#perhaps they were never human- chosen before they were even born

[puppetmaster13u]

*points* I, am in the mood to write small Cryptid!Batfamily (they’re straight up not human) prompts. Like, what role each Batfamily member is to Gotham.

Sadly, for the life of me, I can’t think of any ideas of what to write.

If you’re willing to share some ideas- I am sitting here with wide open eyes and ears.

Oh man, I have so many ideas. But for now I suppose I shall stick to just one lol

SO, cryptid batfam, originally human according to everyone. Perhaps even known to be human (even if falsely) before some sort of thing happened. Perhaps that something being when a certain robin died. Even if they cannot die. There’s so many rumors and whispers through Gotham about the bats. Some claim them to be demons, other angels, and yet more say they’re Gotham’s own children. Ones she’ll never let go and never let death take permanently. 

Everyone knows about limbs that the guardians make mimic capes, truly wings or fins or something else. They whisper of people who sacrificed their everything to Gotham, who died and couldn’t stay that way. That begged not Gods or Deities, but begged to Gotham Itself. 

Everyone knows the city is a vicious mistress, but she’s not always needlessly cruel. 

There are many tales of how the bats came to be, some spread more than others, so much that the true origin has long since been buried. Perhaps it is done purposely, pointed whispers from fanged teeth as white eyes watch quietly. Perhaps it was done accidentally, a simple joke taken as fact. 

[yaksha-lover]

I know there’s a lot of debate about whether Malleus could ever actually be with someone like Yuu, considering he is a fae and prince, but the more I think about it the more it feels plausible. While there’s most likely never going to be any canon romances in the game, I think it’s an interesting discussion. Keep in mind this is just my opinion!

We know about the fae-human war that occurred in Briar Valley before Malleus was born (the one that Lilia fought in). Lilia has talked before about wanting there to be peace and understanding between humans and fae.

Well, what would be a better way to do this than uniting the two groups through a royal marriage between a human and a fae? Irl, this kind of marriage does have historical precedent. This union allows both parties to come together and witness specifically the ruler of their nation forgo any prejudice for the other group by sharing this deeply personal relationship.

Even though a lot of fae may look down upon humans and vice versa (probably similar attitudes to Sebek), if the King of Briar Valley were to marry a human, it would facilitate both political and social change amongst both groups. Families and relationships like Sebek’s parents (human-fae) would probably become much more common and socially-acceptable

Furthermore, the next royal heir would be of both fae and human descent, making them more appealing to both parties (aside from those who would remain prejudiced against half-fae like Sebek).

Lilia speaks of how a constant inability to compromise led to such conflict as the war. Marriage is pretty much the ultimate compromise to tie the two groups together. There will be incentive for both human and fae to support the royals of Briar Valley. The political change would hopefully be having everyone be allies, of this being the thing that makes them actually sit down and have political discussions instead of going straight to war. This would hopefully only facilitate more compromise and unity between the two factions, with them being able to support each other with resources and trade, for example.

The catch is that some of these benefits would likely only apply if the human Malleus married was chosen by the humans in Briar Valley who previously fought against the crown/fae. This is difficult because (as of now) we don’t have much knowledge of any such powerful (human) political opponent groups, or if they even exist after the war.

I think it would still generally be beneficial for him to marry a human (probably one of another kingdom I suppose is another solution). Marrying Yuu specifically may be difficult because of them being of ‘low-birth’ in the eyes of snobbish royals (it seems like Briar Valley is still a feudalist society) and being magicless, but I’m not sure those things are deal breakers.

Another problem that arises is the difference in lifespan, but (and this might be cope) but I like to think the Draconia family would have access to something that would make extending an otherwise healthy person’s life possible (whether magic, magical artifacts, etc.).

I honestly doubt Malleus’ grandmother would really deny him the choice of who he marries after everything that’s happened in his life. Also just like…realistically, who’s going to stop him? Malleus will be King and he also has his magic to back him up, so it’s not like any advisors can say no and his grandmother doesn’t have any other family members so she can’t threaten to disinherit him.

Plus, I don’t think there’s evidence to say that he would necessarily be forced to have a very specifically arranged marriage with any other kingdoms right now. I doubt Malleus is down to marry any of the other powerful royals or families (Leona, Kalim, etc.).

So it’s not really like he’s necessarily making a fatal mistake in ruling by not gaining an essential alliance through marriage. Sure, he probably couldn’t marry just anyone, but I think there is a case to be made for him marrying a human (and perhaps Yuu in some alternate timeline where twst is a dating sim).

[thatforkedroad]

Sun-hearted

[ao3] Anakin Skywalker is not human. The people around him try not to think about it.

----

Shmi had always known her son wasn’t like her. 

At first, she had assumed that the pregnancy had simply happened without her knowledge. Or that perhaps her mind had blocked out the event — a slave knew better than anyone how the brain killed the past to protect the present, to keep you surviving. 

But the more she tried to dig up the memory-that-wasn’t-there, the more she ran through scenarios, the more she realised that nothing that made sense. If it had been… any of her theories, she would have known, there would have been evidence, Watto wouldn’t have been so angry when he found out. Eventually, she realised she had to give up logic alltogether. Anakin’s father was not something knowable to her. He (it?) had been something else. Something impossible. 

A miracle.

The theory only grew more convincing as her pregnancy progressed. She began to sense things no human should have been able to. Objects falling before they’d even been knocked. Watto’s bad mood from two rooms away. Her baby’s strong soul, loudly proclaiming it would be a survivor. 

She held her new sixth sense dear for those nine months she had it — but not as dearly as she held her baby boy, to whom the sense really belonged. Her darling miracle baby boy, who always knew too much too soon, who read intentions as easily as he read schematics, and whose quick hands and quicker mind did the impossible on Boonta Eve. 

Slaves were supposed to cling to their miracles, so few and far between as they were. But a mother was supposed to do what was best for her son, and Anakin was her boy above all else. She let him go, hoping the Jedi would understand and care for his impossibility better than she ever could. 

(And as Shmi died, she did not need Anakin’s sixth sense to feel the anger running through his miracle veins. She did not need it to know what would happen next, either. 

She knew with all the certainty her slow-beating heart had that her son’s grief would raze the galaxy to ash.)

—

Obi-Wan knew Anakin didn’t fit in with the other younglings and padawans.

He wanted to believe it was just because of the boy’s upbringing, that it was only because he’d grown up in a much crueler, realer world to the others. Or perhaps it was because Anakin was already a padawan or because of how annoyingly easily it was for him to call the Force. Maybe they just heard the Council had tried to reject him. There seemed to be a few hundred thousand reasons that the children of the Temple would consider him an outsider — but one stood out like a sore and mythical thumb. 

There was no Chosen One or such thing as a child born of the Force. There was certainly no chance that the other children (even the ones who tried to accept Anakin with open arms) could sense otherness in his blood. He was just like any other Jedi, if a little more reckless. 

As Anakin and the other padawans grew, they grew together. He became like well-sewn patch on an old shirt — the difference was there, yes, but only noticeable if you were really looking. It was better for everyone if Obi-Wan stopped looking for the gap, so he did. 

Anakin had never seemed to notice it, anyway. 

(And as he watched Anakin’s slaughter of the Temple, the hot drowning of dread and horror and nausea was joined by a cold, parasitic realisation. The gap between Anakin and the other Jedi had never grown smaller; Obi-Wan had only grown more blind. 

Jedi were taught from a young age that they could not hold or control the Force, that they were to let it flow freely else they would face the consequences. Obi-Wan had been a fool to think that something made of one half Force and one half heartbreak could be held any more than its parent.)

—

Anakin grinned, and Ahsoka felt every clone in the hangar’s mood lift. Ahsoka couldn’t help but smile in return — and then he cracked a joke, and the worry and grief of the battle became a distant, shrouded memory.

It always went like this. They came back from the latest campaign dirtied, injured, and with a tiredness that ached into their very bones. They all wanted nothing more than to eat and sleep and mourn and not talk to anyone for several hours. But then Anakin — still riding the high of a good fight — would clap Ahsoka on the shoulder, make a stupid comment to Rex, and everything would feel fine. Better than fine even. 

Morale seemed so reliant on him that if her master was angry or sad or upset, so was the entire ship. When he was in a mood, meditation became impossible, no matter how at peace Ahsoka felt. She once considered that it was more than just moral, more than just his stupid jokes, but she had grown up in the Temple, raised on lessons of a Jedi’s few limits. A single man could not project his emotions onto an army. 

Anakin just had a friendly smile, was all. 

(And when Maul told her — warned her — of what her master would become, she did not listen. She could not listen. She thought only of his grin, and the sunny sureness in her chest that always accompanied it.

And so she fought for it again.)

—

Rex knew, theoretically, that General Skywalker was human. 

He’d seen enough medical scans from Kix (on the unusual occasion that the general submitted to care) to know that Skywalker’s biology was just like any natborn human’s. He didn’t have strange-coloured blood or an extra eye and all his (mostly-intact) organs were in the right places. The records showed that he was completely, one-hundred-percent human. 

Theoretically, this made complete sense. 

And it made sense he would seem slightly off. Rex had spent the first decade of his life surrounded entirely by his brothers and Kaminoan scientists; his idea of a ‘normal’ person was someone who looked and sounded identical to him, not a tall, barely-tanned Tatooinian with the wrong accent. Even if it hadn’t been, Rex knew Jedi were different from your average natborn. They could do all these crazy things that belonged in storybooks and myths, not the battlefield. Swaying people, moving objects (or clone captains) with their minds, seeing the future — if Rex hadn’t been trained to do so, he wouldn’t have believed a word of it. 

But if being a Jedi had been the reason, wouldn’t Rex have noticed the same thing with Commander Tano or General Kenobi? He understood that maybe Commander Tano wasn’t old enough to develop whatever it was General Skywalker had — but Kenobi was older, more trained in the Force. Surely Rex would have noticed the same thing, that same surely-not-quite-human feeling with him? 

Maybe he just spent too much time around the General. Maybe this thinking was just a part of having a good natborn friend.

He hoped it was, at least. 

(And when Rex heard of the attack on the Temple, he understood his hope was for naught. 

He and his brothers weren’t an isolated incident, he knew; Ahsoka had felt the deaths across the galaxy. He had no doubt the clones on the battlefield cut down their generals — who trusted them like they trusted their own right hand, who stood alone in front of a one-thousand strong army — with an alarming ease. 

But he heard reports of the Temple, of blue-painted clones massacring all there, and knew they couldn’t have done it alone. Only one Jedi was strong enough to take on a Temple of their own kind and win.)

—

Padmé wondered if her husband was made from the stars themselves.

It seemed like the only explanation, sometimes. How could anything mortal be so beautiful? How could anything born on solid ground hold that much love in its heart? He was impossible. He looked her in the eye and saw right through every mask she wore, saw that all she was at the core was an overworked girl from Naboo — and still beamed like she was the most perfect thing in the galaxy. He loved her for who she was, not what she could do for him nor for the stature of Amidala. That seemed rarer than stardust. 

She would see him and her breath would catch with something that had to be more than love. He stood by the window and stared into the Coruscanti night like he could hear every thought in the city-planet, his golden-brown hair catching the edges of the hundred-colour lights. She ought to walk up to him, hold him, tell him she loves him and pepper him with kisses — but all she could do was stare. In those moments, he was perfect and divine, and she could not interrupt them with her mortality. 

(And as Padmé lay dying, her life force dragged out by some dark presence, she thought of her star-husband. And she thought of the refugees she had once helped when their sun imploded. It should have been a lesson learnt; stars were beautiful in the night sky, warm in the summer, but dangerous. Able to end entire planets in their own cosmic pain. 

Some small part of her knew this when she first said I love you. But she could not listen. She saw only the star-beauty in his eyes and all the love he held in his sun-heart.)

—

Anakin Skywalker had long questioned whether he was human or not. 

But as Darth Vader looked down at his mechanical hands, heard his pressurised breathing, and ignored the pain that followed his every half-sedated movement, he found his humanity was no longer a question. 

[hana-no-seiiki]

Can you write something about yaoshi?thou their design is very pretty (⁠●⁠’⁠3⁠)⁠♡⁠(⁠ε⁠`⁠●⁠)

Let's say we're their fav human/god

I hope this makes sense

We don’t know much about the Aeons yet, so don’t expect this to be an accurate representation of what Yaoshi acts like. I’ll give ya two versions (human and aeon reader).

(YANDERE?) YAOSHI x READER (ft. Other Aeons)

warnings: ddne, mind break, power imbalance, massive age gap & infantilization(for the human section), yandere themes in general, somnophillia.

note: from what i read in yaoshi’s lore what i wrote feels like something the canon character would do hence the question mark

status: unedited

STORY ONE : TO LIVE IN ABUNDANCE | Doctor ! Reader

I.

Yaoshi could not fathom why one would not wish for eternal life. Life was the most beautiful thing in existence. Wondrous, with a diversity one could not begin to imagine. Yet, there exists people who desire for existence to come to a halt, many who wish for their teachings and gifts to end.

You were one of those people.

Despite your occupation as a doctor, you believed that every patient had a right to choose their destiny. Whether it be to continue fighting for their lives or to die peacefully in their death beds, who were you to decide what happens to them? You were only the nurturer and provider. Even the best doctor in their field has to let go of a patient when it came down to it. For life is only beautiful, meaningful when it has to diminish one day.

And in spite of your beliefs, Yaoshi decided to bless you to join him in his path.

Your world was shaken.

Why were you of all people chosen by this Aeon?

Sure, you were fully dedicated to career. But if anything, your views were more aligned to the Archer Lord of Fate. You have had many Mara strucken, the victims of Yaoshi’s ‘gifts’, pass away before your very eyes. Beasts who have long lost their minds and ability to choose what future they’ll follow. If you had a choice, without a heartbeat

Several millenia pass with you never aging. Generals that ruled come and go.

And now, because of their so-called kindness, you were banished from Xianzhou. Your home. Thrusted into the embrace of space and void,

and none other than the Aeon that doomed you.

“Child. You have come home at last.”

II.

If you were born into a different culture, perhaps a planet that worshipped the Aeon before you, maybe then you would be elated with your current happenstance.

But this was not the case unfortunately.

You spend around a decade filled with hatred and anger. Hurling the most venomous words and even attempting to harm their being. Of course, none of your actions do anything to help your situation.

A century was spent trying to convince them to let you go, to rescind their blessing and leave you to live your life as a mortal.

They refused, stating that it would saddened them to lose you.

It gets close to another century with how long you spent in tears. For the loss of your loved ones that had left you to go to the afterlife. For the situation you were forced into. As you cried and cried, all Yaoshi could do was embrace you using their many arms. It was a peculiar feeling at first but unfortunately became comforting soon enough.

And after all that you finally gave in.

Yaoshi did not seem surprised at all. In fact what awaited your complete acceptance was a gentle smile. One akin to a parent seeing their child come back home after running away in a fit.

“We can finally begin the preparations.”

“For what?” Your voice, hoarse and abused by your depressed barely came out.

“For our wedding.”

iii.

You were used to their multi-armed touches, their inhuman way of showing affection towards you. But nothing could prepare you for the consummation.

You don’t remember anything. Throughout the whole process you were extremely disassociated to the point of being catatonic.

This, this was your life now. Stuck to a god as a human who has far outlived their expiration date. Slowly yet surely your mind corroded.

And even as your body was littered with the golden allure of ginkgo leaves, your freedom never came.

Yaoshi did end up releasing you from their grasp to roam the cosmos freely. People from all over the universe called you the Golden Wanderer, or the Sanctus Medicus Saint.

But what was the point?

Even with your endless fame and immortality. You were a dead man walking.

Waiting, hoping, that one day someone would grant you mercy a god of life and everything beautiful in it could not.

STORY TWO : TO DIE IN THE LIGHT | AEON OF DREAMS - IMAGINARY ELEMENT ! READER

i.

In the time humanity and civilizations began to rise. You were created within the womb of the universe representing a concept. Dreams. Though you most presided over preferable ones, you were known to give unending nightmares to those that slighted you and your domain.

In the grand scheme of Aeons, you were neutral. Never straying from the unbiased perspective of a god. Those that worshipped and favored you get rewarded, those that dirtied your name were punished.

For that you were often looked down upon by your fellow gods, seen as indecisive with your head literally and figuratively stuck in the clouds.

Yaoshi used to be one of them. They had a difficult time understanding how one could live without ever peeling their eyes to the grandiose aesthetics of the world.

They soon began to fall in love with your fair — beautiful and impartial — self.

And if those mara-struck beings were anything to go off of . . .

Their infatuation spelt your doom.

ii.

There you were. Your form shone brilliantly under the light of the moons and stars that seemed to dangle above you.

Even a god snored, and snored you did. But to Yaoshi this hoarse sound was music. No, even more than that.

It was a reminder that throughout the eons, you two are alive. Together. Breathing.

Yaoshi visited your slumbering body frequently to the point that it became a risk. That Lan would sometimes stand guard over you in case they would come, or have the Xianzhou oversee your vicinity. Not many mortals can hold up against the Aeon however, and if it meant having to go against their path in order to see you — the choice was obvious.

Their stays mostly consisted of performing lullabies and poetry of how both your and their followers adored your seemingly romantic partnership, to your blissfully unaware body.

At least that’s what they thought.

iii.

Contrary to popular belief, your most devoted of followers do not eternally sleep. Nor do the majority spend a lot of their sleeping. In order to spread your name, a lot chose to stay awake. Because if there was anything your true followers loved more than a good nap it was you.

As such, not known to many people or gods, you had a vast network of knowledge. A lot of what people learn and experience appear in dreams, and once the more fantastical ones were taken off the list, you were left with a near infinite amount of information.

Humans have also mastered a way of communion with you.

Case in point, you had long known about Yaoshi’s visits. You were the one that asked Lan to aid you. Breaking your self imposed rule of impartiality.

But all is for naught.

Misinformation had spread far too wide and the delusions Yaoshi infected the world with overpowered your truth.

Their acquisition of you was as tranquil and hurdle free as it could be.

While you were caged by Yaoshi, another Aeon swore to bring you back.

Ending life and therefore your deeply unconscious state. A state which they saw as involuntary. A cage infinitely worse than the Aeon of Harmony kept you in.

And the first Stellaron was born.

a/n: i imagine human reader, especially post yaoshi adoption, to be like a lifesteal-tank sort of abundance character. only ever healing(mostly themself) if they attack/hurt the enemy, which would go against what yaoshi wants. i might draw a design for them actually. the type that if you build well, won’t ever die. but any battle with them would take a really long time since their damage is pp in comparison to other characters at the very least.

[link to the design/drawing here if i ever finish it]

[here’s a link to another aeon related fic]

i wanted to include both versions here before i uploaded this even if the first one is so long cause i just know im never gonna write a part two if ever lol. and yes, the aeon in the last bit is nanook.

want more hsr fics/have an idea for one? send me an ask or submission ❤️

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

[kentopedia]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ VIGNETTES — levi ackerman

contents. sfw, mention of pregnancy & marriage, angst, maybe unrequited love, fem!reader, 1.8k

notes. there is no dialogue in this, and it's purely poetic and prose because i wanted to do something different & levi is very important to me. posting this before i get nervous bc i feel as if i have poured too much of myself into this. idk if anyone will want to read it, but enjoy anyway !

you fell in love with levi ackerman the moment you met him. 

you fell in love with him in the underground, when you were both still young, his brashness and strength intimidating to even you, a member of the survey corps. the way your eyes had met through the filth and the grime, levi restrained, teeth bared, an image of a flame that refused to be put out. against every intelligent bone in your body, your heart had stuttered in your chest at the fierceness in his deep blue eyes, the way that, even when he was narrowing his gaze at you with something of hatred, he was still the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. 

you fell in love with him in training, when you watched a man who had never had any proper guidance become the strongest soldier that the survey corps had ever seen. levi was at home in the skies, free from the restraints and the waste that he had been born into, a natural when it came to odm gear. though he scoffed at you every time you tried to give him any pointers, you still felt some warmth in your face—he never needed any advice from you, anyway. it was just an excuse to talk to him. 

you fell in love with him when he lost his friends, the first time you’d had a conversation with him that didn’t end in a sour remark, an expression that made you think he saw you as nothing more than a military pawn. you’d let your mouth fall open, and then you’d shut it, a mumble of condolences coming out, before you’d admitted, hastily, that you knew what it was like to lose your only friends. but something changed in levi after the death of furlan and isabel—he wasn’t just a flame, he was a forest fire, rearing bright and deadly.

you fell in love with him when he became a captain, a man of status that allowed him to hand pick the members of his squad. and though you thought you’d be stuck where you were, not standing a chance to be chosen for a squad of the strongest scouts, you’d been the first on levi’s list. perhaps, it was only because of the kinship he felt towards you, but you’d never be able to forget the way you’d smiled on your way home from the meeting, your new assignment reigniting the sort of giddiness you hadn’t felt since you were a schoolgirl with a crush. 

you fell in love with him when you understood him. when the bite that followed the end of his every sentence didn’t seem so menacing, so sharp when you realized that your words held just the same amount of bitterness. his quips, dripping with sarcasm, fell on your ears lightly, bringing a smile to your lips, spreading across your teeth as everyone else stared back at him like he’d grown two heads. levi would meet your gaze across the room and you’d swap a secret, a loathing for the system, even if you’d always be grateful that it brought you together.

you fell in love with him even when someone else proposed to you, a member of another squad that had been in love with you since you were cadets. where he’d gotten the courage after all those years, you weren’t sure. perhaps it was because he’d seen the way you stared at levi, or maybe it was because you drew closer to death every time you ventured outside the walls. you’d said yes in a panic, a regret that you’d never forget, because you were so afraid of being alone that you’d never considered that levi might have loved you too. 

you fell in love with him when eren jaeger came into the picture, and suddenly, all your quiet moments with levi didn’t seem to mean a thing, not when there was a new hope for humanity, and if you could just save this boy, keep him alive, then maybe you could be free. but levi turned a blind eye to you once you got married. his secret smiles were sparse, his eyes darkening when he lost soldier after soldier, but never you. suddenly, you were the last of the levi's original squad, but you might as well have been dead too, for you felt like a ghost in your own unit. 

you fell in love with him even when a ring rested on your finger, a glittering gold band that was too pretty to be worn by a such a gruesome soldier. levi’s eyes drew to it, sometimes, and it sickened you, made you want to cut off your own finger and feed it to a titan, because how shameful it was to have given yourself over to something you had never wanted. you went home to your husband, the one you didn’t love, and dreamed of a man with pretty blue eyes, born from nothing and known by all. 

you’d always be in love with levi ackerman. he’d just never be in love with you.

levi ackerman fell in love with you the moment he met you. 

he fell in love with you in the underground, the emotion hitting him like a tidal wave, unfamiliar after years of feeling nothing but the need to survive. when his eyes lifted, finally meeting yours with just feet between you, the sight of you had nearly taken his breath away. you were beautiful, more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen in his entire life, and suddenly, he understood how furlan could drone on and on about the woman he’d slept with, because levi could’ve written paragraphs about the way your steel coated tenderness could force even the strongest men to their knees. 

he fell in love with you in training, when you moved so smoothly, with so much more gracefulness than levi’s brash, aggressive movements. levi knew he’d picked up most things better and faster than anyone in the survey corps, but he was certain he didn’t look as angelic as you did slicing through the neck of a titan. perhaps he didn’t understand the reason you so dutifully followed orders, turning a blind eye to the darker side of the military. yet, there was something about you, something that drew levi to you and made him wonder if there was more to your polite smiles and softened voice that he wasn’t catching onto. 

he fell in love with you when he lost his friends, and you were the first person to acknowledge that he was, truly, alone. no attempts were made to sugarcoat it, to say that at least you still have the scouts, when none of them could’ve understood the depth of levi’s pain, the way he’d dreamt a better life for isabel and furlan that would never come to pass. your smile was, he’d thought, brighter than even the sun, the fiery emblem that he’d longed for his entire life. maybe the two of you were bad at understanding each other, but levi loved listening to you… even when you didn’t quite love listening to yourself. he could’ve sat for hours and heard everything you had to say, for you kept it to yourself too often. 

he fell in love with you when he became a captain, and he knew that he’d do anything to keep you close to him. you were a puzzle he couldn’t unravel, hot and cold and everything in between. you were a beacon of light, warm and welcoming, and yet, you kept people at a distance, facing the dark side of the planets that no one but you could see. you were gracious and caring, vocal about your hope for humanity, sparing love where you could, even if you shied away from it. there was something gentle about you, but when levi made a crude remark, you were the first to laugh, the first to drop your guard and speak to him without the upbeat inflection in your voice.

he fell in love with you when he understood you, and he saw that whatever hollow shape his heart had turned into, yours slotted right within it. there was something about you that was the same, your souls crafted from one star, slowly dying, but burning bright, intimidating and loathsome, all at once. if levi believed in soulmates, in the fate that was written in the constellations, he was certain yours would’ve been intertwined, beautiful and lonely, sides of a coin that seemed the very same. 

he fell in love with you when someone else proposed to you, the expression on your face telling levi everything he needed to known. you could’ve been happy with that man—he was cheerful and tender, loving and sweet—everything that levi was not. a human obvious with his affections, and perhaps, levi had been wrong all these years in thinking that you were the one for him. how could you be, when he saw the way your fiancé worshipped the very ground you walked on, kissed you without caring who was watching. levi could never be that sort of man. not when he was so private and silent, his love shown only in the way he protected you without fail, spoke to you in secrets he would never share with anyone else. 

he fell in love with you when eren jaeger came into the picture, and levi screwed his head back on straight, deciding he could no longer pine for a woman that was already married. he threw his mind back into a war, reminding himself that happiness was fleeting, but loneliness was not, and he needed to get used to that. levi lost the members of his squad, people he'd grown to call friends. still, he refused to speak with you, because he knew that he was a weak man. a softly spoken word from your lips would’ve broken everything levi had worked to protect himself from, the gripping emotion within his heart that wouldn't leave unless it cut it out with your own blade. 

he fell in love with you even when a ring rested on your finger, and you requested to leave the scouts because you were expecting a child. levi tried to stop his face from falling, tried to ignore the twisting of his chest. because, maybe, he’d stood a chance when there was nothing but a sheet of paper protecting your marriage, but a child...? levi ackerman was a selfish man, but not to that point. not when he knew he’d be a terrible father anyway, that he was a fool for thinking that was a life he deserved. levi accepted your request, and then asked you be taken off his squad if you ever chose to return. erwin, for all his lack of tact, had said nothing, simply nodding at levi with something akin to pity. 

levi would always be in love with you. you’d just never be in love with him.

[probablyspooky]

Traitor (2010 Predator x Fem! Reader) Pt. 2

Yall ate this up like a nice bowl of mama’s chili 

(I’m stupid as fuck)

Last Next

Being forced to follow beings you didn’t like wasn’t unusual for the typer of placement you had in your life, when you first met Berserker, you hated him, oh you hated him.

You had been born on a planet much like the one you were on, while your DNA was human, you had never been to Earth before, your parents often taught you of the many things that went on Earth, but soon their numbers were called, and they were taken away to be hosts for face-huggers. By the time you came of age you had managed to make a friend, a young yautja who looked a bit different than the others who surrounded him, his eyes were much more sunken, and his jaw and mandibles were larger than normal, many mocked him, or you thought they were mocking him. 

Before you could be used as a host for a face-hugger, you were a servant for the Elders of the tribe, often skinning meat, and preparing meals for those who had just had a successful hunt. Berserker would often watch you, and tease you that he was going to rip your spine off, often cornering you in buildings threatening to take your life then and there, and no one would bat an eye.

You often cried yourself to sleep in fear of being brutally murdered, but this was the life you were born into. As you grew older to adulthood, so did Berserker, even though he was still technically older than you as they age slower, (say you were like 11 when you were a servant he was a bit bigger than you already but like a teen in their eyes, so like 30 something in human years don’t quote me on this I’m so sleepy), when you were brought up to age, you and those in your same age group, were brought up to the Elders chambers, which served as the meeting room. There they were designating where each of you will be sent, whether that be into slavery for life, or being sent off planet to be hunted.

When the Elder came to you, he held the marker covered in acid (much like the xenomorph blood used in Alien vs. Predator), a voice spoke up, that of the Berserker predator, who had grown rather large, larger than those who had made fun of him in the past, he had proven to his Elders in his time to be a mighty hunter and warrior, bringing honor and glory to the Hunters clan.

“Wait!”, he spoke up, causing the Elder to growl in his direction for interrupting this ceremony.

“What is it?”, Elder hissed in his direction,

“I wish to take her as my own,”

“To eat?”

“To mate”

It took a bit of convincing amongst the Elders to see if this was even allowed, but the oldest Elder, dubbed Vi’kor, spoke out on how in the past their kind has mated with those of different species before, often to create stronger hybrid offspring, adding to his argument that Berserker has proven himself time and time again on the battlefield, allowing him to have his pet is a suitable reward.

And like that, you were chosen by Berserker as a mate, he didn’t force himself upon you, but as tradition is important to them, the two of you were to go on a hunt together, somewhere off planet, and as the story goes, the two of you grow closer, perhaps it was the time he rescued you from a large bear tiger beast, or when you helped tend to the wounds he received while protecting you, but the two of you meshed together rather well.

The two of you staring into a fire, where his latest kill was being roasted over the fire, he didn’t prefer this cooked meat idea, but your stomach couldn’t handle raw meats such as these. 

While tending over the fire, you began to poke at the meat, trying to see if the meat was cooked all the way through, suddenly feeling the graze of your mates fingers upon your back, you slowly turned your head to look at him.

“Yes?” you asked, turning to look at him

“You are very small...I could hurt you at any moment,” he replied, clicking his mandibles

“Yes you could,” you mumbled, feeling uneasy, and turning back to look at the meat.

While you did this, a second hand found its way around your waist, and you felt his chest press against your back, his odd attempt at a hug.

“I will protect you then,” he whispered into your ear

“Thank you...” you replied, touching his bicep with your hand.

That night, you were truly mated, your bond only growing stronger over the years, eventually as yautja do, he wished for offspring, but not wanting to lose you possibly from any complications, he took you to the best healers his clan had to offer. That year you were poked and prodded, bruises from bloodwork, and other types of medicines on your body, it all took a toll.

Laying in the nest of his chambers, a metal bowl that hovered above the ground, filled with pelts and furs, you lay, resting after another healer visit. You could hear the door open, and the heavy footsteps of Berserker enter. You didn’t dare move, you were too sore, too tired, you simple gave a whimper to acknowledge his presence.

“You are tired?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the nest, taking his large hand and brushing your hair back (or down if you have curly hair).

“I am very sore, but I’ve been sore before” you chuckled, turning over to look at him

“I am sorry...” he grumbled, taking his hand back

“It is okay, I’m doing this for you,”

“If it becomes too much, you can stop”

You smiled and placed your hand onto the hand that was on your head, rubbing your thumb against his wrist. 

“I can handle it love”

He quickly stood up, and stormed out of the room, love was not a term that was used often in his native tongue, guilt washed over him, and he began to realize that he cherished you more than his desire for an offspring.

He was on his way to the healers quarters to call the whole thing off, but once he entered the healer greeted him calmly and informed that the tests were a success, and that you could carry a pup to term.

Excitement washed over him, as he rushed back to your shared home, throwing himself onto the nest with you, you jumped up startled.

“What is wrong?” you said, panic in your voice taking over

“You can carry my child!” he replied, pinning you to the bed, ready to take you in that moment

“Wait!” you gasped, as he began to reach for your lower skirt

“What is wrong?”

“It is my time”, you mumbled, embarrassed

Like a clock ticking it took him a moment to understand what you meant, and like bait in a trap, he understood.

“Very well, we will get you pregnant next month, but for now...”he growled reaching for your skirt once again.

And here you were currently, following humans who had in fact been born on Earth, those had seen war, those who committed crimes, some worse than others.

The group continued to walk throughout the forest, eventually forcing you to a clearing, familiar foliage became known and you felt your heart skip a beat as you realized you were closer to camp.

Feeling your excitement over take you, you began to quicken your pace, which surprised Isabelle, she took note of you, hoping maybe your head trauma was fading away. Someone else took note of your excitement, but not in a good way. Royce didn’t trust you, not one bit.

Soon the group came up to the trophy pillar, where disregarded trophies of past hunts were left behind as a remembrance. About a mile from the camp, the group and you were ambushed by a dead mans trap, before you could fall into a high tech bear trap, you felt an invisible hand grip your back, and pull you back, throwing you on your ass to the ground, while the others were scrambling to not get murdered.

You knew it was Tusk, who else could it be, he was watching over you. You began to scan the tree line looking for possible vantage points he could be hiding in. Your eyes landed on a large sturdy branch that was shaking, as if something large was on it. 

Smiling you waited walked around the traps, trying to take note of any traps that might also be armed nearby.

As Edwin was freaking out, and Royce and Nikolai investigated the dead corpse who had set the traps that had just gone off, you could hear the sounds of familiar running steps. The sound of your beloved hunting dog panting could fill your ears, same as the rest of the groups. Isabelle quickly grabbed you, pulling you behind her, as they began to fire at the monsters you called your pets.

Berserker had gotten you a dog as protection when you often left their home station to forage in the nearby bramble for fruits and berries for yourself, you didn’t have a name for him, as you just called him your sweet.

Seeing the familiar face of your dog charging towards you, Isabelle lifted her rifle up to take aim at your dog, thinking quickly you pushed her gun into the air, causing the gun fire to miss him just barely. They had managed to shoot and kill one of the other dogs, but before yours could excitedly jump up at you to lick your face as he usually does, Falcon blew the whistle in the distance, sweet looking at you whimpering, and then retreating back into the forest.

The group began to argue, mad at what was going on, Isabelle was mad at you for shoving her gun away, but what could she do, you weren’t talking to anyone. Nikolai dragged one of the corpses into the center of the group for everyone to inspect.

“We’re being hunted” he said, spitting on the corpse, much to your annoyance.

“They sent the damn dogs after us!” Stans shouted, kicking dirt in any direction he could, and then his eyes landed on you again, you shuffled and hid behind Mombasa, who understood the assignment and placed his hand in front of you as protection. 

Stans launched himself at Mombasa, putting his small knife to Mombasa’s neck, demanding one of of his weapons as protection. Mombasa, sliding his rifled between the two of them, threatening to end his life, along with his own.

Once the group calmed down a bit from realizing they were hunting game, you continued the walk towards the camp. Your impatience growing with every stop, first Isabelle wanted to show that they were in fact, not on Earth, Royce pointing out they had been there for hours, and it’s as bright as it was when they landed. Dread began to settle over the group, on everyone besides you that is.

Soon enough, you found the familiar markings of the Jungle Hunters clan pillars, and you began to smile wide as the thought of being with your love again began to wash over you.

But of course your joy was short lived, as Royce just had to go bother the young yautja that was chained in the center of the camp, he began to roar and growl at the sight of all these humans, and then his eyes settled on you, cursing you out in their native tongue. While everyone started freaking out, the familiar sound of clicking filled your ear, as you turned to see nothing, knowing your mate was close by, you began to walk away from the group, hoping to feel at home once again. But before you could step too far, Stans ran up and tried grabbing your arm to pull you back.

“Where the hell are you goin?” he snarled, his stupid face was first confused, but it was swapped with fear, as a plasma blast shot between the two of you. 

Berserker had fired a warning shot at Stans, as a warning not to touch his mate, soon one by one Falcon, Tusk and Berserker began to turn off their cloaks, showing themselves.

“Shit!” Isabelle shouted, quickly running to your side, and grabbing your arm once again, and with the group, you all began to run away from the camp. You tried stomping into the ground, trying to stop them from taking you away.

“Why can’t you run?” she shouted, at you stopping for a second to scold you like a child.

Mombasa quickly rushing over to help, he grabbed you, and began to drag you with him, the familiar beeping in your breast cup started again, and you quickly pulled yourself away from Mombasa, as he was impaled by a spear trap, causing his gun to go off, a bullet barely grazing your leg, you sneered in pain and agony.

Nikolai quickly ran over, fireman carrying you off the camp, Berserker sending more firing shots in your general direction, trying not to harm you, but trying to scare them off of you. No one was paying any attention to where they were running off to, and soon you all ran off a cliff into a lake.

The cold water rushing over your body as the stinging pain of hitting water hit your body, you began to struggle under the water, Falcon had sent his drone over the waters to see if you were okay as her Alphas orders, once he saw you break the surface of the water, he took note of the rest of the humans and where they seemed to be heading and recalled his drone.

You weak attempts at swimming didn’t go unnoticed, as Royce grabbed the back of your collar, and threw you onto the ground on the shore bank.

“You know what those things are! The both of you!” he shouted towards Isabelle and you.

You didn’t say anything, as your leg was hurting. Nikolai came over and tore the bottom half of his shirt off, Edwin quickly rushing over and bandaging your leg, seeming to take too much time touching your skin, you felt fear rush over your body.

Isabelle sighed, and explained that before, when she was off in the jungles on Earth, her men and her had been taken off one by one, she was injured and it seemed to leave her alone, explaining that those who had seen the beast described it the same way that the young yautja looked.

Royce spit on the ground, and pointing at the rest of the group.

“No more secrets, especially from you” he snarled, pointing at you.

“She can’t even talk, let alone keep a secret, what could she know?” Isabelle stated, standing in between you to, as to protect you from Royce.

As the group continued on, the familiar red dots of a plasma rifle crossed over the whole group, Royce turning his face to look at the yautja mask that uncloaked before you.

“What the hell are you?” Royce whispered, not realizing that whatever this was, it was not in fact a yautja.

“I’m alive” he said, removing his mask to reveal that he, Noland, was in fact a human same as them.

Seeming to have no other options, the group and you followed Noland to his makeshift home, in the wreckage of left behind ships from many seasons ago. One by one Noland lead the group into his home, but stopping to give you a weird look.

Noland began to explain that he had been trapped on this planet for ten seasons, and each season they just send bigger and stronger yautja, stopping to look at you.

“I know you” he said, pointing at you with a shaky hand.

Your face began to burn red, as fear overcame your body.

“Wait you know her?” Edwin asked, turning his between the two of you

“Yeah I know her, I think, do you? No not that one the other one, now you’re just being stupid”, Noland replied, but he seemed to just have a conversation with himself.

“Earth to captain insanity” Royce snapped, “How do you know her?”

“Well, I haven’t see her per say, I’ve seen them talk on those wrist watches they got, little pictures hovering over their arms, sometimes they call others, one of them though, is really ugly, but always has this girl on his lap, kind of looks like her”

Like a lightbulb moment going off in his head Royce turned his gun to look at you. “That’s why you won’t talk! You fucking live with them don’t you! What are you? Like their pets or something?”

“Woah back off fucker!” Isabelle shouted, pointing her gun towards Royce.

You began to cry, tears stinging at your eyes, but that wasn’t the only thing stinging your eyes, as Noland had started a fire in an attempt to kill you all and take your equipment.

“Noland what the hell!” Royce yelled, everyone seemed to drop the issue at hand and move on to survival, Stans kicking down the at a loose wall panel. Everyone else was screaming, the beeper in your breast cup was beeping louder, trying to alert someone who was nearby of your location.

Nolan dies off somewhere because honestly fuck him girly pop.

Soon Stans screams and cries for help continued to echo along with each kick of the wall panel. After a bit, the smoke began to die down, Tusk had put out the fire nearby, the beeper got louder and louder, and when Stans ran  over to you to see what that sound was, he shamelessly dug around in your breast cups, pulling out your tracker, holding it up for everyone to see.

“The bitch lead them right to us!” he shouted, turning to you quickly, punching you across the face, knocking you to the ground.

Isabelle quickly ran over, hitting him with the butt of her rifle, and kneeling down next to you.

“Knock it off, I’m sure she has her reasons,” she shouted

Stans was held back by Nikolai and Royce, everyone started yelling, and shame washed over you, and in typical fashion you bowed your head to the ground.

“I’m sorry!” you shouted, and silence was quick, as this is the first time anyone had heard your voice.

“Speak,” Isabelle said, rubbing your back, “Tell them you’re trapped here like us.”

“I am not! I am here with my mate! I did not mean to be here with you! I just...haven’t seen another human in so long, but I’m not supposed to interfere..”

“You fucking BITCH!” Stans shouted, spitting at your face, Isabelle looked at you, knowing she defended someone who potentially got them all killed.

Before anyone else could respond, you began to cry out.

“Tusk!” you sobbed out loud, and as soon as you finished you cry for help, the panel where Stans was kicking, suddenly was punched from the opposite side, knocking it loose, and then knocking it down.

A terrifying silence fell over the ship, as nothing came from the hole, and no one dared move. Seeing this as your chance, you quickly tried to rush to the hole, but when half your body managed to get halfway out, Stans broke off and stomped into your back, causing you to cry out in pain.

A roar could be heard echoing off the walls of the ship, and while everyone momentarily took in their surroundings, you quickly slipped past through the hole, and began to rush down the seemingly empty hall. 

Royce, Nikolai, Isabelle, Edwin, Hanzo (I hate that they named him this), and Stans began to follow you. Eventually making their way out of the ship, you quickly ran into the fog ahead, knowing that Berserker would probably be waiting for you with open arms. Seeing that you’re trying to escape them, Stans rushes ahead, and tackles you to the ground, taking a fist full of your head, momentarily whispering vile things into your ear as you laid under him.

The rest of the group caught up and didn’t even try to pull him off of you, but they wouldn’t let him do anything too rash. While the two of you struggled against the ground, a roar echoed over the group.

Stans quickly, full of fear jumped off of you, you continued to cry in pain in the dirt. Before anyone's eyes, you seemed to float off the ground, bridal style. One by one Berserker, Tusk, and Falcon turned their cloaks off.

“Oh fuck,” Royce said, taking a step back.

You continued to cry into your mates shoulder, he quickly placed you on your feet, and with his large hands began to scan your body for injury, seeing the fresh bruise on your face from the punch, his finger gently tapped on your face, causing you to wince in pain, seemingly to ask, “Who did this?”

Through your tears, you pointed to Stans, and pulled Berserker close, whispering into his ear area (they don’t have ears), of how he had continuously touched your body, and the vile things he whispered to you just now.

A rage washed over your mates body, as he caressed your face with his large hand, he turned back to the ground, and roared towards Stans, taking out a small blade, firing it at Stans leg, making him scream out in pain, knocking him to the ground.

The rest of the group went to take a step back, but were stopped by Falcon and Tusk, as to make sure they were going to see their own fates soo enough.

While Stans was on the ground, he tried crawling towards you, as to beg for mercy, but as soon was his hands reached out and touched the hem of your skirt, your mate came up behind him, pulling his wrist bladed out, he hooked into Stans back, making him scream in agony as blood began to spill out of his mouth. Berserker raised Stans to the sky, pulling his blades back, causing his body to one again fall to the ground, Stans screaming in agony as blood began to flood the ground under him. 

As a final statement of his status, Berserker reached his hands into the back wounds of Stans, gripping his spine, retrieving the trophy of Stans, his spine and skull. Raising it to the sky, and roaring into the night of his victory, Berserker made a show of making sure the rest of the group would see what he was capable of, Falcon and Tusk then moved back, allowing the rest of the group to run off into the night. Berserker turned to you again, and knelt down, holding the trophy out to you, as a gift.

Smiling you took it into your hands, blood coating your fingers, knowing this is his way of saying sorry, you took his hand into yours, and the four of you began to walk back to your camp.

Once there you took a needed rest in your makeshift shelter, Mombasa’s body still sitting in the trap as flies began to feast on his flesh. Laying down on the large fur that was laid out for you, you tried to close your eyes for a needed rest. But soon you began to feel the familiar pressing of your mates member, pressing into your back.

Turning over rather fast, you grabbed into your mates chest plate, pulling him onto of you. Oh you had missed him, he wasted no time ripping your skirt off of your body. Then tearing his loin cloth off of himself, exposing all of his length to you, forcing himself into your already wet entrance,  pulsing himself into you repeatedly, over and over, feeling that you were not showing enough skin to his liking, he grabbed your breast cover, and tore it off of your body.

With every thrust of his torso, he watched your breasts wobble up and down with every thrust. You began to moan aloud, causing your mate to growl like a beast into the forest, Falcon and Tusk were currently sitting on the other edge of camp, pretending this wasn’t happening currently.

Berserker clawed into your legs, gripping you closer to him, he pulled you to sit up and look at him, but he still had that mask on.

“The mask.” you moaned, “Off please...”

He quickly ripped off his mask to show all of his face, his mandibles clicking, soft purrs emanating from his chest. Snuggling your face into his neck, he continued to thrust up into you, his hand grasping your butt with every thrust, his claws sinking into your skin, small droplets of blood began to drip out, but this was something you were used to. Whimpering into your mates ear, you could feel the pool of pleasure reaching its brim, you began to convulse as your orgasm  shook you to your core, the tightening of your body sent your mate over the edge, and he reeled his head back in pleasure, roaring into the night sky.

Afterword, he laid you back down onto your furs, and began to pet your hair.

“I am sorry I let you get hurt, I failed you as a protector” he whispered

“It’s fine love, you’re here now that's all that matters.” you replied, tracing your hands across his chest.

Quiet purrs could be heard, he truly was happy you were back in his reach.

Everything seemed to be okay that night, you rested within the arms of Berserker, unknowing of the danger of the humans who lurked nearby.

They knew you were the key to them getting off planet, and they knew they had to get to you soon before Berserker took you away.

[sunny-mercya]

Parents Regret

Batfamily x Male Child Reader | Slight AU

Masterlist

01. New addition

Adopting you had been a spurt of a moment for Bruce. Something he hadn't planned to do nor did there were a properly rationally process of thinking about it.

It had been during a round of Patrol, when Bruce had heard a sound from an alley. Checking it out, he found a cardboard box and inside was you. Laying in there, almost deathlike, crying out for anyone and drenched wet from the rain. Bruce picked you up in a instant and brought you the Children Hospital.

That was three days ago and now Bruce was yet again in the Hospital, waiting for the Nurse to bring you. The Doctor had informed him about your well-being and current health.

Besides the obviously signs of malnourishment and possibly shock trauma, you were as healthy as a three year old could be. Though the doctor advised to keep you warm, huddled up in blankets, to avoid a possibility of Pneumonia.

«Mr.Wayne? You'll have to sign a few papers before you can take the little one. Also, additional we would like to ask you to name him, in case of emergency and the sort of.» The Nurse tells him, handing him the papers.

A name for you? Huh, so you were born nameless and not registered. Then it would much easier to get Custody rights for you. While signing his signatures, Bruce thought for a bit, racking his brain for a fitting name for you.

[Name] Wayne. Yeah, that name sounds about right for you. Perhaps he could add one or two middle names too, but not right now—later, middle names are need to be chosen wisely.

Bruce smiled when he finally could hold you in his arms. Holding his index finger out, which you grabbed tiredly. He nodded along to what the nurse tells him about medication and check-ups.

~~~

Jason, with the rest of his siblings, was sitting in the living room, waiting for Bruce. Whatever surprise Bruce had planned to bring home, Jason hoped it was either food or Joker's head. Anything else he didn't care for.

Whatever the surprise was, it had to be something big and important, when Bruce let them have a day off from school today.

They acknowledged when Bruce had stepped in, giving a short greeting and resuming back to what they were doing; watching TV. One of the few shows they all could agree on to watch.

«I would like you to all welcome your new brother, [Name].»

Bruce watched with slight amusement how at first they all mumbled a "yes" and "that's nice".

«WHAT?» like a chorus they shouted it, whipping their heads towards Bruce and looking at the bundle in his arms.

Dick was the first one to get out of his perplexing state. Jumping up from the couch, with full excitement and hopping towards Bruce—taking his new sibling, a baby sibling even, from him and into his own arms. Cuddling the small human and cooing at him.

Dick found you adorable, so damn adorable—the way you blinked at him owlishly, with dopey tired eyes. Never wanted to let go of you and chatting you up already.

«What's the meaning of this Father?!» asked Damian, scoffing and glaring. A new sibling? Doesn't father has already taken in enough strays over the years?

«If you all would calm down for a minute and let me explain.» Bruce sat down on of the armchairs.

And explained he did.

To be honest, Jason rarely sides with Damian or shared the same opinion, but this was one of the few moments he does.

The anger rises in Jason, glaring at the Brat in Dick arms with much hatred as Damian does. They, he, doesn't need a new sibling. Another unnecessary addition to this—in his humble opinion, dysfunctional family.

Like does Bruce wants to raise you as another Robin? To ruin your mental health too? To bring you to deaths door, like how he did with Jason. Or perhaps, Bruce saw you as some sort of publicity accessory.

Either way, Jason doesn't care. Ready to get up and leave, to get some fresh air and blew off some stream of pent up anger. Cassandra stops him, shaking her head in a way to tell him to sit back down.

«You don't expect us to act all lovely dotting now or? If you so desperately want to adopt that brat here, sure, but I won't babysit or to any sort of that shit. Seriously Bruce, yer just fucking insane now!»

«Jason! Don't say such things!»

«Oh, piss off Dick! It's the truth! Bruce's what? 45 years old? Almost 50 and he wants to raise a child in that age? That's ridiculous!»

«Should I have just left [Name] in the alley?» asked Bruce, trying not to raise his voice at Jason.

«No. But there are orphanages or foster care to bring him. Why should we have him anyways?» it was Damian who answers.

«He needs a family, Damian.»

«We're already enough of a family! We don't him!»

A shouting had erupted.

~~~

Dick had left the room before they all, mainly Jason and Damian, begun to shout. He didn't want you to hear this. So Dick decided to walk with you through the manor, to show you everything.

«You will love it here [Name]! Jay and Damian will come around to love you, trust me, they're just a bit grumpy at first.»

«Aah, Master Dick, do you want perhaps show the young master his new room?» asked Alfred, spooking Dick a bit, because he hadn't heard the Butler at all.

«Room?»

«Yes, Master Bruce had set it up some days ago, it's upstairs.»

Dick followed Alfred, rocking you a bit as you looked a bit fussy.

«Say Alfred, what's your opinion?»

«Well, I certainly don't mind little [Name], he brings some new life to this manor, but I admit Master Bruce could have discussed it beforehand. We're here, I will prepare a bottle for the young master.» with that being said, Alfred walks away.

Dick grins down you, excited to see your room.

«Ready? Can't wait to see your room too! It probably looks really cool and –»

Dick stoped when he had opened the door. To be fair and honest, Dick didn't expected that Bruce would know how to decorate at all, but this? This was a utterly disappointment. Only the bare necessities furniture, no colours on the walls and about two stuffed toys.

«Yeah know what, jellyfish? We're gonna go shopping on the weekend and I will spoil you rotten with Bruce's money.»

[oceanofsinners]

“They love me, they love me not.”

Yan!Pervy cupid x gn innocent succubi/incubi reader ♥︎

[mdni, or do, i don't care enough to block y'all tbh. NSFW, first time in a while writing it so apologies ack. tw/cw: mentions of violence, blood, religious stuff kinda. lmk if i have to add smth else too! also?? sorry for disappearing i got stuck in the hospital, ouchies!! also holy fuck this is 2.k words ive never wrote that much...]

Nova wasn't...normal. Well, to be fair, it wasn't their fault he was created this way. It was Father’s fault.

 

Being born a Cupid, but being unable to feel most emotions, or even love. How ridiculous. Pathetic, even. Compared to their brothers and sisters, he was useless.

 

They grew up alone and isolated, no one wanted a Cherub whose expression was always bored. No one wanted a Cherub who never wanted to play with the others or found joy in small things. 

 

He grew up in one of the few orphanages in Paradise, some human souls for foster parents who weren't able to have kids themselves, happy to have any.

 

Angels were meant to be cheerful and optimistic, they were neither. Many thought he'd grow up to be a Guardian Angel or an Archangel. 

 

Never a Cupid. Especially a Love Cupid. Maybe a Heartbreak Cupid, even Erotic Love Cupid, but Love? They didn't even truly understand what the word meant. Or so everyone thought. 

 

Angels were meant to be non-judgemental. Meant to be “kind” and believe in everyone. Angel’s are not. Angels are just as judgemental, perhaps even more than humans. 

 

The other Cupids always watched him in disdain when they were training, he always dragged their class down, being worse at it than most of the others.

 

But then, in high school, something changed. See, Angels and Demons typically don't like each other. 

 

Angels hate Demons for falling, and Demons hate the lies Angels say. But in the end, they are one and the same. 

 

Only one’s halo is broken, the other’s is perfectly fine. No, not halo, horns. If there was one thing special about Nova, it was their “halo“, or horns. 

 

They were a beautiful baby pink color that matched the pearly white hair that reached his shoulders, with pretty gold and bright pink streaks, that made their purple eyes pop. 

 

Even though Nova couldn't feel anything, he was beautiful. Freckles were made in the forms of constellations scattered over brown skin, and white eyelashes that looked like snowflakes. 

 

They were beautiful. Ethereal. An Angel, through and through. He never imagined they'd fall willingly, even hating the thought. 

 

But, maybe for one person, he would. That person is YOU. 

 

The Demons and Angels made an agreement, there was an academy built, for both Angels and Demons of all ranks and backgrounds, a sort of truce.

 

Nova was one of the angels chosen, amongst many others. They didn't care about it, just wanting it to be done already. To get the embarrassment over. 

 

Days turned into weeks of staying in the shadows, going to boring classes, eating lunch in empty classrooms, studying all night, and repeat. 

 

It was boring, but it's not like Nova had anything he could do about it. Another day of stupid school, of stupid wars between haughty Angels and Demons who liked fighting. 

 

Except this time, Nova got caught in the crossfire. Cuts covered their skin, golden blood leaking down and ruining his beautiful clothes.

 

One of the Demons had them pushed up against a wall, claws to his throat, and they stood there blank gaze. Nova raised a brow as the Demon got pushed, and went to walk away. 

 

Then YOU came. You seemed confused at the fight, trying to make peace despite it being fruitless. You paused at the sight of him, before gasping and quickly running over. 

 

“Ah, you're bleeding! Gosh, I told these dummies to stop fighting, they just don't listen!” You frowned, trying to appear upset but you just looked like a kicked puppy with a pout. 

 

You pulled them off to the side, reaching inside a black messenger back absolutely covered in cutesy stickers and pins from different bands. 

 

Nova took the time to look at you, really look at you. It was strange. Why was his heart beating so fast? Wings fluffing up? You were beautiful. One of the prettiest Demons they’d ever seen. 

 

That's what clued him into what you were, an Incubus or Succubus. Really, there was no difference between the two except for their behavior. Incubus tended to be more assertive, and Succubus more passive. 

 

Before Nova could think about anything else, you pulled a first aid kit out, opened it up, and pulled a pack of bandaids out. 

 

You started disinfecting their wounds, before putting those cute, colored bandaids on each wound.

 

Nova looks silly like this, mostly black, Gothic ensemble, even with his pastel eyes and horns, they still looked less like an Angel and more like a Demon. 

 

And there you were, broken halo turned into a pair of horns, dressed in cutesy clothes, putting brightly colored bandaids on the mean-looking Cupid. 

 

With every fleeting touch, Nova felt embers light under his skin, his cheeks warming even further. ‘...What...What is this feeling? I don't...’

 

Before Nova even realized it, they were leaning even further into your cold, almost dead touch. You paused, before giggling and roping your arms around his shoulders. 

 

“Wow! You're super friendly, I like you, your hair too, it's super duper long! What's your name?” You asked, playing with his long hair, curling it around your fingers.

 

“Casanova. But people call me Nova, usually. What's yours?” Nova looked up at you, a lovesick hazy look in his purple eyes, heart pupils. How amusing. A Cupid falling for an Incubi/Succubi. What are the odds? 

 

“Oh! Right! It's—” Before you can finish, a teacher begins herding everyone to their classes. Nova’s pissed —‘How...Why do I feel so angry?’— but goes along with it, delighted to see you wave with a sheepish grin, fangs showing. 

 

Nova doesn't know your name. But he doesn't need to. You're his angel in their mind, the one and only made for him. 

 

Very quickly you become a prominent part of his life, their parents even allowing you to stay at their house while the program goes on, happy to see their child so happy for once. 

 

With so many emotions suddenly hitting him all at once, it's no shock they fall harder than he should, becoming obsessed fast and hard. 

Nova begins realizing things they'd never realized before. The curves of your body. Those soft eyes he wants to see sobbing from pleasure. Those lips open, gasping their name—

 

But it ends far too soon. The program is forced to close, and you're gone just as fast as you came. Nova hates how empty he feels when you're gone, wondering how he ever lived without you.

 

He feels cold inside, a part of him disappearing with you. Something they can NEVER get back. He tries to be normal, smiling when he should, crying when he should, just be normal. 

 

It's easy for a while. To pretend. No, BE normal. Far too soon, or maybe far too late, he graduates high school. Then college. 

 

Years fly by, “friends” come and go, lovers he didn't give a shit about disappear after they get bored, and more and more blood then just his is on their hands. 

 

But you weren't always gone. You'd sneak out of hell and sneak onto paradise sometimes, and hang out with them. But it wasn't enough. He wanted all of your time and attention on him. Just once, they want someone to be there as a constant. 

 

Eventually he lands a job at Soulmates Corp. A Cupid work place, and he starts working. It's actually pretty simple and interesting. Sure, they don't use bow and arrows — usually. But being able to look through humans lives, to choose who they fall for. It's interesting. 

 

And then, one night, you innocently invite him to a club in hell. They instantly agree, after all, it's YOU. His angel, their savior, his LIFE LINE. Their EVERYTHING. 

 

Funnily enough, over the years the two swapped clothing styles. Nova wore more cutesy, sweet, pastel color clothes, and you wore darker, more “sexy” clothes. 

 

Nova arrived at the club, absentmindedly toying with the pockets of his pastel blue cardigan. Tonight would be the last night of your freedom - independance, after all! 

 

Nova walks in, you on his side, some of your friends accompanying the two of you. He could care less about these bastards, and soon makes sure to seperate you from your “friends”.

 

He watches you with loving eyes the entire night, making sure you get drunk so bad you can't stand. It's easy, you're too trusting. Too innocent for this world. 

 

He'll save you, just like you saved them! Eventually they take you to their place. At first it's tame. Friendly. 

 

“N—Novaaahhhh...C’mere, I hic! wanna see yer pretty faceeee...” Your voice is whiny, the alcohol really hitting you hard. Nova coos, walking over. 

 

They yelp, quite loudly, as you drag them onto the bed, curling into his side. It's innocent. His thoughts should be too. 

 

But all they can think about is your chest pressed against their arms, how easy it would be to just slip your shirt to the side, and touch. Feel.

 

He shakes his head, even if you're both drunk, he can't take advantage of you like that. They refuse to taint you, and that pretty little head of yours. 

 

Stuck in their own thoughts, Nova doesn't even realize you straddle him until it's too late. Your eyes are hazy with lust and alcohol, and he can't help but gulp nervously. 

 

“Angel, really, you...you need to sleep.” Nova tries to reason with you, but reasoning with a horny, drunk Demon, much less an Incubi or Succubi is like arguing with a wall. 

 

You whine, lips lazily smashing against his. Nova can't help but melt into it, and they hate how hard they are from just a touch, a single kiss. 

 

This is wrong. Both of you know this. Yet neither of you can stop it. One kiss turns into two, into three. 

 

“An-Angel!” Nova gasps out as you nip at his collarbone, their neck already covered in love bites and pretty blue and purple bruises. 

 

“Mmph..Wan’ more...Need more, Nova...” You growled out, one hand playing with his chest the other curled in their hair. 

 

More marks. More bites. So many. He looked so pretty like this, a crying mess under their ‘innocent’ friend. 

 

Still, he held enough restraint to stop you, not wanting to ruin your first times together. But, due to your insistence, they do give you some pleasure~

 

Nova sits on his knees, you splayed out on their silk sheets, your slick dripping onto the bed as you whined. Hips jerking up to meet his tongue, hands curled around their halo. 

 

Nova’s tongue swirls against your sex, whining from the taste of your juices against his tongue. It was better then he imagined all those nights, hand playing with their cock, desperate for some relief. 

 

With every swipe and sucking of his mouth, you get closer and closer to that sweet relief you desperately need. With one last gasp, your eyes roll back and hips buck against Nova’s mouth. 

 

Nova laps up every bit of your sweet essence, fucking you through your orgasm. He's gentle after you finish, murmuring praises into your ears as they carry you to their bathroom. 

 

During the bath you end up falling asleep, Nova carries you to bed and the two fall asleep, intangled in each other. 

 

It's morning. Your eyes flutter open, yawning softly as you groaned. Fuck, that's a horrible headache. You glance around, pausing as you feel a weight beside you. What the...

 

Your eyes glide to the person laying beside you, and you pause, your cheeks warming. Nova. You're in Nova’s bed. 

 

Nova, the Cupid boy you met as a kid. Nova, the Cupid you fell for, hard. Nova, the Cupid who always seemed so clueless and innocent. 

 

And they truly look like an Angel right now. The sun shines against against his white hair and skin beautifully, wings folded behind them. 

 

Your face feels even warmer as embarrassment fills you as you see bite marks all over their neck. Bite’s are how Demon’s mark their claim, usually on their mates. Angel’s too. 

 

He let you bite them. And yet, you can't find yourself to be mad over it. Nova’s eyes flutter open, glancing up at you. A soft smile appears on their face, as they lean up and kiss you. 

 

The Angel traps you in his wings and you giggle, curling into them. He's yours, and your his even if you don't know yet. 

 

You took their heart a long time ago. It's time he takes yours too. ♥︎

[wolken-himmel]

In which Sebek discovers (Y/n)'s passion for writing poems and decides to be supportive — perhaps aggressively so.

He just wants to see that smile again.

Request by anon.

"Human, have you already finished exercise four? Do you still require my help?"

"Yeah, that would be nice. I've been stuck here for quite a while now."

Sebek and you had chosen to occupy a table at the far end corner of the hall. Studying together had always been something that both of you looked forward to eagerly, although none of you dared to voice your excitement. Instead, you continued to sit there in silence, each busy with your own identical sheet of exercises.

The sheepish smile you shot him drew an exasperated gasp from him. Without wasting any time, he scooted his chair over to you. "You could have told me, idiot," he grumbled under his breath, although a playful look flashed across his face. "But fret not, for I am willing to help."

You couldn't help but chuckle at the boisterous and proud look on his face — the sight brought you amusement somehow. So, with your gaze trained at your sheet, you uncapped your pen again. "Thanks, Sebek. Thanks," you murmured with a silly smile on your lips.

"If angel berries and aspen leaves react with one another, what does the reaction produce without a bother?"

A gasp escaped your lips, and you couldn't help but suppress the giddy feeling in the depths of your stomach. "That rhymed!" Your eyes shimmered brightly as they bore into his.

He didn't reciprocate your enthusiasm, however, due to the confusion that inhabited his eyes. His eyes eyed you up and down carefully. "What...? No, the reaction between angel berries and aspen leaves doesn't rhyme, stupid. They produce a viscous and purple fluid," he muttered and slapped his forehead in frustration.

"That rhymed again!" you cried out with even more excitement lacing your voice.

Finally, Sebek threw his hands into the air and let out an annoyed growl. "I still don't get what you mean!" he yelled before gritting his teeth.

The volume of his voice immediately caused an annoyed head to peek out from behind the tall shelves. "Please keep your voices low..." the student muttered and rolled his eyes. "We are in a library after all."

"Oh right, I apologise!" With his pale cheeks tinted a slight pink, Sebek lowered himself into his chair beside yours again.

You, however, seemed to have forgotten your alchemy homework altogether. Your mind whirred with such excitement that you dared to grab his hands and squeeze them tightly. "Sebek, you never told me that you had such a talent for poetry. It's like you were born to write poems," you exclaimed enthusiastically. "You rhyme without a second thought. You're amazing!"

"You..." Sebek stuttered out, "...think I'm amazing?"

A series of chuckles escaped your lips once you noticed the bashful yet proud expression on his face. You would have never dared to say it out loud, but he was awfully adorable like this. "Yes, I do. And you should think so, too," you joked and shot him a wink.

He finally snapped out of his stupor, and his face returned to the usual stoic and constantly annoyed scowl. "Oh, stop it... Flattery will get you nowhere. Nice words, about those I don't care." His shaking voice betrayed his strict words, and you couldn't help but begin laughing. Although he sheepishly waved you off, he couldn't hide the blush on his face. "So you like poems, human?"

His question prompted you to nod eagerly. "I adore poems!" you began, your eyes vivid and bright — so full with life like he had never seen before. Your shyness was gone. "Poetry is such a beautiful way to express your feelings... Every poem can be meaningful in one way or another and that is what makes poetry great without being repetitive—"

Sebek listened and watched you with great interest, observing all the small details of your face and voice. His surprise of your sudden outburst — you used to be rather reserved, after all — ebbed away after a while. He found himself comforted by your voice, so soft and excited at the same time. And at first, he thought he would grow blind due to the brightness of your smile as you talked. He never averted his gaze though, even when you eventually stopped.

A sheepish chuckle escaped your lips. "Oh, but I'm rambling again... I'm so sorry..."

After he had snapped out of his trance, he shot up and waved his arms around in protest. His voice was loud and echoed through library. For a moment, you feared the student from earlier would return to complain. But, you somehow didn't have the heart to stop Sebek when he was this worked up. "No, (Y/n), continue speaking! I can clearly see that you're passionate... it reminds me of myself, in a way. Also," he muttered quietly, "it's endearing when you just talk away."

"People are usually bored whenever I start talking about poems... They think it's a strange interest to have." You rubbed your neck sheepishly. "I'm surprised you'd like to know more."

His lips curled upwards into a proud grin. "I'm full of surprises, human."

°

°

°

Later that day, Sebek found himself bursting with the need to tell someone about the incident at the library. The usual tension in his muscles replaced by a fleeting swiftness, the first-year pranced around the hallways of Diasomnia in search for a certain fae that he always consulted when he needed advice. And lucky him, he found exactly the person he was looking for busy in the kitchen.

"Lilia! Lilia!"

The fae in question began grinning once he saw the happiness that the first-year exuded. "Yes, Sebek? What's gotten into you?" Lilia teased while holding back chuckles. "You're... smiling. That's a nice sight."

"(Y/n) said I was amazing," Sebek announced between wistful sighs.

The third-year's lips curled up into an amused grin. "You have hearts in your eyes~" His loud laughter soon ceased to be, and he wiped the last tear of amusement from his eye. "But," Lilia continued in satisfaction, "I'm very glad to see you get along so well with another first-year. I worried about your... erm..."

Silver chimed in, "...obsession with Malleus."

A pout appeared on Sebek's face, and he crossed his arms with a sigh. "You two are always teasing me..." he grumbled under his breath. Yet, when he turned on his heel and prepared himself to leave the kitchen, his grumpiness turned into excitement again. "Anyway, I shall be off! I've got all sorts of poems to read— and to write. After all, I need to support (Y/n) with all my might!"

"That's cute..." The smile on Lilia's face couldn't be wiped off, so it seemed. He watched in satisfaction as the half-fae pranced out of the kitchen with feathery steps.

"I'm happy Sebek finally found a friend," Silver said between yawns.

"Perhaps," Lilia drawled mischievously, "more than a friend, even."

[ahamkara-apologist]

Fuck it. Big Taniks headcanon dump go

-One of the last remaining pureblood Eliksni from House Scar.

-As a result, he sports the phenotype from Scar: a dark red-brown striped carapace with a boxy, viper-like muzzle and heavy jowls, yellow eyes, very thick, blood-red setae with hooked barbs on each strand (where its still present), large mandibular teeth, and prominent chitin spikes on his carapace. If he was born on Riis, he would have had horns like a horny toad- many short, sharply triangular chitin spikes ringing his jaws, cranial crest, and eye spikes. As is, the remnants of those can still somewhat be seen in the way his carapace overlaps each other, but not to the extent it should. Body type is more on the burly side, but he grew up malnourished so he's thinner than he should be, even after getting as much ether as he could ever want after the fall of his house. Has 8 eyes, which his mother took to auspiciously mean he was born lucky (as he was lucky to be born at all): really this luck is more of a curse at this point, but Taniks doesn't like to think about that all too much

-However, it should be noted that most of these features have mostly been completely lost to scarring/mechanization. He's kind of like the Anakin Skywalker of the Destiny 2 universe: handsome to scarred mess, minus the fascism

-While he broke his House, the culture he was reared in still informed some of his behavior: Scar used to be full of honourable, ritualistic fighters and healers in the old days of Riis, known for their strict adherence to moral code and their technological advancements, but devolved into brutal violence post-Whirlwind. (By 'ritualistic fighters', I mean that they used to do elaborate swordplay dances to settle debates that House Judgement alone could not appease, and that this ability with blades was secondary to the fact that they were doctors first and foremost. The idea was that a healer would willingly do less harm than another Eliksni, hence why they were often chosen to be fighters as well)

-Post-Whirlwind, particularly brutish rituals arose to desensitize their members to violence, which got worse and worse as Scar sought to subvert their old healer ways and lean hard into being warriors. By the time he hatched, the only remnants of House Scar's culture as healers was that they were better at patching up their wounded than the other Houses

-How is this relevant to Taniks? Well...in Taniks's case, he was born to a drekh that was too low-ranking to be allowed the luxury of reproduction. He was allowed to live after he was found out, but when he grew old enough to fight, he was dragged before the Kell and told that had to prove his right to be survive through two trials: one, to be docked and fight as a wretch, or two, to kill his own mother and become Captain immediately- the choice his mother begged him to take. So he honoured her wishes, and killed her

-His kell double-docked him anyways.

-This prompted Taniks to go into the frenzied rage he was known for, where he made himself new arms and killed the kell, breaking House Scar. His disdain for the brutish ways of the House system + his hatred of kells continues to modern day, with the exception being Eramis, whom he fought beside, and who earned his trust by never trying to lord over him or demanded a house oath to keep him in line

-Unfortunately, breaking his house pretty much sent him into exile and marked him as an unstable traitor for the rest of his life, leading to social ostracization. Taniks didn't care personally, but since this happened while he was still very young (+ the fact that eliksni are deeply social beings, perhaps even moreso than humans), it did permanently fuck up his mental and social development. He's only half-socialized at best, and struggles intensely with navigating Eliksni society outside of dominance plays and combat rules. Granted, he doesn't particularly care about any of that stuff, but when he does, his own ineptitude can send him into a rage

-It also affected his physical development as well. Because the Eliksni function like lobsters in that they only grow more fertile as they age, and bc I hc them to be sequential hermaphrodites (ie, able to change sex as needed, bc traditionally the kells were the most fit breeding adults so being able to change sex to maximize compatibility was key), eliksni puberty is a long, drawn-out event that's heavily influenced by social and environmental cues. Taniks's isolation during his early teenage years ended up with him stuck as a simultaneous hermaphrodite, which is not really how Eliksni are supposed to work (they can live relatively normally, but their fecundity is drastically reduced in both egg and sperm production, and they suffer from health conditions as a result). Again, he doesn't really care bc he's used to it, but the hormone imbalances certainly didn't help with his mood or chronic pain problems

-Bc oh yeah, he's essentially got Eliksni PCOS. He's spayed himself at least twice to try to alleviate the symptoms + sterilize himself, but since he's not a doctor, he missed tissue both times, and he grew them back both times- the second, entirely without his knowing

-His identified gender is also a clusterfuck to match, though that's entirely a Taniks thing, and isn't necessarily tied to his physical sex organs. Most Eliksni just default to their equivilant of masculine pronouns for him bc that's what he had when he killed his kell, and Taniks never really cared enough to bother correcting them. The only Eliksni who knew he was genderfluid was Eramis (who likely explained genderfuckery to him to begin with) and maybe Atraks, who was also genderfuckery in her own special way. He never revealed this to others because with the Eliksni, I imagine being trans is seen as more of a soul-state that the body doesn't need to mimic, and the last thing that Taniks wants is for random people to know his soul-state.

-Because of his sex alignment and his attempts at spaying himself, he is entirely convinced that he's infertile. He Is Not.

-Part of the reason he wants to believe this is is because he's terrified of children, and is terrified at the thought of making any children. Kids are a wildcard, and and they trigger nurturing instincts in him that he has no frame of reference for dealing with. Pair that with the fact that his mother had him in secret, hid him away from the rest of the House, and often told him how dangerous his conception was to her, and you get Taniks

-Intense distrust/fear of doctors. You will not voluntarily see him in someone else's medbay if it kills him. The one he has on his own ketch is specifically set up to be fully automated, and whatever the machines don't do, he does himself. It's impressive given his lack of official training, but still very crude and slapdash, and his houseless, suspicious nature means that there's not many painkillers on board

-Intensely intelligent with a very keen eye for detail: would have been an amazing scribe in another life. Writes poetry in his free time that's actually really damn good, though nobody else gets to read it. Most of his prosthetics were engineered by himself, building off of dataplans he picked up himself, and are genuinely innovative and high-tier tech even though they're made of scrap metal

-(On a related note, I don't think he actually lost his legs when he fused himself to a shank- I think he was already missing most of his legs bar his thighs to begin with, and what he did was just hotwire his prosthetic connections into the guts of the shank to control it. It would have been quicker and easier than the alternative)

-Became a mercenary because the puzzle + thrill of a hunt gives him an adrenaline high like nothing else, and because if there's one thing he's good at, it's killing. Guardians are his favorite prize because they're the most dangerous game, forcing him to use all of his skills and all of his strength- though the fact that he still hasn't killed the Young Wolf off for good is something that pisses him off immensely

-Despite having the same level of socialization as a rabid racoon, he's still able to navigate the Eliksni honour system pretty well, based off of his knowledge of it alone. He also has a strong sense of honour and opinions about what constitutes as a fun/fair fight- he just doesn't stick to them if they're a hindrance, and thinks that the old ways of the Houses are bullshit. He's cunning and practical above emotional...in most cases

-Has sensory issues. He thinks he grew out of it, but the reality of the situation is just that he's reached a point of chronic pain that's so bad that he just doesn't notice it anymore. Unfortunately it is hereditary

-Deeply suspicious and hateful of most Eliksni, *extremely* loyal when/if he's won over. Very few have managed that: Eramis, Phylaks, and Kridis are some of the few who did. Everyone else he either ignores or tries to goad into a fight/toy with their pride, because he thinks most of his species is full of uptight pricks. Dude would make waves with the anarchist movement on Earth

-Not religious in the slightest. Get that Great Machine bullshit outta here

-Very chatty when his emotions are running high, near-silent and broody when not. If you're talking to him and he's just grunting back, that's a good indicator that his patience is rapidly dwindling and he's going to snap-roar at you soon. In that case, it's best to back off quickly, because he tends to not fuck around with warning signals very much, and he does not have any degree of bite inhibition

-Has a VERY strong Drift + Scar accent that is essentially the equivalent to Space Texas, but he masks it as much as possible when he can because lots of the old kells tend to look down at that sort of thing, and it pisses him off when people do. And, again, it's a part of himself that he doesn't want others to know about

-Probably would have been a hopeless romantic if his upbringing wasn't so harsh. As it is, he's a very bitter fuck who scoffs at the notion of love, and doesn't think that he's capable of it or that anyone would ever be interested in him (while he's shared a nest with Eramis during some of his seasons, that was entirely a platonic endeavor based on mutual trust + a need to be with someone who both of them knew they WOULDN'T ever fall in love with). While he claims this is just him being realistic, asking about it is a good way of getting him to grow violent real quick

-Paranoia? YES. He's cocky, but he's not stupid. He's got all sorts of traps rigged on his ketch, and all sorts of backup plans for every different scenario you can think of out there. He's cunning and clever and a nightmare to try to get the drop on

-That being said he is the type of person who will deny things until he can no longer afford to if they're something he doesn't want to acknowledge, so there's a fatal flaw of his right there

-Rules the few crews he keeps with fear and is comfortable with that. He likes the smell of it, and it means that nobody is going to look down their noses at him

-Cannot cook. Do not ask him to cook. Do not eat what he offers you. He prefers his meat raw, but he's not at all picky from years growing up chronically hungry, and will eat anything and everything, including stuff that's rotten or not technically edible. His teeth are really fucked up and lots of them grow in snaggled now after he's repeatedly broken and regrown them trying to eat things he really shouldn't. If it fills his belly and enables him to survive, that's good enough for Taniks

-His molts are no longer true molts, as the amount of scarring and prosthetics he has going on makes it impossible for him to go through a full, proper molt. He's usually got old carapace flaking off of him in bits, and that just adds to the whole 'old machinery/rot/death/pain' stink he has going on at all times. He's eternally itchy on top of everything else, and that does not improve his mood one bit

-Has been forcefully bathed and groomed by Eramis at least once. Hates to admit how much he likes it

-Has a propensity for hoarding/collecting things, both as trophies and also just as oddities. He's got an entire trophy room, an armoury that can put some Houses to shame, and a whole load of human-based odds and curios that he's hoarded over the years scavenging. Among them is a whole bunch of shiny old car parts and stained glass, among...other things. He is one of the very few Eliksni who know how to do taxidermy, self-taught from old records he hoarded, and has a collection of stuffed Sol animals tucked away in the corner somewhere. Other Eliksni and humans have been off the table...so far

NSFW:

-Externally he has the hemipenes (kind of) of a male, internally he has a very reduced broodpouch (male) + the sperm storage tubules and ovarian ducts of a female. His sperm is barely viable, and he cannot take or produce many eggs without causing himself severe pain during the duration of the experience. His huge size has mitigated a lot of this, as now most Eliksni cannot stuff him full enough to cause such pain NOR do they want to fuck him long enough to induce him to ovulate, but that's also unlucky bc that means he can (technically) still reproduce, even if he himself doesn't believe anything that comes out of him is viable

-He's proportionate to his size, maybe a little bit more on the thick side, which ofc means that he's fucking huge

-His right hemipene has been cut off halfway down the shaft, while his left has been scarred, and is pulled into an odd sideways bend towards the middle as a result. The right is still semi-functional in that it can get erect and isn't blocked off from the scar tissue, but the muscle is still damaged enough to not have much control over it so it just oozes relentlessly whenever he gets aroused. He's a leaky boi

-The left hemipenis also functions as an ovipositor (which, in females, is just a fused hemipenis with a wider passage to allow eggs through). The wider passage further increases his drippy factor. Don't mate with Taniks if you don't like it sloppy and wet...and rough. Taniks goes hard, fast, and has no real inhibitions outside of what his partners have to beat into him. Anything goes, and he likes sex to be a fight just like he likes everything else in his life. He's also very very bitey, though he at least has the sense to not make any marks that last...most of the time

-That doesn't mean he always has to dominate or top, though; he's actually a size queen who likes to be forced to obey when the mood hits him. The issue is that Eliksni who are big enough to actually give him that that are vanishingly few and far between, so the poor guy doesn't always get the same rough treatment that he doles out even though he's into it

-Very chatty during sex. Has a bad habit of running his mouth saying all kinds of dirty talk, with most of it being degrading for the purpose of goading his partner into snapping at him. If you're not into that sort of thing, it's best to just tune him out, bc he's mostly just doing it for himself and/or on autopilot than actually trying to get you off with it. The only time he goes quiet is if he's got to deposit eggs, and that's out of a mixture of instinct and because it's often paired with a non- fun sort of pain for him

-(Oviposition should not hurt either party, as it is an essential part of the mating process for Eliksni, but again- this is Taniks. His body never works as it should. That doesn't mean that he doesn't derive pleasure from it, but it's a weird mix of sensations for him, and he doesn't like it one bit)

-Remember the hoarding thing? He has a Bad Dragon collection. As well as a fuckload of other monster dildos; he just happened to find one of their factories to raid once. He's both very amused by them and also a big fan of using them liberally when he's in heat...though he skips out on the ovipositor models

-Probably would do sex work if it would give him glimmer, as he figures that he's already selling his body through mercenary work to begin with. As it stands, nobody is interested, so Taniks's OnlyFans is still off the table for now, alas

[parhelios]

part two of the stargate atlantis animorphs au where john sheppard used to be tobias! this will hopefully get turned into a full fic at some point but i like telling ppl about my fic ideas its fun

an important part of this au is that at least once on atlantis people have started reminiscing about favorite foods on earth they miss and when john was asked what he missed the most, he just blinks and says "burgers" and everyone gives him shit about his basic ass answer but little do they know the real answer is fresh mouse

part one here

he never really realized just how much he missed truly flying on his own wings until he did it for the first time in too many years, circling over the spires of atlantis and relishing the feeling of thermals under his spread wings. he can’t help but chuckle as on the way to rodney’s lab later in the day, he spots some of the biologists in their lab losing their minds. he does make a note to be a little less conspicuous though. john makes another note to let chaya know that if she ever needs anything, he’s her man, for the rest of time. he’s never been more grateful for anything.

(meanwhile, rodney and less so elizabeth, have been tinhatting about john since kolya's invasion of atlantis. john was weird enough they decided they needed to investigate him more and found that large swaths of his childhood and teen years are redacted to hell and back. they can't even figure out when he was born, exactly. it's WEIRD, and the fact that not even weir has clearance makes it all the more disturbing. rodney tries his best to find an unredacted version--surely it must be somewhere in the files sent on the atlantis expedition, in case of emergency--but not even that works. the thing is, by this point, john is their friend, and though they are definitely concerned and more than a little weirded out, they trust him. they trust that if it becomes necessary, he'll trust them too.)

missions go for the most part as normal, but whenever john can get the free time, he spends it flying. eventually, ar-1 gets sent out on a recon mission to a new gate location, a supposedly uninhabited planet which they believe might serve as a potential alpha site for atlantis in case of wraith incursion

as they begin their expedition, the group moves through the brush, ears and eyes sharp for any darts or wraith patrols. they walk for some time, having chosen to head in the direction of what looks to be a plume of smoke in the sky--perhaps a sign of civilization? certainly an anomaly worth checking out. when they reach the source of it, all four come to the same conclusion. a ship has crashed here. small fires still burn in the trees and brush at the edge of the clearing from its crash landing, but for the most part it looks only superficially damaged. however, not one of them save john recognize the design, and john keeps his mouth shut.

it is an andalite blade ship, and john wonders wildly about what it could be doing so far from home as he leads rodney, teyla, and ronon towards the entrance. he's able to keep his reaction to himself pretty easily, years of having to think about his face and his words coming in very handy for deception. rodney and the rest recognize it as being like nothing they've ever seen before--an egg-like pod with a tail curving above it, ending in a sharp point facing the front of the ship, two small, stubby wings curving off of the side. rodney starts to lose it with excitement at another spacefaring race which they have not encountered before, and john has to keep his mouth shut. after the war with the yeerks, the andalites and the humans had come up with a plan to deal with the yeerks, which none of the animorphs had been privvy to, except that once they were dealt with, the andalites would return to their part of the galaxy under seerow's kindness (their prime directive) and not contact the humans again. they took ax, the one andalite who had joined the animorphs and fought alongside them for the whole war, and they took the morphing cube, and they'd said that earth could keep the animorphs and any remaining technology left behind by the andalites or yeerks on earth. what they were doing here, he had no answers for, and he knew that rodney would be inevitably disappointed when he learned that they were all major assholes who wanted nothing to do with earth and had avoided aiding them until the eleventh hour.

when they get inside, john notes no signs of the pilot, and tunes out rodney's excitement at the pilot's chair clearly designed for a quadraped, and heads straight for the console, to try and find out all he can while the team is distracted examining the ship itself. his knowledge of andalite is ingrained, still sitting in the back of his mind from when elfangor gave him his knowledge. from what he can tell, this was an experimental blade ship designed for long-range travel through z-space, featuring a prototype andalite hyperdrive, which apparently worked a little too well. after poking around some, the team determines they should get as much data as they can for themselves from the ship and head back to the gate to pass the info on to weir and return with a bigger science team to study the ship itself. john makes a private note to hold a briefing. this requires a bit of an update in clearance for everyone involved.

of course, the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley, and as they leave the ship they are promptly ambushed and captured by a wraith patrol.

while the rest are thrown in a cell, john is taken to the wraith queen, who interrogates him on the crashed ship and though he protests ignorance, she decides to drain him until he breaks. she seems to believe it is some new trick by the atlanteans, but john catches something she likely did not mean to slip to him. she references a prisoner, and from what little she reveals, it sounds like the andalite pilot. john refuses to give up any information to her, and so the queen decides, drained as he is, that he is best used as an example for the rest of his friends, to... encourage them to cooperate. she drains him practically to the point of death, and has him dragged back to the cell, throwing him to the dirty floor at the feet of his friends.

he can feel himself dying, as he lays in the cell, every bone screaming as his team surrounds him, and he feels tears dripping onto his face, which he knows without looking is withered and aged from the feeding. and john knows in that moment that there is one way that this will go, unless he changes. he mumbles out an apology, tells them not to worry about him, and not to freak out. and then he begins the change.

for those unaware, morphing is a process which tends to be extremely unpleasant to watch, unless the morpher is an estreen who can control the process of the morph. john is very much not an estreen, despite his deep familiarity with being a hawk, and he knows exactly what this looks like as the shift megins and he takes in the horror on the faces of rodney, teyla, and ronon. he’d seen people shift birds, and the first time he'd done it, he'd watched himself in a mirror, out of pure curiosity.

the eyes went first, turning big and yellow. you could hear the crunch and grind of bones as they shrunk and molded into each other, the mass folding into z-space and condensing as his fingers merged and feet split, limbs and body shrinking into itself. feathers began to burst from the skin, starting as strange mottled patterns on the skin before lifting themselves up. the corners of his mouth stretched up as the bones of his face shifted and the skin receded over his elongating beak, leaving yellow keratin behind.

the morph felt the same as always, but alongside the grinding of bones and the odd crushing feeling that always came with a smaller morph, john could feel the strength returning to his body the closer he got to hawk-shape. as the morph finishes, he reaches out with thought-speak to the others, trying to get them to stop freaking out as he wriggles free of his shirt and vest, ruffling his wings.

rodney immediately goes "I FUCKING KNEW IT-okay not the bird thing i did not see that one coming but SOMETHING was going on--" but john's thought-speak very quickly shuts him up, and he takes the initiative of rodney's dropped jaw to come up with a quick plan and hop out of the cell through one of the holes in the wraith netting. the wraith probably think he’s dead already, and john is happy to keep it that way—he’s got an escape to make.

[sirowsky-stories]

The Old Prince

Part 7

Author's Note: This is nice and cozy at first, but do not be fooled. Here there be monsters... Also, I'll be working on my follower celebration for a while now, which is why I'm so sorry for how this part ends.

Description: Oberyn tells you what he can remember of his human life and how he became what he is. But tranquility is sparse in your lives, and as has become custom, you're soon in trouble once more.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, AU fic, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses. Descriptions of the death of a child, as well as people being violently murdered. Angst. Reader experiences shock. Word Count: 5865 Author's Masterlist

   He doesn’t need nearly as much sleep as humans do, so even after the exhaustion of three releases and a total of two and a half hours of lovemaking, Oberyn remains wide awake. Calm and pleasantly satisfied, with a harmony in his blood that knows no equal, but still not tired in the sense that he requires sleep to recover.    So instead, he watches you. And stars above… what a sight you are.

   Heavy with total relaxation, without a single crease of worry, tension or stress to your expression, you look only peaceful. Peaceful in the most precious of ways, a feeling born from the knowledge that you are safe, trusted and loved.    He is proud to be the one to give you this serenity, but also immeasurably grateful that you have chosen to trust him with your heart, because he knows how closely you have always guarded it from others.

   It has fascinated him from the start, the nearly immediate trust you had showed towards him, and he wonders sometimes if there could be a deeper truth behind it. If perhaps the transformation that he triggered in you was always there, just waiting for him to initiate it.    Such a thing would suggest that the two of you are linked by much more than circumstance or coincidence. That you were always destined to cross paths in this manner. Which is a both comforting and endlessly frightening thought.

   Because it would mean that the cosmos has a path laid out for you and that nothing you do will be of your own volition. That even this night was not a choice for each of you to make, but rather a compulsion, entirely beyond your conscious perception.    He refuses to believe that anything could have such influence over you. Over him, certainly, but not you.

   There is a power to your being which cannot be seen or even sensed, merely perceived at the very fringes of perception. A whisper carried across the globe by a million different voices since the day you were born, so scattered and distorted by now that it can no longer be heard, other than by the most sensitive instruments of the ether: the soul.    Barely even there, and yet he does not doubt its existence for a moment.

   The hours pass with ease, even though you do not move or even twitch in your sleep, so satiated that every muscle has succumbed to the depths of unconsciousness.    Resting on your belly with your lower arms hidden underneath the pillow, and your head turned to the man beside you. Nothing but your eyes moving underneath your heavy lids indicates that you are merely asleep.    At least, not to a human’s senses.

   Oberyn, however, can also hear your heart beating and the steady flow of your slow and tranquil breaths. He can smell the dried sweat on your skin and even the mild, musky scent of your earlier arousal.    And like everything to do with you, these smells are incredibly pleasant to him, in a way that nothing has been in the past.

   It’s not like he has never before smelled the tantalizing aroma of a person’s desire, but to his sensitive nostrils, those scents have always seemed exaggerated and almost overpowering sometimes.    Not yours though. Thus far, every smell or taste he has detected from you has only increased his affection for you, as if your very chemistry appeals to him. And perhaps that is exactly what it does. Perhaps your bodies truly do complement one another.

   In any case, what is certain is that you have become integral to his very survival.    He may not have aged much in his many years, but he is not incapable of dying. The dragon is nearly indestructible, but the human form is weaker. He heals quickly, but a severed limb would not grow back, for instance, so if one were to cut his head from his shoulders, he would die.

   There have been many occasions in his six millennia on this Earth when he has come close to the jaws of death. But for all his episodes of depression, when the endless toils of eternal life have left him unwilling to fight for even one more day, he has never truly wanted to end his own existence.    The thoughts have been there, loud and hounding at times, but more often like a growling dog in the corner of the room, as though waiting to rip his throat out. Yet it never has.

   Somehow, his life has retained a sliver of value to him, despite the many horrors he has witnessed, and been responsible for, and now that he sees you beside him, he cannot help but think that you have always been that value. That some part of him has been waiting for you, knowing that you would come to exist and that if he just held on for long enough, he would be rewarded with finding you.

   It is well after sunrise that you finally stir, twisting your head around and then slowly pulling your arms out from under the pillow, so that you can turn on your side.    You don’t appear to be aware that you’re moving, and your body is clearly terribly sluggish and unwilling to leave the restful softness of the bed, so he shifts himself closer and helps you finish the movement, before he settles in behind you, molding his body after your contours.

   And when you sigh and lean into him as though it is the most natural and obvious thing to do, as though something you have done a thousand times before and now come to out of habit and familiarity, he cannot help how his embrace tightens as his body responds, not with lust, but with unfathomable awe.    That you can be so at ease with such a creature as him, to let you rest beside him without fear or discomfort, even though his touch is largely new to you. Even though you have not slept beside another living being in years.

   Another hour passes before you begin to wake, and as you do, you reach for his hand which rests over your waist, pulling it up to your mouth for a few light kisses of your dry lips.

   “What time is it?” you ask, and your voice is raspy from the many hours that have passed since you last used it, and the fresh memory of your wordless vocalizations as he had found your most delicious spots of pleasure, fill his ears while he replies.

   “Almost lunchtime.”

   “Ugh…” you groan, and then start shifting to your back so that you can see him. “I don’t even know what time I fell asleep last night… or was it this morning?”

   You can barely keep your eyes open, but it seems less to do with fatigue and more like you are simply too comfortable to want to return fully to the waking world.

   “It was around 2 am,” he recalls, and you frown.

   “Haven’t you slept at all?”

   “No. The dragon and I are in some ways quite separate, but we are also one and the same, which is why I have his strength and the potency of his senses, even in this form.”

   “So, the dragon doesn’t need sleep?”

   “Not nearly as much. I can stay awake for several months if the need arises, but generally, I’ll sleep around four hours in a fortnight,” he explains, to which you grow silent for a minute.

   “You talk about it like it’s a separate being. Is that how it feels?” you ask then, seemingly curious while also apprehensive regarding his alter ego, no doubt because of the discomfort he has displayed each time you’ve asked about his past before.

   “In a way, yes. When I transform, it’s not simply my body that changes, it’s everything else as well. From my emotions to my thought-process and even my basic instincts.    It took me centuries to learn how to not let him out at every spike in emotion, and then even longer to figure out how to retain rational thought and control those same emotions, in order to prevent massacring people everywhere I went.”

   “Right, you’ve mentioned before that you were born human. So, what happened? Were you bitten by something as well?” you question, clearly looking for common ground and answers about your own transformation.

   Unfortunately, he still doesn’t have those answers, because his own experience was entirely different.

   “No. I don’t remember the details, and I believe that this is by design, but I know that whatever happened, it was done to me by someone or something much more powerful than anything walking this Earth today.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “Call it a god or supernatural being, but whatever it was, it vanished after doing this to me,” he says, and you look only more perplexed.

   He has not spoken of these things with anyone else before, because there has never been reason to, nor has he ever had cause to think that anyone would believe it.    But you deserve to know as much as he can remember, so that you may make up your own mind about what he is or isn’t anymore.

   “I have told you before that I can’t recall much of my human life beyond my mother’s face, and this is true. But I do remember a few things quite clearly.    For instance, that there was a conflict between our family and another tribe of people, whose origins I have forgotten but who were rich in numbers and therefor a considerable threat to the safety of the people under my family’s rule.    Whether we enraged them by attempting to force them into our ranks or if they attacked for their own reasons, I don’t know anymore, but the outcome was too devastating to forget,” he ponders, trying in vain to keep the terrible images away from his inner sight, as they always cause him such anguish.

   “There was a war?” you guess, and he nods while you shift around to your side, facing him, getting comfortable as you realize that he is willing to tell you everything now, which probably means a lengthier conversation.

   “Our peoples clashed so forcefully and with such rage that even after the battles were won, the losing army continued to be executed until none was left standing. There was so much blood in the sand that it remained red for months after each violent clash.    And the reason why I still remember this, even after my own family has been forgotten, is because as much as I might wish to, I will never forget what happened after our final victory.”

   This subject always tortures him, even to merely think of, let alone speak of out loud for the first time, so he pauses to check himself. To make sure that he is in control of his senses and not at risk of harming you.

   “Every time I hear a small baby crying,” he continues, unable to keep the unfathomable regret from filling his voice with pain, “I remember what was either my sister’s or brother’s newborn and how it cried when it was wrung from their arms and thrown on the floor to be stomped to death by the assassins who had infiltrated our home.    Defeated, they had decided to take their revenge upon our family, by means of blood and torture.    Thankfully, I cannot recall the imagery, only the sound. But that’s more than enough.”

   His pulse jumps as his heart reacts to the memory, and he pauses again.

   “I know that I was made to watch this, because that was where my rage was born. A rage that would become a companion of mine for the next two millennia. Because it was in that moment, when this helpless child was killed, that the desert turned from night into day in a single second. Not by sunlight… but by fire.    This I remember more clearly than anything else. How it erupted everywhere at once, as if drawn from the depths of the earth itself, covering our lands as far as the eye could see in every direction, even though there was nothing but blood-drenched sand to fuel it.    And once every living thing had turned to ash, somehow leaving me untouched even as I stood among the flames, they did not go out.    Instead, all that fire was drawn into me, making a home for itself within my chest, where it burned and stoked my anger, my rage, for what I now know to be at least five centuries.”

   “But… where did it come from? What conjured it?” you ask, teary-eyed even just hearing this, because your empathetic heart almost feels his pain and despair as if it was your own.

   “That I do not know. But as it flooded into me, I felt as though something else detached itself from it. Something vast and incredibly old. Millions of years, if I had to venture a guess.    It seemed to let go and fade away as the fire took hold of me, and the one theory I’ve managed to come up with, is that it was also a dragon.    Perhaps there can only be one of us at a time. It would explain why there are no others like me anywhere in the world.”

   You merely nod in agreement, at a loss for words, because what could anyone say to such a thing?

   “It took me five hundred years to bring the beast under control after the initial transformation, and in that time, I flew across the entire world, burning it everywhere I went. But this I know only because of the aftermath. I have no memory of that time at all.    When I finally managed to calm myself enough to return to my human form, which I had not yet realized that I could do until that moment, I was met by nothing but charred lands everywhere I went. And while I could not remember it, I knew in my heart that it was all my own doing.    The child’s screams, which still echoed through my being, now paled in comparison to the countless thousands that I had burned alive in my maddened state, and to this day, I don’t know why any of this has happened.”

   He must close his eyes again for a bit, not for fear of losing control now, but simply because the pain in his being is too overwhelming.    These words have never left his lips before. Never entrusted to another living soul, never even spoken aloud to the cold stones of the castle, which have surrounded him for hundreds of years now.

   You say nothing at first, content to merely rest beside him as he attempts to stomach the horrifying memories before locking them away once more. But when you do eventually speak, your voice is so soft and warm that he feels as though it must be a thick blanket, enveloping not just his person but his mind and heart as well.

   “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve suffered. But perhaps, if we do manage to figure out what’s happened to me, we might find some answers for you along the way as well.”

   “I hope so. But… I am also afraid to learn more,” he admits, and you frown again, so he elaborates. “That being, the one I felt within the flames, it was so old.”

   “And you’re worried that you’re gonna have to live that long as well?” you correctly deduce, to which he nods.

   “If I… replaced that being somehow… then whatever it was that kept it alive for that long is now inside of me. And I have no idea what it is, much less how to free myself of it.”

   He has cried countless times before, and often much more devastatingly than he does now. This time it’s a mere trickle of a few tears down the side of his face, brought out only by the fear of the unknown, rather than any real pain within him.    And yet, this time feels different. These tears feel purposeful in a way he has never experienced before. Perhaps merely because you are here, and he’s never cried in front of another person before, but it feels like it’s about something bigger than that.

   “I think that you are exactly what you’re supposed to be, Oberyn,” you say then, while gently wiping the wetness from his face. “And I think that I am too. Whether to darken the world or not, I think we’re both on the path we’re meant for.    I just hope that we get to choose how it ends.”

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   After a large brunch, the two of you return to the discussion about your transformation and everything that your partner knows about Darklings, and you end up learning about his bizarre realization that the pull coming from the basement has seemingly vanished.

   “See? I told you that it disappeared,” he says, sounding mildly surprised himself where he stands beside you in front of the basement door.

   “Yeah, and I believed you even before we got here, I’m just worried about the why.”

   “Indeed. Which is why I feel it’s necessary to investigate.”

   You have to swallow against the bile that rises in your throat at the mere thought of going back in there, but he’s right. The last time you’d stood here, you’d been practically enchanted, drawn inside despite all the warning signs along the way, from the smell to the sounds and finally the sight of those things.    But now, there’s nothing.

   Nodding to let him know that you agree, he opens the door, and you try to brace yourself for the odor, but it still hits you like a sledgehammer. It’s somehow even worse this time, probably because there’s nothing to dull your senses now.

   “Oh, god…” you breathe in between your body’s attempts to react to the assault on your olfactory functions. “Your senses are stronger than mine, how can you stand it?”

   “Sadly, this is not the worst thing I’ve ever smelled,” he replies nonchalantly before stepping inside.

   You pinch your nose shut with your fingers and then follow him, but it still feels like you’re just eating the disgusting scent instead.    He could’ve gone down here alone, but the creatures don’t react to him the way that they do to others, and he wants to gauge their reactions in full, so that he might be able to figure out what could’ve changed to stop them from emitting the pull.

   When you’d walked through this corridor before, it had felt much shorter than it does now, even though you’d walked much slower then. Which leaves you wondering just what the pull had done to your brain in those few minutes that you’d been under its influence.    You forget all about that, though, when you eventually round the corner at the end of the corridor and see the cages once more.

   “Oh, god…”

   This time it’s Oberyn who breathes the words, brought to a stop by the sight before him because this is so much worse than either of you could’ve imagined.    All the cages are empty.    No doors have been broken open, no holes have been dug through the concrete floor, and yet, they’re all gone.

   “It’s starting,” he says as he takes a few steps forward, slowly looking from one side to the other. “The darkness is already spreading.”

   “Wait, are you saying that… I did this?” you question, already trembling at the thought that it could be true.

   That you could’ve freed these monsters without even knowing it.    You’d felt their hunger when you’d met them. Their need to consume and destroy life. If this is somehow your fault…

   “Valya, listen to me,” he says, coming back to you and putting his hands around your upper arms when he sees you begin to spiral. “Whatever happened here, what matters is that we must find and stop these creatures.”

   “But if I freed them, if this fucking darkness inside of me can set them loose even from a prison, how can we hope to stop them?”

   “I don’t know, but we must try. That’s as much as we can do, my love.”

   He pulls you along, out of the basement and back to his room, where he asks you to get dressed for the cold weather outside.    But you don’t start right away. You need a minute. Just a few moments to think and try and understand what’s happening. Because if you are responsible for this then there’s every chance that even if you manage to capture the creatures again, the same thing will happen.

   Oberyn had noticed the absence of the pull when he’d passed the basement door on his way to find you over three days ago. Before you’d been attacked and almost died, so if you somehow freed them, it must’ve happened while you were at the Thanksgiving party.    But what could’ve triggered it? This darkness you apparently possess. What could’ve drawn it out and allowed these monsters to feed off it?

   “I’m not sure that I should go with you,” you say to him, while still just standing there in the middle of his bedroom, afraid of so many things now that you can’t even name them.

   He’s been looking through his weapon’s drawer with his back to you, so he hasn’t noticed that you haven’t started getting dressed yet. But he realizes what you’re doing as soon as he hears you speak.

   “Whether you caused this or not, I need you to help me find them. And if we do, then that will give us some answers.”

   “How?”

   “Because if you do possess the qualities of a Darkling, they’ll be drawn to you. Whereas if you don’t, they will merely wish to destroy you.”

   “Oh… great.”

   “I know that this is frightening, but we need answers. So, please, dress warmly and let us be on our way.”

   You don’t argue. He’s right, nothing’s gained from hiding, especially when you don’t even know what you’re really trying to hide from.    A few minutes later, you’re back out on the courtyard watching Oberyn transform once more, and this time you’re able to enjoy the sight a bit more, since you’re no longer scared of the beast. Even the weapons he’s chosen to take with him are engulfed by the scales as they emerge. It truly is a mesmerizing thing to see.

   But it also reminds you of how far away from yourself you’ve gotten.    There’s no real comparison to be made anymore. Nothing about your life has remained the same ever since your own transformation. And as much as you try not to, you can’t help but think about the horror you could, and probably will, unleash if you are a Darkling.    These creatures would only be a sidenote if you end up covering the world in death.

   He picks you up like before, cradling you to his chest with his front paws. He’d told you earlier that he’d like for you to ride on his shoulders but that he fears the deadly spikes that his hair become whenever he gets agitated or even just startled, so you stick to this form of transportation for now.    It makes little difference to you. His broad chest and the comforting thumping of his heart within, soothes your worries and brings your mind back to a lighter tone.

   The sound, and the breeze, takes you to fond memories of summer mornings, and all the lovely treks you’ve taken into the seven hills. The rustle of leaves, the rhythmic thumping of your feet, or Casper’s hooves, against the ground, the birds singing and the sun rising along your back.    If only life could be that simple again.

   He circles outwards from the castle, increasing the circumference of each circle on every turn so that he covers all directions. From this height, you can barely even see the ground much less what might be moving across it, but his eyesight is better than yours.    You worry about people, though. Because it’s broad daylight and anyone that looks up could spot his large form against the cloudless sky. Which does tell you something about the urgency of his need to find these beings and stop them.

   It somehow feels like only minutes have passed since you set off, when he suddenly ducks his head and falls into a dive, folding his wings down along his body to enable him to cut through the air like a razor.    The wind seems to pass by your mouth so fast that you can’t inhale it, but only a few seconds later it’s already over.

   He opens his wings so close to the ground that it takes all his strength to break your fall and land, rather than crash, but it’s still a rough touchdown after only three powerful pushes of his wings.    And the moment you’re down, he drops you and leaps after something that scurries off through the streets.

   You never have a chance to land on your feet after he releases you, because he does it when he’s already moving away from you, so by the time you’ve gotten up and oriented yourself, both Oberyn and his quarry have disappeared around a corner.    That’s when you realize that you’re in a city, somewhere in the outskirts but it must be a bigger city, because the buildings are tightly packed, and the streets are long.

   Afraid that he won’t find you again, you don’t move from the spot where the dragon dropped you off, except for leaving the alley where he landed so that you can look up and down the street, which is thankfully not particularly crowded at the moment.    He ran off to the north, and you can see a few people staring down that way in what appears to be mild shock, but he probably passed them so quickly that they never managed to get a good look at him, or what he’s chasing.

   You keep to the shadows in the corner that leads to the alley while you wait, but it doesn’t take long before something happens.    Unfortunately, it’s not what you’d expected, or hoped, would happen.    Directly across the street from you there’s another alley which is even narrower than the one you’re waiting by, and from the protective shade of the buildings and waste bins, something strikes at a person passing by.

   You only notice it because you were watching the man that got attacked even before it happened, since he was one of those who had likely seen the green streak of scales pass him, and you were checking to see that he wasn’t on his way to alert anyone about it.    He’s pulled into the alley so quickly and harshly that he doesn’t manage to even scream in fear, and despite the shadows, you can see what happens to him next.

   Another one of the creatures is here, and once it has the poor man in its claws, it rips him to pieces. Literally.    You can see the blood spray clear across the entire alley as his arteries are ripped open when the monster tears him in half, from his right arm down to his left hip. His organs spill out over the ground and then the fucking thing picks up his heart and gulps it down in one big mouthful, before just leaving the rest of him there for the rats and crows to feast on.

   You’re too scared to do anything. You just stand there and stare in absolute shock, because what can you do? What can you ever hope to do against something like that?    For your safety, and your partner’s, you don’t carry a mobile phone anymore, but there’s a payphone halfway down the block, next to a bus stop, and you don’t need money to be able to call the emergency services.

   Slowly, hindered by some form of haze that seems to cloud your mind, you walk towards the phone, picking it up without a clue of what you’re gonna say to whoever picks up at the other end, but dialing the emergency number anyway.    The responding voice is soft and warm. A woman, middle-aged by the sound of it, practiced and at ease with her task. She asks if you need assistance, and when you don’t reply, she asks if you’re hurt.

   “No…” you finally manage to say. “No, not me. I need… There’s a man in the alley. He’s been killed…”

   “Where are you, miss?” the operator asks, and you realize that you have no idea what city you’re even calling from.

   “Uh… I don’t know where I am. What city is this?”

   “You’re in Chicago, miss. Are you sure you’re okay?”

   “Yeah, I’m just… a little shocked. I saw it happen. I saw him get torn apart,” you explain while trying to expel the images from your mind, entirely without success.

   “Are you with the man now?”

   “No, I’m across the street and a little further down the block, this was the nearest phone.”

   “Okay, can you see any street signs?” she asks, and you suddenly feel stupid.

   There are signs fully visible on every cross-street. Apologizing, you give her the names and she starts a new line of inquiries, focusing more on the victim now.

   “You said that the man was torn apart, what did you mean by that?”

   “I mean literally. He’s in at least two pieces. And I think the…” you pause, looking for a suitable way to address the thing responsible.

   You simply can’t call it a man, but you also can’t call it a thing without spurring the operator into even more questions that you can’t answer.

   “…assailant,” you finally settle on, “ate his heart.”

   “I’m sorry, did you just say that the person who did this ate the man’s heart?”

   “Yes, ma’am,” you reply, stifling the urge to add that it wasn’t a god damned person who did this.

   “Is the assailant still on the premises?”

   “No, I don’t think so.”

   “Okay. I’m gonna need you to remain where you are until emergency services arrive. What’s your name, miss?”

   You can’t stay there because you don’t have time for the police to question you, and you can’t give her your name because that would just complicate things so much more.    So, you drop the phone without ending the call, letting it dangle while you walk away, back into the alley where Oberyn had dropped you off, moving far enough away that no one investigating the murder will be able to spot you.

   It doesn’t take long before you hear the sirens, but just as the vehicles begin to arrive, the thing re-emerges from the shadows of that alley.    From your hiding spot less than two hundred yards away, you see the police and ambulance personnel step out of their vehicles, the former shielding the latter in case the assailant is still there, and head towards the alley, leaving you with a terrible dilemma.

   If you try to warn them, you’ll put yourself in danger, and potentially increase the risk to their lives by whatever darkness it is that you might possess. But if you remain hidden and say nothing, they’ll definitely be killed.    You don’t know that you could live with the cowardice of not even trying to warn them, so you set off running towards them, screaming as loud as you can.

   “NO! Don’t go in there! It’s still there, it’ll kill you!!”

   They react, turning to see who’s yelling at them, and that’s when the creature strikes.    The two policemen have their weapons drawn, and when the thing takes down one of the paramedics, tearing the young man to shreds in a matter of seconds, they both try to shoot it. Unfortunately, it moves too fast for the bullets to find their mark, and within moments, the policemen are meeting the same fate.

   By the time you’ve run the two hundred yards to reach them, all four of them are dead, and the monster is working on ripping their bodies apart just for the fun of it.    It doesn’t eat anything from them this time, so the heart must’ve just been a random act of destruction, rather than some compulsory ritual or feeding requirement.    None of the creatures in those cages had been fed anything for years, so clearly, they don’t actually need to eat to survive. Consumption must serve some other purpose for them.

   It stops tearing at the bodies as you reach the street, refocusing on you instead, and you freeze to the spot just as more sirens can be heard approaching.    In the bright daylight, it somehow looks even worse than it had in the sparse lighting of the basement. Its sickly broken skin and black oozing blood seeping out of every crack, its broken bones poking out at odd angles throughout its crouched form. Not quite walking on all fours, but so deformed that its original human shape can no longer be discerned.

   You stand there, as if locked together with the thing, neither of you moving an inch while the additional emergency vehicles get closer. And when they reach your odd little standoff and screech to a halt, the creature finally breaks eye-contact with you.    It appears almost enraged by the metal and plastic cars that stand between it and its prey and attacks the newly arrived firetruck with a fury unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

   Mere seconds is all it takes before its carved its way through one of the doors and is inside the cabin, after which nothing but blood can be seen inside.    Two of the firemen manage to get out before it reaches them, but then it pauses its efforts to kill the ones its already gotten started on, so that it can go after those that escaped its clutches.

   Evil, malicious beings, with no purpose save for destruction and pain. That’s how Oberyn had described them, and that is exactly what you’re seeing.

   “Stop…” you whisper, unable to get your voice to cooperate while you watch the monster finish with the firemen and then set after the second pair of policemen, who like their coworkers have opted to try and shoot the thing rather than just flee.

   This can’t be your doing. You can’t be the one that set this in motion, you could never live with that if it turns out to be true.

   “STOP!” you roar at the creature just before it reaches the desperate policemen, who have now taken refuge in their car, even though they’ve seen that thin metal doesn’t keep it out.

   Amazingly, unbelievably, it does stop at your command.    For one fraction of a second, time seems to slow as the thing halts and turns its head to glare at you.    The moment ends, however, when the giant green dragon crashes through the corner of a building further down the street, while in pursuit of the other creature.

   And that’s when everything goes horribly wrong.

Part 8

The Ten Spirits of the World Air - Forest - Water - Stone - Night - Autumn - Winter - Spring - Summer.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! If you wish to be notified when this story is updated, follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications, or just ask nicely, and I'll tag you.

@harriedandharassed @kittenlittle24 @joelswritingmistress @pedrostories

[alifeasvivid]

A Feast for the Fae; a ukus faerie tale

:D this was commissioned by @ok-scans. They asked for smut and the supernatural with virgin Alfred, so here it is. Thank you so much!!

Rating: Explicit Warnings: major age gap: centuries old immortal faerie + 18 year old human Tags: fae!Arthur, human!Alfred, smut, intoxication, ambiguous non-modern fantasy setting Summary: Alfred has been selected as his village's sacrifice to the Fae King, to be eaten at the Beltane Festival. It's up to Arthur to stop it from happening. Word Count: ~3200

“What is your name?” the hushed words slide into the boy’s ear and down his spine as easily as the wine had slid down his throat. Arthur leans in close enough to see the summer sky in the human’s eyes, though it is the witching hour now, in the glen, with the full moon sighing softly on them.

The boy grins. “Alfred!” he declares as if it’s a surprise even to himself. He drinks greedily from the goblet full of Arthur’s wine. The two of them are sat on a large, flat rock before a crackling fire, though Alfred is at every moment about to topple off of it.

Arthur’s glittering emerald eyes flash as he surveys the sun-drenched fields that are the boy’s body, rich and ready for harvest. Alfred is far less a boy now than when they met, for certain, but that smile will always first belong to the little human child that had fully enchanted Arthur thirteen years ago. He hadn’t known the truth about Alfred back then.

Alfred giggles and grins and swirls his cup, he blushes, but it’s certainly not with embarrassment. He’s naked as the day he was born, after the head mage of the village led him out here.

Arthur pours him some more wine and kisses Alfred’s forehead. He has no right to do any of this, yet nothing in the world is going to stop him from doing it. Only last year, when Alfred had turned eighteen, had Arthur learnt that he had been chosen at birth to be his village’s sacrifice to the faerie king upon the Beltane following his eighteenth birthday. Being a summer child, Alfred is nearly nineteen now—and that is fortunate because Arthur had needed the time.

Perhaps Arthur really has become soft. He has spent several centuries with humans at this point, more time than he has spent in Fae, namely with witches and mages, which is how he met Alfred. The witch with whom Arthur lived and worked hired Alfred’s mother as a live-in maid in an arrangement which benefitted them both greatly.

Supposedly, faeries cannot feel love, but if these feelings—the urgent compulsion to save Alfred from being eaten at the Beltane feast, the way he withers at the thought of never seeing his smile again, the desperate want to keep the boy all for himself and make sure he is always happy—are not love then Arthur does not really know what else to call it.

But he is not the faerie king. He is one of the faerie king’s subjects—and a low born one at that, so he has spent all this time, this grace period as it were, trying to find some way to save Alfred.

He has found out there are several criteria that must be met, having much to do with time and place of birth, of parentage, of innate magical energies… nothing can be done for any of those.

But the sacrifice must be un-taken, that is to say, still having their true name so that they can give it to the faerie king… and, to also say, they must be a virgin.

Beltane is three days away and the fae court will come to collect him at dawn, so Arthur has only until the end of the witching hour to… to—oh gods… is it a terrible thing? not that Arthur doesn’t want to claim him. Alfred has grown up so well and he is such a good hearted lad, but that’s what makes it worse. He would rather have Alfred come to him freely.

Perhaps that crush Alfred seems to have been harboring for him signals deeper feelings. The situation is still not ideal, but needs must. “No, pet. I want your true name,” Arthur says, cupping Alfred’s face in his hands and lacing the words with the appropriate spell of taking.

Alfred hiccups. “Can’t give ya that, Arthur, You’re not the king! You’re just a faerie witch.” The situation was only partly explained to Alfred: the part about being made the centerpiece of the Beltane feast being left out.

Arthur winces, knowing Alfred doesn’t mean that how it sounds. Arthur knows well enough that he isn’t “just” anything to Alfred. “Oh?” he says. “How do you know I’m not?” he says in a suggestive tone. It’s not a lie at all, just a question. “What if I had been all this time?”

Falling for the trick perfectly, willing to believe more than anything else that he is meant to belong to Arthur, Alfred’s eyes widen in glee. “Wow! Really!? That’s so good, oh that’s so good, I’m really glad. Yeah! You can have it, it’s Alfred Franklin Jones.”

Arthur’s palms and the back of his neck and the tip of his nose all tingle with energy. It has been quite some time since he has taken anyone’s true name. There hasn’t been one he wanted or needed in so long. Alfred is his now, forever… and can never be truly free again, but it’s certainly better than spending eternity in the bellies of the members of the faerie high court. Arthur can’t help himself then and he surges forward and kisses Alfred deeply.

Alfred responds ecstatically, pulling himself into Arthur's arms. He giggles and whines as Arthur kisses him, tossing his head back as Arthur’s lips paint his cheek, his neck, and then his shoulders. The wine sparkles in his brain and he’s so relieved that Arthur has been the one for him this whole time—just as he has wanted for so long.

Arthur enchants a bed of soft leaves and sweet grass for them and wastes no time in pitching Alfred into it. Seeing the human splayed out in it, the firelight dancing on his skin while the moonlight gently caresses him, Arthur is more enraptured than ever. He kneels between Alfred’s legs and smooths his hands over the boy’s body. Alfred is tall and most of his chores had been rough, manual labor, leaving him tan and well-muscled… with a little bit of softness in his stomach since he was often compensated with food and Arthur only wants him more the more he is able to touch.

A Beltane feast indeed.

Alfred squirms and laughs as Arthur’s palms traverse his body and leave tickles in their wake. The tickling sensation soon reveals something more urgent: his cock hard and twitching and aching for Arthurs pale, elegant hands. “Arthur…”

Arthur leans down and kisses his forehead again. “Yes, love?”

“Am I your bride?” he asks with a bit of a slur due to the fae wine. “Is that why I was promised to you?”

Arthur laughs fondly. “Silly boy. Is that what you want?” He drags his finger along the underside of Alfred’s cock, pressing it just below the head and rubbing. “Do you want to be my bride?”

Alfred wriggles in pleasure and nods, feeling warm and happy as he does. “Yes.”

Arthur won’t completely dismiss the idea that it’s just the wine talking, but even still, he feels a possessive, toothy snarl deep in the parts of him that are still feral and truly fae, despite the many years he has spent with humans. “Shall this be our wedding night, then?” he purrs, magic making short work of removing his own clothes.

Alfred nods again, more emphatically this time. He shifts and spreads his legs wider and can’t help but wrap his hand around his cock, stroking it and smearing pre-cum all over. Seeing Arthur undressed, Alfred releases himself in favor of petting at Arthur’s flawless, fair skin that nearly glows in the moonlight. He smiles giddily as he wanders into Arthur’s eyes, which still flash green in the firelight as if lighted from inside.

Not once does he pause to consider any concerns, the fae wine has driven them all from his mind. And it doesn’t matter anyway; this is what he has wanted for so long. The wine may have freed him from inhibition, but it certainly did not cause him to desire Arthur. He had been besotted with Arthur since they first met and with the first blossomings of maturity, the infatuation deepened… and darkened. But Alfred has never feared it.

Since childhood, Alfred has noticed the way other humans regard Arthur warily, but everything about him that has always unnerved so many others—his pointed ears; his piercing eyes that see through everyone; his fair and flawless skin accentuating fine, almost intolerably beautiful features; and, of course, the unsettling sharpness of both his incisors—are all the things that draw Alfred to him. He has never once felt unsafe with Arthur.

He certainly doesn’t feel unsafe now.

Arthur purrs as he pours his body flush against Alfred’s, claiming the boy’s mouth with his tongue and nips from his fangs. He rolls his hips against Alfred’s, groaning and drinking in Alfred’s wanton gasp at the same time. His wings, which he so rarely has cause or energy to manifest, spring outward, delicate and shimmering green-gold, pulsing with sparks of glittering red in the firelight to indicate the flush of power from taking Alfred’s name as well as the arousal coursing through him.

Alfred catches Arthur off-guard when he leans up, the bed of grass following him, supporting him. Arthur is stand on his knees, the perfect height for Alfred’s mouth to pull him in from this angle. He wraps his arms around Arthur’s hips and nuzzles his cheeks against the faerie’s cock, then kisses the tip of it over and over. “You’re so beautiful, I’ve wanted you so bad forever,” Alfred murmurs with heart-wrenching sincerity. He continues kissing lightly, flicking little kitten-licks in the slit of Arthur’s cock.

Alfred is clearly operating off of whatever simply feels good to him and that gives Arthur every reason to do the same. He grabs the base of his cock with one hand and the back of Alfred’s head with the other, carefully guiding himself into Alfred’s throat. It feels even more wonderful than he had imagined it would. Combing one hand back through Alfred’s hair, Arthur uses just a little magic to make sure he stays relaxed. “Yes,” he huffs, “yes, good boy.”

Alfred moans in bliss as Arthur rocks into him just barely. The head of Arthur’s cock knocks gently against the top of Alfred’s throat and with the heaviness settled on his tongue, it feels amazing. He does his best to rub his tongue along the underside of it while learning very quickly how to suck it in just the right ways to make Arthur make the best sounds.

A century or so of celibacy has done just enough to increase Arthur’s sensitivity and the way Alfred looks up at him, adoring and also hungry, along with just how utterly enchanted he is with the human all compel him to pull away. Letting Alfred pleasure him with his mouth is not enough; Alfred must experience orgasm from stimulation by someone other than himself in order to no longer qualify as a virgin.

Whining at being denied, Alfred is placated by Arthur’s fingers caressing him, gently pushing him back down. “Arthur…” he pleads softly, shifting and spreading his legs further still, not even knowing exactly what it is he’s asking for, just that he wants Arthur closer.

“Gods, you are so lovely, Alfred,” Arthur praises, beginning to follow his hands with his lips, more and more until he laces his fingers with Alfred’s and kisses him everywhere he possibly can. Alfred gasps and sighs now, but doesn’t laugh anymore from ticklishness.

Alfred writhes, instinctively lifting his hips, and spasming around an emptiness he’d never realized he’d had until now. He cries when Arthur strokes his tongue along his cock and throws his arm over his face, since seeing Arthur do it is too much to bear.

“Look at me, pet,” the faerie insists, using a bit of magic to compel Alfred to do it. “That’s it, good boy.” Arthur only takes Alfred into his mouth all the way once and then repositions himself to lie between the human’s legs. The bed of flowers and leaves raises Alfred’s hips to give Arthur a better angle while Arthur easily lifts Alfred’s thighs up and out. A fang-baring grin spreads over his face as he rubs two fingers at Alfred’s entrance; those fingers conjure a slick, honey-like substance from out of thin air to help Alfred relax and make him easier to open.

Alfred arches and cries out as Arthur presses one finger into him. His hands pull at the leaves and sweet grasses beneath him, which hold fast. Arthur pushes it in and out for what seems like ages before he adds another, stretching Alfred open. There it is, the emptiness he hadn’t felt until now and only Arthur can fill it. “More,” he sobs. “More, Arthur, please.”

Alfred is well known for being impatient and ordinarily Arthur would take great pleasure in denying him, in teaching him how to move slowly, but there is a tickling clock on their tryst. Arthur has scarcely more patience than Alfred at this moment anyway. He nuzzles Alfred’s cock as he continues to open him, inhaling the scent of a human, green and fresh, but musky with arousal; he has almost never been close enough to Alfred to revel in the scent of him like this. He has three fingers inside Alfred now, as far in as they will go, and he makes certain that Alfred is slick, each stroke of his fingers producing more lubricant.

Alfred’s eyes are squeezed shut as Arthur works him open and he releases his grip on the plants that are their makeshift bed to weave one hand in Arthur’s soft hair, holding on tightly. He wriggles around the wetness now inside him, around Arthur’s fingers. He twists enough that Arthur’s fingers start massaging his prostate and— “AH! Oh Arthur, Arthur, please more. Right there, more.”

Arthur’s wings flutter rapidly as he watches Alfred come apart so freely under his touch. The fire has burned to its embers, giving the moon unbound license to Alfred’s perfect skin. Arthur thrusts his fingers in and out, faster, a frenzied need to make Alfred come just from this pricking at the edges of his mind. He wants to see Alfred come. He pumps in and out, faster, far more dexterous than a human could ever be. “There?” he asks, knowing the answer already.

Alfred nods, biting his lip hard and drowning in a sea of fae wine and moonlight and utter devotion to the faerie he has loved since he was a little boy. “Yes, there, please—I—!” That sea takes him under and his body pulls taut and he comes, begging broken syllables of Arthur’s name for more, to never stop.

Arthur must stop, reluctantly, and only does so once Alfred’s body is quivering from the exertion. He’s trembling a little himself from merely being privileged to witness Alfred’s pleasure. It is delicious, both magically, and, as he leans down to lick Alfred’s cock clean, physically. Alfred is now wet and loosened well and the terms of taking his virginity have been satisfied, but Arthur still wants.

“Arthur,” Alfred slurs, “I’m… I’m…nnnnnggh empty. Please.”

Something powerful and sure and dark at the edges curls around Arthur’s mind and forms a heart where he had nothing before. “Yes, you are. Fear not, pet, I’ll take care of you.” Leaning up and over Alfred, wings beating softly, Arthur kisses his forehead, then his cheeks and his nose and then his mouth, deeply, drinking more magic from the pure, pulsing sunlight that suffuses Alfred’s every cell and earned him the “honor” of being the Beltane sacrifice. With one decisive move, he sinks is cock into Alfred’s entrance. It is absolute bliss: Alfred is loose enough that he yields wonderfully, but so tight, squeezing Arthur with warmth and undiluted desire.

Alfred sighs, hums, moans contentedly as Arthur fills him. Of course, Arthur fits perfectly inside him, it could never have been otherwise. When his body pulses now, it is to pull Arthur in, to hold him, and there is no more emptiness. In the aftermath of his first orgasm, he is pliant and sweet and welcoming. He wraps his arms around Arthur's neck, feeling more in love with him than ever, and doesn’t even notice his own cock getting hard again.

Arthur moves slowly at first, letting the moon rock him against Alfred like the tide. He kisses Alfred over and over and reaches down to stroke his cock. “Good boy,” he murmurs next to Alfred’s temple. “Such a good boy for me.”

Alfred’s eyes roll back as the head of Arthur’s cock strikes his prostate again and again, accurately, but far too languidly. Arthur doesn’t pull out very far, but it’s enough that Alfred can feel and hear how slick Arthur made him. “I love you,” he sighs.

At that, Arthur drives into him harder, a little faster. “I know, pet. I’m so very glad you do.” He watches Alfred’s face, but the human shows no distress at his confession not being reciprocated, if anything, he seems more blissful than before. He begins thrusting in and out of Alfred’s willing body even faster, pumping the boy’s cock and letting the pleasure build up between them. “You are so lovely,” he says; it would be breathless except that Arthur doesn’t breathe.

Alfred orgasms again in no time at all, being young and inexperienced and sensitive, he cries out, begging Arthur for more, to move faster, to never stop.

Arthur rolls his hips in a staccato rhythm, melting at the way Alfred’s body grips him and pulls him in, holds him tightly. Whatever magic forms his makeshift heart receives Alfred’s unadulterated love and feeds on it. This is how Alfred should be feasted upon, Arthur thinks distantly. He comes, plunged all the way inside Alfred, quivering violently due to his own sensitivity, and he buries his face in Alfred’s neck as he fills him with cum. “Beautiful,” he groans, scraping his fangs against Alfred’s skin when he kisses and sucks marks into it, without drawing blood. He’s careful not to draw blood. They might smell blood.

Alfred arches and squirms as Arthur fills him in hot spurts that seem to be endless. But eventually, Arthur falls into the leafy bed next to them—the leaves and sweet grasses having morphed into ferns, royal and maidenhair. Alfred tucks himself against Arthur, head under his chin and admires his wings for the first time, though he dares not touch.

The witching hour is nearly over. Arthur holds Alfred protectively, though Alfred’s body has already been blessed with a spell that cannot be undone to make him ready for Beltane and it cannot be taken back just because he no longer has his name or his virginity. Arthur knows there will be consequences for himself. They can’t kill him and he is bonded to Alfred, so they can’t keep them apart. They could, however, curse his feet to burn with each step or make him feel stabbing pain when Alfred touches him or any number of other cruel and capricious things.

Or they might do nothing at all. The high court fae are fickle and strange like that.

It doesn’t matter. Alfred is safe and whatever happens, Arthur will keep him that way. He will keep him forever.

[dotster001]

"Saint" James; origins

About James. Born in the 1800's, a young man begins to do unexplainable things. To his village, the only explanation is that he was one of God's chosen.

The truth was he was a young man with a gift for magic and prophecy. But that's not something he wants to accept.

The history books say Saint James died a martyr, sacrificing himself to a monster in order to save a poor woman.

The history books don't know the whole truth...

CW: Lots of religion talk James is a character born from religious trauma lmao, blood, murder, non con turning, Cassius is touchy, but in a platonic way, James has severe food repulsion, which includes vomit, James gets mildly suicidal for two paragraphs

James was terrified. The voice of God had told him to sacrifice an innocent woman. He couldn't help but think this had to be a trial of some sort. He couldn't be sure if the answer was to just trust God, as Abraham had trusted Him, or if he was to shed his mortal pride, and give himself up in exchange for peace for his village.

After he deliberated, sending an innocent woman to slaughter felt wrong. If he was wrong, and she was killed, then her three children would have nowhere to go.

But if he was meant to die…that was a sacrifice that he could make.

But it didn't make it any less frightening. He believed he'd lived a holy enough life to go to heaven. But every human was scared to die. And, perhaps, that was the true test of his devotion. Would he be able to let go when the time came?

He'd been walking through the woods for what felt like hours, chanting prayers, as he walked, for strength. The silence of the woods was making his pounding heart sound deafening in his ears. A branch broke ahead of him, and he froze.

He looked up, his eyes peeled for the monster. The woods were eerily silent, not even the animals daring a sound.

Something blurred across his vision, and he felt an intense pain in his stomach like he'd never felt before. In shock, he looked down, four sickeningly deep cuts running across his abdomen.

He fell to his knees, choking as his blood bubbled up his throat, spilling out of his mouth. He tipped over, but before he could hit the ground, something caught him. A hand gently cradled his head, and for a moment, he was certain it was an angel that was sent to take him home.

Until the “something” ripped a chunk out of his neck. His vision was heavily blurring, but he could have sworn what he was looking at was a human. Not a monster. But that couldn't be right.

The creature was covered in his blood, drinking it up like it was water in a desert. His vision faded, and he said a final prayer as his eyes fluttered closed.

….

“I honestly thought I'd gotten too greedy. You didn't look like you were going to make it.”

James’ eyes felt too heavy to open. All he could hear was a voice. A voice that sounded very close. As though it was right up against his ear.

He was cold. Colder than he'd ever been. And thirsty.

“Water, please,” he croaked, still unable to open his eyes, but hoping the voice in his ear would understand the desperation.

“Oh. Oh no. Water won't do anything for you. Here.”

A cup was pressed to his lips, and he drank deeply. It took less than a second for his stomach to churn violently, causing him to vomit it back up.

“Oh, damn. That is rather unfortunate.”

He had to open his eyes. He had to figure out what was going on, and why he was so sick.

He blinked a few times, and he was finally successful. He slowly looked around to keep himself from getting dizzier. His eyes landed on a man with long, curling blond hair, and kind eyes. He was gently stroking his hair, looking down at him with an adoring expression.

“Where,” he coughed, unable to say more.

“You're in my dungeons,” he said it as though it was a good thing, a delighted giggle at the end of the statement.

He attempted to sit up, but the man shushed him, laying him back down.

“You lost a lot of blood,” he cooed. “Rest, please.”

“Why,” he choked, before starting again. “Why am I here?”

His smile grew absolutely dazzling, his eyes brightening the room.

“Oh! I stole your soul!”

James went from cold to frigid.

“You see,” he snuggled in next to him, resting a hand on his chest, “I saw you in that village of yours. You were so holy, and devoted, and I just…”

The hand on his chest scratched lightly against him.

“I just knew I had to destroy you.”

How could he say such awful things in such an upbeat voice? But James wasn't too worried. No creature on earth could steal a soul. Not while God in heaven-

“As a vampire, I knew I could get your attention if I started picking off members of your flock. And when I told you to send that woman, you did exactly what I knew a holy man would do. You came yourself! All I had to do was make you one of us!”

No creature of God could steal a soul. Vampires were creatures of the devil. The devil's voice had called to him, and he'd confused it for God. And thus, he had paid the price.

The man, or rather, the vampire, was right. His soul had been stolen. And he deserved it.

The man leapt to his feet, looking over at James fondly.

“I need to get you something to eat. I have a bad feeling about the way you turned, but we won't know for sure until we experiment a bit.”

Before he could even protest, the man had left the cell. James laid back down, pleading to heaven for forgiveness.

He wasn't sure how long he'd lived in that dungeon.

Through “experimentation” he and the vampire, who he'd learned was named Cassius, had discovered that his body rejected blood. Not only would his body not take blood the way it should, but it meant he needed to consume far more.

He'd been in such a place of despair, knowing that the promised paradise was now closed to him, and he'd decided to allow himself to just starve to death.

But Cassius wouldn't allow it.

“What kind of owner would I be if I let my pet die when we hit one bump in the road?”

Despite James' reluctance, Cassius had tried nearly everything he could think of to keep him alive. He eventually realized that if blood was mixed in with something heavy, like stew or baked goods, it was more likely to stay down, even if he was still nauseous. It wasn't a perfect solution, but perhaps there wasn't one. And so, he was alive.

It had been a long time since then. He wasn't sure how long. But Cassius had provided him with books for entertainment and would come to visit him once a day. He liked to talk and would prattle on and on and on, for hours, when he came to visit.

There were times that James got the impression that part of the reason he was here was because Cassius wanted someone to save him. It made him sad. His heart ached for him. He may have taken everything from him, but there was clearly a desire for someone to forgive him for his sins. Perhaps he had a bleeding heart, but James knew that, even if heaven wasn't an option for him, God was still working through him.

And God would want him to forgive Cassius.

So, despite his despair and hurt, he worked hard to be compassionate, as he always had.

One day, Cassius came to the dungeon, a wide smile on his face.

“Congratulations!” He said, moving to James' bed, and petting his head.

James looked up from his Bible.

“For what?”

“They've canonized you!”

James nearly dropped his Bible.

“What? It hasn't been very long since,” he trailed off, but Cassius was ecstatic.

“You were a martyr, though.”

Fair point. Martyrs were technically already saints, just not officially.

“Besides,” Cassius grinned, “it helped your case significantly that you've continued to grant your little miracles. Did you really think I, and the world, wouldn't notice?”

James blushed, looking away. After he'd died, he'd begun hearing prayers any time someone asked for his intercession. He'd still been able to grant miracles, possibly more effectively than before. As though God took pity on him and granted him a final favor.

“They named you the patron of facing the unknown, courage, and blind faith. But obviously, no one is particularly picky about what they ask you for. I live with you, and I didn't even know about some of the prayers you granted.”

“It's a neat little gift you have. I would love to be able to train it a little better, one day,” he hummed thoughtfully, continuing to pet his head. “Perhaps when I can trust you enough to let you go upstairs.”

But there was never a time he trusted him to go upstairs. Time quickly lost meaning, as he spent most of his day granting miracles, and the rest of it listening to Cassius talk nonsense. There were a few times he asked if he could have more than his little cell.

Cassius always got an odd look on his face, before saying something along the lines of, “not yet but soon.”

Until that day. He heard steps coming down to the dungeon. He had a small window in his cell, so he was able to tell that it was rather early for Cassius to come visit him. Not that he was ever told what it was that Cassius did all day. But he was fairly consistent with his visits.

“Father in heaven!” A woman's voice cried.

He immediately stood up, running to the bars.

“My lamb, what are you doing here? This place is dangerous,” he said, fighting off his excitement at seeing someone new for the first time in…however long.

“I sensed some magic coming from this place, so I wanted to investigate, but I never thought…oh god.”

She looked distressed, her eyes full of pity as they scanned over him.

“You're…I grew up in North Avon. Your picture is everywhere. But we all thought you were, you know, eaten.”

“I was,” he laughed self-deprecatingly. “Cassius is not a sane man. You should go.”

“Are you here of your own free will?”

“No, but-”

She held out a hand, and the door blasted open in a burst of pink smoke. His jaw dropped.

“I'm a witch,” she said simply. “I came here because I was curious, but with how much you have done for our town, and the world, I can't just leave you.”

“Cassius-”

“He's not home,” she held out a hand, giving him a reassuring smile. “I'll protect you. I promise.”

She walked him out of the house, a house he'd never seen more than one cell of. It was a beautiful home, befitting of Cassius himself. As they passed over the threshold, he paused, looking back at the house.

“Saint James, we have to go.”

He closed his eyes, saying a final prayer.

“Father, I forgive him. Please help him find the peace he is searching for.”

He then turned to her, and nodded. She looked at him with a sad smile, before beginning a chant.

A portal opened up, and she grabbed his hand, pulling him through.

“You should be safe here,” she said as the portal closed behind them. “Not many people know about this town, and as long as you stay within the limits of the village, no one can hurt you.”

She looked at him, sighing heavily.

“You look like you're starving.”

He smiled tiredly, unused to so much open space.

“What year is it?” He asked distractedly.

“Oh,” she hesitated. “Um, 1974…”

She trailed off and he froze. 149 years. He'd spent 149 years in a cell with a man who saw him as a domesticated pet.

“We gotta get you something to eat,” she muttered.

“My body rejects it. Blood needs to be mixed in something to keep it down,” he muttered half heartedly, not really thinking.

“There's a few of you like that here. I'll pass you off to one of them. They'll get you started.”

She found a small family, whose youngest was blood repulsed. Before she left, he asked,

“What is your name, so that I can pray for you?”

She grimaced. “Oh yeah. Forgot about the qhole prayer thing. Here's a warning. Don't go to the church. It's not a real church. But my name is Rosemary.”

“Thank you, Rosemary. Go in peace.”

She left with a smile. It wasn't the last time they would meet, the two of them becoming business partners later on. But he never stopped praying for her. And her life was only good from that point on.

[fun-sized-owl]

The Devil and the Servant

Part XIII – All Dreams are Born to Die

Warning: adult themes, sexual themes.

“Who was she? Who was my mother?”

When the words left the youngling’s lips, Baalphegor looked down at him, sitting with her knees crossed before the fireplace. Mephistar was surprisingly warm considering the fact that it was upon a glacier, and all of Cania around them was covered in the coldest of weathers. Still, the fireplace crackled like a sense of comfort within the evening hours of the eighth layer of Baator. There was no true day or night cycle in the Hells, but with well placed clocks and pocket watches, the Hells had established a sense of time for those who required it—such as the mortals within the realm. Baator and the devil’s within were efficient, and devils needn’t need their rest like mortals did. Or like half devils, such as Raphael.

It was not surprising to hear the boy ask such a question. In fact, it had only been a matter of time. He was getting to be of an age which made him curious to these sorts of questions. With such an expansive library at his fingertips, the cambion had learned to read when he was exceptionally young, books that were leagues ahead of his age. He truly was Mephistopheles’ son, rivalling his need to learn and understand everything within his grasp, and even beyond it. Soon, Raphael would be casting spells at an exceptional rate, and he had barely even come into his devil form.

Ever since Raphael had shown his devil skin, he had rarely removed it, as if begging for his father’s approval, or even acknowledgement. Mephistopheles had named his son Raphael when he’d finally come into his devil soul, and never before. In fact, the human boy had not had a name. He had been called anything but a name, but the name Raphael was very human, and she understood why.

The woman that had carried him to term had chosen the name before her death, almost half way through her pregnancy in fact. Devils that lived in the Hells took the surname of the devil they followed, even without blood bonds. But since Raphael’s father was the Archdevil Mephistopheles, his surname followed suit. Raphael, however… the human name, would be a constant reminder of his humanity. Alas, a name that his mother had bestowed upon him, though Mephistopheles had waited long enough. Perhaps until he held some sense of pride when he could look at the boy, though she dare believe it was still pain he saw in those large, brown eyes of his. Better when he was a devil, she knew, when Raphael’s eyes were burning like hellfire.

Eventually, the question would arise, especially after Raphael had started delving into what it meant to be a cambion. He had been a boy, a human looking boy, although he had been told about the fact that he was a halfbreed devil long before he could even begin to understand what that meant.

Raphael had wanted so desperately to come into his wings, he would strain his face and scrunch it up, as if demanding his devil half to finally show itself. Unfortunately, that was not the nature of what he was. As a cambion, he was born into the world as a human child, though the evil in them would always kill their bearers. Most cambions came of age when they’d passed ten years or so, but Raphael had changed when he’d been seven. Now, at barely eight, he had fully embraced the devil he was, though the questions were endless. It had Baalphegor chuckling behind her hands at times. He was such an ambitious boy.

When he’d been young enough to understand that his father had a lover, and where some spawn came from, he had outright asked if she was his mother. She could not fault the curious boy, of course, he believed that the relationship between the Lord of the Eighth and his consort was one made of love and not mere necessity and power. Such a mortal and human belief, innocent in nature. Of course, she’d gently explained that she was not, and that the mother of cambions died at childbirth. That his mother was dead.

“Dear, are you sure you wish to know these things? It will not bring her back from the dead,” she said, her voice gentle nonetheless as she watched Raphael pick up one of the pawns on the board and move it forward between them. He was dressed far too nicely for a boy of eight, his hair tucked neatly out of his face, but it was clear Raphael, even as a youngling, had taken to the tastes of finer things.

He wanted to look smart. He wanted to look powerful. He wanted everything to be perfectly neat and orderly. In fact, when things didn’t go his way, he had tantrums much like his own father, all fiery rage. She dreaded what might become of him when he became of an age where certain desires would take place. Would he be as possessive as Mephistopheles? Would he sleep with any devil or mortal that wanted him (or didn’t)? Would he spread his seed and bring more into the realms? Things Baalphegor didn’t wish to think of.

Raphael was silent for a moment, attempting to see what move Baalphegor would make. He had learned the rules of Lanceboard years ago, but he had mostly played with the other devil younglings. He wanted more. He wanted better opponents, someone that could challenge him. Baalphegor had been happy to oblige his offer, though she was better than him. For now.

Life was like a game of Lanceboard, he was learning, and she was teaching. He must keep his moves to himself, until he was ready to strike. He must make sure that his face was not telling, that he remain confident in his moves. He must obey the laws of the game, as he must obey the laws of Baator. It was the only way to win.

“Your face is telling again,” warned the succubus. “Remember, if you are to keep your opponent guessing, then you must keep a straight face. The boldest move it not always the greatest move. You need not be gallant to win. You must have tact, you must have strategy.”

At the words, Raphael straightened his shoulders and relaxed his face, bright eyes returning to hers as his tail tucked behind the seat. His wings were small, hardly something he could fly with yet, but he practised every day. One day, when they were fully grown and developed, he would be able to soar the skies.

On that day, he hoped that his father would be there, to say that he was proud of him. There was this childlike hope that he clung onto, despite the fact that he was an outcast in the Hells, despite the fact that he was still just a lowly cambion. The human nature he still had inside him was naive, but Raphael still clung so helplessly onto the illusions that would eventually crush him and make him as cold as his father. Devils did not love.

“I want to know, Lady Baalphegor. Please,” he said, his brows arching as he looked up at her. She was a kind devil to him, though she could be stern at times. No sterner than his lord father. Mephistopheles was frightening, and loud, and had a bad temper, and made him feel bad. And yet, the little cambion wanted nothing but his father’s attention and to be the best damn devil all of Baator would ever know!

CONTINUE READING ON AO3

[fay-run]

are we not one in the same?

you, raised like cattle from birth. your blood perverted, corrupted, letting you change your likeness at a moments notice. a gift, they told you. a miracle. but it was no miracle. "father" thrust this upon you before you were even a quickening in helena's womb. this was a curse. you were a puppet, and they showered you with prayers and praises to keep you from seeing. the ultimate assassin, you would be.

then i came. it called to me when i was young, too young to understand. sometimes i still feel the warmth of the blood on my hands, the blood of the ones who raised me from my "birth". i ran, and ran and ran and ran, for years. i stole, i slaughtered, i starved, i survived. and i was barely human when the demon-butler found me. he promised me a home, safety, family. the years had not been kind to me, though i was still a child. i went to the temple and i found you and i felt it must have been fate. though much was still unknown to me, i knew you were my sister the moment i laid eyes on you.

sister. we were still so young. when we could steal away, we would braid each other's hair as we might have if we were born into a simple life. we laughed and cried and confided in one another. you told me how your mother beat you, i told you when i ran the temple one day, she would pay for laying her hands on my sister. it was then you swore yourself to me, to be my right hand when i rose to my birthright. though i think even then, the bitterness in you festered. i saw it when you killed your mother the next week, as if only you should have the right. the demon told me i should have sarevok punish you. perhaps i should have.

the blasphemy i had thought but never uttered during those early years in the temple. how badly i wanted to take you out of that wretched undercity and out into the wilds of faerun. but i was so frightened. i was being threatened and praised as bhaal's chosen-to-be in the very same breath. i was safe for the first time since feeling that blood on my hands. who would i be to take you out to the streets, to endure what i had endured? helena was a witch; but trust me when i say she was nothing to the monsters i had faced.

years passed. a decade; two. a wedge was driven between us beyond our control, tension thickening and thickening until it threatened to snap. pawns. our rivalry was fabricated for the entertainment of a cruel god. neither of us could see beyond our hate; hatred that, when pulled back, was only a cover for the most painful type of love. a love that was not strong enough to withstand fate. because, dear sister, this end was fated from the very beginning.

he knew we would find comfort in one another when we were young, he knew we would see ourselves as one in the same. he knew his influence would place the seed of distrust in the two of us until it grew and grew, taller and faster than we could ever hope to control it. he knew you would betray me.

in many ways, i betrayed you, too.

i was angry for a long time. now, as i stand above your pile of gore, i am just sad. it is over, i am free of him. forever. but why does freedom taste so bitter? is it because i know you were never given this chance i was? is it because i am suddenly remembering you for who you once were to me? you loved the stars when you were a girl. you said you believed each one was its own world, and if the fates had shifted even only slightly, we might have been born on one of them instead.

my sister, i loved you. my sister, i mourn you.