#send me more words i need sustenance

[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - Violent Delights

Summary - She finds solace in the blood of Daemon Targaryen, igniting a dangerous, seductive obsession. What begins as a repayment soon becomes a dark dance of hunger, power, and primal desire. Bound by blood and passion, their fates intertwine in a web neither can escape.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x Vampire reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!), strong language

Word count - 2321

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

King's Landing was an unforgiving place, even for creatures like me. 

It was a city of secrets and shadows, and tonight I was little more than a wretch crumpled against its cold, unforgiving stone. 

The air was thick and cloying, suffused with the acrid scent of sweat, piss, and desperation. My chest heaved with each breath, each inhale a struggle and every exhale a reminder of my hunger—an insidious, gnawing ache that clawed at the edges of my sanity. 

I tried to push the weakness away, willing myself to think clearly, but every ounce of my being screamed for the sustenance I had been denied for too long. 

I needed sustenance. And I needed it soon.

"Well, well... what do we have here?" A voice, low and edged with dark amusement, pierced through the haze.

A figure crouched before me, his presence commanding and unmistakably dangerous. I lifted my eyes, taking in the cloaked silhouette. Even through my weakened state, I recognized him. 

The silver hair, though half-hidden beneath his hood, glimmered in the dim torchlight. 

And then there were his eyes—piercing violet, like shards of polished amethyst. They assessed me with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.

Daemon Targaryen.

"Too much drink, is it?" he drawled, his lips curving into a mocking smile. His words, laced with mockery, cut through the night, but I could sense a glimmer of interest behind his arrogance.

I managed a weak shake of my head, every movement sending a wave of weakness through my limbs. 

"Not enough," I rasped, the words heavy, a desperate plea hidden beneath their weight. 

Each syllable felt like gravel scraping my throat, a reminder of how far I had fallen.

His brows furrowed, and for a moment, I saw something flicker across his face—an emotion too fleeting to name. I could smell his blood, intoxicatingly rich and metallic. 

It sang to me, calling out with a promise of strength and power.

"Help me," I rasped, the plea torn from my throat. His eyes narrowed, but he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to pull me upright. The veins in his arm flexed under his skin, teasing me with every heartbeat. 

So close, yet still so far.

"And what is it you require, stranger?" he asked, his voice a blend of amusement and suspicion, a smirk tugging at his lips.

I caught the faintest scent of his breath—smoky and spiced with wine, the scent of power and indulgence. It only fueled the frenzy building inside me.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to draw in a steadying breath. When I opened them again, they were no longer clouded with weakness. 

Without hesitation, I bared my fangs and sank them into his exposed arm. His blood flooded my senses, a rush of life and fire. 

He gasped, his body tensing as he tried to pull away, but I clung tighter, desperate for every drop of his divine blood. 

The taste was unlike anything I had ever known—powerful, pure, and exhilarating.

It flowed into me with a molten heat, filling every crack, every dark corner, and rekindling the strength I'd almost forgotten.

With newfound strength, I pushed him back, straddling him and tightening my hold. My hunger was raw and insatiable, and I drank deeply, feeling the energy surge through me. 

Each pulse of his blood was a symphony in my veins, a whisper of promises I had long forgotten.

Finally, I pulled away, gasping for breath. My body thrummed with power, the world no longer spinning but sharpened and bright. 

Daemon's eyes were wide with shock, his face pale. He cradled his wounded arm, staring at me as if I were a nightmare made flesh.

"W-what?" he stammered, struggling to form words as he tried to comprehend what had just happened.

I met his gaze with calm intensity, a faint smile playing on my lips. "What, indeed?" I said, letting the words hang in the air. "You didn't strike me as one who scares so easily."

His jaw clenched, and he shifted, never taking his eyes off me. "You misunderstand me," he shot back, his voice hardening. "I don't scare. I want answers."

I moved closer, the flickering torchlight casting shadows on both our faces. 

"Answers you might not be ready to hear." I reached for his arm again, this time not to bite but to touch the wounds left behind.

"That taste—my taste—lingers, Just as yours does for me," I said softly, letting my voice drop to a dangerous whisper.

I stepped back, pulling my cloak around me, concealing the evidence of what had transpired. My lips were still slick with his blood, and I licked them clean, savouring the lingering taste. 

"I will be back to repay the favour one day," I promised, my voice steady now, carrying the weight of a vow.

"H-how? Wait, what?" he demanded, his voice cracking as he tried to push himself upright. But before he could rise, I melted into the darkness, the shadows swallowing me whole. 

I left him there, alone and reeling as if I had never been there at all.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

A week passed, each day blurring into the next, yet every second a slow torment of yearning. 

It was time to return the favour—or so I told myself. The truth was far more selfish: I craved the taste of his blood. 

Not just any blood, but the rich, forbidden taste of his royal blood—a sweetness that put all this city's wretched veins to shame.

I entered the Keep as if the shadows themselves parted for me, slipping through corridors that should have been guarded and forbidden. 

Stone walls whispered old secrets, but they kept mine well enough. 

I moved with silent purpose, each step drawing me closer to the chambers of the one who had unwittingly captured my desires.

There, in the dim glow of flickering candlelight, I found him. He looked up from the parchment scroll that occupied his hands, his stormy eyes widening, then narrowing with recognition. 

His grip faltered; the scroll tumbled to the floor, forgotten.

"You," he spat, his voice a dagger, as he surged to his feet.

"Me," I replied, a wicked grin stretching across my lips. I crossed the room with feline grace, settling onto the edge of his bed as though it were a throne. My gaze never wavered from his.

The distance between us seemed vast and yet insignificant, charged with all that had passed and all that might yet come.

"You drank my blood," he said, each word dripping with accusation. He thrust out his arm, baring faint bite marks that had not yet fully healed, their scars a fading testament to our last encounter. "Like some cursed witch."

I tutted softly, crossing one leg over the other, leaning back with an almost bored elegance. 

"Not a witch," I corrected, my voice as smooth as silk. "Vampire, to be precise."

The word hung in the air, heavy with implications and truths he could barely grasp.

He glared suspicion and fear warring with each other in his eyes. "It makes no difference. Why are you here?"

I rose slowly, each movement calculated, predatory. "To repay the favour, of course." 

I closed the distance between us in a heartbeat, my fingers finding his wrist. I traced the lines of his veins with a touch that promised both pain and pleasure. 

He shuddered beneath my fingertips, and I felt the quickening of his pulse.

"And," I leaned in, my breath brushing against his ear, "to savour another taste." I bit gently on his lobe, teasingly, before pulling back just enough to watch the conflict raging within him.

"What kind of repayment is this?" he challenged, though his voice trembled.

"The kind you'll never forget," I whispered, letting my lips linger near his jaw. "You didn't hate it last time."

Daemon's breath was quickening. I saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes, but something else lingered there too—something darker, more primal. 

The pull between us was undeniable, even if he was too proud to admit it.

He didn't resist as I led him to the bed, nor did he speak as I guided him down. The disbelief in his eyes was almost endearing—his honour and desire battling for dominance. 

I stripped him slowly, deliberately, savouring the rise and fall of his chest, the tension in his muscles. 

When at last he lay bare before me, I discarded my own cloak, letting it fall to reveal everything he had once dared to want.

"So, you drink blood?" His voice was a thin thread of control, an attempt to anchor himself in reason.

I traced a fingertip along his lips, then down to his throat, feeling the rapid flutter of life just beneath the surface. 

"You make it sound like a sin," I murmured, my voice low and seductive. I pressed my body against his, grinding slow and sensuous, stealing the breath from his lips.

"It feels like a sin," he countered, but the words lacked conviction. 

I smiled, my hips moving with tantalizing precision. He inhaled sharply, surrender written across every line of his body.

"Will you let me repay the favour?" I whispered, threading my fingers through his hair, my nails scraping lightly against his scalp. 

His hands, strong and desperate, gripped my waist, urging me onward.

"Y—yes," he stammered, then found his voice, steadier this time. "Yes." His eyes closed, and I saw him give in, surrendering to this dance of shadows and desire.

I lifted my hips, allowing him to align us, sinking down with a slow, deliberate rhythm that left us both gasping. 

Each movement was a calculated dance of seduction, my body responding to his with an intimacy honed over centuries, each rise and fall a new form of temptation. 

The warmth of his hands on my skin was like fire, igniting every nerve with an electric pulse.

He groaned a sound that made my heart race, and I drank in the noise as deeply as I craved the taste of his blood. 

The raw, primal need in his voice sent a tremor through me, feeding something dark and insatiable within.

"That's it, darling," I coaxed, my voice velvet and dark, each syllable wrapping around him like a chain, pulling him deeper into the web we were creating. 

He met me thrust for thrust, our bodies entwined in a slow-burning fire that felt both ancient and new. 

His hands roamed, desperate to claim, desperate to remember the shape of me—every curve, every sigh, every whisper.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he moaned, his voice thick and ragged, breaking like waves on the shore. 

His hands gripped me desperately, fingers digging in as if to anchor himself to something solid while I moved above him with effortless grace, pushing him closer to the edge. 

I revelled in the rawness of his touch, the way he could never seem to get close enough.

When at last I bared my fangs, his eyes widened in recognition, the flash of vulnerability only adding to the allure. 

But there was no hesitation, no fear. He made no move to stop me, only leaned into the inevitable, as if he had already surrendered himself to the hunger that pulsed between us.

"Let me taste," I purred, my voice thick with the promise of something ancient, something that went beyond desire. 

He tilted his head, his throat exposed to me like an offering, a gesture both submissive and regal. 

In that moment, I owned him, but in his eyes, there was a fire that begged me to take everything.

With a sigh, I sank my fangs into him, and the taste of his blood flooded me, hot and intoxicating—a surge of power and pleasure so potent it made me gasp. 

The sweetness of him, rich with the bitterness of rebellion and the depth of his lineage, took me deeper into a frenzy of need. 

His blood was a drug, and I was helplessly addicted, each swallow a deeper pull into something I knew could consume me entirely.

The strength of him surged through me, and with every thrust, every movement of our bodies, I became wilder, more desperate. 

His blood coursed through my veins, lighting every nerve, every cell on fire. 

I was drunk on him, and the only thing I could focus on was the taste, the heat, the way his pulse pounded under my tongue.

His moans turned ragged, hands clutching, grasping, desperate to pull me closer as if we could become one. 

Our movements grew more urgent, more frenzied, driven by the hunger that neither of us could deny. We were tethered in this moment, bound by flesh, blood, and desire.

"More," he whispered, voice raw and needful, the word a command and a plea. "Take more."

And I obeyed, plunging deeper, drinking deeply from the wellspring of him. The heat of his blood heightened every sensation, every thrust, every movement. 

We were on the precipice of something beyond pleasure, beyond pain—two souls tangled in the ebb and flow of hunger and release.

We reached the peak together, cries of ecstasy tearing from our lips, our bodies shaking with the force of it. 

Time seemed to stand still as the world shattered and reassembled around us, each breath mingling, becoming one. 

His blood, his body, his voice—all of it melded together in a wave of overwhelming pleasure.

Spent and sated, I withdrew, licking away the last traces of his blood, savouring the feeling of him inside me—both physically and in every sense deeper than that. 

I wiped my mouth, the taste of him lingering on my lips, and eased off his body, lying beside him with a quiet satisfaction.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. 

The silence that followed was thick with meaning, the weight of secrets shared and desires fulfilled—of something deeper stirring between us, an unspoken understanding that we were bound in a way neither of us could deny. 

And even though we lay there, satiated for the moment, I knew that this—what we had just shared—would inevitably bring us together once more.

A/n - I finished writing 'Blood of the Night' for Aegon and had to write this 🤭

[katyspersonal]

The best Bloodborne Wiki is a passion project of a single person, is about to get even better + how it can be sustained for years to come!

Hello guys! So like many of you've learned from the post with super good model view of Winter Lantern, recently, on Twitter, Meph announced ( x ) the plan to fill the wiki with very useful, very comprehensive screenshots of the models for bosses, enemies, NPCs and even cut content! The wiki has already been a huge help for lorediggers and artists, but THIS is what we will get:

This page is for Lady Maria and you can check it yourself here: ( x )! It is broken down in the categories of general close-ups of her model, then very high-quality screenshots of every attack during her boss battle and walking, and then raw model!

(I never was able to capture a good look at her using Arcane too like here, for example!)

Winter Lantern page ( x ) is using similar principle!

This is not a secret that very often in Fromsoft games, additional information can be obtained not through descriptions but through visual hints! For example, some people only learned that Winter Lantern's head is made of melted Messengers only now, after a proper look at her model! So, of course getting a proper look at every single character and creature from the game could always be helpful!

This, however, is just a recent highlight for this Bloodborne Wiki! Even prior that, it has been providing invaluable help for the fans! Examples off the top of my head: comprehensive data on what character has what items used or not, great and comprehensive hints and tutorials on upgrades and farming and builds for the players, making every bit of information on Chalice Dungeons and glyphs easily accessible, making datamined NPC sliders of all characters way more accessible and easy to grab and repeat, access to much more obscure models (like Gratia's model), full list of internal filenames and patches progress, making information from physical Bloodborne tutorial book accessible...

There are probably more things to cover that me and others found a great help in, and sometimes we might not even notice! I am sure many people could name at least one way where this wiki has been very helpful, offering raw facts and 100% valid information (and properly sourced whenever someone else helped!) without any speculating, in the most elaborate manner! We should not take it for granted because all this information, found or reshared, was compiled by just one guy out of raw passion for the game! And although this project is not profit-based and Meph is willing to commit to it and pay as much as needed to keep it living, I really still wanted to share the Ko-fi link that exists for anyone who is willing to help sponsoring it!

This is not necessary, and Meph has stated the same, but this project is not only helpful but also really hefty to sustain. The monthly support is only $3 per month, but every little bit not only helps the sustenance, but also knowing how much fans care and simply feeling their support is very significant and sometimes you don't even know how much. Heck, when Meph learned how excited people on Tumblr were about Wiki improving with full compilation of models from every angle.. the reaction was "I am so glad that people still care"! I think everyone who does their best to be useful for the fellow fans needs confirmation that they ARE, for sure, helping!

I just really wanted to get the word out anyways because honestly, none of my super elaborate theories and detailed fanart would've been possible without Meph's Wiki. and also because I am trapped in a clown country where I can't send any international money transfer so the feeling of 'do what I can't' got to me too fsdhfdhs There is no pressure or necessity, but here is the link to anyone who can help and feels the wish to! You've noticed I didn't tag Meph.... since there is no Tumblr account to tag, but again, the Twitter link is also here: ( x )!

[pacentia]

Title: Her gift

Pairing: Astarion x fem!reader

Warnings: Intimacy and cuddles. Bloodsucking vampire man.

Summary: Astarion feeds from your neck in the privacy of your tent.

Words: 1,007

Note: i had to get this drabble out of my system, i love Astarion so much omg 🥹🥹🥹🥹if you have any smut/intimacy / confessions/requests pls send. Pls no spoilers as i'm only in act 1 hehe

You retreated to your own tent at the campsite you shared with Astarion, Shadowheart and Wyll after a long day of travelling. The weather had turned chilly, so for the first time in a while, everyone disappeared into their tent. 

This was much to Astarion's disadvantage, because every night he would enjoy your blood in the open. He'd politely ask for sustenance from you and he was good to fight the next day. You'd let him bite you because… He was your friend and he needed it. And… you felt a certain way around him. You were starting to get closer to the vampiric man recently, and he drew you in more and more as you got to know him.

Anyway - you were curious if the hungry vampire would sneak his way into your tent somehow - and if he'd wake you up. Eventually midnight fell upon the lands, and you slowly drifted off into a deep sleep… Until your sharp ears heard a faint rustling of noise.

Astarion on his knees at the front of your small tent.

"Oh - Apologies, darling…" He started off unsure, "Perhaps I should not be here in the privacy of your tent, I-"

You wiped the sleep from your eyes and sat up, inviting him in, "That's alright Astarion. I forgot you needed sustenance tonight." A little lie to deepen your relationship with him. You finished your words, "It was quite the day again." The vampiric man listened intently to your every word, a small smile hinting on his lips. 

"Indeed it was." He reminisced about the adventures your party encountered today, how you had insisted upon murdering his Gur hunter, small things that he would not forget. After all, these were nice things that he did not experience for 200 years. The man gently spoke, "Perhaps I should leave you tonight and hunt for other blood, you've been far too kind to me these last weeks." 

You shook your head, insisting that he should not leave, respectfully of course. "Please, Astarion." You whispered, and opened your duvet for him to crawl under - while he would feed from you.

The vampire took a moment to collect his thoughts, he wasn't sure whether it was a good idea to feed from you - he'd taken a lot of blood from you already, but at the same time - he was just. so. hungry. Your blood was all that he craved recently. Whenever the wind brushed through your hair, the fantasy of delicious, deep red oxygenated blood rushed through his system, activating his need for you. It was starting to get difficult to restrain himself. But he would do everything in his power to not waste this gift.

At last, he gently crept under your covers and lay next to you, and at the same time you bared your neck below him, swiping away strands of loose hair. The smell of your blood instinctively made him swallow and bare his fangs - his fingers gently tracing the already scarred place he'd sink his teeth into.

"Thank you, dear…" He whispered as his deep red eyes caught yours, bodies aligned with one another. You had no idea how much he desired to tear you apart and drink up all your blood at once. To be a feral monster. Yet, he restrained himself - he made a promise to you to always stop in time, and you had no idea how hard this was for the hungry vampire.

"It's alright Astarion." You reassured him, your hand carefully embracing his body closer, nudging him to set his fangs into your neck. Until he did.

A cold, deep sting pinched at the flesh of your neck, his lips enclosing around the new wound, and he started sucking away like the hungered man he was. Your bodies only tied closer, his large hand supporting the back of your head, your arm pulling him in closer, your leg draping over his - which made you release a small cry of delicious pain. 

Your blood filled Astarion's hungry mouth, spilling from his lips, sucking away at your neck in sanguinic bliss. He softly growled beside your ear in carnal pleasure, his hunger slowly replenished again. Until his focus shifted on the way you so gently held him, drew him closer. He wasn't sure anymore which felt more pleasuring - your warm, insatiable blood - or the dear way you could hold a monster like him.

With all his might he stopped himself, despite his bloodlusting urge to keep feeding, and finally he released with a deep groan, lips covered in your fresh blood. He lapped up the remnants of blood specks on your neck with his cold tongue. 

The tenseness in your body suddenly vanished, and you felt as if you could finally breathe again. You felt more tired, yet pleased to have taken care of his urges. Astarion felt energized as ever, confident, strong, and… protective somehow. He watched you within his hold, slightly weakened after enduring his feeding. He felt so thankful that he had you. That you trusted him. It made him want to… watch over you and take care of you. Stay with you. 

You groaned and opened your weary eyes, only to see him lick his lips clean, his soft eyes watching you carefully. 

"Thank you." He whispered, and indicated his leave.

"You're welcome to stay, Astarion." You admitted in a tired blush, "Unless you wish to hunt." 

He couldn't believe his mind what was happening - you actually wanted him to stay? She already indulged him with her blood - and now she asked for his company? This woman truly intrigued him, nobody had ever been so soft and kind to him.

Astarion's body stayed right where he was positioned, completely aligned with yours - and you automatically nuzzled deeper into his cold chest under the duvet. Your head was tucked under his chin while your arm enveloped his strong core. 

No other words or expressions were shared, there was only quiet and soft intimacy - until the pair drifted off into a deep, wonderful sleep.

[mellowswriting]

I saw your request about fic ideas! I love your fics with javi p and his housewife kink so something with that!

a warm welcome

pairing || Javier Peña x f!Reader

word count || 3.5k

summary || After a two week long work trip, Javier is exhausted and desperate to come home to his wife. Luckily for him, you’re ready to welcome your husband home. 

content || no use of y/n, SMUT, housewife kink, unprotected p in v, kind of rough sex, dom husband!Javier, domesticity kink (is that a thing? i’m making it a thing.), ‘grumpy asshole who’s only soft for one person’ trope, sweet and soft but a little possessive, Javi is pussy whipped lmao

a/n || the way this has been sitting in my inbox for a criminal amount of time... but I finally got inspired by the pure sex this man radiates

Javier Peña Masterlist  |  Main Masterlist

The moment Javier slipped that ring on your finger and made you his wife, he thought life couldn’t get any better. He always knew the two of you would strive to fulfill all those promises, vows of love and support, of a warm and happy life together. He anticipated a typical life - longed for it, actually. Mowing the lawn and going out on date nights. Holidays and sleeping in on the weekends. Arguing over what restaurant to order from and negotiating chores. All of the achingly mundane parts of married life came just as he expected, but it also came with so much more. 

Javier never expected his life to have the air of a goddamn Thomas Kinkade painting. 

Nearly two weeks have passed since he’s been home. The damn agency dragged him halfway across the country to speak at a conference and he couldn’t be more relieved to be trudging up his porch steps. He’s exhausted. All of the traveling and schmoozing he was forced to endure has left him tense and jetlagged, and all he wants is to collapse into bed and forget the whole thing. 

All of that melts away the second he pushes open the front door and takes in the sight in front of him. The living room is lit up with the fire blazing away in the fireplace. Blankets and pillows are laid out in front of it in a makeshift bed, the coffee table shoved off to the side to make room. The robust scent of food lingers in the air, something slow-cooked and rich. And you. Oh, you. Leaning against the archway that leads into the kitchen, wearing that soft black robe and the brightest smile he’s ever seen. 

“Welcome home.” You greet him. 

Javier drops his bags right there in the entryway and closes the space between you in three long strides. This is all he needs. The honeyed sound of your voice, the sweet smell of your perfume, the softness of your cheek against his palm - every part of you sends relief washing down his spine. Javier kisses you like a man starved, as if the sustenance to feed his soul lies right between your lips. Fuck, he missed this. He missed you. 

If the agency ever tries to send him off like that again, he just might have to quit. 

Javier wraps his arms around you and holds you close, taking a moment to simply hold you there in his arms. A relieved sigh heaves from you both and for the first time in weeks, he feels whole again. You nuzzle closer until your chest brushes his and a low, pleased sound rumbles in the back of his throat. It’s obvious you aren’t wearing much beneath that robe. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I missed you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his hand rubbing up and down your back. Your body relaxes into his and something in his chest expands, preens at the safety you take in his embrace. “How was everything while I was gone?” 

“Don’t worry, I kept all the fires burning like a good little wife.” You tease. It earns you a playful smack on your ass. 

“Oh, I know you did. You’re always good for me.” Javi’s fingers catch your jaw and tilt your head up, and he smiles at the way you lean into the touch, into his praise. “But I want to know how it was, what you did while I was away. I want to know everything.” 

You can’t help but go a little weak in the knees when he gets like this. The dominant air about him is intoxicating and every ounce of your being aches to soften into him, to place yourself into the capable hands of your Javi. He’s just so good. Such a good man, a good husband. He loves pampering you and supporting each of your endeavors, no matter how big or small they might be. The balance is soothing. The equal meeting of needs, soothing of souls. A complementary give and take that leaves you both fulfilled and cared for.

“Well, I finally tidied your office while you couldn’t hover about it. I reread In Praise of Folly for the hundredth time. I tried some new recipes… not all of them were good, but you’ll love the roast I made. It’s warming in the oven, by the way.” You tick down the list, humming contemplatively as you think back over the last two weeks. “Oh, I got a mani-pedi.” 

“Oh, let me see them.” An appreciative hum falls from his lips at the dark polish coating your fingernails. His thumb brushes over them thoughtfully, a little smile on his face. Maybe it's weird, but he’s always loved this; providing for you, letting you use the money he earns to do nice little things for yourself. “Pretty. I like the color.” 

“Thank you, honey.” You sing-song. 

Javier kisses your knuckles. “Go on. I want to hear more.” 

“Let’s see, what else… oh, and I got something for you, too.” A mischievous tone threads into your voice, one he knows all too well. Your teeth nip at your soft bottom lip as you flutter those eyelashes at him - and he knows he’s fucked in the best possible way. Your fingers trail down your sternum, teasing the robe open just enough to expose a hint of white fabric beneath it. White lacy fabric.

 Oh, fuck. 

You slowly untie the robe and let the black fabric slip down your shoulders, a stark contrast to the pure white lingerie you hid away beneath. The lacy chemise hugs the cinch of your waist and flares out slightly at your hips, accentuating the curves of your body that make his mind race. It’s new. You went out and bought something brand new and sexy just for the moment he came home to you, and it does something to him he can’t quite describe. The fabric is so thin and delicate, and he can see everything; the obvious lack of underwear, the imprint of your nipples, every inch of the gorgeous woman he missed so much. Your warmth radiates into his palm as his hand follows the line of your waste and settles on your hip. 

“Oh, look at you…” Javier’s voice is threaded with wonder and he can feel you shiver beneath his touch. He squeezes your hip, careful not to tear the fragile fabric. “My pretty little wife, all wrapped up like a present for me.” 

There’s no mistaking the undercurrent of desire that rumbles low in his voice, beneath the praise and appreciation. You lean into his touch, your shoulders subtly pushed back to give him the perfect view of your breasts. Something hungry and aching cleaves through his chest at the glimmer in your eyes. He knows what you want, what you need. He can read your body like the well-worn edges of a beloved novel. Reading familiar lines time and time again, only to feel that same surge of emotion: the love, the awe, the comfort. 

No matter how many times he gets to hold you like this, see you like this - Javier can never get enough. 

There is a fragile balancing act that hovers in the air between you in moments like these. You gaze up at him with that demure heat burning in your eyes, a hint of a coy smile tugging at your lips. He stalks after you slowly as you lure him into the makeshift bed of pillows and blankets layered out in front of the fireplace. The flames send heat licking up the bare skin exposed by the slow work of his fingers unbuttoning his shirt. You reach for him, your gaze roving over his chest with an obvious hunger, an appreciation that still has his breath catching in his throat after all this time. Your fingertips brush his stomach as you slowly undo his belt and unbutton his jeans. 

It isn’t until you teasingly rub his cock through his briefs that the fragile balancing act finally tips and shatters. Javier surges forward and captures your lips in a rough, desperate kiss, his hands fumbling to strip away the last of his clothes. He drags you down onto the floor, drinks in the surprised giggle his manhandling brings out of you. The amusement doesn’t last long. Not when his teeth drag along that sensitive spot on your neck and his fingers find their way between your thighs. 

Javier’s presence is all-consuming, evokes a pure reverence that sucks the very air from your lungs. He brings out something base in you, something that runs on pure animal instinct and lust - and he isn’t any better off. There’s a wild light in his eyes as he drinks in the sight of you beneath him, all wrapped in lace and eager for his touch. He rucks the chemise up and out of his way, and his self-control nearly snaps over how wet you already are. He has barely laid a finger on you, yet you glisten in the low light of the fireplace. So eager. So ready. 

The muscle in his jaw jumps with the clenching of his teeth. Nearly two weeks without the feeling of your wetness on his fingers and the heat of your pussy fluttering around his fingers - never again. He swears he’s addicted to your body. He practically went through withdrawals without having your slick cunt to bury his face in. His fingers curl up into that sweet spot harshly and you gasp his name, your thighs closing around his wrist. 

“No, open up for me.” Javier rasps, his voice rough and demanding. He’s too impatient, too strong; his other hand wrenches your thighs back open before you can even obey him. He plants his hand firmly on your inner thigh to keep you nice and spread out for him. “That’s it, let me feel you, honey. I missed this perfect fuckin’ cunt.” 

The pad of his thumb rubs a light, teasing circle against your clit, and the harsh contrast from the rough thrust of his fingers makes you tremble. You whimper his name but Javier can’t draw his gaze away from your body, from the sight of his fingers sinking inside of you or the shift of your breasts with every harsh breath. He can’t stop himself from leaning over and kissing your sternum before trailing his lips over to tease your nipple through the thin fabric. His tongue is hot against your sensitive skin. Your spine curves, arching to chase his touch, and your fingers grasp the soft hair at the back of his head. 

 Curses and begs fall from your lips in a broken mess of sentences, each plea bleeding into the next as you beg him to just take you already. Those cries pry at his willpower, at the rationality that still holds his actions captive. The rampant desire that sings in his veins doesn’t distract him from his tenacity as a thorough lover. He wants you nice and ready for him, all warmed up and soaked from his talented fingers. 

He shakes his head hesitantly. “I should… I should get you ready, sweetheart. Don’t wanna hurt you.” 

You huff a frustrated sound. Before he can tease you for being so desperate, your hand blindly feels around the mess of bedding until you produce a familiar clear bottle - the lube he usually keeps stashed inside his bedside table. He shakes his head with a disbelieving grin as he snags the bottle from your hand. Of course, you would be so prepared. He wasn’t the only one going crazy without his other half.  You have been wanting after him just as much as he has - if not more. 

Javier doesn’t bother wasting any more time. The shock of cold lube is quickly erased by the heated glide of his cock along your pussy and you moan his name. The sound sets his jaw on edge, sends sparks of possessive desire arcing up his spine. Those pretty brown eyes meet yours as his cock nudges your entrance and he can see his own desperation mirrored in your face. It’s all the fuel he needs to finally sink into your cunt in one fluid thrust. 

He can make time for teasing later - once the basic need to take and fuck and claim has retracted its claws from his skin. 

The harsh bite of your nails into his skin makes him hiss and thrust into you sharply, a pleasurable punishment that you take beautifully. Your thighs just tighten around his hips and rock into his thrusts, and Javier is reminded for the millionth time just how much he loves you. He doesn’t let up. Every thrust jolts through your entire body. The only thing that keeps you from sliding up in the blankets is the bruising grip of his hands on your hips. An even, steady rhythm that leaves your mind hazy and drunk on him. Javier watches, attention rapt as your lashes flutter and your hands twist the blankets in a vain attempt to steady yourself. You should know by now that he won’t give you the opportunity to gather yourself. No, he wants to see you in a fucked out daze. He watches the flash of surprise across your face at the grind of his cock against your g-spot. Even as you whimper and writhe and tighten around him, he can’t take his eyes off of you. 

He just can’t get enough. He needs more. 

His thumb finds your clit with practiced ease and you tighten around him so fiercely that he damn near spills inside of you right then and there. It’s been too long. His stamina is all shot to hell. Every quiver of your cunt, every tremble of your thighs, every wrecked sound you give him - he’s consumed by you. Left feral in the heaven of your body. 

“Just like that… fuck, you feel so good…” The honeyed praise sweeps through him, has him slipping onto his forearm just to feel you closer. His forearms bear his weight as his face buries in the crook of your neck. The change in position is slight, but it sends your back arching up into him nonetheless. It’s all too much, too good - the kind of sex where you just can’t get close enough, can’t feel enough of your lover’s skin against your own. Rushed and messy and so full of love that it almost hurts. You hold him close as he fucks you senseless, one hand buried in his hair and the other anchored at the back of his neck. “Oh my god.” 

Pride burns hot in his chest. He knows that sound, that tone. All high and whiny and begging so pretty. You’re close - he can feel it in the short, rapid pulses around his cock, the sweet beckon of your body asking so sweetly for just a little more to push you over that edge. You deserve it -  his beautiful little housewife, keeping the fires burning at home, being his safe haven in this crazy, fucked up world. You have him wrapped around your finger and there isn’t a single place in the world he would rather be. 

Every stroke of his thumb against your clit sends shockwaves through you, forces those rough, high-pitched sounds from your throat, and Javier loves it. He leans back just enough to get his eyes on you, his nose brushing yours as those bright eyes consume you. This is his favorite way to see you - expression twisted with pleasure, skin slick with sweat, unencumbered by self-consciousness. Just you and him and the filthy, slick sound of sex in the air. 

“You’re close, aren’t you sweetheart?” Javier murmurs when he feels your fingers tighten in his hair, sees that familiar flash in your dazed eyes. His teeth nip your jaw teasingly - he just can’t help himself, even when you make a disgruntled little sound in response. He just rubs your clit faster and you melt for him all over again, your cunt tightening so harshly that he hisses your name out through grit teeth. “That’s it, that’s my girl. Fuckin’ come for me, come all over my cock.” 

You do. You break for him with a strangled sound and Javier doesn’t stop. He couldn’t even if he wanted, even if you begged. He watches, awed at the sight of those tears finally spilling from your pretty eyes as you writhe and shudder beneath him. Your soft sounds of pleasure soothe those maddening instincts, the ones that first reared the moment he became your husband. It vibrates low through every atom of his being, rumbling in his chest in a pleased hum. He draws out your pleasure just to hear more of those lovely little sounds, all high and delicate. You blink up at him through dazed eyes and you smile, adoring and purely intoxicated. 

Javier kisses you softly, drinks in the happy hum from your lips. A sweet lull in the neediness, a moment to take you in like this. Warm and happy and fucked out in his arms. Your lips are soft against the stubble on his cheek, a stark contrast to the teasing nip of your teeth against his jaw. Javier looks down at you, an eyebrow raised as he takes in the glint of mischief in your eyes. Neither of you needs to say it. He knows exactly what you want by the look on your face and the light smack you give his thigh. 

And he’s more than happy to give it to you. 

His spine straightens as he yanks you down by your thighs. Javier pins you with his hands on your hips and fucks you deeper, his cock hitting so deep that your lungs damn near collapse. Your eyes roll and that dark, possessive fire sparks in his chest. There’s nothing he loves more than taking you apart with soft, tender touches - but this… this is a close second. Holding you down, keeping you in place so you have no choice but to let him take, take, take. 

“Fuck.” You whine, clawing at the blankets as the stimulation wrenches through you, overwhelms each of your senses until you’re left trembling. Every plunge sends you reeling, but you can’t help yourself - your hips lift to take him deeper, your knees dig into his ribs, your nails bite into the back of his neck. You take him beautifully - like you were made for him. Made to be his wife, to be fucked on the living room floor next to a blazing fireplace. Made to be his. 

All his, forever.

A rough sound grits out through his clenched teeth as he comes deep, his moan breaking with the last of his last sharp thrusts. Your cunt pulses around him rhythmically, only serving to draw out his pleasure until he’s trembling above you. Javier lets you coax him to melt into you, his hips still fitted seamlessly with yours as he lets his full weight sink into you. Your arms wrap around his shoulders. You just hold him as his breathing slowly returns to normal, as his softening cock slowly slips out of you. It’s calm. Peaceful. 

He has no idea how long has passed when he finally heaves himself off of you. It doesn’t take you long to tuck yourself into his side. Your body molds to fit his; your thigh hitched over his, your cheek resting on his shoulder, arm slung over his chest. Javier curls his arm around your side and traces the intricate patterns in the lace over your ribs, even as you squirm away from the ticklish touch. 

“Javi, stop…” You whine, propping your chin up on his chest to give him those puppy dog eyes. 

“No,” He sighs nonchalantly. It isn’t easy to resist that cute pout of yours. “Can’t keep my hands off you, baby. Missed you too much.” 

That melts your resolve. Your gaze softens so much that he damn near chokes. He isn’t a bashful man by any means but the way you look at him as if he hung the moon and stars in your sky… he can’t help the pink tinge that blooms across his cheeks. You’ve softened him over the years. Kneaded at him until he became tender and pliant, and maybe a bit of a romantic. Javier brushes your hair out of your face and the back of his fingers caresses your cheek slowly. 

“You hungry?” He murmurs. That urge to take care of you is never quite sated. Now that you’re well fucked, he plans on making sure you’re well-fed, too. 

“Mm, I could eat.” You shrug. 

“Stay here, I’ll bring you a plate.” Javier gives you a quick smack on your ass before dragging himself to his feet. He can feel your eyes on him as he stretches, all too aware of your appreciative gaze on his naked body. He calls out as he makes his way into the kitchen, “Then I’m having you for dessert.” 

The sound of your laughter brings a smile to his face as he sets about making plates for the both of you. He couldn’t imagine a better life, something he would want more than this. Good food, a beautiful home, and most importantly - his amazing wife.

[lbnwo]

Bad Whitegirls get spankings!😡💢

Amara loomed over Friga, her dark eyes intense. "Did you leave the house without my permission, pet?"

Friga knew she was in trouble. She couldn't meet Amara's stern gaze.

...Finally she broke down "Y-yes, Mistress. I'm so sorry. It's just...you were gone for so long and I was aching with need..."

"You know better than to disobey me." She circled Friga slowly.

"Please, I'm sorry!" Friga whimpered, tears welling in her sky-blue eyes. "I just missed your touch so desperately..."

Amara tipped Friga's chin up with a fingertip. "It's dangerous out there for a delicate flower like you. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you."

Friga swallowed hard, pulse fluttering in her pale throat. "I...I understand, Mistress. The ease at which your mighty people conquered these lands proves that we are a fragile and inferior people. I am eternally grateful that you showed me pity and allowed my heart to beat under your merciful care."

With a firm silent grip on the girl's slender arm, Amara dragged her through the corridors to the bedroom, every step echoing their impending confrontation. She pushed open the heavy oak door and pulled Friga inside. The room, dimly lit by the flicker of candles.

Without another word, Amara began to strip Friga of her clothes. The fabric slipped away easily under her strong, dark hands, revealing Friga’s pale, delicate flesh inch by inch. The cool air kissed her exposed skin, causing her to shiver slightly, but she didn’t dare protest.

"Do you understand why I’m upset?" Amara asked, her tone leaving no room for defiance. Friga bit her lip and nodded, eyes downcast.

"Yes, Mistress Amara, it is only by your hand I seek pleasure, freedom, or sustenance" came the soft reply.

Satisfied, Amara moved with methodical precision, grabbing a fistful of the woman's golden hair. She bent Friga over her knees, her pet’s shivering body settling into place. Friga’s quick breath steadied as her tender white belly pressed into Amara’s firm thighs.

The first slap landed with a sharp crack, sending a jolt through Friga's body. Her pale cheeks turned a bright shade of pink almost instantly. Amara's palm continued its rhythmic punishment, each strike firm and deliberate. Friga squirmed and quaked with each impact, but Amara's grip on her hair kept her anchored.

As Amara's hand connected with Friga’s tender flesh, she noticed something—Friga's crotch was pink, wet, and glistening. It was an arousal born from submission; a response Amara had seen many times before in these former Nordic lands. White girls tended to get like this when shown superior black power.

"Look at you," Amara murmured, her voice a blend of authority and adoration. "This is where you belong."

“Yes, mistress Amara, your strength and mercy are why I still live.” The pathetic white woman blubbered, gasping as her owner played in her needy vulva without any hope of giving her relief.

A few more measured slaps followed, each one eliciting small gasps and quivers from Friga. Finally, Amara paused, letting her hand rest lightly on the curve of Friga's reddened backside. The once-bratty wannabe-independent girl now lay pliant, having been reminded of her place.

"Good girl," Amara whispered, her voice softer now but still laced with control. She let her fingers linger, tracing patterns on Friga's heated skin, feeling the warmth beneath her touch.

[desceros]

For infinite singularity, I was wondering, after Donnie takes reader out of the office through the portal…

What happens to the..crime scene and our psycho coworker? Especially what did the rest of the brothers do?

(Btw love ur work, ur a total inspiration! ✨💞drink water, steal sum sustenance, take care of yourself 💗)

As soon as you and Donnie are through the portal, Leo gets to work. 

Mikey’s in charge of keeping your coworker from doing anything stupid. A task he enjoys greatly, as it means he gets to sit and giggle on the guy’s chest and pretend he can’t hear him wheezing for breath where Donnie nearly choked him. Meanwhile, Raph is sent off to take care of getting the power back on. He’s no Donnie with tech and never will be, but he’s getting decent at stuff like this. They don’t need it, but it’ll make it easier when the cops finally show up to wipe up the mess.

“So, what exactly was the plan here, huh?” Leo asks your coworker. “You get kicks out of roughing up pretty girls?”

“She’s not some random girl. She’s my soulmate,” your coworker spits, vile descriptions of the things he planned on doing to you cut off when Leo gets a foot on the clown’s broken forearm. 

“Wow, that’s so weird. Here I thought she was my brother’s soulmate,” Leo says, waving his hand in the air and watching the rage purple your coworker’s face. “What with the whole can’t stand to be apart and gazing sappily into each other’s eyes thing they have going on.”

“My pure little dove wouldn’t fuck a monster. He’s forcing her.”

“Buddy, I can promise you, first hand account, she did. Also, kind of ironic considering I’m pretty sure you got caught with your hand in one hell of a cookie jar, don’t you think?”

Raph comes back. “Power’s on,” he says, his word the only indication that’s the case since he left the lights off. Better for them, just in case. 

“Good job. One last thing,” Leo says, putting more of his weight on your coworker’s arm and feeling the bones splinter beneath his heel. “What’s TCRI doing sending out hit squads? Last I checked, business wasn’t supposed to be this cut-throat.”

Between heaving breaths of agony, your coworker groans in wretched agony before he just starts to laugh and laugh and laugh. “You’re a funny guy.”

“Right? Everyone keeps saying it’s my brother, but man, I’m telling you, my lines are killer,” Leo says, a grin that’s all teeth slashing onto his face as he grinds his heel into shattered bone. 

“He ain’t gonna talk,” Raph says after a minute more of your coworker just laughing each time he stops gritting his teeth in pain. 

“I can make him do it,” Mikey says cheerfully, a smile that doesn’t match his eyes pulling into place. 

“…Raph’s right. We’re not going to get anything out of him,” Leo says, pulling his foot off your coworker’s arm. “Knock him out and call it in.”

“I’ll find her again,” your coworker grits through his teeth. “She’ll never be able to hide from me. I’ll haunt her forever. Even if it’s like this, it’ll only ever be me she thinks about. Forever and ever and—”

“Ohh, my god, shut up,” Mikey groans, and with a thwack, your coworker goes silent. He then looks up at Leo, tilting his head. “…I didn’t know you believed in soulmates, too, Leo!”

“…Of course I don’t,” Leo brushes off, turning to inspect the security camera, putting his shell to his brother’s gaze.

“Cops’re on the way,” Raph says, and the two watch as Mikey gets your coworker trussed like a turkey. 

“We’ll have Donnie send them the security footage. Doesn’t look like he tampered with the cameras,” Leo says. Cutting a portal, he jerks his head. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Reappearing in the lair, Leo pulls up his phone.

neon leon (6:11 p.m.) hey hermano. everything okay over there? how she doing

neon leon (6:12 p.m.) bud? you good?

neon leon (6:15 p.m.) nerd says whaaaat

Narrowing his eyes, Leo starts to tap out the next message—dude if you don’t answer in two minutes i’m coming over and—before he freezes in place, thinks for a moment, then groans in disgust. 

“Did you get a hold of Donnie?” Raph asks, tilting his head in confusion when Leo brushes past with a wrinkled beak.

“Let’s give ‘em an hour then try again. Fuckin’ rabbits.”

“…Rabbits?”

Mikey pets Raph’s shell consolingly. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“Wh—B—I’m the oldest?!”

[voidwritesstuff]

The Cultures that make us (Argentina)

Cw: mentions of food, guns and flashing lights on the GIF.

Summary: The horsemen experiencing the culture of their human companion. (Can be read as romantic).

A/n: Alright peeps strap in for the culture train!. Brought to you by your dear host and their lovely country! (I'll make more for other cultures, If you want yours just shoot me an ask. I will send a DM to weed out incorrect information or to ask for clarification! I want everything to be accurate!)

A/n2: Lyrics translated at the end.

Humans and their cultures,there were so Many. Uncountable for other beings and mortals themselves,but amongst the things they shared was a love and passion for food.

Recipies passed from generation to generation. Keeping the traditions And cultures alive by making sure everyone knew how to make a snack or a meal. It was a bonding experience between families or Friends or lovers. Only humans understood the importance of food.

Ceatures who need not of sustenance,didnt get the uniqueness And importance.

The Horsemen rarely paid attention,seeing food as an indulgence rather than a need.

Until they picked up a human along their trek.

Death:

He got the sweet toothed human,because of course his luck is rotten.

This human had a love,or an obssesion,with sugar and treats of the sort. The horseman had figured it was a need,as he understood sugar was one of the components that gave humans energy,so at first he didnt think too much of It. He saw this human like a little puppy who couldnt keep up with the relentlessness of a nephilim.

--Its not that I'm living off of sugar. -- the human had told him as they made a dough. It smells citrus-like and a little sweet. They are Rolling it against a hard,metal table sized for a mortal.

To the horseman's chagrin,the Makers had taken a love for human food so now they had created a human sized home for they to stay when the reaper came visiting.

--Certainly seems like it-- The pale rider answered,watching from the corner of the room. He seems unbothered but hes curious. He always is.

--Sugar doesnt give everything us humans need. We have an elaborate diet-- the mortal explained,cutting the dough up into smaller balls and going to flatten them with a wooden roll of wood.

Their cooking was not that affected because of the ingredints. It took time to make it taste fully human-made but their kind was exhasperatingly perseverent.

--Your species is needlessly complicated.

--Said the half Angel half demon dude-- They quipped,not looking away as they Grab a Knife and cut the flattened dough into strips.

Death doesnt answer and rolls his eyes,his bone mask moving with his expression like its made of calcified flesh. He watches intently as the human folded the stripes in the shape of this ribbon,the Lower ends of the stripe meet at the center,Forming an arch of sorts.

They do this a few times, and as they do they begin to sing under their breath. Its not the first time they've done this infront of him but its always an interesting thing to witness. Hes yet to understand the language they speak,the council never bothered to give him the abilities of a polyglot.

And his human companion always joked how funny it was he spoke english. He never understood exactly what this "English" is.

--Tal vez

de tanto usar el gris

te ciegues con el sol...

¡pero eso tiene fin!

¡Después verás todo el color,

amor, quedémonos aquí!-- the human sang. It was for themself, and they had left it clear that the reaper would just have to put up with it. They wouldnt allow yet another creature to take away their culture.

--¡Amor, asómate a la flor

y entiende la verdad que llaman corazón!

¡Deja el pasado acobardado en el fangal

que aquí podemos comenzar!

He wondered what the song is about. The sounds of the human's language are so foreign.

The way they breath in their sounds with the letter S,giving words the look of having an H between syllables.

The soft sh sounds when words had a Y or a double L at the start.

Its a beautiful,sing-songy accent. The few times hes heard them speak their mother tongue,it felt like there was a slight dancing in the sounds like they were singing the words rather than speaking.

Deep down he feels sad he doesnt understand how human languages work,he'd Like to know what makes the accent so unique.

The reaper's thoughts are cut when he hears the sizzling of oil. He watches as the human sets a batch of the dough ribbons in a pan with bubbling liquid. He then sees them pour some alcohol on it and his eyes quirk with Curiosity.

--Isnt this "Rubbing Alcohol" flammable?

--Yes,but it evaporates with the heat-- The human answered with a shrug-- Helps the Moñitos with turning out greasy because of the oil.

--The what?

The human rolled their eyes,knowing the reaper hadnt paid attention when they began telling him about the snack a few hours prior.

--Thats the name of the snack,Moñitos. In english its called Little Bows.

He hummed with acknowledgement-- You humans make the oddest of concotions.

--We can give makers a run for their money-- The mortal half joked with a smirk.

Internally,Death raised a brow and amusement. He taps his pointer finger on his bicep as he watches them stirr the dough in the pan-- Perhaps. Dont let them hear it, they'll become even more insufferable.

--Hah! As if...-- The mortal then quieted,looking at the snacks slowly Cook in the pan-- I got this recipe from my mother,you know?

--You told me humans passes tradition through generations.

--Yeah,we do-- they scoffed fondly-- I remember the first time I tasted them they were sweet and lemony, and I always paid attention to the recipe. Im glad it stuck to my head.

The reaper nodded with acknowledgement and didnt say much else. He looks at the ground and simply waits for time to pass by.

Meanwhile, the human slowly begins to fish out each little bow that was cooked and ready to be eaten. They set it in a strainer and let it cool off.

Like that they eventually Cook the whole batch and once they are lukewarm they put them all in a bowl and throw a hefty dose of sugar on them.

Their reaper companion seems to return to the earth as they take off their apron and Grab the bowl walk out of their kitchen into the livingroom

--Death! Im all done. Do you feel like making tea?

He blinks at them for a second. Theyre so odd. They always asked about his feelings,if he felt up to doing something for them. Theyve never pushed,never prodded aside from natural Curiosity.

There was a tenderness he wasnt sure he deserved.

--You spent two hours making those things.-- He answered,returning to his feet-- I imagine that took a lot of energy from your...human body.

--It did,but I can make it if youre not up to it.

He shook his head slightly,a micromovement but perceptible-- You'll strain yourself and the makers Will be breathing down my neck. Go sit,Human.

They raised a brow-- Alright Mr.Grumpy. I do have a name you know?

--Dont call me that-- He bit-- And I'm well aware.

--Alright then,just checking. You rarely use it.

He didnt feel worthy of speaking their name.

--Its easier to just call you human.-- He replied.

--Right,sure-- They look so amused,he hates it-- Is it like not putting a name on a dog you dont plan to Keep just so you dont get attached?

Death rolled his eyes and dismisses them with his hand. They chuckle and leave for the comfy couch,he then goes to turn on the metal oven and put some water to boil.

The air smelled of citrus and sweetness mixed with the slight scent of oil. The naturey- Sticky smell hes grown used to. The kitchen always felt so dead when they werent around.

Hes seen them in it so Many times that it doesnt feel right when they arent there.

Apparently,humans used food and cooking as a way to bond. Hes done that with his siblings before,but he didnt expect to grow so close to another species.

It did take him by surprise,he didnt help out of respect. But spending time with them,simply being around and making conversation (which is "The human talks to Death and sometimes Death answers"), had managed to make him grow a Bond and an attachment.

What was that about avoiding putting a name to rescued dogs?.

The kettle sings its whistling tune and he makes two cups. He drank his by himself but he made it just to Keep the human company.

He comes into the livingroom with the two mugs and sets them on the coffee table with the bowl. They havent touched even a single one of those bowls.

--What were you waiting for?--He asked,a little concerned.

--You -- the human answered like it was obvious. Their voice is soft,gentle. A tenderness that he craved yet it felt like sandpaper.

--You shouldnt have bothered.

--Food tastes better when you share it-- They scoot closer and reach for one of the little bows. The set one on his Open palm-- you get the first bite I wont look.

He blinks at them like a deer in headlights-- You made them. You should-

They set their hand on his armored forearm-- No,you can have it. Let me know if I did a good job or not.

"You always do" came a voice from the deepest part of the riders conciousness.

--Youre stubborn-- He says instead.-- The sugar wont do anything for me.

--Its not about the energy it can give you,Its about indulging in flavor and sweetness.

He breathes out under his breath,they can see how his chest falls and how his eyes close for a second with defeat.

This is the third time theyve won an argument. Hes losing his sharp edges.

Death gestures for them to cover their face and they do. They even turn away from him and he lifts his mask up to swallow the whole thing in one bite. It wasnt particularly big for a being his size.

But the flavor does Keep up with his senses,he can taste the lemon and sugar,the dough's lightness thanks to the way it was cooked.

His companion had joked about how their secret ingredient was love. He only scoffed with disbelief at such cheesy piece of information.

Yet he gets it now. Its made with care,like a well sharpened blade, a well crafted amulet. Its about how much care and attention you pay whatever you made.

--Indeed,your kind has out-done the makers-- he answered,fixing his mask-- You learnt well. Turn around.

The human meets his firey gaze with the whole milky way in their eyes. Such wonder and joy. This is the first time hes agreed to eat what they made.

--Im so happy you like it!!--They screeched with a grin.

He doesnt answer but he does set the bowl on their lap and grabs one of the snacks,leaving it there in his grasp for them to Grab.

They dont doubt it and lunge for the doughy thing before taking a bite out of it. He sees their eyes fill with light and they have this big grin as they chewed.

Its endearing,he almost chuckles.

--The song you were singing--Death began,looking away as hes a little shy about asking-- What is it about? You humans always weave meaning into everything.

Was that an insult or a compliment? Who really knows when its the reaper saying it.

--Its about a man asking his partner to stay with him and forget the bitterness of the past-- They answered, grabbing the mug thats still a bit too big for them. Makers have yet to grasp human sizes and measurements-- Its called "Quedemonos aqui", Lets Stay Here, and it was made by two men called Homero Expósito and Hector Stamponi.

He grows quiet for a moment. And they continue.

--Its Tango,An Argentine genre of music-- they explained,taking a Long sip of their tea. Nobody made warm Drinks like the reaper-- And this song is a kind of Tango called Tango Lloron, a sad style kind of melancholic and sometimes tragic.

--Why sing such song? I believe you have had your fill of tragedy.

--Its good to just let things out sometimes,the good and the bad. I'd like to stay here until humanity rebuilds itself.

--All alone?

--No. Not alone-- the human meets the rider's gaze that looks uncertain of not....a little scared-- But death's a wandering spirit. So maybe it'll be the makers and me..

Death scoffed-- I dont trust them taking care of you...--their eyes widen as they hear him say their name. The Real, human name.

All they do,is set their head against their Sinewy bicep. Too much attention might make the Pale rider unconfortable, so they contain their excitement.

Hes aware of his slip up and sighs,letting them touch him. Perhaps hes growing blunt, soft. But perhaps those sweet treats and the human's company are compensation enough.

Fury:

Fury had never had a taste for cakes and sweetness. Caramels and fluffy treats were rare in her life.

The human she rescued planned on changing that.

Her human companion decided to make a very specific kind of cake,one they have refined the recipe of for months, And Fury was their body guard so they could Hoard the kitchen in the maker tree.

--So this is called a chocotorta...-- The human told her as they grabbed these chocolate cookies from this bowl with chocolate Milk. The treat seems softer now,a little soggy-- Its originally a treat made with a specific brand of cookies. It took me a few tries but ive managed to make it taste as close as I could.

--Why soak them in milk?

--Helps them be softer. Eat from one of the cookies in that tray-- They point at a metal baking sheet off to the side--Theyre crunchy but the cakes better when its soft.

Fury complies since shes bored and had little to do. Being a horsewoman was like being a deterrent for other humans trying to take up space in the kitchen. Nifty little fun fact.

The cookie tastes like raw chocolate, sweet and earthy. Its good.

--Ah,i see. -- she mused-- Shame this "Brand" doesnt exist anymore. Perhaps you'll replace it in humanity's rebirth.

Her mortal friend laughed-- it would be a little funny--They began to layer the cookies on this square container of metal with a thin paper cover to separate the food from the actual bowl.

Then,they layer this thick,light brown caramel ontop of it and then add more cookies. They do a few layers as they talk-- My cousin gave me the tip for softening up the cookies. But I learnt the recipe from a friend.

--What is that brown thing between the cookies?

--This is dulce the leche,or Milk caramel-- They answered-- Hand made! The best kind. -- they grab a spoon and give the rider a hefty scoop-- Taste it.

--Just like that?

--A lot of people I knew Ate it like that. Its a common occurance.

Fury sighs,wondering why she puts up with these situations. She feels a little silly,Like shes a kid stealing the first bite of the meal Death had cooked. Some old habits just never die.

She eats the caramel,and her eyes widen slightly. The sweetness mixed with the earthy,nut flavor is a bit of a surprise to her. It melts it her mouth and she kind of has to bite on it.

--It would be easier to swallow if I didnt make it that thick. I can make a lighter batch later.

--you humans are so clever-- She said between bites of the chewy caramel-- A maker would be jealous.

--Thats one hell of a compliment.

--A well earnt one-- She insisted-- Where did you learn the recipe?

--A close friend. Best I can put it is a family friend of sorts,the actual relationship is a bit more complicated. She made some Dulce de leche for a birthday cake she wanted to gift me.

Fury nodded-- Humans are the only species that gift eachother food,others would hoard it.

The human shrugged,setting down the caramel as they are done with it. They add the final layer of cookies and Grab the metal container. Its a bit heavy but nothing they couldnt manage.

--Cultures made cooking and making food a way to bond. Even you,keeping me company,is an off shoot of one. --They Gently set the bowl on her hands-- I need it to be cool. Can you use that hollow of yours?

Fury looked amused-- Will I get the credit for helping?

--Always.

She chuckled and reached for the Stasis Hollow. It starts as a prickle in her skin,a biting chill that slowly spreads across her hands to the thing shes holding.

Her hair turns that beautiful blue,Like deep ice. Just as cold and just as gorgeous.

--There. Should be enough-- She handed back the container.

--Cooli-o! Lemme just...-- the mortal uses the baking paper to pull out the cake and set it on a Plate. They cut two squares out of the treat and as they do they sing lowly,mindlessly.

Fury never grows tired of listening to them sing. Shes heard the language of so Many beings,shes always found them boring,but she cares for human speech. And the accent is so particular.

She listens Keenly as the Stasis Hollow is dismissed and that warm magenta returns with her usual body heat.

--Mamichula, por vos me hago bueno, me hago malo

Por vos pierdo, por vos gano, mami, en esa estamo'

Ojalá entendieras que sos la única y primera

Así que vengan lo' que quieran, lo' de afuera son de palo, mai-- this style of singing is odd. Her human companion is making sure to speak the words yet add a rythm to it.

--I havent heard you sing like that before.

A little flustered,they answer--Its not singing,its rapping. Im...okay at it.

--Huh...--the black rider hummed-- And what is that song?

--Solo por vos,Only for you,by this an urban singer called Trueno.

--Urban?

--Technically hip-hop...--The human stops anf sighs with exhaustion-- Tell you later.-- They offer a Plate with a fork-- eat,let me know what you think.

--Are you sure?

--Yeah,yeah,cmon-- they set the Plate in her hands and looks up at her expectantly.

Fury takes a portion out of the cake with the fork and eats it. The flavors of the chocolate and the caramel mix with the mildness of the milk soaked cookies. She humms and says-- Your work has paid off...

--Yay! Im super happy you like it!--They grinned--C'mon! Lets go share. Food always tastes better when you share it.

The horsewoman is dragged along with plates and cutlery,and the humans huddle together to eat the cake. Fury watches contently and eats her piece of the treat,obssessed with the sweet caramel.

In the morning,the rider's human companion would find their whole stash of Dulce De Leche gone and a very guilty looking she-horseman.

War:

You'd expect such a behemoth to have an apetite. But he doesnt really need to eat,hunger is a known feeling but mild and brief.

However,he soon realized he quite liked eating meat.

After beating the Destroyer,his loyal human companion took him back to Ulthane's lair for what they called a Barbaque. His human friend had insisted to make a meal.

War watched confused as they brought a Fire to life under a grid with all the food theyve gotten. --I could have just set Fire to that coal...-- he pointed out.

He sees his human companion turn a little sheepish-- Ah,right. Yeah...--They giggled,face a little red-- You can move the coal if you'd like

Carefully he lumbers over to the grill and he Gently begins to nudge the Burning coal under the grill. -- Why..are you doing this?--He asked.

--My culture likes to throw barbaques for celebrations, and well..this is something worth celebrating!--They gestured at the food with this grandiose flare-- I think you'd like it.

He nodded slowly,and watched them work away at the grill. They told him about how grilling was a more masculine thing,a Man's activity. After the rider pointed out how silly that is,his human friend laughed and agreed.

Its been a while since hes seen them smile and laugh like that. He can give them this moment of joy,as brief as it is.

Plus,already the food smells quite good.

As they get the food out ot the grill,they sing softly. A mindless activity had to be fought with some soft of fun.

--Nada como ir juntos a la par

Y caminos desandar

El honor no lo perdí

Es el héroe que hay en mí

Nada como ir juntos a la par

He understood why angels sang, it was all about praising the creator. But humans sang to tell their stories,to show their legacy and culture- And their voice,the way the words move and sound.

Its the first species hes found that have such thing as accents. And he liked theirs so much.

--What are you singing?--He asked as they sat on this picnic mat. They settle all the food,all the sauces they have made. He sees bell pepper and onion, celery and garlic.

There is so much to taste.

--Its a song from my culture. Its a love song.

--And what does it say?

He sees them think as they translate the words-- "nothing like going hand in hand,and trek the path,I didnt lose my honor, its the warrior that lives in me,nothing Like going hand in hand".

War Hummed pensively. Its a sweet song,he can get behind the lyrics. -- There is a lot of human culture i'm not aware of...its so intricate-- He gestures at the sauces-- what are the name of these...condiments?

The human tells him all about it, the kinds of meat they have,the condiments and the snacks. They've never imagined telling a Horseman Of The Apocalypse what fries were,but here they are.

Everything seems to slowly click,And with each bite of food his eyes widen and fill with joy just a little bit more.

--These condiments burn my mouth...-- He commented,not particularly put off.

--Thats kind of the idea.

--I..Like it..--His heart flutters as they grin.

--Oh! Thats great to hear!--they exclaimed-- Barbaques Like these,we call them Asados, were a way of celebrating! You'd invite Friends and family,it could also be an excuse to just get together.

He nodded-- No other species is so...tight knit.

--Youre part of the culture now!

--What?

Hes taken aback,genuienly. He can only watch them and forget about the chirping birds or the rushing water. The smell of dying smoke or the smell of wet sand.

The only thing in his mind is his human companion,who grabs something from their pocket and pin it to his cowl.

Its a pin of some sort with blue,white and yellow lace. His head tilts adorably and he feels quite confused. Its a flag of some kind,hes aware of that at least.

--Its the flag of Argentina. I made it myself.--The human explained-- Youre an honorary Argentine!

--I...dont even know your language.

They laughed and prodded his Plate closer-- Well I can teach you some now,you have nowhere else to be.

He smiled just a little,Like sun breaking through the clouds of a gloomy day andHis voice Carrying that hopeful warmth that came with peeking sunlight. --No,i do not..

Strife:

He was down to try anything and everything at least once. It guaranteed Him great and horrible experiences, self discovery and a shit ton of funny stories to tell.

As the spirit of eternal unrest,he wasnt lacking on the energy department.

But he does get bored.

A lot.

So he waits by the shadow of a tree,Death would reach him by the end of the afternoon and they'd leave their human companion with the makers for good measure.

Speaking of...

--Well you look awfully sad-- The human said,their hair a little bit of a mess and their eyes groggy. They Carry with them this maker-made thermos,a bag slung over their shoulder and some sort of gourd with a metal straw.

--You can thank my brother for that--He grumbled as his friend sat with him on the cool shade.

--Walking corpse, "Rattle me bones" one?

--That one.

The human chuckled,happy Strife indulges in their human culture and internet humor. They take a long,if not a little loud, slurp of the warm drink.

It catches the horseman's attention and turns to them. Hes seen them drink whatever that was before,he just never got around to ask.

--What are you drinking?

They got that beautiful little glint in their eyes,excitement and joy. -- Mate.

Yeah,the name didnt make things any clearer.

--Okay,and whats that?

--Right,right-- they pour water into the gourd they were holding. He sees these tightly packed herbs of light,yellowish grin. -- Its an Argentine drink,you can share it with Friends but only one person brews the drink. Try it.

He looks hesitant as he holds the gourd,its a bit small in his gloved hands. He looks and sounds like hes catching up with the world.

--You...want to share a straw with me? Saliva and all?

--you just drink out of it. Ive shared it with strangers just how different could it be? --They shrugged,fixing their hair as the summery breeze dances tentively across their skin.

--Well im no human.

--Except for that one time-

--That one time,yeah-- He agreed--It wont put you off? You can wipe it off-

--Strife please-- the human chided with an exhasperated look on their face.

--Okay,okay.-- he relented, his hand Is about to touch the metal straw and his friend lunges at him to stop him-- WOAH! Dont do that!

--Dont touch it!--They screeched-- It messes with the filtering of the water! Only the brewer can move it.

He sighed and nodded-- odd rules but I guess that makes sense...

--You have no grounds to call my culture odd, Mr.Horseman of the apocalypse!

Strife chuckled and nodded--Okay,fine,fair.-- He lifts his helmet a little and he drinks from the straw. He feels the warmth of the metal against his lips,and the taste of the drink rushes in.

Its strongly bitter,hits harder than a kick from Ruin. Deeply earthy,but a quite unpleseant as it settles on his tongue like heavy lead.

He spits it out and he soon finds his friend laughing a hyena's howl. --What kind of hellish drink is that!

--Give it here,ill add sugar you whimp-- They Grab the gourd and from their bag they Grab a pouch of sugar. They make a little hole around the straw and set the sugary powder there.

--Whimp?! -- He screeched,the taste lingering horribly-- Youre sick for drinking that fuckin' thing! S'too bitter!

--The horsemen of the apocalypse cant handle bitterness! Who knew.?--The human joked as the water got poured back into the gourd.

--You tell anyone about this and ill actually kill you.

--All bark, no bite-- They hand the gourd back to him-- Drink up.

Hesitantly,he tries again and this time its pleaseant. The sweetness tempers the bitter and he can taste the fresh,earthy flavor better. And the warmth of the water is a nice comfort in his exhasperation.

--See? This is way better,-- he handed back the round container.

--Mhm,mhm,whimp-- They kept teasing as he rolled his eyes fondly.

For the Next few hours,His human tells him about all the little habits and details this drink has. How in summer some would drink it with juice,or how it was common to see people from their culture Carry it everywhere.

Its a deeply social drink,Friends would sit around and catch up while sharing it. Or you could also make Friends with people by offering a Mate.

He always loved how humans were there for eachother, how they cared and Bonded with so Many little things.

The caffeine within the drink was also a nice plus.

As he enjoys his turn of drinking,he breathes in the fresh air and sees the greenery field move with the breeze. The skies are clear blue,and the sun shining bright.

Its peaceful,he so rarely gets to experience this softness. Soon though he hears another sound join the gentle choir of birds,a foreign language he doesnt know and that accent he recognized.

He doesnt turn to face his friend as they sing,but he does listen in quiet contemplation.

--Dice que soy lo mejor de su vida

Que quiere perderse conmigo to' el día

Que por mí apunta, tira y tira

Que ya no le importa cometer un delito por su niña -- the rythm is slow, but theres something about the way they sing the lyrics. This strong presence that goes well with the chill little rythm.

--Y aunque no caigas en la de nadie

Con una mirada puede enamorarte o es parte de su arte

Tiene juego prepara'o para loca dejarte

Sa-auh-ah, uh-uh-uh, uh, uh aunque parezca un ángel es, es, es, e'

He drinks from the straw and passes it over,crossing His arms over his chest.

--Nice song-- He says-- Whats the name?

--Wapo Traketero by Nicky Nicole-- They answered-- best I can translate the title is like...in very,very loose terms, is "Hot criminal"

--Hmm,sounds Like slang.

--It is.

Just as hes about to ask what the song talked about,Death began to approach. Despair's hooves click against the soil leaving a temporary path of dying Grass.

Strife sighs and stands up-- Duty calls, doll.

--Yeah,figures-- he helps them up and though they cant see it, they can hear the smile in his voice.

--Thank you for the drink,and the serenade, but I gotta go. Ill try t'bring ya somethin'

--Ohhh cool. Like a skull?

--Biggest one I can find. I promise-- he makes an X over his heart and they giggle. Thats his favorite sound.

He whistles and soon Mayehem emerges from the ether just as Death catches up with the pair. --The makers are not far behind they'll look after them.

Strife nodded and tipped his fake hat before leaving with his brother.

The human grins and picks up their stuff. They walk to Karn and Thane that wait patiently for them. And as they walk away,Karn looks at the drink and a little worried he asks.

--Doesnt that have caffeine,Lad?

--Uh,yeah?--They answered confused.--Why?

--Did ya share it with Strife?--Thane added.

--Yeah...?

The wizened maker warrior pursed his lips,scratching his brown colored beard-- Ya should thank the creator youre not Death right now.

It clicks then for the human,and their eyes widen like plates-- Oh,hes going to kill me.

Death hasnt dealt with this level of hyperactivity since Strife was a fledgeling nephilim. He sees his brother bounce around like a ball in a pinball machine,laughing maniacally as his guns ring the sound of a life's end.

Hes barely able to Keep up,And he wonders who gave him so much caffeine to begin with.

When he realizes who it was,he Will kill them. But for that he needs to make sure his dumbass brother doesnt kill them both first.

And thats going to take a while.

Lyrics Translation:

Death:

Tal vez//de tanto usar el gris//te ciegues con el sol...//¡pero eso tiene fin!//¡Después verás todo el color,//amor, quedémonos aquí!//¡Amor, asómate a la flor//y entiende la verdad que llaman corazón!//¡Deja el pasado acobardado en el fangal//que aquí podemos comenzar!" "Maybe//after using so much grey//You may turn blind at the sun//But that has an end!//After all you'll see the color//Love,lets stay here//Love,peek to see the flowers//And understand the truth about what they call a heart//Leave the past hiding in the marsh//Here we can begin" - Quedemonos aquí by Homero Expósito and Hector Stamponi.

Fury:

"Mamichula, por vos me hago bueno, me hago malo//Por vos pierdo, por vos gano, mami, en esa estamo'//Ojalá entendieras que sos la única y primera//Así que vengan lo' que quieran, lo' de afuera son de palo, mai"

"Lil mamma for you I turn good,I turn bad//For you i lose,for you I win,mami thats where we're at//I hope you could understand youre the first and only//So whoever may come,the outsiders dont matter" -Solo por vos,by Trueno.

Strife:

"Dice que soy lo mejor de su vida//Que quiere perderse conmigo to' el día//Que por mí apunta, tira y tira//Que ya no le importa cometer un delito por su niña.

Y aunque no caigas en la de nadie//Con una mirada puede enamorarte o es parte de su arte//Tiene juego prepara'o para loca dejarte//Sa-auh-ah, uh-uh-uh, uh, uh aunque parezca un ángel es, es, es, e'"

"He says I'm the best thing in his life//That he wants to waste away his day with me//That for me he aims,shoots and shoots//That he doesn't care anymore about commiting crimes for his girl//And even if you don't fall for anyone's game//With one look he can make you fall in love,its part of his art//He has his game ready to leave you crazy// Even if he looks like an angel, he is,is,is"- Wapo Traketero by nickly nicole.

War:

"Nada como ir juntos a la par//Y caminos desandar//El honor no lo perdí//Es el héroe que hay en mí//Nada como ir juntos a la par" "Nothing like going together hand in hand//And trek the path//I didnt lose my honor//Its the hero that lives in me//Nothing like going together hand in hand"- Juntos a la par by Pappo

[punks-never-die205]

Souled Out

Fem Reader x Demon!Eustass Kid

CW: Blood, religious tones, original creation myth, ritual, violence, dubious consent, 18+

tags: @keiva1000

Chapter 7: Empty Soul

Kid looks at you and you can hear his tail smacking the floor in quick succession before he growls. “The easy way is-.”

“Contracts.” You interrupt flatly. “I remember that. What are the non-contract ways.”

“… Before contracts it was a ritual. Someone would agree to give over their soul to someone else, in part or whole, and as long as the other person agreed to accept it, they’d sit in an array, and do the transfer.” He snaps the words out curtly, irritation dripping from his fangs. “Souls are important though, right? Who wants to give theirs up, so that didn’t happen much. Before the whole contracts and guidelines there were other ways too.”

“Like theft.”

“Yeah.” Kid clears his throat. “We think one of the reasons they want to fill you back up with pieces of other souls is so that they can complete the theft.”

Your brows furrow and you stop eating. “Complete it?”

“Taking a soul against someone’s will doesn’t let you do anything with that soul.” He explains. “Another reason the whole contract process became popular.”

“… Giving me a different soul will let them use mine?”

Kid shakes his head. “It’s… when the doc stabilized you, he did it by basically merging the scrap from Gilda with your soul. You have more soul now, and it’s, technically your soul.”

“… How did he-.”

“It’s my gift.” An irritated voice interrupts you as the doctor from earlier sits down with the two of you.

“Do all demons have a gift?” You question, looking from one to the other.

“Some.” Law answers flatly. “Our current assumption is that whoever stole yours doesn’t want you to die. They didn’t send you any pieces of soul until you’d summoned someone who could help you if things went wrong.”

One glyphed finger draws a circle in the air around you and the question on your lips comes out as nothing. Law smirks and then continues talking. “We can only make assumptions, but the theory is that once you have a full, and stable soul, the one who stole yours will make contact. After all, humans don’t know one soul from another, so why should you be overly attached to yours? Once you agree, the deal would be done, they could leave with their prize.”

He takes a sip of coffee, rotating his finger in the other direction and you’re certain your ability to speak, or at least be heard, has been restored.

“They are in for a rude awakening then.” You answer simply, finishing up the last of your food. “I want my soul back specifically. If this patched soul becomes, technically, my soul, then they can have it and give me mine back.”

Law looks from you to Eustass. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” Eustass barks.

“Sure about?” You prompt.

“This creepy shit thinks you’re a demon, or an angel.” Eustass grumbles, jerking his thumb toward Law.

“…Why?” You question, looking over at Law.

Law returns your look for a moment before sighing. “If humans truly had a strong attachment to their souls, they wouldn’t sign so many contracts.” He says flatly. “They’ll all talk about how important and valuable it is, and in some ways they aren’t wrong, but then they’ll sign their names and hand it over for something as impermanent as money, or as useless as revenge.

“But you,” he continues, taking another drink of coffee. “Despite having other avenues available, want your soul back. You’re effectively immortal as you are, there’s not enough soul to wear down your vessel, without degradation of the vessel there’s no chance of illness, the amount of sustenance you need is reduced as well.”

He sets the cup down, pointing at you lazily. “You’ve more than anyone could hope to get in exchange for their soul already, and yet you want your soul back. Only demons and angels covet their souls fiercely enough to spend decades trying to recover them.”

“I… don’t want immortality.” You say flatly. “I want my soul back.”

Law’s brows raise a little, the slightest shrug of his shoulders as he finishes the coffee. “Maybe you’re a-.”

Kid’s hands slam down onto the table, his tail snapping heavily against the floor as he glares at Law. The two glare at each other for a long moment, before Law sighs and gets up.

“You’re free to go home. You’re welcome to a pair of scrubs since your clothes were ruined. I left them in your room.” He says, turning away and walking off.

There’s a long silence between you and Kid before he sinks back into his chair, the angry twitching of his tail calming down.

“Was he going to call me a slur?” You question, eyes on him. You catch a furrow in his brow, but it doesn’t last, and he growls before sighing.

“Remember the lecture about souls?” He prompts, and you nod. “Heaven and Hell have their conflict.”

“You said that was the only thing people here had correct.”

He nods. “Yeah, Heaven’s not perfect, Hell’s not fire and damnation, but the two places are at odds. Clean souls are basically drafted, I mean, you choose where you go, but if someone important to you picked Hell, and then met you at the gates and asked you to come be on their team, chances are you pick Hell, and not Heaven when you’re deciding.”

“I imagine -.”

“There’s a lot more to it than that, yeah.” He sighs, and you can hear his tail ticking against the hard floor. “The only way to leave the conflict, is to voluntarily go back to take a Turn. You forget everything. Fresh start shit. No memories, just like any other time someone goes through the Turn.”

He runs a hand through his hair and grimaces before continuing. “We call ‘em Deserters. Angels or Demons who basically just… walk out on their,” he falters, letting the word hang, trying to sort out what to say next when he waves it off. “… whatever.” He leans back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling for a moment.

“Someone-.” You say the word and stop, getting up and walking back to the room you’d been recovering in. It’s obvious someone left the conflict, and he knew them, there was no need to ask about it.

“I’m going to change so we can go home.”

You pause after the word leaves your lips and turn back toward Kid. “Do I still have a home?”

He looks at you funny for a moment before laughing. “Yeah, you do. It needs a little remodeling, but the explosion didn’t take out the unit.”

You knew, even as you continued back to the room to change, that you should’ve asked for more details, but as you stood in your apartment an hour later you were honestly glad you hadn’t.

Kid stood quietly by the entrance as you walked through the relatively small apartment. Standing in the kitchen you looked in one direction to see the hole in the wall, straight through the oven and into the bathroom. You didn’t smell gas, so you weren’t really concerned. Looking in the other direction you could see scorch marks and a radial series of cracks in the wall.

There wasn’t really any other word for it, it was an impact crater in the wall. Right up against a four by four that had cracked nearly through. One sturdy piece of lumber was the only reason the explosion hadn’t blown a new door in your home.

“Where’s,” you pause, unsure if you want to know before you decide to ask after all. “The body?”

Golden eyes regard you for a moment. “My forge.”

You return his gaze, and give a small nod before stepping further into your home. “Her soul’s at the Turn then?”

“Unless she signed it away, yeah.” He answers, stepping in and away from the front door.

“Well, at least the other bathroom is still functional.” You sniff the air a few times. “The oven’s gone but is there really not a gas leak in here?”

Kid peered around the hole where the oven had been. “Looks like the line got crimped shut from the impact.” He looks over at you. “I can fix all this.”

You tilt your head. “Is that your gift?”

Eustass Kid grins, and you can feel the small hairs on your body stand on end. “Fixing something like this? Nah, lots of demons can do something like this.”

You consider things for a moment. “Your forge is your gift.”

The sly grin turns devious. “It is. I don’t need it for this.” There’s a glint in his eyes and the feeling that set your hair on edge sinks into your thighs.

“… I’m in recovery.” You say it suddenly enough that you put a hand over your mouth.

“Heh, I knew I could get you to react.” He says, tongue slipping across his lips as he stalks closer to you. The glint in his eyes is the same glow he’s had before. “You’ve got more soul than just those few tattered scraps, and you made sweet sounds even with that lil’ bit.

“Besides, the doc wouldn’t have sent you home if you couldn’t survive an orgasm or two.” He insists, tail slicing through the air and cracking against it like a whip. “To answer why,” Kid continues, closing the distance between you both and looking down as he pulls you close. “I don’t want to work on an empty stomach. Used up all my energy flying you to the doc.”

He leans down, fingers slipping up your spine, his breath tickling your ear. “I don’t mind begging for my meal when it’s such a sweet snack.”

[twoidiotwriters1]

Almighty (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Last post of the year! Hope 2025 is better bc wtf was this -Danny Words: 1,971 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'Godlight' -by Noah Kahan

XXXI: Unfortunately, I Prevail

"Because one would assume you spent enough time around Valdez and Ara to know how to fix a console."

"I can fix a chariot, I can fix an engine, I cannot fix a console you childishly decided to kick." Lily huffs, pushing the broken item aside. "You need to control your temper."

"Look who's talking."

"Porca miseria—!"

My friends argue with each other while Connor and Will look at them with almost bored expressions. Connor nudges Will and speaks quietly. "This isn't about the console, is it?"

"It's Ara," Will sighs. "It's been a month and there have been no dreams, no clues about where she could be. To be honest, I'm losing it too. She's with my dad, after all."

"Leo wouldn't allow anything to happen," Connor shrugs. "He would rather chop both of his hands off than let anything bad happen to her, and he's a Hephaestus's kid."

Will hums, crossing his arms without interest in breaking the fight happening before them. "Can't stop these two from worrying," he looks down and chuckles weakly. "You know, lately when I burn my offerings, I say Ara's name."

Connor raises a brow. "Are you serious?"

"Well, my dad won't be getting it anyway, and it's not like the other gods are showing their faces or doing anything to help us," he reasons, ears blushing. "So yeah, I'm burning offerings for Ara. Is it creepy?"

"No," Connor tilts his head, considering the idea. "It might keep her out of harm's way. I don't know what it does to someone who isn't a god."

"She's half a god, more so than us," Will laughs dryly. "I mean, if you really think about it, she's the camp's patron."

Connor laughs. "Hail Almighty Ara." Nico lifts a pool stick and slams it down on Lily. "Hey! No weapons!"

I am pulled back to the present just in time to watch the Waystation entrance quake. A group of people run out to meet me. "Help," I barely muster up enough strength to speak, collapsing in someone's arms the moment I do.

Ara doesn't dream, but in her state of semi-consciousness, she hears people come in and out of the room, their voices worried, though she can't understand what they're saying. Her flesh is melting off her bones, her mind has a thousand different voices tunning in and out of frequency. Right now she wouldn't mind dying. She's not tired, but if she dies, Leo and everyone else will stop worrying about whatever is wrong with her. 

The lights switch on and Ara stirs weakly, mustering enough strength to move her head and lock eyes with Leo. He's standing there, eyes puffy and red from crying, hair all over the place, probably from grabbing onto it while stressing for her wellbeing.

"Water," she requests quietly. Leo reaches for a glass. She's not recovered enough to make anything out of his expression but he offers her the drink gently enough to know he's not angry. It's ambrosia. The girl wrinkles her nose and stops it from touching her lips. "Water."

Leo insists, pushing the glass back up. "Trust me."

Something is wrong. Leo's sending these thoughts via skin-to-skin contact, but Ara can't read his emotions properly. She parts her lips and allows him to tilt the glass, the ambrosia slipping down her throat with ease. Her sight clears, her body feels lighter, and the more she drinks, the less it tastes like food and more like pure and unfiltered sustenance.

Leo doesn't let her speak until she finishes two glasses, and then he sits down, eyeing her with a sombre expression that doesn't fit him. "How are you feeling?"

Ara struggles to make sense of her thoughts. "What happened?"

Leo looks at his hands. "Emmie and Lester did the best they could—they understand this better than me, but basically... In layman's terms, your body isn't fit for your power. You showed up practically naked and glowing like you were about to self-combust, I had to carry you in because no one else could touch you without getting blisters..." his voice cracks. "It was a freaking nightmare."

"Am I dying?" She asks, sounding like eight-year-old Ara again. Leo shrugs. "How long has it been since we rescued the griffins?"

"Just a few hours," he says, still not meeting her eyes. "You were missing for two but Emmie and Jo didn't let us go find you, they thought you'd been taken. I almost killed Lester for losing sight of you—then you showed up with this crazy fever that lasted another hour until Lester sang Mike's song and Emmie fed you enough nectar and ambrosia to kill ten demigods. Calypso couldn't help, her magic's back and she spent most time out cold."

Ara grabs the sheets to push them off her body but Leo stops her. "You're healing," he warns her. "Emmie says it looks scary but it's not serious, so... don't get too scared."

Ara yanks the sheets down, not wanting to prolong the torture. She chokes, not understanding what she's seeing but feeling rightfully frightened by it: Patches of her skin are dry and pulling apart as if she'd spent a whole month in a tanning bed, the layer is thicker than it should be, almost as if she were regenerating... the entire organ. 

"When you say I was about to self-combust..."

"You were literally burning," he confirms. "You were... you were burning like my mom and I—" he chokes up, "I couldn't do anything..."

"It's okay," Ara eases him, latching onto the chance to focus on Leo instead of her own fear and shock.

"You were dying," he runs a shaky hand over his face. "Emmie says you have to keep eating ambrosia and nectar to make it go slower. You're fighting it, your skin is healing, your hair grew out without the flowers..." he makes a face. "The stupid flowers were an omen..."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Leo's hands close in tight fists. "Lester saw you bleed ichor—pure ichor this time. You didn't respond to medication, and you were speaking in different voices... I think... I think I recognized some of them," he shudders, deeply affected by the ordeal. "If Commodus hears about this, he'll target you. You're the closest thing to an equal to them, which means you're their biggest threat."

Ara follows the dry skin on her face until it ends on her collarbone. She's in her underwear, but it's not the same one she was wearing when they went to the zoo, which means someone, probably Emmie, saw her naked.

She cries, and though weakly, it doesn't matter anyway, she's been humiliated to a point where showing weakness is the last of her concerns. "I'm not going home..." 

Leo shrugs with no energy. "Maybe you're just ten times harder to kill, which is saying something."

"I don't want it."

"I know, but I sure as hell don't want you to die."

"Out of all the things I didn't like about myself..." Ara can't even finish the sentence, shaking her head with woe. "This is cruel."

Leo's hand reaches for hers. "During the six months we spent together, Calypso would always give me shit for not taking things seriously even when we were in danger... and Gods, I'm trying so hard, but I can't do it. I can't joke about this."

"Leo," Ara holds onto his hand tightly. "I should let myself die, if I'm immortal—"

"You'll break up with me whether you're immortal or not," he says, guessing what she's about to tell him. "You've been planning it since we got here. Heck, it's been on your mind way before this even happened."

"You belong here," she uses the sheets to dry her face. "Agamethus and his stupid toy told me that. You and Calypso are meant to stay here, I saw it the moment we arrived. You're soul light—"

"You're just scared—"

"No, Leo, it's different," she presses. "I can feel it."

The boy looks up at her at last. "Feel what?"

"When I met you, I told you I could help you be better—and I did. Your curse is gone, now you're free to have a life with people who understand you, people who can help you adapt to a normal life. I can't do that."

"I don't care!" Leo leans forward in his seat. "I've never had a normal life and I haven't asked for one either! I've been on the run since I was eight, and if this is how the rest of my life will be if I stay with you, then so be it!"

Thick tears trail down Ara's cheeks. "What will happen once you get older and start wanting different things, when you start wishing for something stable?"

"I won't."

"You already do," she closes her eyes and rubs her forehead, trying to ease the headache. "The voices, Leo. You're one of them too. Will has been burning offerings for me now that his dad isn't a god—maybe Austin and Kayla are following his example, maybe Connor, Lily, and Nico will do the same."

"So what if you change again?" Leo frowns. "I'm way past caring about that, too."

"I can't," Ara stifles a sob. "I can't quit being a Daughter of Olympus for you. I saw Janus yesterday—He said this would be my last crossroads, and I've decided I won't survive this, I refuse to become immortal."

She wonders if Apollo knew the moment they met, that he was looking at a possible new godling. Lily and Nico had lost siblings to eternity and now they are losing her too, because she'd rather die than become part of the problem again. And Percy... her poor brother would be the hardest one to say goodbye to.

"I never asked you to stop being what you are," Leo says, voice straining. "Let me ask you this, Ara... What you did today, saving all those animals, keeping Lester and Calypso safe, making sure Meg was alright... how did that feel?"

Ara gulps, staring down at her hands, tightly gripping the bedsheets. "Like all those bad times were worth it."

"Wouldn't you like to feel that way forever? Help more kids centuries from now, knowing you're making the world a better place compared to how it was before you?"

"That void's never going to be filled," she says miserably. "It's a fatal flaw I fed for so long that I have nothing left to give but you. Hercules warned me that ambition was like this. I claimed he didn't have faith in me... I was the only one who didn't care enough."

"But it's worth it," Leo presses, needing her to see that staying alive even if it meant becoming a goddess was better than ceasing to exist. "You're good."

"I am," her expression softens as she looks at him. "That's where I always wanted it to end, me being good."

Leo doesn't respond right away, but after a minute or so, he speaks. "Love never amounted to much in our story, right?"

Ara swallows thickly. She couldn't hide from the fates anymore. Loved was her strongest power, but it couldn't change the world. "Distance will help you grieve less. I won't make you go through what I went through with Mike..." she cries softly. "I'm still cursed."

The boy's jaw clenches. "If you let yourself die, you'll be killing me too." He rubs his eyes. "Gods, I hate that you're doing this."

"I know."

In a swift motion, Leo holds up her face and presses a rough kiss to her lips. He lingers, taking as much as he can before letting go. 

He locks eyes with her, and she sees pure fire in his gaze. "I hate that you're doing this, because now I'll have to fight you." 

As he leaves the infirmary, Ara touches the burnt skin on her face again, remembering how easily she took care of the quest. A bittersweet pride spreads across her chest and she thinks of her friends burning offering for her back in camp. She couldn't have asked for a more glorious farewell to Ara Jackson.

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

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[delfiore]

—THE GHOST YOU LEFT BEHIND.

pairing: zoya nazyalensky x fem!heartrender!reader

synopsis: a painful past between you and zoya comes to light when you are sent on an intel mission on behalf of the king.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: men being gross, a mild spoiler for the SoC book (?) idk i found the info on the wiki

a/n: hahAA 4k. shadow and bone has consumed my life and so has sujaya dasgupta ok thank you goodnight.

You looked down at the map strewn in front of you, a small smile creeping its way onto your lips. You didn’t look up, but you could imagine the fury on Zoya’s face.

“If I may, moi tsar—“

“I have made my decision, General,” Nikolai interjected, “you are my best fighter, and well, Y/N can be quite persuasive. I trust that you two would make an excellent team.”

For the glory of Ravka.

Finally, your eyes found her across the table. Her jaw was tight and her eyes hard as she looked back at you. “We depart at dawn,” she said, regal and in the manner of a good soldier, and left the room.

“Something humorous, sister?”

You shook your head, but the grin remained. “Now I think you’re just doing it for the hell of it.”

“I need all the information I can gather about jurda parem,” your half-brother reasoned, “and my advisor and general to not be at each other’s throats every time they enter the same room.”

“And your solution is to send them away alone with each other?” You scoffed.

“Precisely.” Nikolai nodded, with the same shit-eating grin. “I expect you back in a fortnight’s time with useful intel.”

By the time the sun was above you the next day, you and Zoya had been on horseback for hours outside Os Alta. Unsurprisingly, in complete silence.

You breathed in deeply. “Well, isn’t this lovely?”

“No.”

“A thrilling adventure back to my motherland,” you continued much to Zoya’s dismay, “almost like that time when we went to seek out the Crows. Just thinking about those Shu dumplings at the market makes my mouth water.”

Her silence was poisonous, and you felt the poison seep into your bones. The horses huffed as they trotted leisurely side-by-side on the dirt path.

“You know, we are going to be together for the next fortnight. Are you really going to do this without saying a word?”

“I am,” she said adamantly, “unless you’d like a punch to the jaw for breakfast, I suggest you shut it.”

“Speaking of breakfast, I am famished.” You looked down at your stomach delicately. “Perhaps we should stop. There should be a tavern in a couple of miles.”

To your surprise, Zoya let you stop at the tavern for some food, but not before she gave you a look that made you reconsider everything you’ve ever said around her. You were in the middle of devouring bacon and eggs, when you heard a scoff coming from her on the opposite end of the table.

“You eat like an animal,” she said, grimacing.

“Sorry that my table etiquette isn’t to your liking. I’ve learned to appreciate food having lived at sea where sustenance is never certain.”

“Why’d you pick it then? You were royalty.”

You huffed. “Not exactly. My status at court depended entirely on how my father, the King, felt about his illegitimate child that day. And that, in it itself, was fragile. But you knew that.”

Zoya shifted uncomfortably. You knew you had touched on a sore subject, but it was the most you had exchanged with her since returning home with Nikolai. All the spats and arguments left you little room to fill her in on all your adventures as you’d hoped. You wrote countless letters addresses to her, but you never received a response, so you’d only assumed that your words on paper had been reduced to ash by now.

“I’ll have you know I got the money for it. You just got to tell me where.”

“I’ll sell it to ya when I make sure I’ve got more coming in from Koba. The Crown’s maximizing security at the borders so it might take a while.”

“Are you listening?” You looked up at her, whispering quietly, so as not to alarm the men at the next table.

She nodded wordlessly.

“Thought the Fold being gone would make it easier, instead it’s just another useless king waving his magic wand around like a little prick.”

“Name the man. I’ll have my men do business with him.”

There was a stiff silence. Her hand fiddled with the napkin anxiously as she waited for the response.

A heavy fist slammed down on the table next to your plate, and the rugged men had surrounded your table.

“Got a couple of eavesdroppers, haven’t we?” One of the sneered.

“Oy, give us a bit of fun and maybe we’ll let you off,” another put his foot on the chair in which Zoya sat, and stroked her face greedily. “I’ll take this one.”

You could see the desperation in her eyes, begging you not to fight back. So, you held your tongue. You knew you couldn’t reveal the status of your being here. It was the reason why you and her dressed in plain clothes, and not your kefta.

“We’re just passersby, boys. Not looking for any trouble,” Zoya said sweetly, but you could tell that she was fuming too.

“C’mon, sweetling. No harm in a little fun, eh?”

You hated the way that prick was hovering over Zoya, it made you see red. In a quick motion, you whipped your head back against one of them, effectively breaking his nose with a loud crunch. With the other that stood beside you gawking, you pulled on his heart, until you could feel it squeezing in your hand, and he fell to the flooring, arresting.

The tavern once animated quickly fell silent, and the only sound left was the brawl that you found yourself in. Needless to say, a bunch of otkazat’sya were no match for two Grisha. But it was only you using your powers. Zoya had knocked down two of the men with her bare hands.

You found the informant amidst the brawl, now battered with blood on his face, and held him by the collar. “Tell me who the seller is and where I can find him.”

When the man refused to answer, you gritted your teeth, and pulled the air from his lungs.

“Fine! Fine! I’ll tell you!” He gasped. “Yuri Enkhbaatar, in Koba. Please, let me go.”

You nodded, satisfied, and punched him in the face, rendering him unconscious.

“Grisha scum!” One of them shouted as they all ran out of the tavern with their tails between their legs.

You took a moment to catch your breath. When you looked down at your hands, they were shaking and your right was bloody at the knuckles. The silver ring on your middle finger, fortunately, was still intact.

“It’s fine,” you said to Zoya, seeing her look at your wound with apprehension.

The sound of the horses neighing alarmed you. "No," you whispered and set off to chase the men, only to see them galloping away with one of your horses. You quickly ran after them, but they had rounded the corner and descended the hill, away from your immediate eyesight.

You let out an angry yell, just as Zoya caught up to you.

"Well done," she said sarcastically, a grin on her face.

"Save it," you grumbled under your breath, and keep walking in the direction you were supposed to go.

You heard Zoya's horse trot behind you, and you turned around in an attempt to counter whatever teasing comment she was going to throw at you. "Hop on," she said.

It took you a second to realize what she meant, frankly because you didn't think she'd be that hospitable. It might have been a different story if it was her horse that had been taken. You never liked being around an angry Zoya; a simmering Zoya was enough of a headache.

"You do realize that this means I'm going to be very close to you for the rest of our journey?"

"I'd rather that than have to wait for you every few paces," Zoya said, extending a hand to you. "Go on, we don't have all day. And if you keep babbling, you will walk.”

You took a deep breath before pulling yourself upwards; now you were very close to her. You thought the years of being apart would extinguish that bubbling feeling you get whenever you were around her, but here you were, trying your best to keep calm, as your legs wrapped around her. Thank the Saints she wasn’t a Heartrender.

“I’d say this is quite nice—“

“No.”

You sighed. It was going to be a very long ride to Koba.

On the fifth night, you arrived at the city. The sun had long disappeared behind the mountains, and the city lights could be seen from miles away.

“We should probably find our accommodation before doing anything,” Zoya said, “we might be here for a bit.”

You found a cheap inn in a small alley near the market. If you weren’t on a mission for the king, you’d almost see it as a much-needed vacation. You knew Zoya was exhausted by the way her eyes were barely open she waited for the innkeeper to assign you your room. She grabbed the keys as soon as it left the woman’s hand and went upstairs.

“All the Saints above in good Heaven,” you heard her exclaim as you peered inside.

“What?” You said. There was one single bed in the middle of an otherwise quite spacious room.

“It’s alright. You catch some sleep.” You said, sensing her annoyance. “I’ll go into the night market—“

She didn’t let you finish your sentence before throwing her day-bag somewhere on the floor and collapsing onto the bed, her limbs sprawled out across the entire width.

“—For a bit,” you said quietly, and closed the door behind you in the hallway, a small grin on your face at the unusual display of fatigue.

When you returned about an hour later, she was already in a deep sleep, but still in her riding clothes. Careful so as not to wake her, you pulled the cover from underneath her, earning an annoyed murmur from the girl, and throwing it over her body.

The commotion from the market had faded out the moment you stepped into your shared room. The quietness, not silence, that enshrouded the room, became loud. Your mind became loud as you thought about the past. Your past with Zoya.

You began to hear her voice, her young laughter as she chased you down the hall at the Little Palace, effectively putting many servants in charge of your wellbeing in distress. You despised your so-called family, the only one you liked was Nikolai, but things got better because you had your best friend, Zoya, the new Squaller that came from Novokribirsk.

You found her crying alone one day in a hidden part of the courtyard, when she was supposed to be training with Botkin. She had come only a few days before, and she was missing home.

“I’ll be your friend,” you remember saying to her, “that way you’re not alone anymore.” The pair of you were nine.

You sat by the side of the bed, resting your head against it, watching her sleep. She had every right to hate you, you knew that, but it hurt a lot. It hurt because you had promised yourselves to each other in the form of two silver rings. You didn’t understand the magnitude of that promise then, but you did now; Zoya Nazyalensky was your first love.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, but you knew she couldn’t hear. Quickly, you placed your hands above your chest to slow your racing heart, and keep the tears at bay. Once calmed, you settled back against the side of the bed, listening to the other steady heartbeat in the room as you succumbed to sleep.

Ten years old. You pushed down on the door handle quietly, being careful not to wake the other girls in the room. It was way past your bedtime, and you knew you would have to sneak back into your own room before the sun rises. In the dark, you made your way to where you knew was Zoya’s bunk. She was fast asleep, facing away from you.

“Zoyaaaa,” you shook her softly. The raven-haired girl turned around, and rubbed her eyes.

“I can’t sleep,” you whispered.

Wordlessly, she moved over, albeit barely as her bed was tiny, and you happily got under the cover with when as she pulled you closer.

“What are you ever going to do without me?” Zoya whispered back.

In the pale moonlight, your best friend looked like the entire universe. “I’d just never sleep.”

“Y/N. Y/N, wake up!”

You jolted awake, feeling the weight of reality crash down against your heavy eyelids.

Zoya was hovering above you, furrowing her eyebrows at the snorting noise you made when you woke up.

“Look,” she said, pointing out the window.

You rubbed your eyes and squinted subconsciously at the bright light that penetrated the room. Deep into the alley, a space opened up to what appeared to be a tea shop, and there sat two of the men you encountered at the tavern in Ravka.

“Shit,” you grumbled.

Next to them was another man, the front half of his head was shaved, the back of it skirted down his back in a long braid. He had Shu features, Enkhbaatar.

“There’s our man,” Zoya said.

You lunged towards the door when she pulled in your sleeve. “What are you going to do?”

“Stopping those bastards from importing the drug into our country.”

“By doing what? Asking them nicely?” Zoya hissed. “Y/N, we’ve already directed enough attention to ourselves the other day. We’re not in Ravka anymore, we don’t have the same kind of protection here. If they find out what we are—“

“They kill us, I know.”

She nodded firmly. “So, I have a plan.”

Zoya was good at many things, a good Squaller, a loyal soldier, a resolute decision-maker. It led you to believe that her plan might just work, it checked out in your head. You got the name, Bo Yul-Bayur. But then, you found yourself chasing after Yuri Enkhbaatar down many winding alleys, until you stopped at what seemed to be a brothel and his goons looked like they were about to swallow you alive. Turns out the men that you had beaten up at the tavern alarmed him of two Grisha nobles looking for jurda parem.

“Kill them!” He shouted to them in Shu.

“We just want to talk, Yuri!” You held your hands up in defense.

“I don’t talk to Ravkans, most of all Grisha!”

“But you’re not human, are you? You’re Grisha too.” You laughed, albeit carefully. “You’re a Fabrikator, an Alkemi.”

The look on his face shifted, as he scanned his men.

“Let us go, and you will have protection in Ravka from the King himself until we arrest Bo and bring him to justice,” Zoya prodded.

“I don’t need protection from your boy king,” Yuri growled. “Tell me, will your Saints be there to watch over you in the afterlife?”

The men charged, and all you knew was to defend Zoya from their blades. But there were too many of them. You were getting overwhelmed by the others as you try to subdue one. Men piled on top of one other trying to fight you, and there was a moment when you thought you wouldn’t get out.

It would be poetic, you thought, dying with your best friend, and your first love. Word would reach your brother of your failure, and he would do with it as he willed, but you would be here with Zoya, and you would be alone together.

Through the chaos, you spotted Yuri fleeing the scene. He really meant to kill you. You looked over to Zoya, seeing her struggling to fight three men at once. One of them, in her blind spot, with a gleaming sword in hand sliced her arm and she reacted with a painful yelp.

“Zoya!” You yelled. The added strength of seeing her in pain allowed you to stop two of the men’s hearts at once, something you’ve never done before, as they instantly dropped like flies to your feet.

You sensed an opening in the disorientation, and quickly grabbed Zoya to make a run for it. You hid in another small alley under ropes of aired out laundry for added concealment, as you attempted to catch your breath.

Zoya’s sleeve, once royal blue, was now stained with a dark red where the open wound was. It looked deep, and she was trying her best not to let the blood mark your whereabouts on the ground. She clutched it poorly in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but her face turned pale as she looked closer to fainting.

Quickly, you tore a piece at the end of your garment off to wrap it around her arm. “Keep pressure,” you said, but she turned away and refused to meet your eyes.

“I don’t need your pity, Y/L/N.”

“Pity?” You scoffed incredulously. “Zoya, you’re bleeding out!”

“Don’t pretend like you care about me now!” You knew it was her pride talking. Years of being the perfect soldier—alone—has hardened her, and having her plans fail so spectacularly. “I’ve survived worse. I took a bullet to the leg, an arrow to the shoulder. This is nothing.”

“Zoya, please let me just—“

“And you weren’t there!” You saw your own reflection in her glossy eyes, like a crosshair, like a wanted poster. You saw yourself in her disappointment.

“I left because—“ your voice was breaking, “I left because I couldn’t stand it anymore. My . . . family, never saw me as anything more than a bastard child! I felt like I didn’t have a family. I was on my own.”

Zoya laughed bitterly, sniffling her tears. From the wall she was slumping against, she took a step towards you, her eyes burned with contempt. “I was your family, Y/N, and you left without even saying goodbye.”

“I’m sorry.” Your eyes were wet. You balled your fists, your right hand fiddling with your ring. “I loved you.”

“There was a time where I would have said it back to you,” she said, her voice wavering, “but that time is long gone.”

With that, she left, no doubt to find her way back to the inn, but you didn’t bother trying to show your face for at least until that evening.

Nikolai heartily welcomed your return. He had worried for your safety when word got back about the tussle at the tavern.

"Well done, Y/N. I never doubted your abilities."

"Truly, it was Zoya that came up with the plan to catch Yul-Bayur," your voice trailed off, and you shrugged.

Sensing your discomfort, your brother came to your side by the table. "You talked, then?"

"If by 'talk' you mean we screamed in each other's faces, then yes," you sighed, your last verbal interaction fresh on your mind. “The only times I regret leaving with you are when I think about her.”

Your brother understood not to make his thoughts known, but to be your comfort when he pulled you into his chest.

The way Zoya handles her emotional baggage was never something she was proud of. Her confrontation with you in Shu Han had dug up a lot of things she wished she had forgotten about. She had promised herself to never let anyone in as much as she did you, and it scared her how easily still you got under her skin, even now.

So she figured the best way to deal with you was to pretend you never existed at all. The only times she would see you were at dinner and training anyway, but she never bat you an eye. She wanted you to know what it felt like to be left behind.

“Lady Y/N asked about you,” Genya told her, “asked how your arm is doing.”

“‘S fine.” Zoya answered courtly.

In the little time Genya Safin had the privilege of knowing Zoya, she knew the girl could be difficult to talk to. However, it never deterred her from trying.

“Why do you deprive yourself so? You know you still care about her.”

“It’s none of your business, Safin.”

“It is. It’s everyone’s business, Zoya, when you both have been lathering those longing, melancholic looks at each other all over our faces! You don’t think the other notices when you look at each other, but Saints it is so blatant that it makes me nauseous.”

Zoya didn’t reply, but opted to observe some younger Grisha mucking about during their breaks from training.

“And what about those letters? Why’d you keep them then? For decoration?”

“I—I don’t know.” She must have read every single one of your letters at least ten times, each time hanging onto every word. She would find herself smiling as some of the stories you tell her, but quickly catch herself slipping. There would be three to four letters every few months, then the numbers dwindled until she had to get used to not receiving any at all. Five months later, you returned.

“General,” a guard made himself known to the women. “His Majesty requests your presence in the council chamber.”

To her utmost dismay, you were there too, along with Tolya and Tamar. She let herself settle by the table, ignoring the burning gaze you were directing at her.

“You called for me, moi tsar?”

“Yes, I was hoping to get your input on how we shall proceed with Yuri Enkhbaatar, and subsequently Bo Yul-Bayar.” The King leaned on the edge of the table. “You were face-to-face with Enkhbaatar, what do you think?”

She let herself glance over at you for a split second, seeing you already looking at back at her with a crestfallen look. Straightening back up at the King, she answered, “We may need some time before we are able to get to Yul-Bayar. With him hiding out in Kerch, the only thing we may do is issue a bounty for him. Might I suggest our . . . friends in Ketterdam?”

By the time the meeting was over, Zoya used her best effort to leave the room as quick as possible, but, as if you had known she was going to, you caught her in the hallway.

“Zoya,” you said. There was a hesitant pause. “I was hoping to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk,” she spoke calmly, almost too much so. You winced at her aloofness.

“Please, I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just want you to know that I’m sorry, and that I thought about you every day when I was gone. You must believe me.” You clung onto her sleeve with a desperate look. Zoya almost faltered at the glossiness that been to form in your eyes, you looked so defeated.

“I still think about you,” you confessed quietly, “you are all I think about.”

Your confession hung in the air like a puff of smoke, one that she wished she could condensed into a ball and throw away. There were other things that should be said after, but if she said them, her beating heart was going to jump out of her mouth into her hands for you see. There was a time when she wouldn’t have been afraid to let you see. Parts of her wanted to return to it.

“Th-That’s it,” you mumbled quietly, but something shifted in your eyes. You avoided her eyes and visibly deflated.

Zoya watched you floated down the hallway like a ghost, regretting choosing silence.

That night you couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning in bed, you let your last conversation with Zoya played out in your head. You didn’t know what she was thinking, you used to be able to read her like a book. There were very little expressions on her face to indicate any emotion, and yet her heart was pounding in your ears like a scared prey.

One can wear as many faces as one needs, but the heart will always want what it wants.

You kicked off your covers, and quietly opened the main doors to your room. There was not a single sound in the hallway, the Castle had gone to sleep long before that. You had learned where everything was now located in your absence, and you stopped in front of a room right by the stairs leading down to the main atrium.

She opened the door, and didn’t bother to hiding the surprise on her face. “Y/N,” she called your name.

You gulped, and let yourself run your eyes across her features. Her face was bare, free of cosmetics, her hair was dark as the night and cascaded freely down her shoulders.

“I can’t sleep,” you said, smiling sadly.

There it was. You saw the walls cracking, and finally tumbling down. Her lips quivered as she stifled a small sob. She had been pretending so hard, and it all cane tumbling down.

Wordlessly, she pulled you into her room, her hands finding their ways to the nape of your neck. You let her cry against your forehead, as your fingers found the wound on her arm that has now closed.

“I’m so tired of pretending.” Zoya said.

“Then stop,” you shook your head lightly. “I’m never leaving again.”

You let her push you back towards her bed where you sat by the edge, as she slowly guided you onto your back, raven curtains divided her face from everything else. You let your hands roam free, all night, for a thousand nights.

[quemirabobo]

At the beginning of the conversation, I would like to express my respect, love and thanks to you for your good treatment, appreciation and support for us and our humanitarian cause. I ask you to forgive me if I have bothered or inconvenienced you. In fact, we have not found anyone to help us, and we are here displaced, fleeing death in Gaza for more than a year. We left our home and our son under the rubble and lost our money. I am the breadwinner for my sick father, my injured mother who lost her foot, my wife and my children. We are displaced in a dilapidated tent that does not protect us from the rain. We were shocked by this when winter came and we found ourselves drowning in the rain and shivering from the cold air without having any means of heating or protection such as winter clothes or food. We do not have our daily sustenance. We have been afflicted with illness and old age. My family and I are sending you these words to express our pain that is getting worse every moment. Therefore, we are all hopeful that you will stand by us. We ask you not to be stingy with us with a dollar that will contribute to changing our situation and saving us from the oppression of pain and illness.

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

hi moon, just wanted to let you know that your fanfiction and other's artwork who i follow here have inspired me to make fanfiction. i've written tamer stories but i've also written nsfw stuff as well about eris and drifter. i don't run out of ideas but i run out of steam and motivation to write, even when it involves characters that i love to either draw or write about. do you have any tips to keep going if, for example, you run into an art block of some kind? how can you filter out junk ideas for a good one to write about? also dialogue, it is my weakness but you pick up their mannerisms really well based on some of your work i've read. any tips to get them right in fanfiction? thanks for your time

I cannot express how delighted I am that things I have written have inspired you to write - especially things with Eris and the Drifter. I hope you will consider posting them somewhere and sending me a link either on here or in DMs (or if you are not posting it and still want to share, I invite you to email me - my ID for gmail is the same as it is here, on Discord, and on Ao3.)

Regarding motivation: Writing is a muscle and creativity responds well to routine use of it and sustenance. Motivation is also like a small child and sometimes needs coddling and protection.

I have found the most effective way through blocks is to freewrite through them, By this I mean set a timer, get a pen and paper (not keyboard unless you need one for accessibility reasons) and write whatever comes into your head for five or ten minutes (the number of minutes can vary - I often go up to 20 but even five can be hard at first). Your job is not to actually write, and the words don't actually matter, you just need to keep the pen moving and are not allowed to stop writing words, and then you want to try and do this every day. The point is not to write creatively, it's exercise. Most commonly this begins with phrasing like:

I must write words. I must keep them appearing on the page. I must not stop until the timer ends. I must write. I must write words.

And eventually you get very bored of writing the same thing over and over again and start including other things. For me the most common thing I start to write is lists of things I need to do that are not done yet or lists of things that are emotionally bothering me.

Eventually you run out of things and/or get tired of writing the same problems over and over again and your brain gets bored and starts dreaming up new things. That is good. Let your mind get bored. You want that. Let it play. Grammar is not important. No one else needs to ever see this, including yourself. Ethics/morality is not important. This is pure brain-vomit straight from within. You are teaching yourself to have a conversation with your mind in a nonjudgemental manner. If critical thoughts happen you can write them down, but try not to focus on criticism because that is the enemy of creativity.

For when you're not completely blocked and trying to avoid becoming so, write full first drafts before going back and editing them. Editing engages a different part of the brain from creation and engaging too early can divert your focus and sometimes make it hard to get back into the creative mindset again.

Take breaks. Play games (if you're writing D2 fanfication, this counts as research!) or step away from the computer (or paper). Eat a food. Drink a water. Human bodies were not designed to write for long periods of time. Too much and we start to cramp up and have bad posture and this eventually leads to being distracted by pain.

Protect your creativity. This may be more of a depression thing than a writing thing but few things strangle creativity more than immersing ourselves in toxicity. I curate what media I ingest very stringently. I've had to block people who I still consider to be fantastic artists and writers, whose work I genuinely respect, because it's just not healthy for me to interact with them. Constructive criticism is healthy and good to engage with, but when you encounter a person (or a group) who makes you feel bad routinely, ask yourself if you're actually getting anything out of that relationship. Are they making you a better writer (or a better person) or are they just shitting on everything you love? Sometimes we stay in places (especially online places) that are hostile to us because we feel socially obligated to do so and it harms, not just our creativity, but also our self-esteem. Remember to evaluate these things routinely. Sometimes the reason you're creatively blocked is simply a symptom of something larger. Sometimes your unconscious mind is trying to tell you that it's being poisoned and you need to change your environment so it can breathe again.

Regarding how to filter out junk ideas:

There are no junk ideas, only poor implementation. And even poor implementation is better than no implementation. Write them anyway. You can always edit it later. If your mind thinks something is shiny, pursue it, no matter how 'junk' you think it might be. If your mind thinks something is junk, put it aside, but keep it. It may become shiny later. It may be useful in another form.

Do not filter your ideas. Pile them in a giant heap like a dragon and lie on them. Roll around. Kick your feet. Play. Let your brain be a two-year-old magpie and just pick out whatever is shiniest at the time. Be indulgent. Be decadent. It is your mind. You can have favourites. You can get bored and pick up something else. It's allowed.

You are also allowed to force yourself to finish something when you are unblocked (if you wish) but you may find that doing so causes you to be blocked. Be careful of that. Human unconsciousness and creativity is very cat-like. It gets bored easily and will often be contrary just to fuck with you. It will sit in front of a door, demand you open it, and then begin to lick its ass. It didn't want to actually go through the door. It just wanted you to open it. And that's fine. Let your mind be flighty. You are not on a time limit (unless you are being paid - then it gets more difficult).

In my experience, when you are blocked, or close to it, the restrictions need to come off. Let your mind play and pick up shiny things and get distracted by something shinier or different or otherwise weird. Treat your unconscious like an unruly child, give it breaks. Let it take naps. Give it a cookie when it's done eating its vegetables (but also let it have cookies just because). If you end up with 300 unfinished things that's fine. I, myself, have oodles of them. I look through them and often later find them shiny again. This is fine. Keep your half-done things. Allow yourself to make them and to have them. They are part of your horde. Go looking for more. Shuffle them around. Mix them. Throw them against different walls periodically to see if they stick. Sometimes two things are not interesting but when you put them side by side a third thing appears, within or between them or in reaction to them, that is more lovely than either of them could have been on their own.

When you are writing something and feel bored with it, ask yourself if maybe it's just that you need something else happening at the same time. Maybe this part could use some foreshadowing of something dramatic that isn't yet stated. Or perhaps another scene could be woven into and happen simultaneously with what is happening now.

I work very hard at my dialogue. I am delighted you like it. Some voices (such as the Drifter) come to me far more easily than others and for some (like Eris) I need to immerse myself in them to get a good feel of them. Yet others I simply copy and paste some of their in-game dialogue into a notepad file and then replace individual words until it is saying something else. Or I splice two in-game lines together to make a new one with existing phrases. I often work with a notepad of just copy-pasted dialogue from the game along side what I'm writing so I can use it as a reference for how the character talks.

Conversations also don't tend to begin at the beginning and end at the end. If more context is needed later, you can fix that when you're editing. You're allowed to just skip to the fun parts. You're allowed to have external things interrupt.

Sometimes I go stand by a character in-game that has idle dialogue (both the Drifter and Eris are lovely for this) and I just listen to them while I do other things in an attempt to absorb their speech patterns through osmosis. Sometimes I look up transcriptions of their voice lines from the game, or find quotes from them, or play scenes from the destiny lore vault on youtube in the background, or look up transcriptions on the ishtar collective. I read through them and analyse them. I look for patterns and note them down for use later.

Distinctive character voices have distinctive quirks. Eris, for example, tends to use poetic language, and often uses a bigger word when a smaller one will do, but only when the meaning of the bigger word is actually more precise:

"We do not seek to exculpate the Witch Queen."

Her humour is subtle and pointed, often a little creepy or mean.

"Ikora and Zavala are dear friends. Even if we don't always see eye to eye… to eye."

She is also very blunt, not only in not sugarcoating anything but also in being forthright with her feelings and her tendency to state the obvious, sometimes uncomfortable things no one is talking about:

"Did Zavala send you? He does not trust me." "You give me hope."

Drifter loves colourful gritty memorable metaphors and his humour ranges from self deprecating and flirty to bleak as fuck - sometimes one after the other or at the same time for shock value.

"Otto does it so beautifully that, when he's done, you're standing there holding your guts in your hands and thanking him for the show."

But he's also prone to dispensing unrequested, often highly practical (but a bit unnerving) advice:

"The bullet always comes when you're not moving." "Ever headbut a Kell? Don't. You'll break your neck. Use bullets."

Dialogue also works best when something else is happening at the same time. People rarely talk to each other with their full focus unless the situation is emotionally charged and/or the conversation is extremely important. Figuring out what each one of them is doing in addition to talking can be very helpful even if it never shows up directly in the dialogue at all.

Dialogue also tends to work well when each character has a reason for having the conversation. The reasons don't need to be complicated. The Drifter can be hungry and want to eat dinner. Eris can be busy and want to finish the conversation quickly so she can go back to what she was doing. But having what the character wants in the background of what is being said can really give weight and context to what's being spoken.

Not all responses need to be verbal and many characters have distinctive non-word responses to things. Drifter often laughs, says 'Oooh!' or 'Huh.' Eris often says 'Hmmm…' or sighs. These are as important to their distinctive voices as the words they use.

Dialogue between two people may not need attribution if the voices are distinct enough but any more than two people in a conversation and attribution is usually needed or the reader will become confused. The goal for dialogue attribution is to make it as invisible as possible unless you are using it for a specific effect (for example, I often use attribution as pacing or to achieve a specific rhythmic effect). So anything that might confuse the reader and make them need to re-read or otherwise ask who is speaking is to be avoided. This means that 'said' is not a sin, and neither is 'growled' as long as whatever you choose doesn't stick out and draw attention to itself.

I hope this is useful to you. I love writing, and reading, and delight in sharing stories and ideas. I very much look forward to anything you write and, while I know it is challenging to show your work to others, it's also very rewarding. I hope some day you will be willing to share your things with me, especially if they include Eris and/or the Drifter. I tend to be a very sympathetic reader and will delight in your words and cherish them as expressions of joy and care.

Let there be more love in the world. Let us write it into existence. Let us sing our songs to the universe and delight in the songs we hear in return.

Aiat.

[unravelingwhy]

And when we are weary, He sends His angels to replenish us.

notes from my bible readings: disclaimer: i am in no way a scholar. the Lord and those He assigned to be erudite of the Word have allowed me to gain deeper understanding and expand my relationship with the scriptures. please pray for discernment as you read through my notes. please, i prompt you to pray and directly ask the Lord for discernment and that He leads you to the right resources during your study and to answer your questions. always test the spirit of anyone you encounter, and i am no exception to that rule.

and to my Adonai, I praise you, the source of True knowledge, wisdom, and discernment. To You, and Your Son, Jesus, ever be the praise and glory, now and forever.

❤️‍🔥 1 Kings 19

while he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness. He came to a broom bush, sat down under it and prayed that he might die. “I have had enough, Lord ,” he said. “Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.” — 1 Kings 19:4

even His servants then experience negativity and struggle enough that the want to just be with the Lord.

We strive to guarded but even the afflictions and torment from this world will wear us down.

To be physically strong is a great feat but it there is supernatural power in genuine prayers for the Lord God who hears them is above all and beyond.

Pray that we have the energy to call out His Name amidst our weakness and exhaustion.

Brave servants of the Lord, who continuously expose the lies the god of this world and the fallen angels, and their agenda to lead those who strive to follow narrow path astray, are often threatened and experience the brutality of the spiritual warfare that has been happening even before the ascension of the Lord.

Nevertheless, the battle has already been won by the Lord long ago.

The enemy and his fallen companion’s destiny have already been decided.

Never lose hope to my fellow brethren currently in the dark. Remember the scriptures. Let it be your guiding light amidst the fog and the darkness.

The Lord’s fire will provide warmth and energy for all of us.

Then he lay down under the bush and fell asleep. All at once an angel touched him and said, “Get up and eat.” — 1 Kings 19:5

This is doubt and imposter syndrome felt by someone in the Bible. Even then, such demonic spirits can be defeated by the King of Kings.

No being is more powerful than Jesus who is the King of Kings.

And yet even there, most of the time, all we need is quiet time and ample rest. My heart warms that the Lord took action and sent one of His angels to encourage His servant, exhausted from the world and its persecution, and reminded him to replenish his energy.

The Lord is with us, He has eyes and ears everywhere, we only need to call out His name in prayer and He’ll send His troops to save us from the affliction of this world.

‘The angel of the Lord came back a second time and touched him and said, “Get up and eat, for the journey is too much for you.” — 1 Kings 19:7

I want to cry with how much the Lord cares for us.

Even the Lord recognizes our fatigue. He provides rest and food. A great reminder that in the everyday war we participate—emotionally, mentally, and physically—we need sustenance.

This chapter also provides us that the Lord our God is a provider. We only need to ask for it with the guidance of His Spirit.

Food, water, rest, and a place to stay.

“The spirit needs to be fed, and the body needs feeding also. Do not forget these matters; it may seem to some people that I ought not to mention such small things as food and rest, but these may be the very first elements in really helping a poor depressed servant of God.” (Spurgeon) — from the Enduring Word

“It was very gracious for God to deal this with his servant. We might have expected rebuke or remonstrance, chiding or chastisement; but we would hardly have expected such loving, gentle treatment as this.” (Meyer) — Enduring Word

'He replied, “I have been very zealous for the Lord God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me too.” — 1 Kings 19:10

There is validation in the Bible that the feeling of desolation is present, as it tells us that even those who worked closely with the Lord, such as Elijah, felt desolated from the world.

We are not alone. The Lord knows our pain. He’s waiting on us to call out to Him.

After all, choosing to pray to Him rather than choosing the ephemeral healing this world offers is part of our free will. To continuously choose the Lord and His ways rather than this world and it’s god.

[nomsfaultau]

SBI Whumptober prompt 3) Dehumanization and 26) Shock (but only as a pun)

Disclaimer: this blurb is set in the SCP SBI AU I have called Fault, specifically prior to Part 1. Explanation of AU; tldr. 

(Wilbur)

[Exposure to object: ████’s voice may result in physical harm to ear drums. In extreme cases, it causes severe psychological distress that necessitates the termination of Foundation personnel. The objective of this treatment is to reduce the lives and sanities lost containing this anomaly, as its escape would cause countless casualties. 

As it is dangerous to check the content of auditory recordings, success will be measured based on the audio level in room 15021. Report attached below. For further information contact the archives division, but proceed with caution. 

(Legend: 60 dB is normal speaking range; 90 dB is a human scream; at 150 dB ear drums rupture.) 

Treatment introduced at 8:57 AM. No injuries were sustained. Post 9:23, object ████ did not produce volume above that of the 30 dB threshold. Treatment was suspended to permit sustenance intake. Early results are promising.]

— — —

The calming song he’d been humming pooled into the air. Velvety low notes, meaningless lyrics. Wilbur found it soothing. For all that he’d grown up with nothing to his name, music was always his if only because no one could rip it out of his hands like they did everything else. A small rebellion, but it was Wilbur’s, and it was a well-honed act of honey-sweet spite. 

It was a song to forever remain unfinished as footsteps echoed closer. A faint sound, but his gut was well-tuned to it by now. He backed away from the entrance as employees poured into his cell. “Stay still and make this easy or you’ll wish you had, ████.” 

Wilbur bristled at the moniker. “My name is Wilbur,” he snarled, jaw ripping apart into a horrendous, seething mass of teeth. He refused to let them steal his name, too. He wasn’t an object, or an it. For all that the Foundation refused to admit it, Wilbur was a person. 

“Unless you’d like to be tased again, cease the threat display.” The voice was bored for all the fear their words stabbed in Wilbur’s guts. Scowling, he wrenched his jaw back into place, shoving the mandibles to proper alignment with the rest of his skull. 

“So what’s up? Want to stab more needles in? Or, oo, you’re going to send more criminals in to see what happens? You humans really are eager to sacrifice your own,” he said conversationally even as he retreated from the sprawl of guards. Hands seemed to grab him from every direction and Wilbur just had to grit his teeth and bear it. “Come on fellas, there’s really enough of me for everyone, no need to get handsy-” He was scruffed, head shoved down. He suppressed the instinct to rip every one of them to shreds. Unfortunately, by now Wilbur was incredibly familiar with just how extreme Foundation punishments were, and he wasn’t eager to taste them. He’d been behaving, even, which was a tall order for him. All he’d been doing for days now was lay in his cell and hum stupid little songs to himself. Not jeopardizing people or devouring the world whole or anything! It made everything inside him howl, but even Wilbur could learn to submit to authority if the repercussions were extreme enough. 

So when they ordered him to shut up, Wilbur did, even if he had to bite his tongue to manage. Something snapped shut around his throat and he managed to make zero (0) snarky remarks. Phil would be proud. 

Almost immediately, the employees fled. Huh. That was a weirdly short experiment. Wilbur sighed in relief. Eventually, he prodded curiously at the thing around his neck. It was oddly bulky, tight enough to make him conscious of his pulse. What the hell?

A…collar? 

“What th—!?!” the world dissolved into pure agony. A horrific scream tore from his throat as electricity poured through it.

— — —

Legend: Asterix indicates when treatment was applied. Shaded areas average periods where object: ████ was in an inactive state and treatment was deactivated. 

Notes:

Day 1 offers a baseline for audio levels prior to treatment.

Treatment was introduced Day 2. 

Day 2: Volume spike at 21:41. If object: ████ is presumed to have a REM cycle akin to that of a human’s, it is hypothesized the initial increase in decibels was the result of a nightmare. This was an irregularity not accounted for when planning the procedure and thereafter was rectified by discontinuing treatment applications when it slept. 

Object: ████ is not given an artificial night block for obvious reasons and has an irregular sleep schedule. It tends to sleep whenever it collapses from exhaustion. Post 22:00 it was monitored for consciousness.

Day 3: At 3:20 AM it screamed in its sleep again. It did not immediately resume sleeping, instead staying up and continuing to produce sounds. Researcher █████ ███████ bravely volunteered to check the audio in case it was a security risk. Fortunately, researcher █████ ███████ was unharmed and reported it was mimicking vocal sounds ranging from soft humming to crying. It would not cease. At 4:10 treatment was applied to disincentivize exploiting the choice to leave the treatment device inactive during periods of unconsciousness. 

Conclusion: Object: ████ self-regulates volume to levels below 30 dB threshold, which drastically reduces the chance of harm for personnel. 

This Special Containment Procedure has been deemed a success.]

— — —

Wilbur rubbed his aching throat. It hurt, but it felt good to have the shock collar off his neck. Unfortunately, he reckoned the respite would only last the duration of the coming visit with Philza.

The Foundation hated the visits for their security risk. But the threat to humanity was far greater if Philza went unchained, and so they lured him in with promised glimpses of his stolen children. Wilbur hated to be a pawn, but there was nothing any of them could do. Still, he was grateful for the visits. He wouldn’t have lasted this long without them. 

He needed this to be normal. Jokes and quips and jabs and everything he needed to say before his voice was locked up again. Wilbur smiled brightly the moment the door opened and revealed Philza. 

And yet one look and concern spooled in his features. “Are you okay?” 

Yes. But the word never fell from his tongue. It should’ve been an easy lie, but Wilbur’s throat constricted, expecting punishment. Panic set in, this was supposed to be the one time Wilbur was safe and yet he couldn’t speak. His fingers jolted to his throat as if anticipating a shock simply for thinking of trying. 

Philza surged forward, wrapping him in a warm hug. “Hey, hey, I got you. What happened?” Wilbur tried to force out an answer, choking on it. Nothing came out. He tried over and over to speak only for his vocal cords to lock on him. It grew tight to the point of pain as his distress spiked. Philza ran a comforting hand down his back even as Wilbur clawed into him desperately. “You don’t have to tell me, that’s perfectly alright mate. Here, I saved some extra food for you…” 

He curled up with Philza the rest of the visit, sheltered in his arms. It was the closest he’d had to anything resembling safety in weeks. Philza’s heartbeat thumped comfortably from where Wilbur rested on his chest. Quiet, not loud enough to risk a shock. That was safe then. A low, sweet rumble began to vibrate in Philza’s chest, an ancient lullaby spilling over its gentle aegis. 

Wilbur shoved Philza away, terrified the current pouring through his body would be shared. It took a beat to realize there was no voltage forthcoming. Phantom electricity trickled down his spine, but it was all in his head. 

The lullaby stilled on Philza’s tongue. How often had Wilbur heard it as a child, the familiar tune used to lure him to peaceful slumber. It felt like a betrayal that a song that had soothed him so many times before now kindled only fear. Wilbur swallowed roughly, unable to look at Philza. 

“Sorry,” Philza murmured, confused. “I can be quiet?” 

Wilbur shook his head. He didn’t want the Foundation to win like this. Wilbur buried himself in Philza’s embrace, shoving the panic down and forcing himself to feel safe. Claws stroked through his tangled hair, lyrics half tumbled into gentle assurances. Slowly, the vice on his throat eased. Tentatively, he joined the song, so quiet it hurt. His throat ached from all the abuse poured into it, hoarse from disuse. Too far above the echo of a whisper and the fear returned, seizing his voice once more. Still, it got a little easier as the hour spent itself. 

But then the visit was over, and the panic spiked, knowing this might be the last chance he got to speak for the rest of the month. Wilbur pressed his mouth to Philza’s cheek in a parody of a farewell kiss. His words came out ragged and husky and so, so scared.

“I can’t do this anymore, Dad.”

[queenlilithprime]

Business of Love - Breaking Point (Pt. 4/8)

Lilith (They/Them) and Harper (He/Him) from @campwillowpeakvn

Content Warnings: Kidnapping, Blackmail, Emotional Manipulation

Word Count: 917!

The succubus was growing desperate at this point, 3 weeks without their lover after almost two years of consistent sustenance from him... It was making them go insane. Their head felt fuzzy all the time and Harper could tell something was wrong but didn't know what.

"Cara Mia what do you need? You look miserable, please talk to me." He begged, cupping their face with his hands as they let out soft heavy breaths. The inky-haired teacher hissed through their teeth and tried to pull away but Harper had them pretty much pinned in place. "Talk to me, please."

They couldn't put off telling him for much longer, if they did it would probably make them lose their fucking mind.

"Harper..." They hissed, tail lashing furiously behind them as he watched with expectant eyes.

"Yes, Cara Mia? What do you need?"

"I'm a fucking succubus who you took from their lover. Did you honestly think I could survive like this?" Their tone was cold and harsh, but Harper simply blinked for a bit before smiling.

"Well you could always dump him and become mine? I'll be able to help you then, right? But I can't let you go back to him." In all honesty, even with his confident tone, he was panicking inside.

He should've kidnapped them earlier, that way they would've never grown this bond to him. Is it a single bond? Can it change? How does it work???

Lilith pushed him away with their wanting strength, a look of frustration on their features. He was losing his mind, wasn't he?

"It's not that simple, Harper!" They wanted to shout but instead just snapped at him, "I love Gavin. I can't cheat on him that would make me truly a monster."

His features scrunched in displeasure and hurt at their words.

"Break up with him. You know you're mine, I won't ever let you go. Once you make up your mind on how to tell him I'll send it. You're not leaving me." He growled at them, holding their face tightly. Lily's eyes began to water, they didn't want to leave Gavin but it was the one thing Harper never budged on. He was willing to change so many things but never let Lily have their lover.

"I won't... Please stop... I love him Harper you can't do this to me... It's torture." They were on the verge of begging him, pleading with him to let them go. They needed Gavin more than anything. Harper's expression darkened, he was tired of this.

"You know the fucking rules, Cara Mia. Non essere difficile..." He muttered, "How do I help you? What will alleviate your problem?"

Lilith didn't know of any way to be intimate with someone outside of what they had with Gavin. They absolutely refused to do anything they would do with him with anyone else.

"What kind of intimacy do you need? How did..." His lip curled in disgust, "How did he help you with it?"

"He kissed me... We had sex. We're fucking engaged what do you think, Harper?!" They snapped, feeling a migraine coming on. They knew he was obsessed with them and their instincts yearned to taste his desires. As the pain shot through their skull and made them flinch, Harper instinctively pulled them into a hug.

He didn't know why he did it, he just did. As quickly as his arms wrapped around them, their headache began to subside. A soft sigh left their lips as the exhaustion slowly left them. Harper's absolute obsession with Lily was making even a hug sustain them.

As the relief washed over Lilith, unease filled their stomach. Was he that infatuated with them? That a mere hug was able to help their instincts subside?

That terrified them.

But they were unable to resist the overwhelming urge to fall asleep, mumbling a small thanks before passing out in his arms.

Harper...

Panic is a polite way to describe what his next reaction was. He was beyond confused, unsure how to handle his beloved simply passing out in his arms. Should he take them to a hospital??? He can't, Lily would be taken from him...

After about two hours of crying and frantically checking Lily's vitals they finally stirred. He furiously wiped his eyes with his hoodie sleeve, sniffling as he watched them carefully. When their eyes fluttered open and he saw their bright green irises he scooped them into his arms and began apologizing profusely.

Lilith had absolutely no idea what was happening, but he was crying so... They gently patted his back and sighed softly, feeling his arms tighten around them. He was huge, warm, and incredibly strong... They could never escape and this desperate panicked hug proved it.

"I'm fine... Harper... I'm fine..." They murmured, their voice tired but less pained than before. He pulled back a bit, checking over their face and doing a quick once over of their body before sighing in relief.

"So hugs can help... That's good... I'll make sure to feed you lots, okay?" He said, wiping his face again with a soft smile.

The succubus nodded slowly, still looking really out of it. Their mind was struggling to wrap itself around this situation. Kidnapped by a stalker, essentially starved, then suddenly flooded with so much intake that they pass out.

This man petrified them.

He would kill them one day wouldn't he?

He would kill Gavin.

If they didn't give in.

Lily was finally reaching a breaking point.

[cebwrites]

vampire AU hcs

a/n: something short and sweet to get these ideas out of my head, spooky szn hasn't quite left me yet 🦇💕

oc x canon, they/he law, blood ment, hickeys word count: 0.6k

Vampires being repelled by garlic but treating it with the same weight as most lactose intolerant people because, depending on the amount consumed, the affects are more or less the same as a mild allergic reaction - Law is not giving their idiot vampiric boyfriend their blood to sip equivalent to a lactaid pill while he sniffles and whines at them over a bowl of pasta

Law travels a lot for their work and it's not uncommon for Kirin to shadow them, stealing kisses under the cover of heavy foliage or napping comfortably under the good doctor's coat in the form of an innocent little bat until the sun sets

On the occasion that the area that he has to visit is notoriously sunny or crawling with vampire hunters, however, Kirin stays "home" at whatever little inn they've made themselves comfortable in for the month

The first long trip away from each other, Law returned to the innkeeper running up to him in a panic about the state of his partner since their departure; Kirin was as they left him, asleep and tangled up in the covers with his hair splayed across both pillows

Just that this time his skin ran a deathly chill (more than one would expect from the undead) and according to the inn-keeper he'd hardly moved at all in the past week, let alone get up to eat anything; although Law supposed that latter part was a good thing considering his partner's... proclivities

Only after they assured the innkeeper, and the handful of worried servants that had been charmed by their partner's nature before he ended up in such a sorry state, that everything would be fine if they just gave them some air and space to work, in private, did light return to Kirin's eyes

Whether it was the prospect of fresh blood or just Law's presence as they leaned down to give their pallid lover much needed affection and sustenance - that mattered little because life quite literally poured back into Kirin with the first bite

Later he'd get a scolding smack from the huffy doctor when Law asked how he ended up like that in the first place, and Kirin's only answer was that he refused to drink anyone's blood but theirs because "he was afraid to upset them" if he took anyone else like he took to them

They discussed later that if this little asshole was literally on the brink of a second death, that drinking other people's blood was okay without Law present

I like to think that Kirin's bites have minor healing properties in addition to the local anesthetic actual vampire bats have, where wild vampires have their gluttonous bloody feasts he lures his prey in with easy smiles and a gorgeous silhouette in the night, then he's gone without leaving so much as a trace on their necks

Makes things a lot harder for the hunters to follow his trail if there isn't one to follow

As far as Law is concerned, it's convenient, especially when he has to head into a meetup with other hunters over the weekend and their frankly insatiable lover is begging for more blood - although Law does feel a little something when Kirin proudly flaunts the patches of red and purple that they leave on him with his open, flowy shirts

Almost pouting because they've got nothing to show, but really all they have to do is ask and Kirin would gleefully mark their throat with love bites that didn't break skin, therefore having no need for his supernatural abilities to kick in and hide them

Though Law would hesitate to actually admit it out loud, since they're almost certain that the idea of them actually wanting to be marked by Kirin would send that man into a giddy, giggly haze for hours, and they really don't have the time to flush for that long (they're right)