length while he devoured you. as time passed, he fucked you behind until you both reached the gates of heaven.

“round 2, baby?”

“who am i to say no, hmm?”

and that’s how your morning went.

© riyva

[katboykirby]

The fact that we've had SEVERAL Pop Quiz events in a row - quite a significant few, altogether - with essentially no romance at all.... and especially no kisses??

I literally do not even remember the last time we got to kiss anybody in a PQ event story?

I really, truly do not want to be cynical about this, but the simple fact is that Obey Me! is a dating game, first and foremost. The romance with "seven handsome demon brothers" is front and center in every form of ad or promo. But we're getting no romance. I truly, truly hope that this isn't the writers/devs overcorrecting and censoring themselves because of how many minors are playing this game (even though the ToS says you need to be 20+) and/or any complaints they've gotten about "inappropriate content" (like the complaints that lead to them removing multiple kissing/romantic scenes from the main story and past events)

OM feels like it's getting incredibly sanitised, which is just absolutely ridiculous for a game about living in hell and fucking actual literal demons.

Let me KISS one of them, holy fuck.

[cybernecromancer365]

Yennaia Ficlet

A.N. Quick bare bones scene I wrote to get used to the characters. I’d love some feedback about how they sound because I’m not sure if I’m getting it right. Also this is supposed to be post season 3, in a world where Tissaia lived. I'll probably use this for my story later.

---

There were two knocks at her door.

“Come in.” Tissaia said, knowing only one person dared to visit her this late. Outside her window a black, starry sky hung over Aretuza.

The door opened and Yennefer stepped in. Tissaia softly smiled, glancing up then back to her book. “You’re back late.”

Yennefer crossed the room with a quiet sigh and stopped at her bedside. “We…may have to do some damage control.”

Tissaia quickly looked up, a jolt rushed through her and a shiver down her spine at the sight of blood running from the right side of Yennefer’s neck down the front of her black shirt.

Tissaia shut the book, threw back the bedcovers, and got up, her hands reaching for Yennefer’s waist—

She pulled them away with a start at the cold wetness soaked to the right side of Yennefer’s shirt.

“That too.” Yennefer said coolly and Tissaia’s eyes widened at the red on her palm.

“What on earth happened?”

“A…misunderstanding…of sorts.” Yennefer smirked a little. “Jaskier called it a bar-gument. Get it?”

Tissaia didn’t share her chuckle, only eyed her with a furrowing brow.

“You don’t find that funny…” Yennefer averted her gaze and cleared her throat. “It really wasn’t that bad—”

“You’re covered in blood.”

Yennefer stepped away with a grin. “But I’m fine. You know I can’t die.” Yennefer uncapped the decanter on Tissaia’s desk and poured the wine left from their early dinner into an empty glass nearby.

“And now do they?”

“…” Yennefer took a swig and shrugged. “I don’t think they’ll care. They’ll probably forget what they saw by morning.”

“And what exactly did they see?”

Yennefer took another swig, deeper, and Tissaia hurried over, grabbing her wrist, taking the cup from Yennefer's hand. “What’s wrong with you?” She set the empty cup to the desk quick and grabbed Yennefer’s chin. “Let me see your eyes.” Yennefer’s dilated pupils answered her concerns. “What did you take?”

Yennefer searched for a refute.

“Don’t lie to me. You know I can pull the truth out of you if I want.”

“I do.” Yennefer smirked and went to grab Tissaia’s waist but the Rectoress pushed her hands away.

“What did you take?”

“Have you ever heard of Fisstech?”

Tissaia’s eyes widened.

“Harmless, really. It was Jasi’s idea.”

“Jasi?”

“He told me I should loosen up.” Yennefer softly smiled at the end and poured another glass. “It doesn’t have much effect on me.” She downed her second cup of wine.

Tissaia pulled apart the fastenings on Yennefer’s shirt, opening the collar more. A few were already undone, and a part of the shirt flap hung open. She tip-toed to inspect the cut to Yennefer’s jugular, noting the younger woman’s twitch at her touch.

“So, the story…we wanted a bit of fun, danger—”

“Danger?”

“So we end up at this Nilfgaardian bar—”

“What?” Tissaia had Yennefer’s shirt in her fists. “Are you insane?”

Yennefer quieted.

“They kill Aretuzans.”

“They didn’t know I was one…until the fight—”

“In which you what?” Tissaia raised her voice slightly above normal.

“Jaskier got into it with an off duty member of Emhyr’s guard. One petty argument led to the next, and that led to a brawl. I stepped in to help, blew the guy across the room. And then half the bar came for me. One guy surprised me, tried to cut my throat. Of course blood went everywhere, but when I didn’t die…”

With a small huff, Tissaia finished undoing the last fastening on Yennefer’s shirt. She took the mage’s glass and pulled the shirt off, arm by arm. “Go sit by the fire.” She nudged her in the direction of the fireplace and Yennefer obeyed the order, sitting then stretching out to lay—

“Not when you’re covered in blood.”

Begrudgingly, Yennefer sat up. She longed to stretch out on the warm bear pelt rug in front of the fireplace. In the background, Tissaia whispered a spell over a bowl in her hand.

“I’ll regenerate. You know I’ll be fine.”

Tissaia brought over two bowls and a couple of towels. She knelt at Yennefer’s side, dipping the corner of the cloth into water that rippled iridescent colors. Carefully she pressed along Yennefer’s skin, wiping the dried blood from the wound on Yennefer’s neck. The gaping gash had already healed some. By morning it would likely be gone.

Yennefer leaned back with a small blissful smile touching her lips at Tissaia’s soft strokes across her skin. The solution stung when it seeped into the open wound but she barely flinched. Yennefer tested her luck and laid on her good side, resting her head in the Rectoress’s lap.

“Why do you take care of me?”

“Keep coming back like this and you’ll be cleaning these yourself.”

Tissaia didn’t mean that, Yennefer knew.

“There’s something I’ve always wanted to know…”

“Hm.”

 Yennefer closed her eyes. “Why did you stop calling me piglet?”

Tissaia was quiet for a moment. “We both know you’re much more than that.”

Yennefer took Tissaia’s hand from her neck, kissed it, and let go.

Tissaia moved down, pulling out a sizeable glass shard from Yennefer’s side and Yennefer stiffened with a grimace.

“Ow!”

“There’s more…” Tissaia said and dropped the glass into the empty bowl. Yennefer's brow furrowed and her jaw clenched as Tissaia pulled out the broken bottle shards. She buried half her face into Tissaia’s lap. She could feel the glass between her skin more now than she could before. Her high was fading and she hadn’t drank enough wine to numb the pain.

The glass shards clinked against one another as Tissaia dropped the remaining pieces into the bowl.

The sharp throb in Yennefer’s side subsided and the cool cloth pressed to the wound with a soft touch. Tissaia was a better nurturer than she probably thought. Yennefer smiled knowing she was likely one of few to ever see Aretuza’s great Rectoress sitting on the floor.

“You’ve changed since we met.” Yennefer said soft.

“Oh?” Tissaia said with a bit of feigned surprise.

“When I first came here I was sure you’d have my head, or that I’d end up in a dungeon somewhere.”

Tissaia stopped her strokes on Yennefer’s side, her expression falling grim.

“I hated you for a moment, and I didn’t know why.” Yennefer softly chuckled and Tissaia picked up the dry towel.

“I think I gave you a few reasons.”

“In my eyes you were a Queen. Powerful…and beautiful beyond measure.” Yennefer sat up and touched Tissaia’s cheek. “You still are.”

Tissaia allowed a small kiss but didn’t put much into her return before she pulled away. “Let me finish.”

Yennefer laid back down and Tissaia moved Yennefer’s arm up, away from the wound she cleaned. “…All I wanted was to be perfect enough to make you proud.”

Tissaia stopped again, biting back her emotion and blinking away her watering gaze.

“And then you remade me into something I never could’ve fathomed.”

At Tissaia’s silence, Yennefer looked to the woman watching the fire with a tear rolling down her cheek. She sat up but Tissaia wiped her own tears before Yennefer could.

Tissaia pressed a hand to Yennefer’s shoulder and Yennefer laid back down, her hand wrapped around Tissaia’s thigh. The cloth pressed gently to the angry punctures at Yennefer’s side. “I didn’t choose you for no reason.”

“Why did you?”

“Your chaos called to me.” Tissaia let silence linger between her phrases. “Of course I didn’t know it was you at the time. I was simply following a trail.”  She cleaned the last bit of blood and dried the spot. "There."

Yennefer looked at the cuts in her side, which were starting to shrink. “Already getting better.” She rolled onto her knees and wrapped an arm around Tissaia. She kissed her. “Thank you.”

Tissaia touched her cheek. “You have made me proud. More than you know.”

Yennefer looked down. She didn’t know what to say, so she kissed her again, inching forward. Her hand knocked into a bowl and Tissaia pulled away.

“Careful.” She smiled into the kiss and Yennefer stopped.

She didn’t feel like being bothered with cleaning or making space. So she scooped Tissaia into her arms, stood, and walked to the bed, thankful her new form allowed her a level of strength she hadn’t had before her death.

“Yennefer.”

She heard the surprise in Tissaia’s voice and smiled. She lay Tissaia down and climbed over her.

“Since when are you able to do that?”

She ignored Tissaia's question, responding with kisses pressed to the Rectoress's neck. The tip of her tongue brushing against Tissaia’s skin. She wanted to taste her even more. She wanted to feel the rile of Tissaia’s chaos and the Rectoress’s fingers squeezing into her back like talons gripping a kill.

[copious-zygomaticus]

You sly dog, you got me monologuing! Anyways, I think I’m gonna be writing more Obey Me oneshots cause I have NASTY FREAK BRAINROT. Also because I have ideas that have to exist because they’re too good and my brain is huge. Uhh, anyways- TAKE THAT!

I’m Your Turbo Lover

Characters: Solomon x MC x Asmodeus

Reader Insert Pronouns: He/They

Dynamic: Polyamorous Romantic.

Summary: After a long day of classes, the Devildom’s most fashionable triad gets ready for date night at a fancy restaurant. Your boyfriends are not mentally prepared for the rev of your motorcycle and your hardcore getup.

Warnings: Suggestive Language, Nothing!

The moon shone brightly on metal street lamps and store signs as the sound of a twinkling voice and a cool laugh filled the air. You see, Asmodeus and Solomon were walking together under a star dotted sky to Ristorante Six for date night with the triad. Asmodeus was all dressed up in a flowing pastel pink silk dress shirt with ruffled bell sleeves and cream-colored pants trapped by a decorative vested corset in matching colors. His face was truly a vision with pearlescent shimmering eyeshadow that darkened at the edges with a peach pink eyeshadow that framed his eyeliner detailed eyes. Asmo formed quite the divine image with Solomon, who had his white hair slightly tossed atop of body clad in loose black pants that were tied at the waist over a slightly unbuttoned deep velvety purple button down shirt which complimented his usual galaxy cape. Solomon’s dark eyes were swirling with a rainbow sheen, like an oil spill from the heavens. And yet you were no where to be seen, because you had told your boyfriends that you were arriving separately due to an “incoming surprise from the human realm”. They brushed it off as casual personal business, but their nonchalant demeanor could not prepare them for what they were about to see.

The arrival of this “surprise” had been a long time coming. You see, after your time in the exchange program, you inevitably moved to take permanent residence in the Devildom with your boyfriends. Since moving, it has been quite the struggle to drag all of your belongings to hell. Especially your pride and joy, your V2 Bayliss 1st Championship 20th Anniversary Ducati Panigale motorcycle.

Despite Barbatos’ portal opening skills, getting your precious speed bike through the portal proved to be an insanely difficult task along with a hesitance caused by a fear of the portal scratching it up. But after a few months, tonight was the night that your diesel prince was finally returned to your side in the Devildom. During the wait, you were able to get your motorcycle license approved to use in the Devildom, meaning that once those wheels hit the ground, you were ready to ride. And oh how eager you were to ride again.

As the clock struck just the right hour, you donned your matte black riding helmet, flicking the silver reflective visor down over your shinning eyes. Throwing a heavy black steel-toed leg over the seat of the panigale, you felt the leather of your pants hug your thighs with an exhilarating pressure. Excitement only ramped up as you started your metallic beast, kicking the start on and letting the sweet deep rumble reverberate against the external walls of the infamous House of Lamentation. Keys jingling against your belt chains, you fit your boot under the curve of the kickstart to shift into first gear before you cranked the radio’s volume to its limit and rode into the eternal night. There was something about this two-stroke engine that made you whole and gave you life as the wind whipped across your studded leather jacket that had “Hells Bells” with a decorative upside down cross embroidered across the back.

As street lights flew past you, you breathed in the cool night air and narrowed your eyes as you crept upon your target, the infamous Ristorante Six.

Solomon’s P.O.V

“Ugghhh where’s MC?? We’re gonna be late to our reservationssss,” Asmodeus dramatically groaned next to me while he fussed with the strands of my hair that fell on my face. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but I know that he’s just scared of being left behind and that makes him a little nervous about date nights. Being worshiped for his looks certainly did something to his brain over the years, but I would never verbalize something we all knew that didn’t need to be said. I slipped his face between my hands, “they’re on their way Asmo, just wait a spell. We are not going to be late, and even if we were, there is no doubt that your charms couldn’t get us all a table dear.” His warm peach eyes darted to swipe motionlessly across my lips before pouting jokingly and looking into the night sky.

We shared a comfortable silence as Asmodeus tapped away at his D.D.D screen on Devilgram, my arms wrapped across his chest and my chin perched atop his head. The demon grumbled about messing up his hair before relenting and going about his digital business. That silence was quickly interrupted as a new sound entered the night, a distinct vehicular rumbling. I thought nothing of it until it raced closer, becoming more loud and unavoidable. I gazed out towards the street and Asmo even flicked a gaze upwards before they caught on the culprit: a quickly approaching red motorcycle.

“My my, that looks expensive,” Asmodeus chirped as he imagined an endless possibility of photo shoot, and extracurricular, opportunities for a motorcycle. I chuckled lightly, “you almost sound like Mammon.”

That certainly earned me an earful as my comment caused Asmo to scoff pointedly and rang about how he was nothing like his greedy brother. As he talked, my eyes landed on the motorcyclist who had parked across the street. They appeared to be taking off leather riding gloves, strapping them to a carabiner on a heavy layered belt chain that adorned their pants. I couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but there was something so enticing about this mystery person. After not responding for a while, Asmodeus noticed my silence and followed my gaze to the leather-clad man across the street, letting out a small gasp before he turned and grabbed my shoulders with a face of excitement.

“Solomon~ you dirty dog, we’re waiting for our boyfriend and you’re looking at other men!” Asmodeus cooed jokingly with narrowed seductive eyes. I scoffed lightly at the comment, the polyamorous nature of Asmo, MC, and myself being a well known fact across the Devildom and multiple magazine spreads.

“I know I’m partial to a bad boy, but I didn’t expect as much from you darling~” Asmodeus turned back around to face the motorcyclist that had began walking towards the restaurant before his jaw visibly dropped to let out a loud gasp.

“What? What happen-” I looked back towards the mystery man to find him shaking out his hair from his helmet. He wasn’t a mystery man at all. It was-

“MCCCC~~!!” Asmodeus kept forward into MC’s arms despite one of them being occupied by his motorcycle helmet. I literally couldn’t believe it. Well, it’s not totally off the mark considering the band t-shirts and the heavy metal music MC adored, but I had never considered this possibility… how fascinating, how enticing.

“You never told us you were a biker,” I ask as I slink towards my boyfriends.

MC scratched the side of his head, “well I kind of wanted it to be a surprise! And besides, I felt weird saying I ride without any bike as proof you know?”

There was a streak of grease on MC’s face, right below his glittering eyes. I stepped in closer and licked my thumb, teasing him for showing up to such a fancy restaurant with a dirty face, which in turn made their face warm up with a soft pink hue.

“We have plenty proof you can ride sweet thing~” Asmodeus quips back quickly, only darkening our poor boyfriend’s blush that clashed yet complimented the shine of the black leather jacket that adorned his body.

“Down boy, we’re in public,” MC says as he scoffs, doing a very poor job at hiding his embarrassment behind his rough appearance and the hair he shook to cover his face.

I then stepped behind MC, putting my hands on his shoulder blades and rubbing his spine lightly. I paused for a second and chuckled lightly, “Does that say fucking ‘Hells Bells’ on your jacket?”

“Shut up Solomon, shady bitch,” MC grumbled and put his hands over face, trapping his hair between his hands and the saturated pink of his face.

Asmodeus giggled at his boyfriends before looking at the time on his phone, “it’s time for our reservations!!” I felt a warm slender hand intertwine with my fingers as I looked up at Asmo who had grabbed my hand, finding that he slipped his other hand into MC’s. As we were pulled into the sparkling restaurant light and delicate piano moment, I looked at MC and Asmodeus, and I knew in my soul that I had found my home after all these centuries. Both of my boyfriends are so full of surprises, what a beautiful thing.

Sorry if Solomon’s a bit ooc, I suck ass at writing for Solomon, but that’s okay cause I like his mischievous wiles. Anyways this was super self indulgent if you couldn’t tell because I’m a big motorcycle guy myself, I miss flat track racing. Tell me if yall want more biker MC or alternative MC fics because I WILL be writing more of them and if yall got something in mind I would love to hear any ideas 🙏

[heliza24]

Wilhelm, The Look (™), and Endings

The recent poll on the confessions blog about the ideal end of the series (King Wilhelm vs leaving the line of succession vs the end of the monarchy) got me thinking about endings. In trying to think of what my own answer to this question was, I ended up reflecting on the way that Season 1 and 2 end, and that got me thinking about the infamous straight-to-camera Wilhelm looks that bookend each season. I’ve always loved those moments and found them crucial to the visual language of the show, but I don’t think I’ve ever really stopped to analyze why. But if I’m trying to decide how I feel about the possible endings of season 3, I should probably stop and figure out why I feel the way I do about the ending (and beginning) shots of season 1 and 2, right? So let’s take a minute and talk through these shots, and what I think they do for story structure and Wilhelm’s character.

I think the main thing those glances to camera do are establish Wilhelm as a protagonist with agency. Just for a second, he’s aware that he’s being watched, and that awareness means that he’s going to make active choices about what happens during his story. I think this makes sense when we realize that the first look to camera happens when Wilhelm is giving his first press interview. Wilhelm has always been in the public eye as a member of the royal family, But this is the first time that the attention of the press has been directed directly at him. It’s the first time that he has been asked to answer for his actions, and the first time he’s had to take responsibility for something like an adult. The camera catches him right as he makes his first decision: to follow his parents’ wishes, do the press conference, and go to Hillerska. It’s not a look of rebellion so much as it is a look of acceptance. All the growth that comes after as part of season 1 comes as a result of the awareness that starts in that moment. I think it’s significant that the gaze at the end of season 1 comes right after Wilhelm has made a very similar decision to the one he made in episode 1. Once again he has obeyed his parents, given the statement to the press that he was supposed to give, and toed the party line. It’s only in the fourth wall break that we know that something is different. We see all the rage and disappointment and heartbreak he has in that look, and we know that moving forward something is going to be different. But the season ends simply on this promise, and doesn’t let us see the payoff. Before we knew whether or not we were getting a season 2, I remember thinking that season 1 felt like a complete story (if not a happy one) but I would be mad if we never got to see all that Wilhelm was promising us come to fruition. 

I think the gazes in season 2 function in much the same way– they emphasize Wilhelm’s agency and show us how much he changes over the course of the season. At the beginning of the season Wilhelm is literally ready to burn it all down, as he stares at us in the mirror as he burns August’s photo. But the look we get at the end of episode 6 is much more calm and confident. He’s taken the rage that fueled his initial revenge quest against August and turned it into the bravery he needs to tell the truth on his own terms. This last look once again acts as a promise; Wilhelm is swearing that he will live authentically, no matter the consequences. But once again the season ends before we have a chance to see him follow through. We know that there will be a whole host of difficulties that arise from his confession, and that last look gives us the confidence that Wilhelm will rise to meet them. But we don’t see any of that, or at least we won’t until season 3. The fact that the season ends here really emphasizes that what was most important about the season was Wilhelm’s growth. The fact that he grew to a point where he could give the speech and stare down the barrel of the camera with confidence meant that the story the season was trying to tell was complete, even though we might expect a longer denouement. I know it’s common fandom knowledge that there was at least one additional shot filmed, of Simon and Wilhelm walking away together. So I think it’s significant that in the edit Lisa and Co decided to end on The Look (™) instead. I don’t want to suggest that the Wilmon relationship isn’t hugely significant to the show, its ending, or to Wilhelm. It is, and I think that’s represented when they lock eyes right before Wilhelm’s final look to camera. But there’s something about Wilhelm growing just enough to tell the truth in front of everyone that means that this chapter of the story is now closed, with no additional Wilmon scene needed.

The other thing that first glance does of course is establish us, the audience, as part of the public that is watching and judging Wilhelm. We’re in the audience for the press conference he gives at the beginning of season 1, and we’re in the stands watching him give the speech at the end of season 2. The relationship this creates between Wilhelm and the audience is really charged. Those looks create an intimacy which makes us care about Wilhelm as a character. But they also implicate us as part of the reason why Wilhelm is always being observed. We’re part of the oppressive force Wilhelm has to deny in order to live truthfully and claim his agency.  When Wilhelm looks into the camera he’s defying *us*. He’s daring us to stop him from getting revenge on August, or disobeying his mom, or telling the truth about the video. We’re brought in as co-conspirators in the same moment that we’re sized up as an enemy. 

Circling back to thinking about season 3, I think it’s a fair guess to assume that the season will begin and end with The Looks (™). I also expect that the last moments of season 3 won’t tie up every single loose end, much like the end of season 2 didn’t address the fallout from Wilhelm’s speech. I expect that last look to feel like a promise, like Wilhelm saying “I’ve got it from here.” 

In general I’m not huge on making super specific predictions. But if I were to guess how season 3 will end, I would predict that any questions about the larger fate of the monarchy will not be answered fully by the show, and will instead be covered by The Look (™). I think this holds true whether or not Wilhelm decides to remain in the line of succession, but that his character arc will feel most complete if he makes the decision to leave.  

If Wilhelm does make the decision to leave the line of succession and this does have national implications, I don’t imagine that we’ll see them fully play out. Wilhelm growing enough to leave will mean that the story that Young Royals is telling is complete. After a lot of consideration, I think this is my desired outcome for the show and my best shot at predicting the general shape of the season 3 finale. I want Wilhelm to grow enough to leave (with Simon) and I want the show to end with us confident that he’ll be able to handle the consequences of that decision, even if we don’t see them all play out.

[cryptidcorners]

Wilderness — Mike Schmidt x GN!Reader

Description: Mike had only took this job for a few reasons: To watch his sister in some cheap, rural camp in the middle of nowhere and to repay the dollars he spent; even if the money was low.

You were acquainted as a partnering counselor, much to your dismay — he didn't take his job seriously unless his sister was involved and you questioned his methods of responsibility; until you both get lost and he brings himself to help you despite everything.

# No Request

# A.N: finally completed this wooo!! enjoy

Media: FNaF [Movie]

Character: Mike Schmidt

Tags: Counselors, Headcanons/Imagines Mixed In, Grumpy Mike, Fluff, Cute Stuff, Bantering/Flirting, Comfort, Friends/Slight Rivals to ? ? ?, Slight Romantic Implications [ Reader is a little Love Sick] , Slow Burn (?) + Reader is GN! Warnings: Slight Blood/Injury

TOS. Mike Schmidt Masterlist

⫸ Mike had only gotten this job because his little sister would be in the same camp. He had struggled to scrape up enough money to get a decent place to spend her vacation and he didn't trust her being alone in the middle of nowhere. Additionally, he also needed work to pay back his spendings.

⫸ He wasn't even that experienced, especially with kids; which was why he was paired with you who had spent about three summers in this dump of a camp.

⫸ As dull as Mike was, he wasn't too shabby in teaching or guiding some of the campers. Sure, he picked favorites (his sister) but he wasn't the worst counselor you had seen. Mike just wanted to get this over with and you could understand that — it was unbearable once you stayed long enough.

⫸ He was stubborn though. Mike was introverted, yes, but he was also really snarky and a little disrespectful at times. You knew he didn't mean anything cruel, he was just blunt; but you couldn't handle it. Just because he was your co-worker didn't stop you two from being frenemies.

Pink sun spots slowly rustled across the grass as the wind whistled through the branches. The clouds were red with the dying sun, slowly falling behind the light horizon; the sky rich with a kaleidoscopic display of luminous colors and gentle breezes.

You would have been enjoying the simplicity of a sunset if Mike hadn't fumbled with the map tightly gripped between his hands and throwing you both off track.

Of course, he had assured he knew the way back but you had been walking in circles for ages. You stopped walking, legs already growing sore. "Look, your trail obviously isn't working." Your arms fell to your sides, your eyes fell to a jagged stone. ". . . And I've seen that rock at least two times."

Mike whipped his head towards your landmark and blinked. "No, that's not—" his face flushed at the realization that maybe, just maybe, he had seen the rock too. Still, he stammered "It's a completely different rock," and waved the page around, trying to make a point. "Don't bullshit." You protested.

You walked over and snatched the map from his hands. Mike didn't pull up much of a fight, only mumbling and releasing a weak: "Fine." Mike didn't like feeling stupid, but he wanted to get back to camp and forget this whole day happened.

You matched forward with a slightly commanding: "This way," which he reluctantly obeyed. For the whole walk, Mike was silently poking his eyes on a stained piece of paper; anytime he was fixated on something, he did it — no time for chit chat or breaks. You ignited some conversation, "Why'd you come to a camp if you hate it so much?"

You were surprised that he answered. "My sister was begging me to go. So I spent months saving, but this was the only affordable camp I could get." He sighed, "I didn't trust her being in the forest with strangers."

You were fond of his compassion, "That's nice of you."

"Yeah, but it's still torture. My body feels like it's on fire. How do you handle this?" He swatted the air, trying to fend off a consistent buzzing. "I'm never doing this again that's for sure."

"Money is a pretty big motive. Also I like nature in general, it's better than something boring." You pulled through a bush that snagged your skin, you grunted as you kicked away from the thorns. "Shit, anyway. Yeah, it's a pain but it's fun too."

"We're night and day." He humored lightly, then his eyes flickered rapidly. Gritting through his teeth, Mike grabbed your shoulder. "Dude, your leg."

"What? Oh — Oh, God." Scarlet dripped down leg, pouring from an open cut. It must have been from the bush. "It's fine."

"What? It can get infected, we're almost at camp aren't we?" You didn't understand why he was so concerned, you two were barely friends. It was just a cut, nothing you hadn't suffered from before. He continued, "I can patch you up if you want."

"It's nothing, Like." You assured. Though, it was starting to hurt but you didn't need any help.

Mike awkwardly extended his hand, "You helped us back, it's the least I could do." he frowned at your silence. "At least let me help you walk back, I don't want to see you limp the whole time."

Reluctantly, you let him. Walking on a cut like that wouldn't end up well and besides you found it oddly endearing how soft he was. His face flushed, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Had you been staring at him? "Sorry." You could hear him giggle, "It's fine."

There was something boyish about him and you wondered if he was the same man you had met the first week.

Entering the infirmary, he set you down. You didn't argue with letting him help, wrapping a cut wouldn't be the end of the world and he looked like he knew what he was doing. You pursed your lips lightly, "Thanks for the help by the way."

The sting of alcohol rubbing against the blood oozed a veil of light pain through your body. Then his hands grew busy wrapping your leg, "It's nothing. Besides, you helped us get back. I know I'm stubborn sometimes and everything, so I'm sorry for being a bit of a dick."

You tilted your head, "Looks like you had a change of heart." he scratched the back of his neck. You trailed on, "I kinda like seeing this side of you, I mean, I didn't expect you to be . . . Well, nice."

Mike dropped his head, eyes cupped with guilt. "I'm just not good with meeting new people."

"That's fair." You leaned back, muscles relaxing. You studied the rural interior of the infirmary, checkered with aging wood and relics starting to rot with age. Cobwebs edged the corners and you could inhale enough dust to send you into a coughing fit, not the best place to get patched in that's for sure.

Your eyes flickered to his longing gaze, "Something wrong?"

"No, sorry. I got lost in my thoughts," he declared. "Can you stand?"

You slid off the stool and applied pressure which prompted you to stumble. Luckily you caught and dug into his arm. "Still hurts a little bit."

"We can wait here." He suggested shyly. "I mean, I can go."

You folded your arms. "No, I want you to stay."

"Really?"

"You seem fun."

He fumbled with his hands before chuckling lightly, you could get used to this sunny side of him.

[barbatosgossipsection]

this isnt even exclusive to obey me, since practically every fandom has issues like this. but i really wish that people would educate themselves at least a little bit about general fandom etiquette, and this includes how we interact with the official material. i see lots of people breaking solmares tos by doing things like datamining the game to leak unreleased cards early, datamining raw images from the games so they can make edits of the official art and repost them, etc. this kind of stuff directly breaks solmares rules in the tos that you agree to when you download the game. this can get your account banned and no one wants that! and on a less official level, i am begging people to stop stealing artists work and uploading their fanart w/o source or credit to places like tiktok. that app is FULL of obey me videos using stolen fanart without the artists knowledge or permission, without credit. cut that shit out! do people really not understand art theft any more? and this one might be controversial, but for the love of god please stop using those character ai chatbots. everyone is all anti-ai until its stealing from writers instead of artists, i guess? like if we know that chatgpt is bad how come no one can stop using character ai? this is the kind of stuff that poisons fandoms and slowly kills it off

— Anon

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Can i pretty please with a cherry on top have more hero x subby villain? And please make it as smutty as you can as i want to feel something in this sad sad life :)

hggg s-s-smut

“Fucking Christ — be a bit gentler, would you?”

The hero grinned mercilessly with the hint of a sadistic nature. The villain couldn’t quite tell if they really meant it since the hero tip-toed that line on a regular basis. It made the villain doubt their own abilities at times, made them believe they were nothing but a toy the hero liked to toss around.

It was the truth. Inevitably.

Today, the hero had decided to go for a slow pace. A cruel pace that was driving the villain insane, making them dig their nails into the hero and bite their lip so hard they thought they’d break skin.

Grabbing the hero’s hips, forcing them to move faster didn’t lead anywhere, though. Quite the contrary, it made the hero take their time even more.

“You weren’t really gentle with me today either,” the hero said. They had the audacity to slow their movements even more, making the villain curse quietly. Chasing their own pleasure was impossible when the hero was teasing them like this.

“We’re enemies. Had to make it believable—”

“Didn’t have to spit in my face.” The villain blushed, eyes popping open as they recalled the scene. It had been such a stupid idea but at the moment, they’d thought it to be fun. The cameras had certainly loved it.

“Didn’t have to be so evil,” they snapped. Suddenly, the hero stopped their pace all at once and every little building heat the villain had felt in their stomach vanished. Angry and possessive, the villain responded with an arching back, trying to get that pleasant feeling back into their guts.

“Open your mouth,” the hero commanded. For a moment, time froze. The villain’s heartbeat was in their throat, pulsing so loud they feared the hero could hear it.

Knowing that the hero was impatient, the villain obeyed but it was apparently not even remotely satisfactory to their enemy. They grabbed the villain’s jaw and forced their mouth to open wider with their fingers. As they sucked the saliva onto their tongue, they leaned over them, bottom lips touching. The hero let it drop into the villain’s mouth, watching with ecstatic excitement how the villain’s blush spread over their entire body.

Holy fuck.

It was messy. Making the villain have all sorts of reactions. The hero kissed them gently and their tongue pressed against their bottom lip, teasingly mean and the villain felt something beyond lust. It made them obedient and weak, ready to drop to their knees and serve the hero however they wanted.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” the hero whispered and the villain swallowed, embarrassed. “Don’t embarrass me like that ever again.”

“Christ, you’re insane,” the villain said. A breathless laugh escaped their mouth and it was more than difficult to look into the hero’s eyes.

“And you get off to that, don’t you?”

Once again, the villain’s eyes widened.

“I hate you,” they hissed and they meant it. They hated the hero. Hated their stupid smile, their flirty voice, what they looked like in the moonlight, how they hummed when they were nervous, how they chewed on their lips whenever they were at the end of their rope. They hated them with every last cell in their body.

“And still, you keep crawling back for more.”

The hero continued their slow tempo and the villain couldn’t decide whether they loved or truly hated that.

[danieyells]

hello! would you mind if i send you a message to ask a few things about how to get some lines from the affinity lines? I'm really curious, but I'm only able to extract png and audio files from the game sadly</3

if not, it's completely alright! I'm sorry for asking such a weird question;-;

It's fine, not weird at all! I'm not exactly fast at sharing them, so i'm sure people would rather be able to do it themselves when possible lolol

You will need:

The ability to transfer folders from your phone to your computer(i.e., you're gonna need a computer and a cord that'll go from your computer to your phone)

AssetStudioGUI on your computer

Follow the following steps(they are messy because I am not at home to make them more detailed):

Download and install AssetStudio!

Plug your phone into your computer!

Navigate to the Tokyo Debunker game files in your phone using your computer!

Copy them over! Pretty sure you just need the unitycache files, but for simplicity because I'm not at home to check if you need everything, just grab the whole folder and copy it.

Open AssetStudio!

There's "preferences" or "options" or "debug" or something. . .somewhere in the menus there'll be the ability to turn off error messages or something like that. Make sure it's checked because it'll yell at you a bit if not.

aso under options should be the ability to group exported files. Group them by container path otherwise if you export all of the files you'll have to dig for them.

Open the copied over folder in AssetStudio!

Go play a video game or have dinner or something. This will take a while.

Once it's done you'll have a bunch of stuff in the second tab whose name i forgot. That's anything the game stored in the cache!

You can filter to "TextAsset" and "MonoBehavior" to have a slightly smaller field of text stuff.

Most of this stuff is just files that make the game work and make the sprites move how they want them to. You're gonna have to dig to find the text files you're looking for. They'll be named things like "CharaSto_en" and "HakoChat_en" and "HomeScreen_en" or something like that. Replace "en" with your language code if you're exporting in a non-english game(i.e. if you play in Italian it'll probably be "HakoChat_it") I am not at my laptop to confirm the filenames at the moment.

You can export the files once you find what you want. You can also export all of them and sift through them at your leisure, although I find that AssetStudio is better for sifting through things.

If you exported everything filtered, once again, go get a snack or play a game or something because this'll take a while. In my experience if you try and export everything without a filter it'll crash, so keep an eye on it.

Good luck! Have fun! This may or may not be against TD's ToS, so, y'know, maybe don't be as open about what you're doing as i am kekw i remember when we were datamining Obey Me stuff people's accounts were getting sniped for being part of datamining groups for a while so. Keep quieter than me! 👍🏾

[formulaborb]

7 for gewis

Vague descriptions of a crash below the cut

George was acting strange.

The way the younger driver tip-toed around Lewis and hovered in a way that was less supportive and more concerning would've been enough to bother him, but the worst part was the way George kept staring at him as if he was a ghost.

By the second week, Lewis had had enough and all but dragged George to his motorhome one day after a race, slamming the door and cornering his teammate in the living room.

"Okay, George, you need to stop."

George blinked. "Stop... what?"

Lewis sighed, rolling his eyes. "You need to stop acting like I'm made of glass! You keep... you keep acting like I'm going to disappear at any moment!"

Frowning, George shifted uncomfortably, wringing his hands together. "Is it really that bad?"

"Yes. Even Toto's noticed it." Lewis replied, and George winced, looking down.

"Okay, yeah, that's pretty bad. It's just..." George worried at his lower lip before speaking again. "It's just how can I just forget what happened? I almost lost you."

Lewis' gaze softened and he let out a soft sigh, walking a few steps forward and cupping George's face.

"Can you look at me?" He asked gently. George obeyed after a moment, looking at Lewis with glassy eyes.

"You didn't lose me, George. I'm still here. I'm okay." Lewis reassured him. He wanted to tell George that it wasn't that big of a deal, that the crash wasn't even that bad, but he'd long realised that his idea of 'not that bad' and George's idea of 'not that bad' were two very different ideas.

"But you weren't. You didn't... your car was in pieces, Lewis. You couldn't even respond to any questions and you had to be carried out and-"

"George!" Lewis interrupted, holding George's face in both of his hands, stopping him from spiraling.

"This is the sport, George. I know you know the risks that come with it. Hovering around me and acting like I'm already dead isn't going to do anything but stress everybody out." Lewis said softly after a moment.

George sighed, tears running down his face. After a long bit of silence he spoke softly. "They wouldn't even let me go to your car. To you."

Lewis made a soft, sympathetic noise and leaned up to kiss him gently. "But you're here now, and that's what matters, yeah?"

George looked at him and swallowed. "I... yeah, I suppose."

Giving a little smile, Lewis continued. "It's okay, George. I'm okay, and we're going to be okay. Just, be with me, alright? I'm not going anywhere any time soon. I promise."

Finally, George gave Lewis a watery smile and nodded.

[veritable-trash]

May Our Flowers Always Bloom

guess who spent wayyyy too much time on canva making this(it's me)

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Character(unnamed, 3rd person, minimal descriptors)also this is a fantasy AU where oberyn is a forest prince, canon be damned

Summary: He could still remember the first time he saw her enter his grove. Not many dared to venture so far into the wood but she had seemed so at ease. Feet bare to the moss and dirt, flowers delicately woven in her hair, a song he’d never heard gracing her lips. 

He’d been stunned.

Word Count: 3.3K

Rating: T - no smut, though maybe there will be??? who knows, but also parental death, and at this point i think that's it. let me know if i missed something! my whole blog is 18+ anyways so kiddos SCRAM

A/N: hahahaha holy shit. it's been actually an age since i've written anything at all and then today i said fuck it we write and then i wrote this. this is a little fantasy au with my lover oberyn who i've wanted to write for AGES. canon is not really relevant here other than like general personality and such. i might write a part two, maybe make this a series, but every time i say that i never finish or write it so i'm just gonna leave this here for now and see what happens. more rambles, notes thoughts at the end but i hope you enjoy!!!! also minimally edited basically just skimmed so apologies for any mess :) <33333

masterlist woot woot

~~~~~

She had grown up at the edge of the great woods. 

A bit further from the village than maybe strictly necessary but her parents had always been a little off, at least by the town folks standards. 

They had always turned to the earth, turned to the plants to heal and guide them and she had grown with her toes wiggled into the soft dirt, hands clutching at wildflowers and weeds. She knew nothing else. Hated the noise and the chaos of the town. How people stared and whispered about the wild family out in the woods.

She never felt like she was wild. Almost felt as if the townsfolk themselves were the wild ones. But she toed the line between the “real” world and the world of her creation.

The magical realm of the woods.

Her parents had of course warned her of respecting the forest. That though they tried to live as one with all that the earth provided, there were dangers that lurked among the gnarled roots and towering pines. She must tread carefully and never, ever after dark. 

And she obeyed, but only just. Curled up against the base of the trees, writing or sewing or singing or musing, until the sun barely grazed the top most points of those towering giants high above her and the forest began to melt into darkness and secrets.

Those were her favorite moments, eyes adjusting to the low light, fireflies dancing between the trunks and leaves, the calm silence filtering its way signaling the time for rest, and for some reason she could never explain she never felt danger. Even when she would reappear from the woods, darkness having fully settled and her parents scolding her for staying out so long, she somehow knew nothing would harm her among those woods. 

She was somehow interwoven with the roots and moss and flowers and leaves. 

~~~~~

He could still remember the first time he saw her enter his grove. Not many dared to venture so far into the wood but she had seemed so at ease. Feet bare to the moss and dirt, flowers delicately woven in her hair, a song he’d never heard gracing her lips. 

He’d been stunned.

Oberyn had only just been allowed to venture in the human realm. He was still a child to his mother, the wild unruly one who could not be trusted to keep the secrets of Dorne to himself. To understand that the human realm could not know, never know, about the forest kingdom. 

For even though Oberyn could see her in the brightest light of day, she could not see him. He could only appear as one of those verdant things that always seemed to attract her attention. Only upon his knighthood could he enter the human world. 

And so he watched her. 

Sat with her in those mystic groves. Grew her beautiful flowers to pick and adorn her hair. Whispered to the lightening bugs to guide her home when she stayed till twilight. Followed her through the forest until the very edge, keeping her safe, clearing her way, making sure nothing harmed her on her return home. 

They were both so young when they stumbled upon each other in that wood, knowingly and unknowingly, and he grew to cherish those moments. He had always felt a bit different from his family. Lonely and misunderstood, and for some reason around her he felt whole. A calmness settling over his ever twitching hands that he was constantly scolded for. 

He knew he was young, infatuation fickle and deceiving, and yet he could not lie to himself that his heart somehow felt tethered to her. Even the silent companionship of reading right next to her filled the gapes between his ribs with warmth. 

He would sometimes read over her shoulder at the pages of the newest novel she was devouring, aching to know more about the world she came from. Aching to know more about this girl that haunted all of his dreams. 

If his family noticed a shift in his habits, they paid no mind, ever the youngest child, left to his own devices, but he yearned for his knighthood. Ached to be known to her somehow, for it was torture only being able to ghost soft gentle breezes across her skin. Watch her skin prickle, and the most content sigh to fall from her lips. 

He could go mad with this want. 

~~~~~

Her parents passed soon after her 18th birthday.

It had been sudden and destructive. A trip to the market for more supplies cut short by an overturned cart and poor poor timing. The village had helped her but even with such grief and suffering regarded her with distrust. 

The wild girl loosing her wild parents, it truly is no surprise. Who knows what they get up to in that little shack by the woods. Witchcraft probably. Yes, yes most likely so. 

And when the whispers and worry and pain all became too much, the wood was still always there. The first few months after her parents passing she would run there. Tripping over roots as tears overflowed in her eyes, not sparing those flowers even a second glance as she collapsed in the middle of the grove, sun filtering around her but her body feeling nothing. 

She’d dig her nails in the moss, tearing at it as she wailed to no one and nothing, aching for something to ease the pain of a loose she still did not know how to process. Would lay there, unmoving for hours on end until the numbness finally took over and she was able to walk home, unfeeling and disjointed, reality but a film over her eyes. And even in those most dire moments the wood somehow always guided her home as though the trees opened themselves up to create a path.

Her work continued, mothers came for tonics for crying babes, elders came for salves for their aching limbs, and she continued to bear the mantle her parents had trained her for all these years. She had to make coin somehow and the work steadied her. Reminded her of her mothers calming cadence listing off ingredients, her father teaching her of proper techniques for harvesting.

She grew many years in the span of only a few months, but she had to hardened. Had to strengthen her spine and learn to be sure in herself even when it felt like all her threads were fraying. 

The woods were all that saved her in those trying moments.

It was somehow always warm and soothing, wild flowers littering her path as she traveled aimlessly to cleanse her mind. Picking them one by one to build the most beautiful bouquet that would grace her work table in the cottage. It was a ritual for her at this point in her life, always returning to that sacred groove that somehow gave her the greatest peace she’d ever known. Where worries seemed to melt into the soil beneath her feet and lighten the load on her shoulders just a touch. Always a gentle breeze to remind her of the wonders of the wood. The calm that could be found there. 

Her strides back home were always a touch more assured, a touch lighter, and she somehow knew it was all going to be alright somewhere in the end. And every time she’d step out of the wood, she would always turn around and whisper,

Thank you.

~~~~~

You’re welcome flower. 

He was taller than her now, able to look down into her eyes when she whispered those simple two words that set his heart racing. Sometimes it even seemed like she was looking right at him, eyes somehow connecting even between the realms, though he knew it was not true. 

He’d been at a loss when she’d first stumbled into their grove, tears staining her cheeks. He could not understand what plagued her. Was it heartbreak? Had she loved another? Had they hurt her so? 

It had sent him into a rage he’d never felt before. The jealousy, the want, no the need to hurt whoever had hurt his flower overwhelmed him till he could barely see straight. 

His hands had ghosted over her hunched spine, he’d whispered his sorrow for her suffering and it only drove him crazier.

The knowledge that she felt none of it. Wasn’t able to hear a single word. 

He grew her flowers, sent her breezes, shifted the very earth of the groove to cradle her in the plushest of moss and yet her eyes seemed to register none of it. 

They were hollow and vacant, the pain seeming to have sucked every twinkle that had made his heart skip.

But he never stopped trying.

He couldn’t stop. His flower, as he’d started calling her, was suffering a pain he could not understand but he could try and fix. 

Though he was still but a boy, he wanted to be a man for her. 

He grew brighter blooms, lined a path for her to walk to and from the groove, sent breezes filled with orange blossom and spiced earth to ease her heart, used his powers, though still weak, in every way he knew how, and slowly he saw his flower blooming once again.

The first time she’d picked a flower after that never ending winter of pain, he almost shed a tear. Her eyes had sparkled just slightly and she’d tucked it behind her ear, the softest hum of content gracing his ears. 

He felt as though he had slain the greatest beast that ever lived. 

~~~~~

It had been two years almost to the day after her parents passing that the forest had shifted.

She didn’t know how to explain it but the air between the trees no longer smelled of orange blossoms and cinnamon. 

It just smelled like the dirt and decaying leaves and dampness that came with the forest. 

There were no flowers lining the way to that ever calming clearing like she had grown so accustomed to. No soft breeze pushing her along. 

She couldn’t understand it, and even more perplexing was the single most beautiful flower that she found growing in the center of groove.

A lone sprig of forget-me-nots trembling in a breeze that only held the faintest notes of that orange blossom that she had known for the past two years. 

Something in her heart stirred, body growing both cold and hot all at once, unsure of how to understand what this shift, this change all meant. 

It felt almost blasphemous to pick the flower, and yet she couldn’t leave it all alone in this place that no longer felt like a home to her. So she delicately clipped it at its base and turned around and walk back to the cottage. 

The journey took longer than usual, no guiding flowers or friendly lighting bugs to guide her, and her heart sank further as though she had lost something great once again. 

She gently pressed the flower between the pages of her most treasured journal clutching it to her chest as she watched the forest, as if waiting for something to emerge, the sparkle to return, for the forest to feel like hers again.

But as the sun sank behind the treetops and the sky shifted into the darkness, the forest did not call to her. 

It was the first time in a very, very long time that she truly felt alone.

~~~~~

Oberyn had both not wanted to leave and ached eternally to start his quests. He knew what it meant to turn 20. To reach the age where knighthood must be found in a man, for he had longed for this day all his life.

But watching the confusion and pain on her face as she left the forest that day felt like a knife in his gut. A weeping wound that he did not know he would survive. 

He had been foolish to leave the flower, he knew that. Risky and impulsive and dangerous to say the least but he could not leave her without somehow saying goodbye. Without somehow showing her that he would come back, that he could never stay away from her for too long, but he could not foretell how long his quests would be. No way of knowing where he would go, who he would meet, the man he would become in the distant realms.

There was war out there, struggle and strife, and he knew his family expected greatness from him. When Doran, his older brother, had returned from his journeys, he came back with prestige and honor, but he had also come back with an illness that it seemed no one could heal.

What if Oberyn was left like his brother after his journeys? How many years would he be gone? What if he could not return to his flower? What if she left the forests edge to never be found again?

He could barely sleep the days leading up to his departure, and those final moments with her in the groove brought him to his knees. 

He knew he was young, knew that loves came and went and that there would maybe be others for him to love, but something about her called to him in ways he had never understood. And yet if he wished to truly be with her, to brush the delicate skin of her cheeks, to hear her say his name, to feel the warmth of her skin against his, he had to go. He had to toil and suffer and fight and return back to this place and finally reveal himself to her as he has always wished to.

That was the only way. 

And so a flower he left. A memento of their many years together that she knew nothing about but maybe someday would learn of when the time was right. 

~~~~~

She didn’t exactly avoid the forest after that strange day, but she didn’t tempt the fates so to speak.

There was a change in the energy of the forest, a boundary of sorts she had never felt, cutting her off from something. She no longer stayed into the twilight hours, returning earlier and earlier from her scavenging and harvesting, and even stranger was she hadn’t been able to find her groove. 

It was as though it had disappeared completely, a figment of her imagination. The trees looked the same, the path well worn by her own two feet and yet she could never seem to reach it. It always seemed just around the next bend and it made her brain wobble. 

Her reality was somehow shifting and changing, as though those years after her parents passing had been just a daydream. But now she knew how to survive loss. Knew how to put her head down, focus on her work, her garden, the townspeople, her home. One day in town on an errand she had stumbled upon a scruffy little kitten, skittish and hungry, and had wrapped him up in her arms and brought him home. 

Viper and her were inseparable from that day forth. 

And though every so often she would stare at the forests edge, a wistful sigh escaping her lips, there was a life to be lived. Her life. A life that she had been neglecting for too long and had been too afraid to start.   

Life became a bit easier after that. The realization of wanting a future that made her proud, that would have made her parents proud, focusing her and giving her new purpose. She was no longer that wild girl of her youth, but a woman of healing to those in need. The valley she lived in wasn’t extremely large, but there were enough children with runny noses and achy joints to keep her busy and fulfilled. 

The days, months, even years began to pass in calm waves, time lapping at the shores of her life, peace finding its way back in her heart, her soul.

Though every once in awhile loneliness would come again. A chill in her spine reminding her of all that she had lost, all that she could never have, and the only balm in those moments was pressed between the pages of that old weathered journal. Even years later there still remained a trace of that orange blossom spice between those pages and somehow the blue of the flower remained true. 

She sometimes would worry that one day she would open the journal and the flower would be gone, all traces of those memories erased as if they never existed, but that day never came.

~~~~~

His quest seemed never-ending. The distances he traveled unfathomable even to his understanding. 

It felt like there was no land he had not traversed as he fought and learned and matured. 

A lanky boy no longer but a man, roughened, shaped, cut, molded, and broken apart only to be thrown back together again.

He thought of his flower more often than he cared to admit.

~~~~~

It was the 10 year anniversary of her parents passing. 

A lifetime so it seemed and yet the ache still lingered fresh every year on the day. 

She knew it always would and now after so much time it was more comforting than painful, knowing that she would always hold them close in her heart. The pain now a symbol of love not suffering. 

That morning had felt strangely fresh, the air lighter around her as the sun rose above the mountains, an unidentifiable familiarity weaving through the breeze. 

She entered the forest as she always did, though there was no plan for this walk. No need to scavenge, no pressure to look for fresh herbs. This walk was to mourn, to honor her parents and the memories she held of them in this sacred place. 

Weaving between the trees, it somehow felt new to her, like the light had shifted once again, coloring the path before her in the richest of greens. She closed her eyes for just a moment and could almost hear her mothers laugh echo between the branches and leaves above her. A lone tear trickling down her cheek as she couldn’t help but smile at the thought. 

As she aimlessly moved through the forest, she got lost in her own mind. The memories of so many moments flashing before her as she pondered all that she had lived through. A life so full and yet, today, as it happened every year, she felt lonely. No longer achingly so, but still, there was a life she still desired that had never presented itself to her. 

A love like her parents had.

She was no nun by any means, but no one had ever grasped her attention the way she had always dreamed. Maybe she was fickle, cold and reserved, but her heart had suffered much and for some reason no one had ever felt right. 

Her mind continued to weave through her memories, the forest thickening around her as she traveled deeper and deeper into the green. It had been a long time since she had gone this far, but today it felt ok to keep going. As though a solid hand lay at the base of her spine guiding her gently along. 

All of a sudden the tree line broke, that ancient grove appearing before her once more as though it had been waiting for her arrival. 

Her breath stalled in her chest as memories came flooding back faster and faster. The tears, the flowers, the pain, the joy, the tranquility, the confusion, the comfort, the love. 

She collapsed to the soft mossy floor, the feelings bringing back the strongest deja vu, burying her head in her hands as tears blurred her vision. It felt like some kind of dream, some inexplicable moment of fiction. 

Then the breeze kicked up and she smelled it.

Orange blossoms and cinnamon.

And as she opened her eyes, tears tracking down her cheeks, she saw him. 

A man too beautiful to be real crouching before her, a look of devastating devotion etched in his golden irises.

“Hello my flower.”

~~~~~

whoop whoop of course i left it on a cliffhanger come on now it's the best way to do it :))))))) anyways lifes been kinda crazy and so writing has just been not a priority but i had a lot of fun writing this. i definitely don't like writing dialogue hence ending at this point because there haven't been any interactions between these two BUT i missed this and want to push myself to write again and maybe this is the perfect way to do it. so maybe they will interact soonish who really knows <3 reblogs comments are like super duper appreciated and loved so if you liked it or have thoughts or generally just wanna ramble about how hot this man is come hit my line! anyways hugs kisses the whole gambut of affection and maybe i'll be writing to ya soon <333333333