#only in sounds that resemble an animal going feral

[itlswhatltls]

OHHHHH ARMS

[sierrrraaawwwwwcgtcvh]

A carmilla x female reader who was always in love with animals on earth but she doesn’t get to see them anymore now that she’s in hell and she’s just saddened about it? If that’s okay of course!👍

You laid in bed with the blankets draped over you. With a huff you rolled around the bed, trapping yourself and making a cocoon.

You were very upset. You really missed seeing the animals back on Earth and feeling their oh, so fluffy fur. The animals in Hell had no fur. Absolutely none. The only thing that resembled animals down here and had fur were actual people. You very much preferred animals and not people that would get off to your touch.

You sighed with a frown as you wished the animals down here had fur. Why didn't they?

You heard someone open the door and walk in as you tried to stretch your arms out but quickly realized you couldn't and you were trapped. You groaned as you felt the bed dip. 

"Mi corazón, what's got you so down?" The voice you quickly recognized as Carmilla's soothed you.

You began wiggling to look at her and huffed as you barely moved. 

She simply chuckled at your antics as you felt her grab you and pull you close.

"I miss the animals back on Earth." You frowned as she placed your head in her lap.

"Awe, I'm sorry." She ran one of her hands through your hair as you smiled sadly.

"It's okay, it's not your fault." 

"Perhaps we can take a look at some of the paintings people have made of them? It's not the same as the real thing.. but, I don't want you to stay trapped in this little cocoon of yours." She laughed as you tried to get out of the cocoon.

"That sounds good to me. Thank you, Carmilla." You leaned into her hand that was still running through your hair.

"You're welcome, mi amor."

The two of you stayed in bed for a little while until you decided you had just about enough of the cocoon.

Carmilla helped you out of the blankets you had wrapped yourself in on accident.

“I still don’t understand how I managed to make a cocoon out of blankets..” you grumbled as you stretched, your limbs were aching from being in the same position for so long.

“I think it was rather adorable. I wasn’t expecting for you to be trapped inside of blankets when I walked inside of the room.” Carmilla chucked as she watched you stretch.

“Oh! I should get ready.” You mumbled as you headed over to your nightstand and grabbed your hairbrush, brushing out your messy hair.

“We can go in an hour perhaps? Just let me know if you need more time. I’ll be in my office cariño.” 

You nodded, “Okay! I’ll come to your office when I’m ready.”

“I love you.” She said as you turned around to look at her. 

“I love you too.” You smiled as she walked out of the room.

—

i’m going feral over how much I loved this. I MIGHTT make a part two of this depending on how many requests I currently have. But if I do end up making one I’ll talk about it :D OH also if you don’t like this lmk I’ll change it up for you! andd I hope you don’t mind it being romantic. If you want it to be platonic just message me and I’ll redo this :)

Word count: 471

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Daryl was out on a hunt,

He had been tracking a deer for most of the day as a trail of large canine prints caught his attention. They seemed to also follow the deer's tracks so he begged the animal hadn't gotten to his prey yet.

Following the sets of tracks he eventually finds the source chowing down on his deer.

'Fuck' he thought as he lined up his crossbow and held the animal inhis sight, shooting and hitting it in the leg.

It let out a howl as it looked around in panic, fear clear it its eyes as Daryl stalked closer.

Upon closer inspection this animal wasn't something he had seen before. Certainly canine, but in no way or shape a feral wolf. Its fur resembled that of a golden retriever and german shepard mix but the way its body was shaped was just off. As well as the cloth around its leg. It looked like one of those retro puffy hair ties.

He raised his crossbow again and the animal ducked away but never tried to run. As he didn't shoot its arm lowered away from its head to look at the attacker.

Why did this thing's reactions feel so ..human? And why was he being stupid and letting go of his crossbow?

He kneeled at its legs and reached for the arrow, making the animal pull back and whine out in pain.

"Lemme get tha' out, yeah? Imma let ya go." He tried again, with more success this time as he grabbed the arrow with one hand and held the flesh around the wound with the other and yanked it out, muttering sorries the whole time.

The wound seemed to disappear beneath his fingers before the animal moved its leg and hopping up and running off into the overgrown woods.

Daryl took another look at the deer, took his knife and salvaged whatever he could to take back home.

On his next run he managed to track a family of boars that, albeit a bit bloody, ended up dead right after their tracks turned around a group of large rocks. He scanned the area bit found nothing but the freshly killed animals for him to take home.

Yet another run after that one was cut short when a deer with its neck snapped was sssmingly left for him near his home.

This time he decided against his sceduled run and would sit it out at the edge of the woods, wondering if the one leaving the food for him would make an appearance. And yes it did, but as soon as it spotted him it dropped the smaller game from its mouth and ran off too fast to catch. But at least he had some meat again.

So one day before his next run was supposed to be he headed into the woods again. Straying far off the path and almost getting attacked by the animal he saved. It caught him off guard and managed to knock him on his ass before hiding away again. But he wasn't gonna give up and went on, camping out during the night and continuing the next day only to stumble on a hollowed out part in a large rock wall.

There were remnants of mostly eaten wildlife and fish too, but also what looked like ashes from a campfire at the edge of the hollow.

Taking his two knives in hand he slowly moved forward to take a look, only to be grabbed by something and shoved forward to stumble over his own feet. He turned to see what shoved him and found a woman standing over him. Dressed in a wrapped skirt, torn old sweater and a deer pelt draped over her shoulders.

The woman growled at him as he held up his a knife. A huff left her lips as she turned around and walked off to grab a fish off the fire and toss it at him. He managed to catch it only to let go not a second later. "Ah, hot. Damn." He shook his hand and licked at his scorched fingers which had the woman let out a laugh that barely sounded human.

"Yer the one tha's been huntin' mah food." It wasn't even a question as her eyes were the same ones he had looked into when he helped the wounded animal that first day.

"Ya talk?" He watched as she opened her mouth but only produce a garbled noise, not being able to find her voice.

"So ya live here." A nod confirmed his question. "And yer a ..skinwalker?" He had no idea what he was asking but he had heard that word somewhere one day. But he was wrong as she shook her head.

She crouched down and swiped at the floor to make a patch of clear sand, putting her finger out and writing. 'Wolf'

"Yer a shapeshifter?" A thinking expression with a sideways nod, giving him an okay for that guess as she doodled what looked like a cresent moon next to the word.

"Werewolf?" Another nod, but this one was more excited which made him chuckle.

"Ya haven't been human in a while, huh? Or a'least talked." Fhe conversation stayed very one-sided as Daryl asked simple yes or no questions and they shared some fishes for lunch.

It didn't matter to him that she didn't speak. He enjoyed her company in this strange forest cave.

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: Plot twist! It's a she-wolf this time!! Sometimes drabble idea hit you in the middle of writing another fic, so you're all getting something extra!

Part two HERE

[hallucinateonpaperspines]

How do you think cybertronian society would react (pre war) to ashlyn like unleashed on their planet, because personally I think that would be hilarious and also terrifying. Do I ask this mainly because the thought of young D-16 and either current story Ashlyn or pre story Ashlyn interacting is both terrifying and interesting? Yes.

Honestly, it could go so many different ways, *evil cackle*

Speaking of the new movie, is everybody else hyped? CAUSE I AM SO EXCITED! FINALLY, we are getting a fun animated Transformers film ヾ(*´ ∇ `)ﾉ

I saw that cross-eye megatron reference from Bumblebee, tfp anyone?

ᕕ(⌐■_■)ᕗ ♪♬

ehem, happy dance aside, here's what I think a Golden Age Ashlyn would have been like...

Presuming that she fell into this situation as a Human things get awkward very quickly. Organics aren't very well received on Cybertron nevermind how their products are luxury goods apparently

Running through the streets, ducking under vendor stalls, and darting between peds like a literal street rat, Ashlyn is very very confused on what the utter frag happened to her.

Unfortunately, as an organic alien lifeform, especially as one that is currently undiscovered, she is VERY distinctive. Her small size helps her a bit with sneaking, but eventually, it becomes common knowledge that a weird creature is hanging around. It doesn't help that her need for breathable air severely restricts potential roaming areas, and only a handful of stores/merchants carry edible food items.

Already making a name for herself as a pest... in a surprisingly literal sense.

When she's eventually spotted and caught by a Cybe with particularly good reflexes, Ash is forced to come up with something fast so she doesn't get squished. By now, you all know where her self-defense tendencies tend to point to.

On the plus side, the twerp survived. On the negative, he's going to need a new servo since the wiring that articulates his digits is beyond saving. Also, a small feral organic that goes for joints is apparently entertainment enough for these people. Welcome to the mini and illegal gladiator battles, Ashlyn! The unregulated leagues for those who can't afford to go watch the real thing.

Look at her go, gaining all the XP fighting alien bugs and other mini-bosses.

Of course, 3 things occurred during this time period. 1) Ashlyn is actually picking up on Neocybex and proving surprisingly adept at it. 2) She's starting to gain a legitimate reputation and doing Humans Are Space Orcs proud via creative/brutal takedowns of her opponents, and biological features that can be terrifying to an alien. 3) Someone in Iacon has quietly been looking for a creature resembling her specifications, but due to the fact that Ashlyn is in Kaon and an asset of an illegal fighting ring, she is unidentifiable.

Of course when Ashlyn finally gains enough of an affinity for Neocybex, (with a very thick kaon accent) she wants to wait to reveal her sentience until it's at a point where she can't be knocked off or ignored. That plan does not last. No.

Because Ashlyn Moore, covered in robot gore, looks up one day to see a very familiar outline.

"ɎØɄ"

D-16, for his part, is very confused as to why the little alien just looked at him and started chittering like a sparkling while shaking.

The crowd is in an uproar.

See humans do look very similar in structure to a basic Cybertronain model. Even more so when you compare it to a sparkling model which is squishy. eh, Unicron connection?

The point is, an unidentified, kinda sparkling-ish thing, that sounds like sparkling, has also just fulfilled one of the oldest Sparkling-Guardian rituals of choosing an adult to protect them. Look at ze adult, go to ze adult, don't let ze adult leave without you.

Ashlyn might not have had such... noble intentions when she launched herself at D-16 while rambling, but such is the beauty of cultural miscommunications. And dehydration and malnourishment. And an almost chronically activated stress response. You get situations like these!

"ɎØɄ!-гЅ₮₳₭Ɇ ₴Ø₥Ɇ ⱤɆ₴₱Ø₦₴ł฿łⱠł₮Ɏ! …-₣Ɽ₳₲ł₦₲ ฿Ʉ₲₴ ł'VɆ ₭łⱠⱠɆĐ?"

Ashlyn is only half understandable in this state, but it's fine. D-16, and soon all of Kaon understands perfectly.

A scrappy deformed sparkling, likely originating from an unidentified hot spot, beat the odds and has chosen an ex-miner and soon full-time gladiator to be her sire/mentor. What a spark-warming story.

Oh yeah, and someone in Iacon is still hunting that human.

The end result would probably culminate in an overly suspicious Ashlyn accidentally causing a chain reaction that would lead to a Decepticon Orion Pax, a proper coup of the High Council, probably Emperor of Destruction Starscream, and Big Villian Shockwave. The Autobots would not exist. Does anyone want to try and theorize why?

D-16 would realize pretty quick that this tiny bundle of chaos isn't an actual sparkling, but it's an argument he'd use to keep her should any outside influences try and take Ashlyn away. Why? Because a highly intelligent and vicious mystery just dropped into his lap, and someone on the Council wants it really badly. That's more than enough of a justification.

Now, if only he could find out why the organic hates him so much... and why she's so valuable.

Now Ashlyn as a bot would be VERRRRRY different.

Same as the first, she pops up in Kaon (may or may not be a narrative reason for that (・ω<) )

Unlike the human version, the poor girl is caught almost immediately.

Turns out, stumbling around a foreign area, being unable to speak the language, and lacking identification doesn't get you the best treatment. Unfortunately, her more bestial-looking design doesn't help much either in a Functionist society.

Actually, the Enforcers processing her are pretty confused by it, the wings and taloned servos say Seeker, but the spines and fanged denta hint at something else completely... and the subject refuses, or is unable to, transform into an altmode...

Oh well, can't put it in a category, and then toss it out.

Flagging the weirdness for the bosses to deal with, the anomaly is sent to the mines, and a record containing her image and newly given designation is sent to the higher offices. YN-013 is soon forgotten.

Ashlyn, by the time she figures out written translations for Neocybex, finds the designation hilarious. Her fellow miners don't understand why she giggles when she introduces herself.

The mines are horrible, that much is undeniable, but at the same time, Ashlyn can't help but feel like it should be worse?

Her form proves adept at collecting energon, her claws far more efficient than the half-rusted pick-axe she's handed every day. The energon is easy to find too, almost like there's a sixth sense in her brain for where those shards are hiding.

She doesn't realize that the tunnels she's stationed in quickly gain a reputation for being more productive. That her peers end their days not quite as run down anymore. That miners switch shifts and bribe to be in the same branch of tunnels. She's quickly become an omen of good luck and temporary revival.

Ashlyn also doesn't realize that someone in Iacon is tearing through every rumor on Cyberton looking for her... or the organic her.

D-16 hears rumors about the newest unfortunate spark that's been sent to join them in the dark, but he doesn't believe it. Not until he sees it.

There is something about this individual that's different, maybe the stories are true. Solus reforged, perhaps? The missing Thirteenth? Or is this a new prime, come to save them and bring Cybertron back to its glory.

Ashlyn for her part is vibing collecting pretty rocks, and would prefer the future genocidal maniac to stay far away from her, please.

The not-yet-future-genocidal-maniac does not leave. Instead, he talks.

D-16 is actually the one that teaches her proper Neocybex, not the fragmented version she's been getting by with. In return, she tells him what the surface was like for the brief bit of time she was there.

Over time, the strange happenings around YA-013 are normalized and forgotten, but not by D-16. He knows she is not just some wild-forged thing that had the bad to stumble into the wrong city-state. He knows that she can't just be some bestial new-forged, because her optics are far too aware, too knowing. She hesitates, as though shuffling through information when she speaks. The alien babble she talks to herself in, while basic, is too natural to be anything but a primary language. Her smiles are sad even if the laughter is easy. She says things, and calls him Bucket Head, and Mega-arse.

She already knows who his favorite Prime is.

YN-013 never comments when he explains his plans to become a gladiator and gain his freedom. But he can feel the judgment. The resignation. Like she already knew. "Forget about me when you become one of the most famous bots to walk on Cybertron, yeah? Little old me will be nothing compared to the masses that'll scream your name."

YN-013 never talked about her own future, not in a way that sounds lasting. "I'd like to sightsee while I can. Never know when city walls will go tumbling down."

Megatronus doesn't forget her. Not in the Pits as he battles against foes and realizes how much healthier his frame is compared to his opponents, how much stronger, despite them all feeding off the same scraps. He doesn't forget as he meets an Archivist and hears all the snide jokes about his type being "boys in red and blue. Sweet nerds that take forever to commit to ending you."

Orion Pax, quickly becomes a close friend. Megatron never comments on his paint job. He's yet to see Pax exhibit anything but an agreeable and slightly excitable disposition... but he can't help but hold back even as he chides his own superstition.

"I don't think you'll have much luck in the friend department, Bucket. "

Why had he never gone back for her? Why had she never joined him in the arena?

"That's your origin story, D, and I'd hate to incinerate your undefeated record."

Megatron doesn't forget the stranger hidden in the mines. Not when he meets Orion's mentor, not when he stands before the Council, not as every veiled barb, sorrowful mutter, or hidden revelation comes true.

Even when he goes back for her and finds her gone, the Warlord never forgets the seer of the mines.

YN-013 had never realized, that just as D-16 had taught her a language, so too had she taught him hers. Every private word, every thoughtless exclamation, he remembered.

No, that unfortunate spark in the mines was not a wild-forged femme with bad luck. She was not a prime, remade, or replace. She was something different. A puzzle, a friend, an asset.

Lord Megatron, leader of the Decepticons, never forgot.

So how strange was it, to find a planet that spoke that same tongue?

The Autobots seek a relic and the Decepticons search for a seer. Optimus inherits a charge that can only be fulfilled through a missing person and Megatron wants closure to the fate and identity of someone he might've considered a friend.

Ashlyn struggles with guilt over choosing to not change the timeline and has been hiding on Earth since the last few centuries of the war. She's spawned more than a few stories in her wanderings, triggered some changes she never realized. A shifter who went rogue after a drunken conversation at a bar and never swore his loyalty. Bartering fuel with an Autobot vessel, allowing the Ark to avoid Decepticon Scouts and remain unharmed. A Prime who learned the truth about his predecessors early, and resolved to do more than simply restore his planet to what it used to be.

Ashlyn can't hide from the plot forever. War or not, things have changed, and now she's part of that story.

[bluebunnyears-08]

Keep Your Head Up!

Sonic reminiscences about his friends.

(

I decided to do one based on Sonic.

Sonic suffering, of course.

That's it ^v^

)

=============================================

They looked like them.

They sounded like them.

Most of them even had the same mannerisms as them.

But they weren't them.

They didn't act like them.

They didn't talk like them.

They didn't feel like them.

Amy Rose, once the sweetest and cutest friend to have now was either cold, and lacked compassion. Her once warm and cheery green eyes now blank and empty or filled with suspicion and feral anger.

No more adorable strength, no more cheerfulness, nothing but brute force and stoic brutality.

Rouge, once the alluring jewel thief. He didn't spend much time around her, the bat preferred to keep to herself. But he noticed how she now lead resistance's or groups, nothing like the lone bat thief she once was.

And while he wasn't as bothered with that, he still found it hard to accept and get used to.

Knuckles, once a powerful fighter and dependent friend, was now either crazy or selfishly greedy. His steady blue eyes gleamed with unstable intent.

He even missed him at this point.

Shadow wasn't doing so well either. While he stayed his stoic self, the hero saw some cracks slip through, ones that Shadow obviously hoped nobody would notice, how his eyes held so much pain and sadness, how he was more aggressive than usual, how his voice would barely shake when talking about home.

But the blue urchin didn't say anything, never commented on it. He didn't think Shadow would accept it anyway with how mad he is at him.

Then there was...him. The fox who always stuck by his side, who was once just a little kid who followed him around, who was always tinkering away on inventions a happy smile on his face, who was the greatest friend, greatest brother, anyone could ask for.

Most of his variants were the same, but not exactly. Mangey was nothing but a feral animal, unable to even speak, only talking with grunts and growls and Sails, while being the closest to resemble him, didn't have...it just wasn't the same.

But then there was Nine, the most different from him. The metal tailed fox was blunt and cold, barely smiled, worked alone, was always alone. Once bright and curious baby blues were now cold and pained icy blue (please dont look at me like that). Once fluffy and bright fur was now limp and pale. His ears were longer than his too, ending with darkened tips at the end.

He noticed how Nine's metal tails wrapped around his organic ones, making an illusion of one tail. He felt his ears droop at the sight.

The most painful thing was how...isolated and...and scared this kid was. When he first met them, they attacked him because he called them his name he broke into their lab. 

And he felt a harsh pang in his chest at how much they hated his name at how lonely this kit is.

He couldn't bear the sight of it.

So he tried to make sure he was there for Nine. Giving him compliments and encouragement, cheering him on, letting the fox lean on him for support, everything he used to do for him.

But it still hurt so so much...sucked.

All of this still sucked so much.

He sometimes wished he would wake up and all of this would be over. Just a nightmare.

But that never happened, he was still here, still in the now broken world he once lived in and protected.

Sometimes he felt a wetness in his eyes a little down, but he held his head high.

All of this will work out in the end, he just has to keep going, just has to keep staying positive. 

Just keep going.

Just.

Stay.

Positive.

[thinkingofausername]

I should be writing a book report for uni and what better way to procrastinate than to continue the commentary of @redwingedwhump's Captured series :)

Chapter 13

Ah. The Chapter. I'm getting giddy before I've even started reading.

Three-days-long break? Harrow, sweetie, I hope you've appreciated it because you're in for a ride xd

Harrow trying to get up, while being watched, being too slow and getting manhandled for it? I love the subtle tension and embarrassment.

"Harrow was shocked and then furious with himself at how thoughtlessly he did as ordered" - the gradual resignation and obedience, intentional or not, never fails to amaze me. The writing is incredibly well-paced.

Harrow having Conroy's hands on his throat and immediately expecting to be choked? *sobs*

Okay but the parallel between Harrow sacrificing folks on an altar and him being on the anvil, looking much the same as the people he sacrificed? Beautiful.

The "purified through pain" never fails to make my blood boil, Jesus.

Emmet looking away *sobs some more*

"On the anvil we are all forged, and on the anvil you will be broken." Okay ngl, Conroy has a way with words. That was kind of beautiful. (Sorry Harrow)

Those boys watching, almost gleefully, before realizing the reality before them is much more brutal? Wow.

"You can control how long this takes and how bloody you're about to be, Harrow." God, I love the irony so much. He absolutely could not control any of this. He tried, as he always has, but the entire experience was Harrow coming to terms with the fact that he Is Not In Control.

"Glare if you understand me. Ah, good." I'm sorry but this is hilarious xd

"The horse-kick force of the blow followed a second later by the pain, delayed but brilliant and sharp." Wow. Just wow. (I'm starting to think the author was actually there, ngl)

Harrow making a sound only after the sixth blow? Jesus, that man was Something. Makes his downfall even more tragic, looking back.

Whipping over the already freshly whipped skin? JESUS. How Harrow didn't pass out or throw up right then and there is truly beyond me.

Harrow looking Emmet right in the eyes during this? CHILLS. LITERAL CHILLS.

Conroy continuing to whip Harrow after he's passed out was gruesome, ngl. Just imagining the scene, the horrified boys, especially Emmet, Harrow's back likely looking shredded and receiving even more cruelty on top of that, likely the only sound being the sound of the whip? Goosebumps.

Chapter 14

Harrow resembling a feral, injured animal lashing out at Emmet is beautiful for some reason. I bet he was quite graceful to witness before all this, with his confidence and wine and reputation.

Harrow's attitude switching and him being soft with the boy? Heartbreaking. They both had their lives changed forever in that cell, in ways both different and similar. They both learned the thin line between righteousness and cruelty and this story overall is just incredible for that.

Harrow feeling the bit of reprieve when the cold cloth touched his back? Making me incredibly sad for some reason.

"Luckily the combined weight of both men was enough to hold the mat down, or Harrow might have dragged it to the wall with how hard he was pulling on that chain, Emmet thought." Wonderful detail, but also I love that Harrow still had strength in him then.

Harrow is older than me and yet somehow I feel incredibly fond of him when he reveals he's just 27.

Harrow's interactions with Emmet being the only soft moments in captivity, and yet even they can't go without pain (of the healing) is just... yeah.

"I wasn’t exactly born an unredeemably evil warlock, you know. I was seventeen once… A very long time ago.

Emmet didn’t answer, and then door was closing, and the bolts turned in the lock." Goddddddd. This killed me.

Chapter 15

"Gears were turning somewhere and he was lifted until his toes brushed the ground, driving a breathless sob out of him as his weight against muscle and bone tore and opened some of the tender places on his shoulders. He felt thin rivulets of blood begin to trickle between his shoulder blades and down his back." REDDDDDDDDD I can't with your cleverly simple and vivid descriptions.

"Ah. And there we have the whole of the man, reduced to nothing more than that." I have to hand it to Conroy, his lines are immaculate.

Man, Conroy REALLY wanted Harrow irreparably and thoroughly broken. Burning an already burned man (whose specialty was fire)... there's just so much irony, cruelty and symbolism in here.

Harrow actually wanting to be burned, rather than face the intrusive and haunting memories? Despairing, memorable and gorgeous.

Chapter 16

"That wasn’t pain. That was worse. Because he wanted it." Red, I don't even know what to tell you. These few chapters specifically are peak whump for me. Turning Harrow's mind against himself by making him succumb to the need for comfort and reprieve is still one of the best moments in the entire whump community's history. This is the essence of the psychology of whump for me.

Yeah I can't even imagine how Harrow feels looking back on this day...

Chapter 17

"You bastard!! I couldn’t even try t’ defend myself, I was out of my mind with fever, you sick bastard!!" YES THAT'S EXACTLY IT, HARROW. You were helpless and defenseless and that was taken advantage of. Sound familiar? (I still love him but boy, did he need that lesson)

"Blood met cold air, and stung in the open cut." Loving this.

Aaaaaaand once again, ladies and gentlemen, Harrow's pride is a natural response of his, which aids his downfall. Conroy really butchered him to get him to beg... damn.

as always... to be continued...

[kuwdora]

the FINAL Vilgefortz update!!

Ouroboros: Act 4

~3k. The last of the vilgywank.

Vilgefortz was sprawled on his back, savoring the post-orgasmic thrum in his body. Beside him Geralt curled into a pillow. Vilgefortz listened to the witcher's deep breathing for some time. Eventually he half-heartedly groped Geralt’s cock, still trying to reach that satisfaction for himself.

“I’m sorry I can’t rise to the occasion,” Geralt said without any regret.

He pulled Geralt’s hair. Geralt chuckled and the sound had a dizzying effect on Vilgefortz. He closed his eyes and inhaled, allowing himself to let go—if only for a moment—and enjoy what he had.

“Touché, witcher mine.”

Geralt sighed and ran his hand up Vilgefortz’s chest.

“I’m not yours. The bard is more of a partner than you could ever dream of being,” Geralt said. Annoyance and curiosity pricked at Vilgefortz.

“I confess,” and he toyed with the witcher’s medallion, “I find your relationship with him most unusual. The bard clearly loves you. He resisted more than I thought he could for a man of his kind. I should have instructed Rience to perform a more thorough interrogation when he had him, but the Lion Cub had priority. What kind of companionship do you have with the bard? Does his love make you feel important? Perhaps after so many years the bard is also the air that fills your lungs? Or might it be more transactional? He paves your way with song and then enjoys the witcher stamina he writes about in his music. A quid pro quo.”

“It really bothers you,” Geralt said and chuckled, and stroked Vilgefortz’s back soothingly. “Jaskier could write a song about your downfall without ever mentioning your name. Celebrate the victors and leave you forgotten by everyone,” It wasn’t an answer to any of Vilgefortz’s questions, but Geralt didn’t reject the premise of the questions. This amusement stood out amongst his previous humor. Too earnest. It wasn’t something that had come from Vilgefortz’s mind. It must have been from his passing through Geralt’s mind.

Vilgefortz was bothered. He didn’t appreciate the notion that a bardic sycophant could possibly inspire such warmth in the witcher while Vilgefortz had failed. He stroked Geralt’s flaccid cock, only for his witcher recreation to push him away and grope Vilgefortz’s own oversensitive cock.

“You’re incorrigible,” Vilgefortz said breathlessly and flinched.

“I would be if you ever had the true me.” Geralt’s voice had turned serious and thoughtful. He clasped Vilgefortz’s hand so tenderly that Vilgefortz raised an eyebrow.

Geralt kissed him—not with a feral, animal passion—but like a lover. Geralt stroked Vilgefortz’s fingers gently…and the epiphany rippled through his mind. He understood Yennefer better than ever before. Because who would walk away from this kind of devotion so willingly? Only a selfish, hot-headed fool like Yennefer. Like himself with Tissaia. Who could become so consumed with their lifelong obsession of choice and remaking themselves in their own image? Of bending the world to their will? That was something Vilgefortz understood in the marrow of his bones, in the marrow of her bones. Vilgefortz damned Yennefer as he kissed Geralt back fiercely, not wanting to let him go. He damned her for reconciling with the witcher because maybe if she hadn’t, Vilgefortz might have had the chance to inspire Geralt to walk his path.

Vilgefortz stroked the jaw of memories that resembled the witcher. “You forgave Yennefer. Even after she tried to sacrifice the girl to regain her power. Perhaps…perhaps you might find a way to forgive me for what’s to come. Maybe there’s still a chance you’ll join me.”

read on ao3

[a-pink-lilypad]

Periphery Headcanon

Being so heavily inspired by the Fallout series, my Lily is a periphery baby, because it fits into the way I have written my wastelander character. And since My Time seems to me like a Fallout Lite TM, why not mix in some aspects?

I headcanon that a lot of the Peripheries and beyond are pretty much a Wasteland similar to the one in the Fallout universe; with variations in climate.

Radiation and chemical mutations are a thing, just like we have found in various instances of the game, such as the Shipwreck, the mines in Portia, The Valley of Whispers, the mutant rats and other sentient animals, etc.

The mutated humanoids give me feral ghoul vibes. Sluggish movements, mind is gone, obviously former humans. Those in worksuits also resemble the ghosts in Dead Money.

The surface itself is littered with Old World buildings, that would normally be scavenged like the settled ruins in the Alliance and inhabited locations... but hear me out.

What if everything is so dangerous out there, because it's considered to be the ground zero for whatever calamity has happened? And the chemical leakages were much stronger and concentrated than on (ironically) the Periphery and beyond, aka. the current habited countries.

Would explain the monsters being stronger, bigger, and faster. Doss was literally destroyed by a huge monster from the Periphery, and frontier town Civil Corps have to deal with them from time to time.

Now, hear me out. Isn't it interesting how militarized Duvos is? Or how scientific advanced Vega 5 is, compared to the rest of the world? How comes these two countries are so concentrated with their respective fields, while the rest have a little bit of everything?

Duvos == Enclave. Hear me out. They're both highly militarized. Enclave itself is composed from pre-War military personnel and scientists from whatever is left of the United States government. They have this superior attitude over their own purity and right to govern. They don't believe they're doing anything wrong. They are highly militarized (military bases, Power Armor suits, multi-leveled bunkers, airships), industrialized (self-sustaining bunkers, oil rigs), and are ferocious patriots. Sounds familiar?

Now; let's look at Duvos. Huge empire, seems to uphold Old World Glory ideals, superiority and almost godlike complex, highly militarized and industrialized, access to advanced tech, airships, and gear, military-grade armor and armament, and very very patriotic. I revised some of the Duvos' invasion questline dialogue, and the sense of patriotism is very strong. Fitting.

Vega 5 == Institution. Almost. Since Vega 5 is part of the Alliance, they're not autonomous psychos that kidnap surface dwellers for experiments and entertainment. But they are both: fairly secluded, science oriented, studying different fields, have a ferocious military power (considering the Alliance could only push back against Duvos when Vega 5 lended their expertise), curious by nature, pragmatic, focused on bettering the human race above all, competitive, cold on average.

For those that are not familiar with the Institution; the Old World scientists that hid in the bunker between the Institute of Technology, slowly started to dig and work away, keeping up with their research even two centuries after the war. See? They were also hidden in bunkers.

The My Time history page also suggests that the humans were driven underground after the Age of Calamity started. But they were highly advanced tech-wise... wouldn't it make sense that they hid in bunkers, and not caves?

You can see where I'm going with this, right?? Hear me out. What if the settlers of Duvos, and the settlers of Vega 5, were old military and science personnel that used to inhabit the various bunkers scattered across the Periphery and beyond. What if, due to various reasons, they left and went on their merry way. What if, in some cases, they were forced outside by the life support system of the bunkers collapsing.

Now, I guess in some cases, they didn't get along and just shot each other to death. But some could have just wanted to restore the Old World, while others only cared about bettering the human race. Some didn't agree with each other, and simply split up. Others just headed towards the newly formed Alliance, to aid them with their technical knowledge.

I also headcanon that some of the bunkers exist. Lily was born in Year 76, and for the first few years of her life, she inhabited such a bunker, before the life support system failed on them. Maybe the water chip broke (heh). But her parents wanted to join trading caravans and aid the settlers as Wasteland Scientists; while her uncle and his family headed for Vega 5, aided by a search party. Or by a Monster Hunting guild team. Something.

That's why Lily's cousin is a Vega 5 researcher, and she's an angry bounty hunter.

I also headcanon that civilization wise; there are camps, inhabited ruins by small groups of people, Monster Hunting guild outposts, trading caravans, groups of prospectors and scavengers; bandit camps, fugitives, outlaws, and many mercenaries that grew up here and migrated towards Duvos, Ethea, or the Alliance, to earn a better living as hired guns and bounty hunters.

It's unforgiving as heck.

Makes you wonder how Wei survived for so long and seems so happy and upbeat.

Will your OC set camp here?

[petitfarron]

9- Write about your ship getting dressed up in fancy outfits together. 

yes I know how rude picking this one is

It only took me months to do this... I'm such a slacker. Forgive me. Or don't, understandable tbh. ♡ I'm just going to hide this nifty wall of, very fucking dramatic, writing under a cut because wow... shut up me? Good lord.

But come on. Farron is a drama queen about having to wear anything that resembles a suit, forever and always.

One would think such a beautiful morning filled with sunshine and birdsong would have been spent cozy in bed. Wrapped up in the warm, comforting arms of his beloved, sleepy whispers of a good morning or perhaps five more minutes spoken in hoarse tones before bubbly giggles as their silly antics could be heard from the covers. How nice that sounded, just like any other morning... peaceful, full of love and comfort; the perfect way to start one's day.

But no.

There were all important plans on this day. A fine event to attend. 'Oh, how wonderful and exciting!' Some might think. 'How lucky you are!' Others may rear their heads in envy.

Did these folk perhaps not understand that such luxuries entailed the Ultimate Suffering? The mandatory bullshit one had to go through to attend such outings? The way a suit itched... perhaps the way ruffles and frills always found a way to constantly be a hindrance? How such tailor-made clothing felt like a personal hell? The restriction?! How was one expected to move!

And that, my friends, was poor Farron's predicament this day. Torture! Of course, he would love nothing more than to attend any event with his handsome partner. But why in the seven hells was it a Special Occasion? He had agreed to yearly dress up times, not more!

Yet there he stood in their warm, relaxing bedroom, rays of sunlight peeking through the blinds, begging him to return to bed, to cuddle with the promise of breakfast on the horizon.

Instead, he stood by the wardrobe, a snarl on his lips as Dusk fought against his squirming and onslaught of complaints, trying valiantly to tie a godsdamned noose around his neck.

Or as some may call them: A Tie.

Farron was convinced they were one and the same. Regardless, he would end up strangling himself with it before the night was through. Unfortunately for him, he had agreed to this outing... how could he refuse the man he loved so? Especially when he needed the support? It couldn't be done. So he went through the whole song and dance. He brushed his hair, stuffed himself into the worst clothing known to man, and made himself a proper gentleman for another night. He would play his role. But oh, once the night was through...

Until that relief found him, however... he would take solace in one simple fact. Dusk looked amazing in a tie. If anything would get him through the torture, it would be that alone. A rare treat and one he would indulge in unashamedly.

As their preparations came to an end, the feral animal inside of Farron screaming for freedom, he silenced the growl by taking in the beauty of the light of his life. That alone calmed the rage, the disdain, and he let out a pointed sigh. Wrapping his confined arms around his lover, gaze locked on the man, he could only roll his eyes and relay a simple reminder that he would be due his payment for this treason later.

[roseofithaca]

Wulfbearn (Part 3)

Elysabeth tries to convince the beast to give her some freedom. Set in @idiotwithanipad 's Gore Au.

-

"Elysabeth! Lyssie! Child, where art thou?! Come hither!"

Father...

Her eyes snap open. Had she dreamed his voice? It feels like she's been trapped in this cave forever, a tiny dark space with no company but a mute wild man who ignores her, expect when she tries to leave. Only by watching the shadows of the trees past his shoulders, has she been able to keep track of the time.

Three days. The longest of her existence.

"Lyssie! Holler out to me!"

Not a dream. Father's voice, coming to her through the trees.

Even the beast responds to it, his ears perked up, stretching his neck out to gage its source.

"Da! Da, I be here!"

She shouts as loud as her voice will allow, her throat stinging a little as her larynx strains against the gashes across her neck.

The beast snaps his head around to look at her. Will he hurt her for calling for help? She doesn't care anymore. Let him try to silence her. This might be her only chance.

"DA! FATHER, IS ME! HELP!"

Hands scrambling desperately on the ground, she crawls towards the entrance.

Predictably, the Beast's paw lands on her back.

She turns to him, tears in her eyes.

"Please! T'is my father! He's come for me!"

The creature's upper lip twitches, his feral eyes cold and unyielding as he looks down at her.

Elysabeth throws caution to the wind and covers his tense, rough fingers with her own smaller ones. He blinks, then looks down at the two with great confusing, as if she had just performed some Fool's magic trick.

"Please. Let me go."

He hasn't hurt her in all this time, other than being rough with his handling of her. But who could expect a man who resembled more of a beast betwixt bear and wolf to be gentle? He's allowed her to use his furs when she slept, protected her from the other terrifying beasts that dwelled within these lands.

There must be a heart deep, deep within that heavily scarred chest that she can appeal to.

A gruff few breaths leave his crooked jaw, before he grunts.

Then, without warning, he picks her up and tosses her onto his back, just as he did at their first meeting.

Elysabeth prepares to scream some more, before she realises that he's heading towards the cave mouth.

Out. Outside.

The beast drags his knuckles as he follows Father's voice repeating her name.

"Elysabeth! ELYSABETH!"

She doesn't beat and wriggle as before. Instead, she rights herself, twisting until she's properly mounted on the beast's back, her arms looping around his shoulders.

"Thou is taking me to him? Truly?" She whispers.

His response is little more than an apathetic huff as he carries on moving.

Elysabeth is careful not to count her chickens before they've hatched. For all she knows, the Beast could be taking her, only to use her a bait to lure Father into some trap. For what he intends to gain, she doesn't know. Food? The thrill of a kill? She knows not the mind of wild men.

Or perhaps, God and all the Saints willing, her patience is about to be paid in full, and her warden for all these many long hours has no ill intent.

Her leg bones dangling beneath the shredded stump of her knee, she dares not let go of the beast as they move up the hill and through the trees, heading towards the clearing.

"No...No, oh God! Oh Lord Jesus, no!"

Elysabeth frowned; "Father? He sounds distressed. Please, hurry. Mayhaps the others have got to him first!"

Her father was a strong man, but he was a farmer, not a hunter or warrior. Not trained in any combat outside of scuffling with other menfolk in the village after too much ale. The monsters who had tried to take her, before the wild man intervened, were unlike any animal she'd seen before. Father may be able to stand his ground against one wolf. Not two or more. And certainly not one of those demonic bears.

After nudging the wild man, he growled and increased his pace. Perhaps he was as eager to get rid of her as she was to go home.

She's so close now. The sunlight has never looked so bright.

Then the shadows roll back in, once they're back upon the field. Close to the lake, she sees him. Father.

He's sat on the bank with two other men from her village, armed with pitchforks and shovels as weapons. For the first time ever, she sees her father crying.

Wailing, even. His friends stand with their heads bowed as he sits bawling, holding what looks to be some sort of broken scarecrow in his lap.

No.

Wait...

"Father..." She whispers. "Please, take me closer." She begs her companion.

The wild man grunts, staying still.

Elysabeth grits her teeth and kicks her good leg against his side, as if he be no better than a stubborn mule.

"Take me there, I say! I wants my da!"

Another grizzle, then be begins to pad closer.

As they get nearer, neither Father or his friends seem to notice herself and the strange wild man approaching them. Surely, they must be close enough to be caught in their peripheral vision.

"Father? Father!"

She calls, but he doesn't look up.

All of his attention is on the scarecrow. A bundle of ripped clothes and blood and...no. Not straw. Skin. Yellow hair. A crucifix necklace clutched in his fingers.

Her. The scarecrow was her. All that remained. Just a collection of picked bones, fabric and hair.

"Come, Harold, mate." One of the others pats Father's shoulder, "She been out here alone long enough. Let's give the little lass back to the angels."

It takes a while for Father to nod in response, still cradling her corpse to his chest. Slowly, he wrapped her up in a burlap sack. He must have anticipated that, at this point, she would no longer be alive.

Somehow, she already knew. She had already been sure that the wolves had torn her soul from the Living world, as well as the flesh from her leg. And yet, in how vivid

Lyssie wriggled off the wild man's back and fell to the floor, landing on her good foot and attempting to hop after them as they began to leave.

"Father, don't go! I be here! Please! Don't leave me here, Da!"

She stumbles and falls flat on her face, one arm stretched out, reaching toward Father's back.

"DA!"

Sobbing now, she turns to look at the wild man, his expression ever the same. Stiff. Emotionless as the most stoic of cats.

"Help me! Help me go with him! This be why I remain, yes? My body doth need a proper burial for mine soul to ascend. Is that it?"

His eyes turned to her. Beneath all the resentment and irritation, she could see a flicker of something close to...pity.

Something hard dropped in her stomach.

In that moment, she knew, somehow. She wasn't going anywhere.

Elysabeth released a wail loud enough to match ten of her father's, before the wild man grabbed her again, hauling her over his shoulder and taking her back to the cave.

-

Just his luck. Cub's tribe were still part of the Other World. The only part of her they could take was her shell, twisted and rotten after three days as food for the wildlife. The father would probably not have been able to recognise her if not for the symbol she'd worn and the scraps of her dress.

Her essence remains trapped. With him.

Had it been the right choice to take her to see the Living man leave without her? For her to see her own body?

He had to be sure that her father was not one of their kind, as much as she did. See that she did not belong in that world anymore. Which leaves no other option but for...

Damn it. Can't someone else hurry up and die in this forsaken place, just so she has any other option but his miserable face?

Cub won't stop crying. Even after many times Sunne has risen and fell. After the second day, it changed from that ear-splitting howl of agony into neverending snuffles and whimpers. Even when she sleeps, broken little sobs leave her lips, her hand clutched around the cross at her neck.

The creature just carries on as normal. Guard. Sit. Protect. It's mind numbingly monotonous but he's been used to boredom for centuries. It's practically all he knows now.

Except now, he can't even sleep. Can't while Cub cries and Cub never stops crying.

She doesn't try to approach him anymore. Doesn't try to leave. Won't even crawl close to tug on his fur and steal some of it for her own comfort. She stays curled up, far at the back of the cave, facing the wall.

Finally, she must know there's no point trying to leave. Nothing better for her out there. No way he's going to let her wander off alone.

Good. That's what he wanted her to accept, after all.

Wasn't it?

Why is the ringing in his ears so much worse lately? He wants to blame Cub's crying but it's not even as if she's that loud. Just constant. Constantly sad. Hopeless.

Two weeks after her tribe abandoned her here, the agony in his head is excruciating. As is the boredom. Because of Cub, he can't leave the spot either. Can't patrol His Land. Can't make sure the others are staying in order. Predators not bullying the herbivores. Wolves staying well away from the deer.

The sense of responsibility stings at him, yet he's unable to leave her. Can't leave Cub unguarded. They'll all be swarming on her before she can even hear their paws in the dirt.

He wishes he could remember how to get the little ones to stop crying. He wishes he could rememberer so much more. And yet he's afraid to dig deep into his overgrown thorny hedge maze of a brain.

"Da...Da, come back...Mama, please...." She mewls in her sleep. Is she praying or dreaming? He only just recognises the words as a child's call for their parents.

Ma. Da.

The little ones had cried 'Da! Da!' when they'd come to find him. Howled as Cub did when they saw him laying beside the huge tree, hair singed and smoking from Sky Fire, skin shredded from the bear's claws.

Wounds like the one Cub wore on her face and body and legs.

He finds himself padding close to her, then gently pokes her shoulder with his paw.

Cub squeaks, startling as she abruptly wakes and backs herself against the wall. Eyes wide. Terrified. Waking up from a nightmare to an even worse reality.

"Wha....What's thou want?! What's I do?" She weeps and cowers.

A twist in his gut.

The last time he saw a child tremble in fear of a man, he'd been the one to leap in, back when he stood on two legs. He'd been the one to shove his cousin in the chest and tell him not to shout at his cub. He didn't care if the child had broken his best spear, it was no excuse for a full grown man to be threatening to beat a little one. Never a reason to make them scared.

And here was one now. A terrified girl cub, staring at something much worse than his short tempered cousin.

The creature huffs and takes hold of one of the longer strips of his furs.

He offers it to her. It seemed to make her feel better before. Helped her to sleep. If he could seperate his body from them, he would, but he knows that's impossible. Too many times he's tried to remove his boots to allow his feet to breathe and feel the fresh grass again.

But he doesn't mind the Cub being a little close to him, for her to borrow his fur. If it helps. If it stops the crying. Let's them both rest.

She shakes her head and gently pushes back against them.

"I do nots wish for pity."

The words are garbled to him, though he understands the rejection.

What Cub want then?!

He grizzles, which makes her wince, so he stops. Taking a breath, he brings a finger up to her damp cheek.

She cringes and bats his paw away.

"Thou can control me from leavin'...But ye cannots stop my tears! Let me has somethin' of mine own, ye heartless brute."

More nonsense to his ears. An insult in there somewhere, he suspects. Sure, she can blame him for everything all she wants. People have been making him the villain of local myths for hundreds of years.

That not what he care about. Only one question matters to him now.

What make Cub no cry?

She meets his eyes, innocent and longing and overflowing with grief.

Her lips part, cautiously, then close.

She lifts her hand to point towards the cave entrance.

"Please. Just for a little bit."

He glances over his shoulder, spotting the tiny view of the carpet of leaves and dirt, illuminated by the glow of Moonah above. Hesitation freezes him.

Nocturnal animals can be the most dangerous.

But when he looks back at Cub, he sees how she's withering to nothing, like any pretty flower kept in the dark. His kind need light. From Sunne and Moonah. Need fresh air and....space. Freedom. Can't swaddle cubs in their sleeprolls forever.

Clenching his jaw, he relents. Anything to be able to rest.

He slides his arm around her and lifts her up, carrying her to his side rather than tossing her about as before. In return, she doesn't struggle, instead she holds onto him, her hands careful to avoid the claw marks on his skin. In kind, he offers her the same amount of delicacy. It's only fair.

Not too far from the cave, he sets her down on the ground, near a bunch of wild flowers.

The girl sniffs and wipes her face.

He rests back, in prime position to keep watch, see any danger that might approach. The child is free to play or do as she wishes, which he realises isn't much when she can barely stand.

For now, she just seems to be staring up at the Moonah shining bright through the treetops. Cub's hair seems to sparkle in the silver rays. Going by the sheer look of wonder in her eyes, anyone would think she was seeing Her for the first time.

Once, many lifetimes ago, he'd felt that same childlike awe and wonder when looking at Moonah. With his people, he'd sang praises to Her, gave offerings of grain and meat, blessed water to heal and purify in Her name.

Then Sky Fire took him from his tribe. His cubs. And after everything he'd done for Her, Moonah did not save him. Did not grant him peace. She only watch him suffer. And scream. And break.

Moonah silent. Moonah....hate him.

And he hates Moonah.

But he does not stop the yellow haired Cub from looking up at Her. She will learn, as he did, in her own time. The child has dealt with enough pain for the moment. Let her have whatever fleeting illusion of joy she can grab until that time comes.

[grandsonoflightike]

Light Grima's Outrealm Power 2 - Outrealm 13: Eurole Emblem P1: Comfort

“I swear on Eurole Owain’s stupid sword that I’m going to rip into Eurole Inigo so ferally he won’t have a mouth to be speaking out of!”

Eurole Lucina sits wide eyed as she watches the way Eurole Severa’s hands and fingers clench and unclench. They very much resemble an animal extending its claws. It’s a motion she’s seen cats make.

Eurole Lucina doesn’t try to speak just yet. She knows better than to try to placate Eurole Severa when she’s this tense. Although since Eurole Lucina doesn’t exactly know what happened yet, she is left to sit in curiosity.

Eurole Severa teeth look like they grind against each other for a moment before an even more dangerous glint appears in her eyes. Then she smiles.

It sends a shudder down Eurole Lucina’s spine. Stirring both fear and arousal in her.

Deciding to halt whatever revenge plan Eurole Severa is thinking of, she decides to ask “What happened?”

Eurole Severa’s smile slips as her eyes flick over to Eurole Lucina, as if she almost forgot she was present. Which is a little funny because they are in their shared tent.

“He went and talked to my mom asking about if I was interested in any guys or looking for a partner. It was both stupid and annoying, because now she’s been trying to ask me about boys which—ew.”

Eurole Lucina’s lips turn down at the admission. She doesn’t like the dark bitter taste that arose within her mouth and chest.

Eurole Severa’s her partner. Literally.

They are dating and have secretly been since even before the time jump. Their relationship had obviously been put on pause when they were separated, but they resumed almost right away.

“I see.” Eurole Lucina’s fingers fiddle with the piece of wood in her grasp. She had been trying to find a hobby, Eurole Fredrick deciding to help teach her woodcarving.

Eurole Severa sighs and reaches a hand out to comfortingly cup Eurole Lucina’s face.

“I love you. Nothing is going to separate us apart from you breaking up with me. Which you better not!”

Eurole Lucina giggles at Eurole Severa’s attempt at a joke. From anyone else it would sound weird, but it’s just part of who Eurole Severa is.

“Of course. I love you as well.”

But Eurole Lucina feels a weight on her shoulders. She’s the one who wanted their relationship to stay a secret until the fight is over. But sitting here in her tent knowing that everyone else thinks Eurole Severa is open for courting is...not pleasant. In fact Eurole Lucina wishes she could fight anyone who looks at Eurole Severa romantically.

And it’s not only the suitors she has to worry about, it’s their parents as well.

Maybe...maybe they should tell them? They would at least know to not entertain any proposals by anyone else. Eurole Lucina feels Eurole Severa’s hand move to her thigh, she finds comfort in its warmth.

“Gawds it’s so weird hearing mom try to ask about what I like in a partner. It’s even weirder knowing that the only crushes she’s had have been on your dad which—gross—and my dad.”

“What’s wrong with father?”

“That’s he’s YOUR father!”

Eurole Lucina concedes at that point. When she actually thinks about it, it’s pretty weird. She wouldn’t want to hear what father thought about Eurole Cordelia’s looks.

Another uncomfortable feeling washes over her as she realizes she wouldn’t even be involved in this conversation since she is a woman.

“I sprinted out of there to get out of that conversation.” Eurole Severa huffs.

“Perhaps we should tell them?”

Eurole Severa’s eyes widen and she tenses. “Wha—now?!”

Eurole Lucina nods. She watches as Eurole Severa’s body crumples into herself and the hand on her thigh begins to tighten its grasp.

“Why?”

“I know I said we should wait until everything is over...but maybe it would be best to say something now? It would make things easier. Such as not having to sneak into the infirmary tent to see you when you get injured.”

“That’s if they accept us.” Eurole Severa bites her lower lip. “There’s no way your parents are going to accept me as your partner. I don’t have any land or outstanding achievements. I’m just me.”

Eurole Lucina pouts, she doesn’t like it when Eurole Severa underestimates herself.

“But you’re Eurole Severa. That’s all that matters to me, and they will see it.”

Eurole Severa shakes her head “No way Eurole Luci. Your dad didn’t even like my mom, why the hell would he think I’m good enough for you?”

“Because I’m the one who decides who I love and I love you. You’re an amazing person. Whatever happened between our parents doesn’t involve us.”

Eurole Severa’s lower lip quivers a little and her eyes look shiny. Eurole Lucina feels a bit of the weight on her shoulders leave, knowing that Eurole Severa loves her too is enough for her to be positive that they can get through anything.

“Gawds you’re so cheesy. You make it hard to argue against you.”

Eurole Lucina lets a chuckle to escape her at that. She’s very aware of how cheesy and cliché she can be, Eurole Severa tells her at least three times a week. But the glowing expression the redhead gets after such words is the reason why she loves to say those words so much.

“I just love you so much.” Eurole Lucina teases, leaning in closer to Eurole Severa. The Eurole redhead rolls her eyes with a grin, leaning towards Lucina as well.

The scarlet eyes Eurole Lucina adores alight with the passion Eurole Lucina is always in awe of. Whether it's on the battlefield, when she’s shopping, when she’s dressing herself up, or looking at Eurole Lucina with love; Eurole Severa’s passion is overpowering in its intensity. Eurole Lucina considered herself blessed by Eurole Naga to be the one Eurole Severa has chosen to partner herself with.

Leaning forward and connecting their lips in a soft kiss, Eurole Lucina silently promises to proudly be open about their relationship and the deep loving bond they share.

Her body burns in the sweetest way where they touch and she feels lighter now, knowing that Eurole Severa is also willing to come out about their relationship. They might have skipped a few steps, such as officially courting and buying rings, but to them their relationship is just as serious as their parents’ marriages. Eurole Lucina will make sure they understand.

TBC…

[brahmses]

hello o.o can i please request reader wearing a cute dress or something cute in general while on the way to the woods with brahms, halfway through the walk brahms literally goes feral

can i kiss you for this idea?

sorry this took so long :( juggling both studying and my hobbies is a rough task

warnings brahms is always horny, manhandling, smut ofc, little to no foreplay, slight breeding kink (again, i’m sorry)

it was supposed to be a peaceful midday walk.

the sun was still bright, beautiful and warm, the weather hot enough for little clothing but chilly enough that you weren’t sweating.

brahms’ footsteps crunch with the leaves, heavy boots following behind you with a large, hairy hand intertwined with yours. he never strays far from you. you can feel heavy eyes staring me into the back of your head, almost piercing your skull, but you figure it’s just his usual gaze.

recently, brahms has taking a liking to picking out clothing for you. specifically, you had shown him online shopping, and he enjoyed picking and choosing clothing for you to wear. but with his childlike wonder, combined with his adult perversion, you didn’t always buy what he chose — but this time, you had.

a light, fluttering dress, cutting off mid-thigh and hugging your curves just right. he had liked the colors of it, simple and white, something that almost resembled a casual wedding dress, exempt from the light, pastel flowers laced in. you had chosen to wear it on your walk today, perfect for the weather. but when brahms picked it, he didn’t realize just how good it would make you look. something in him was stirring, a primal instinct, the overwhelming feeling of just wanting to devour that purity.

as you ramble on about the sights, various birds and woodland animals, brahms is far from listening. as much as he loves your stories, loves the sound of your voice; it’s the farthest thing from his mind right now.

the only warning you get is his hand tightening in yours, almost turning your palms white, before he’s pushing you against a tree with force. your eyes grow wide like a deer, your hair slightly getting caught in the bark behind you, as he corners you up against the sycamore. his head dives, burying itself in your shoulder, pressing his body tightly against yours to keep you caged against the tree. you grab onto his shoulders for support as his weight slightly lifts you up from the ground.

his head won’t stop moving on your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck as much as he can. you let out an involuntary gasp as his hair leaves goosebumps in it’s wake.

“brahms—“ you breathe out, reaching to stroke his curls between your fingers. “what’s all this for?” you’re stuttering, taken aback, but still trying to stabilize yourself as much as you can.

he growls against your skin, mask scraping against your collarbone. “you look so pretty,” he says. “so so pretty.”

oh. you get it.

once he snaps his hips against your center, you almost yelp, gripping his cardigan a little tighter. reaching down, you help him unbuckle his pants, watching his hurried movements. he grabs you, pulling you up the tree. you wrap your legs around his waist as he holds you up, already feeling him against you as you push your panties aside.

“please, please,” he begs, “let me have you- please,”

“you can have me, brahms.”

before you can get another word out, let alone register any change, he’s already pressing the tip of his cock into you, before roughly pushing the rest of himself in. you moan at the intrusion, mixed with both pleasure and pain, biting so hard into your lip you think it might bleed.

you can’t even find the time to adjust before he’s rutting against you, practically humping you like a dog against the tree. he’s groaning and gasping into your ear, whimpering your name over and over, as your hand grabs and pulls at his curls with each thrust. there’s no calculation or rhythm to his movements. just unbridled lust and want.

your ankles lock around him, pushing him deeper into you. he lets out a loud whimper at that, ramming his cock into you even harder. he’s throbbing, so overwhelmed with want he can barely say anything, whimpering so much you almost think he’s crying. the fabric of your clothing is the only thing stopping the sound of slapping skin.

“please, please,” he’s crying, begging, not even knowing himself what he’s asking you for. more? to cum? to stay buried inside you forever? all are correct answers, you bet.

“fill me up, brahms,” you gasp, your breath filling his ear with warm air, his voice wavering at your words. you know how addicted he is to just hearing you say that — the idea of you begging him to mark you as his driving him crazier than you could even know.

“i will, i will,” he moans, hands gripping your hips tight. you can tell he’s close by the way his hips stutter.

you reach down as much as you can muster, rubbing your clit in circles, in time with his thrusts. brahms moans at the sight, hips stilling against yours as he gasps and sputters against you, releasing his load deep inside you.

with the feeling and sound of him cumming, you reach your own peak, legs tightening around his waist and cunt clenching around his cock. he moans again at the tight, wet spasms around him.

once you both come down, you’re left panting against each other, brahms still holding you up against the tree. with a pat on his shoulder, he pulls out of you and sets you down on the ground. you readjust your panties before helping him put himself back inside his pants.

“we should go home now, brahms.” you say, tsking when he shakes his head no. “we have to clean ourselves up.”

you see his body language light up at the words. he’s always been a fan of your baths.

[onedaughterofman]

Untitled vignette #4

Summary: Glowing eyes, sharp fangs, cold breath and thick accent... You know what Papa is.

Pairing: Papa Emeritus x g/n reader.

Tags/warning: Humor. Crack fic. This is an ode to those cringy fics we used to read when we were teens. Please don't kick me out of the fandom.

Under the pale moon, Papa's eyes cast a faint glow. Almost like a feral animal, his blown pupils burn into your body with an intensity capable of shaking you to the core.

Down your spine, the shivers trace a pattern over your skin. It's cold in the Ministry's backyard, and the shadows have made of every corner they room. It's also incredibly silent, only the eerie whisper of the wind breaking the slumber.

"Walk with me, my love."

Papa's commanding voice leaves no room for hesitation. As in a trance, your feet follow him through the stone path without your mind being completely conscious of their movement. The dark tree tops sway and dance to an eternal melody. You wonder if just like the leaves inevitably get tangled in the wind and become one with it, you have no choice but to perform this dance with Papa.

Whether you are trapped in his raw strength or caught in his subtle charm, it doesn't matter. Your hand clings to the arm he offers, nails scratching the soft material of his finely detailed habits.

Bathed by the moon and embraced by the shadows, Papa resembles an apparition, a phantom ready to sink his claws on you and drag you to the underworld.

Is it purgatory your destiny? Or will you rejoice in Hell for eternity? If hell is the answer, you pray to the Dark Lord to let you bring Papa with you.

To be forever, as one, hugged by the eternal flames. What a bliss.

"We are alone," Papa speaks up, musing on his words."Are you scared?"

You are. Much like a mouse trapped between the paws of a playful cat, you feel like he is only leading you to your demise. And worse, you are following him willingly.

"Yes," it's the reply. Papa's pupils burn on your face as he comes to a stop, one eyebrow twitching in a small surprise.

"Why?" He asks, breathless. Hidden by the darkness, his face looks gaunt and sharper. Still, his teeth cast a faint reflection of the moonlight. "You are aware of my feelings for you."

"That's the problem." The sound of your frantic heart muffles the words. "Often I fear your feeling will consume to the core."

"Would that be too bad?" The sharp nails barely graze on your cheekbone. "Wouldn't that be romantic? To get completely undone under my yearning for you."

Standing on the patio, Papa appears to be divine. There's something wrong with him, you know it. You have known it from the beginning, but chose to ignore it in favor of letting yourself fall for his charm.

His deadly, mocking charm. And you lie to yourself every day, ignoring the harsh truth behind devilish appeal.

"We can't keep doing this," you plead with him, turning around to escape his stare. "I can't keep ignoring the warning signs inside my head."

For a long moment, Papa absentmindedly nods. "You have noticed it, then."

Step after step, he moves closer. The grace of his body makes it seem like he's floating down the stone path. When he's behind you, his arms curl on your figure, trapping it.

Your heart jumps inside your chest. Papa doesn't let go, even if you squirm. You have become his prey, and he's an avid, hungry predator, ready to sink his fangs on your tender flesh.

"Say it," Papa commands. Cold air hits the exposed skin of your neck before he tilts his head to press his lips over the same spot. "I need you to say it."

"I know what you are," you gasp. His lips press again on your neck, teeth lightly grazing it.

"Say it."

Swallowing doesn't untie the knot in your throat. You can't speak, for the weight of your accusation might be too heavy for your tongue. Papa isn't a regular man, that's for sure. He is entirely something else. Something far more scary.

"You are…" You begin, trembling. If it weren't for the firm support of his arms, you'd be falling on the ground. "You are…"

The wind stops. In the night, not even the cicadas dare to sing. Papa squeezes tighter, holding his breath

"You are an Italian."

The sudden absence of his body behind yours is cold. You turn around, ready to meet his eyes. And there, a few steps away, he stands. There's surprise on his face, a bitter acceptance mixed with relief.

"Only a part, my love."

It doesn't matter to you. To love a man, an Italian one, is something you are not sure to be able to bear.

Still, when he looks at you full of yearn and the moon falls on him like a veil, it's hard to say no. Papa's extended hand finds yours, and he kisses the back of it in a silent invitation to love him, to stay for eternity.

Fuck. If he's the devil, or worse, you don't care. Everybody carries a curse with them in this world, and this is yours.

Ps: this is what a full day of job hunting does to a mf. I'm rejecting my humanity. I apologize for what you just read. Also, no offense intended towards the Italians.

Well, only a bit of offense 'cause that bureaucracy is personally haunting my ass. Fuck the ASL man. Fuck them

[deny-the-issue]

The Kraken of Bilgewater Bay

Part Two: Themyscira

Summary: You meet the other sacrifices and search to solve a mystery.

Thank you to the wonderful @juniper-sunny for beta reading <3

Part One, Part Three, Part Four

AO3 Link

Ko-fi Link

[NSFW] [MDNI] [Silco x Fem!reader] [Kraken!Silco] [Tentacles] [smut] [plot] [emotional hurt] [oral sex]

You wake with the first brilliant rays of light just beginning to peek over the horizon. Attempting to sit upright only sinks your legs into the water, and the cold quickly washes away the sleep from your mind. You lie down again, and the piece of driftwood levels out. Poking your head up to look around, you spy a small island in the distance. Or was it a large island, the image warped by the miles? 

Too far to swim, that’s for sure. You lay your head back and close your eyes against the brightening sky, uncertain thoughts clouding your mind. Focus! What’s the last thing you remember? Mind-blowing orgasms from the monster meant to eat you. Right - and then what? Did you seriously just pass out? Are you on a piece of driftwood? Did the beast find it for you?   

Focusing on your current situation stilled your mind, allowing you to notice something new. You’re not adrift at all! Your makeshift raft is pulled by something beneath the water, smooth except for soft, rhythmic lurches. So it did find this for you. Curious; this is an intelligent creature familiar with human needs. Female, at least, you thought to yourself, smirking like it’s a dirty secret. 

Life seems much brighter now, not just from the lack of shelter. The screams that have haunted your dreams - your sister’s screams - were not in terror. She had the time of her life, just like you! But then what? Will you be reunited with your sister?

The prospect sends a jolt of excitement through you, and you sit up again, only to squeal when you dip back into the icy water. You roll onto your stomach and laugh triumphantly when you manage to stay on the small plank, now able to view the approaching landmass more easily. A couple of minutes pass, and the island is only slightly closer. At this pace, it could still be a few hours before making shore. 

You growl your frustrations at the open ocean, sounding like a feral animal, and subsequently giggle as you try to replicate the noise. Quickly bored, you briefly question your sanity before an idea springs into your mind. Your knuckles stay elevated above the board in hesitation for a moment longer before knocking against the wood loudly. 

“Hello? Mr. Monsteeerrr! Hey!” you shout, continuing to bruise your hand with the insistent rapping. 

The raft ceases, gently swaying as it loses speed. After a long, tense moment of wondering if you angered it, a shape emerged in front of you, barely breaking the surface. A crown of black hair resembling seaweed framed a, so far, surprisingly human face. Strong brow gave way to shining, mismatched eyes: one an ocean blue, the other molten lava surrounded by mottled, dark skin and deep scars. It stops there, staring at you, not revealing the rest of its terrible, ruined, beautiful face. 

Eyes wide and mouth agape, you attempt to pull yourself together, feeling the rush of heat in your cheeks. 

“A-any chance we could go… faster?” you plea, voice wavering as you lose the confidence you felt only moments before. 

A growl shook the water, rippling as his voice bubbled viciously to the surface. And just like that, it disappears beneath the water once more. The raft resumes moving just as fast as before, and you sigh, thinking your words have fallen on deaf ears. Or at least ones that don’t understand your language. You scream as the plank lurches forward violently, bucking you half off. Scrambling back onto the wood, you grip the forward edge, preparing for the next one. 

The harsher the movement, the faster you approach the medium-sized island. Yes, now you can actually tell how big it is. You’d smile if it weren’t for the onslaught of salty water splashing about, pitching the wood up in the front with its speed. It was like horse riding! You imagine gleefully, not minding how the water and wind froze your fingers to the bone.

The creature pulls you into a small bay, taking you to the beach. Your dismount was NOT graceful, face-planting into the shallow water before finding your balance and staggering into the warm, dry sand. You take a few steps toward the treeline before facing the water again to see the creature lingering.

“Thank you!” 

Seemingly satisfied with your gratitude, the beast retreats, leaving you to your own devices. Clapping your hands together as you observe your new home, you start exploring. Not two feet into the treeline, you see a trail worn deep into the lush vegetation, and follow it. After walking for about ten minutes, you follow the smell of smoke and come to a camp. 

You take in a small entrance to a dark cave on the far side, strips of meat hanging on a long line tied between trees in the sunniest spot, and a tended fire in the center with a large, steaming pot over it. The smell wafting from the boiling contents called to you, mouth drooling at the prospect of food. 

“We have a new one!” Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest as a woman yells from behind you. 

Hand still gripping your chest, you take in the woman’s kind eyes and inviting smile. She has short brown hair, uneven from the tools used to cut it, with soft brown doe eyes and dark, beautiful skin. 

“I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to scare you! The name’s Emily,” she apologized, offering you her free hand. 

You notice a basket full of fruit supported in the crook of her other arm as you shake her hand. Giggling, she hands you an enormous star fruit that you greedily snatch, biting into it immediately. You sigh into the fruit, eyes closing as the slightly sour juice fills your mouth and runs down your chin.

Remembering your manners, you shoot her a sheepish smile as you chew the large chunk of fruit you bit off, overly aware of your disheveled, salty clothes.

“No worries, we were all starving when we first arrived!”

You spit out the seeds and wipe your chin before asking, “Is Evie here? Evelyn, I mean?”

Her face pales, and she shakes her head, “No.”

Opening your mouth to interrogate her, you hear other voices approaching. Two other women greet you happily, welcoming you to their island. One was tanned, borderline burnt, and tall with sandy blond hair. The other was a good foot shorter with perfectly bronzed skin and curly brown hair springing in every direction, indeed an exquisite sight to behold.

“Where are the other two?”

“You know, if you’re going to be stuck here with us, you should probably learn some manners,” the tall one said, rolling her eyes and flicking back her tangled hair. 

“You weren’t exactly friendly when you first got here; give her some slack!” the other rebuked. “I’m Jo; what’s your name?”

Softened by her radiant smile, you answer. 

“Come have some stew - it should be ready by now!” Jo invited happily, hooking arms with you to walk the rest of the way into the camp.

Each sits on a makeshift seat that is either a rock or a wooden crate, and they pass around wooden bowls while Jo dolls out the food. Putting yours aside to cool, you dig into the rest of the fruit, too hungry to ask any questions. 

Devouring the stew in much the same ferocity as the fruit, you set your empty bowl down and blow out a contented sigh. It was almost relaxing, if not for the three pairs of eyes looking at you expectantly. 

“Uh, right, so,” you stutter, “the beast just dropped you off here, too?”

“Pretty much! He brings us spices and all sorts of other stuff, anything we need and more,” Jo answered, seemingly the only one happy to answer your questions.

“Where does he get the supplies from?”

“From wrecked ships, duh,” the tall woman blurts.

“So, let me get this right,” you start, “the creature wrecks ships to supply us, and Bilgewater sacrifices us to stop him from wrecking ships? How does that work?”

“He must travel to other places, too,” Emily shrugs, nursing her stew. 

“And you’re all just… content here?” you ask, baffled at their nonchalance. 

“Where else would we go? We have no home to go back to.” Jo lowered her head in defeat.

“Gee, I don’t know, the rest of the world ?!” You throw your hands up, exasperated. “Are we the only ones on this island?”

“Yes, unfortunately ,” the tall lady spits, “My name is Anna, by the way, since you’re not going anywhere; unless you build a stupid raft.”

“What happened to the other two sacrifices?” you probe, ignoring Anna’s jab. 

“Helena died from sickness, and Evie… we just woke up one morning, and she was gone.” Jo looks at Anna as she speaks, uneasy.

“Gone? As in dead?”

“No, just gone ; disappeared.”

“How can that happen? You have searched the island, right?”

“Oh, yeah, what a great idea. Why don’t you search the island for some stranger that disappeared four years ago,” Anna quipped, amusing only herself. 

And with that, you stand and begin to walk out of camp. 

“Wait!” Jo pleas and you turn around. She grabs a canteen, handing it to you with a sad smile. 

You accepted the water with a slight nod and left. Was Jo sorry for Anna’s behavior or some other reason? They all start acting weird when you bring up Evie. Determination fueled your movements as you zig-zag across the island, searching for anything .

A large tree, the biggest on the island you wager, stood on a small hill, begging to be climbed. Slinging the canteen strap across your body, you approach the thick tree. Your fingers find old grooves carved into the flesh of it as you circle the tree, observing it. The years have softened the edges and faded the overall message, but two names are still legible. 

Silco & Helena

Helena? As in the first sacrifice? Who is Silco? Is that -? No, it can’t be! Monsters don’t have names, right? But, then again, this monster comprehends human language. Maybe you should stop calling it that. Silco . Silco is its name. 

Losing the will to climb a monument in stiff, unruly clothing, you instead venture to the other side of the island. There are more caves on this side with tattered remains of a small camp abandoned long ago. Following an old trail, you come to a small clearing with a few old tree stumps, chopped using a sharp instrument, going from the blade marks. 

Anna’s words echo in your ears: unless you build a stupid raft . Is that what happened to Evie? Why wouldn’t they just tell me? You find a comfortable perch overlooking the ocean and allow everything you’ve been holding back to hit you.

The sting of losing your home overwhelms you, with no happy prospect to outweigh the destruction of your life. Your sister was gone for a second time, and it started the mourning process again.  Tears sting your eyes, and your face finds a home in your hands, devolving into shaking, heaving sobs that shake you to your core. 

Eyes puffy and tired, you notice the beginnings of a striking sunset and decide to head back to camp once the waterworks dry up. Following a different path back along the shore, you spot a tidal pool and file it in the back of your mind as a future relaxation spot. 

Jo and Emily look relieved when you finally walk into camp. You don’t blame them; you would have gotten lost if not for the bright moonlight bathing the island in a beautiful blue light. You eat another meal with them, but this time without the questions. They seem to appreciate it.    

“You must be tired,” Jo theorized, looking at the bags under your eyes. “Come on; I’ll show you where we sleep.”

Nodding your head in agreement, you slowly rise from the fire with a long stretch before following her into the mouth of the cave. It’s filled with precious spices, weapons, instruments, shiny treasures, and a copious amount of bedding. Heading to a makeshift linen rack, she hands you a dress and panties made from the same tan cloth, bidding you goodnight with a gentle smile. 

You happily take off your ruined clothing, throwing them in a bunch off to the side before sliding into the clean fabric. The dress came to your knees and fit loosely, breathable for the hot island weather. 

Thankful for the kindness of clean clothes, you crawl into a pile of blankets Jo pointed out, wrapping yourself until only a tuft of hair sticks out. Tears well in your eyes, and your heart sinks into the icy depths of depression, bringing your consciousness with it.  

The smell of bacon crisping over an open fire pulled you back to consciousness. Sitting up lazily, you rub the sleep from your eyes and look around. One of the women remained wrapped snugly in her bed folds, sleeping peacefully. Walking proved difficult as sores you didn’t know you had sent spikes of pain through your calves. You did it anyway, hobbling out of the cave as silently as your feet would allow. 

Your hands come up to shield your eyes from the harsh sunlight, half blocking Jo’s beckoning form. She had a mouth full of bacon and practically shoved the plate holding a mountain of it into your hands. 

“Did you… hunt?” you ask, bewildered, before stuffing your face with the delicious pork.

“Our beastie leaves it on the beach for us! Of course, it’s up to us to prepare it,” Jo faked a gag, sticking out her tongue before continuing, “but it’s worth it! We always make some fresh and dry the rest.”

You hum your agreement as the greasy delight fills your mouth. Once you stuff yourself to the brim, you take a long gulp of water to clear your throat. 

“Do you have any extra shoes?” you ask, already itching to explore. 

“Yeah! I’ll get some for you,” Jo answered, bouncing off into the cave.

She returned with simple leather sandals, which you took gratefully, slipping your sore feet into the fine material. 

“Oh, and if you find the tidal pool not too far from here - I highly recommend visiting. Although you may still be satisfied,” Jo whispered, wiggling her eyebrows and flashing a knowing smile. 

Eyes going wide with recognition, you giggle and hear her join you as she leaves. Head reeling, you struggle not to laugh as you process her words. Silco must love our taste, you think, rising from the seat. There was no way you could ignore such a suggestion - you have questions that burn for answers.

The walk to the tidal pool is longer than you remember from the night before, or maybe you are just too eager to have your questions answered. For all you know, Helena made up the name for the creature! He may only comprehend and not speak. Here’s hoping that mouth has other talents, you think, standing at the water’s edge.  

There is a flat rock, perfect size for you to rest on one side of the pool, and you plop down on it, sticking your feet into the warming water. The sun beats down on you while thoughts swirl angrily in your head. Where is your sister? Is she…? 

You can’t finish the thought, feeling a gnawing ache form in your chest. A soft trill bubbled up from under the water, the source only a few feet from you, just outside the pool. His expression barely changed, but you felt his emotions blow through you like the cool sea breeze: sad and apologetic.

He has to climb over a small reef to submerge into the pool, exposing himself for the first time. Excited goose bumps prickled across your skin, and you beckoned him closer with a wave of your hand.

“It’s alright! You can come closer.”

Lifting himself over the coral barrier, he reveals a slim figure with defined muscle. His torso was humanoid, flesh a pale aquamarine, fading to a dark green down his forearms. His hair flows down past his hips, trailing behind him in the water, but you only have eyes for the corded muscles and delightful line of hair descending from his naval. Anticipation turned to confusion seeing eight tentacles join where his hips should begin. 

Eyes snap to his face, and you blush, realizing how long you’ve been silently observing as his body dips into the water to his chest. He has a weak chin and sharp features culminating in a crooked nose that you recognize with a growing heat in your core. Tentacles slither up your legs as you take in the deep scars on the left side of his face and how the surrounding skin blackened around his molten, lidless eye. Truly, a monster to behold: yet all you feel is sympathy. Who could have hurt this beautiful beast?

His hastily advancing appendages snap you out of your reverie.

“Wait!” you giggle despite your harsh tone, “I didn’t come here for that - I’ve got questions, mister!”

He made a sad sound low and soft but continued to eye you hungrily.

“Well, not just for that,” you amend with a shy smile, and he clicks approvingly, the sound emanating from his gills rather than his mouth. 

 You yelp as he caresses your clothed slit, tentacles now wrapping around your thighs. Your emotional turmoil drained out of your head, carnal desire clouding every thought. Would it be so bad if you gave in to him before possibly learning the truth? 

He slithered under the fabric of your panties, swirling the soft tip of his tentacle against your clit. Hips bucked with the stimulation; never in your years has anyone come close to pleasuring you like him . Running a tentative hand along the girth of the tentacle between your legs, Silco moaned, otherworldly, reverberating your entire being. With an effortless tug, he pulls you forward, dipping your knees into the water. 

Tiring of the obstacle your underwear provided, he rips the fabric and closes the gap between you. Your arms fly out, seeking intimacy by wrapping around his neck, going in for a kiss but stopping at the last moment, remembering yourself. 

“T-touch me,” you stutter, and he grabs your hips, cold skin clashing against your uncomfortably hot body, begging for release. 

A second tentacle, soft and wet, enters you slowly. You gasp, unable to breathe, as the tip drags against your inner bundle of nerves. Lips crash against each other passionately, and your fingertips trail down his jaw, gently brushing the edges of his gills. He shudders under your touch, lips faltering in their movements. His tentacle writhes within you, fucking you into oblivion with new vigor. 

You keen loudly, hands digging into his back as your climax rolls through like a tsunami.

“Silco!” you cry in ecstasy, body quaking around him. 

His growl spills from parted lips, revealing chipped front teeth, and you adoringly observe while the aftershocks pulse through you. He pulls away faster than you like, leaving you aching for contact. Peering into the water, you find it cloudy where it was clear a few minutes ago. It’s not until you feel the slightly sticky texture on your lower legs that you put two-and-two together. You start to wonder if he comes every time, and you desperately try to shake the thought from your head.

“How do you know my n-n-n-n-nammme?” his voice cracks and splits like some great serpent, but his words are understood regardless.  

Proud of yourself for only staring in awe for a second, you take a gamble, “I’ll tell if you answer my question.”

His ocean eye narrows suspiciously but does nothing else to dissuade you. 

“Please tell me what happened to my sister, Evie. She was the sacrifice before me.”

“Yesssss,” he begins solemnly, “you ssssmell like herrrr.” 

“Where is she? Where is my sister?” you ask insistently, losing your patience as anxiety sours your stomach.   

“Sssshe built a raft. Sssssshe left. There wasss a ssssstorm. I tried to warn her. She wassss sssscared. Did not want mmmmmy help. It took her.”

There it is; the answer you dread. You feel like a knife plunged deep into your chest, twisting to cause unbearable pain that escapes as a breathless sob shaking your entire body. You know why she did it. She was coming to save you! She was coming back to you !

You pull at your hair as tears stream down your face, bringing your knees into your chest as you rock in a desperate attempt to comfort yourself. Silco stands by your side, unmoving until you quiet down, having no more tears to shed.

“What would mmmmake you fffeeeel better?” Silco asked, keeping his voice low.

That’s a good question. What would make you feel better? The knife begins burning within you, ignited by sudden anger. You know exactly what would make you feel better. A cruel smile curled your lips before speaking, fists shaking with rage, pouring your tortured soul into his mismatched gaze.

And, to your surprise, the beast smiles wide, admiring your blood-hungry soul. 

“Annnything for the fire-heart.”

[blzzrdstryr]

Yanderes caring for a sick Darling hcs - Liyue boys edition

Starring: Childe, Xiao, Zhongli

[Mondstadt boys edition]

[Mondstadt girls edition]

Childe

Despite his reputation of bloodlusted, fight obsessed battle maniac, Childe is very skilled in and takes pleasure from many fields, including those that don’t really fit into a stereotype of the walking war machine.

Like cleaning or cooking. If your forced relationship somehow develops into the sugary, honeymoon phase, expect him to bring a light breakfast into the bed minutes after your awakening.

Honestly, he views caring for you as both a weird ownership sign and a conquest thing. When you’re sick, you’re weak and vulnerable and dependent, so tending to you is having your entire health and possibly life under his thumb.

He won't say it out loud, yet he will make it absolutely clear to you that he is in control here and it's him who decides whether you'll be healthy again or not. Dare to mouth him too harshly or act too coldly and Childe will leave you all alone, with no comfort or medicine to alleviate your pains.

He, of course, will quickly forgive you once you beg and humiliate yourself enough, and turn back to the loving husband he tries to act as, abd return to being your main caretaker - he usually has servants looking after you, but your sickness is a special occasion, he wants to be the only witness to your vulnerability and weakness.

If you stay docile and nice, then he will also act extra nice ceasing the mental games he usually plays on you. Childe likes to test you and your devotion to him, yet he also understands you being sick might be a serious deal, so he doesn’t want to subject you to unnecessary stress.

With the emotional manipulations out of the window, Childe won't get any more tolerable though, as he will coo and "aww" at your perceived weakness, especially if you aren't known for your any fighting prowess and skills.

You know how sometimes people adore small, harmless animals like bunnies and kittens? That's how he perceives you at the moment. Healthy you is already weak and dependent on him, and having you sick is just a great temptation to him - you are so cute like that, delirious and vulnerable, he wants to have you like this 24/7.

Despite the frequent thoughts he won't sabotage your treatment - sickness can cause long term issues and shouldn't be toyed with, even if the sight of ill you awakes something feral inside of him.

Xiao

Xiao doesn't know much about humans - he talked with some in the past, sees the guests at the Wangshu inn, he even saved them a couple of times from the approaching monsters, but it's still not enough to form a general understanding of them.

Most of the human's inner workings are a great mystery to him - be it feelings and thoughts or the mechanisms of the body.

Xiao knows that sometimes humans get sick, he doesn’t know why though.

He won't believe you at first, when you say you're sick, thinking that it’s just a ploy to divert his attention and use this opportunity for an escape attempt.

Xiao, however, will start to regret his thoughts once your symptoms worsen enough. He will feel like the last scum in Teyvat, especially if you’re still being defiant to his love and the whole kidnapping affair.

See, Xiao doesn’t like to think about what he has done by pulling you out of your life and confining to one place, his history is enough to make him despise the mere idea of stripping one of their freedom. That's why his thoughts never dwell on your whole situation, there's just too many uncomfortable parallels between you and past nameless Xiao for him to exist without his conscience eating him alive.

Your sickness is another resemblance to his past, as the evil god that enslaved him always pushed Xiao to his limits, uncaring of how it will affect his mental and physical help.

Can he deem himself “right” for kidnapping you and isolating you from a dangerous, dangerous world if he lets you go sick under his watch?

Despite his clear dislike of populated areas, he will bolt to the human settlements the second he realizes you won’t beat the illness on your own. Xiao will terrify the local apothecary and medicine seller, demanding a cure for your condition.

Expect him to be glued to your hip for the next few weeks - even if you recover and get healthy again, Xiao will still be a nervous and anxious wreck inside - all his life he has been suffering and losing, he can’t find any strength to part with you too.

Zhongli

Zhongli is the most tolerable on the list here, unlike Xiao he isn’t a big worrier, nor he will actively adore the fact that you’re ill like Childe.

Just like Venti he can instantly cure you. With gnosis or not, Rex Lapis is still a six thousand years old deity, strong and powerful enough to rain meteorites from the skies.

However, unlike Venti, he won’t do it right away, especially if you caught something non-threatening like seasonal flu. He believes that tending to the sick is a special kind of intimacy, as looking after you in such a way requires a certain level of trust and commitment.

By helping you combat the disease and alleviating your pain, he kind of bonds with you as your caretaker, no matter how dehumanizing it may sound. Humans even with their complex and advanced technology and civilizations still remain animals inside.

One of the ways to earn the feral animal’s trust is to tend to it’s injuries and provide it with food, so Zhongli believes that caring for you will lessen your ire even if it decreases by the smallest drops. He’s ready to do anything to win your affections.

He will be a patient, calm presence to your discomfort, doing everything to lessen your pain.

Zhongli also knows a lot of natural remedies and traditional medicine, having lived among humans long enough. He will cook a special rice congee - it’s light and easy to digest, and have you drinking ginger tea, known for its anti-inflammatory properties.

[elvesandlanterns]

Ghost Helpline part 17 - Aftermath

Violet spends the next week stuck inside. It wasn’t bad. Dad washed, clothed and feed her teleportation sickness away. She sleeps in his bed and he sends her to sleep with fairytales. Violet doesn’t know what she’s supposed to learn from these stories, it’s nice tho.

Violet doesn’t remember being a baby, maybe she never was one? This softness with her new dad leaves her wanting. Violet would like to beige that if she ever was a baby that she had been held like this - as if she was something precious.

Funny enough her bed rest has her brothers divided. Violet lies about and blames it all on a summoning gone wrong. Brad doesn’t correct her.

It leaves half of her brothers to tiptoe around her as if she’s going to go feral at any moment. The other half yell, they’re angry. Konstelacio isn’t sure which she hates more.

Brad shuts himself away from everyone except Chad and Ziyad.

Billy hugs her and tells her everything about his mission. Almost everything he dances around something. Something important, he calls Batman a dick twice. It makes her feel better about lying.

Klarion gives her an amulet and drags Charles over to tell her about their night out.

Dandy … Dandy doesn’t take it well.

“SOMEONE should have been with her!”

“Brad SHOULD have called me!”

“We should be HOME! Not here with all these these … !”

“You know how I feel about humans.”

Every days another fight.

Konstelacio sneaks out the window.

—- —- —-

It’s been a week since the commotion on the Watch Tower. Six days since they started developing an injectable cure for Vampires Fog. Five days since his talk with Tim. Four days since his kids have begun to mercilessly tease him over more frequent phone use. Three days since he read Nightwings report on the pink vampire. Two days since Constantine had contacted him with an update. They had some more info. One day since he called Clark asking him to schedule a JL meeting.

Six hours thirty two minutes and 54 seconds since Vlad last texted him.

Bruce debated sending him another cat meme to hurry up the process.

He knew he shouldn’t be worried, apparently his only daughter had gotten the flu. And much like Tim, when they got sick they got really sick.

Bruce sent him- her- them! Bruce sent them flowers. Hopefully she would get better soon. It was painfully obvious that Vlad loved his children and her getting sick had him stressing out.

Bruce debated inviting the Masters family over for dinner.

The kids would bully him relentlessly.

Alfred would love it.

—- —— ——

The entire week has been strange to Damian. For some reason his father has been texting the head of their new neighbors relentlessly, much to his sibling’s amusement. Damian doesn’t understand why father and him suddenly “need” friends. The whole act was a waste of time, Jon was enough friendship he needed anyway.

Damian stalked into the backyards tree line. Today was good day to paint damian thought as he set up his easel. Just a sunny quiet day with no distractions.

Wwhhhooossshhhh!

That, that was probably just some animal on the property. It wasn’t uncommon to see bunnies or cats skittering around the areas of estate that still resembled a forest.

Wwwwhhhhoooshhhh!

Damian followed the sound deeper into the tree line.

Wwwhhhossh!

That didn’t sound like an animal anymore. If anything it sounded like it was coming from above…?

Damian turned his head towards the sky.

It was just a girl. How disappointing, Damian had hoped to find a big cat.

She was sitting on a tree branch, swinging her legs like she had no trouble in the world. Tch- she probably doesn’t. No doubt she’s one of his new neighbors.

Wait … hadn’t she been sick recently? What was she doing out here? What was she thinking climbing that high?!

“Oi! Imbecile what are you thinking? Get down from there! “

Her head whipped around to face him.

He knew that face, he’d drawn it several times for the league files. It was missing the scar and golden eyes. But he knew that face.

He knew that face… Konstelacio ?