#pride bead chews

[flappyhappystim]

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These come in either a pendant style (the first picture) or the regular style!

Flappyhappy is a small business run by autistics. Any help spreading the word is appreciated!

[pedropascallme]

Let Your Mind Go Wild

Pairing: Professor!Damien x f!Reader

Summary: “‘Just…’ You brought your hand out from under his shirt, wrapping it loosely around his neck, thumb brushing over his Adam’s apple, ‘You’re a lot…bigger than me…’ You squeezed his arm.”

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI) implied age gap (Damien is his actual current age, reader is 20-22), student/teacher relationship, mild sadism/masochism themes, dom/sub dynamics, brattamer!Damien, p in v sex, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), biting, spanking (not where you would think!), size kink, daddy kink, If I missed anything please let me know!

Damien prided himself on a lack of shame in regard to his relationship with you.

It wouldn’t shock him if people thought of it as taboo—maybe, to them, him being with someone younger, someone who was technically his subordinate, made him perverted; a deviant in the eyes of onlookers. But he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The only thing he cared about was you, and if you didn’t mind the unconventional nature of your relationship with him, why should he?

This is what he repeated to himself while he watched you get dressed in his clothes; boxers that fit you too loose around the hips and a button down that swallowed you whole.

The difference in size between the two of you wasn’t something he had put much thought into before. He had noticed the basics, the way your fingers were slenderer than his, your smaller shoes next to his larger ones when you kicked them off in the entry way of the house, and the way you curled into him so gracefully at night.

But with you in his clothes, fabric bunched around your waist, sleeves covering your hands despite repeated attempts to roll them up, he felt something weirdly primal—and it wouldn’t go away.

He didn’t want to draw attention to it, fearing that it would make you uncomfortable somehow. He knew he was being too in his head, but there was a vague worry that an admission of your smaller stature doing it for him would make you think he was using you for the fulfillment of some depraved desire.

You both knew that at this point your relationship was beyond these worries. There was an unconditional, unspoken respect between the two of you; an undying appreciation that made itself obvious in silent (and spoken) ways. Still, he couldn’t help but feel that his urges were misplaced somehow.

He tried to push the thought from his mind and focus on the grading he had been putting off rather than the desire to grab you by the hips and show you how your frame contrasted his.

~~~

“More papers?” You walked into his office, holding a bowl of cereal, the shirt you had stolen from his closet billowed around you.

“Mm,” Damien watched you take a spoonful of cereal to your mouth, a small bead of milk trickling from between your lips and over your chin; you wiped it with the sleeve of his shirt. “I just washed that, baby.” He sighed, amused.

“Oops,” You smiled, still chewing. “Are you going to be busy all day?”

“I hope not.” Damien swiveled his chair back toward his desk and looked at the pile of ungraded assignments stacked high in front of him.

“Well,” you held the bowl in one hand now, dropping your spoon into it and approaching the back of his chair, “I’ll be here." You squeezed at his bicep, kissing his cheek and taking in the rough feel of his stubble on your lips, before turning to leave. "Have fun, Professor.”

He swallowed. The ache he was experiencing to push you down onto any available surface was only heightened by the way you struggled to fit your hand around his arm.

You’d be the death of him.

He could tell you were bored; you began to mark every half hour on the dot by padding into his office—offering a chaste kiss on his neck, or squeezing his arm—and then running out before he had the chance to respond in any way to your antics.

He began to enjoy your game, before growing irritated by his inability to take an active role in it. You’d come in, wrap your arms around his abdomen from behind his chair, soft hums would travel to his ears as you trailed your lips over his skin, small hands running over his chest and arms, and then you’d be gone a moment later. What's more, he'd lose his place, too preoccupied with the feeling of your mouth and hands against him, and have to restart whatever assignment he'd been grading.

“You’re being a brat.” He called to you down the hallway, and the only response you offered was a lighthearted giggle.

He wanted to fuck you stupid, but he knew he should prioritize his occupational responsibilities—however dull they may be, and however tempting you were.

He knew you knew that, too, and you were using his rationality to your advantage in order to act out.

When he reached the last page of the last paper, marked up with pen and read over so many times the words had started blurring together, Damien let out a deep sigh of relief.

The clock read 4:26. He leaned back in his chair, waiting out the next four minutes so that he could finally participate in the game you’d roped him into.

When he heard you coming down the hall, he picked up a stray paper, pretending to be deeply immersed in the reading. You walked up behind him, giggling quietly to yourself, certain you’d continue to get away with pestering him; you reached out once more to squeeze at him, and he swiveled in his chair, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into him in a messy show of affection. You weren’t properly on his lap, and his arms were wrapped around you lazily, but he couldn’t help but smile at the way you leaned into him when you settled with your hands firm on his shoulders, laughing up at him.

“You having fun?” He watched one of your hands sweep over his chest, the warmth of your palm permeating the thin material of the shirt he had on.

“Maybe.” You smiled, unwilling to concede. “Professor?” You undid the top button of his shirt, taking your time before pulling his collar open gently. “Did you ever notice…” You continued to undo a few more buttons, hand reaching under the newly unfastened opening of his shirt to enjoy skin-to-skin contact. Your other hand came to rest on his arm.

“Notice what?” He grabbed your chin gently between his fingers, forcing eye contact.

“Just…” You brought your hand out from under his shirt, wrapping it loosely around his neck, thumb brushing over his Adam’s apple, “You’re a lot…bigger than me…” You squeezed his arm.

Damien clenched his jaw, grateful that you were practically begging for him to act on the thoughts he’d been trying to push down all day; the burning desire to dominate you, show you how much bigger he was than you—and to put you in your place for sidetracking him from his work.

He couldn’t decide which he was more excited about.

“Have you noticed that you’re always a brat when I’m grading?” He hoisted you up, throwing you over his shoulder, one arm wrapped around your thighs, his opposite hand coming up to support your legs while you playfully kicked and squirmed above him. “Because I certainly have.”

“Hey!” You feigned outrage. The blood rushing to your head made you even giddier than you had been. He dropped you down onto the bed and you scrambled to sit up, shoving his chest.

You were already in trouble, what was a little more rebellion?

Damien grabbed your wrists and all but threw you onto your back, crawling over you and kissing down your throat.

“All fucking day,” He murmured against you, “All fucking day, baby—why are you so needy, hm? Cause you’re not getting all of my attention? Cause daddy’s busy with work and can’t give you what you want?” He didn’t know where the new title had come from, pulled from the back of his mind in the heat of the moment, but he was fine now with throwing caution to the wind, seeing as you’d already matched one of his impulses.

You didn’t confirm or deny his taunts, offering a huffed moan in place of any real response. You were distracted, intrigued by the title he had given himself, hips wiggling against him. “You said you wouldn’t be busy all day.” You continued to defy him.

“Is that why you were trying to distract me?” He sucked a deep purple mark on your collar bone, “Just wanted to get fucked? Jealous that my focus wasn't on you?" He bit the mark he had made. "Wanted to show me how you could take this big cock in that sweet little pussy?”

“Yeah—” You gasped at the way his teeth skimmed over your skin, “Yes, sir—yes, daddy.”

“You need to learn some fucking patience,” he groaned, rubbing against your thigh to find some relief. “In my clothes, walking around like you own the place.” His voice got lower, spurred on by your whines. “You look so beautiful like this." He brought his attention to the shirt you wore; sitting up on his knees to straddle your thighs, he tore the few buttons you had bothered to fasten apart.

“Damien!” You smiled, shocked that he would ruin his own clothes. “Thought you just washed this?” You lifted your head, watching his hands to the best of your ability, and he pulled the fabric off your shoulders hastily.

“I’ll get a new one.” He decided, pulling you up towards him to better enable his removal of the shirt from your body. “Little girl in my fucking clothes—you know what you’ve been doing to me all day?” He pushed you back down, dipping his head down to suck on your breasts, interchanging which side he licked over and which side he squeezed. "Distracting me—clothes don't even fit you." His mutterings were general, not directed towards you, but you picked up on them nonetheless.

“You like that I’m sm—aller than you, daddy?” Your breath caught in your throat when his teeth grazed your nipple. You pulled on his hair, earning a growl from him. “Like seeing your little girl in your clothes?”

Damien brought his face up to smother you in a heated kiss; it was sloppy and rash, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the logistics, too immersed in feeling him against you.

“Coming into my office,” he breathed against you, “in this fucking outfit, acting like a brat, trying to get a rise out of me—it worked.” He continued to attack your lips; both of you rutted against each other desperately, neither of you daring to break away from the other to properly undress and do anything about it. “Tell me you need me.”

“Need you—please, need you now, needed you all day.” You moaned when he bit down hard on your neck, leaving a bright red mark behind.

“Oh, baby,” he cooed, hips stilling, “you can do better than that.”

“Please—fuck, please, daddy, I’ll do anything, need you to fuck me.” You tugged at the hair on the nape of his neck, twisting short strands in your fingers.

“Yeah?” He moaned, your use of the new title not going unnoticed. “Need daddy’s cock?”

You whined, scraping your nails up his back while you nodded.

“Use your fucking words.”

“Need daddy’s cock,” you whimpered the words back to him, lids feeling heavy over your eyes when you dragged your still-clothed cunt just right against his thigh positioned above you. “Please.”

He stood up wordlessly, removing his shirt; you couldn’t hide the way your eyes raked over his arms, the way the fabric clung to him while he stripped himself bare, soft muscle pulling taught under his skin when he leaned down to undo his fly and rid himself of his jeans.

Christ, had his hands always been that big?

Damien pulled you by your ankles towards the edge of the bed, and you went limp under his touch, making yourself malleable and allowing him to remove the pair of boxers you still had on. He positioned you with your legs spread, hooking one knee over his shoulder and letting the other one hang from the mattress.

“Pretty little pussy.” He brought his hand down onto your cunt, spanking your clit hard.

You jumped at the contact, yelping a moan, and he did it again just to watch you squirm. He put his fingers in his mouth, releasing them after a moment and trailing them from the bottom of your entrance up to your clit.

“Gonna let daddy be in control now, right?” He circled his fingers over your clit, wet with his spit and the slick he'd gathered from his brief sweep up your pussy, “Since you’ve been doing whatever you want all day—my turn, right?”

You nodded, and he spanked your cunt again, coaxing a verbal answer from you. “Yes, sir—daddy’s in charge.”

“Cause this is my pussy to play with…” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement that cemented his authority and the way he planned to worship you, but you answered enthusiastically anyway.

“Yes—belongs to daddy.” You grasped at his wrist, fingers still teasing your clit.

“Good girl.” He moved his hand, effectively blocking your attempts to grab onto him, and pushed one finger into your hole; you arched your back, giving him the opportunity to push into you deeper. “God, you’re so tight,” he groaned, watching his finger pump in and out of you slowly, twisting his wrist and allowing himself to feel all of you around him. “Tight little pussy, squeezing one of my fingers—how are you gonna take my cock, baby? How’s it gonna fit?”

“Make it—make it fit,” you begged, “Make it fit, daddy.”

Damien growled, turning to the leg you had propped up on his shoulder and biting the inside of your thigh harshly before peppering kisses over the mark he'd left behind. “You want me to force my cock into you, baby?” He felt you shudder around him, walls clenching his finger. He added another. “Get you nice and ready for me so I can ruin this little pussy?”

“Please—fuck, Damien, please.”

He pulled his fingers from your dripping hole, licking them off. “Try again.”

“Daddy! Please, daddy, force it. Make me take it.” You bounced your hips gently on the mattress, and he relented, pushing his fingers back into you and curling them upwards to pet the spongy spot inside of you. You cried out for him, and he added another finger.

“That’s three, princess. You feel good?” He watched in awe as your cunt stretched around the intrusion, slick coating his fingers and dripping down the curve of your ass.

“Feels so good.” You breathed.

“Look at that little pussy taking it so good.” He felt like he could drool over the sight in front of him.

“Want your—cock. Please.” You struggled to focus on your breathing, entranced by the way his thick fingers stretched you.

“Thought we said it was my turn to be in charge,” he smiled, devious and unrelenting as he drove his fingers into you. “Cum for me like this, baby. Show me this little pussy can take what I give it.”

He leaned forward, taking your clit in his mouth and sucking; his tongue flicked over you, fingers buried knuckle deep in your cunt, and you clapped your hand over your mouth to keep your screams muffled.

You came like that, dampening your cries for him with your palm and bucking your hips against his mouth. Even with your eyes screwed shut, blinded by pleasure, you could tell he was smiling, proud of himself and the ways in which he could make you come undone.

He removed his fingers from you, and you clenched around the emptiness, whining at the loss of him inside of you. He frowned at you, mockingly.

“What’s wrong?” He stood, leaning over you, “You feel empty?”

“Yes.” You whined, squeezing your thighs together.

“Don’t worry—gonna give you what you need.” He dropped a hand down over your cunt, and you flinched at the attention he gave your sensitive clit, moving his hand back and forth with reckless abandon. You moaned, head falling back further against the bed. “Look at me.” He coaxed your gaze up, and you watched him take his cock in his hand, rubbing it through your folds and then leaning forward, resting it on your stomach. “See that?” He questioned, and you nodded, “See how deep I’m gonna fuck you?”

You let out a quiet moan, staring down at the length of his cock and the space it took up on your body.

“My little girl, I’ll make it fit so nice, baby, I promise. What do you say?”

“Thank you, daddy.” You looked up at him, his lust-blown eyes reflecting your own.

“That’s right.” He pulled his hips back and lined himself up with your entrance. “You want all of it?”

“Please.”

He smirked, smug and eager. Upon hearing your words he immediately pushed his hips forward, spearing you on his cock and watching the way your lower stomach bulged full of him.

You screamed, not even bothering to hide it behind your hand this time, back arching again in satisfaction at being filled to the brim by him. He took one of your hands in his and placed it on your stomach.

“So full, baby.” He looked feral, eyes dark, lips curling up at the sides, top teeth barely peeking through them, his hair falling in messy bangs over his face.

He’d never looked better.

“So fucking big, daddy—so deep.” You whined, pressing on your stomach to feel the swell of him.

“You gonna let daddy fuck this little pussy open?” He growled, watching your hand sweep over your stomach, “Gonna let me wreck you?”

“Yes,” you let out a stuttered breath when he dragged his hips back; maybe it was the conversation, the dirty talk getting to your head, but you could’ve sworn he felt bigger now than he had previously. “Yes, daddy.”

When he pushed back in, you felt yourself jolt up the bed slightly; he was rough, frustrated with your disruptions all day, but more so lost to his own impulses, obsessed with how small you looked spread out on the bed for him, how your legs trembled, wrapped slack around his hips and pulling him in deeper with every thrust.

Any sense of restraint was lost when you looked up at him through your lashes, lips parted and swollen from his kisses. “Want you to cum right there, daddy—deep like that.”

Damien made a sound he had never heard himself make before, lifting your hips and ramming into you with fervor. You cried out for him, and he bent down, caging you between his arms; just another way for him to stress how much bigger he was than you. His lips brushed against your chest, and he could feel the sweat on your skin. He poked his tongue out to lick a stripe between your breasts, savoring it while he continued to use you passionately. “You want me to cum in you, princess?” He trailed open-mouthed kisses on your breasts, leaving marks in his wake, “Want me to fill you up so you can feel me all night?”

You recited your response, continually shouting enthusiastic "yes"s, certain you could feel his cock in your ribs. He hit the tender spot inside you repeatedly, drawing mangled cries.

“Fuck, daddy, it hurts!” You whined, and Damien paused his movements, pulling out slightly and repositioning himself above you to meet your gaze.

“Good hurt or bad hurt?” He dropped the dominant front, concerned that he had gone too far. His fingers combed through your hair.

“Good,” you whispered, “So good. So deep—so big it hurts.” Your cheeks were flushed, “Don’t stop, daddy, please.”

Damien groaned, pushing his cock back into you, fully sheathed in your cunt and delighting in the way you squeezed him.

“You like when it hurts?” He grunted out between harsh thrusts, straightening up to hold your hips steady once again, “Like having this big cock stretch you out so good that it hurts, baby?”

“Fuck,” you cried, grabbing at his forearm and squeezing like you'd been doing all day, unable to get enough of him, “Yes! Fucking love it!”

“That’s right,” he brought his fingers to your cunt, spreading your folds to get a proper look at how you swallowed him. “Wish you could see how pretty you look, baby—little pussy so full of me.”

You whined, keening at his words, pulling on his arm until he yielded, letting you bring his hand to your face. You licked at his fingers, slipping them beyond your lips and sucking hard to the rhythm of his thrusts.

“God, yes,” he moaned, “Good girl.”

You moaned against his fingers, spit collecting at the corners of your mouth. You felt so full—so complete.

“Can I have my fingers back, princess?” His voice was sultry. You hummed, vibrations traveling through his hand. You kept sucking, unwilling to release them.

Maybe you were still set on acting like a brat.

“No?” He squeezed your hip with his free hand. “You don’t want me to touch you, baby? Don’t wanna cum on my cock?” He stilled his hips, and you squirmed under him, still not backing down. He spanked your cunt with his free hand, and you yelped, giving him the opportunity to take his fingers back from you. A strand of saliva maintained your mouth's connection to his hand. “That’s what I thought.”

He used his spit drenched fingers to knead your clit, still fucking you as deep as he could manage. “You still want me to cum nice and deep in this little pussy?” He asked, and you nodded. “Use your words—c’mon, use your manners.”

“Yes, ple—ase, daddy.”

“You think you deserve it? Acting out all morning—still not listening to what I tell you. You still think you deserve to get filled up?” His fingers moved slow over your clit, ghosting over you and providing friction without the necessary pressure he knew you required. You tried to buck your hips up to get him closer to you, but to no avail.

“I’ll be so good from now on,” You promised, “Won’t ever bother you again, sir.”

Damien bit his bottom lip, growling as he pressed the pad of his finger to your clit, offering more of what you needed while he thrust deep.

“Want you to cum first, baby,” he knit his brow in focus, “You want my cum, need to feel you first, alright?”

You nodded to the best of your ability, concentrated solely on the way he fucked you. One of your hands once again flying to grasp at his arm, the other fisting the sheets underneath you. You threw your head back, eyes closed and mouth open.

“Good girl, cum for me—squeeze me nice and tight.” He was driving into you wildly; deep, fast thrusts that knocked the wind from your lungs, fingers still working your clit. He felt you flutter around him. “Look at me when you cum, princess.” You looked up, eyes meeting his.

You came, crying his name, legs trembling, heat engulfing your stomach before jolts of electricity spread over your muscles. You kept your hand on his arm, squeezing intermittently between gasps and moans.

He kept fucking you, spurred on by your sounds and the feeling of your walls tightening around him. “Fuck,” he grit his teeth, eyes closing and throwing his head back. “God, fuck, that’s my good girl—fuck, I’m gonna cum—gonna cum in this little pussy, just like this, baby.” His thrusts faltered, and he dealt one last deep shove of his hips, cock pressed against your cervix when he came in you, moaning.

He watched you bite your lip, eyes glossed over and hazy with delight as you felt the warm welling of his cum inside of you.

Damien pulled out of you slowly, and you both shuddered; you whined at the sudden loss of contact, unfilled and feeling bare. “I know, baby. I’m sorry.” He lay down next to you, pulling you into his chest and lying quietly with you while you both tried your best to catch your breath.

“Messy.” You muttered after a few minutes of quiet cuddling, finding comfort in the crook of his neck. His heartbeat thrummed in your ear. “Sore.”

“I know,” he ran a hand over your hair, smoothing the frizz he had caused by fucking you on your back. “Bath?”

“Yeah, in a second.” You moved to look up at him, dopey smile on your face. “Should I still call you Professor at school?”

“Why—I mean, in class, yeah, but y—" He looked lost, "...why do you ask?”

“You just seem to prefer daddy lately.” You watched his face turn from curious to a combination of shy and entertained.

“Christ.” He grinned, moving his hand down your back, tracing shapes over your skin.

You sighed at the feeling, falling silent again for a moment. Then: “Didn’t know you were so into size differences.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s just general size differences that do it for me…”

“So not every small thing is going to make you horny?” You pressed your cheek to his chest, “Like, when we go grocery shopping, should I be worried about leaving you in the pasta aisle next to those boxes of tiny star-shaped pasta?”

“Yeah, but not because they’ll turn me on—I used to date tiny star-shaped pasta, and there’s no love lost between us…” He managed to deadpan the delivery before making himself laugh, spirits further heightened by the amused smile you shot up at him before you turned to trail kisses over his shoulder.

“No, I...I don’t know if it’s just the fact that you’re smaller than me.” Damien thought out loud, “I think it’s just the fact that it’s you.”

“Yeah?” You looked up at him, catching his gaze and basking in the warmth of his eyes.

“Yeah.” He concluded, kissing you on the forehead, and your smile widened.

There it was again, the unspoken respect; the quiet tenderness and devotion that you two shared.

“I think I’m ready for that bath now.” You reminded him, arms wrapping around his neck. “But only if you come with me.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

[sky-kiss]

Eyo how come you write Tav/Joi doing so many things including monster fucking with Raphael... And yet you've not written them giving him a good old fashioned bj? WE MUST ACCOUNT FOR THIS.

A/N: THANK YOU FOR THIS ENTIRELY UNPROMPTED PROMPT. GUESS WHO MADE THE MISTAKE OF LISTENING TO MR. WINCOTT READ AUDIOBOOKS AT THE GYM AND IS GONNA MAKE IT YOUR PROBLEM? I’ll save Joi for filthier blowjobs. Tav shouldn’t have to do that.

____________

Raphael x Tav (GN), 18+

_____________

His skin tastes like cherries. 

It shouldn't surprise them, not with how the scent lingers, sweet and heady when he enters the room. But it does: it’s cherries and something spicier, a note of otherness his human glamor wouldn’t suggest. Tav sits back on their heels, admiring their handiwork. 

How odd, how strange, to find a man like him beautiful. He’s too old for it, cheekbones too sharp, nose too pronounced, mouth bordering on too wide, but he is beautiful. Tav licks their lips. Sometimes, they look at him and ache with the force of it. It’s a weight in their belly, sharp and shocking; it’s heat licking down their spine. It’s that sensation of emptiness, never sated until he’s buried deep inside.

Raphael’s chest is a patchwork of kiss-sucked bruises. He wears these with no small amount of pride; the fact is, the devil enjoys being marked as much as he enjoys marking others. He touches one over his heart (there are teeth marks there, a little violent, but Tav hadn’t been able to help themselves), brow arched in amusement. Tav swallows. His hair is wild, teased into all manner of angles by their hands, and he is…

“You look lost, little mouse,” In the afterglow, his voice is lower. There’s a more pronounced undercurrent, self-satisfied, rasping from his moans. “Let this devil be your guide: unburden yourself.” And the word chases across their skin like a touch. 

Tav’s voice is ruined. “Want you.” 

“Mmm, want me how? You’ll have to be more specific. The devil is, after all, in the details.” He smirks, and he must know the joke is bad. It doesn’t keep him from chuckling, and Tav shivers at the sound. “Though… perhaps you’re of a mind to be used?” 

Tav chokes. 

Raphael’s eyes are almost golden in the firelight, lit from within and without; triumph flares in them alongside hunger. “We might find other uses for that lovely mouth should words continue to fail you.” 

It’s all the prompting they need. Tav scoots back on his thighs. Even human, he’s far warmer than any mortal. The latent heat licks upwards, warming them, teasing, and the urge to grind against his skin is…they push it down, chewing the inside of their cheek. Tav strokes him to readiness, committing his little hiss to memory. The devil’s right-hand fists in the sheets. The left strokes Tav’s cheek before sliding back into their hair. He yanks.

Raphael shifts beneath them, making himself comfortable. A king on his throne (and gods, they want to fuck him on his seat in Avernus, want to hear him come apart in that ridiculous Bronze Citadel), smug. He always watches, holding Tav’s gaze as they lower their head. Tav laps up the bead of precum (not tasting of cherries this time, small wonders), and he chuckles. “How lovely you look. How well sin suits you.”

Tav shivers, dipping their head to nose at his hip, dragging their teeth across the skin. There’s a patch right near the divot between the bone and his abdomen that always makes him gasp, rocking up. Tav knows him too.  

Tav knows that if they take him to the back of their throat, he will groan long and loud. The fingers will clench in their hair to the point of pain, and he will hiss. They know his voice will be sin, almost as good as the feeling of his cock pressing inside. 

“Yes, good, you serve me so well, pet,” and he barely has the air for it. Tav’s head swims; Raphael fucks into their mouth, selfish and needy. And Tav knows if they tease a hand between his legs, he will part them all too readily. 

For all his lofty claims of control, the sound he makes when they press a finger to his hole, massaging the tight ring of muscle, suggests otherwise. It’s always the same growl, his back bowing, trying to get more. Tav chokes, jaw aching, and forces themselves to relax. It’s worth it. It’s worth it to see him undone, worn raw, and wanting.

He’s always so vocal. Babbling some mix of Common and infernal. Tav groans around his cock, screws their eyes shut, and loses themselves in it. Raphael comes with a whimpering little cry, so much less than what preceded it, and that’s somehow better. Tav nearly breaks, shivering with the force of their want. 

Raphael strokes their hair, purring such pretty things to them. Most are lies. 

In the end, it doesn’t matter; let him lie. 

Tav’s finding they prefer it to reality. 

[skeletondeerart]

Sacred Waters, Sacred Hearts Chapter 6

A Male OC! Metkayina x Fem Human! Reader | Word Count: 2100

Masterlist & join the taglist

A/N: Both Rukan and reader are in their mid 20's

" " = direct speech | ' ' = Metkayina sign language | Bold = English

POV (Y/N)

Dawn slowly rolls around, the morning rays casting a warm blanket over High Camp. Birds can be heard singing songs and the murmuring of other Omaticaya outside our dwelling begins.

I peel my eyes open and rub the sleep from my eyes but my hand makes contact with the glass of my mask. Oh right… I slept in Jake and Neytiri’s home. I slowly sit up, folding my good leg to my chest and leaving my cast leg straight. I stretch my back before looking over to Jake, Neytiri and the babies all huddled in a pile. I smile warmly as I make a move to a basket of fruits. I pick up a knife and begin splitting the fruit into cubes making a fruit salad for us all.

Around fifteen minutes had passed before I heard Neteyam coo and roll out of the crook of Jake's arm. I didn't move but I watched him keenly from my peripheral vision. Neteyam babbles something similar to my name and I turn fully to his direction. His wide yellow eyes and gummy smile greet me as he goes to stand up on wobbly legs. I smile in return and beckon the boy over to me.

“Good morning, Neteyam. Do you want some fruit?” I ask, holding up a cube of Yovo fruit as an offering. That got him moving, toddling his way over and launching into my arms with a smile. I smile as I let him chew gleefully on the sweet fruit. I talked aimlessly to Neteyam about the new plants I have documented and how I’ll be sure to show them to him one day. Amid my tangent, I didn’t notice him smashing his sticky hands on my cargo shorts and staining them blue. I didn’t have the heart to be mad at the child. Yovo fruit doesn't come out of fabric easily… I guess my pants have a blue handprint pattern now. 

“We have an artist on our hands I see” I say as I take a bowl of water and wash his palms clean of the juices. Neteyam takes the opportunity to start splashing me and I hold one of my hands up in lacklustre defence. I splutter as my top is thoroughly soaked, wiping the droplets off my mask. I point an accusatory finger at him, but before I can say anything a deep sleep-riddled voice interrupts.

“Oi that's enough boy, stop bullying your Auntie”

Neteyam and I’s eyes widened in shock at being caught making such a mess. Jake is sitting up now, his dreadlocks stuck out of place making me giggle. He rolls into a crouch before standing up, scratching his belly and yawning, his canines on full display. He made his way over, plucked Neteyam from my arms and spun him around playfully making fighter-jet noises before blowing a raspberry on his belly.

Neteyam’s boisterous laughter woke Neytiri and Kiri. They groaned and sat up sporting their bedheads. Neytiri smiled fondly at the scene before starting her day, picking up Kiri with one arm and walking to a rack holding an outfit. She walks over handing me a beautiful beaded top and loincloth tailored to my size.

“For you… it was going to be your birthday present but I don’t know when we were seeing each other next” Neytiri confesses.

My eyes trace the woven article meticulously in awe of the craftsmanship. “You made this Neytiri? This is stunning!” I gasp at a loss for words. I look into her eyes, crinkled with joy, and her tail swishing happily at my reaction.

“I’m glad you love it. Neteyam and Kiri also helped.” 

“Oh? Did they now” I say pinching both their cheeks lovingly watching them giggle and playfully swat my fingers away.

“Yes, they picked out the gemstones on that arm cuff,” Neytiri says with great pride.

I didn’t notice it before. I pulled out a woven band with two gems embedded, one was a rusty red jasper gemstone and the other a blue apatite gemstone.

“Red!” Neteyam exclaims, pointing to himself “Blue!” as he points to Kiri, who was gnawing on one of Neytiri’s hair beads.

“Well done Neteyam, you are so smart!” I praise and clap in celebration.

Neytiri caresses the boy’s hair in praise. “Yes, well done Neteyam. He picked out the jasper and Kiri picked the apatite all by themselves.” She explained to me with pride. “Go, go put them on! Take off those dirty tawtute clothes.” She urges. Their home was open-plan so I had no semblance of privacy except for the main door panel which was still shut to the rest of the clan. My face flushes in embarrassment. Neytiri’s eyes widen in recognition of how conservative we are.

“Ah, my apologies! We will give you a moment of privacy,” She says curtly before spinning around and talking to Jake.

I quickly removed the sodden clothes and put on the new outfit. Surprisingly, it fits amazingly as I adjusted the straps to secure it to my body. The wind brushing against my bare skin was a weird sensation. 

“Hey, you can turn back around now,” I said bashfully. As I unveiled my new look, my nails ran up and down my forearms nervously. 

“You look wonderful, (Y/N)” Jake said with a grin.

“You dress like one of the people now,” Neytiri said giddy “It fits perfectly”

A top of soft leather straps and twine hugged my chest, and expertly carved blue beads decorated the garment. My breasts were modestly wrapped with brown fabric which offered support when moving about. The deep brown loincloth fell just above my knees, decorated with the same beads as the top. The waist straps consisted of a leather base and reinforced with decorative woven twine. It was clear it was made with care.

Barefoot now, two vine anklets adorned my right foot. My right arm had the kids’ armband and my left had Rukan’s net arm wrap that he used to secure my leg … I hope he won’t mind. 

“Thank you guys, I feel so pretty,” I say gratefully as I spin around slowly showing off my new outfit. 

“Creek! Creek!” Neteyam babbles while picking up his wooden Ikran toy. 

Jake looks in my direction “What do you say (Y/N)?” he says picking up Neteyam.

“Sure why not.” I shrug.

…

After packing some snacks and getting the babies ready, we make our way down to the forest floor. Jake carrying me down the vines to the Ikran nest.

Neytiri took both kids as I travelled with Jake on Bob.

“I still can’t believe you called your Ikran Bob.”

“What? It's a strong and vicious name for an Ikran such as him”

“Sure, sure, keep telling yourself that.” I sigh in exasperation but can't help chuckling at the sheer sillyness.

“Hold tight,” Jake says with a grin as he instructs me to hold onto the reins, his hands enveloping mine to secure me to the saddle. 

Bob raises his wings and leapt off the edge, bomb-diving through the Hallelujah Mountains. My scream of terror is lost in the wind as Jake whoops in adrenaline before levelling out above the canopies. 

“You’re alright” Jake comforts half-heartedly in jest, patting my hand to soothe me.

“You ass-” I mutter and kick his shin with my good leg. 

“Ow- quit it! ever heard of not distracting the pilot?” Jake groans.

Neytiri flies beside us watching the interaction, muffling her laugh with the back of her hand. She shakes her head with a smile before turning her attention forward once more.

After another fifteen minutes, we pass over a clearing with a large creek system. Jake spots it and motions his hand to Neytiri to land. Both Ikran’s land gracefully and Jake plops me down by the creek's edge, my casted leg outstretched on a mossy stone while my other dangles in the crisp waters.

Jake takes Neteyam and Kiri for a paddle as Neytiri sits next to me and sharpens her knife.

“Are you ok Ma (Y/n)?” Neytiri questions, breaking the ice.

I turn to look at her confused, “I’m fine, my leg doesn’t hurt too bad now…”

“No, are you alright?” she asked, emphasising her query. “Norm mentioned to us that you were crying when coming out of anaesthesia and refused to talk to him about it.” Her eyes were caring, truly wondering what ails me. I sighed, avoiding her gaze as I watched Neteyam and Kiri play with the river fish. Neytiri hummed, trying to prompt me to speak my mind.

“My Mother and Father, back on earth. I just miss them, is all...” I say hoping it was enough to satisfy her. Neytiri’s brows furrowed knowing there was more to this story but she knew I was not quite ready to talk about it. A gentle hand fell on my shoulder in this rare instance of physical affection, her gaze understanding but worried nonetheless.

“Whenever you want to talk, we will listen. Our family is our fortress and you are one of us. Don’t forget that.”

I smiled but it didn’t reach my eyes “Thanks ‘Tiri. I appreciate it.”

Neytiri left me on the bank to play with the kids and my mind slowly drifted back to Rukan. What was he doing right now and is he thinking of me too?

POV Rukan 

The croon of my Skimwing which I named Vurok soothes my heart as I stroke his muzzle, he swims around me in playful circles as I attempt to put on the saddle. 

“Oh come here you silly thing” I laugh and try to toss the saddle onto his flank yet he swiftly dodges my advances. It was like he was mocking me. After a couple of minutes of this, I give up, playfully groaning and floating on my back staring up at the rolling clouds.

It has been less than a week since (Y/N) left and she was on my mind more often than I would have hoped. I’ve thrown myself into my duties, spending long hours at sea. Whether that was fishing, weaving nets, or patrolling the reef. Whatever job needed to be done I took just to avoid my thoughts. 

I’m broken from my thoughts as Vurok nudges my leg and lets me put on his saddle. Securing the saddle I latch my queue to him and swim out of the reef, heading towards Three Brothers Rocks. Schools of fish blur past us as we lept in and out of the waves. I whoop as the sea foam shoots into the air as we gracefully submerge ourselves in the chilly waters again. We swam around until I saw a pod of Tulkun a couple hundred meters out.

I urge Vurok forward quickly catching up to the pod, I spot my spirit brother amongst them.

“NOKAI!” I yell over the roar of the waves. I pull in beside him and jump onto his fin as Vurok swims beside us.

‘How have you been Rukan?’ Nokai asks using a myriad of vocalisations and gestures.

‘I have been ok, just the usual’ I reply as my shoulders slumped. I could see Nokai knew something was up.

‘Just ok? Is there something you need to express?’ He urges. He is a caring soul, very intuitive, maybe a little too much for his own good. 

I scratched my nape deliberating on telling him what bothered me. I peered into his eye and knew he wouldn’t judge me.

‘I met a girl.’

‘What's wrong with that? Isn’t that a good thing? You are getting to that age where you should be looking for a mate.’

‘That’s the thing- she's a tawtute.’ I signed abruptly, apprehensive of Nokai’s reaction.

Silence took over, all I could hear was the crashing of waves and the croons of the other Tulkun.

‘She must have a good heart for you to spare her your thoughts.’ Nokai said simply. ‘She may hail from the sky but that doesn’t make them all demons. Has she done anything for you to think otherwise?’

‘No! No… she is rather lovely. I would even consider her as a friend. She documents aquatic plants and animals. She respects the oceans and the Metkayina-’ I start to ramble a smile creeping onto my features just mentioning her.

Nokai makes a knowing hum ‘I think you have your answer. Don’t think about it so hard. Let Eywa’s plan for you come to fruition.’ At that I smile gratefully, my mind a tad lighter.

‘Thank you, brother. I shall see you soon.’ I bid my goodbyes as I mount Vurok.

‘It was my pleasure, stay safe.’

‘I will!’ I sign as we dip below the waves and make haste back to the village.

Enjoy the next chapter in my Masterlist! & join the taglist

Taglist! @stag-symbolism @camiicazi @shadyd3ar @cocopuffff @etexin @nanaluvs-me @misplacedvibes @annoyingasexual @royaltysuite @lovemiss-vale @heyitsaliii @lunagala23 @darktrashpoetry

[charleslee-valentine]

TCM Ship Week @maskemasker

Day six prompt: Argument

Ship: Franknub (Franklin Hardesty x Nubbins Sawyer)

Word count: ~2,700

Warnings: Graphic cannibalism, threats of violence and of abuse, implied murder, ableism by way of ignorance, brief suicidal ideation, canon bullying (Kirk’s ableist rant about Franklin), Drayton Sawyer being a dehumanizing asshole.

——————

Franklin looks down at the plate of meat in front of him, the slightly too red sauce all around it. Ain’t no way is any of that goin’ anywhere near his mouth. He saw them butcherin’ jobs the big one was doin’ out in the kitchen. Don’t know who exactly ended up on his plate, but it certainly ain’t some cow.

“I ain’t eatin’ that.”

Doesn’t figure he needs to say why. And he don’t. That’s not what his captor, the twitchy one in green, questions him ‘bout.

“Why you wanna die for?”

So they hold knives to him, chase people down and slay ‘em like they ain’t nothin’, but a hunger strike is confusing to him.

Franklin can’t help but scoff, “Gonna happen either way, right? You either gonna kill me, or I’m gonna starve. Might as well starve.”

That just seems to make him more confused.

His face gets all scrunched up, and he whips his head around, like he’s lookin’ for someone to tell him what to say. Franklin realizes that’s exactly what he’s doin’ when his distressed expression is noticed by his brother, the old man, who waves him away immediately,

“Your mess, boy. You fix it.”

And he’s left to it, just the two of them at that grand table now.

Nubbins is his name, or at least that’s what he got called by the older one earlier today. Well Nubbins sinks down in defeat, shoulders slouched so far forward they’re resting against his knees. His hands fly up to his face, chewing on the skin around his nails, nervous about gettin’ left to his own devices.

“I-I ain’t ‘llowed to- to leave the table ‘til you eat.”

Now, he don’t take pride in bein’ rude, but it prob’ly don’t count if it’s towards someone like this. Franklin huffs in irritation, “Oh great. I get to put up with you for longer.”

Neither of ‘em meets the other’s eyes. Maybe different reasons for it, but they ain’t jovial, no matter how badly Nubbins wants them to be, “I’d eat- eat your supper for ya, b-but big brother would know. He al-always knows everythin’.”

As if. Franklin figures that’s good old fashioned fear talkin’. “He’s just some old man. Ain’t gonna know.”

Nubbins considers it, seems to roll that around in his head like a little pinball, back and forth ‘til he settles on not choosing sides. Changes the subject to make it seem like he never cared at all,

“M-Maybe I don’t wants second supper!”

“Congratulations then.” He can’t help but be blunt with him, though Franklin feels a little pinch of sympathy when Nubbins doesn’t get his sarcasm.

His twinkly eyes narrow, “What for?”

“You really don’t get out much, do ya?”

“Says you! I get out p-p-plenty! Y-You don’t even got legs! You ain’t g-goin’ nowhere never!”

Now, Franklin’s heard a lot of awful things about hisself, ‘bout the way he moves and looks and all, but that’s a new one. He takes it in stride with a questioning look but sees it as his chance to suggest, “Could go more places if y’all’d give me my wheels back.”

Again, Nubbins hunches down like a cat. “Can’t.”

Shit, that can’t be good.

“Why? What the hell did y’all do with it?” Franklin catches himself breathin’ hard. More scared now that somethin’ happened to his wheelchair and he’ll have to live without it, than the chance they’ll just kill him off.

Nubbins watches a bead of blood he bit free from his own fingertip roll, focusing on that ‘stead of the question he’s s’posed to be answerin’. Like if he ignores Franklin hard enough, he won’t have to answer his question. But then it bubbles outta him all at once, “Uh. B-Bubba tried t-to fold it, a-an’ it busted.”

“Jesus, how busted.”

“For forever busted.”

So they do psychological torture here too. Franklin would laugh if he wasn’t sick to his stomach. Not sure if he should sob ‘til he gets sick all over the place or yell ‘til his mouth is too full of blood to, he raises his voice in exasperation, “Oh y’all really should just kill me now. Fuck’s sake, you’d think even a cannibal would have some god damned decency not to break a man’s wheelchair!”

“I-I didn’t!” Nubbins insists right away, sounding just as angry that Franklin would direct his emotions his way.

“Nobody woulda if y’all hadn’t taken it!” He can’t help but point it out. Even if he don’t like the unpleasantness. Maybe Nubbins’ll dislike it enough to kill him and this’ll be over.

No dice.

“Sh-Shut up!” Nubbins claps his hands over his ears and shakes his head wildly, “Y-You ain’t supposed to be mean to me. You my only friend!”

Well. Now he feels even *more* bad for him. Might be a better idea to get Nubbins on his good side instead. Though, he can’t help but point out, more baffled than venomous anymore, “Friends don’t feed their friends people meat!”

Nubbins’ eyes burn with satisfaction ‘cause now he’s got somethin’ over Franklin, “Wh-What does you know about it? Y-Your friends was mean ‘n didn’t even like you!! Friends d-don’t talk like them do neither!! -Put him outta our m-misery.-“

Sounds right. But Franklin don’t want it to be. “Who the hell said that?”

He sure hopes it wasn’t Sally.

But no, Nubbins informs him it was, “Supper boy.”

Ah. Franklin couldn’t confirm it before, but guess that does it; that slab of meat on his plate was once Kirk Waisanen. Can’t‘ve been Jerry, saw him get shoved in the ice box. Honestly, Kirk prob’ly woulda been his first guess anyhow. Never was real good at hidin’ the hate he held in his faux-suede heart.

Pink in the face, he gets defensive anyhow, “Well who says he was talkin’ ‘bout me?”

“Total zero in the world. Someone oughta shoot him. Put him outta our misery... Franklin never was little.” Nubbins parrots an imitation perfectly, even that stutter of his goin’ away for his stuck up yuppie impression. Shit.

Franklin don’t want to lower his guard that easy, but between Nubbins and the gelatinous piece of meat on the fine china, only one was honest with him. He pushes,

“What if’n I don’t believe you?”

“I heared it all in the b-b-backyard. ‘Fore they go’d in the house and B-Bubba knocked his stupid head in with- with his hammer.” Says it like he’s all proud of himself too, Nubbins does.

“So what, you think you’re better to me than that?” Franklin challenges. Kinda would be nice.

Maybe he’s sick already, to think attention from a killer is any good. Hard not to after how his past few days on that trip went, long before any dracula hitchhikers got involved. The thought crosses Franklin’s mind now, ‘bout how right he was when he said that ‘bout Nubbins. Just bein’ all mean and bitchy ‘cause everyone else was bein’ that way to him. But the Dracula thing was part true, ‘cause ain’t no way this slab of human steak is cooked all the way through.

Speaking of, Nubbins reminds him cautiously, like he’s afraid of remembering responsibility, “I’m t-tryin’ to feed you your supper.”

It’s ‘cause he don’t wanna get in trouble. Franklin knows that, he knows what the old man’ll do if he finds out Nubbins is failin’ at fixin’ this mess.

His heart drops when he’s got to admit it’s also because-

“Cause even the cannibal don’t want me dead as much as my own friends did... Goddamnit.”

And for the first time in Lord only knows how long he’s been here, at least two nights, Franklin breaks. The wall of emotion just hits him like a tanker truck right in the chest. Now, Franklin’s been criticized a long time for bein’ loud, bein’ a brat, whatever they called it when he tried to be listened to, but even that wasn’t outright cryin’.

Well he does now. Franklin leans as back in his chair as the top of his spine will let him, tears runnin’ backwards to pool in the corners of his eyes and run into his hair stead of bein’ so obvious. But Nubbins watches every last thing like an owl with them big eyes o’ his. He caught the shimmer of grief the second it flooded Franklin’s weary soul. l

Trying, in the way he knows how, to be gentl, Nubbins offers a compromise of comfort,

“Uh. Y-You should eat your supper, a-an’ then we can go.”

“Go where? Go rot in the basement with the others?” Franklin���s voice crackles and burns with emotion, and now he’s startin’ to realize how precious those tears were. Dehydratin’ himself ‘cause he can’t control his emotions, how wonderful.

Quickly Nubbins dismisses that idea outright, as if doin’ it physically by waving both of his bony hands about. “Nuh-uh. I-If you starved I’d keep you f-for my-my arts. I wouldn’t eat ya.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

Despite his dryness, Nubbins doesn’t understand Franklin was being cold again.

All he hears is a thanks for the advice, and oh how he beams. Bigger than he thinks he’s ever seen anybody smile, even the church belles posin’ for their pageant photos didn’t try to pull on artificial joy that hard. That smile of Nubbins’ is as all real, crooked and wobbly and marred by rot that it is.

Franklin can’t keep up the energy to be harsh. Hell, with a broken wheelchair, he’s got nothin’ to lose by just bein’ nice. Not like he can run off.

He looks Nubbins straight in the eye to catch his attention that this is serious business for him to lower his guard, “Alright. Alright. If I do this, you promise me somethin’?”

Nubbins insists. “I’m good at promises.”

Somehow Franklin doubts a tricky thing like him truly can even keep a promise, but maybe he’ll try to. Who the knows and who the hell cares. A friend might be enough for the level of worn out Franklin is feelin’ right now.

One final plea to save his life, well, and to make a friend out of a shit situation, Franklin can hear the adrenaline makin’ his heart rate go up, “You spare me tonight, you best do it for the rest of time, alright? We ain’t just friends no more, we’re the best friends in the whole world.”

Might’ve been too much at once, ‘cause now Nubbins narrows his eyes and observes, “I don’t like l-liars. I p-p-peel’t the last pig done told me a lie.”

“Friends don’t lie to friends either, do they?” Franklin raises his eyebrows when he says that they’re friends. Emphasizing to Nubbins he’s still got a little bit of power left, even if he’s nicer now.

This friendship ain’t a favor. It ain’t *just* a for-tonight thing. A deal is a deal and Franklin thinks he’ll be just fine if he keeps this up. Hopes he will, anyhow.

Makes Nubbins giddy enough anyhow. Stands up outta his seat, pacing the length of table and doing a little hop each time he turns around, waving his arms. All that excited energy, over bein’ called somebody’s friend, it’s gotta go somewhere. At least this way Franklin knows he wasn’t playin’ some kinda trick, wantin’ to be his friend and all.

It’s too bad reality is sittin’ fetid in front of him an’ distractin’ him from the joy.

Franklin looks away from Nubbins and down at his plate instead. His head is full of doubt, thinkin’ about what Nubbins says Kirk said, only he knows it’s true cause he can just hear it in Kirk's voice. Always under the surface if helpin’, as if two little strips of plywood couldn’t be placed by anybody else who hated him a little less. The guy is so damn mean. Or, he was. ‘Cause he’s dead now.

Serves him right.

Franklin bitterly imagines his teeth tearing into the Kirk roast on his supper plate, pleased to find he doesn’t immediately feel sick this time. Must be thinkin’ loud, maybe making frustrated noise of his own. He looks up from the piece of meat and realizes Nubbins is now the opposite of before, stopped and just watching. Perched on a chair like an owl.

Franklin, alight with anxiety, decides to just do it. He closes his eyes tightly, and he takes a bite of the meat. Surprisingly, his first instinct isn’t to gag, his body not rejecting the most immoral meal he’d ever did. Nubbins is leaned close to watch every movement, and the second the meat is off the silverware, he gets that big smile again. Not understanding social convention, he notices the sweat on Franklin’s cheek from all the nerves and pokes it, like he’s petting him to soothe.

There’s a whole plate now he’s gotta push through, but one bite is at least progress. Nubbins thinks so too, ‘cause after a moment to let it sink in, he immediately goes running to tell Drayton that Franklin is on his best behavior. I’m his absence, Franklin looks down at the plate, knowin’ he oughta finish before that real cynical one shows up. Closing his eyes tightly, he eats every last bite of the human meat serving.

“C-Cook, you gotta let him g-go now, he was r-real good- real good an’ eated all ‘a that guy we give him!! Look!” Nubbins excitedly announces, dragging his brother by the arm.

He’s rightfully skeptical of a newcomer changing so fast, though it’s evident Franklin ain’t entirely typical. “Didn’t dump it on the floor did, ya?”

“No sir.”

“Didn’t make Nubbins eat it?”

Interesting he mentions it when Nubbins was so scared of gettin’ in trouble for exactly that. Franklin’s tone is a little dry, a little irritated, but he answers him, “No sir. He wouldn’t‘ve even if I tried.”

“Better not.” The old man turns and ignores Franklin’s existence completely now, to explain to Nubbins, “Alright, boy. For catchin’ that girl yesterday, you can keep the cripple.”

Oh. That confirms that then. Sally didn’t get away on that last burst of energy. And here, Franklin just ate a people steak. Somehow he didn’t feel sick before, but now he does. Ashamed and guilty and pissed off at himself. Though it’s possible that’s a lie. Could be tryin’ to get in his head. Maybe someday he’ll know.

Ignoring Franklin’s mini-crisis, Drayton talks over his heightened breathing to tell Nubbins, “Bubba’ll carry your pet upstairs now, but boy you best stay here now, take care of this new- new development. ‘Cause if I hear wind you left home ‘gain ‘n made Bubba take care of this’n, I’ll personally see to it he’s bled dry ‘n left out for the vultures.”

Nubbins doesn’t like the sound of that and tries to argue, “B-But-“

No matter, his brother clenches his fist and screams over him anyhow, “You argue with me an’ I’ll kill the damn thing now!”

Franklin is pissed. Beyond pissed, over bein’ talked about that way. No fair that he got to digest the last asshole who said awful things about him, but can’t shut up that evil old man. At least he can tell Nubbins is upset too, means he ain’t alone in this mess now.

Out of his mind or maybe just broken down, Franklin decides to be nice to Nubbins then. If Sally really is dead, he’s got nobody else to connect with left in the worl. Plus, if he’s gonna die here one way or another, at least if he’s kind he’ll know Nubbins saw him as a friend rather than as some meat or a cow or a *thing*.

Franklin speaks up for Nubbins a little, but so they won’t get in trouble, he declaring polite compliance, “I’m finished my supper. Nubbins was very helpful to tell me all about how y’all killed and cooked up Kirk. I gotta say, he really deserved it. Didn’t taste as rotten as his soul was though. Matter of fact, y’all got any more of that meat?”

Never seen somebody look so proud as the bright and giddy look on Nubbins’ face. Franklin won’t mind bein’ his friend, he thinks, if he keeps showin’ off that smile. This time, Franklin smiles back.

[cupiditas-and-ao3]

Kinks-Your-Tober Day 6

Seems right up the monster fucker alley

“You reek of desperation, witch. What is it that makes a witch so desperate that she would apologize to the monster she created, but not desperate enough to offer a cure?” 

“I am not desperate,” Circe barked back at the beast that held her. 

Pride. Always pride. 

This close to Scylla’s face she could see the lashes that collected ocean spray like beaded diamonds, the eyes that looked like tide pools, the lips that had thinned and pulled away to bare her teeth. Circe wondered if Scylla knew there was a star of orange and pink in her eyes, like a starfish on the wall of a pool, next to a splash of anemone purple. Circe had never loved a fisherman. 

The beasts were licking at her feet, tasting the salt and blood and fear off of her, nicking her with their fangs sharpened with magic and time and death. She was painfully aware of how long Scylla’s nails were, thin needle claws that dug into her shoulder and spine where she’d wrapped them around. Of the scaled tentacles that served as legs behind her. Six monstrous heads at her waist, twelve legs of scaled tentacles, and one terrible and beautiful sea nymph at the center of it. 

“Then you have come to be devoured,” Scylla held her above one of the heads that began gnashing, that drolled and lunged for her feet. Circe tucked her feet up, pulled them as far as she could from those jaws of black death. 

Its teeth pulled at her calf and she screamed with the pain. 

“I come to bargain,” she cried. “Please.” 

Pride was always so foolish an endeavor. 

Scylla snapped her long fingers and the beast resumed growling sulkily on the cave floor, reaching for any beast or fish that happened too close to the edges of the cave. She heard the cries of a dolphin as it was snatched and torn. As another head joined in the carnage. As the splatter of innards and blubber and flesh decorated the walls and was washed away by a fierce wave. As the spine was snapped between two heads, now three heads, now swallowed in pieces by all six. 

Circe swallowed down bile. 

“Bargain, witch?” Scylla’s voice was just as cruel as the sounds of the feasting beasts. “You have nothing for me.” 

“I have something,” Circe said cryptically. 

She was buying time. 

Scylla waited. Waited for the explanation, for what the witch who cursed her could possibly have if she did not have a cure. When it did not come she barked impatiently and one of her beasts threw a chunk of raw flesh. The monster caught it with one hand and chewed, blood dripping down her pale seafoam green chin and matting in her kelp-like hair. Circe shuddered and looked away from the display as the grain of the muscle tore under Scylla’s nails. 

“What do you wish to bargain for, witch?” The barking voice was made sloppy with chewing and saliva and blood. 

“A man will sail past you,” Circe began. Scylla snorted. Spat a wad of gristle and blood onto the ground where it was eaten greedily. “He must live.” 

Scylla seemed to contemplate it. Seemed to be deciding. 

“You aim to take another man from me, after all?” 

Her voice was, for a brief moment, not the barking of a new howling pup. It was the lyrical song of a naiads, it was what she had once been. Circe was captivated. 

She had never loved a fisherman. 

“He is not yours to be taken from you,” she began and then that snarling was back. 

“He is my right! He will sail past me and I will devour him and everyone on his ship as is my right! As is my only right after you have made me this,” Circe was thrust so close to Scylla’s face that she could see nothing. Nothing but blurs of color that were the entire world of the ocean. Like opening her eyes underwater and looking up at the sky. 

“He is,” Circe admitted. She hated that she was shaking. Hated that she could hear the beasts lapping the blood from her still bleeding calf off the ground where it dripped. 

“Then you take him from me,” Scylla’s voice was a warning growl. 

“I bargain for his life, and the lives of his crew. His life is promised to another before he sails before you,” Circe chose her words so carefully. 

Scylla thought. Chewed it over like a sauce she’d dipped her bleeding chunk of meat in. She set Circe down in the circle of gore and beasts and ran her long urchin-like spines that served as nails through her hair. 

“So you are respecting the claim someone else lays to a man?” barking laughter rang between her words. “I suppose even a witch can change. What do you expect me to do? Let him sail as if I am not there?” 

A claw pulled Circe’s jaw so she was craning her neck to look in Scylla’s fearsome eyes instead of at the beasts circling her like constrictors. 

“I am not that kind,” Scylla growled. 

“Not to ignore them. To only attack once. Take what you are owed, but take it once. Whoever they escape with lives to see their next trial.” 

“And what do you give me in this bargain?” 

Scylla’s nail pierced Circe’s jaw. Blood trickled and the beasts lapped at it. 

“Myself. For any vengeance you can meet while they sail.” 

That stopped her. It stopped everyone. It stopped the gulls crying in a distance, it stopped the shriek of the wind and the crash of the wives, it stopped the barking and gnashing of the beasts, it stopped Circe’s heart. It stopped Scylla. She didn’t even blink, so frozen by the offer. 

“You think you are enough to trade for an entire ship?” 

Pride. Always pride. 

“I think your rage is enough.” 

A beast at her hip lunged, teeth wrapping around Circe’s midsection and slamming her into the wall. Ignoring that it slammed its own face into the wall. Ignoring that the rocks took a sacrifice of the beast’s blood. 

“What do you know of my rage?” Screamed through the entire sea. 

Even Zeus would have heard it. 

Even Hades. 

Even the Furies. 

“What do you know of ‘enough’?” Those nails ripped into Circe’s hair, pinning her to look at Scylla, pinning her to watch the rage and destruction and sorrow and death on the monstrous face. 

“Show me,” she taunted. 

Pride. Always pride. 

“Witch,” Scylla tore the dress from Circe in one motion, claws caught in the neckline ripping the fabric away easier than the flesh she had earlier torn. 

The teeth sank into Circe’s stomach, into her hips, into her thighs. A gaping maw that drew a waterfall of blood as the others fought over the puddle pooling under her feet. She couldn’t feel her legs. She’d heal. Even a minor goddess would heal. If she wasn’t swallowed whole. 

She was buying herself time. 

Scylla hadn’t agreed to the terms yet. But hadn’t she? 

“I was beautiful,” the almost lovely voice barked. “I was loved . I didn’t want Glaucus’ attention. I didn’t want your attention. But you gave it to me. I was happy ,” her voice broke like waves on the jagged rocks below. 

The scaled tentacles were twining around Circe’s arms now, spreading them apart like she was waiting for a spear to the chest or the embrace of a lover. And wasn’t she? 

“You couldn’t just fucking leave me alone,” Scylla hissed. “I just wanted to be left alone.” 

She couldn’t apologize. Couldn’t breathe. Blood was filling the bottom of her lungs, she felt it as easily as she felt her eyes blinking. And then the mouth was releasing her and more scaled tentacles were moving. They wrapped around her legs and spread them until she was spread eagle against the wall. The scales tore at her, the edges as razor sharp as the teeth, but they didn’t puncture deep into her organs. They didn’t sever nerves and sinew. They threatened.  

And she healed. It was slow, she could feel the nerves and muscle and veins reconnecting themselves. Scylla didn’t mean to kill her. Perhaps torture. 

The shreds of her dress, wine dark and blood stained, fell into the pool of her blood where the beasts snarling tore at it. Her skin replenished, knit back together over wounds still healing. Skin healed so quickly when it wanted to. 

“You think that the gods would allow me to heal if a hero decided I was to be slain?” Scylla hissed. Her face, the face that was once a nymph, was so terribly close. She smelled of the rotting things on the surface of the sea, sickly sweet and salt and brine. Circe wanted to gag. 

Scyla’s kiss did not make the urge dissipate. 

Her kiss was all teeth. Razors and needles in a mouth that had been built for sin before it had been corrupted for things far worse. Circe’s lips bled as her mouth opened. She didn’t know why or what she hoped to accomplish. But then her tongue tasted raw meat and her own blood and her lips screamed with pain. 

Tentacles were tearing the inside of her thighs with their scales, bruising her wrists with their constriction. New ones, there were so many more than the four used to restrain her, pressed heavy razor blade weight along her chest. A slice over a breast as one slid down her chest. A slash over her freshly healed hip. A dig into the curve of her soft stomach, the rolls where the meat and fat over her ribs turned to hills and valleys. 

Circe had dreamed about being in the nymph’s arms. It had haunted her since she’d used that gods’ damned potion. She imagined that ocean wave laughter as she held the nymph in her arms, she imagined the way she would bounce like waves, the way she would caress and brush and kiss and soothe. 

This was anything but that. 

This was rough. This was sharp. This was harsh cracks and barks of words meant to wound and touches meant to torture. It was anything but what Circe had dreamed of. 

And something in the back of her mind nagged that it was just what she deserved. She created this. She should suffer its consequences. 

The kiss broke with a wail of pain and fury and the tip of a tentacle, so sharply ridged and so painful, thrust into Circe’s core. She screamed. Of course she screamed. And she bled. But the blood only served to lubricate the tentacle’s way further inside of her channel, delving and twisting and diving. She screamed and sobbed as the tentacle twisted further into her, curling and stroking and pulling blood and pleasure from her depths. As much as it hurt, being filled felt good . Being punished felt good . Being in Scylla’s embrace felt good .

“You bargained, witch, do not give me anything less than what you offered. I want my vengeance,” the nymph growled, her teeth scraping the edges of Circe’s throat. “I want my rage.” 

So Circe screamed. She screamed and wailed and sobbed as she knew Scylla must have when she’d discovered the trick placed upon her. But she didn’t pull away. She thrust her breasts into the painful ridges of scales and into the punishing squeeze of sinewed tentacles. She clenched around the tentacle inside her, around the second when it joined, and she cried with relief and pain and embarrassment as she came around the intrusion. 

“Did you enjoy that, witch? Did you derive pleasure from the abomination you created?” Scylla scorned. Her tentacles dove again, holding Circe’s bleeding and ravaged pussy open for more exploration, more vengeance. Scylla’s tentacles curled and stroked, slicing at a spot that made Circe see stars. 

She’d never loved a fisherman. 

As Circe felt her body tensing, felt the touch of the world unraveling, Scylla pulled her tentacles from the spot deep within her core. And Circe whimpered. She begged with her motions, with the thrust of her hips, with the bounce of her breasts. She cried and begged and needed. And she looked down and saw a tentacle, different than the others, sliding up the bloodied edge of her thigh. 

This was not scaled. Was shorter than the others, had been hidden under Scylla’s twelve scaled tentacles. It was slimy, coated in a substance that soothed the wounds on Circe’s thigh as it explored. And when it slid inside of her sorely abused pusy she let out a moan that would rattle Olympus. 

It kept going, slicking over the wounds that the scales had torn inside of her, sliding at such a slow and measured pace that Circe almost wondered if it wasn’t deliberate. When she opened her eyes, eyes she hadn’t known she’d shut, Scylla’s head was thrown back. She was panting, her hands stroking over her own breasts and tentacles. The beasts were lying on their sides, panting and writing as if in masturbatory pleasure. And there was the single scale-less tentacle, pressing between her spread thighs from between what could have almost passed for Scylla’s mass of legs. It was thick, far thicker than anything Circe would have tried to take on her own. But after the stretch and abuse of the tentacles, this girth was nothing. Until it hit the wall of her cervix. 

Circe shrieked, eyes watering as the tip of the member hit the wall at the back of her pussy, the thin layer separating her womb from the channel that had already been pushed beyond the limits of the human capacity for pleasure. But the intrusion didn’t halt. Circe willed her eyes open, watched the writhing of Scylla’s tentacles and beasts intensify. Watched the monster’s hands running over herself. Listened to a whimpering moan echo through the cavern. And felt the push of the appendage deeper inside of her. 

“What-” she slurred, pain and exhaustion too much for her brain now. 

“Gonna use you good, witch. You offered me vengeance. You offered me rage. You offered me your body. And I am going,” she cut off abruptly with a trembling moan as the appendage pierced through to the narrower part of the channel, into Circe’s womb. “I am going to use it for. All. It. Is Worth. ” 

The appendage thrust and Circe heard someone screaming before she realized it was her. That her throat was raw and tortured. And then Scylla’s tongue, the slimy and blood tasting tongue, was licking behind her teeth, was choking her and making her gag. And then something moved inside of her. 

A bulge slid through the appendage - through the ovipositor, as Circe realized what it was - and into her hole. The bulge, the egg , was deposited deep into her womb. Where children embryos would have taken root and grown and matured into children had she ever been so inclined. But she hadn’t. And now Scylla was laying eggs inside of her. She moaned, gutteraly, as Scylla released her mouth and leaned back to watch. They watched together as the ovipositor thrust into Circe, as the bulge ran its course through Scylla, into Circe, and then into her stomach. The whining twitching beasts lapped at Circe’s thighs, at her clit, at her hole around the ovipositor, at her ass. 

And it felt good. It felt good to have all of the wet slithering tongues on her. To be prodded into. To be full. So deliciously full. And then when she thought that she was so full nothing that Scylla would stop, when her stomach was distended enough that she could no longer feel the member latched inside of her womb, she let out a final trembling orgasm and fell limp in Scylla’s hold. 

And then another egg slid into her. She screamed. She looked up. She looked into Scylla’s eyes which were once again so close to her. 

“You said I had you while they sailed. They haven’t even reached the cliff yet. You are still mine, witch.”

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

Disgrace Chapter 2 : Crosshair x F!OC

Summary:

The transport to Ga'hah is boring, boring, boring, and though Tah'nyem makes to amuse herself with the bristly clone commander she may have bit off more than she can chew, not that she's one to admit it. She attempts to maintain focus and composure while waiting on progress into her own investigations which may reveal more than she's ready to learn. Every one seems to have let down their guard, but not everyone on the ship may be a friend.

Chapter Specific Warnings: Sexual Frustration, Mild Nudity, Explosions, (minor/ side) Death, Protective Crosshair (Professional), Touching, Angst, Defensive Crosshair.

Word Count: 6k+

Dynamic: Princess x Guard, Speed running Co-dependancy, A Mangy Cat and his Aggressive little Chihuahua.

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Music Inspo- The Big Empty - Stone Temple Pilots

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Chapter 2

The Big Empty

   There was a joyful buzz to the jokes and idle chatter swirling through the galley. It was just after dinner on the fourth day of our journey and I think being past the halfway point had everyone in good spirits.

The air smelled of caf and I breathed deeply from my own cup nestled in my hands, warming them in the constant chill of the military ship. 

We had dropped from hyperspace and just finished refueling at an Imperial space station. Now we proceed to the edge of the system where we’ll make the final jump to Ga’haiian space.  

I took a sip, and winced. It was still awful, but after that first headache I was willing to get used to the burnt tasting swill provided to the troopers. The Lieutenant’s hospitality seemed to have dried up after that first night. 

It had been an uneventful trip and the soldiers around me were restless and giddy at the thought of wrapping this up quickly. 

“You know, the two of you are gonna have to Kriff or knock it off,”

Well… almost uneventful. 

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” 

I took another sip of my caf and continued making hard eye contact with the Commander across the room at his usual spot by the dispenser. 

We had been like this for at least twenty minutes. The staring contest was a matter of pride at this point. 

“C’mon, give him a break, Seriously, he's been hoggin’ the barrack fresher the past few nights,”

The clone beside me chuckled. The second day I was here he told me to call him “Halo” and refused to elaborate. 

“He knows where to find me,”

I spoke clearly, pronouncing the words so there was no mistake in reading my lips. 

Crosshair took a big swig from his cup but still didn't look away. 

Your move. 

“The Sociopaths deserve each other,” 

I almost turned to spot whoever muttered but needn’t have bothered reacting. 

A blaster went off, singeing the floor near the offender's boot and he jumped from his stool. 

“KARKen!- You know, shyte like that doesn't help your case!”

Crosshair holstered the sidearm. He never looked away and I felt my thighs squeeze together in a sudden ache. 

Okay. You win this round… again. 

I had been losing ground over the past few days. Even with him managing to stay clear of me somehow on the small ship. When our paths crossed I was usually the one coming away breathless. 

The frustration of losing control of the dynamic was fueling a perverse feeling of loathing that could only be cured by riding that smug face of his.

My mind drifted to yesterday and our little incident. 

I had been sitting on my bunk, torso exposed as I prepared the ceremonial ink to reapply the lines that adorn my arms. 

The ink was finished heating and I picked it up from the plate. 

Carefully, I angled the ink stick to drip onto my shoulder, hissing at the familiar bite of the heat as it made contact.

The first bead carved a channel as I carefully guided it down the length of my arm to the tip of my middle finger where it dripped off onto the cloth I had laid out for the purpose. 

More drops now and  they followed the trail already blazed, thickening the line and hue into a deep black. The ink pooled under my fingernail, dying the tip. Perfect.  

I repeated the process on my other arm and finished the adornment with the proper prayers. 

“Ehv’net tohomne ku.”

…

“What does it mean?”

I nearly jumped from my skin, having been so engrossed I missed the tell tale clang of the door. 

That door was supposed to be locked… especially since someone doesn't know how to knock.

I looked over my shoulder at the clone commander framed in the doorway. 

“Let me think a moment…I suppose, indirectly, it would mean something like ‘Lines that feed the heart’,”

He stepped forward and lifted my arm to inspect the dark, even line and my breath caught in my throat.

I wonder if he missed something…

My chest was bare, the smallish curve of my breasts exposed. He hasn't seemed to notice, busy inspecting the line work. 

I made no move to cover myself, but cleared my throat softly…

He turned at the apprehensive tone and froze, eyes making their way down my bare arm to the small, rosey peaks standing stiff in the cold room. His fingers tightened on my wrist.

“You threaten my handiwork…”

He released my arm and I expected him to run off again but I felt his cool, slender fingers go back to tracing the lines of ink starting from my elbow and up. He paused at the shoulder…

My voice came out husky, the trailing fingers leaving raised bumps along my skin. 

"Lines that feed the heart?"

“Something like that…”

“I see… Your dinner is ready.”

He turned on a heel and left the room with a clang. 

…

My eyes refocused and present Crosshair still had me in his sights. 

The corner of his mouth twitched knowing my mind wasn't on our little staring match any more. A final swig of caf and he was gone. Off to do whatever it was he did around here. 

I sat straight and hauty and mad as hell. 

The jig was completely up and the soldiers around me chuckled at the heat blooming around my ears. I had lost whatever hold I might've had on them and I wasn't sure if it was my obvious drooling over their Commander or the fact that I got zapped trying to pry the caf machine apart.

Hard to hold an air of mystique while bawling your eyes out. 

I swirled my caf miserably, still convinced it was engine byproduct. 

Halo noticed my expression and patted my shoulder causing me to sit straighter as he accidentally sent a surge of tingles down my spine into my groin. I suppressed the gasp that wanted to leap from me. 

I need to get out of here. 

I smiled at the men gathered at the table and bowed an excuse darting into the hall amid a chorus of farewells. 

Jogging a few paces as I left the galley, I put some distance between myself and the happy chatter. This brought me past the bridge and I glanced inside. 

Lieutenant Hervos turned and glared at me so I stuck my tongue out at him and moved on. I had given him no reason to make good on his threats, mostly behaving around the crew. 

Mostly…

The bug I planted will run out of memory and loop tonight. I need to get it before that happens, but I have time. I pulled the small data pad from my inner pocket and double checked the timer. 

Plenty of time

Still, I'm glad I gave myself a six hour buffer. 

With nothing to do I continued down the hall to where it looped back to the main room I had entered the ship through. 

Other staff milled about, poking and prodding at lit panels around the room. They were actually busy, unlike the troopers, and I left them continuing through. A flat topped hat looked up and gave me a small wave. I returned the greeting, granting the woman a small smile.

“Kerna, in good spirits?”

“Sure Miss Ra! Almost back on solid ground again,”

The plump girl had expressed a displeasure of spacecraft during a jittery cup of caf that had apparently been her first. She also admitted that she was looking for an early out to her contract for more than a nervousness towards the vastness of space. 

“I didn't sign up to be a conqueror…”

I hadn't asked what her last assignment was but it had apparently been rough. I was starting to see a pattern developing amongst the staff. That might be good for business…

“Sit with me during break again tomorrow, I’d love to chat again before we disembark,”

She nodded and I continued through. There was nowhere to go though, and nothing to do. 

Besides the Commander everything else on the ship was a bit of a bore. So… official. As it was, it felt as if I was simply here and not the subject of the mission. I felt like I was circling a drain. 

Though it could just be how small the damn thing is.

I had once again reached the door of my stateroom. There wasn't even a holodeck onboard. 

Hesitating, I leaned against the wall and weighed my options. 

By Be’llahl, I do NOT want to spend another evening stuck in my room with only my fingers for company. 

Things weren't helped that I've made no progress on figuring out why I'm here to begin with. Besides the bug, there's been no other head way; as anyone who might be in the know developed lock jaw whenever I walked in. 

Antsy from the lack of real purpose I shoved off and headed to the hall's access to the maintenance tunnel and slipped through the suspiciously unlocked door. 

The low hum of the darker hallway closed around me like a comforting blanket. It's funny… how these kinds of places seem to be the same everywhere. 

I smiled at that, thoughts on being a teen and hiding with my best friend to smoke Dahr Root in the crevice beneath the gala hall floor. 

Young and unsupervised…

I looked around at the dark tunnel.

Story of my life.

With no real reason I started forward, planning on pacing around to just kill time before the bridge cleared out.

 Not too far down I tripped over something on the floor and stumbled, catching myself on the wall and turning to look at the sudden obstacle.

It was a boot, attached to a leg as expected and finally my eyes flicked to Crosshair, who blinked, trying to hide that he had been asleep. 

Ah hah…

I had looked for him in the tunnels before but I guess he had kept moving before now. I slid down the wall to sit across from him, our legs beside each other's crisscrossing across the passage. 

“Didn't you just finish a caf?”

He gave up the charade and rubbed his face with a hand, scratching the stubble coming in on his jaw.

“It doesn't help.”

He said it simply, and leaned his head back, closing his eyes and sticking a new toothpick between his lips. 

“Why don't you just go to your bunk? It's not like you guys are working right now.”

He briefly fixed me with a look of annoyance. 

“I don't sleep around the Regs.”

His tone didn't invite further prying and I looked about the hall till the mood shifted back to something more neutral. 

I once again felt that annoying pity for the man, observing the dark circles under his eyes. This would be such a good time to mess with him too…

…

Maybe a little…

I nudged his hip with the toe of my boot. 

“You wanna massage?”

He raised an eyebrow at that. 

“No.”

“Oh come now, nothing too intrusive.”

I slid to sit even with his knees and reached for his right hand. 

“Your hands are important to your work...and this is part of my craft, let me help,”

He didn't resist but shot me an incredulous look as I turned his palm to myself and rubbed through its center with my thumbs,circling a few times before moving to the fingers. The somewhat intimate contact was coiling him a little tighter as he tried to keep his guard up. 

“Relax, just let me work,”

“I wasn't aware a governor's daughter…”

He trailed off but I kept him fixed in my gaze, brow raised at the question he had bitten back. 

“I know everything my workers know, it's respectful to know what you ask of someone,”

“So… are you… you do…?”

It was funny, watching him start and stop as he struggled with the messy topic. Poor thing. Though it was a job like any other I guess it was still awkward to ask someone if they were a whore.  

“On the menu? No. Clientele wouldn't see me as an authority that way,”

Chiding as I stretched the digits, I took note of the calluses on his trigger finger and palm, thick enough to feel through the thin gloves. They belayed the countless hours he spent honing his skills. An intrusive thoughts to what they might feel like against more sensitive flesh sent a sudden shudder through me.  

Searching his face to check if he noticed, I found his eyes sliding along the ink lines tracing the backs of my hands and then, flicking down to my chest, nearly invisible under the sweater.

I smiled softly at that, stopping my purposed stroking to bring his knuckles to my lips, catching his breath where it was. 

Finally, a point for me,

…

“This can’t happen, princess,” 

“So you keep saying, what is it? Because it's not that you don't find me captivating,”

He looked vaguely amused at the accusation, but closed his eyes and sighed deeply. 

“It just doesn't happen. Your kind and mine.”

Now it was my turn to be amused, thinking back to some well known “secrets” in the underworld about certain senators. No… “fraternizing” with soldiers was all too common. It was kept rather hush-hush, everyone looking the other way. Perhaps he has a point. 

I scooted back to slump against the wall next to him, defeated. 

“Didn’t mark you as such a stickler for protocol.” 

He was quiet for a moment.

“If it was just some time in the brig I would’ve had you that first night.”

The admission was barely a whisper, but it sent a warmth through me and I swam in the memory of him standing over me with threat and promise written into every muscle fiber. 

What do they have over you…

He put a hand on the top of my head in a patronizing move that made me huff. 

“I still have work to do, and that means not stepping on toes for a while,”

Revoke your clearance for duty maybe?

“You already had to take on your own squad, what more could they ask of a man…”

The words had been that of pity, but it hadn't occurred to me that I wasn't supposed to know such things. A pained look flickered across him.

“Who-?”

I had dug out of Halo that the Commander had once been in a crew with other enhanced clones. They apparently absconded when the new Empire was formed and no one really knew why. They're the ones that gave him the red, twisted scar that now spread over his right ear. He had apparently gotten the best of them in the end though.

“I’m sorry, the Lieutenant-” 

I started but he cut me off, his words uncharacteristically rushed. 

“To make things clear, My squad ar-were traitors…to the Empire…”

He trailed off, the weight of the burden suddenly more clear. No wonder he wasn't sleeping. 

“Seems cruel to have had you done it… if you ask me,”

He was still, mouth parting occasionally as if to add something. Eventually he settled on:

“A good soldier follows orders,”

It was a weak response, sounding like he was trying to convince himself.

“... I was hoping they'd come back,”

“I'm sorry… really,”

…

“Forget it, Knowing too much can get you killed, princess…”

I let the subject fall. Obviously a heavy topic, and didn't have much to do with our present predicament. 

We sat quietly a few beats and my mind wandered back to the bug in the bridge. 

“Hey, What were your orders for this mission? … For me?”

I was hedging that he'd tell me anything, but while we're getting personal…

“Standard escort, Coruscant to Ga’hah,” 

He leaned his head back again, closing his eyes. The tension had broken, and he allowed a smirk to shine through the gloom.

“And hands off,”

There was a playfulness to that last bit and I couldn't help but smirk myself. 

“So that’s official orders then, not a general ‘don't Kriff the guests?’”

“Uh huh.”

I sighed, amused.

Guess Vah’hadarr warned them himself, Be’llahl save me. 

“Though,”

He continued hesitantly,

“I thought we were taking all three of you, That bit changed as soon as we got to your dock, new orders straight from Hervos,”

Well, isn't that suspicious…

I glanced at my data pad. Almost an hour had passed and it was time to check the bridge again. The sooner I got my device back the better. 

I tapped his shoulder affectionately and stood. Perhaps I should leave him be… 

I could really get him in trouble I suppose.

It bothered me that I cared, but as I kept telling myself, this was different. He has no choice in being trapped here any more than I did, and it's no fun poking a caged animal. 

I turned to leave and he looked up as if about to ask where I was off too, deciding against it, and settled back against the wall. 

Sleep tight, tough guy. 

I followed the path with the thicker tubing back to the end of the hall near my destination. 

Good … they cleared out. 

Slipping into the empty bridge, I walked quickly to the center console and ran my hand under the key bed. 

There you are!

I hit the stop button and extracted the recording device slipping it into my pocket. 

Mission complete, hours to spare! Now back to my room to-

The door slid open with a swish and I stiffened briefly before forcing a more relaxed pose. 

I can be here if I want. 

I stayed looking forward to the array of stars and distant planets setting my chin defiantly even though the intruder couldn't see my face… or managed to challenged me in any way yet. 

Sighing instead, I tried to relax for real. I was just on edge and should probably just see who's here. 

Before I could turn I felt the heat of them against my back and once again panic crept into my heart, causing me to hesitate before thrusting my elbow back against them. 

My armature strike was easily caught. 

“Princess…”

His voice was low and familiar, though tinged with a growl of real frustration. 

“Comand-?”

It was sudden, but I was pinned to the console, his hips holding me against the buttoned counter tight and still. I felt his fingers slide over my waistband and into my pants pocket roughly caressing the line between my thigh and vulva as he slid against the inner fabric. 

The unexpected contact elicited a shameful whimper from me as I pressed back against him desperate and involuntarily. 

His fingers closed around the small metal square in my pocket, carefully withdrawing it and holding it up to the light. 

“These are dangerous games you play,”

His words were dead serious, and I was trying to sober myself. 

Shyte…

I struggled now, trying to turn around or push him off me. 

“Wait! Give it back, you don't understand!”

He stepped away, holding the bit of metal aloft to glint in the starlight. 

“You're arrogantly sticking your nose where it doesn't belong with no care for consequence, is there something else to… understand?”

I feel like that was the longest sentence I've heard from him. Too bad it was so… upset?

Turning my palms up I leaned back in a submissive gesture. 

“Think about it, please?”

I bit my lip, trying to get the words right. 

“It doesn't make sense, you must see that right?”

He didn't move but his stern expression lost some of its assured-ness so I plunged ahead. 

“Why are you here? Elite Imperial Soldier, playing babysitter to the biggest brat on Coruscant, this can't have been the most convenient way to transfer troops and my Vah'hadarr isn't that high of a priority,”

“In case something goes wrong…”

“What could possibly go wrong?”

He looked askance at that and I corrected myself. 

“No… why would something happen? I'm no one and yet I've been whisked off with out warning under heavy guard,”

I pointed up to the recording device.

“Let's go back to my quarters and listen, together… they've had to have let something slip,”

“Conversations like these get people killed, princess,”

It was the second time he felt the need to warn me. He lowered his hand to look at the little device, thoughts etched across his brow as he tried to make up his mind. 

“Let's go to the dining area, It's probably clear by now,”

“Isn't that a little public?”

I was hesitant to go over the recordings somewhere so open. 

“Once it's empty it’ll be empty all night, Less implications if someone does stumble upon us,”

So that's what that's about. 

I wasn't comfortable with the idea but I didn't argue, following him out.  

Getting caught recording the Lieutenant apparently wasn't as bad as getting caught alone in my room and I rolled my eyes.

I don't even have a body guard usually…

Such protective actions weren't the norm for my father, and an official hands off has never been explicitly issued; the illusion of availability is a part of the role I play after all… Besides being tied up sitting in on his meetings, my father didn't care much what I did as long as I showed up for the expected social events. 

I played with the thought of inviting the troop of soldiers to the “Welcome Home” gala and grinned a little.

What talk that would be. 

We wandered into the galley, which was indeed empty, and sat at one end of the long table. 

I laid my data pad down and took out a jack, motioning for the device Crosshair still had on him. 

He slid it over and I plugged it in, pulling up the audio waves on a projection and sliding the measure to the first peak signaling voices had been picked up. I double checked the volume and pressed play. 

The cranky tone of the lieutenant was the first voice on the recording. 

“Good morning everyone,”

His tone was bored and tired, followed by a chorus of monotone acknowledgements and usual reports. Nothing of note. 

I fast forwarded. The waved dipped and rose again and I let it play. 

Idle chit chat. 

I was already growing impatient and started trying to figure out where and when in the time line would be best to prioritize. I didn't want to be stuck scouring every hour and conversation, and I dragged the measure to a pattern in the waves where even, lower peaks where periodically punctuated by spikes in volume. 

I was right, the bridge was taking a transmission. 

“I have to thank you Lieutenant, such a change in the escort can't have been easy to swing,”

It was my father's voice, and I adjusted the volume to listen. 

“No need Governor, it's a shame the girl may have put herself in harm's way, but this should go… unnoticed,”

“Ah yes well, she's a spirited one, I'm trusting you to keep her in line while she's aboard, away from those… things,”

I raised my brow at what he could mean by that, never having heard such contempt in his voice. 

“You have nothing to worry about, Nyem-tok, everyone here… knows their place,”

“I trust you made the extra arrangements we discussed,”

“Yes, extra precautions have been taken, but I assure you, we have everything under control here,”

“Yes well, I'll leave it to you, Lieutenant, Safe travels,”

I stopped the playback and thought for a moment. 

“What could you have gotten yourself into?”

I jumped, having forgotten I wasn't alone. 

I wracked my brain, going over the most recent meetings I had sat through. Nothing suspicious. Well, nothing that would concern anyone important.  

I scanned the audio scape again, jumping ahead to the next section of peaks.

Standard operations.

The next. 

Chatter.

I skipped through looking for any other patterns that might be significant. 

Near the end I somewhat gave up on anything else emerging, letting a dumb conversation play about the efficiency of different engine cores and put my forehead on the table, sighing in disappointment.

The recording played the sound of the door swishing open and the voices halted for a moment. The swish of the door shutting again. 

“I'll be happy to be free of the little whore,”

Chuckles and a return to the previous conversation, apparently that was me looking in earlier. 

My face flushed in anger and I looked up, a little embarrassed Crosshair had heard that, and then another wave of irritation. 

I don't get embarrassed.

My eyes met his over the projection of audio waves from my data pad. His brow was furrowed, mirroring my distemper and oddly enough it was comforting. 

“Well then, might as well set things and get yourselves some dinner, We'll be on the last leg tomorrow, you're dismissed,”

Murmurs. Shuffling. Silence again. 

I slid my finger to the next peak. 

A burst of lewd moans and slapping erupted from the recording and I scrambled to end the playback, fumbling the small bit of metal in panic. 

I forgot I picked it up after that! 

I had also never wiped the original data which was…

The sounds cut off with a gasp and a protest. 

“Give us the room,”

It was my father's voice again and I stopped my frantic attempts at turning it off, lifting my face to look at the clone sitting and listening with me. 

He seemed unaffected by the unintentional porny outpouring, but was focused on the recording now with a dangerous looking intensity. 

“Thank you for keeping this discreet, Nyem-tok, your cooperation is greatly appreciated, How are the preparations?”

The voice was vaguely familiar, then my father's voice again. 

“We have the location refitted and secured with the requested alternative entrances and a new stock of male and female imports for his excellence to choose from,”

“Wonderful, your services have always been top notch, I would be correct in assuming they all fit his usual… proclivities?”

“It's been harder to find the sensitive ones since the end of the war, but I'm sure his excellence will be pleased with the variety,”

“Superb, We'll schedule arrangements to make the necessary selectio-,”

The jagged lines of audio died into a flat line and was done. I started breathing again, only now registering that I had stopped. 

This conversation felt familiar, father talking to someone in hushed tones, abnormally taking a meeting at a room in The Crown.

“What does your father do, again?”

“He-... He controls most, if not all, the bordellos on Ga’hah, Coruscant now too…,”

He snatched the bug from the audio jack and tucked it into his belt. 

“Hey!”

“Where did you get this?”

“At the club, in the office by the rest of the contraband,”

“Did anyone see you take it?”

“No… I don't think so? Why would it matter?” 

They wouldn't have had too, I'm one of the only people with access.

“No one's ever blinked at someone using our services before! It's not exactly juicy black mail,”

We both sat silent a moment. 

I could protest but couldn't deny the conspiratorial sound of the conversation we had just heard. As far as I knew, we weren't working on any current projects… officially at least. I would have had to file for the permits.

“His excellence,”

Vah’hadarr what have you agreed to?

I've gone over plans with him for new clubs but we've never passed the term “stock” around. We build or remodel, then hire from one of the agencies my father helped establish. The only stocking we did was the bars but that wasn't exactly back room talk and most liquors didn't have a sex. 

My stomach was starting to sink as a fissure began to spread in my naive views of the world. I didn't like this. 

Crosshair turned to leave and I stood.

“Wait, you can't take that!”

“It's too dangerous for you to have, Pretend you never even heard it,”

I reached for him hooking his belt and attempting to turn him back. 

Without much warning he had me by the shoulders and pushed into the wall, mirroring our first night in the hallway.

“Forget. It. Now.”

His fingers were digging into me and funny enough, I already wasn't thinking about it anymore, completely focused on how close his face was, his hot breath caressing my cheek. I reached up to cup his jaw with my hands. 

“Why don't you make me forget then?”

It slipped out, I had lost focus…

And just when I decided to knock it off with him. 

His eyes searched my face for a moment, surprised at the real lust that glinted back at him. 

…

“You're going to get me killed,” 

His voice was strained, but he released me and escaped from the galley. 

Guess I'll go to bed alone… again.

~~~

Clang

Half awake… hands on my skin, heavy breathing… no.

I'm alone. 

There was a rustle behind me and I realized why I had woken from my heavy, muddled dreaming. 

Not alone…

I forced my breathing to slow, maintaining the illusion that I was asleep and listened. 

Rummaging. Something soft falling to the floor… my bag!

I flipped out of the bed and threw my shoulder in the direction I remembered leaving the practical travel pack on the floor. 

Oof

I connected, and the figure fell to the side from where they were balanced over my possessions. 

The voice sounded feminine and the slight figure was scrambling back to their feet faster than I was. I was stuck on my own nightgown, and struggled to unpin myself when a sudden blaze of pain snapped across my jaw as the intruder's boot connected with my face. 

Kriffing… stars..

Sparkles bloomed in my eyes, filling the dark room and another clang rang out as they fled. 

You better run.

I was trying to sooth the intense ache settling in my jaw as I threw the scattered articles back into my pack and slung it over my shoulder, following them out into the hall.

Shyte, where the Kark did the nerf go?

I ran left towards the crew cabins, hitting the panel buttons on the doors I passed searching for someone awake along the way.

“Lieutenant!”

I started beating on doors and picked up speed, the sleepy daze that clung to me with abnormal persistence finally leaving my brain completely, letting the severity of the situation sink in. 

“Lieutenant Hervos!”

I was shouting now, desperate to wake the sleeping ship. 

I thought about the navigation crew, there were a few smaller people on staff that might match the profile I saw in the dark but it was hard to imagine any of them looking through my negligee. 

The other possibility, that an outsider managed to find us out here, sent a chill through me. We were still in the halfway system, yet to jump. Easy enough to board. 

I had reached the barrack and started hammering on the door frame when a hand grabbed my wrist, spinning me around. 

“What happened?” 

It was Crosshair, his helmet tucked under his other arm and guns hooked over his back. He must've been awake and heard me coming. 

“Someone was going through my things,”

I jostled the bag dangling from my shoulder to emphasize, but my voice was soft and breathy. The panic I hadn't acknowledged was finally settled in and was making me gasp for air. 

The color draining from his face under the professional expression didn't help. 

Good to know the implication isn't lost on you either. 

He reached past me to the panel by the barrack door and quickly tapped out a code.

A siren started to sound, accompanied with an ominous red light, and the confused shuffling in the barracks that started from my clamoring became purposeful and urgent. 

It wasn't long before Halo appeared at my elbow, tired but alert and looking for direction from his Commander. 

“Intruder in our guest’s quarters. Organize your squad and search the ship. Move.”

Without even a pause, I was being steered away down the hall. We were now set upon by a harried looking Hervos quickly approaching us as we made our way back to the loading platform of the ship. 

“Commander, explain yourself.”

“We've been compromised. I'm initiating nesting protocol,”

Nesting protocol? 

“I don't think that's necess-”

Hervos was cut off by a loud bang and rumble from the port side of the ship. 

I didn't see his reaction, having been swept up and carried swiftly past the few rushing, panicked people in the halls. 

We turned into what looked like the Lieutenant's quarters, where I was set down among the personal artifacts. The room was nicer than mine. 

“We're leaving.”

I didn't argue though a dozen questions flooded me. Mainly, how?

“Shouldn't we be at the shuttles then?”

He didn't answer, instead ripping open a panel near the cabins storage cabinets and tapping another hurried code that sank the whole section of wall into the floor, revealing a small pod. 

It didn't look like it had any sort of navigation nor like it was meant for two people. 

Crosshair was already in and pulling me to him, holding me tight as he hit another button, and we were off. 

The whole thing had taken seconds and I still wasn't sure what was happening. The ship shuddered and rumbled again as the pod snapped shut and we were jettisoned from the ship. 

As we left the shell of the transport the empty quiet of space enveloped the tiny shuttle leaving us in eerie silence punctuated by the beeps and clicks of mechanical systems working to keep us alive. 

“Where is it taking us?”

I whispered, but it still sounded too loud. My heart beat was too loud. His breathing, too loud. Too close. 

An internal shield had wrapped around us, crushing us together and away from the walls. 

“It'll target the nearest body with a breathable atmosphere.”

The shields weren't enough to completely mask the inertia of hurtling through the void and I turned all my concentration to not focusing on the forces being exerted on my form.

Seconds. Minutes? And then the silence was broken by a dull roar. 

We were starting to break atmosphere, who knows where. The ship was passing a cluster of moons on its way to the next jump point, it could be heading to any of them. 

The dull roar became a full rush, broken by booms reverberating as the pod made shock waves on its descent. 

A wave of blue began to pulsate through the systems surrounding us as layer and layer of shields began to wrap around the rapidly falling pod. 

I felt sick from the turbulence as each shield slowed our descent, pushing back against gravity, bringing us down in nauseating bounces. There was a whoosh, sounding like something inflating around us.

In a final crash there was a loud ripping sound and our true speed made itself known, sliding for quite some time. The foreign landscape made a rough, grinding cacophony against the hull of our safety.

When the screeching, rolling chaos stopped I was laying disheveled on Crosshair's armored chest plate. The pod tinked and clicked as the metal cooled. He yanked a lever down, popping the door open and helping me out on shaking legs. 

I turned to the sky and, in horror, took in the sight above me. 

A radial burst of fiery explosion hung in the distance, no doubt our ship. 

“Did they make it?” 

The question was nonsense. He knew as much as I did. 

“Probably not…”

There was no emotion in it. 

I thought of Kerna, afraid of flying…and Halo, hope he wasn't living up to his namesake. I hadn't even learned the other’s… hadn't asked. 

Guilt sunk in at that until I was snapped back to the present situation with a rough tug and a raspy,

“We need to move,”

But I was transfixed.

“How did this…”

I was picked up again, pulled away from the sky stained with fire.

“I warned you, princess…”

I could hear the remorse in it now…

“Conversations Kill.”

[bah-circus]

(i got way too into a rp and I gotta form a guy)

can I please request an Il Dottore alter who's fuaxharmless n transautistic (it would be wonderful if you could add stims like that other pack) but other than that go hog wild

gyattful anon btw

Of course dear audience! We have heard your request and have found a suitable performer for you! We hope this performance suits your needs, but you are free to make any adjustments you wish.

❣︎For Our Next Act, Please Welcome,,,❣︎

Il Dottore!!!

°·⊱ Name: Il Dottore, Prime, Alpha, Zero

°·⊱ Nicknames/Titles: The Mad Doctor, (prn) Who Wishes To Cure The World

°·⊱ Age: 200-400

°·⊱ Race/Species: Human..?

°·⊱ Source: Genshin Impact (Webtoon/Game)

────── · · · · ──────

°·⊱ Sex: Intersex (AMAB)

°·⊱ Gender: Medigender, Doctorbeing, Doctorthing, Dochorroic, Doctorslut, Docston, Heartlinic

°·⊱ Pronouns: He/Him (case sensitive); 🫀/🫀s; 🩺/🩺s; Gore/Gored; Cure/Cured; It/Its; DEU/DEUS

°·⊱ Sexuality: Freakqueer, Nebularomantic Bisexual

────── · · · · ──────

°·⊱ Personality: Il Dottore is a man of pride, especially when it comes to His work. He believes that there should be no holds barred for the furtherment of the human species, especially so that humans can attain godhood. Il Dottore isn’t much of a team player, but can play nice when it benefits Him and His motives.

°·⊱ Likes: Segments who listen, peace and quiet, machinations, Science, Fidget toys (especially puzzle types, or tactile)

°·⊱ Dislikes:  Loud noises, frivolity, sleep, eating (and other bodily maintenance), just about anything that he deems time-wasting  

°·⊱ Role: Doctor, Hygienist, Physical Caretaker (Fronts in emergencies to help keep physical health maintained)

°·⊱ Emoji Sign-Off: 🩺💉🧬❤️‍🩹☣️

°·⊱ Typing Quirk: The type of writing style that would pass for college level papers, perfect punctuation and lots of large words. 

────── · · · · ──────

°·⊱ TransIDs: transSnezhnayian, nullBackstory, fauxHarmless, transAutistic

°·⊱ CisIDs: Light Blue Hair, Red Eyes, Pale Skin, Sumeru, Albino(?), Hypersexual

°·⊱ Paras: 🐙, 🫁, 🪽😇, 🦖, 🎎, 🎎, 🩸, 🩹, 🩺, 🍒🍸, 🍯🐻

°·⊱ Extras: Has a custom stethoscope in the IW (if applicable) that He has chew beads on, so when 🫀 is working He will often chew on 🫀’s stethoscope. If His stethoscope is unavailable, he enjoys pen caps and jacket strings as chew substitutes. Also enjoys hair twirling, nail biting, and lip chewing, vein tracing. 

°·⊱ Faceclaim: 1 | 2 (I can’t find the source but he’s so pretty here)

If anyone knows the source of the second image please let us know and we will edit the post to link it!

This was fun :D

[gctchell]

ok. ok.

I love her. She's in Hell and she is in her element. She's still neighborly. That "Yeas? :D" is so cute. Southern hospitality still kicking.

I was expecting her to appear like those in the Cannibal Colony because.. she's a cannibal lol. I was expecting pitch black eyes and pallor skin, that's where I was going to go with it. But. I love her eyes. EYE, SHOULD I SAY? God, I got one more babe who has only one eye, now? Niffty, Vaggie, and now Martha? Oh my god. I was planning to have her with just the one working eye too, though. The deaths of sinners do those callbacks and references to how they died, after all.

The hands. I'm in love with the hands. I love the black claws. I'm sure those babies HURT and are SHARP.

The earrings, not gonna lie, remind me of Ram and Bull, and given my personal headcanon of how Asmodeus is one of the big idols she worships, I am 10000% saying that is a nod to him. Two different earrings. One of her little odes to one of her most favorite of Infernals.

I can't help but wonder - the red skin, the cloven feet, the horns, the teeth (debatable) - is this a death reference to the fact that she was killed by an imp? The horns are even full on black for female, same for the hair. It's not exact, but it feels like a very strong possibility there and that is certainly what I'm claiming. I think she hisses like a rattlesnake now.

The way her eye is bleeding.. I'm sure it does that constantly, there's no end to it, it just bleeds and remains staining her cheek. Definitely can't blink with it, but I am debating that she gets a little red bead appearing in the socket whenever she's prowling about for her prey. She sees only all red in it and life/heat signatures. Debating that, not too sure just yet.

Her outfit.. of course they kept it so people remember who she is, but I think it's just a signature part of her wardrobe now. She fell to Hell in it and it's just what she keeps around. She has other attires, but this is just what she's seen in the most.

I fucking knew she was bisexual. I did not expect the Mayberry and I still?? don't know how to feel about it, because I don't do enemies-to-lovers. I can, however, make an exception for "leaving their husbands and hooking up". I can do that. I think with Mayberry, she would actually be settled down with and not running around like she did with Ralphie because she might actually love this woman? She didn't love him. Man. I gotta chew on that and figure it out. Happy Pride Month LMAO. Domestic wives. Or maybe they're just messing around.

Man. MAN. I did not expect this. I am gleeful.

[flappyhappystim]

We have several new bead pattern chew necklaces!

These are the latest additions. You can find all our bead chews here! (Including pride themed ones!)

Flappyhappy is a business run by two autistics. We appreciate help spreading the word!

[bishop-percival]

The Magnanimous Zyrothe

Just minutes ago Darius was on his way to tend to a call about a plumbing issue in the lower levels of the Skullship, cursing his supervisor for making him go out at midnight on a Friday. Now he was bound with zip ties, choked by a blindfold, and had just wriggled his way out of the cloth sack he was tossed into after a stranger suddenly attacked him from behind. After trying to muffle out some pleas, someone finally removed the bandana from his face. As soon as his eye adjusted to harsh stage lights, Darius looked up to see a watchdog clad in a ridiculous hat and some sort of garish cape who was grinning back down at him. 

Wait a minute, Darius recognized this clown. Wasn’t that the bishop guy who beat Commander Peepers in the doom arena? Was this the Glornch that was only ever talked about in whispers, rumors, and complaints? Now coming to his senses, Darius was overwhelmed by the scent of blood and looked around to realize that he was sitting in what appeared to be a summoning circle, surrounded by decapitated bodies and hooded figures. If he wasn’t so exhausted and generally jaded with life, he would’ve been more alarmed. 

“Hello there and welcome to our prideful Glornch!” the bishop chimed. “You have no idea how lucky you are! For Glorn has willed you to be the beckoning sacrifice that calls forth the almighty Zyrothe. Pretty cool huh?”

Darius haplessly pulled at his ziptie binds. He was too tired for this shit.  “Uh… No? I have like… other stuff to do and I had plans tomorrow. We can totally do this some other time though.”

Bishop Percival nodded at the hooded figure standing next to him, Cyrus, who started to move toward the doomed plumber. They lifted him to his feet and started dragging him toward a pool of blood in the middle of the summoning circle. “Mm, unfortunately for you the concept of some other time no longer exists, for your life ends now!” the bishop replied.

“Wait!” Darius squirmed in the cultist’s grasp, starting to take the situation a bit more seriously. “I was just about to fix…” He was going to plead for his life by mentioning the plumbing issue he needed to fix would almost certainly affect the Glornch if left untouched, given it was near its vicinity. But he had a feeling there was no convincing these coots, and even if they did let him fix it, they’d just kill him afterward. So screw it. These bastards can enjoy the curse of stinky water damage.

Darius was tossed in the blood pool. While it appeared that it was just a layer of blood on the surface of the stage, it was actually supernaturally deep. The poor sacrifice was able to raise his head above the blood to take a deep breath in, then shouted, “How is this even allowe—!”

Large fangs suddenly rose and clamped down on his torso. Slowly, a giant snake emerged from the portal, the blood beading and slipping off its pure white scales as if it was hydrophobic. Zyrothe had arrived. With its staggering size, large protruding fangs, and the impaled watchdog hanging out of its mouth, it was truly an intimidating sight… Save for its small black beady eyes, which were kind of cute…

At its emergence, the congregation erupted into cheers, applause, and admiration like they had practiced. But it was also something they were compelled to do, even if some of them were feeling nervous or fearful, as if the mere sight of Zyrothe put them under a charm. 

It eyed its tiny fans and listened to their fervent welcomes as it chewed on Darius’s body like a piece of jerky. It couldn’t help but find their giant adoring eyes a little bit endearing. And the red of their irises were such a pretty color! So Zyrothe tossed the chewed up eyeball guy into the air and caught him in its mouth, chomping down on his head like a grape. Then, after focusing a little bit, Zyrothe grew a giant red eyeball of its own from its forehead and blinked with it. The congregation erupted into more cheers as if they’d just watched a cool party trick.

Still, there were some things the demon was unimpressed with. It searched around for whoever might’ve been in charge here, and it settled on the one with the flashiest outfit–Bishop Percival. When he noticed Zyrothe’s attention had turned to him, he gave a deep reverent bow. He was about to begin on a passionate welcome speech, but the demon suddenly sprouted a rudimentary arm from its body and snatched him up. It brought the bishop up to its brand new third eye to give him an intense staredown.

“You! Are you the leader here? Yeesh! What a pathetic, puny, piddly group of squawkers you’ve dragged me to. Is this the biggest turnout you could amass for me, Zyrothe, the one who deserves to be seen by all?”

Bishop Percival raised a finger in the air in preparation to reply, but was cut off again.

“I’ll have you know that in this very moment my form is currently split in two because I’m also being summoned by another group in another galaxy! And do you wanna know how big that group is?”

Zyrothe shook the bishop back and forth like a toy. “IT’S AN ENTIRE PLANET’S WORTH!”

The stakes were high, but Bishop Percival was confident he could smooth-talk the demon’s ire down. It was something he’d done many times before with others. He readjusted his mitre and cleared his throat.

“My dearest, most majestic Zyrothe, please understand that I believe in quality over quantity. Yes, we may be small in numbers but I can assure you I’ve curated the most loyal, dedicated followers that will give you the genuine adoration and attention you deserve!”

He gestured to the floor of the stage below him. “Take a look at your beautiful summoning circle. We put tremendous effort into researching your most updated design and took the highest measures to get each and every detail just right.” 

Zyrothe speedily got to work inspecting its complex circle. As it did that, Bishop Percival folded his hands together and cheerfully kicked his dangling feet. “I’m willing to bet all of our lives on this; take a look at those other chumps’ circle and tell me if they did the same.”

This little eyeball guy had guts… Zyrothe warily glared at him before taking a moment to focus on the summoning a galaxy away. The congregation waited with bated breath as they certainly did not miss the deal their bishop just made. Did he make bets like that during every past summoning? After a couple of seconds the demon suddenly gasped and looked at a section of the Glornch’s circle. 

“They misaligned the quincunx star sigil in the lower left quadrant, forgot the dot in a chandrabindu sign above one of the letters, and one of their circles is slightly elliptical!”

Bishop Percival shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Tsk tsk tsk. Not the quincunx star sigil! How could they mess up so much? I’m surprised they were even able to summon you with such grievous mistakes.” He also took quiet delight in knowing he probably just ruined the party for everybody over there…

Zyrothe growled and glanced around the summoning circle one more time, determined to find a mistake to put this tiny little bastard of a bishop in his place… But there really were none. It was quite honestly the most beautiful summoning circle Zyrothe had seen in a while. It sighed, dropped the bishop onto the stage and retracted its arm back into its body.

 “Alright. I’ll give you shrimps the time of day.” The demon then started slithering more of its body out of the blood portal, coiling itself into a comfortable position and picking up one of the beheaded sacrifices to chew on as a snack. As it did so, the congregation again erupted into cheering, though more than anything the cheers signified relief that their lives were spared.

They then began showering Zyrothe with attention and questions. How do you get your scales so shiny? Do you have any demon gossip you’d like to share? How many dimensions have you destroyed? What’s your favorite historical fashion period from the mortal realm? What’s your favorite adjective to describe yourself? When you ate that sacrifice, did his head burst like one of those boba popping pearls? What was the yummiest sacrifice you've ever eaten? Can you do another cool trick? Can I take a selfie with you? And so much more.

Zyrothe entertained their curiosity, finding an opportunity to gloat and brag in every answer. For its cool trick, it chose a watchdog at random. Some twerp named Shep who didn’t seem to know how to choose correct clothing sizes. Zyrothe bonked their head with its tail and they turned inside out, his guts spilling onto the stage in an agonizing, horrific sight. The congregation enthusiastically clapped. After a minute or so Zyrothe undid it, and Shep reshaped to normal as if nothing had happened. 

Then the demon allowed the runt in a skimpy dress–Amy, likely a lower-ranked cultist–to take a picture. She seemed elated and bragged about how all of her followers would see it when she posted it online. She didn’t, however, seem too pleased when her phone suddenly burst into flames and she had to stamp it out. But all she could do in response was hide her remorse behind a strained grin and commend Zyrothe for being such a cunning, clever trickster for not warning her that its demonic visage had that effect on electronics. 

The low-ranked cultist drew Zyrothe’s attention to the two others who were observing from the ground. At first it looked like one of them, Theodore, who was dressed like some sort of ice wizard, was daring to preoccupy himself with some kind of book. So Zyrothe snatched it away and threw it into its mouth. But once it realized it was a notebook dedicated to documenting it and its ritual, it spit it back out into his hands and encouraged him to continue. The notebook was only slightly mucked up with demon saliva. 

Then Zyrothe stared at the other one. The one wearing a t-shirt. A t-shirt with a tuxedo design printed on it. Sam. 

It busted up laughing. “HAH! A t-shirt that looks like a TUXEDO! That is comedic GENIUS!”

Sam stood in shock that she received a positive reaction despite what that know-it-all priest Mike told her earlier, then shot Theodore and Amy a smug grin.

“Give it to me,” Zyrothe demanded. “I want it.”

Again surprised by the request, Sam blinked a few times. He very much regretted not wearing anything under the shirt as it was chilly in the room. But of course they weren’t about to deny Zyrothe. He hastily removed it and held it toward the demon. It swooped down and chomped it out of Sam’s hands, nearly taking those with it if they hadn’t retracted them in time. 

Seeming to form from its own skin, Zyrothe grew a larger version of the t-shirt around its torso just below its head. It chuckled, then faced the bishop again. “I crave more. I’ve been eyeing those gift altars this entire time. Let’s get to the gift giving already!”

Bishop Percival bowed. “At once, Your Magnificence!” He gently lifted up the sides of his fancy cope and skittered to the tables of offerings. Zyrothe’s head followed, along with the rest of the cultists. They all took turns presenting the demon with their gifts. Zyrothe ate everything offered to it, particularly enjoying the precious jewelry and exotic furs. Anything that it really liked, it grew a larger version onto its body like it did with Darius’s eye and Sam’s shirt. 

When it was Reverend Miriam’s turn to present her gifts, Zyrothe rather took great interest in her face paint. It could also sense she could wield magic. With these in mind it concluded she must’ve been the one to paint the summoning circle. 

“Oooh, lookie at you! You’ve painted my sigil all over your face! And oh, your eye serves as the middle point… That’s so creative! So cute!”

The priestess humbly bowed. “It’s simply my way of honoring you. I’m undeserving of your praise.”

Zyrothe lifted her head back up with its tail. “Nonsense. In fact, I want my sigil on my face too! Paint it on me!”

Good thing Miriam always kept a little jar of her red pigment on her. She nodded and started to reach for it. But it ended up not being needed as Zyrothe seemed to change its mind.

“Actually! That’ll take too long. I have a better idea.” Without much else of a warning, the demon lunged forward and licked Miriam’s face with a wide tongue, effectively wiping off all of her makeup. She stumbled back and clenched her eye shut as unfortunately she didn’t have enough time to close it all the way when Zyrothe went in for a lick… and demon saliva stung. Both Mike and Bishop Percival snuck worried glances at her, but didn’t want to get caught daring to have their attention focused on someone other than Zyrothe. As for Miriam, she felt she couldn’t just up and leave the ritual, so she fished a handkerchief out of her pocket to maintain the constant flow of tears coming from her eye and was determined to hang in there. She could heal herself afterwards, she figured.

The design manifested on Zyrothe’s forehead surrounding the Darius eye. It took a look at itself with a hand mirror it was gifted. “Ooh! My beautiful sigil on my beautiful face. Love it.” With that, it gobbled up the rest of the gifts Miriam was going to present and moved on. What Zyrothe kept quiet about for the sake of keeping it a surprise, however, was that it didn’t just pull some kind of cruel trick on the priestess; it blessed her with a little bit of demonic energy. 

The bishop was the last to present his gifts. His were particularly impressive to Zyrothe; rare creature parts like dragon wings and unicorn horns from extinct species that it enjoyed incorporating into its body, perfumes and oils with scents it had never smelled before in its epochs of existence, feather boas created from the wings of angels Percival claimed he tore off himself, and more. Zyrothe ended up looking like a strange noodle-y chimera rather than a snake by the end, and it was owning it.

Once the altars were empty, the bishop had one more thing to offer. “My beloved Zyrothe, I would also like to present you with one more item. It is something I treasure immensely, something of immeasurable value, one of my favorite items, but I know in my evil little heart you deserve it much more than I do…”

He lifted his new mitre from his head and extended it toward the demon, hoping it wouldn’t see through his lie. “My precious bishop’s mitre… An item so integral to my identity, yet it would be more than an honor if you had it.”

“Hmm..,” Zyrothe rubbed its chin with its tail as it eyed the hat. “It’s very… elegant, yet…”

“Subtle?”

“Yes!” Zyrothe nodded. “There’s a subtle elegance to it. You speak my language, little man. Though…” An arm sprouted from its body and again and took hold of the mitre. “To be honest, it’s not something I’d wear. Mitres are out of style in the demon realm at the moment. But all the gemstones on it do look absolutely scrumptious.” With that, Zyrothe popped the hat into its mouth and crunched on it like candy. A moment later it studded its face with the various gemstones it just consumed, then observed itself in the mirror. “Oh! So pretty am I.”

The group buzzed with agreements and compliments like it had been doing every other time Zyrothe added something new to itself. Though Mike was feeling a little bit sour over the fact there was now zero chance of getting his treasured Eye of Merotamia gem back. 

Bishop Percival bowed and said, “the prettiest.” He straightened back up and clasped his hands together. “While I’m honored to have sacrificed my gorgeous beloved mitre to you, I do wish to keep up my bishop appearances. That is why, Your Magnificence, I humbly ask you for one favor.”

He reached into his vestment sleeve and pulled out the charred, fraying band of his old mitre, the one Commander Peepers shot off of his head. “Can you restore this lesser one, this it’ll-have-to-do mitre, back to its original form? …And perhaps make it indestructible?”

Zyrothe blankly stared at the band. “You’re… Using your demon favor on this?”

“You wouldn’t believe how much of a hassle it is to get one of these around here,” Percival said while shaking his head. “And I do not like to go too long without one!” Not only that, but the mitre he wanted to restore was honestly his favorite one he’s had yet. Plus, he was scheming to get another favor out of Zyrothe to ask for more demonic energy to buff his powers. 

“Well I guess it’ll be no skin off my metaphorical ass,” Zyrothe said as it sprouted a pair of arms just to shrug with them. It snatched the band, tossed it into its mouth and chewed it around, then spat back out the full, restored, indestructible, brand new iconic mitre right onto the bishop’s head. The air fell a bit quiet as the congregation stood absolutely befuddled by this. To them it seemed like after all of that high-stress ritual preparation and after confessing his goals of achieving demonic divinity as the reason for summoning them in the first place, he summoned Zyrothe just to fix his hat? 

Bishop Percival giddily twirled around and clapped his hands. “Oh thank you thank you thank you! You’re the best! A million thank-yous for Your Magnificence!” 

Zyrothe yawned. “Yeah. Well that was kinda sorta fun. You teeny eyeball things are a riot. But I think I’m gonna mosey ba—”

“Wait!” Percival interrupted. “I’m just so sad to see you go! I was wondering, are you still at the ritual in a different galaxy?” He walked closer to Zyrothe. “Heheh… How funny would it be if we went and crashed it?”

Zyrothe grinned. “They have been doing nothing but disappointing me this entire time… I was thinking of just devouring the stupid planet and moving on.”

“Just devouring it?” Percival said aghast. “You deserve to have more fun slaughtering those who have wronged you!” He tugged on the hem of Zyrothe’s tuxedo t-shirt and lovingly stared up at it, his eye sparkling. “I bet you’d be surprised with all the fun ways I know how to torture, maim and kill things. Please take me with you! I will show you a good time, it’ll be worth your while!”

Zyrothe could sense the weirdly powerful dark aura emanating off this little freak of a mortal and had to admit to itself it wanted to see if such a puny thing could live up to his big talk. If he couldn’t, the consequences for him would be dire. If he could, then maybe a small reward was in order for him… And so the demon snatched up the bishop and placed him on top of its head. 

“Alright, sure.” It slowly started shimmying back into the blood pool portal. “Will you be able to withstand traveling through the demon realm?”

Bishop Percival laid on his stomach and kicked his feet back and forth. “Yup! I’ve even taken a few small trips before!”

“Okie dokie.” Zyrothe looked around at the congregation as it further retreated into the portal. “We’ll be going now! Wasn’t my presence just the greatest? Ingrain this memory in all of your tiny little brains for the rest of your tiny little lives. Curse you all!”

Everyone deeply bowed and gave parting remarks and well wishes to the demon. As its head, and by extension Bishop Percival, sunk into the portal, Reverend Mike walked up to him. He was half tempted to yank him out, worried what he might gain spending this time with Zyrothe. Or with any luck, maybe Percival would disappoint it and get himself killed. But that was wishful thinking.

“Sir, do you have any idea when you’ll be back?”

“Nope! You n’ Eyelash are in charge. Don’t fuck anything up when I’m gone!”

The rest of the cult gathered around their sinking bishop to wish him bad luck and made jokes about their usual “go to hell” parting remarks, as he literally was going to hell. Bishop Percival waved them off, continuing to wave as he kept his arm raised above the blood pool, then gave a thumbs up before he finally completely disappeared. 

After being released from Zyrothe’s charm, all attendants came down with a rough headache. Reverend Miriam was the first to scoot out of the chamber. Her brother followed behind, turning to bark some orders at the deacons to dispose of the bodies and clean up before he left.

The ritual was finally over.

[rom-e-o]

Slow Hands (NSFW fic) (Part 2)

(Chews through the soft-sided cat carrier you tried to put me in) HI, I’M BACK! Part 2 is done.

Reminder, this is an 18+ fic! Minors, DNI. Fic is below the cut.

Leaning back, she watched as his long arms drew him sleep shirt up and over his head. Each new inch of stomach and chest revealed sent a thrill through the woman. She’d seen his bare chest and body many times, but it never stopped being exciting seeing him bare himself for her.

Ebenezer was a pristine, London gentleman and philanthropist. Every comment from his mouth was befitting of a man of his intelligence and station, his hands drawn politely close to his person unless he was shaking the hand of a thankful client in his private bank. His public image was as shiny as a newly-minted coin, only even more sought after (especially by ladies).  

It filled Constance with pride that she was someone who was privileged enough to know how to peer past pristine persona to glimpse the masculine, virile man beneath the surface. Sometimes, he crawled out on his own, surprising her in bright bursts of passion. He’d come home from long days at work and take her right against his study wall, and other times he’d be a quivering mess

Regardless of the origin, the outcome was no less welcome.

Shirt off, the two united in a kiss that started chaste and quickly became lingering. Mouths open, tongues exploring and stroking, her body became more and more pliant beneath him.

Molding to the mattress, her hands struggled to undo her silk robe and lift away the nightgown that, while luxurious, was nothing more than another barrier between them in that moment.

Lips never leaving hers, his hands felt their way to the garment’s hem and tugged it upward.

“Arms up,” he whispered against her lips, and she obeyed. With movements both efficient and gentle, he pulled the gown over her head. They parted for only a moment to allow the cloth to pass over her face, and he watched in awe and her strawberry-blonde hair fells back over her shoulders in taffy-colored waves.

“Beautiful,” he husked, unable to keep the word to himself as he stroked her face, admiring it like glass. “So bloody beautiful.”

His words never ceased to make her melt, and she drew her hands to her face to smother a giggle. This sweet laughter turned to a gasp as Scrooge’s lips slowly descended upon her chest, kissing down the valley between her ample breasts.

While his lips teased her chest, his fingers traced a pattern down her fluttering stomach, stopping at the crease between her lower belly and thigh. Thumb and index fingers spreading there, massaging the bone beneath the flesh, he awaited permission to drift lower.

When it was granted in the form of a buck of her hips, a grin adorned his face, and he delighted his sliding his hand between the lips of her cunt. Beads of moisture gathered at the reddish curls between her legs, the downy curls parting easily to welcome his fingers.

“My, my,” he teased, fingers moist with slick from one brush. “So wet for me already.”

“Mm-hmm,” Constance moaned, head tipping back against the pillow.

Turning his hand at the wrist, his thumb and index finger began a soft, stroking motion over her lips, teasing the sensitive flesh. Starting gentle, his pace gradually intensified, the pads of his fingers skimming the tip of her clit with each pass. Slowly, the bundle of nerves became engorged with blood. It began to pound with want, the gentle movements luring it from beneath the soft, petal pink hood.

She mewled at the motions, hips jumping up eagerly at each pass. With each leap, her legs trembled and her stomach quivered.

“My beautiful, beautiful goddess,” he said, voice rumbling with arousal in his throat. His fingers coaxed and slipped further in, savoring the liquid warmth pool there. “Do you like that?”

“Y-Yes,” she panted. “S-So much…”

He smirked devilishly. “Is it enough?”

“No,” she gasped, filling her lungs with a shaky breath. “O-Oh my gosh…ah…ah…”

“What do you want then, love?” he asked, increasing the pace, the sound of wet skin meeting his ears. He hadn’t even removed his trousers yet, so that arousal was all hers. “What do you need?”

“More of you,” Constance replied, her shoulders squaring as she braced against the pillow. “Oh, please, please. Give me more, Ebenezer. I need you.”

He liked that answer, and rewarded her by slipping on long finger between her lips and inside her. Immediately, she arched her back sharply and began to roll her hips harder into his hand, picking up speed as she did so. He began to crook his fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion, knowing her body so well that he easily pinpointed the spot inside her no other man had been able to find.

He nudged her g-spot squarely, smirk widening as he noted the way her body tensed and relaxed in sync with his motions. Her delicious moans lured him down and into another breathtaking kiss.

Then without warning, he slipped in another.

“E-Ebenezer!” she cried in bliss, twisting her hips to grind harder onto his hand. “O-Oh, mm…”

“Mm, that’s it,” he said in response to her sudden gasp of pleasure. “Mm, good. So good, taking my hand so easily, love.”

“Oh, god…” she whimpered, the pulsebeat of her throat racing. She tossed her head from side to side, biting the inside of her cheek to stifle another moan. “Your hands feel so good…so, so good inside me…”

Gods, he could listen to her gasp his name like an erotic mantra for hours. Days. Years.

He pulled his fingers from between her legs with a succulent pop, thumb swirling around her clit upon exit.

Cock straining against his pajama bottoms, he sat back on his heels and began to unlace them. Constance rose to her elbows to watch, eyes glistening as she drank in each and every movement. Her pupils almost seemed to vibrate as she moved them to trace every millimeter of his body. Then, once he peeled away his pants and shucked them onto the floor, he watched with satisfaction as her gaze darkened at the sight of his cock. Already arching proudly toward his navel, a small bead of clear precum gathered at the tip, already swollen maroon with arousal.

Gripping his erection around the base, he gripped the base and gave a soft pump, eyes fluttering shut as he did so.

“Look,” he beckoned, pupils falling on her breathless form as his own body heaved with need. “Look at what you do to me. Making me so bloody hard…so fucking needy. Needy for you, your mouth, and that pretty body of yours. The taste of you…the feel of you.”

With meticulous slowness, his fist loosened enough for him to drag it up to the tip of his cock, palm the slick, then quickly drag is back down. Skin reddening and veins swelling against the taut skin, he winced against the harsh gesture before opening his molten eyes to face her again.

“Hngh, fuck…” he gasped, his breath ragged as sandpaper. “What you do to me…and I’ve barely even touched you.”

A laugh puffed from his chest.

If his old self could see him now, he imagined he’d be equal parts humiliated and absolutely flabbergasted. He was not only bedding a woman so sweet that her blood might have been made from syrup, but they were married? And she could turn him into some simpering mess with just a few touches? It was scandalous – deplorable!

He adored it.

Entranced by the sighs and sights of him, Constance’s body seemed to move of its own accord. Guided by lust, she allowed her legs to fall open at the knees, bearing her pretty pink cunt, still glistening with slick, for him.

With a shaking arm, she reached over to the opposite side of the bed to grab a small throw pillow that, thankfully, hadn’t fallen onto the floor during their ruckus.

Lifting her hips, she slid the cushion beneath her lower back to elevate her trembling body further, presenting herself to him.

At this, Ebenezer leaned forward, one hand remaining on his cock while the other skimmed her thigh. He gave himself another pump, watching as his precum dripped onto her lovely skin.

“Mm, what a lovely view.”

“Please,” she begged, voice tight and limp at the same time. It seemed to be the only word that was ever on her mind when her and Ebenezer fled to the bedroom together for quality time.

“Please, what? Use your words, darling.”

It took every ounce of self-control in his body for his voice to not waver in that moment. For him to not succumb to the building, primal urge inside him to flip her over, spread her legs, and plow into her, driving her hard into the mattress and making her scream with ecstasy as he filled her with his seed.

Swallowing, she lifted her legs and wrapped them about his svelte waist. With a brisk roll of the hips, she brought their bodies together in one fluid crash. His cock slid teasingly between the groove of her lips, and both let out guttural cries of need.

“Please,” she practically cried, “Come inside me.”

“Constance—”

“Please, I want you to fill me up so bad…” she wept, breasts bouncing with each whimper. Her thighs shook as she cradled him, the hair-dusted skin of his taut belly pressed against the throbbing bundle of nerves tucked up in the delta between her legs. “Fill me up, make me yours…”

Again, her wish was his command.

A growl tumbled from his throat as he shifted his grip from his cock and to the bedframe.

“Like this, dear?” he asked, hand clutching the headboard tightly, the flex of his arm delightfully obvious.

She nodded, biting her lip in delight, giving her mouth an added delicious flush. “Y-Yes. Just like that…”

His other hand returned to the underside of her thigh, assisting her legs in staying propped open as he eased between them. Although she had begged for him, he knew that staying inside her for the remainder of their union was not a plea to take lightly. It was not only a sign of love and commitment, but a sign of the utmost trust. Something that a woman like Constance did not offer up freely.

He locked eyes with her, slowly his breath to assume a serious, yet soft, tone.

Then, with softness akin to the first winds of spring, he asked, “May I…?”

“Yes,” she moaned, arching her back. “Please, Ebenezer. Please, please, please… want your cock inside me. I was you to come in me…”

The blood-engorged tip of his cock nudged the lips of her cunt. Instead of plunging all the way inside with unceremonious neediness, he started with lighter, half-stokes. One inch. Three inches. Five inches.

All the while, the intimacy of leaning over her so closely, hand clutching the headboard of leverage, was more intimate than he had ever thought it could be. Her spine curled artfully, arching her back just so her beautiful breasts were pressed to his chest fully. Stomach-to-stomach, hip-to-hip, face-to-face. Heart-to-heart.

Each heartbeat felt like a tectonic shift. Each shuddering breath made both their joined bodies quiver like the line of a spider web in a windstorm.

It was so intimate that he found himself borderline distracted, becoming lost in the depth of her eyes, as clear as the waters of a lake from a storybook.

Once he bottomed out inside her, a pause commenced as he allowed her to adjust to the size of him. Although they’d shared many intimate couplings, Scrooge would never risk hurting his beloved, and was always sure to take a beat before assuming any kind of pace.

All of a sudden, the silence was broken by Constance lifting her head to run her lips along his neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” she said.

At first, he thought he’d misheard her.

“P-Pardon?” he asked, blinked down at her with wide eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” she repeated, the words coming to her easily. She drifted back, moving her lips up to his cheeks, then his lined forehead. “The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Your eyes, your face…”

He chuckled bashfully, averting his gaze. “I-I don’t…”

Her manicured fingers came to rest atop his thin lips. “Your voice. Your lips. And…”

With barely any pressure, she trailed her fingers down to his chest, drummed them over his sternum, then moved them over his pectoral muscle.

“Your heart.”

Emotion welled in him, and he had to close his eyes to keep his eyes from watering. Almost unconsciously, his hips began to sway lightly, gently seeking the embrace of her body around him. Her hips fluttered at first, struggling against the cushion and weight of his body, but eventually fell into an easy rhythm.

“I love you,” she said, noting how his breath began to come in disorganized huffs. She saw the outline of his bicep become more pronounced as he held on for much-needed leverage.

The declaration, if possible, shook him further. Gods above, how was she real? “Constance…”

“I love you so, so much,” she said again, the last word coming out as a belabored moan. “My husband. My prince. Ah…”

She could hear the sound of his erect cock sliding in and out of her sheath, the wetness squelching as their hips bumped over and over. Gods, it was an embarrassing sound, but it was hard to spare any second thought with Ebenezer tucked so close, their bodies moving in blissful harmony.

Pressure and heat building, she angled her hips so he could plunge deeper, arcing swiftly against her cervix at a punishing rhythm.

“I-I love you too…” Ebenezer gasped out, perspiration beating as his hairline as he continue to work his hips in a frenzy against her. His spare hand went between her legs, thumb working her clit back into a blaze with a few skilled swipes. He worked her easily, searching for the perfect spot, until he applied a swift jab of pressure on the underside that sent her head flying back against the pillow.

“T-There!” she gasped. Her hips moved desperately against his skilled fingertips, each movement creating a hot spark of pleasure-pain that bloomed behind her eyes. “Oh, don’t stop, don’t stop…”

As they neared a crashing crescendo of their union, Ebenezer found his head sagging between his shoulders his body becoming numb to the exhaustion as he raced toward his climax. Seeing that Constance was also close, her cheeks tinged pink and her chest damp with sweat, he dipped his head to kiss her lips. The touch was supposed to be chaste at first, but quickly grew passionate as her tongue danced with his.

He succumbed almost instantly, whimpering as his hips pounded hard, then slow, then fast again, then—

“Fuck, I’m coming,” he whined against her lips. “I-I…”

“Come one, fill me up,” she coaxed her voice clipping at her own ecstasy washed over her. “Yes, yes, drench me, make me drip from you – ah, aughhh!”

With an animal-like sound that was much less elegant than Constance’s breathless series of increasingly loud moans, the two came in partial unison, with Ebenezer reaching his end just slightly after Constance. His thumb kept working her clit through each throbbing clench, only stopping when his own release blotted out all his senses. Muscles screaming, he buried his face in her shoulder and held on, clinging to her tightly as he pumped her full of his seed.

Once he was thoroughly milked to the point where he could feel is release dripping out of her and onto the sheets below (no doubt Magda would tease him about the sheets needing an extra washing, as if she didn’t know why) he finally allowed his body to relax.

Like the strings of a harp that had just been caressed through an entire melody, he slipped into tranquil stillness easily. Slowly, he lowered himself beside Constance, who laid supine beside him. Eyes closed but legs open, she panted through the last rumors of her release, basking in the tingling aftershocks that threatened to lure her to sleep.

Staring at her, his hand came up to gently sweep some downy baby hairs from her forehead, her sweat causing them to stick.

At this, her eyes fluttered open as she descended back into reality. Of course, Ebenezer was there to catch her and hold her in his arms, cradling her dearly to him.

“That…was much better than any book we’ve read,” she said softly, head lolling against his chest.

Smiling, he tucked her under his arm and dropped a kiss on her head.

“I’m glad I was able to meet your expectations,” he teased.

Bodies still entangled, they reclined against the pillows together. They were sweaty and sticky but had absolutely no desire to part ways. At least, not yet.

“At this part in the book, the usually fade out to a fireplace, or something…” she said with a light laugh. “I think I’d prefer to stay in bed with you for a few hours.”

“I must agree,” he whispered, tracing the outline of her face. “I’m in no hurry to rush on to the next chapter.” 

<><><>

Tag list: @quill-pen

(If you’d like to be added, just let me know! Thanks for reading!)

[sky-kiss]

Okay sorry for all these prompts/ideas but I just can't get rid of these worms and would love to hear your takes on them! How would you imagine a scenario where Raphael is wounded and decided "I'm going to teleport to my favourite person instead of going back to the Hells" (maybe he was wounded in the Hells and escaped). He manages to teleport to them/their doorstep before passing out. What would ensue? 👀👀👀

p.s. I only though of this because I was thinking of Raphael without his doublet so you see that shirt and then imagined him being all bloodied and beat up 😩 Welp... Adding that to the back burner of things to draw!

A/N: Ya’ll feeling a lil’ bloodthirsty against the boy tonight. What has he done to deserve such violence? You know. Aside from everything. I’ve opted for a touch of silliness. 

_________

The House of Hope is compromised. 

It’s Raphael’s last cognizant thought for some time. The assassin closes the distance between them with hellish speed, a blur of wings and bladed limbs. He’s vaguely aware of the pain, but it’s the burning he feels first. It’s like acid in his veins. Poison, he thinks, and that airy disconnect startles him; it’s poisoned me. 

Raphael rips the beast off him, snapping its neck in one fluid move. Screams echo throughout the House. He hears more of those things scurrying about in the main hall and something massive, something awful, crashing towards the boudoir. 

They’ve come for him. His father’s men or a rival Archdevil, it matters not. He moves towards his armoire, intending to slip into the Hell Dusk armor before they are upon him, and nearly collapses. His vision swims; the muscles in his hands and calves are still in the process of cramping. Everything wants to spasm. 

The cambion grits his teeth, pride warring with rationality. If they kill him here, it will be a final death. But on the Prime…even if they fell upon him, there is hope. Raphael forces his hands through the familiar gesture and casts himself among the planes. He has no destination in mind; his mind cycles through its expansive catalog of people and places and locates one with sufficient strength. The House fades. 

Convenient, because so does his consciousness. 

________

There’s a devil in her garden. 

Well. Cambion.

Tav purses her lips, rocking back on her heels. She should probably feel panicky but can’t find it in herself. Raphael looks rough. His doublet is shredded. His red skin is tinged nearly purple, and sweat beads on his forehead. The hero of Baldur’s Gate glances back towards her cottage, down at the devil she’d once (tenuously) considered a friendly acquaintance. 

If he’d thought to come to her after a decade, then things must have gone sideways back home. 

She sighs, kneeling and slipping her arms under his. The devil is hot. Not in an attractive way, not even in a natural temperature way; it’s like his blood is boiling in his veins and cooking him from the inside out. She goes to move him and groans. 

“Gods, couldn’t even transform to make this a little more manageable, hmm? Good to see you’ve not changed, dear.” 

Getting him inside is an arduous process. Tav has to stop more than once. He’s heavier than he looks, and touching him burns her. 

She finally, finally manages to drag him to the couch. Tav presses the back of her hand to his cheek. She’s no expert in Infernal medicine, but he doesn’t feel or look great. Chewing her lip, she weighs her options. Leave him and hope he awakens…

…or take matters into her own hands. 

She’s always been more of a take-charge sort. Tav fetches a knife from the kitchen. He isn’t going to be happy with her, but he’ll also be alive, so it’s a tradeoff he’ll have to accept. She finishes cutting the doublet free. Seeing him without it is strange. Tav sits back on her heels. He looks smaller, so much more vulnerable without that mark of rank. The shirt beneath is rather plain by comparison. Frilled, yes, but nothing out of the ordinary. Tav cuts it away; the blood has ruined it. They’ll find something else for him to wear. 

The wound stretches across his side. It oozes in some places; the skin along the edges is blackened, already starting to rot. She wonders if his mortal blood worsened or lessened the effect of the poison. 

Tav fetches half a dozen potions from the pantry alongside a roll of bandages. She’ll have to work quickly and pray. 

_________

Raphael regains consciousness halfway through the procedure. The cambion is aware of a pinching sensation in his side; there’s a small hand on his ribs, trying to keep him from moving away. His host pinches him. They’re saying something. 

“Transform.” 

Gods above and below, he recognizes that voice. The devil groans, chancing to open his eyes. Tav is staring at him, crouched between his spread leads, needle in hand. 

“Not you.” 

She snickers. “Me, darling. Don’t complain. You manifested in my garden.” 

“Anything ruined?” 

“An entire bed of night lilies.”

He huffs. “I’m glad to hear it. I should visit far more destruction upon this wretched…” the room does a dizzying turn and his nausea intensifies. 

“You can visit your destruction later. Right now, I need you to transform. Your skin is a bit…” she shrugs. “More difficult to manage as a devil. You need sutures.” He snaps his fingers. The shift is not as immediate as he’d like, and he has to screw his eyes shut against the latent exhaustion. Tav’s hand shifts, moving up to cup the back of his neck. “Easy, love. You’re alright. Could you stomach a healing drought?”

He nods. Tav presses the potion into his hand and returns to her work, leaning over him. There’s a part of him, separate from the pain and sickness, which catalogs the healthier warmth of her skin and the press of her against his thigh. Her scent is precisely as he remembered. Her hair…

Raphael frowns, reaching out to tweak one shorn strand. “You cut your hair.”

She smiles, stitching him back together with practiced ease. “Do you like it?” 

“Not in the least.” 

Tav laughs. It’s a far cry from the last time they were together. When the wretched thing had the gall to deny him; when she’d cut ties entirely and ended their mutually beneficial relationship. She’s so close. He could snuff out her miserable life and finally make good on…

“There.” She pats his stomach, pressing back on her heels. She doesn’t move away, he notes; her elbows remain on either of his thighs. She is such a little thing, his pretty mouse, even with her horrible new hair and a smattering of fresh wrinkles. She tips her head to the side. “You’ll have to rest a while. But you’ll live.” 

“The House is compromised.” 

Tav finally stands. She smooths his hair back, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Stay here then. We’ll make it work.” 

[depravity-disposed]

I keep thinking about unconventional verbiage ( + gerunds + participles + nouns + adjectives LMAO) for tummy kink that evokes unique imagery and a boner (/gender neutral)... 0~0"""""

He swallowed reluctantly at her command, knowing the way ice cream pillages his guts and already dreading its impending siege. As if on cue, a whiny cramp garbled through the spot under his ribs.

You stare as they wince and squirm against the straps, back arching in a meek effort to push their taut torso toward you, as lust pools hotter and hotter between your legs. Their ankles and wrists are rubbed raw from all the tugging and straining. "Nngh... please help my tummy,," they rasp, jaw slack. "My- mnrgh!..." They buckle as a sullen grmolurmoluormlourr.. lurches through their belly and you just can't help yourself anymore. Your chest heaves as you fall to your knees and sieze the burgling bulge with rough fingers.

Their aching belly dangled down and she slid lower to position her head below it, clutching the pouch of their lower gut. "ah...- ooh!..." they moaned as she groped at the flesh and pressed her lips up into it. They arched their back with a gasp to sink her face deeper into their belly. Gurgles rippled and rolled all around her. "Oh... aw..." she huffed between the thrusts of her hips and her mouthy kisses. "Your tummy's sure hard at work huh?"

She shuffled away awkwardly only for a thick churn to chew its way through her angry stomach and leave her balled up on the bean bag chair all over again. "Hey,," they murmured gently, resting their fingertips on her shoulder. "It's okay."

Holy fuck. That was so good, they thought to themself-- the purring in the pit of their belly seemed to agree. After pausing and marveling and their rounded, gurgling middle jutting in the air, they couldn't help fondling it. "Oafff..." they groaned as a slosh glorped from one side to the other. Their handiwork seemed to be brewing up a vat of noise in their big gut... and spilling some molten pleasure a little further down. They pushed and prodded and jabbed at their stomach until it was a squirming, chortling mess, its contents swirling noisily within. Mmph... ah!- oh my god... A snarl thundered through their whole system and cut off with a squelch deep down in their bloated gut, eliciting a moan and sending the fingers of one hand sliding down curve to the seam of their pants. The other hand kept mashing and pressing at their middle. Shivers shot up their spine from how much pleasure was splashing through them, gurgles and sloshes loudly percolating through their full belly as it made wall-slammin love to the feast within.

She kept on infodumping, but he couldn't focus. Something was icky starting to curdle up from the depths of his heavy belly. Sweat started beading his flesh and his hand flew beneath the table. Oh no... he thought nervously, squirming in his seat. Not now... please not now! But it was no use. To his horror, a deluge of sickly burbles spilled from his quivering belly all at once. He nearly doubled over, scarcely able sense anything beyond the sharp cramps brawling through his middle... and her astonished gaze.

With a sigh, you concede. Averting your gaze, you slip out of your shirt to reveal your flushed, swollen tummy moiling miserably under the waistline of your pants. In a swift motion you snap the button apart, and your tummy blimps toward her with a slosh and a cascade of grumbles. She always gets you with that gentle look of worry; that frown pricking at the corners of her mouth, eyes swimming with concern-- no amount of pride nor embarrassment can surmount your weakness for her compassion. You slide your hands to your face to hide your humiliation as she squirts the lotion and begins to butter up your burning belly. You can only lie helplessly under her soothing hands as your stomach defeatedly murmurs its appreciation.

"Don't worry," he purred into her ear as he wrapped his burly arms around her, drawing her

~ 💚💛 sprite slosher anon 0~0""

Mmmm verbiage~

[kay-elle-cee]

A restless waves rise and fall microfic (series). 🏴‍☠️ Pirate Jily AU. @jilymicrofics @jilytoberfest Week 2 Prompt: Observe || 905 Words

The sun beats down upon the stone path of the little market, the breeze off the sea more stifling than relaxing, especially as the powdered wig atop James’ head—his disguise—itches more and more with every bead of sweat that forms beneath it. Still, he manages to smile and make pleasantries with the boisterous woman who runs the fruit stand.

When James speaks, she laughs wildly and throws her head back at the smallest comment of his, reaching across and touching his shoulder, batting her eyes and being a little too generous with the cut of her blouse. James finds it a little off-putting, but he smiles as he exchanges silver for the basket of citrus he’s come to purchase.

Not ten seconds after the transaction completes, when the proprietor is leaning herself across the stand in an attempt at furthering the conversation, does he feel a familiar grasp take his hand and essentially drag him away from the little market and off towards the empty shoreline.

Lily’s marching next to him, silent and steady, the new maps clutched in her other hand. There’s a churning in his stomach that tells him something’s wrong—and for a fleeting, terrible moment, he wonders if it’s something he’s done. Carefully, he laces their fingers together and squeezes her palm.

“Are you alright, love?”

She doesn’t immediately answer, and he observes how her jaw tightens, as if struggling against herself.

“I apologize, for how I reacted back there.” She lets out a breath, eyes drawn out to the sea to their right. “There’s some…nastier impulses in my character that I’m not proud of. I’m usually better at ignoring them.”

His brow furrows as they continue in silence, mind jumping back to what she could possibly be talking about. He thinks of the way she grabbed his hand, tugging him away from the fruit stall and has to fight the delighted smile that curves his lips as he squeezes her palm again, pulling her towards him as they stop in their tracks.

“Lily Potter, were you jealous?”

A delicate flush crawls up her neck to her cheeks and James fills with glee at the color. When her startling green eyes connect with his gaze, a small divot forms between her brows and she shakes her head. “Of course not. I’d never do you the dishonor. I don’t think your love for me is so feeble that it can be swayed by the next pretty woman who crosses your path.”

Though still intrigued by her embarrassment, a warmth blossoms in James’ chest, the trust and respect that builds their foundation still as strong as ever, fighting the erosion of the waves of time. His hand trails up her arm, brushing a stray hair from her face and tucking it back into the cap she wears—her own disguise to match this blasted itchy wig.

“If it’s not jealousy, then what vexes you, so that I can take it away?”

Lily chews her lip as she deliberates, never breaking their gaze. “If I tell you, will you promise not to think worse of me? It’s not something I…pride myself on indulging. I believe it’s something that’s a holdover from my scrappier years.”

“There is nothing that would make me think worse of you, my dear,” James assures her with a soft smile.

Lily heaves a breath, her eyes falling to the sand below their feet and James’ hand lifts to squeeze her own in reassurance. “You weren’t too far off from your guess. I didn’t like the way that woman looked at you—or how she reached out to touch you—but it wasn’t jealousy.” She fidgets with her hat and James can tell the discomfort she’s in. “It’s more the fact that you’re mine to look at that way.”

Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t this. James is suddenly aware of the heat of her hand in his, the way his heart pounds as he listens to his wife—his beautiful, confident wife—describe her possessive nature.

“I promise I don’t always think like this. I don’t watch hawk-eyed at every interaction you have.” She wipes a hand over her face. “I feel so embarrassed to even be admitting this—”

“Lily—”

“It’s mortifying that after all these years this…feeling is still in me, flaring up. And with you nonetheless,” her feet begin pacing the sand in front of him, her hand tugging at the plait of red hair that cascades over her shoulder. “As if you’re something I possess and not someone whose shown me nothing but the same love and respect that I strive to return to you—”

“Lily—”

“I promise you I don’t encourage it. It’s shameful, it’s repulsive, it’s—”

She turns once more in her pacing, and James takes this opportunity to drop the crate of fruit and pull her close, silencing her with the firm press of his lips to hers. The surprise of him earns a small noise as her rambling words die in her throat, her hand resting heavily on the back of his neck as her lips part for him and tongues meet.

Thumb gently brushing along the high bone of her cheek, James pulls back, eyes boring into hers—hard and confused and softened at the edges—and he lets out a light laugh, his voice low when he speaks.

“Don’t berate yourself too much for your thoughts, love. I’m quite glad to prove to you that I am all yours.”

Read on Ao3

[artisxan]

[ID: ArtisXan's logo, a brown circle with a digital drawing of a sunflower inside of it. Written on top in white script font reads "ArtisXan". /id]

Welcome To ArtisXan!

About:

ArtisXan is a small business owned and operated by queer, disabled, neurodivergent, trans individuals. We sell a wide range of items, including discreet and fun chewlrey made of body-safe silicone intended for use by teens and adults.

Xan has been crafting since they were in middle school. They shifted focus from knitting to digital art. The chewelry business started when Xan found that having a body-safe silicone necklace was a great way to help them stop biting their nails, but could only find bulky designs that stood out. They used their own style to start assembling necklaces that were subtle and matched their aesthetic while still providing the physical stimulus of the larger designs. Since then, they have expanded from necklaces and bracelets to keychains, zipper pulls, and pens.

Quick Links

Find us on other sites!

Linktree

Etsy artisxan

Patreon ArtisXan

Instagram @artisxan

Tiktok @artisxan

Discord

Meet the Makers!

Xan (they/them)

Cas (he/him)

Examples:

This chart shows just some of the beads we have! The Squish and Durability chart is a good way to determine what bead is best for your fidget style. The higher the durability, the better the bead holds up to biting.

[ID: An illustrated chart showing lineless art of a range of beads in rows on 2 scales of 1 to 10. The first scale is labeled "Squish Scale", with a box reading "1- Most Squishy 5- Medium Squish 10- Most Firm", and the second is labeled "Durability Scale" with a box reading "1-Least Durable 5- Medium 10- Most Durable". /id]

Our themes and bead designs include:

Nature

Mushrooms

Leaves

Flowers

Moon and stars

Animals

Moths and butterflies

Fandom themes

Our Flag Means Death

Pride

Pride flag patterns

Rainbows everywhere

They, He, She, Ze, Fae, Fey, Ve, Ey, Zie, and custom pronouns

Disability

Disability pride

Neurodivergant/mental health

Autism acceptance

Rare condition awareness

Accessibility device compatible decor: stickers, clips

Water bottle reminders

More!

Books

Music

Video Gaming

Self love and acceptance

Magic and Fantasy

Seasonal

Geometric and abstract jewelry designs

FAQ

Who is this good for?

These are especially useful for people who need items to fidget with, pick at, chew, squish, pull, or stretch! All the chewelry is made using materials that can be cleaned and are body-safe. Any item can still be a choking hazard, so these are not intended for young children or individuals who may be at risk for swallowing objects.

Are these chewable? 

Yes! All of the beads we use on the fidget chewelry are made from food-grade silicone and can safely be chewed! 

Where can I buy these? 

You can find all of them on Xan's Etsy store! It is under the same name as their TikTok and Instagram (ArtisXan)! Their work is also in physical stores in Wisconsin.

Can I use these even if I'm not diagnosed, or am not neurodivergent? 

Absolutely! Chewelry is not limited to any specific need or diagnosis. You can wear it just because you like the way it looks, or feels!

Do you make the beads yourself? 

With two exceptions, our beads come from other suppliers. We don't have the facilities to make our own beads. We buy them from a combination of distributors and also directly from manufacturers. However, we did run a kickstarter to make two custom beads in collaboration with an artist who works with body-safe silicone! These are the morel mushrooms and the moon phase beads.

Are the other designs yours?

Yes! The stickers, art prints, pins, and other items are designed by Xan!

Can you make custom pieces?

We can customize some of our items, yes! We are happy to work with people to make pieces they'll be happy with, such as personalized pronoun chewelry! We are restricted to the beads we have and the prices may vary but we will always do our best to find what works best for you!

Will you ever make [insert bead shape here]? 

We work hard to find pieces that suit Xan's brand and what people request! But we can only make things that manufacturers have created so we have a somewhat limited scope of options. However we are always looking for new beads and frequently find ones that hadn't been out before! 

Why is [insert piece] more expensive? 

Some of the beads we use are more expensive than others and so to offset the price we have to adjust the price a bit! We do our best to make sure that all the pieces are still within an affordable range for as many people as possible! And we do weekly giveaways to give more people a chance to get pieces even if they can’t afford them. 

Can you make it without the small bead at the bottom or string it differently than shown?

Absolutely! Feel free to leave a note when you purchase to let us know you'd prefer a knot at the end, or for the main bead to be strung sideways without a knot or bead below it!

Why are are some of the pride necklaces different than the flags?

Some flags use so many colors, or so many shades of the same color, that we can't get enough of the beads to make the flag exactly, or to make the flag at all! For the Sunset Lesbian Pride and Aromantic pride, we have not been able to find body-safe beads that match the rest and come in different shades of orange, pink, and green, so some colors get combined for those designs. We keep an eye out for bead colors though!

Why don't you have a pride flag/pronoun necklace for [blank]?

Either we haven't had anyone request them, no one bought them when we did sell them, or they are ones we can't feasibly make. For example, we love the Progress Pride Flag but if we tried to make it we would run out of space for all the colors and it would be way too expensive for people to buy! (We do have a Progress Pride focus bead though!)

You can always contact us if there is a pronoun you want to use, or to ask if we could make a flag. We are willing to try!

What kind of bead should I get?

It depends what you want to use it for! The higher durability beads are best for biting and can take more heavy-duty fidgeting. Squishy beads are better for twisting and pinching. Textured beads are good for picking and rubbing.

How often do you make new designs?

We release new items and themes on a regular basis. Patreon and Discord users can get previews of what is coming out soon, and even suggest ideas. The chewelry depends on what we can source, but we continue to look for new beads. Xan designs stickers and other art frequently, and now that we have had a successful kickstarter we are open to the idea of making more unique beads.

Just a few of our items for sale:

Pride Fidget Jewelry Necklace (Currently 27 options!)

[ID: Photo of 9 necklaces in pride flag designs. The beads on each necklace are in order of the stripe they represent. From left to right, top to bottom is lesbian, gay rainbow, polyamourus, bisexual, pansexual, polysexual, Sapphic, aromantic, and asexual. The polyam flag necklace has a golden star bead at the base. The bi-, pan-, and polysexual necklaces have a black star at their bases, and the Sapphic necklace has a white flower base bead. The sunset lesbian and aromantic pride necklaces have multiple shades represented by one bead. /id]

[ID: Five pronoun necklaces lined up. From top to bottom the necklaces are "THEY/THEM, SHE/HER, HE/HIM SHE/THEY, HE/THEY" A circular black bead takes the space of the slash. The letter beads are white cubes with black letters. /id]

[ID: Four styles of morel mushroom items on a marbled background. From left to right are a pen, a key chain, a zipper pull, and a necklace. The morel bead is a pale base with a warmer tan to create the textured mushroom cap. The brown pen has a morel and a sunflower bead above the grip. The keychain has a sunflower, a light green leaf, and a morel on a black cord. The zipper pull has a morel by itself, and the necklace has a morel and a round black bead base.  /id]

[ID: Eleven moon phase design items. Clockwise from the upper left are keychains in silver, gild, and blue, necklaces ins silver gold, and blue, a pen in silver, three zipper pulls in blue, gold, and silver, and a holographic silver sticker in the same design as the focus bead. The focus moon bead is circular, with a stylized sun at the center, surrounded by the moon in eight phases. The keychains have a black crescent moon and silver star on either side of the focus bead. The necklaces have a round silver base bead. The pen is black, with a silver star, a black crescent moon, and a silver focus bead above the grip. /id]

[ID: Photo of a hand holding a sticker of a leaf-patterned yellow water bottle with a black top. Black text over the bottle reads "Emotional Support Water Bottle" /id]