#steel broaches

[steelsmanbroaches]

Best Broaches in India with best steel used to make it perfect for your work.

[solitaireinfosystems01]

Spline Rolling Rack Broaches - Steelman Broaches

A complete range of Spline-Involute, Parallel and Trapezoidal, Serrations, Ratchet, broaches specially designed to suit the component specifications. Available in push or pull type desigh. We regularly manufacturer spline rolling rack broaches for precision-made Steering Knuckle Arm, Constant Mesh Gear, Front Axle, Lift Arm, Depth Control Cap, Bull Gear, Differential Lock Clutch centre and Fly/Sprocket Wheel Ratchet components.

[void-my-warranty]

Ghost Watches You With Johnny for the First Time (18+)

Service Dog Johnny Part 2 (full part list here)

Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content Warnings: Voyeurism, fingering, squirting, hypersensitive reader, she/her reader Word Count: 2.8k

“Johnny’s coming over in a bit.”

Your breath catches, and the task of rubbing in your skincare goes forgotten as you swivel your head to find your boyfriend’s face. “To watch the movie? Or for… the other thing?”

Pathetic, that you’ve agreed to fuck Simon’s friend and you can’t even say the word ‘sex.’

“For the movie,” Simon says, which calms your racing heart slightly. “...and if you want the other thing to happen, that’s alright too.”

Shit, already? You swipe your eyes back to the mirror, at the streaks of moisturizer that still haven’t absorbed into your skin. When you agreed to try this arrangement a few days ago, you hadn’t considered that the chain of events could develop this quickly. You thought you’d have more time to get anxious about it first, a mission or two at least. 

“You’ve got that face on,” Simon remarks, coming to stand behind you in the mirror and wrapping his thick arms around your midsection. 

You stare at his reflection for just a second, at that cute, ruffled hair, and the soft tshirt that you were looking forward to snuggling up against. Your eyes drop critically down to your own body, your mismatched pjs. “I haven’t shaved.”

He leans down to kiss the side of your head. “Putting too much pressure on yourself. Ready?”

“Um…” You quickly rub your face and put on some lip balm. “Yeah—” 

Your boyfriend scoops you up before you have the chance to say another word, carrying you to the living room despite your halfhearted protests.

“I’m not wearing a bra,” you realize suddenly, just when he’s wedged you into his ribs and commandeered the remote. 

“This is your home, you don’t need one.”

You’ve just opened your mouth to argue when your worst fear occurs, like a nightmare rapidly unfolding. There’s a knock on the front door and Simon’s arm turns to steel, preventing you from sprinting to the bedroom for a bra. 

“He’s got a key,” Simon tells you helpfully, before yelling over at Johnny to let himself in. 

“Oof, sorry, love,” he says when you flinch. “Used to shouting at work.” It’s true. He comes home hoarse from it sometimes.

There’s the sound of a key in the lock, and your heart is racing a mile a minute behind your very braless chest. 

You haven’t seen Johnny since all of this took place. Simon asked if you’d like to be there when he broached the topic, but like a coward you’d requested he do it without you. You didn’t want to be there to hear the rejection if it happened, silly as that is.

Johnny shuffles into view from the hallway, coming from what you assume was a day off because he’s wearing jeans and a hoodie. 

“Hi,” you squeak quickly, wishing you had something covering your little pj shorts. 

As if he can read your mind, Simon pulls a throw blanket over you both. “Hey, Johnny. We’re about to start the film.”

“Mmk.” Johnny just stands there looking around for a moment, then drops his keys onto the side table. “I gotta piss.”

“Course you do. We’re starting it without you.”

Johnny rolls his eyes, and then he finally looks down at you, like he was waiting to do it until you’d had a chance to evaluate him first.

You can’t explain it, but he just has this small-dog energy that makes you want to watch everything he does. Changeful and quick on his feet, so different from the Rottweiler beside you. 

“Oh, I like this one,” Johnny says, swiping his eyes towards the TV when intro music for the movie starts. 

“Don’t ruin it for me,” Simon warns. “Haven’t seen it.”

The guys fall into some lazy back-and-forth bickering as soon as everyone is settled in. It’s an enormous relief, really, that they’re ignoring the elephant in the room. You don’t want to be looked at, or studied, or expected to perform. It’s all so new and strange, and you actually don’t know Simon’s friend very well. He’s basically a stranger, aside from hearing stories about him occasionally.

“Johnny,” you ask impulsively a half hour into the movie, “are you single?”

With some embarrassment you realize it’s the first thing you’ve really said to him tonight. They’ve done a great job at keeping things light, and you’re here, diving right into sex.

“Aye, I’m single.”

“Not by choice,” Simon mutters. 

“Dinnae misrepresent me to your woman. I’ve had my share of romance.”

“Learned that word on the way here, did you? You know you’re supposed to keep your eyes on the road.”

Their squabbling makes you laugh, which, of course, only encourages them. At this point you’re convinced they’re doing this to put you at ease, and it’s definitely working. 

You’re quite sure that if you just sit here for the duration of the movie, Johnny will go home at the end and Simon will head to bed with you, without a single complaint. But he’s been so thoughtful to set this up, and it would feel like a waste if you didn’t push yourself out of your comfort zone at least a little.

Practically vibrating with nerves, you nuzzle your face into Simon’s neck and whisper, “I’m… going to go sit with Johnny.”

Your boyfriend hooks his massive bicep around your neck to kiss your hair. “You deserve to feel good,” he says simply, soft enough that only you can hear. 

This is it. Soldier up, my guy. 

You pull away from the safety of familiar arms and walk your hands halfway across the cushion separating you from your new fuck buddy. 

Johnny’s eyes swing to you, alight with interest.

“Is it okay if I sit with you?” you manage to ask without your voice wobbling.

“Aye. ‘Bout time LT stopped hogging all the pretty girls in here.”

To your shock, Johnny reaches out without hesitation to drag you over to him, places you right on his lap like you’re an obstinate cat refusing pets. He quickly nabs the throw blanket from Simon and ignores his, “Hey!” of protest to spread it over your bare legs. 

“There we are. Cozy?”

“Yes,” you confirm, letting out a nervous giggle. It’s not at all funny, but it kind of bursts out of you nonetheless.

His chest feels good against your back. Broad, soft, and built like Simon. After a few minutes you flick your eyes over to your boyfriend, but he’s watching the TV with that set to his mouth that tells you he’s pleased about something. 

“Can I keep your hand warm?” Johnny asks quietly, like he’s trying not to spook you. 

You nod, watching his large fingers wrap around your palm over the blanket. His thumb is rough against the back of your hand, in a way that makes him feel solid and real. 

Almost automatically, your head turns to finally look Johnny in his eyes. He meets your gaze with a friendly smile, scrunching up those soft lines around his eyes that he must have developed from years of laughter. Simon was right, it feels natural to have him in your home, joking with Simon and holding your hand. He feels like someone safe. 

“You smell good,” you tell him, because you’ve been staring for a moment and you can’t think of anything else to say.

“Don’t tell LT, but I shower twice a day.”

That makes you smile, and he squeezes your hand. 

“Simon talked to you about… things?” you bravely press. 

“Yes.” There’s no hint of joking now, as he wraps his arm more securely around your body that’s trembling slightly. “You needn’t worry.”

“It’s… it’s been a long time for me since… anything.” The words tumble out of you in an embarrassed whisper, as if you’re admitting something far more shocking than being loyal to your boyfriend.

Johnny seems to take that for the permission it is, working his hand under the blanket to palm your thigh. “There’s no rush.”

His eyes flick down to your mouth, and that makes you turn your face back towards the TV, because you’re not ready to kiss anyone but Simon. There are too many unknowns surrounding this, and you’re desperate to keep things as simple as possible. 

Settling back against Johnny’s chest, you chance a look towards Simon. 

Oh, god. The look of adoration he’s giving you sends a burst of fuzzy pink warmth through your chest. This is okay. This is allowed and encouraged and maybe even healthy for your particular circumstances. The care with which he’s handled this - shoving past your own insecurities to get you what you need - just makes you love him even more. 

When you’ve finally turned back to the movie, two large hands slide up under your shirt, fingers curling along your stomach. The feeling is so foreign that it makes you gasp, turning your focus inward to deal with that lightning bolt of sensation. 

“Nice and slow,” Johnny promises, one hand splaying up your sternum, between your breasts, and the other one fiddling with the elastic of your flimsy shorts. “You’re doin' great.”

You’re definitely not a virgin, but it almost feels like it right now, with those purposeful hands accessing skin that’s been contactless for so long. He waits for you to relax a little, and then a hand gently cups one of your breasts, thumb brushing across your nipple. 

It’s so intense that you have to clamp your jaw shut to prevent the noise that’s threatening to escape. Johnny lazily plays with your nipple, and you try to relax into it, turning your face into his neck and doing everything you can to ignore the way your clit is already throbbing from just those minuscule touches. 

To your relief, Johnny seems to have an inkling that you’ll need time to adjust. He pretends to watch the movie for a few minutes, and you pretend he’s not driving you crazy with those little tugs and rolls. When he finally slides his hand into your underwear, your legs part on instinct, desperate for touch. 

Warm, strong fingers shift down the front of your pussy. It’s a firm pressure, and for that you’re grateful. He’s basically cupping you between the legs, running his fingers up and down your vulva without really trying to stroke anything specific. You’re concerned that you’re quite wet already, and your fears are only confirmed when the drag against your outer lips starts to feel slick and easy. 

“Breathe,” Johnny encourages, his own breath warm as it ruffles the little hairs by your temple. “Just fingers tonight.”

That actually does make it easier to relax, knowing he isn’t expecting to fuck you in a minute. You’re finally acclimating to your breasts being touched, when one of his fingers begins to search for your clit. He finds it with gut wrenching accuracy.

“Simon,” you gasp, and then frantically backtrack over your mistake. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean— oh-hhh my god.”

Johnny chuckles, holding his finger motionlessly against your throbbing clit for a moment. “People confuse me for Simon all the time. Common mistake.”

“Quite the mouth on you tonight,” comes your boyfriend’s answer, though you hear the pretend annoyance for what it is.  

You don’t dare look over at him. There’s too much going on, and Johnny’s petting your clit again, up towards the root of it where the sensation isn’t so sharp. That’s something you can get used to. That’s something you can chase, with little rolls of your hips. 

All that initial shock gradually melts away to aching heat as your body becomes accustomed to Johnny’s hands. He asks if he can kiss your neck, and you practically beg for it. You’re able to just close your eyes and focus on the hot mouth nibbling across your skin, the hands getting more confident now that you seem like you’re fully enjoying it. 

It feels so good to be handled like this. There’s no hesitation anymore, your clit is getting relentlessly stroked and your tits are getting squished and groped like he’s enjoying your body. It lets you empty your mind, gives you that mind-numbing bliss of being an object of desire.

And then he slides a finger inside you, and it’s fucking fireworks. Everything goes molten, your pussy spasming and practically chewing on his finger with how good it is. 

“Yes?” Johnny asks against your throat, slowly grinding his finger inside you.

“Yes,” you practically sob, because you know exactly what he’s requesting. 

Another finger pushes inside, and honest to god you almost cum right then. It’s glaringly obvious how wet you are, the bits of your underwear that stick to your ass as he works his hand against your cunt. 

You don’t even care if you get to finish, if you can just feel like this for a little while, get fucked on those nice, strong fingers which seem to know exactly what they’re doing, it’ll tide you over. You’ll be able to fantasize about this moment for weeks, the delicious helplessness of being held tight like this against a solid body. 

It’s been so long since you’ve had a vaginal orgasm that you almost forgot what it’s like, the way you’re suspended on the edge for all those agonizing seconds, getting steadily fucked closer and closer to the tipping point. There’s no feeling like getting fucked. Nothing compares, and you’ve missed it. 

Your voice breaks when you cum. You cum hard on Johnny’s fingers, wet throb after wet throb wrapping around his knuckles. He’s generous enough to fuck you through every one, until you’re limp and uncaring of how your breaths have all turned into soft whines. 

Simon’s probably watching, but that’s alright. He’s seen you cum many times before, and you did a good job today, okay? You aced the mission. You did everything you needed to do, and now the only thing you have to worry about is how messy you made Johnny’s hand. 

His fingers are still lazily moving inside you when he says, “Can you take more, or are you done?”

Quickly swallowing, you open your mouth to decline, because that was a fucking good orgasm, and it can’t possibly be comfortable to finger someone at this angle.

Simon beats you to it. "She can take more."

Johnny rumbles a pleased noise into your neck, and your breathing stutters as the fingers inside you go harder, filling your belly with that sweet ache all over again. 

Fuck, it’s inescapable. Your mouth is dry but your pussy is somehow drooling more wetness out, and you swear he’s fucking you even harder than the first time, relentlessly gunning for your g-spot. 

Your pussy can’t tell what’s overstimulation and what’s pleasure anymore, begging for some relief, whether it be an orgasm or a break from getting fucked. A ragged sob crawls out of your throat, and you feel yourself stumbling towards that edge again, this time wildly out of control.

The outcome isn’t up to you. If it were, you’d be able to snap your legs shut and prevent this feeling of being on the verge of escaping your own skin. Now you just have to take Johnny’s fingers, and you have to accept whatever your body does in response. 

Suddenly you’re right about to cum again, and you feel like he can tell. Maybe it’s because of your traitorous breathing, or the hand you’re suddenly clamping onto his forearm, but he gets his fingers so fucking deep, and your pussy dribbles a little liquid onto his hand. 

You have a split second of humiliation that you just squirted, but then you’re cumming in delirious gasps, and Johnny’s making such nice noises in your ear, like you just did something really cute. 

It rakes tracks through your flesh, heat diffusing over every piece of your skin while you pulse around those wonderful fingers again. Fuck, that was… fun as hell. 

“I’m done,” you croak, letting your head fall limply on Johnny’s shoulder. 

“That’s the right enthusiasm,” Johnny remarks, pulling his fingers out of your cunt to smooth them over your clit for just a second. It’s enough to have your hips twitching with overstimulation, and another delighted rumble comes from the man who just gave you two orgasms back-to-back.

The movie is still going, and you finally gain the strength to twist your face around to look at Simon. He gives you a highly satisfied smile, and mouths, “Good girl.”

Oh, shit. Johnny.

Unsure, you look back at him and ask, “Would you like a turn?”

“Nah, lass, I’ll just have LT jerk me off in the morning as usual.”

“God, you��re a menace,” Simon mutters.

Like they’ve both mentally communicated it, you get handed back to Simon without having to do any moving of your own body. Soon your clothes are back in place, and you're tucked into that familiar, safe chest once again. Johnny hits the head before he leaves, presumably to wash his hands. 

“I hope I didn’t get any mess on his clothes,” you mumble into your boyfriend’s chest. His large hand runs soothingly up and down your back.

“Any night he can finish out with a pretty girl’s squirt on his trousers, I think he’ll see as a success.”

Dammit. How the hell did he notice that?

“Hungry?” Simon asks, affectionately rubbing his cheek against yours.

“A little.”

“I’ll make popcorn.”

Next Part

Dividers by @the-aesthetics-shop

Chronological Read-Through Path

[twstedstoryshop]

FINALLY, I return properly. Kind of. Reason I've been away for so long was because of insane convention season and also had this bad boy in the works. This is one of two commissions done for a friend. Hope you all can enjoy yourselves for the crumbs I produce. -SK

CONTENT WARNING: Blood, violence, depressed s/o, and mentions of toxic past relationships.

Your New Boyfriends Runs Into Your Ex

While Rook Hunt was one of many to find camaraderie in a den of villains, that didn’t mean chivalry was dead to him. Certainly not him.

Under his keen gaze, he knew that when a certain topic was broached, you would shy away instantly. Paled knuckles, a panicked gaze, and your bottom lip near to splitting open by how badly you chewed down.

It was like he was seeing a rabbit or deer caught in a trap, frantic with no escape. Though his heart had been trained to a perfect steel and not feel for his quarry, when he sees that look in your eyes, all defenses fall away.

The topic? Well, the worries of what the future held for you. Moreso in far off days. Would you continue to have your friends by your side? Would someone ever cherish you? Have a deeper connection?

For Rook, it was a no-brainer because of course! Who else was more worthy of adoration and praise than his dear petite grâce? As he would declare this in all his usual grandeur, a small smile would form on your lips, but that happiness never reached your eyes.

Doubt clouded that sweet gaze of yours. In its own way, seeing such clear eyes be veiled by sadness was heartachingly beautiful. Yet it was a beautiful scene Rook couldn’t bear to behold for too long.

When it came to keeping track of you, Rook was extra considerate. If one can call it that… In his mind, he kept careful track of those you interacted with. He watched your mannerisms, your dialogue, anything amiss he would file it away. But for the longest time, it didn’t seem like an outside force was troubling you.

For a moment, Rook considered that whatever wounded your heart was a scar from a distant past he had yet to uncover. What he didn’t expect was said wound abruptly appearing on a normal day.

From a vantage point, perhaps from a second story window or among the trees that dotted the campus, Rook had caught sight of you stone-still on your walk. Before you, an NRC student he couldn’t recall. He didn’t really have time to register the man when Rook had just attention all on you.

Your wide, hollow eyes. Your chest rising and falling rapidly. How you froze so perfectly under the gaze of this man. It was a scene Rook was all too familiar with. Prey terrified beyond its own mind to run, to hide, or even fight.

Your rational mind couldn’t comprehend what your ex was even saying to you as panic held you in its overbearing clutch. The world grew dizzying and just when you felt like your heart would give out, right then and there, a broad arm wrapped around your shoulders.

“Ah, there you are, ma petite grâce. I was looking all over for you. You made me a bit worried, you know!”

It was hard to look up at him as Rook’s hat was tipped just enough for the shadows to mask his features. But your ex needed only one glance for the role of prey to be forced on him. Green eyes with a gaze so sharp, so precise like a notched arrow perfectly aligned to fire, bored right into him.

It didn’t take much time before the ex backpedaled away with his tail between his legs, now only leaving you with Rook.

Rook would face you, gripping your forearms firmly. His expression, soft though. He called out for you, trying his best to snap you from your daze. When you finally realized it was him now before you, your body moved on its own before you could think. A heaviness made you fall against his chest. You shivered, maybe tears and sobs escaping you.

Rook held you so close against him. Like he was cradling a sculpture of the most delicate porcelain. As if one scratch or knock would crumble you into fine dust.

A single hand held the back of your head protectively, letting you weep as much as you wanted against his shirt. His chin nestled along your hair. You would be so blissfully unaware of Rook’s gaze. A complicated stare into space as his mind swam with many thoughts.

Rook always found beauty in the oddest of places. Yet for the first time, there was something Rook found utterly detestable. A vile image that was a blot in his picturesque vision and that was your ex, the source of your pain. But from that ugliness, he did find a most exquisite sensation. A drive to hunt. An unyielding need to protect you.

While he couldn’t spring into action earlier, his quarry was marked. A hunter is patient and he can wait as long as he needs to for one slip-up, one more attempt to dare get near you, and Rook would be sure to let loose a vicious arrow.

There is a tension between you and Floyd on certain days. While most times, it would be all fun and games, just him and his little Shrimpy. But Floyd wasn’t blind to the weight you carried.

It would irritate him on a dime when you obviously had thoughts clouding your mind. So much so that you fidget anxiously or not even pay attention to him. His sharp voice would call over the din of thoughts and you’d see the eel practically inches away from your face.

His dual colored eyes glared at you and a slight frown pulled at his lips. “Geez, what the hell is goin’ on with you!?” He doesn’t mean to be so crass, but to see his Shrimpy unsettled, it frustrated him. 

Moreso that he can’t exactly pinpoint what was going on with you, that he can’t just squeeze it to a pulp and boom, no more problems!

He knew you had your walls and such walls took time to lower to let him in. Floyd had the patience as a waiting moray eel, but if he had the proactiveness to actually act upon his patience? That’s a whole other story. When it came to you, he just wanted to see you happy and unbothered. All reasoning would flutter out the window.

It may or may not have taken a lot of squeezing and thinly veiled threats to your friends for them to fess up information you couldn’t bear to unload on Floyd. A common name would be passed around, an ex from your past. Just the thought that someone else had their hands on you nearly made Floyd break bones if not for the pitiful yelps of your friends to release them in time.

Questions whirled in that skull of his. Why have you never brought this up to him? What did this ex do to you that made you shy away from him? Where was this scumbag now? All of these worries would bleed into his daily life and if it weren’t for Jade and Azul to straighten him out, he would have been throwing tantrums left and right.

It wasn’t until one day that all his frustrations would come to a boiling point into a final, satisfying crescendo. At least for him.

Work was to be done at Mostro Lounge. Floyd was on duty to be a waiter along with yourself. Both of you have opted to be in an awkward silence in your relationship and it was evident by how you both avoided one another, unsure of how to really talk about your issues.

Floyd had taken an order from a particular student, one he could easily sniff out as a rude bastard by his mannerisms and his tones. But if Floyd’s temper got the better of him, he’d never hear the end of it from Azul. He would hand off the order to you to at least serve drinks.

Everything seemed normal until suddenly a glass shattered. All eyes shifted to you who shivered in place. The tray rattled in your hands and below you a cascade of broken glass.

“Y-you…” “The fuck…? What the hell are you doing here!? And look at what you did to my drink! You’re still incompetent as ever, tch!”

You wanted to cry, scream, run away. You felt so ashamed, being treated like garbage again from an ex you swore you’d never let walk all over you again. But at the height of stress, you couldn’t bring yourself to stand up for yourself. Pathetic, absolutely pathetic…

That is until a sing-song, nonchalant voice slid right up behind you. “Ahhhh, what a shame. I apologize on the behalf of our lil waiter here. They’re just nervous is all. Here~ Why don’t I make it up to ya? I can serve ya a drink right here, right now. On the house~” “Finally, some decent fucking service…”

You looked up at Floyd and saw that dangerous glint in his eyes. How his pupils honed on the poor fool as his smile widened so tightly across his face. He reached for a spare glass that was left on the table, presented it with a flourish to your ex, and coyly said, “Readyyyy~? Watch carefully.”

Then, his hand flew so quick to grab a clump of your ex’s hair and slammed it squarely on the glass. The crunch of glass, your scream, and the screech of chairs being pushed back as patrons jumped.

“GYAHAHA, YOU LIKE IT!? IT’S MOSTRO LOUNGE’S OWN PERSONAL RED. Ahhhh, but the red comin’ from you? Pfft, it ain’t worth the shit under my shoe…” Your ex could barely register what was even being said to him from the glass embedded in his face and blood gushing from his nose and broken lips.

Hands covered your mouth in terror as you could barely register what was happening. From panicked students screaming to Azul and Jade holding Floyd back from beating the poor ex to a pulp. All you could really register was the horrifying satisfaction deep in your chest, seeing the one who hurt you so much battered under the hand of someone who protected you…

Leona has his own ways of caring but most of the time, if you cannot read between the lines, it may come off as uncaring.

He does care, but don’t expect a coddling man rushing to be your knight when you are feeling sorry for yourself. The last thing he wants to do is pity you as he knows all too well the humiliation of being pitied.

Instead he observes, he watches, he’s keen to everything you do that isn’t a part of your daily life. In sly ways, he tries to break your moments of dissociating. He calls your name sharply to snap you out of your funk and gives you a menial task.

Telling you to maybe preen his mane, join Ruggie on an errand, what have you. It’s better to keep yourself occupied than whatever is plaguing your mindscape.

Sometimes, he will even abruptly lean against you, his weight toppling the both of you over. Even if you protest under him, he will insist he’s really tired and just wants something warm beside him to help him sleep. In truth, it’s just another way to stop your self-deprecating thoughts.

Though he will speak up in annoyance if your depressed thoughts start to bleed into your relationship. It will sting, but he means well. He tells you gruffly that he’s not in the mood to lay next to baggage. He wants only his partner, dammit.

You may argue, you may not, it depends on how you react but at the end of it, one way or another, you’re going to have to face him and this problem that hangs over you.

If you take time before approaching him or spill everything in one go, he will wait patiently and listen. But cowardice by running away he won’t accept and would want answers promptly.

One way or another, the truth has to come from you and you explain the thoughts that coil around you like a petulant serpent. A name and face that digs into your chest horribly. Your ex and the ways he has hurt you in many ways.

Leona listens stoically, letting you share your story before acknowledging and commending the strength it took for you to finally admit this. He knows all too well the pains of the past, he shares in your frustrations. But the past stays in the past for a reason.

Now it’s you and him now. You define yourselves here in the present. If anyone says otherwise? Well, he’d like to see them try.

Who would have known that such a time would come so soon when one day, someone had the gall to start harassing you right in the Savanaclaw dorm.

That same face that always lingered around you like a ghost was here right now in the flesh, taunting you at the edges of the Spelldrive field. Your ex sneered at you, wondering what the hell you were doing around here during his practice hours. Had the nerve to accuse you of stalking him despite your split.

Your anger boiled your blood, your face flushed. Your nerves alighted with a burning fury that made the dorm’s dry heat pale in comparison. But your body did not respond to you. Your throat froze despite wanting to curse and yell out at your ex.

What neither you expected though while your mouth gasped for something, anything to throw at this scumbag, was a lion’s roar peeling across the field. A shadow loomed over your ex and both of you looked up to a silhouette blocking the sun and a pair of piercing green eyes.

Astride his broom, Leona stared squarely at the ex. “For a minute, I thought I heard annoying squawks from a mangy vulture, but now I just see a whelp. Having the nerve to approach my partner…”

Without missing a beat, Leona lowered himself to the ground and sauntered right over to your ex. Your ex tried to stand his ground but anyone could tell he was practically shaking in his spot.

“So.... What were you two talking about?” It was such a simple question. So trivial. But the way Leona spoke each word, it was like a pair of hungry jaws were ready to snap behind every syllable. He dared for your ex to slip up.

“N-nothing… Nothing at all… I was l-leaving…” “Hooo?” Leona’s tail whipped behind him in amusement. “So you just waltzed up to my partner and gawked at them? Nothing left your useless, flapping gums? I can hardly believe that.”

Leona’s knuckles cracked as he flexed his hand and for a quick second, you swore you saw wind and dust particles gather between his finger tips. The air felt still and you heard your ex gulp audibly from a dry throat. Then, a sudden calmness.

“But if you were just about to leave, then by all means, scurry along. I hate people wasting my time.”

To which your ex immediately did, turning on his heel, so close to make a run for it. Then, like a giant paw slamming atop a helpless mouse, Leona’s hand roughly grabbed his shoulder and stopped him.

“A warning since I’m feeling so generous today… Don’t ever let me catch you near them again. Ya hear me? Or else, I’ll make you a nice addition to the scenery. We could always add more sand and bones.” Leona cracked a toothy smirk with darkness in his eyes. His fangs glinted in the sun and it was then you truly realized the fierce lion you had taken in as your boyfriend.

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day eleven: monsterfucking kink

>>> guys this one may be my fav day ngl...as you can tell by my blog's entire theme that this is my biggest and most violent fantasy i need dragon king bakugou in the worst way please oh my god please

>>> EDIT 10/11: MHA LEAKS OMFG THIS DROPPED THE DAY MHA LEAKS BAKUGOU IS BACK MY GLORIOUS KING!!!!

>>> starring: dragon king!bakugou x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: monsterfucking, bakugou is a hybrid, no prep, creampie, breeding, biting, blood, dark content, kinda forced marriage? mating bonds, uh, i think that's it. >>>wc: 2.9k >>> event masterlist

it was the new king’s coronation day, and as tradition demands, he shall have his pick of the finest women in his lands. you were brought forth amongst a host of other ladies deemed pretty enough for the young king to choose from. you were the only one of them that seemed irritated by the prospect, all the other girls were tittering and combing their hair while discussing their chances of being picked to be the dragon king’s new bride. he examined you all in a line, sneering at all the smiling and fluttering lashes—sending them crying from the room. he pauses on you, his gaze was stern and fiery but you didn’t hesitate to square your shoulders and meet it. he’s surprised; you don’t smile or extend your hand for him to kiss. you challenge him, you tell him with that strong set jaw and steel stare that you won’t be easy. he feels a pull on his heart, something he cannot yet explain. he likes you. 

you tilt your chin up, almost like you’re the one sizing him up. you’re so regal and amusing to him that his mind is made up instantly, but he gives you a few more minutes of looking him over, hoping to see some semblance of interest on your face. king bakugou was a hulking form of a man, towering above everyone in the room. they always were bigger than the normal humans, but he was larger than any of the dragon shifters you had ever come across. the room almost didn’t seem big enough to contain him, and it was his castle. his burlap trousers balloon around his lower half, but it seems there were not shirts big enough to fit the new king of dragons, only a long fur cloak that fastened with a golden dragon broach stretching across the broad expanse of his chest. he was tanned and scarred from years of flight and battle, and muscled even more so. he had hints of sparkling scarlet scales trailing along his collarbones with pointy teeth that alluded to his other form. his biceps bulged as he folded his arms across his chest, admiring you as you admire him with a satisfied smirk on his face. you didn’t throw yourself at him like the rest, and he doubted you would yet still, but you weren’t shy to let your eyes linger on him. he likes you. 

he smirks your way, grunting his approval. you were the perfect match. you certainly were the most beautiful creature of his kingdom, and your womanly figure assured him that he would sire several successful heirs with you. you captivated him and you had not yet spoken a word, though the young king could feel that fierce tugging on his heart again, something he now recognizes to be his mating bond the longer he looks at you and the stronger the feeling grows. 

“mine.” he says simply, nodding at you in content. his right hand man and fellow dragon shifter steps closer, handing his friend and king a fur pelt similar to the one he wears before retreating back into the onlooking crowd. the king unclasps the matching golden dragon, swinging the covering over your shoulders and snapping the jewelry back into place with a surprising nimbleness. this was the first of many gifts the king would dole out for his mate and queen, but this is the first one to mark you as his. you’re shocked to be chosen, convinced he would take your surveying for disrespect and brutalize you here to send a message— but alas, the most explosive dragon ruler in all the lands chose you as his bride. “you are my mate. we will marry in two moons. dismissed.” 

he looks over your head when he says this, ending the celebrations in favor of alone time with his chosen. his gaze has a hint of boredom to it as it glides around the room, red and fiery with unspoken strength and power behind them. you straighten yourself under the weight of your new cloak, bowing your head out of respect, albeit so quick it made the king exhale heavily through his nose as if to chuckle. 

“you are amusing, mate.” he says, extending a warm battle-worn hand to push your hair away from your neck. he lets it rest against your shoulder, smirking at how small you were compared to him. it was overwhelmingly apparent that he could do anything he wanted to with you, and you weren’t necessarily opposed to the concept. you started this day with immense rage and dread at having to go before the king and be selected like a prize horse. but he surprised you, even being every bit as brute and brash as everyone said he’d be, his eyes sparkled when they came across you. he declared you his mate—-a huge deal for a dragon shifter, and shrouded you in the engagement cloak without so much as a second thought. there was no arguing with the king, nor his mating bond. your soul was created to nurture his, and vice versa. he felt this snap into place instantly, as a mortal, you probably wouldn’t feel the strength of your connection for several days to weeks. it was an honor, one you couldn’t believe was bestowed upon you—but you certainly weren’t complaining anymore. “i like you.” 

you feel your body warm a bit from something as simple as his touch. he’s rough around the edges, and certainly doesn’t know how to be gentle or verbose, but his statement makes you smile warmly anyway. “thank you, my king. i’m quite amused as well.” 

he lets his hand slide from your shoulder all the way to your hand, clutching it tight as he brings it to his lips, giving it a chaste kiss. your scent makes his heart skip a beat, and he wonders if he can make it through the next two months without ravaging his sweet maiden. 

the days pass, slowly, but they pass. your king brings you several gifts and trinkets, filling your new chambers with tokens of his affection and fondness for his mate. the dragons were known for this, and your mate was the brightest and biggest of them all. so never did he go out to fly without returning with a clutch of presents. he was always so proud of himself as he showed them to you, shoving all the perfumes and jewels in your hands with a boastful grin. 

“i found these for you. wear them.” he grunts, roughly pulling you into his arms for a crushing hug. he was working on it, but he manhandled you on accident a majority of the time, not used to interacting with women. you were getting used to it anyhow, only giggling and nodding your acceptance, cooing at how beautiful all the gifts were. he preens in your praise, eager to earn the deep affection that the bond produces. 

you couldn’t deny that the bond was starting to affect you, as if you needed any help falling for the monster of a man meant to be your husband. he was kind and loving to you, and you couldn’t ask for much more. he was feared and revered, if you were dumb enough to cross him or his kingdom—soon to be your kingdom, then you earned the punishment of his hellfire tenfold. you wouldn’t find yourself begging for lives to be spared as you stand in the crowd while watching the king dole out sentences. he was brutal, and scary, vicious and primal in every way. his servants tremored in his wake, and though his people loved his protection, they feared his wrath. you were truly the only exception, and it was mystical for everyone to see the fierceness that abounds for his soon to be wife, his forever mate, his queen. and they could only hope your loving tenderness would tame the wild king. 

he took meals with you, showed you around his dreary and plain castle, easily agreeing to your every decoration suggestion and insisting you do whatever you want—this is your home now too. he even took you on rides in his gorgeous dragon form, letting you see how beautiful the sun setting over the kingdom was, flying you to different nations, journeying close to the seawaters so you could feel the salty wind on your skin. he forced himself to sleep in his own quarters at night, trying and struggling to abide by common decency. 

when your wedding day finally arrived, the king was more than ready to make you his queen officially—and then cart you to bed where decency would be the last thing on his mind. the ceremony is gorgeous, the image of you in your wedding gown was never to be forgotten on him, even though he couldn’t wait to rip it off of you. his brain had already geared into the darker side of things by the time you were being shown to your now shared chambers, and he could not resist his mate any longer. 

you weren’t faring much better. however this mating bond usually affected mortal women, it had you ready to climb your king like a tree. as soon as the doors were closed, he was on you, shoving you backwards while hastily tearing at your dress. you assist him in getting it over your head with only minimal rips in the fabric. you can’t bring yourself to care as you fall back on the bed with his body covering yours like a blanket. he’s snarling, but he’s not angry, just eager and too impatient to think about all the lessons he’s learned in being gentle. he scoops you up and tosses you up towards headboard, and you swear you can see steam billow off his form as he eyes you down, watching you lay and spread for him. 

“it’s been hard…waiting for you.” he complains, unfastening his cloak and letting it fall to the floor. the moment is so intense, you can feel the air thicken, smell the need permeating the air. he’s breathing heavily already, tugging at the weaving strings keeping his pants closed. your breath hitches when you see his scales glisten in the moonlight, the outline of his cock pressing against the troublesome burlap material. you pant out and nod, knowing the growth before you was only the first hint of what he had to pleasure his mate with. dragon shifters are larger than mortal men in every way, reflecting their dragon status in several different physical markers along their bodies, scales along their collarbones and spines, long mane-esque hairstyles, and of course their cocks. he steps out of the clothing, his massive leaking dick slapping up against his abs with a loud smack, you moan. 

his ashy patch of hair and the scarlet scales glistening against his hip bones direct your attention to the monster cock you married. he’s long, thick, curved, lined with veins and a throbbing pink tip leaking his pre-cum in droplets on the bed. it was easily half the size of his thigh, both length and width wise. he fixes himself on the bed, shredding your panties with sharp talons and eyeing your tiny hole. he has all the intentions to stretch you a bit, to get you soaked to accommodate him but when he looks back up at you, you’re drooling. 

you can’t imagine how good that’s going to feel inside you. all the times you had touched yourself out of curiosity or even genuine horniness would hardly compare to this, to the man it’s attached to—the way he watches you like a predator tells you there was nothing in this world that would prepare you for what he was about to do to you–what you wanted him to do to you. “i know…” you say after taking a deep breath, reaching for his face. “i’ve had to wait just as long.”

you squirm in place, lidded eyes flickering from his endowment to his eyes and then back again. “just wanna feel my king…i know you’ll fill me up so well.” you coo, batting your lashes. 

he’s not in the right mind to banter with you, the only thoughts crossing his brain at the sight and scent of you was to ravage. he grips your hips tightly, trying to will himself to be stronger and give his new bride the treatment she deserves. he should prepare you like a gentleman, but unfortunately the young king is unable to will himself to be gentle. you seem to read his mind, nodding and spreading your legs a bit further, allowing him to get settled in the space you provide. he wastes no time in lining up with your entrance and bottoming out. he knows it’s sadistic that he enjoys the way your eyes cross at the sensation, the burning and splitting stretch ripping a sob from your throat. you clutch at his arms, the natural slick you produced just from your own anticipation aiding him in the glide. he stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to him so he can also adjust to the feeling of your virgin pussy gripping him like a hand-tailored glove. he can’t fight the groan that leaves his lips, mindfully keeping his talons retracted as he rakes his hands over your plush stomach and wide hips, stopping to paw at your thick thighs and fat ass. he’s already rendered speechless, only able to grunt and groan as he starts to move, putting your legs up to his shoulders as to not face any resistance. you cry out at the new angle, absolutely feeling the searing heat of him splitting you apart, but you love it. you move your hips against his, head digging back against the pillow at the newfound pleasure.

it’s so hard for him to go slow, especially as you fuck yourself into him and cry out for more. your body takes him so well, as it was designed to, but he still didn’t expect it to feel and look and sound so good. he can see himself in your stomach, the spikes along his base curling into you and hitting every spot so well. you didn’t even know it was possible to feel this good, his cockhead drilling into your womb so hard it has the corners of your vision turning white. 

he’s growling, unable to repress his animalistic side completely. he leans forward, snapping his hips to yours as your wanton moans fill the room. he lets his tongue lave over your neck, making you gasp out at the feeling. “mate–i need to mark–bite..” he rumbles in your ear, goosebumps rippling over his body when you whine out and nod. 

“please! bite me, got those teeth f’r a reason—” you plead, your small hand guiding his face to the crook of your neck. your eagerness makes his cock twitch, your enjoyment paramount to him just as much as claiming his mate for the first time. he abides by your wishes, sinking his teeth into your flesh and clamping down, feeling you do the same around his dick. you moan out, clawing at his back with your own kind of talons. he can’t stop, driving bruises and bloody spots all along your neck and chest. he’d never go too deep even in his lusty haze, his primal instinct to protect his other half would never allow him to cause permanent harm. he admires his work, “pretty mate, my teeth marks.” 

he grunts out, gripping your hips and roughly turning you over, grabbing a fistful of your hair to yank you into a deep arch. you scream at the new angle, some blood trickling down your neck and pooling between your breasts. he’s entranced by the shape of your body beneath him, how his hands take up your entire waist and the way your ass ripples as he hammers into you. you’re struggling to hold your body up under the force of his thrusts, gripping the covers beneath you for dear life. he reaches around your hip, locating the sweet bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. your hips falter when he presses his touch to your clit, a little sob coming from your lips as you begin to fall apart. 

“pretty. coat my cock.” he grunts, cock jumping again as you nod and fall forward, your pussy spasming around him like crazy. he feels the rush of you, sending him shuddering towards his end too. “g’nna take my heirs.” he groans, slamming your hips back into his as he spills into you for the first time. 

he pulls out quickly to gather you up in his arms, laying on his back with you protected by the expanse of his chest. you’re incoherent as his seed trickles out of you, and as bewitching as the sight is, he wants you to give him several warrior princes and princesses. so he slides his hands between your legs and chuckles as you jerk when you feel his fingers stuffing his cum back inside. you whine, so sensitive but yearning for all of his touches. he grunts a bit, leaning over to smooth your tousled hair and gently kissing the bruises and shallow wounds he gave you. his kindness touches you, and you relax into his body with a grin, knowing he would hold you to his heart’s content and then have the servants run a bath for the new dragon queen.

[sinkovia]

-`♡´- ANON ASK -`♡´-

Anon requested that the ask be posted after the fic.

Pairings: SImon Riley x GN!Reader

Warnings: Angst.

As the days passed by, your once perfect relationship with Simon began to fracture. It seemed as though the idyllic days you once shared were slipping away, replaced by a constant tension that hung heavy in the air.

The source of the arguments seems to stem from your "nagging," as Simon puts it. But to you, it's an expression of love and fear - a desperate attempt to hold onto something precious in a world where loss and danger lurk around every corner.

From the beginning, you both understood the risks in your line of work, but it's only recently that the reality of those risks has begun to weigh heavily on your heart.

You've voiced your fears to Simon, your desire to retire together and find solace in a life far removed from the dangers of combat. But each time you broach the subject, Simon's reaction is the same - cold, defensive, and laced with hurtful words that cut deep. It's a cycle that plays out time and time again: he pushes you away with his sharp words, only to come crawling back the next day, remorseful and apologetic.

In those moments of reconciliation, he speaks to you with tenderness and warmth, promising that he's always careful on missions and that this is the life he wants. He reassures you that perhaps, in a few years' time, he could think about settling down. And each time, you find yourself giving in, desperate to believe that his words hold truth.

But as the fear and dread of losing him creep back in, the same arguments resurface, and the cycle repeats itself endlessly, leaving you trapped in a loop of hope and despair. 

The tension in your life reaches a boiling point when you're summoned to the briefing room, where Captain Price lays out the details of a harrowing mission. Your heart sinks as you realize the gravity of the task at hand - infiltrating the heart of Makarov's forces, your fluency in Russian making you the only person who could do it. It's a suicide mission, with slim chances of success and even slimmer chances of survival.

As Captain Price outlines the high-risk, high-reward nature of the operation, your mind races with conflicting emotions. On one hand, success could mean a significant blow to Makarov's forces, potentially saving countless lives and shifting the tide of the war. On the other hand, the thought of risking your life - and potentially throwing away any chance of a future with Simon - fills you with fear.

You weigh the options carefully, torn between duty and personal desire. The stakes couldn't be higher, and the choice before you feels like a cruel test of loyalty and sacrifice. As you leave the briefing room, the weight of the decision hangs heavy on your shoulders, uncertainty clouding your thoughts as you grapple with the choice before you.

You step into your shared apartment, the weight of the impending conversation heavy on your shoulders. Simon is seated on the couch, absorbed in the television. With a heavy sigh, you make your way over and take a seat next to him, steeling yourself for what's to come.

"We need to talk, Si,"

Simon sighs and reaches to turn off the TV, a resigned expression crossing his features. "Here we go again," he mutters under his breath.

Your heart sinks at his dismissive tone, but you push forward nonetheless. “Price gave me a solo mission,” you watch his reaction closely.

Simon quirks a brow but remains silent, prompting you to continue. “He wants me to infiltrate Makarov's forces,”

“Sounds risky,” Simon comments, his tone neutral as he leans back on the couch, crossing his arms. You take a deep breath, "It's a suicide mission," you confess, locking eyes with him, searching for any sign of understanding or concern.

Silence hangs in the air as you wait for his response, “When do you leave?” he asks, his response devoid of the emotion you had hoped for.

Does he even hear you? Does he even care?

“Did you hear what I said? It’s a suicide mission. Do you even care Simon?” you press, desperation creeping into your voice.

Simon releases a frustrated breath, irritation evident in his demeanor. “Of course, I fucking care, y/n. But like I've said a million times before, we chose this profession. We know the risks that come with our job. Any of our missions could easily turn into a suicide mission.”

Your heart sinks at his callous response, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “And if I died on a mission, would you be okay with that? With living without me? With going on with life without me?!” you challenge, tears welling in your eyes.

“Seeing how you're always fucking nagging me, yeah, maybe I’d be okay with that!” Simon's harsh words cut through you like a knife, leaving you reeling in disbelief.

Your lip quivers, and you shake your head, unable to comprehend the cruelty of his words. “You're being mean. You don’t mean that Si, I know you don’t,” you protest, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I do. I mean every fucking word,” Simon retorts, his voice rising in anger. “Do you know how easy it would be to find someone else who will give me what I want? I can never get peace when you're around. We are done, y/n. Don't bother coming home after your mission.”

The finality of his words crushes you, leaving you speechless and broken. With tears streaming down your face, you cover your mouth with your hand, muffling the sobs that threaten to escape. Simon turns on his heel and storms out of the apartment, leaving you alone in the wake of his harsh words. 

With a heavy heart, you rise from the couch and make your way to your room, your mind consumed by the weight of the decision ahead. As you gather the necessities for the mission, a wave of despair washes over you.

If Simon wasn't in your life, what else did you have to live for? There had been multiple missions you had turned down in the past, knowing they were nothing but one-way trips. But now, without Simon by your side, there was nothing holding you back.

Stepping into Price’s office, you steel yourself for the conversation ahead. You inform him of your decision to go through with the mission, his surprise is evident, but he and Laswell offer words of encouragement, instilling in you a sense of hope. With your skills as an infiltrator and your Russian background, they assure you that you stand a fighting chance. After all, who would suspect one of their own?

Despite the uncertainty and the weight of the task ahead, a glimmer of hope begins to flicker within you. Within a matter of hours, you find yourself on a plane headed to Russia, the gravity of your decision weighing heavily on your mind. Simon however remains oblivious to your departure, unaware of the path you've chosen. 

Back at home, he returns that night with your favorite takeout and a bouquet of flowers, his heart heavy with remorse and determination. With each step, he replays his apology in his head, rehearsing the words he's been meaning to say. He knows he's messed up, and he's desperate to make things right. He wants to change, to be a better man for you.

Simon's mind swirls with thoughts of seeking therapy, of learning to control his temper and his sharp tongue. He knows he's hurt you deeply with his words, words he never truly meant. He loves you more than anything, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to prove it. But as he steps into the house, the atmosphere is heavy with silence. The air feels cold and unwelcoming.

“Y/n?” He calls out for you, his voice tinged with concern, but there's no response.

Worry gnaws at him as he wanders through the darkened rooms, searching for any sign of you. Finally, he enters the bedroom, and his heart sinks as he sees a note lying on the bed, illuminated by the faint light filtering in through the window. With trembling hands, he picks up the note, his heart pounding in his chest as he reads your words. 

Simon,

By the time you read this, I'll be on a plane to Russia. I've made the decision to go through with it, despite the risks, and I wanted you to know why.

I've heard your words echoing in my mind, the ones about finding someone else who will give you what you want, about never getting peace when I'm around. And so, I've decided to honor your wishes. Once I finish this mission, I'll find my own place, and you won't have to deal with my constant nagging anymore. Your life will finally be at peace, just as you've always wanted.

I want you to know that I've always turned down these types of missions in the past. This isn't the first time Price has offered them to me. But if I had known sooner that you didn't care whether I went on them or not, I would have gone sooner. I'm sorry for making your life so miserable, for not realizing sooner that I was the problem.

I hope that you find peace now, Simon. I hope that you find someone who can give you what you want, someone who can make you happy. You deserve that much, at least.

Take care of yourself.

Yours always, Y/n

With each word, his heart sinks deeper, the weight of your words bearing down on him with crushing force. Tears blur his vision as he reads your farewell, your words cutting through him like a knife. The realization of the pain he's caused you hits him like a tidal wave, leaving him gasping for air as guilt gnaws at his conscience.

When he reaches the part where you promise to honor his wish and stay out of his life after your mission, Simon's heart shatters into a million pieces. The thought of you willingly walking away from him, all because of his own hurtful words and actions, is almost too much to bear.

He crumples the letter in his trembling hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs as he struggles to come to terms with the magnitude of his mistakes. The weight of regret hangs heavy in the air as he realizes the depth of the love he's lost, the love he may never have the chance to regain if you don’t come back from the mission.

The suicide mission.

In that moment, he breaks down completely, the full weight of his actions crashing over him like a tidal wave. Seeing how much he's hurt you, how much he's pushed you away to point that you accepted the mission, shatters him to his core.

With each tear that falls, Simon's resolve crumbles, replaced by a deep and profound sense of regret. He wishes he could turn back time, take back the hurtful words he's spoken, and hold you close, promising to never let you go. But it's too late now, and all he can do is sit in silence, praying to a higher form to keep you safe, to let you come back to him alive.

The next day, Simon walked into Price’s office, his heart heavy with worry and anticipation. He needed to know more about your mission, to find any shred of information that could ease his growing anxiety.

Price informed Simon that you had landed in Russia in the early morning hours. However, he delivered the news that communication would be sparse for at least a month. They had scheduled calls planned for updates on the mission status, but they would have to wait until the designated time for you to radio in.

Simon listened intently, understanding the protocol, but inside, fear and dread gnawed at him. The thought of you out there, alone and potentially in danger, filled him with a sense of helplessness.

As the first month passed, Simon waited patiently in the room with Price, every passing minute feeling like an eternity. But as the hours stretched on, there was no sign of communication from you. No Morse code, no call, no comm. Just silence.

Panic began to set in as Simon grappled with the uncertainty of your situation. He couldn't shake the feeling of unease, the nagging worry that something had gone terribly wrong. But Price remained steadfast in his confidence, assuring Simon that these things happened often, that perhaps you hadn't found the right opportunity to relay a message.

Despite Price's reassurances, Simon couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that gripped him. With each passing day, his fear for your safety only grew stronger, overshadowing any hope he tried to hold onto. But he knew he had to stay strong, to keep faith that you would return safely from your mission.

Month after month passed, and still, there was no word from you. Simon waited patiently by the phone in the comms room center, his heart heavy with worry and uncertainty. He refused to give up on you, clinging to the hope that you would come back to him, despite Price declaring you M.I.A.

Even as Price tried to reason with him, pointing out that none of your mission objectives had been completed in the time you had been gone, Simon remained steadfast in his belief that you were still out there, somewhere, fighting to return to him.

Even as the years passed Simon couldn't bring himself to accept the possibility that you might truly be gone, vanished from his life and the world forever. The thought of living in a world without you was unbearable, and Simon couldn't bear to entertain it.

The last words he had spoken to you echoed in his mind, haunting him with their cruelty. How could he have been so callous, so blind to the pain he was causing you? 

Was this fate's cruel work, forcing him to confront the consequences of his actions? Was this punishment for his harsh words, for pushing you away when he should have pulled you close? Was this what he truly wanted, to be left alone in a world without you?

But even in the depths of his despair, Simon clung to a sliver of hope, refusing to let go of the belief that you would come back to him. He would wait for you, for as long as it took, holding onto the hope that one day, you would return to him and his world would be whole again.

Anon Ask- simon x reader but they are both in the military and reader gets assigned on a suicide mission but has a choice to go or not. reader and simon fight and then they decide to go. feel free not to do this no pressure!!! but if you will dont post the ask until after to make it a little angsty surprise!

[scarletttries]

Write A Kiss Request: Astarion (Baldur's Gate 3) x Reader ...a kiss because time's running out

(prompt list here) & 2025 Request List - requests open

...a kiss for Astarion because time's running out

You could feel your stomach drop as your eyes followed the enormous pink brainstem up into the clouds, imagining the monstrous platform that it might form at the top. Months of adventuring, forming lifelong bonds, the gathering of your allies; it had all led to this. At the top of this strange tangled rope of flesh and nerves your destiny awaited. Win or Lose. Life or Death. Good or Evil. The balance that had hung so tenuously over each of you for as long as you could remember all came down to this. It almost felt a relief knowing that salvation or damnation stood right around the corner. It made finally making your feelings known to well-dressed vampire beside you feel far easier.

You hadn't meant to leave sharing your feelings until quite such the last minute, but every time you had tried to broach the subject before now the fates had conspired to stand in your way. At your camp whenever you finally had a moment with him alone the fire would need tending to or Volo would burst from nowhere with a new poem about you. Whenever you two found yourselves roaming the woods together and you finally started to find the words to tell him how you appreciate all that he is, some rabid creature would appear from above and try to end you both. And god forbid you two be left sharing a goblet of wine at some heroic celebration, Astarion smiling so deviously at you until the only thing standing in your way is your own inability to form a sentence when he looks at you like that. No matter how often you had tried, you and Astarion had come all this way, growing closer than friends could ever be, without you ever getting to articulate that sweet bond.

"This is really it." Karlach sighed out behind you, sounding battle worn but steeling herself for one final push.

"This will all be over soon. For the better I'm sure." Gale echoed, sensing her fears and trying to sound more confident of the outcome. You turned to Astarion, ready to finally put your feelings into words only to find him already staring at you expectedly, waiting for your final rousing speech or spirited song. He looked almost scared as he drank in your expression, worried that the final turn of battle might not go your way after all the sacrifices and challenges you had faced to get here. You could barely think of what lay ahead as you focused on his features, watching him search your expression for some meaning he couldn't quite decipher.

You had no words, as usual. No quip to appeal to his wicked wit. No sincere praise to win his fractured heart. No great confession to draw out his affections. As you stood silently staring at him you let out the only thought you could manage to form.

"Fuck it." And with that your hands clasped the cold porcelain skin of his face, watching his eyes grow wide as finally after weeks of wanting, your lips met his. He may have felt cold to the touch, but the soft skin of his lips had warmth flooding through your body, the faint feeling of sharp teeth running over your top lip as he grinned against you. His hands were quick to latch onto your shoulders, giving you a gentle squeeze as he added pressure to the kiss, tangible desire and desperation coming through in the way your bodies sought to be together in what you could your final moments.

Astarion could have kissed you forever waiting for the hammer of fate to drop, but unfortunately your mortal lungs couldn't quite wait that long. You pulled your face just an inch away from his, taking a deep breath and finding only warmth and reassurance in his gaze.

"Okay, I'm ready to go." You announced to the group, a proud smirk spreading across Astarion face at your chosen final action before you faced the judgement of the gods.

"Should we? For good luck?" Karlach turned to Gale, not one to feel left out, but you and Astarion began your climb together without waiting for his decision. Both of you filled with a renewed confidence this fight would go your way, if nothing else because you knew you had something important to fight for. And something joyful waiting for you on the other side.

***

If you enjoyed this check out my Baldur's Gate 3 master list for more Astarion content!

[iamthatonefangirl]

unrequited - harvey specter

now that i'm getting back into the hang of writing hopefully my work quality will improve from whatever this is

send fic ideas!!! all the love on my recent harvey posts is what's keeping me going

also i can only write angst because i am still desperately crushing on my coworker oops

~~~

Your relationship with Harvey was like a ticking time bomb. 

You knew that you couldn’t keep this up forever; your feelings for him were too intense. They kept you awake at night, and they kept you from being able to date other men you knew you could like if not for him. Your feelings boiled up inside you day in and day out, and you were forced to suppress them. Harvey Specter was not the relationship type. 

You loved him too deeply to think the feelings would just go away one day. No, you would have to cut them off at the source. And that meant leaving not only your firm, but also the city in which you had built your connections, your career, your entire life. All to get away from the one thing you wanted so badly it was beginning to destroy the rest of your life. 

He had so easily turned into the main character of your story; it was time to reclaim your position as the protagonist. But that meant outcasting him for good. 

~~

When you first started at Pearson Specter, now Specter Litt, you were one of the few associates who Harvey had ever chosen to work directly with him. Years of watching and picking up on how he operated allowed you to grow to your full potential as an attorney at the firm, and for that, you couldn't be more grateful. Which is why even though you no longer worked very closely with him, having been promoted to junior partner, you knew he would be upset to hear your news of departure. 

You didn’t want to think about how you would eventually have to quit returning his calls and effectively ghost him to get on with your life. 

You expected him to ask what you wanted in return for staying at the firm, and when you would turn down the offer, he would lash out at you. You would leave the office and wouldn’t hear from him again until he called you a month later to check in. This was how it always went with him; it wouldn’t be any different this time around. 

Monday morning came around eventually, no matter how much you willed it wouldn’t. Stepping into his office, you were rightfully nervous to broach the topic. “Harvey, do you have a minute?”

He glanced up at you from his desk before replying, “Do any of us around here have a spare minute?” You chuckled at his response and shut the door behind you. 

“I’m serious.” He shut his laptop and turned to you. You sat down in front of his desk, hands fidgeting and eyes darting back and forth between him and the files on his desk. 

“I’m here to give you my official notice.” 

The half-smile he wore when you first walked in shattered. It pained you to see, but you steeled yourself. You knew what to expect next; you just had to grit your teeth and bare through the conversation. 

“I’ve been working on finishing up my recent cases over the last few weeks, and so I’m giving you my two-week’s. I’ve already spoken to some of the other partners who have agreed to take over my cases going forward, and I’ll be giving notice to my clients this week.” 

He didn’t say anything at all. Now that was uncharacteristic of him. 

He soon gathered his thoughts. He averted his eyes as he told you, “No need. I’ll waive your non-compete. You can take your clients with you to wherever you’re going.” He shifted his gaze back to you. “Just answer me this, what did they offer you?”

You didn’t quite understand. “What do you mean?”

He had that serious look on his face, the one he always sported when he realized he was caught in a bind. “The firm you’re leaving me for. What did they offer you to get you to leave?”

“Harvey, they didn’t– I’m not–”

“Senior partner? A higher salary? Because all of those things can be arranged for here, you know that. Just say the word.” 

He may have been upset, but he could not possibly have understood how difficult this was for you. His words the firm you’re leaving me for couldn’t have been more true, you were leaving him; no matter how you tried to tell him, you reminded yourself he couldn’t know that.

You paused a moment to exhale before telling him the truth.  

“I’m not leaving to go to another firm, you don’t need to waive my non-compete.” 

His lips parted ever so slightly as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“I’m going home, Harvey. I’m leaving for San Francisco.” 

~~~

He had no idea what you were talking about. Home? How hadn’t this city become your home? This firm? Him? 

You rendered him temporarily speechless. He tried to offer you more and more incentive to stay, but you refused. 

“I’ll double your salary. I’ll give you a bigger bonus than you’ve ever seen in your life.” You declined. “I’ll promote you. You can be elected a senior partner within the week, and I’ll pay your buy-in fee.”

Why was he trying so hard to get you to stay?

No matter how enticing the offers he made you might have been, you had one goal in mind: protecting your peace. Protecting your future from a man who would continue to take more and more parts of you until you were nothing apart from him. You had to leave before you couldn’t find your way back without him. 

“Harvey, I’m leaving, That’s final.” You stood and began for the door. 

“How dare you?” You heard from behind you. 

Suddenly angered, you turned back to him, “Excuse me?”

“After everything I’ve done for you, you’re leaving, just like that. You’re going to drop everything just for some nostalgic memory of where you grew up?” 

“How dare you! Don’t you speak to me that way, Harvey. You have no idea why it is that I’m leaving!” You yelled back at him, finger pointing in his face. 

“So tell me!”

“You want the truth, Harvey? I’m in love with you. And I will never escape you any other way. So forget my two week’s notice. I’ll handle all my affairs from home. You’ll have my letter of resignation within the hour.” 

With what little dignity you felt you had left, you walked out of the room with your head held high. 

~~~

He had no idea, obviously. Of course he felt a connection to you; he trained you, taught you how the world of corporate law worked. 

How long had you felt that way? Is there something he could’ve done to avoid this whole situation? His most promising junior partner was leaving, and there was nothing he could do about it. It was his own fault entirely.

He was determined to get the chance to apologize when you came back with your resignation letter. He would straighten out the situation, explain that you could still work there. It wasn’t the end of the world. 

Of course, he got called away from his office for a period of time. The letter was there when he returned, and his hopes of keeping you were gone. 

~~~

You knew that in the books, the idea of people saying things in the heat of the moment were common occurrences. You didn’t think it could ever happen to you in real life, though. You intended for him to never discover this truth you hid from him. It was simpler that way.

But of course, you were wrong, and it all came out before you had a chance to bite your tongue. Now you had to clean out your desk quickly and say your goodbyes quietly. 

~~~

Three months later, you were settling into your new position. Since you anticipated spending another two weeks in New York, you had a whole month between your resignation and the time you were expected to start in California. 

You were finally starting to live your life more for yourself. You thought about Harvey less and less each day, until you could go out and meet another man without feeling like you were cheating on him. Crazy how you never got to call him yours, but still felt disloyal whenever you tried to go out with someone else while you were still in New York. 

Although you didn’t have the close relationship with your new supervisor that you had with Harvey, you felt welcomed and supported by your coworkers. You hated to admit that life was dull for a great number of weeks as you went through Harvey withdrawals, but it was true. Things were finally starting to get better until you got a knock on your door one day. 

~~~ 

You’d blocked Harvey’s number on your phone for a great many number of reasons. You never expected him to just show up at your new place, though.

“Harvey? What are you doing here?” you questioned.

“Can I come in?” You allowed it.

“You haven’t been taking my calls,” he pointed out to you, to which you replied, “I blocked you, Harvey. Why are you not in New York right now?”

“I needed to see you,” was his only response. And with just those five little words, all the work you’d done to get over him was erased. It allowed your mind to flood with ideas of him wanting you in any way other than professionally or platonically. Damn you, Harvey, you thought. 

“For what?”

“I want you to come back.” Unhelpful answer.

“Why?”

“You sure ask a lot of questions, don’t you? I want you to come back because I trained you, and you’re an asset to the firm that we’re losing out on.” 

“So you’re only here for a return on your investment in me.”

As you said that to him, he realized he fucked up. 

“Look, I didn’t mean–”

“Yes! You absolutely did! You show up here, out of nowhere, telling me that you need my skills to benefit the firm, not that you might just want me to come back. Not that maybe I myself am beneficial to the firm, or even that you just miss me! God, can you really not acknowledge what I told you the last time I saw you?” 

He paused. “Look, I know what you said. Yet still, I came.”

“And what does that mean, exactly? That you’ve suddenly come to terms with it and realized that you love me too?”

He didn’t respond at all. 

“I’m not coming back, Harvey. I need a life separate from you. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.” 

He shook his head in agreement. “I’m sorry I can’t be what you need me to be.” He turned towards the doorway and saw himself out as the tears started welling up in your eyes.  

Those were the last words you heard from him for a very long time. 

~~~

masterlist

[aziraphales-library]

Hello!!! Thank you for your wonderful work!!!

Is there a fic where Azi is a food critic and Crowley is a professional chef?

Thank you!!!!!!

There are several!...

Ineffable Husbands by BigFrickingSimp (G)

Aziaphale is a food critic and Crowley is a terrible chef

The Man at Table Nine by CallipygianGoldfish (T)

Anthony Crowley hasn’t built up his reputation as the fiercest chef in London by being nice to people. Forget Gordon Ramsay, everyone knew you needed balls of steel to work at Enfer. When the famed restaurant and food critic Zira Fell walks through his door one Thursday night, it’s only another work day to Crowley. Aziraphale, on the other hand, just doesn’t want his first blind date in twenty years to end with tears.

Food For Thought by spinnerofyarns (G)

Crowley is a chef who has finally opened xer own fine dining establishment in Soho. When famous food blogger AZ Fell books a table at the restaurant, Crowley pulls out all the stops to impress him. But will it be enough for the one-man Michelin Guide To Soho?

A Fine Taste by LCwrites (E)

When a guest repeatedly asks for a declaration of the ingredients used in his dishes, Chef Crowley is stumped. Things might become a bit clearer once he learns that famous critic A. Z. Fell has written a review of his restaurant.

Where We Begin And End by espresso_six_shots (E)

When writer and restaurant critic Aziraphale starts chatting with the handsome and captivating Crowley every weekend at the local pub, he thinks may have found the perfect distraction from a rather irritating situation at work, considering work is the one topic neither of them have ever broached.

- Mod D

[stone-stars]

here is a post with the lyrics for every song from lullabies for the wild side! (thanks to alli @operationslipperypuppet for transcribing half of these)

Serpent’s Serenade child, don't listen to their words you're not a monster no matter what you've heard you're everything i dreamed you'd be a miracle to me they don't get to tell you what you're worth

darling, you're native to the night so take these wings i gave you and take flight don't ever be ashamed of your claws, your bite, your strength they don't get to tell you who you are

honey, don't ever change a thing your fire breath, your many heads, your poison serpent sting just because they're afraid doesn't mean that you have strayed they don't even get to have a say

i can not give you their love but i can make you strong and brave and i can make you tough their swords and arrows cannot pierce the hide of one so proud, so fierce they don't get to tell you who you are

they tell you you're a prophecy but you're a possibility they don't get to tell you what to be and let them write their histories clinging to their legacies you and me, we know just what we're worth

The Moon’s Elegy Oh, how I love you, though you’ll never know. Anywhere I go I’m in your shadow. No, I will never find the nerve to broach, anywhere you go I will follow.

‘Cause we share a sky but I still can’t seem to catch your eye. And try as I might, I’m a pale reflection of your light. I tied my life to your chariot of fire— why? Oh, why?

And the prettiest nights are the ones I cry the most, teardrops turn to stars and start to glow. And an endless chase of your golden blaze I go, hiding just behind but all alone.

Cause we share a sky but I still can’t seem to catch your eye, and try as I might, I’m forever half a day behind. I crave your light like a moth to the fire— why? Oh, why?

And you burning brightly and me so blue, how can I get close to you? And you with your fire and me with my gloom, what’s a moon supposed to do when everyone wants to be with you? That’s why I’m so blue.

Ballad of a Green Knight Darling I can’t see you anymore, I’m afraid they’ve summoned me to war. Promises I have made to the Queen and to the Fae, and I intend to keep ‘em with my sword.

Darling if I never make it home to you I’ll visit you as butterflies and dew. In another place and time, I swear I would have made you mine But I have got a duty to strike true.

Green though I be, remember me, and who I could have been if we lived in peace. Married my blade to the fate of the Fae, traded my days for honor and fame.

Green be my steel, be my bow, be my shield, Pledged to defend the vine and the hedge. Remember me when the leaves, and the breeze, and the trees start to tease the first breath of spring.

I would’ve loved to pledge myself to you, but that is not the world that I was born into. A knight is always forged in the crucible of war, And that is what I gave my word to do.

So I will fight with all my verdant might, the blight of night will never dim my light. Though the memory of you makes me turn a shade of blue, a Green Knight has a duty to the Wild.

Green from my head, to my toes, ‘till my death Pledged to protect the vine and the hedge. Green is my blood, I’m sorry my love, remember us after I’m gone.

Oh, that I could be in love and be good, But I made an oath to the fields and the wood. So think of us all when the snow starts to fall, and though we may fall, the order lives on.

Darling, in another place and time I’d have been content to make you mine. And in the dream of death, I’ll dream the life I could have had if I hadn’t pledged myself to hedge and vine.

A Gloaming Lullabye In the gloaming of the night court, the queen calls you to sleep, she blankets you with moonbeams, she beckons you with dreams. So surrender to her majesty, and heed the queen’s decree, she’ll swaddle you in starlight and beguile you with peace.

So meet me in your dreams and we will never be apart. I promise I will find you in the shadows and the dark. The day is gone, the nights are long, and this is just the start. So meet me in between the moon, the galaxies, and stars.

As the scene begins to set, the queen collects her debts. She comes to you with heavy lids to tuck you into bed. As the day turns into night, the queen demands a tithe, you cannot run, you cannot hide, but you can close your eyes.

So meet me in your dreams and we will dance across the sky, a minuet, our heart’s duet, a tango improvised. And who’s to say what lays in wait when day turns into night, so look for me in your dreams, I promise so will I.

And when the sun returns, we’ll savor all we learned; the tutelage of dreams, the alchemy of sleep. And if we spent our dreams in pleasant company, then you will wake in harmony.

So meet me in your dreams, cause I can’t get enough of you. I’ll climb the stars, I’ll scale the moon, there’s nothing I won’t do. And when we meet in sleep so deep, I think that you will find, the day is nice, but nothing beats the night. The days are nice but, oh my god, the nights.

Winter’s Mantle Winter’s Mantle, heavy with fur and snow Icy, still, until the north wind blows Frost on the panes, darkness pervades, rest my pretty babe

Flowers grown shy, dirges and lullabies

Rest, my darling, there’s no work to do Sleep, my child, night is calling you

Sunlight estranged, darkness remains, rest my pretty babe Flowers grown shy, dirges and lullabies

The Giant’s Lover gather round the giantess, beaming with tale to tell listen as she weaves her web of a lover that did excel, small though he was, the way that he loved was enormous stature be damned, he was two times the man that a giant was

met him down in irondeep, sailor of sky and sheet navigated expertly her every last giant need never before had a lover performed like this tour de force titans and ogres rendered mediocre by this tall dwarf

small folk, big fun, sure-foot, hard-won giant lover like no other thick of quad, colossal heart, his size belies a huge surprise

so she waits by window side, dreaming of his return never to be satisfied, inside her his memory burns smallfolk take heed, this tall dwarf has pleased with enormity a small folk she met but a titan she wept for when hardwon left

[steelsmanbroaches]

Steelmans provides best quality broaches in India.

[djarincore]

Hello! I saw requests were open and thought you may like this prompt

Imagine reader was in some way, shape, or form really good at flying a ship. It doesn't matter what kind it is, they can fly it. And din and reader are being chased by pirates or something like that, and the reader takes over flying while din goes off to do something, and all of a sudden their doing Barrel rolls and death drops making all the cargo fly everywhere (it would be hilarious if this is new information to din and he didnt know reader could do this)

This is just a silly little thought i had. You can add onto it and change it however you like (if you could add like mild tension of any kind i would be very grateful!) Love ya!

-H

TAGS: slight angst, injury mention, misunderstandings?, happy ending

A/N: hi H!!!! I loved this request and I'm sorry it took so long. I got sucked into the dragon age rabbit hole and just managed to crawl out after finishing origins lol hope you enjoy it!!!

—

Din’s breathless voice came through the com, “Get the ship started.”

You could tell he was running from the sound of blaster fire. Another failed bounty, you could only assume, for the third time in a row.

Things weren't looking so good for the two of you. Your partnership with the bounty hunter started with Grogu, getting him to the Jedi safely, and with Grogu gone now, things were tense. You didn't know where your partnership stood anymore, what it meant now that the mission was done.

You bring the engine to life with the flip of a few switches absentmindedly.

When you heard the clamoring of boots against steel, you shot up from the pilot seat and took your place in the co-pilot seat. Din came in seconds later, sliding into the pilot seat and getting the ship in the air.

“Hurt?” you muttered, fingers twitching in your lap as you await an answer.

He didn't respond, but his fingers curled around the wheel.

“I don't think they're following us. I’ll be back.”

He slipped out of the chair, switching into autopilot, and the door with a slight limp, disappearing down the ladder.

You sighed. He always lets you patch him up, at least before. Was it really time to move on? Was this his way of telling you he didn't need you anymore?

In your wandering thoughts, you failed to notice the tailing ship until shots blasted past the wings of the ship. Your mind and body jolted into action, slipping into the captain's chair.

Sharp, calculated maneuvers had the ship diving and twisting to avoid being shot.

You could hear the clamor of things in the cargo hold being thrown around, including Din. He was cursing, grunting, being shoved against the cramped walls of the hold.

Eventually, you managed to lose the pirates once again, settling back into the pilot's seat and hearing Din clamor back up the ladder into the cockpit.

“What the hell were you doing?” Din snapped, spinning your chair around.

His tone made you bristle. “Saving our asses. Those pirates were on us,” you retorted.

“Yes, but your piloting was reckless. You should've called me.”

“Sorry if I'm a little rusty,” you huffed. You hadn't been able to practice your piloting skills since Din always flew. It was his ship after all, and you were always busy with Grogu to chip in. “If you don't like my piloting, then I'll go. Seems like lately, you don't need my help with anything. So, what am I still doing here?”

There it was. The topic you'd been too afraid to broach. Your throat tightened, and suddenly you realized the fatigue in your muscles pulling your body to the ground.

You're glad you don't have to see his face. The silence is enough. You had to go.

“I'm going to bed. I'm sure you’ve got this handled.” You left the pilot seat and brushed past him.

—

Sleep didn't come easy which was why you could hear Din approaching your cot. He paused at your bedside, and you could feel his gaze on your back.

You turned over and looked at him with narrowed eyes, waiting for him to speak up.

“I didn't know you knew how to pilot,” he started, easing down onto one of the crates. You picked up on the faint hiss he let out and the way his body slumped to one side.

“Well, you don't know a lot about me.” You didn't mean for it to come out so harsh, but maybe it's a truth the both of you needed to hear. When you reflected on your journey together, neither of you had ever been open to one another. As someone who only ever had themselves to rely on, being vulnerable was foreign to you. Now you were losing Din because of it.

Just when your chest started to constrict, he finally said just enough for you to hear, “I'd like to.”

Your eyes widened, your mouth moving to speak, but the words were lost. In reality, you didn’t know how to say you wanted that too.

“I don't want you to leave. We… work well together,” he confessed.

You sat up, heart hammering in your chest as you stared at him, and nodded. “Okay, I'll stay.”

There were a lot of things the two of you had to work on, but you were glad this wasn't the end.

[thescarletnargacuga]

Will we see a halloween themed carnival au showtime? With pomni and Caine doing trick or treat with the other ai?

TRICK OR TREAT

A CARNIVAL AU SHOWTIME ONESHOT

AU credit @sm-baby

Art by @13piecebucket

WARNING: none

~~~

"Ack!" Caine gagged, "Cahn u urrey uh?" He spoke with his mouth wide open.

"I'd be done faster, if you stopped moving." Pomni adjusted one of Caine's fake fangs in place. "There. That better?"

Caine flexed his jaws, closing his teeth a few times to test the fake fangs. "Yep, all good! Thanks!" He fixed his cape, held together by a jeweled broach. The classic vampire ensemble was ready for trick or treating, he even had a small plastic pumpkin bucket for his candy.

Pomni was wearing a classic witch costume, complete with a large hat and fake nose. "Let's get started then! Since the circus, my door, is technically the start, I'll give you a freebie." She takes a hand-sized ball out of her pumpkin candy bucket and holds it out to Caine. "Happy Halloween!"

Caine takes it with a smile. "Why, thank you, Pomni." The ball had a seam around the center that popped open in his hand. Inside the ball were a few pieces of candy. "Oh my! What a surprise! Thank you, again." He puts the candy in his bucket.

Pomni smiles bashfully, rocking on her heels. "You're welcome. It wasn't anything too complex. Everyone gets to choose what trick or treat to give the player, and I thought a little candy ball would be fun. I'm glad you liked it."

Caine took her hand, lancing his fingers with hers. "I loved it. It came from you." He swung her hand playfully as they walked to the next door.

"Stoooop." She giggled, "I can't wait to see what the others have in store. The trick or treat side quest is supposed to be pretty light-hearted."

"Let's find out." Caine knocked on Ragatha's door.

After a beat, Ragatha answered with a tray of pastries. "Oh, hello! What adorable costumes!"

Caine and Pomni reached for a pastry, but were blocked by the sudden presence of a large knife.

"What do we say?" Ragatha asked with darkness in her eyes, looming over the shorter avatars.

Both Pomni and Caine jump back in surprise. Pomni gives an apologetic smile. "Uh...truck or treat?"

"There we go." Ragatha allows Pomni to take a pastry, then looks at Caine, still holding the knife at the ready. "Your turn, player."

Caine gulps, "Truck or treat?"

Ragatha smiled, holding the knife behind her back whilst offering the tray to Caine. "Take your, pick." She was cheerful, like she wasn't just threatening to take their hands off.

Caine took the closest one quickly and backs off, keeping an arm between Pomni and Ragatha. "Thanks, have a Happy Halloween."

"You too!" Ragatha closes her door.

"Well, that could've gone worse." Pomni sighs.

"I suppose we better not forget to say Trick or Treat." Caine steeled himself for the next door and knocked on the one with Gangle's face.

Not even a second after knocking, Caine and Pomni were swept off their feet by a snare of ribbons. They hung upside down back to back as the door opened. Gangle descended from the ceiling, greeting them from the top side of the door. "Right on cue."

Caine held out his pumpkin bucket. "Trick or treat?"

"You two are just in time to help me with rehearsal." Gangle grinned mischievously.

"Oh no..." Pomni groaned to herself.

"Don't worry, the lines are short. You'll get them in no time." Gangle showed them a cue card that read: Both characters say AAAAAH!

"Huh? Why would we-" Caine was spun rapidly in the air with Pomni. They screamed at the top of their lungs as Gangle laughed.

Caine and Pomni flopped in a heap on the floor as Gangle released them. Cartoonish swirls spun in their eyes. Gangle dropped a few handfuls of candy on them. "Hope you enjoyed my trick!" She then slammed her door.

"Ugh...my head." Whined Caine as he sat up.

"That would have been fun if we weren't dropped like a sack of potatoes." Pomni said as she got up. "At least we got candy." She scooped a few handfuls into her bucket.

"I think my sweet tooth fell out in the fall, cause I don't want her candy." Caine kicked some of the stray pieces out of his way and moved on to the next door.

Pomni hid behind Caine. Who knows what kind of antics Jax would be up to tonight. Caine brought his hand up to knock with some hesitation. With a deep breath, he knocked.

After a single knock, the door flew open and a giant hammer came crashing down. Caine and Pomni jumped to either side to avoid being crushed. The hammer broke the floor, spidering cracks went out for several feet from the epicenter of impact.

A maliciously gleeful chuckle came for the grey shadows beyond the threshold. "Still quick on your feet, I see. Good."

"Jax! What are you doing!? This is supposed to be a light-hearted quest!" Pomni stood, brushing herself off with some annoyance from being on the floor two doors in a row.

"Oh, but I am being light-hearted. If I actually wanted you dead," He laughed louder. "We wouldn't be having this conversation. Now, since you survived my trick, here's your treat." Jax reached behind his back, bringing two cream pies into existence. He splattered both Caine and Pomni in the face before shutting the door, laughing hysterically.

Caine licked the pie filling from his front teeth. "Hmm, coconut. What'd you get?"

Pomni sighed, exasperated. "Banana." She grabbed a corner of Caine's cape to wipe her face off.

At Zooble's door, Caine didn't get the chance to knock. The door opened the moment he raised his hand. Zooble appeared in the doorway with a literal armfull of candy, dropped all of it on Caine and Pomni's heads, then shut the door without a word.

"Thank you." Caine's muffled voice said from under the mountain of candy. Pomni sighed. Again.

Their buckets full to the point of overflowing, they stand before the King's curtain at the end of the hall. Caine looked over the curtain, a little confused. "Um...how do I knock? This isn't a door?"

"How am I supposed to know? Technically, I'm not supposed to leave the circus." Pomni grumbled, still cleaning pie filling out of her costume.

"Snippy." Caine muttered. "Hey, Bubble?"

A small, bright pink bubble appeared next to Caine. "Hello! How can I help you?"

"Yes, how do I knock on curtains?" Caine asked with all sincerity.

"You don't! You just say the most magical of words on Halloween night! Trick or treat!"

"Thanks, Bubble." Caine tossed a piece of candy for his helpful AI companion. Bubble caught the teat and munched it with a smile.

Caine cleared his voice and spoke clearly. "Trick or treat!" There was silence at first, Caine almost said the words again, but then the ground rumbled as something large imposed the curtained doorway. Caine and Pomni took a step back as the curtains divided to reveal Kinger himself gazing down on them. They lifted their buckets, neither making eye contact with the royal figure.

"About time. I was starting to think you wouldn't show." Kinger's voice was quiet but authoritative.

"Many apologies, your highness." Pomni said without looking up.

"No matter. The night is still young. Come inside."

Caine and Pomni looked at each other before daring to look up at Kinger. "..huh?"

"I said: come. in."

"Yes, your majesty!" Pomni grabbed Caine's wrist and dragged him inside, sprinting past Kinger.

Kinger's royal court was decorated top to bottom for a Halloween celebration. Chess pieces and various game NPCs mingled and danced. Pomni and Caine stood stunned in the entryway as Kinger slid up behind them. "Welcome to the party! Do make yourselves at home!" His voice was lighter, even cheerful.

"OOOO! Punch!" Bubble flew off and dove into the giant foaming cauldron of punch on the snack table.

The party was loud and a bit crowded, Pomni and Caine stood closer. Pomni pointed to a corner with giant cushions. "Hey, why don't we go over there?"

Caine followed her without argument. He sat with her on the largest cushion as they both dumped out all their candy and started sorting. They traded pieces and tossed candy neither of them wanted to Bubble, who ate every piece with a smile on his face.

"Things got a little crazy, but I had fun with this quest." Caine smiled at Pomni, who returned it.

"I'm glad, Caine. The others may be allowed to be a little weird for the holiday, but it's all in good fun. Thanks for inviting me to come with you."

Caine put an arm around her shoulder and hugged her to him. "Absolutely. I love having you around."

"I love being around you, too." A pink hue dusted Pomni's cheeks.

Caine leaned his head against Pomni's. "Happy Halloween, Pomni."

"Happy Halloween." Pomni relaxed against him.

[blissfullyapillow]

┃It’s always you

₊˚⊹♡Jing Yuan x gn reader

₊˚⊹♡‎wc: 2,357~

₊˚⊹♡warnings: suicide (reader), angst with a happy ending, death & rebirth, soulmate au type beat 

₊˚⊹♡notes: I’ve been obsessing over Blade lately but Jing Yuan remains to be the OG lmao. On a serious note: I rediscovered the song Back 2 You by Selena Gomez during a time of emotional turmoil and.. voila.  I originally wasn’t going to upload this. I was gonna scrap it or just keep it for me, for personal use, but I decided to post it after I revised it. I wrote this for personal reasons I will not delve into, but I hope this helps someone else as much as it helped me. You’re loved, and there’s always someone out there who will listen, understand, and love you. I promise. ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚

₊˚⊹♡Main Masterlist

Jing Yuan’s experienced many relationships before, ranging from platonic to romantic in nature.

Yet the end of said relationships failed to pierce his heart as deeply as his heartbreak for you.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

He still remembers that day vividly.

Your slumped figure sitting in a pool of your own blood, with a letter loosely held in your cold hands.

The rest of the scene became a blur, as his vision became clouded with tears.

a rare occurrence for a man like Jing Yuan.

He partly blamed himself, even though he knew your actions weren’t a reflection or a result of his own actions or feelings.

his heart lurched as a broken sob racked his trembling form. Still, he gently removed the beautiful parchment from your lifeless hand to scour your last words.

your written declaration of love and gratitude, for him, brought a self-deprecating smile to his lips. Your words are so powerful and moving, yet your body lay lifeless before him.

He takes a shuddering breath as his eyes slowly trail up your slumped figure. his fingers curl around your letter as his heart stops.

The sight of a dagger plunged deeply into your chest, directly into your heart, is all it takes for his soul to cry in agony.

His throat constricts, and his lungs fail to adequately exchange oxygen, yet…

He refuses to look away; he does not dare to tear his eyes away from the love of his life, even in her demise.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

Jing Yuan never hid from the public eye. Even with the tragic, countless losses his heart continued to endure, he never resided in solitude for long.

…

Your death was the first time he remained in seclusion.

He knows you belong to the Vidyadhara, a humanoid race, so your body will be repaired.

but..

Your memories of him, of the time you two spent together, will not remain.

He doesn’t even know if he’ll encounter you again in his lifetime, but the possibility is high.

So, he waits.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

After Jing Yuan’s long period of seclusion following your death, he resumed work.

On a particularly slow day Fu Xuan stopped by to see the general of the Luofu. She knew of your fate, and although she was loath to admit it she was concerned for the general.

When she saw that lazy smile on his lips, she almost chided herself for being worried.

That is, until she realized his smile didn't meet his eyes.

She entertained small talk with the general as contemplated how to broach her concerns with the grief-stricken general. As the conversation slowly trailed off, she steeled herself. 

The Master Diviner braced herself for backlash as she gave the general unsolicited advice… albeit from the goodness of her heart; the general is a sloth at times, much to her annoyance, but she truly did wish him well. 

So, with that in mind, she cautioned him that if he were to meet your reincarnation he should not engage and move on.

Even as his lazy smile morphed into a deep rooted frown, she continued on. She informed him that there’s no guarantee your fate will differ from your past life, even if you two reunite.

Although Fu Xuan’s words struck a nerve, he knew she was coming from a good place.

After a brief farewell he watched her retreating figure. He considered her advice despite his reluctance. 

Though it pained him to admit it, her words were not ill advised. 

Maybe.. he should try to move on.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

He tried to heed Fu Xuan’s warning.. in his own way. 

He attempted another relationship, but shortly broke it off.

He deemed it a fruitless endeavor since his thoughts were filled with you as he was lying beside someone else. He’d hate to be inauthentic, so he did what was best for him and his brief companion.

It feels like millennia pass by as he moves through the motions. His duties as general serve as a welcome distraction for his desolate heart. 

Now, his droopy eyes rove over words that seemingly blur together as he reaches the end of the document. Once his signature is elegantly signed on the bottom of the document, he leans back in his seat to indulge in a brief moment of rest.

His sleep addled brain immediately thinks of you, as it usually does.

He reminisces about his very first encounter with you. 

He had made a visit to a bookstore with hopes of finding an engaging book that could be a much needed distraction from work.

Preferably, a book about cats.

He took his time to scan the vast array of books the store had to offer. His eyes lit up with unbridled joy as he found what he was looking for. 

He reached for the book, but before he could grasp it someone bumped into him from behind. When he turned around, there you were.

Your eyes were glazed over. It was obvious you were daydreaming about something and your mind was elsewhere. It took a few moments, but your eyes came into focus. 

As your anxious orbs stared into his eyes, he winked at you.  

He laughed at your flustered reaction; you began to apologize profusely as you tried to look anywhere but at him.

He didn’t know it at the time, but he would grow fond of your clumsy actions. 

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

Subconsciously, a smile forms on his lips as he remembers the adorable smile you graced him with when he dismissed your apologies. 

In contrast to his smile, a pained sigh leaves his lips. He’s struggling to recall the name of the bookstore.

After you died he avoided going anywhere near that bookstore. He physically couldn’t handle walking down that path, that same path you used to always accompany him on.

To those close to him, it was fairly obvious that your death impacted him greatly. Unfortunately they could only do so much to alleviate their general’s heartache.

Jing Yuan hated Yanqing’s blatant concern when he purposely took the long way back to his office. Even so, Jing Yuan continued to avoid the route all together, for many years. 

He evades it to this day.

He forces his heavy eyes to open, staring at nothing as he tries to snuff his beautiful memories of you.

…

….

He slowly puts the signed document down with a despondent groan. 

It’s no use.

For some reason, he can’t stop thinking about that bookstore.

…it feels like he’s forgetting something important.

His mind reels as he desperately tries to recall the name of the bookstore. His eyebrows crease in concentration once the name of the bookstore is on the tip of his tongue. 

Come on Jing Yuan, it shouldn’t take you this long to- 

Ah, he remembers now.

Jing Yuan looks down at the paper as he mindlessly fiddles with it. He doesn’t know why, but he feels compelled to visit the bookstore once more after so many years. However, with every fiber of his being, he tries to quell the urge. His finger taps against his knee as his leg bounces. 

He detests how easily he wants to give in. 

He’s avoided the store for years, so why does he-

…

Wait. 

He shoots up from his seat.

He’s quick to scan the document he signed until he finds the date. Once his eyes land on their target, he feels the air leave his lungs like someone punched him. 

Ah.

It’s the day you…

He takes a sharp intake of breath. His knee resumes bouncing as his heart pounds against his chest.

He moves abruptly, heading for the door. 

Some papers flutter off his desk due to his erratic movements. He pays no mind to the wayward documents as he swiftly leaves his office.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

Jing Yuan finds himself walking down a road he hasn’t set eyes on in years. The esteemed man admires laughing children and busy salespeople as he walks down the familiar path.

It feels like a weight is lifted from his chest as he continues to walk. A tentative smile reaches his lips as he draws closer to the bookstore.

His heart threatens to burst from his chest as the sign comes into view so he stops walking to take a deep breath. 

He closes his eyes and centers himself. 

He focuses on the sounds of life around him; His trained ears pick up the sound of laughter, of footsteps that rush past him, of a baby babbling… 

Once he’s composed himself he completes his journey to the bookstore.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

Honestly, he’s fond of this bookstore. It is where he first met you after all.

He leisurely peruses the books in stock as he smiles at the seller. They gaze at him curiously with a tentative smile in silent reply. They’re obviously surprised that the General of the Cloud Knights is here to pay a visit to their bookstore. 

He scans the selection one more time. When he doesn’t find anything of interest, he says his farewell to the shop owner. 

He did what he came here to do. He’s proud of himself for walking down this route after so much time has passed. He feels the best he ever has in years.

This was a healing experience for him. 

He turns around, ready to return to the many documents that await his approval and revision. He unwittingly bumps into someone during his haste, and blood rushes to his cheeks as he quickly apologizes.

The person stumbles backwards, but he’s quick to reach out and steady them. His eyes quickly scan the figure as he opens his mouth to apologize once again, and..

Oh.

Oh my.

The words die in his throat.

His heart leaps out of his chest and into the hands of the beautiful person in front of him.

You.

 He knows it’s you; your pretty features are permanently engraved in his memory.

Your expression is one of surprise, yet a subconscious smile, reminiscent of a past life, graces your beautiful lips.

His mouth parts in shock as his skin runs cold. He releases you to subtly wipe his clammy hands on his pants.

He regrets letting go of you immediately.

Your head tilts as you stare at him, and an ethereal smile presents itself on your lips.

The same lips he dreams about every night. 

The same lips he achingly yearns to kiss once more. 

He instinctively tilts his body in your direction. 

“General!? It’s a pleasure to meet you! Am I in your way? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

His Adam's Apple bops as he tunes out the rest of your words. His eyes remain zeroed in on your lips. They only look up when your lips stop moving. 

Golden eyes blatantly admire the sparkle of amusement in your gorgeous orbs.

He longs to pull you into his arms; he’s missed you so much. He was uncertain if he’d ever meet you again, and he didn’t know he’d do if he did.

He hopes you aren’t facing the same struggles you previously were. If you are, he won't hesitate to do everything in his power, and more, to prevent the same outcome from occurring. 

“I.. I missed-“ 

His voice… it’s..

Strained. 

Hoarse. 

In desperate need of water.

He coughs into his fist as an embarrassed blush graces his cheeks. In his urgency to reconnect with you, he forgot that you won’t remember him. You don’t know him since you’ve clearly molted, and everyone knows the memories of the Vidyadhara unfortunately don’t carry over.

But oh he hopes you’ll spend this lifetime you have with him.

All of it.

So he settles for an elated smile. His heart flounders in your hands when you visibly become flustered; you look down as a shy smile manifests itself on your divine lips.

He falls in love with you all over again. 

Oh, how he loves you.

“Don’t worry that pretty head of yours over it, I’d hate to see a frown mar those ravishing lips. The fault lies with me. ..As a way for me to amend my mistake, why don’t you accompany me on a walk?” His velvety voice makes you swoon, and you fail to hide how giddy you feel. 

With a knowing smirk he offers his arm to you, but you hesitate to accept his offer. 

“Are you sure, General? I may not own anything of interest, but I’m sure I can-“ “Oh, but you do. Please, indulge me.” His eyes bore into yours, and you see a glint of… something.. within them. You aren’t sure what it is.

Although his words leave you confused, you oblige. Your arm wraps itself snugly in his and your body moves closer to his own. 

His eyes water with unshed tears as he fails to mask his euphoria. His wobbly smile is the last thing you see before he hides his face from your view.

You remain none the wiser to the tear that managed to escape.

As you both walk up the road he’s avoided for years, his gaze trails back to you once more. He chuckles at the flagrant jubilation on your enchanting face. You were always bad at masking your emotions around him.

He initiates a conversation with you, and it isn’t long before he’s blessed with your melodious laugh.

He hopes that he’ll be able to revive the object of interest that you own.

His heart.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

As the years go by you grow close to Jing Yuan once more. You successfully revive his previously shattered heart, and you make him the happiest man in the universe when you agree to marry him. You remain by each other’s side for eternity, and in this lifetime of yours he’s proud to say he was able to grow old with you.

P.S: He always reunites with you after you molt, and you two continuously fall in love with each other in every life that you have.

There’s no one else he’d rather spend his immortality with than you.  

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Challenge {1/2}

Aemond Targaryen x fem!bladesmith!reader Summary: Prince Aemond commissions your services but it gets off to a rocky start. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, sassy attitude, masturbation, unprotected sex WC: 5.6k

HOTD Masterlist || Part One || Part Two

The full force of the heat from the forge blasted your face as you grabbed the length of steel with your tongs. The long sword would be mighty when she was complete but it was a long way off from that. 

Your arms were aching from the hours spent in the workshop but you ignored the weight of them as you lay the steel on the anvil and hefted a hammer off the tool rack. Every hit was aimed with precision as you folded the steel over adding strength and shaping the blade until the glowing metal dimmed as it cooled.

Sweat dripped down your forehead and you swiped it from your eyes with the back of your sleeve before making your way back to the fire pit and starting the process again. It was repetitive work but you were never bored by the process because every blade was unique and made especially for its owner. Swords like yours could not be found anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms and that was why buyers travelled from far and wide. 

“Boy, where is your master?”

You turned slowly away from the dancing flames that had kept you mesmerised while the blade heated. “Excuse me?” you asked as you tugged at the cloth that was tied across your face to save inhaling smoke all day and protect your hair from being singed. 

“Oh,” the man chuffed as his dark brows shot up his forehead, “you are the bladesmith?”

You looked around the workshop that was void of anyone else before looking back at him. “You are a clever one.”

His lips pursed at the sarcastic remark and he stepped forward, his armour clattering with the movement. It was then you noticed the white cloak that was pinned to his shoulders by a dragon broach. “You are a long way from King’s Landing.”

“I was told there was a master bladesmith in this town but there must be a misunderstanding, though I did not see another workshop around,” he trailed off as he looked at a few of the swords hanging on the walls.

You turned back to the flames and rotated the blade to even out the heat dispersation. “No misunderstanding, there is no other bladesmith here.”

The soldier crossed the small room to get a closer look at the swords and made a small sound of surprise at the details and designs of the hilts. “These are remarkable.” He turned back to you and watched as you tightened the hold on the tongs and removed the blade from the fire to rest it on the anvil. “My prince is in need of a new sword, one that is fitting of his title. You will make it and personally deliver it to King’s Landing to present on his name day.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him as you raised the hammer, one well aimed hit would be enough to knock the entitled tone from his mouth but one word would also do. “No.”

The coins in the purse that sat in his hand jangled as his fist tightened around it and you ignored the flare of anger that tinted his cheeks as you beat the steel into shape while it was hot and malleable. “Your prince demands a great sword.”

You paused to look around the room once more, waving the hammer to the empty doorway as you spoke, “I do not see a prince.”

A growl of frustration gurgled in his throat before he turned on his heel and stormed out of the workshop, slamming the old wooden door closed behind him. 

“Arrogant prick,” you muttered under your breath as you returned to work.

The sun had set hours ago but the workshop was alight with the forge fire as you made the finishing touches on a curved scimitar for a client who had come from Braavos with the design.

The blade gleamed in the firelight as you ran the whetstone down its edge until you were satisfied it could cut through a skull with a single slice. Along with an engraving of the shield of Braavos, the hilt was gilded with gold and had a small blood-red ruby nestled into the top. It really was a magnificent piece, even if you were a little biassed.

Placing the sword into the velvet lined box that had been built by your trusted carpenter, you closed the latch and placed it on a clean benchtop so it would be ready for the gentleman to pick up on the morrow. 

You double checked the windows were locked before stoking the fire one last time to keep it warm overnight and making your way out of the workshop that was littered with projects. Lists of jobs to be done and ore to be bought ran through your head, the endless stream of debt and credit being calculated as you walked. You were so caught up thinking about your business that you missed the body that filled the dark doorway you were stepping out of. 

“What in the Seven Hells do you-” your words died out as you looked up from the leather clad chest you had hit and found a smirk on the lips above. 

It wasn’t the immaculate tunic, silvery hair or violet eye that gave away the man before you, though they all screamed royalty, it was the long-healed scar and eye patch. Prince Aemond, or Aemond One-Eye behind his back, had come to your workshop. 

Beside the prince stood the soldier who had visited only a few days earlier and his attitude did not appear to have lessened in his time away. Recovering from the shock of a prince standing before you, you dipped into a curtsey and stepped back into your workshop.

“Your highness, what brings you here?”

Prince Aemond walked in with a straight spine and puffed chest, taking in the shadows with a keen eye to spy any threat hiding within. He ignored your question and his soldier remained in the doorway, watching his prince see the work of your craft.

“The hour is late and I am tired, why have you come all the way from King’s Landing?”

“My Prince is here for his sword,” the soldier answered.

“I have no sword for the prince.” You placed your hand on the box holding the latest creation as the prince reached for it. “That is not yours.”

Prince Aemond placed his hands behind his back and pursed his lips. “She is rude, isn’t she, Ser Criston, and filthy.”

“I did warn you,” he replied with a chuckle.

“Do not speak of me as if I am not here,” you commented dryly. “Your manners are no better barging in here not once but twice. I suppose you are used to getting your way.”

“I could have your head for disrespecting me,” Prince Aemond warned as his hand came to rest on his hilt.

Your chin lifted higher in defiance as you retorted, “Then you will ensure you never possess a sword of the greatest craftsmanship. That is why you are here, is it not?”

Aemond stepped closer and dipped his head as he towered over you to catch your chin in his hand. “There are plenty of other bladesmiths like you. Ones that do not come with such a mouth.”

Your lips pulled back at the insult and you wretched your head from his tight grip as you snarled, “There is no one like me.”

The smirk playing at his bow shaped lips grew as he dared you, “Prove it.” 

“Fine,” you hissed before smacking his hand away that reached for the scimitar’s box again. “I shall make you a fine sword that will be the envy of all who see it. It will be longer than all others and require two hands just to wield it, a fair compensation for what lords who request such swords are often lacking.”

Ser Criston looked away with a pinched face while Prince Aemond chuckled darkly and pulled the protective cloth from your head. “I cannot speak for these other lords, but I assure you Targaryen men do not lack in length.”

You looked him up and down. “I was not talking about your height.”

His lips twitched in amusement and he tossed your cloth back before turning away. “Neither was I.” 

The prince stopped beside his soldier and whispered something before he clattered his way over and grabbed your arm tightly. “You’re coming with us.”

You struggled against the hold but it was impossible to break as he dragged you out the door and down the street to the only inn the small village had. “You’re a damn brute!” you hissed as you kicked at his shin only to cry out as your toes slammed into the metal armour. 

“Such a temper,” Prince Aemond tutted with a laugh. “Be careful. You’ll hurt yourself and I don’t want any delays in getting my sword.”

Ser Criston pushed you into a booth and stood guard while the prince slipped into the other side, waving a hand towards the waitress who rushed off to the bar. A few heads turned to the prince before blanching and quickly giving their attention back to the stew and ale in front of them. They were afraid.

“How is dragging me here going to help finish your sword any faster?” you asked as a draft of beer was placed in front of you by the waitress. 

The prince delicately sniffed his drink before taking a sip and his nose crinkled slightly at the taste of the penny ale. “You look like you could use a hot meal. You will be of no use to me if you fall sick.”

Your eyebrows pinched together and you looked down at your filthy fingernails, soot covering you from head to toe. You looked like a beggar, possibly even worse, but you were far from it. “My staff keeps me fed far better than anything that can be found in this place, thank you very much. And, I know I don’t look it after spending a long day in the workshop but I am very well off so I do not want to see pity in that eye of yours.”

You enjoyed the surprise that flitted across his face as you pushed the disgusting ale away and rose from the table. “If you wish to eat whatever diseased ridden animal they have found in the alley, feel free to stay and take your chances.”

You pushed past the soldier and he let you, instead turning his attention to the prince still sitting at the table stunned. “My prince, I believe she was inviting you to dinner.”

Aemond frowned at his guard. “Then why would she not just say that?”

You heard the metal armour rattle as Ser Criston shrugged and looked back over your shoulder to catch the prince’s confused stare. “I did, you just do not understand woman-speak unlike your counterpart here. Do you not talk to the ladies in your court?”

“I have better ways to spend my time,” he uttered as he followed you out of the inn. “Fetch the horses, Cole.”

“No need, my home is not far,” you interrupted, continuing on your way and letting them decide whether to follow.

You chose the workshop because it was close to the home you had inherited from your father. He had been a merchant, bringing precious metals from his travels until his heavily laden ship had been caught in a storm and been dragged to the bottom of the Narrow Sea. You could hardly remember losing him as a child but you could remember the pretty metals he had brought home. It was what led you to learning the art of metalwork, eventually finding your niche in high quality swords.

The men walked in silence, though you saw Ser Criston constantly keeping track of the surroundings with his hand on the pommel of his sword. Soon enough the stone walls of your property came into view and you reached the gated archway that was always kept locked since there was no ‘lord of the house’ to protect it.

The property would have been long lost to the taxman if your business were not so successful, the wealthy buyers willing to part with large sums of coin to have a sword made by you. It was satisfying to see the shock and surprise on the prince's face when the trees parted and the large home appeared. 

The ornate front door swung open as you reached the steps and Gerry curtseyed as she saw the company you kept. “Mistress, I was about to come in search of you.”

“You worry too much.” You pulled the heavy fireproof cloak off your shoulders and passed it over to her to hang in the coat closet. “We have company for dinner and will require two more settings.”

“Of course, mistress. Your bath is already drawn upstairs and I will have Kasia lay out more,” her eyes flicked to the prince, “fitting clothes.”

You laughed at the preposterous idea and shook your head. “This is my home and I am not a doll to be dressed up for anyone’s amusement, least of all the prince’s. I will wear my usual.” You dismissed her with a nod of your head and pointed to the adjoining room where most receptions were held. “You two can wait in there.”

“So bossy,” the prince murmured as he turned away to see the paintings that lined the walls.

Ser Criston took more offence and coldly warned, “Remember who it is you are speaking to.” 

“How could I forget,” you teased as you made your way to the stairs and swept into a curtsey to the prince who had followed your movement with his eye. “I am but your obedient servant.”

“You little-”

Aemond caught Ser Criston’s arm as he made to reach for you and shook his head. “Tis a game, Cole, and she is playing you.”

Your bottom lip pouted as he ruined your fun and you realised the prince was smarter than you had given him credit for, assuming he was just another entitled, spoilt lord. Those types of men you could deal with but this one was different and wasn’t afraid to call you out. It was intriguing. 

His eye lingered on your pouting lip and from the dark look you wondered if he enjoyed the attitude you gave him or wanted to spank it from you. After a moment you decided you would be happy with either one. He might have been an entitled asshole, but he was a handsome one and you were not immune to his looks.

You spun away and hastily climbed the stairs when you realised you had been staring at him for too long. 

You could only breathe again once you were safely shut behind your bedroom door and wished you hadn’t seen the look in his eye. The heat of it still remained on your lips and you traced a finger over them before shaking the thought away. 

‘He’s just like every other lord you have worked for,’ you told yourself as you began to strip out of your sooty and sweaty clothes. ‘Actually, he’s worse. He didn’t even have the decency to ask for a sword politely. Coming into my shop and demanding one,’ you scoffed at the conversation in your head, ‘who does he think he is?’

You dropped into the warm water that was nowhere near as hot as you usually had but the late hour had let it cool so you worked quickly to wash your body before it turned tepid. There was a moment when you were towelling yourself dry that you looked at your closest and thought of wearing one of the many dresses your old governess had purchased for you before you came of age, but it soon passed and you grabbed the pair of loose breeches and cotton shirt that was laid out.

The two men were conversing quietly in the reception room after helping themselves to the carafe of wine that was kept there and they both turned as you entered. Ser Criston spluttered on his wine, the red drops splattering down his armour as he coughed and looked away. 

The attire was certainly not what they would have been used to seeing from the ladies in the Red Keep but you would always choose comfort over style and that would not change just because there was a prince in your home. 

“You act as if you have seen something scandalous, Ser Criston,” you said, impelling him to interact while his ears burned red. 

“Those are underclothes,” he said without looking away from the curtains he was transfixed on.

You chuckled and looked at the prince instead. “I would never wear such things in front of his highness. I find them far too cumbersome.”

Ser Criston dropped his goblet entirely and you bit your lip to hide the laughter that was bubbling in your chest as the red wine cascaded across the floor.

“Oh dear, you would think your guard would have a steadier hand.”

Whatever retort was on the prince's lips was forgotten when Gerry entered and announced that dinner was ready. But it wasn’t forgiven as he sent his guard to follow your housemaid and caught your arm in his large hand when you walked by, pressing his body close so he could dip his head to your ear and whisper, “You are playing with fire.”

You tipped your head back to look him in the eye and the movement gave him a clear line of sight down the front of your shirt, proving you were in fact not wearing any underclothes. “I play with fire everyday, my prince, but I have yet to be burned.” You pulled away with a smirk and swore you heard his teeth grind in his clenched jaw. “Dinner will be getting cold.”

“That mouth will be the end of you,” he uttered as he swaggered behind you into the dining room.

The table was laden with all manner of dishes but you could hardly eat as you kept catching Prince Aemond’s eye in the seat opposite. Gerry had likely set the plates that way on purpose, so the prince would be at the head of the table like you.

It was how the table would be formally set if you were to ever take a husband. That was an unlikely event. Despite enjoying the company of men on occasion, you had no interest in sharing your home with one. Men were best set free after you were spent.

The table had just been cleared and a sweet pudding was on its way from the kitchen when rain began to patter softly on the roof. The downpour only grew louder over dessert and you placed your spoons down with a sigh. “Gerry?”

Your housemaid stepped into the room a little too eagerly and sent the prince a small bashful smile and it irked you that his lips curled up slightly in return. “Prepare two rooms. They can hardly walk back in this weather.”

“It’s only a little rain,” the prince said.

“I’ll not have you catch your death on my watch,” you shot back.

He wiped his lips with his napkin to hide the smile growing on his face. “Sounds like you care.”

You scoffed at his arrogance and reassured him, “I care about my money, which I won’t get if you die.”

“My prince,” Ser Criston whispered loudly, “I don’t think this is wise.”

“It appears safer than the inn, and we have determined she would rather me survive our stay - for her money of course.”

You nodded in agreement as you reached the stairs and the soldier barely suppressed the resigned sigh that came from the heavy breath he took. “It’s settled then. I will take your measurements and preferences for the sword on the morrow then you may be on your way back to King’s Landing.”

The bath had been removed, the fire had been stoked and the room was balmy when you bid your guests farewell and stepped inside. The door next to yours closed and you heard the men speaking in the room but couldn’t make out their words before the door opened and closed again and Ser Criston’s armour clattered with him to the room further down the hall. 

Satisfied you wouldn’t be disturbed until morning, you tossed your clothes to the floor and climbed atop the blankets knowing it would be too hot to sleep under them until the fire dwindled. Despite being exhausted your mind refused to quiet and let you rest, instead you were hyper-aware of the male specimen on the bed that shared your wall. 

It had been too long since you last indulged in a man and now it showed.

Your fingers traced the swell of your breasts before dancing their way down your navel to where you needed to be touched most. You jolted as the pad of your middle finger swept over your clit and found you were already sensitive from the verbal sparring of the evening and a soft moan escaped with your exhale. 

Your core ached with the need to be filled and you palmed your breast with one hand, teasing your nipple, as you parted your folds with the other. Fuck, you were wet. The evidence sounded around you as you curled your fingers in search of the delicious spot that would send stars twirling around your vision. 

You were completely absorbed in your own pleasure and could no longer bite your lip to keep quiet as you erupted around your fingers, your walls clenching around them as your palm rubbed your clit and sent aftershocks trembling across your body.

A final deep groan filled the room and it took a moment to realise the sound had not come from you. It was purely masculine. And coming from the other side of the wall.

The satisfaction of your release was lost to a new need and you shifted up the bed, pressing your ear to the wall in the hopes of hearing it once again. Holding your breath, you waited.

“Uh,” the prince grunted and there was a thud beside your head, as if he had callously thrown his own back from where he sat among the pillows. “That filthy mouth. This would shut you up.”

You inhaled sharply and stared at the wall as if you could magically see through it.

Was he thinking about you as he touched himself? Was he stroking his cock and imagining your lips wrapped around it?

You sat back against the wall and let your knees fall apart as you hung on every word that spilled from the prince's lips. Your fingers could not fill you as a cock could and did not reach the depth you were chasing and you gave a strangled cry of frustration before slamming a hand over your mouth. 

The room fell silent, and so did his. 

The air was heavy as you waited to hear any sign he was still there but nothing came and the tightening in your core was lost to time. 

Knock. Knock. 

They were quiet, almost silent knocks, but there was no denying that someone was at your door. 

You tore the blanket from the bed as you rose and wrapped the material around your naked body before opening the door just a crack. Even without candlelight it was impossible to mistake the shadowed man for anyone but the prince with his silvery hair. 

He did not wait for an invitation as he pushed the door wider and closed it behind him, a finger pressed to his lips before pointing to the messy bed and whispering, “Trouble sleeping?”

In the firelight you could see the flush on his cheeks and his tunic buttons were not aligned after hastily dressing himself in the dark. You reached a hand out of the folds of the blanket that swamped you and flicked the clasp he hadn’t done up low on his hips. “Thin walls, your highness.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed and you swore you felt the deep reverberations in your core. “Then you shall have to keep quiet.”

Your heart beat rapidly at the thought and the need between your legs throbbed in time to your pulse but, defiant to the end, you lifted your head and challenged him once more. “Make me.”

The fire reflected in his eye and those bow lips curled up at the dare. He would not back down, not when you were so provocative. 

His hand moved faster than you could follow and in a heartbeat your blanket was torn away to bare your entire self to him. The hunger in his eye exploded and your body heated as he feasted upon every inch, unblinking. He drank in the sight from your peaked nipples, stiff from your touch, down to the glistening evidence of your release at the junction of your thighs. 

His movements flowed like water as he spun you around, one hand splayed across your chest to hold you against him while his other parted your legs. “Don’t act like you don’t want this,” he whispered in your air as he dragged his fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick before gliding over your clit. “I could hear you too.”

Your head fell back onto his shoulder and your hands reached up to tangle in his hair as you rolled your hips. “I don’t want this,” you said with a suppressed moan. “But I need it so just fuck me already.”

“That filthy mouth,” he growled before clamping his hands on your shoulders and shoving you to your knees. The clasps of his tunic were torn open as he circled you and freed his cock, the hard length springing forward. His thumb traced your bottom lip as it parted and your tongue darted across it in anticipation as he said, “Put it to good use.”

You snapped your teeth at him and smirked as he narrowed his eye at you, but he didn’t retreat when you reached for him. His cock was warm and hard in your hand and you stroked the length that he had definitely not exaggerated, teasing him as you swirled your tongue around the swollen tip. 

A throaty moan filled the air and you rolled your eyes up to see his jaw slack with the pleasure you were giving him. 

It was satisfying to see the calm and collected prince come undone. He was so completely vulnerable at your hand, and the thought set your body on fire as you took him deeper in your mouth.

“Seven hells, you are sin.”

Your fingers danced over the silken skin of his balls, gently squeezing and rolling them until they began to tighten and another guttural sound erupted. It was your turn to hum as you pulled back and tasted the bead of precum that escaped the slit before rising to your feet.

“Come.” You took his hand and led him to the bed, pushing him down among the sheets. “It’s my turn.”

He let you get as far as straddling his hips before he twisted and flipped you beneath him, pinning your hands above your head. “You are a very bossy woman.”

“How else am I to get what I want?”

His dark smile grew and you knew you wouldn’t like his answer. “You could always say please.”

You sent him a dangerously sweet smile and blinked innocently at him. “Unless you are going to fuck me, please get out of my room.”

He clamped a hand over your mouth as he lined himself up with your dripping entrance and filled you with a rough thrust that stole the air from your lungs. Your moans were silenced by his hand as he reached the parts of you that your fingers could never truly satisfy and your fingernails found purchase on his tunic as you arched closer to his body. 

“You knew what you were doing at dinner,” he growled in your ear as he pulled your leg higher over his hips. “Do you do this with all of your clients?”

His hand slipped away and you gasped in a deep breath, the ability to focus difficult with the pressure building in your core. “Only the attractive ones.”

You couldn’t tell if the honesty angered him or spurred him but he drove in deeper, pistoning his hips with a relentless pace. 

Your cries would have woken the entire household if he didn’t cover your mouth again but it didn’t stop him from pushing you closer and closer to the edge. The tightening low in your belly reached breaking point and your eyes rolled back as the force of the orgasm ripped through your body from head to toes. 

You were a quivering mess when he pulled out and fisted his cock that glistened with your release, pumping up and down, once, twice, then spilled his seed across your skin. His chest rose and fell quickly and his cock twitched as he drained every last drop with a shaky hand. 

Unable to resist another taste, you dragged a finger through the mess he had painted on your skin and tasted his come. It was just as decadent as indulging in a nip of brandy after a meal. 

“You have no shame,” he chuckled as he tucked his cock back in his trousers and began to clasp his tunic back together. 

“I like what I like, I don’t see the point in pretending otherwise.” You climbed off the bed onto weak legs and grabbed the corner post to stabilise yourself. The look of pure masculine pride filled his face as he saw your stumble and he swiped your blanket from where it had been discarded on the floor. You took it from his hand and noticed the temperature in the room had dropped since the dalliance began, draping it over your shoulders but leaving the middle open so he could enjoy the sight a moment longer. “Goodnight, your highness.”

He opened the door and grinned as he combed his mussed hair back from his face. “Twas.”

The door shut silently and you fell back onto your bed with a satisfied sigh and the smile on your lips remained until long after you fell asleep.

The prince was quite the actor when you met him in the dining room to break your fast. Given the fresh face and lack of reaction to your entrance you almost believed you had conjured last night's events in a dream. 

Almost. 

The ache between your legs could not be imagined, nor could the evidence of your union that you had washed off your skin. 

“Good morning,” you greeted the men as you took your seat and looked over the prince. “I trust you slept well.”

He spared a cube of melon with his fork and inspected the fruit. “The bedding was adequate.”

“Your hospitality is appreciated,” Ser Criston said after giving his prince a questioning look that was ignored. At least he appeared to have woken with better manners. He didn’t even choke or comment on the fact that you wore a silk robe imported from Lys, and nothing else. 

You inclined your head at the compliment before turning your attention back to the prince. “Do you have an inclination to any particular sword type?”

“A long sword, straight blade.” He placed the fruit back on the table without eating it, as if he had lost his appetite. “Light-weight, so it can be wielded with one hand should I need it. And, a dragon’s head carved into the pommel.”

You committed the details to memory, already imagining the finished piece, and rose from the table to get a measuring tape from the table in the study. You gestured for the prince to rise from his seat and dropped to your knees. 

You were acutely aware of last night's memory in the same position and from the deep swallow the prince took you knew he was seeing the same scene too. The tape unravelled from your fingers and you measured the distance from heel to hip to know the maximum length the blade could be. 

“Your sword will be ready to be picked up in three weeks,” you said as you rolled the tape up again. 

“No,” Prince Aemond interrupted, “you will bring it to the Red Keep and present it yourself at the tourney for my name day. What better way to win than with such a fine sword at my hip.”

You quirked an eyebrow at the information. “You, competing in a tourney? That is something I would pay to see.”

“Prince Aemond is one of the greatest fighters in the Seven Kingdoms,” Ser Criston stated boldly as he rose to his feet in anger. “His swordsmanship skills are unrivalled.”

“With what experience - fighting soldiers that are fed by the coin of the king?” you challenged. “Unless he is to enter the tourney anonymously he has already won by default. No one would dare strike the prince for fear of their own death.”

Ser Criston opened his mouth to argue but the prince beat him to it. “You are right. It would not be a fair fight.” Prince Aemond pursed his lips as he paced the dining room. “Cole, I shall enter the tourney under your name. And you,” he faced you with an arrogance only a prince could muster, “will present me with the sword when I win.”

He held his hand out to seal the deal and you paused, your palm almost touching his. “And if you lose?”

His smirk grew as he looked to his guard and laughed, “I never lose.”

Click here for part two.

[desaintjustfancam]

Bodies in Nier Replicant

NieR Replicant is a game characterized by a preoccupation with bodies, their failures, their betrayals, and their significance both constructed and inherent. Each of its protagonists enjoys a complicated relationship with their body, its main plot threads revolve around the discrepancy between body and soul, and the game both out of necessity and seemingly some genuine interest engages with sexual politics. An accounting of this ought to be made in an organized and thoughtful fashion, and I believe the best way to proceed with such an account is to discuss how the questions of corporeality touch upon each of our protagonists, painting a picture as we go. It is worth noting that I will from time to time touch upon the question of authorial intent, as Yoko Taro and associates have been vocal and engaged with fan questions. While this may be the case, I am engaging with NieR as a text, of which its creators' interpretations are one of many and do not possess a unique charisma of truth. I also do not wish to make conjecture about authorial intent, but merely about what I regard to be substantive and valid readings of a work of fiction. Spoilers will be unmarked and plentiful.

Kaine is a fairly apparent and explicit case of bodily and sexual politics. Kaine is an intersex woman of uncertain parentage raised in a xenophobic, superstitious, and authoritarian society. Within her society she is a pariah along with her grandmother Kali and is forced to the social margins, often subject to violence and abuse from a young age. Kaine is a creature of contrasts and contradictions: a beautiful woman full of hatred and profanity, a victim who has become a fierce warrior and herself a victimizer, a social outsider who herself participates in genocide and the destruction of the other, a woman ashamed of her body who dresses in an outfit that would make Hugh Heffner blush, a human and a shade, an object of sexual gratification but also one of revulsion.

The issue of Kaine's presentation is a recurring discussion in the game, frequent reference is made to her undress and Weiss refers to her with the increasingly affectionate nickname "hussy", despite the fact that Kaine's sexuality is actually a subject that is not broached in the game – her existence is solitary and lonely, and her only romantic inclinations are rather chastely directed towards Nier himself within the game itself. Indeed, in Ending E, NieR is reincarnated with all his purity in the body of a child, and the pair cling to each other in nudity amid a pure white blossom – a Lunar Tear, which by this point has taken its place as a signifier of pure love (Yonah and Nier, Kali and Kaine, and now Kaine and Nier). As Kaine holds NieR, there does not appear to be a sexual element to her protective embrace. In this sense, we see a glimpse of Kaine the maiden, Kaine the woman.

The audio CD "Lust" depicts Kaine as lustful and fixated on Nier, and engaging in necrophilia by proxy in a fit of madness. Kaine is also a murderer, with a dark passenger in the form of the shade Tyrann who permits her to live only so long as she victimizes others. Kaine is uniquely situated to prevent the wholesale slaughter inflicted by Nier upon the Shades, including innumerable children and infants, yet she remains quiet and does not disclose her understanding of their language. Kaine drips with profanity, threatens to mutilate her enemies often in sexualized fashions. Kaine, in this context, is powerful, violent, lustful – here we have Kaine the monster, the phallic Kaine.

These contradictions are not tolerated well within Kaine. Her duality, reflected in her twin swords, one of which is ultimately destroyed in her conflict with Nier, is the source of a great deal of suffering. She struggles to continue to psychologically steel herself to kill Shades as the apparent evil of her deeds makes itself clear. Even after avenging herself on the shade Hook, Kaine is not satisfied and simply wishes, feeling her purpose exhausted, for death to take her before being, effectively, reanimated by the benevolence and purity of child Nier. Even Tyrann, symbolic of Kaine's evil and masculinity is eventually moved by the experience of love and comes to regard himself and his actions with disgust. Kaine ultimately resolves the struggle between feminine-masculine, good-evil, chastity-sexuality in favor of her womanhood.

However, as in all conflicts there is a unity in opposites. Kaine's phallic aspect is given rise to by her desire to protect her womanhood, her virtue, from the community of hatred that surrounds her, from a society that spurns and rejects her. Kaine is hateful and murderous because she has been given no other recourse, no other communities, no other options. A clear example of this is in Ending E, where when the player attempts to manipulate the camera to obtain the vaunted panty shot, and as the game's achievements frames it, "discover her secret" – a clear reference to her ambiguous genitalia, Kaine assaults and eventually murders the player themselves to defend her chastity and modesty. Rather than an intrinsic quality of her person, her aggression and masculinity are passed onto her by her grandmother as means of self defense. Kaine's greatest acts of evil and murder are all fundamentally acts of love, tribute, and defense to those who have given her life meaning. One might interpret her clothing, which shows clearly a body she hates and despises, as an act of self-sacrifice, a hair shirt, a tribute to the efforts of her grandmother and to those that love her.

Emil is textually homosexual. He expresses his wish during the wedding of Facade's King to Fyra that he might enjoy such a wedding some day and as Nier assures him he will find a bride some day, he is left to awkwardly note in his absence that this is not what he desires. The creators of the game have similarly confirmed their understanding of Emil as a homosexual character who is motivated by an unreciprocated love for Nier. Emil is depicted as pure and essentially omnibenevolent, despite being cursed with a body that destroys everything that he sees and later contains a monstrosity so profound that it exterminates entire communities. His love for Nier is chaste and is held in contradiction to the terror of his condition.

I think, however, equally compelling as a strictly homosexual reading is a reading of Emil as transgender. Wishing to be the bride in a wedding is conducive to such a reading, and NieR is a game with a lot to say about bodies. Emil is first met wearing a blindfold, alone, isolated from the world, unable to see the people he loves or wishes to give himself to, the very act of looking, of desiring, in this regard, becomes violent for Emil. Emil spends more time with Kaine than Nier for his time in the narrative, and they develop a close bond. It is, as well, Kaine who Emil petrifies with his gaze, not Nier. It is to free Kaine from the stone which symbolizes Emil's world that Emil descends into the depths of his home, his past, to confront the monstrosity within, represented by Halua, his twin sister, who has been reduced to a monster.

Emil gives himself to the monstrosity willingly, sublimating himself and being devoured by it with the hope that he might take it similarly into himself. And he does. Emil and his feminine counterpart, twins, exist within each other as anima and animus. Emil is blessed with sight, desire, knowledge, power, but is placed into a monstrous, hideous, ghoulish body, which he despises and which provokes fear and hatred from those who might previously have offered him kindness. It is a body designed to inflict harm, a body which does not suit its contents, a body which Emil himself desperately fears. In joining Kaine within the ranks of monstrous bodies and dysphoria, Emil is able to free her from this self-imposed prison. He is able to enable her to live a normal life. Emil rescues Kaine again in the narrative, saving her in Ending E and in the Shadowlord's Castle. These are tasks Nier is incapable of performing. Nier, despite loving Kaine, does not appear to understand her and might be incapable of understanding her. It is only her peer, someone who truly does empathize with her monstrosity, Emil, that is able to free her.

Emil as a pre-awareness transgender woman, trapped in a rotting, artificial, ghoulish body designed to do harm on her and others, able to free and empathize with those like her, pining after a man who cannot understand her, now free to desire but acutely aware of her own ugliness, inadequacy, and the hatred her desire provokes in others, I argue is extremely compelling. It is worth noting that Emil's bodily monstrosity escalates as the end of the eternal childhood her body had been trapped in, her beatific and cherubic features melting away to bones at crude angles, her hair falling away, at the moment she is meant to be graduating into self assurance and control.

Nier and Weiss are somewhat less involved from the perspective of body politics. Nier is noteworthy in that per associated works he was forced into sex work as an adolescent in order to get by, and that as a result he binds his hair into a ponytail as a response to sexual trauma. As he matures into adulthood he severs this ponytail, wearing his hair loose, representing in ways a growth past this. In doing so, however, Nier steels himself into a warrior, devoted only to recovering Yonah, sacrificing everything in his path to do so. In this sense I am not sure Nier has grown past his trauma so much as he has sublimated it into the acts of brutality which he inflicts upon others and his obsessive, bordering on incestuous, fixation on his sister. Nier is repeatedly prompted to feel empathy for other victims and outsiders and refuses to do so willfully, choosing to remain ignorant and deluded in his quest. Weiss, himself without a body or bodily autonomy, assists Nier in remaining blind and hardening his heart.

Louise forms a mirror to the concerns of bodies that are exhibited by Emil and Kaine. A Gestalt without a corresponding Replicant, Louise is a girl who was born without any options, a cruel product of fate. Able to think, feel, and take a false form as a woman, Louise is unable to speak or sing or perform in human society. She admires the beauty of humanity and desperately wishes to join them, cursing her own hideousness and admiring, desiring, the beauty of the world. She is infatuated with Hans the Postman, who cannot and will not reciprocate her love. She is denied humanity or sympathy by Nier and Weiss – although Kaine and Hans are able to provide it for her posthumously. In this sense Louise is a mirror of Kaine and Emil. This parallel might cast Neir and Hans in somewhat of a Walrus and the Carpenter role – they will both mercilessly eradicate the Other from the world, but one will, at least, cry about it.

Louise, is of course, the pinnacle of the Other. She has no Replicant. No earthly or human attachment. She cannot become anything except herself, her efforts to do so render her even more monstrous, hideous, and terrible than before. The sort of perverse excitement with which Nier and Weiss regard her extraordinarily powerful body feels at times reminiscent of discourse about the physicality of transgender women and athletes. It reminds me of the times one clocks involuntarily a person they encounter. It feels dirty, transgressive, and wrong.

There are innumerable stones left unturned in this brief discussion of how NieR Replicant talks about and shows bodies and people's relationships to them, but I thought it would be interesting to reflect on my own thoughts on the issue, how they made me feel, and what kinds of readings can be made of the work.