#that works for now! oh no ill need a title for this all at some point!

[astranite]

What would your oc’s carry in their bags/have on them in everyday life?

This is changed a bit from the original school bags to while adventuring/going through Plot, as this fits with being general enough to work with my mediaeval-ish fantasy setting and story, while still in the spirit of it. Heres the original: https://www.tumblr.com/rainydaywhump/751678125911490560/thanks-for-the-tag-tagging-if-you-havent-already

Thanks for the tag @rainydaywhump! I've put this in its own post since it got long and this was from a while ago.

I have recently become incredibly unhinged about my ocs, or as I like to call them limited edition little guys (gender neutral) from my brain, that I’ve never mentioned anywhere before. So here! @silverstarfics behold.

Edvin

A bound notebook journal for their notes on magic research, ideas and all their stray thoughts. It’s practically falling apart these days, with loose extra pages shoved in everywhere and a cover made from a scrap piece of leather the only thing holding it together and protecting it. Edvin’s writing in it is getting progressively tinier and more difficult to decipher (their handwriting started off as bad enough as is) because they are worried about running out of space. They use charcoal pencils to write with as a bottle of ink would be too likely to get smashed in their pack.

Their cloak. Though they are near constantly wearing it, so mostly its technically not in their bag: 

Edvin has this cloak that they take with them everywhere and wear near constantly. its deep blue-purple of a night sky with stars on it. it started off as very obviously a mages cloak, a sign of authority and with a bit of mystique that strengthens that impression, clean and bright as it was fairly new and only worn by Edvin inside libraries, castles and the magic university district of the city. it was just a pretty normal, everyday thing for Edvin as a mage, but over time and adventures and hardship it becomes more and more of a comfort item. 

It’s confidence, when Edvin wears it to look more imposing and properly mage like and because the familiarity of it helps them stand up tall as they pretend they still know what they are doing. its comfort when they are ever so far from home and from the life they used to have and the person they were that they cant ever return to. As all gets further and further away the cloak is still with them.

Over the years, it becomes more and more worn, the fabric fading, holes and tears patched and sewn together and stains that wont come out such as from when Edvin bled all over it. they've put it together again, needle and thread in hand and clinging to it, because its the only thing holding Edvin together too.

At one point they took all the still conspicuous silver white stars off of the outside and resewed them on the inside, back into constellations, because it was too obvious and dangerous and a plain drab blueish cloak is easier to hide, but they couldn't bring themself to give them up.

It’s safety and it keeps off the cold when they are sickest from magic overuse, ever so lonely and feeling awful, lying curled up until they are hidden by it. with the hood pulled up, no one can see whether edvin is shivering or trembling from tears.

They do their best to keep high calorie and easy to eat food on them because using magic burns through energy like nothing else and it’s hard to eat when they are exhausted and have no appetite. It’s often something sweet if they can get it, carefully wrapped up like its precious, plus salty stuff because they need that and it keeps well.

Edvin keeps fairly light on with armour and weaponry as their magic is their most used defence but they have some. 

When they were a mage and a scholar before everything happened, they were definitely the person to carry around half of the giant library’s books in a bag that was straining at the seams. They had piles of research notes and ready access to paper and ink and never had to worry about it. Edvin had their cloak, but it was a largely unremarkable every day object to them. They loved the stars but they didn't really think about it much. It was near new with only a few tiny ink stains.

Val

Sewing and repairs kit, versatile enough to be applied to the tack for the horses, armour and weapons, clothing or what ever else is falling apart on the road this time. He made the extra leather cover for Edvin’s notebook for them.

Heavier duty armour and weapons as they still have it from when they were in training to become a knight and were allowed to keep it even when due to injuries that didn’t pan out. Val fights best from horseback so that is kept in mind. Despite being generally brash, loud and angry at the world, he takes patient, careful care of his gear because he knows how important it is to fighting well and surviving.

The rest of what he carries is mostly soldiers kit as that’s where he ended up for years as that was really the only place he could put his skills to use, fighting for whatever cause he was ordered to no matter that what he cares about most is defending and helping those who cannot fight themselves. He also has most of the gear needed to take care of the horses.

Matilda

She would definitely be the type to go out with whatever is in her pockets and nothing else if she could get away with it. She totally would wear her keys on a carabiner in a modern au.

Her weapons and armour are important to her as they are what allow her to fight, to walk into battle and be a powerful force in her own right. But she regularly gets frustrated by the upkeep needed to keep things in good condition and to prevent problems becoming serious before its unavoidable. While Edvin mentors her in magic, Val is most often the one who sits down at the end of the day with her to get across that you can’t run and fight without stopping all the time because the slower parts have just as much bearing on the battle as being right in the thick of it.

She doesn’t want to be weighed down by objects of her past, so doesn’t tend to hang onto things. She tells herself she doesn't need that comfort and only who she is now matters. When she left to join the fight, she left anything she didn’t strictly need in the moment behind to try to cut anything that tied her to that ordinary life and forge a path ahead as her own person.

Otherwise, all of them have packs, camping gear and general stuff needed out on campaign.

*Addendum because of course I have more to say. They all have some medical/first aid supplies, though Val has the most kit prepared, for people and the horses both. Matilda's healing magic skills are rough and ready but she might pull you back together through sheer stubbornness. Edvin's are far better technique-wise but that doesn't help if they are needing it because they've burnt out their energy reserves from magic.

All of them tend to pick up and carry around things to fidget with, from beaded bracelets made for it, a smooth stone found on the road or a small item to toss from hand to hand. Yes there is definite neurodivergency!

Tagging @idontknowreallywhy and @squiddokiddo as I know you have ocs plus anyone else who wants to talk about their limited edition little guys, I'd love to hear about them!

[reallyromealone]

Title: fated

Chapter: two

Fandom: JJK

Characters: Gojo, Geto, unimportant ocs

Fic type: series

Pairings: Gojo x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, Omega male reader, angst

Notes:

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Gojo had been staying with (name) for a week at this point, (name) going about his day of without any care and honestly ignoring him half the time.

Gojo was still his... Gojo self.

(Name) Was watching his dramas on the couch as he made little plush toys for the neighborhood children, Gojo had gone out to do whatever... Frankly (name) didn't care and if Gojo didn't have the power to blast off the hinges of his door, he would have changed the locks.

Gojo had Geto send him a copy of (name)s information, everything about the Omega, hobbies and interests though Gojo ignored those as they seemed to be generic Omega things to make the thorn bush that was (name) seem more delicate.

(Name) Was interesting though from the other things Geto gathered for him, and something deeply interesting.

He wasnt blood related to the (lastname) clan...

He was a descendant of a notable figure.

Sakuna.

That would explain his defiant nature.

And then came his abilities...

Jesus fuck.

At that moment, Gojo knew why they were destined to be together.

If given proper training, (name) would be an unstoppable force and it made sense on why he was the diamond of his clan as Gojo was the gift of the heavens of his clan.

Their offspring would be a monster of power.

(Name) Was asleep when Gojo came back, the tv playing a drama as the Omega slept on the couch, curled up and cozy as a few crochet plushies scattered around him. Gojo felt the urge to protect but... He didn't feel love, he was always told that when you met your soulmate you would feel endless love but he just felt... Calm.

Like he did with Geto.

Carefully he lifted (name) and brought him to his bed, tucking him in.

He would learn to love (name) as his omega and (name) as his alpha...

"Work?" Gojo asked confused and (name) nodded with a yawn "of course, what do you think I sit on my ass all day?" Yup he could definitely see how he was descendants to Sakuna now, the white haired man chuckling at his omegas attitude, he definitely wasn't some weak Omega.

Gojo knew he would have to leave soon, he had work to do after all.

But he would be back, he had to come back for his mate after all.

They both had roles to play.

Gojo noticed that (name) always read slower, more intensely "oh.... They didn't see a purpose of having me learn too much, better a pretty Omega than one who could make their alpha look inferior" Gojo with his new knowledge of (name) knew that wasn't the full truth, they kept (name) dumb so that he couldn't be a threat like Gojo was.

"I have to go back to Tokyo tomorrow..." Gojo started and (name) looked up from his dinner "hm? Finally gave up?" He asked calmly and Gojo snorted "I don't give up, I just have to take care of stuff" he said simply and (name) rolled his eyes "it would be easier if you came with"

"Absolutely not" (name) didn't even hesitate to shoot that down, as he glared at Gojo "don't feel like you need to rush back" (name) said with a bland tone as he sipped his drink "ill be sure to come back as soon as possible " Gojo fired back as blue locked with (color) and the two glared at one another.

It took a month and a half till Gojo returned "what is this? You moving into the village or something?" (Name) Asked at all the bags and boxes that sat on his engawa "nah, Geto told me courting gifts are important" Gojo said and (name) looked a mix of annoyed and disgusted "you don't need to do that"

"But I want to"

(Name) Wanted to slap him, the audacity of this man.

Alphas were really shameless.

(Name) Barely glanced at the pile of gifts in his livingroom as Gojo made himself comfortable "so ya miss me while I was gone?"

"No" (name) said simply as he sipped his drink, already feeling a headache form in the front of his skull at the other "the house smells sweeter, you get a new air freshener or something " Gojo tried making small talk and (name) wasn't too interested "no that's just post heat smell, sticks on the walls for a while" this made Gojo freeze "your heat?" When was this?!

"Yeah, it ended the other day" (name) said like it was just talk about the weather, deciding to work on his crossword puzzle that was sitting on the corner of the table "why didn't you call me?" Gojo asked incredulously and (name) glanced up and glared "why would I call you?"

"Because I'm your alpha!"

"But you aren't" (name) argued and Gojo seethed, his Infinity getting a bit stronger and (name) was pushed back a bit, a slight look of fear on his face was enough to snap him out of it and a guilty look on his face "shit, I'm sorry" he was already fucking up even more and it hadn't even been an hour! (Name) Letting distressed pharamones slip out as he whispered "you make no attempts to be my alpha, ignore me for years and then you come into my life and make demands and claims... Then you use your strength the intimidate me... You are no different than the ones I grew up around" (name)a words were like a hot knife as he curled into himself.

(Name) Went about his day as if Gojo didn't exist, the Alpha having the decency of getting a room at the local inn though it was obvious Gojo didn't exactly want to do so but after the stunt he just pulled it was the smartest choice.

Though that didn't stop him from being excessive and clingy.

"Maybe we could go on a date tonight, what is there in this town anyways?" Gojo followed (name) around at work and the Omega was deeply embarrassed as people stared and whispered "can you not bother me while I'm at work?"

"I just wanna see what my omega is up to"

"Not your omega"

"Not yet"

"(Name)?" A voice called as Gojo was a bit annoyed that (name)s attention left him to some beta man who was the embodiment of the annoying boy next door trope "oh kei, is school out already?" (Name) Checked his watch and it was already 5pm, the store would be closed soon "yeah, gave the kids some fun in the sun before school let out... It's a nice day and all" he joked as Gojo dead stared him from behind (name) who paid no mind "that's great! It's too good of day to waste truly"

"Whose this?" Kei asked and looked at Gojo with a stupid smile that made the white haired man feel the urge to turn him into a fine mist.

There was barely any cursed energy in him, both Gojo and (name) combined had enough cursed energy to keep japan lit for a generation! He was weak, the lowest level scum cursed spirit could take him down!

"He's a creep who won't leave me alone" (name) said blandly and Gojo scoffed "Gojo Satoru, his fiance"

"Not my fiance"

"Not with that attitude" Gojo fired back and the school teacher looked between them confused before smiling "well it's nice to meet you Gojo! I'm Sato Kei!" He was inconsequential to Gojo, offering his hand to him but if he was to get closer to (name) he would need to get close to his friends.

"Pleasure to meet you" (name) huffed as they interacted but decided to take the time to return to his shift and shake the tick that was Gojo off him.

Gojo should had known it wouldn't be complete smooth sailing while he was here...

"It's always schools.." he whispered as he adjusted his eye cover and walked to the building where a cursed spirit resided, he just hoped he could finish the job fast.

Gojo didn't have a lot of empathy to those weaker to him, he didn't care about them.

But he did care about his omega, even if he didn't get why he did.

And telling (name) that his beta friend was dead... He never wanted to see (name) cry like that again.

[jyoongim]

I'm sorry to add to your likely ever growing list of requests but may I pitch an idea:

Alastor absolutely head over heals for a married reader, but since his mama raised him right he'd never make a real move. He's sure he can show you he's sooo much better anyway, and you'd leave your husband for him eventually.

BUT then his rut hits and the chivalry goes out the window no matter how hard he tries to stay sane and he just NEEDS reader right NOW, wedding ring be damned.

Title: UNWILLINGLY YOURS❤️‍🔥

Part 2!

warning: Reader is married! Non-con sex (I DIDNT EVEN KNOW I COULD WRITE THIS????) possessive, jealous, obsessive behaviors, one-sided pining, breeding kink/impregnantion, Al is a homewrecker!!!, husband is a sweet bean!, rough sex, creampie, marriage guilt

Let me know if I’m missing something!!

———————————————————————

You were a constant face in Cannibal Town. You often helped Rosie at her Emporium, helping her sell her goodies, have a good chat, and help those who come to see the female Overlord.

You could often be found in an apron splattered in blood with a sharp grin on your face.

Alastor found you adoring. He thought you were the sweetest thing that ever graced Hell.

So imagine the way his shadow simmered when he saw a wedding ring shining on your finger…

The Overlord’s eyes narrowed when he saw your husband would come in, greeting Rosie and before the sinner could locate you, you were chirping happily as you jumped into his arms, dragging the man to taste what you had been cooking.

He knew it wasn’t right.

To lust after a taken woman.

But seven hells were you beautiful.

You considered Alastor a friend. You were oblivious to his flirting and often thought he was just teasing.

He was a well-mannered demon and the two of you had a lot in common.

He deemed himself the better man.

Your husband was average. Alastor couldnt understand why you married him.

You needed someone strong and powerful. 

Someone who would worship the ground you walked on.

Someone who would worship you like you deserved.

You deserved to be spoiled, having things at your disposal at just a glance.

Alastor could give you all of those things if you just said the word.

If you would just leave your husband…..the world could be yours.

But all the gifts, flowers, and dates didnt seem to get through your head.

You kindly reminded the deer that you were married and you adored your spouse, but you gave him your appreciation in his efforts.

So like a gentleman, Alastor backed down. If you truly loved your husband than who was he to mess up a happy home?

But that desire to have you all to himself never went away.

You suited Alastor.

Your manners,personality, interests…

You were his perfect standard.

But you were already someone else’s.

But Alastor could wait…

————————————————————————

“Rosie I haven’t seen Alastor around, he hasn’t fall ill has he?” You asked the tall woman worriedly.

Rosie waved a dismissive hand “Oh he’s fine dear. he always goes into hiding every now and again. Probably just busy at that hotel of his”

You tugged your lips, the treat you had been making was one of the red demon’s favorite.

Maybe you should go and check on him?

After all…He was your friend.

”Im gonna take him some treats. I just want to check up on him.”

You knocked on the double doors of the hotel and waited.

You knocked again.

You heard some shuffling and then the door opened.

”What are you doing this way darlin?” 

You smiled softly seeing Alastor, holding up the goodies

”Hadn’t seen you in a while and was just worried that’s all. I was making these and know how much you love em”

The overlord let you in and you took in the hotel lobby.

It certainly had character.

You noticed Alastor hadn’t moved from the door and instead was staring at you. You tilted your head “You look like you wanna eat me Al” You wiggled your tail at him, smirking playfully

“But I doubt ill taste as good as these goodies I worked so hard on”

That seemed to snap him out of it as he cleared his throat, he escorted you to the radio tower.

Alastor was losing it.

His rut had came sooner than he anticipated and he has locked himself away until he had control over himself.

All he could think about was you.

And how you would look covered in his cum.

Covered? No that would be a waste…but if you were filled that was a different story.

Everyone had went out on some activity Charlie had planned so Alastor was holding the fort.

He had been stroking his cock, fisting the raging organ until it was pulsing and leaking. He had been thinking of you, the object of his affections and desires.

On your knees and begging to suck him.

He could feel an orgasm readying to erupt when a knock at the door interrupted his fantasy.

He growled and stomped to the front door when a familiar scent caught his nose.

You.

You were here.

Making sure he was okay.

You had been worried about him and even made him a snack.

Oh what a sweet thing you were.

If only you were his wife.

Alastor let you in, eyes raking over your figure as you looked around the hotel.

Eyes settling on the sway of your hips, before he heard your voice breakthrough the fog of desire.

”You look like you wanna eat me” you giggled.

 You were being playful. 

He knew that. 

But when you wiggled your backside, flickering your tail that set him off.

He was on you faster than you could blink, hands settling on your plush hips. His lips skimmed your ear “You would be even sweeter than these treats you’ve made.”

You shivered, trying to shrug him off “You’re just saying that”

Alastor chuckled as he nuzzled you, teeth nipping at your shoulder

”Oh I’d never lie about you darlin”

Your cheeks flushed and you went to move away from him when he pressed his hips against yours.

”A-Al?”

He growled against your ear, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you into him.

”You dont understand the effect you have on me my dear. It is taking everything in me to not have my way with you” 

You tried to jerk away from him, but he held fast, a soft frown showing on your face.

”Alastor… t-this i-is inappropriate Im..you know I’m married”

The second the word slipped from your lips Alastor let out a feral growl, twirling you around to face him.

His eyes were black and pupils narrowed as he bared his teeth at you.

”That is irrelevant to me dear. You think I care of your bond to that pathetic excuse of a man?”

You went to hiss at him. 

Bared your fangs and defended your marriage.

But Alastor found your anger to be his tipping point as he slammed his lips onto yours, catching you off guard.

Your eyes widened and you gasped subconsciously, making the red demon lean into you, swallowing the soft protests and whines you let out.

”A-Alastor..N-No I can’t…” you pulled away pushing against him, but the male didnt let you get away.

He sought after your lips, wanting to have his tongue down your throat. Sweet poisoned words spilled from his lips as he pressed you into his chest. 

“You’ll have to indulge me my dear. Youve been plaguing my mind for a while now and while I despise your husband, I respected you to give you space…”

A large hand wrapped around your neck, tightening. He tilted his head at you “However…you have approached me while I’m in season and reason have been slipping.”

In season? Your head was reeling. The fuck was he talking about… Oh!

Alastor had deer features… he…he was…

”What will your dear husband think when I send you back to him filled with my cum?” Alastor purred snapping you out of your thoughts.

You blinked, taking a step back, but he followed you.

You were pressed into a wall before you melted into the wall and found your back on a soft surface.

Alastor was on top of you, claws digging in your clothing; a rip met your ears and the cool air had you covering yourself.

“Alastor!” You yelped. The red demon grabbed at your hands, revealing your bare body to him.

Skin smooth like butter and free of marks. Your ample breasts were full and round, rising and falling with your rapid breathing.

His large hands kneaded the mounds, pinching and tweaking the soft peaks. His eyes roamed your soft stomach that was littered in stretch marks and slightly rounded, filtering into wide hips.

Satan you would look lovely carry his spawns.

“Al please! Let me go. I-Ill forget all about this incident and we can just pretend it never happened.” You placed your hands over his to slowly move them off your chest, he didnt protest.

 You knew Alastor. 

He wouldnt hurt you

His brain was just all twisted from hormones, he'll gain some sense.

Your breath caught when he pressed his nose against your heat.

Your thighs vibrated as a purr radiated through his chest.

”Such a sweet cunt” he mused, inhaling your scent.

“A-Al dont…i-I’m…I’m pregnant” you pleaded, trying to close your legs around his head and softly pushing him away from your intimate region.

Alastor stiffened at your words.

His eyes snapped to yours and then to your stomach.

Anger boiled inside him.

Pregnant? How dare someone-

“I-I wont tell my husband. We can just pretend this didnt happen. Just stop now and ill go” you tried to reason with the demon.

His eyes narrowed as a vicious growl ripped through his throat

Your husband…that’s right you weren’t his. You were married.

But he could fix that problem.

Alastor’s cock twitched at the thought.

”Oooh my dear that’s alright” he grinned up at you as he teased your slit. He lowered his head back between your legs

”Afterall…I would love to see you carrying my fawns”

Your eyes widened and before you could question him, Alastor sucked your clit into his mouth.

A ragged cry tore from your lips as the red demon lapped at your cunt. ”A-Al-lastor!”

Alastor swallowed the nectar that began to flow. 

You tasted better than he imagined.

Sweeter than honey.

He groaned as he pushed his tongue into your velvet walls, twirling and swirling to lap every drop your cunt produced.

You were trying to wiggle your hips away from him, but Alastor held your hips steady, nipping at your clit in warning.

Oh your husband had no idea of the treasure he had Alastor thought flicking your clit with his tongue. 

Such a perfect cunt.

Your soft groans of protests were music to his ears.

Suck. Lick. Flick. Repeat

Alastor tortured your poor puffy clit until your hips shuddered and rolling against his tongue. He moaned latching onto your cunt as you cried out, your nectar exploding into his mouth.

You panted as your heart thumped in your chest, feeling your body buzz as you floated.You took a deep breath maybe this was enough. Maybe he would let you go home.

You felt his kiss around your inner thighs and lick one final stripe up your slit, before moving his head from between your thighs.

Hes satisfied now…go-good…now to-

A heavy weight slapped against your thigh making you tense as you looked up at Alastor with horror in your eyes.

Tears welled in your eyes as a sob bubbled in your throat “N-no…no no no no no no!” Alastor’s hands cupped your cheeks as he tried to comfort your pleas, using his knees to widen your thighs.

”Its okay darling” he licked your wet cheek “You were such a good girl for me such a good girl” you felt him pepper your face in soft kisses. You pushed at his broad chest, hands pushing at anything you could shove, you shook your head in denial as he trapped you underneath him “Im pregnant! Y-You can’t! Please dont” You sobbed.

Alastor hissed, that jealous feeling rearing  “yeesss pregnant your husband must be so happy” you gasped as he pushed both your thighs to your chest, keeping them spread to expose your cunt and no pressure on your soft bump.

His cock stroked your cunt, angry red tip leaking as he rubbed against you.

“Your husband dont deserve you. You should be with a man who is feared and respected. Will worship you and the ground you walk…” He purred when his mushroom tip caught your clit

“Who can bring you to the peak of pleasure easily” 

Using his weight to hold your legs, he wiped the tears that streaked down your face, before slipping a hand between you.

“Al…N-no! AH!” The cry didnt even fully leave your lips when Alastor slotted his lips on yours as his hips slammed against yours, cock breaching your gummy walls, stretching.

Alastor’s antlers grew when he felt your cunt squeeze around him, he pulled his hips back and pushed back in, groaning into your mouth when your walls gave way to him.

He chuckled against your lips.

Oh you were divine…

No way was he letting you go…

————————————————————————

“Oh that’s my good girl yeeesss I knew you’ll be good for me”

Alastor rasped as he sucked a nipple into his mouth, hips ramming into yours.

You couldnt even acknowledge his praise as he fucked you.

You felt numb.

dirty.

You had broken your wedding vows to your husband.

”You take my cock so well, knew you would. Such a sweet cunt.”

Alastor fucked your pussy like it was his.

Your body covered in love bites, sweat, and cum.

so much cum.

Alastor had emptied rope after rope of creamy cum inside you, filling you up til it pooled under your ass.

“You’ll look so pretty carrying my spawns doll. You take my cum well…fuck! Baby that’s right milk this cock take my cum take it fuck!”

Your back arched and a soft mewl left your lips.

He let out a low hiss as he slotted his hips against yours, cock twitching as your cunt fluttered and clenched around him, releasing another load of cum inside your womb.

Your thighs shook as he thrusted against you softly.

Alastor whispered sweet praises and affections against your skin.

”you take me so well”

”sweet cunt and its all mine”

He pulled out of you with a wet pop and yours flopped, a steady stream of cream dripping from your abused hole.

He licked from your neck to your hair, purring 

”that’s my girl”

Your body finally had enough and your vision went dark.

—————————————————————————————

“Honey you had me so worried! Thanks for bringing her home Alastor” your husband said appreciatively to the red demon, who smiled at the man. Your husband kissed your cheek as you walked through the door, he looked you over “Why dont you head to bed hmmm? You seem tired”

Alastor smiled wickedly “Yes do get your rest dear. Wouldnt want to faint again”

Your husband thanked the Overlord for bringing you home and as you turned to head upstairs, you heard him say to your husband

”Congratulations to you both by the way. Shell make a fine mother” you paused slightly before heading continuing up the stairs. Your husband laughed and thanked him again.

But before the door closed, Alastor watched as your husband ran behind you, you offered him a small smile that didnt meet your lips. As the man pulled you into a kiss, not seeing the tear that ran down your cheek. Your husband tried to palm your ass, but you quickly grabbed his hand.

His eyes followed the two of you going upstairs.

Alastor smirked watching a stream of cum run down your leg.

Yes congratulations indeed.

——————————————————————————

Part 2 is linked and posted!

[bitchinbarzal]

take care of my baby | S Reid

summary: when maeve goes missing spencer gets help from his ex, the mother of his daughter and she puts her life on the line for his girlfriend.

-

Spencer had told Ruby about Maeve. He had told her Maeve was a friend while he read out her letters, some Maeve had even written specifically to Ruby.

You were happy they were happy, no ill feelings towards your ex and his new girlfriend. Your babygirl was happy and that’s all that mattered to you.

Ruby would come home from a weekend with Spencer, telling you about Maeve and the phone call. That it was a secret and nobody could know except you guys.

You knew the team weren’t aware Spencer was dating again until he stood before you all, begging you to help find Maeve.

You all worked tirelessly, trying to figure out who Maeve was and who was after her.

It was you who figured out what Diane wanted, piecing together her lax use of Spencer’s doctor title without being pretold and then her slip of your daughter’s name.

You were sat at the round table when you off handedly mentioned “Yeah Spence is always talking about Ruby in interviews, that Diane girl was asking about her earlier”

Spencer frowned, eyebrows knitted together while he looked at you “She mentioned Ruby?”

“Yeah, she was asking-“

“I never said anything about Ruby”

You shrugged “Maybe I mentioned her and forgot, she asked me about my husband and I was talking about you being my ex and-“

You cut yourself off, thinking back to your conversation with Diane earlier in the day. Her pushing to know about your relationship with Spencer, more information on Ruby.

“Oh my god” you gasped “It’s her, she’s the unsub!”

In the warehouse you and Spencer stood both pointing a gun at Diane who held hers against Maeve’s temple.

You watched Maeve tremble in her hold, Spencer equally as frightened as he watched on.

You tried to talk her down, Diane was insane and there was no talking her off this cliff.

“Your parents died when you were young, Diane” you started, hands up and placing your gun on the ground. She pointed her weapon at you, hand shaking as she cried.

“We” your finger referenced between you and Spencer “We have a daughter, Diane you don’t want to take away her parents, the people who love her. Maeve is one of those people”

Maeve softened at that, having grown fond of the girl over their correspondence.

Diane’s gun moved between all three of you. She was becoming erratic.

“How about a trade?” You said, earning a crazed look from Spencer.

“Me for her” you suggested, hands up to show you weren’t a threat.

Diane hissed “You’d do that for her?”

You let out a shaky breath “Yes”

The her in question wasn’t necessarily Maeve. You didn’t know her. It was Ruby, it was your daughter having a happy dad, a happy family.

She shook her head. You watched on as she held her gun to her own temple, in line to hit Maeve on exit.

“Wait!” Spencer screamed, trying to grab your wrist as you pounced forward to push Maeve out the way.

You were laying on the floor, Spencer hovered above you before you realised what had happened. The burning sensation in your chest settling in.

Spencer desperately tried to put pressure on your chest, Maeve now joining him as he screamed for help.

Your eyes filled with tears as you smiled softly “Spence, stop”

He shook his head “No, No! You can’t die, you can’t- Ruby needs her mom. C’mon don’t do this!”

You reached up and grasped Maeve’s hand weakly “Take care of my baby”

She shook her head too “No, no! You’ll take care of her Y/N, you can’t, you shouldn’t have done that!”

You coughed, blood coating your lips “Promise me”

She sighed, tears dropping on your face “I promise, I promise - somebody help!”

The last thing they heard you say before your eyes closed was “Tell Ruby I love her”

The two of them sat by you, both in shock. When the rest of the team entered the room they stopped, all just as shocked.

That night they watched Spencer and Maeve meet Ruby in the round table room, her expression ecstatic to finally meet Maeve in person. Then they watched through the glass as Spencer kneeled down in front of his daughter explaining something to her, her face fell before she began sobbing and kicking him.

Maeve stood off to the side, upset and confused. Confused why you’d done that for her and upset for your daughter, your daughter who now didn’t have a mom because of her.

[syoddeye]

ill-advised

simon x f! reader | 1165 words cw: simon being a gross creep, terrible advice, slimy internet culture, bad usernames, unsolicited nudes a/n: wrote this silly thing on my phone. lightly edited. been thinking about how simon would be the world's worst agony uncle. enjoy a few easter eggs.

Simon doesn’t have a God complex. No. He leaves that to the Simulation 5 streamers who build complicated dungeons beneath their character’s cottages, forcing others to labor on paintings or crochet projects to sell and support their captor’s livelihood. Not that he…watches those. No, no. He’s simply seen more than his fair share of depravity. Some of it at his expense, some at others, and more than a chunk of it dealt by his own two hands. He knows how the world works. How people work. He knows his shit, plain and simple.

So when his schedule allows, he logs on after midnight. His username and password are two alphanumeric strings, but people recognize the cluster of digits and letters. Wait for his comments. Follow his account. Send him stupid digital gifts, some useless currency to dress up his default icon. The amount increases daily, as does his following. His own little cult.

He doesn’t care about the numbers. Not really. He just loves dishing out his honest opinion, and nobody’s safe.

AN [Advice Needed] Family forgot to invite me on a trip, expect me to go last minute Hi, it’s like the title says. I (25 M) live across the country from my parents, siblings (all all adults), nieces, and nephews. I am the only one who lives on this coast, but I try to visit twice a year. I recently reached out to my brother to see when he thinks I should come visit in June and suggested some dates. I know it’s only February, but I want to save money on airfare. He responded: “Isn’t that when we’re going to Hawaii???” It was the first I heard of it. It turns out my parents invited my siblings to Hawaii and planned a family vacation without me. I confronted my parents about it, they swore they invited me too then said I could send them my share of the bill for the resort and book a flight. Like it’s no big deal. I can’t afford to go and I don’t want to go, but I feel really pressured. And sad! They forgot me! Who am I, Kevin McAllister?

> 35J0G39GH6: Find out the resort name. Cancel the reservations. Cease contact.

Within seconds, a dozen upvotes. A minute later, a hundred. Up, up, up. And the replies? Oh, the replies. He smirks at the cracked phone screen.

>> michaelEthelcaine: Fucking brutal as always >> c0y0t3fug1y: LMAO it’s this simple OP - this dude is never wrong >> patcemetery79: I DID THIS BACK IN 2003 FOR A FAMILY REUNION. A REAL RIOT! HAVEN’T BEEN INVITED TO ONE SINCE@ HILARIOUS!!!!!! I LOVE YOU 35J

Simon receives a fair share of downvotes, too. Negative comments. He doesn’t give a shit, but some of them are fucking hilarious.

>> grasshopperwhirlpool: Not funny. Be better than this asshole, OP. I’m sure it was a simple mistake. >> thewildrumpussy: really mature advice. who shit in your coffee?

Every few weeks, a morally righteous do-gooder encourages people to mass-report him, and he gets a slap on the wrist. The idiots come out in droves after some of his more choice replies, like worms after a heavy rain. The most recent offense?

AN [Advice Needed] My husband (35 M) forgot my (33 F) birthday My husband of three years forgot my birthday. No flowers, cake, or gifts. When I came home from work he asked about dinner. I lost it, turned around, and left. I’m at my sister’s house now (and she started baking when I called and told her what happened!) but he won’t stop blowing up my phone. He says it’s because he’s been so busy but here’s the thing: he forgot last year too. I really love him but I’m tired of this treatment.

> 35J0G39GH6: Have your friend take you home between 3-4 AM. Cut his brake lines. Go back to her place. Wait for the inevitable.

>> 6polyesterbutthole9: i dont care if this is illegal its funny af >> passtheaggression: Hand to god, you need your own forum dude.  >> gordonramsme55: Where are the mods on this??? This shit is going to get someone killed. Report this psycho. >>> puffalo: Agreed I think this breaks Rules 3 & 5, reporting now >> austrianPrincess: not saying i did this but when my boyfriend’s brakes failed, i got a big check, OP!  >>> gordonramsme55: This is what I’m talking about!  >>> 6polyesterbutthole9: get that check >> tech60nyneme: WOW someone check this guy’s crawlspace. reported and blocked

That one earns him the most severe ‘punishment’ yet: A month-long commenting ban. No skin off his nose, he's deployed days later, anyway. If anything, the radio silence winds his followers up, their excitement a palpable thing when he gets out of forum jail. He rewards them with another series of blunt, to-the-point pieces of advice. 

His absence makes one particular fan particularly hungry, and a little desperate.

He’s no stranger to unsolicited dick and cleavage pics from his followers. They flood his inbox, giving him a side hobby of delivering pithy degradation the sick fucks seem to love. Saves the best for his private collection. 

But then he gets a picture from some cute thing with a comment about him being her favorite person on the Internet. Knelt all sweet in front of her mirror, haloed by a ring light, white lace barely hiding the goods. His eyes snap to her tits—where his ridiculous username is scrawled in sharpie. There’s nothing to critique except maybe the laundry in the background of the shot. Tugs his cock to it, then clicks her username to check her comment history, and wouldn’t you know. Her location is public on her profile. She’s a couple hours away from her idol and doesn’t even know it. 

>> 35J0G39GH6: Perfection. >> YN10282022: Oh my god, I didn’t think you’d reply. >> YN10282022: You know, a few months ago, you gave me good advice about my creepy boss. >> YN10282022: I posted about the stuff he’d say to me. >> YN10282022: It took some time, but I was able to record him. Sent it over to his wife on their anniversary. When he accused me, I told him HR was getting the next copy. >> YN10282022: I got a promotion and a raise, and sent the file anyway. >> 35J0G39GH6: Good girl. >> 35J0G39GH6: I’ll be in your neck of the woods in a week for work. >> YN10282022: Really?? I’d love to meet up! >> 35J0G39GH6: Probably shouldn’t. I’d advise you against meeting me. >> YN10282022: They do say you should never meet your heroes. :) >> 35J0G39GH6: Shouldn’t meet strangers off the Internet, either.

She still sends him the address of a cafe. It matches one he finds on her social media an hour later. She seems to be a frequent customer. Simon grins at his screen, the sole light source in his dark room. He taps back to her pretty picture.

She looks like an angel.

[umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken]

Neslin AU idea -> A ballad of beasts

AU where Tamlin, unwilling to deal with his brothers' power struggle for the High Lord title after their father's death goes FUCK NO, and legs it for the mortal realm.

He eventually finds refuge in a little, faraway village called Carterhaugh. But even though he's fae, he has no idea how shit works in the mortal realm, and he needs a safe place to stay.

BUT, he can't just saunter into the place and be like 'please will you let me into your house and give me a safe place to stay??'

That goes against all the fae rules, sanctuary must be given freely of a mortal's own choice and mind, no asking allowed.

SO

He transforms himself into a cat and wanders around until he comes across Nesta; the prickliest woman of the village, who couldn't give less of a shit about other people, but who is instantly besotted by the bedraggled and clearly malnourished cat that's mewling pathetically at her village bookshop door.

<><><>

"Oh, you poor thing," she cooed, gathering up the golden cat into her arms and scratching it under the chin.

It purred happily, and she immediately made for her small cottage at the edge of town.

"You must be hungry, don't fret little one, I'll look after you."

<><><>

She takes him home and gives cat-lin a bath and feeds him, and everything, but Tam starts feeling guilty so he poofs back into his fae male form and Nesta rightfully freaks out, screaming at him to get out of her house but eventually she listens to his story

High Lord powers -> WILL be killed by brothers

Nesta's still kinda eh,

So Tam just PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE's and Nesta is eventually just like 'jesus fucking hell, fine, but i'm gonna make you do unpaid labour in the bookshop if you're gonna stay.'

So that's how life is for a while, they grow closer, and eventually Nesta tells him her story.

Years and years ago, her sisters were out playing in the woods near their home, and she was tasked by her mother with looking after them. But then as she was watching them, a thick wreath of shadow just... gathered them up and disappeared them from sight. They were never seen again, and Nesta's mother had hated her for it until her death, and Nesta has spent every day since then hating herself for it.

<><><>

"I- I tried," her throat bobbed, eyes going distant and hazy.

"I tried to go back for them, I took my winter cloak and walked to the wall to bring them back home."

A tear slid down her cheek, "I failed."

<><><>

Tamlin immediately goes sHaDowS? kidnapping? that fukcing bastard Rhysand -> Shit, I'm pretty sure I know where your sisters are -> cue trip across the faery world to find Feyre + Elain

SO, they finally trek to the wall, trek across the courts, end up in Night, and Tamlin + Rhysand confront each other (bitter ex lovers energy, obv)

<><><>

EXTRA BACKGROUND

Tamlin's father dies of illness or smth and his two older brothers fight to the death for the High Lord title, cept the winner almost forgot about Tamlin until the magic fails to go to him and he's like 'fuck', forgot to kill the other one, so he goes after Tamlin. BUT he makes the fatal mistake of asking Amarantha for help, and she's like, oh, you're trying to kill my beloved??! UNO reverse, fucker.

DEAD.

So now she's taken over the Spring Court and still trying to find Tamlin to make him her 'mate' and become High Lord/ Lady of Spring

BUT fae magic can't be sensed in the mortal realm, so she's just kind of been wasting time being a shitty ruler.

ALSO

Turns out Rhysand has only been taking young girls from the mortal realm to keep Amarantha happy-> she sacrifices them for her magic rituals, or if she likes them enough, keeps them as serving girls/ maids, and she'd originally wanted RHYSAND'S SISTER as her companion, so he was doing it for family. doesn't make it any better, but yeah

<><><>

"But if however, I were to present you to her... I am sure her appetites would be satiated for quite some time." Rhysand's eyes glittered and Nesta's stomach roiled at the implication. Beside her, Tamlin only listened with a stony silence.

Don't. she begged. Don't you fucking dare leave me.

<><><>

Rhysand brings them both before Amarantha, who is instantly threatened by/ jealous of Nesta x Tamlin

So she proposes a bargain.

<><><>

"Is your love true, I wonder?" Amarantha's wicked fangs leered down at her.

Nesta fought to keep her voice even. "It is."

"Would you love him if he were a mere man?"

"I would."

"Would you love him if he had nothing?"

"I would."

"Ah, but would you love him if he were a beast?"

She turned to him then. To Tamlin. To the man that she had grown to love so purely and wholly. It was to him that she spoke her next words.

"Man or beast, I would love him with all my heart. Thorns and all."

<><><>

Thus begins the trial of beasts.

A blood red ribbon is used to bind Nesta and Tamlin by their wrists.

Amarantha uses Tamlin's shapeshifting powers against him and forces him to shift into beasts of all kind without any control over his body.

If Nesta can maintain her hold on him throughout his beastly transformations and endure the claws/ fangs/ gashes/ bites without cutting the ribbon, Amarantha will let them all go (Nesta, Tamlin, Feyre and Elain)

Nesta, being the bamf she is, completes the challenge.

Amarantha, pissed as hell thinking that Nesta wouldn't be able to do it, but unable to break her bargain without repercussions, has no choice but to let them go.

the end

or is it???

AMARANTHA LETS THEM GO, BUT NOWHERE DID SHE SAY SHE WOULDNT ATTACK THEM AFTERWARDS, SO THAT'S WHAT SHE DOES

she goes for Nesta, and THAT'S when Tamlin's High Lord power finally snaps into place, because it was dormant the entire time he was in the mortal realm and he goes full beast mode on Amarantha and murks her once and for all.

[kaisers-house-of-desires]

Hiii! Can I request a Gojo x male reader smut? The reader is shy especially when it come to intimacy so I feel like Gojo would tease and tease him to no end. Can you choose the kinks please? (But I'm thinking more along the lines of Bdsm or a lap dance or something. )

I really love your writing and I am sorry if this request is bad. Enjoy your day♡

Thank you for enjoying my writing! I would be more than happy to fulfill your request!

I hope you also have a good day, patron~

Title: A Hands On Lesson

Characters: Gojo x m!reader

Contains: light BDSM, blindfolding, hand job, self restraint, praise

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI

Reblogs > likes

“I-If you’re gonna keep teasing me then at least teach me!”

The words came out suddenly, your face red with embarrassment as you buried it into a pillow. Gojo had been on your ass—playfully, he says—about your shyness that it finally sent you over the edge. You two were sitting on his large bed when it came up once again, but you had had enough. Snapping, however, only made you blurt out your true feelings, leaving Gojo to get a rush of ideas.

“Teach you, huh? Are you sure about that?”

You couldn’t face him, even if his gaze was hidden by his sunglasses.

“I need an answer~”

“I…N-No you’re just gonna keep teasing me…”

“Oh, listen. I tease you because I love you. I don’t mean anything ill behind it. You’re just fun to rile up~ I like seeing your face get all red~”

You were silent, unsure of how to approach this.

“Look, if you really want to expand upon things, you might want to be open to more experiences. I’m more than willing to teach you. But…I’ll need a ‘yes, sir.’~”

Your brows furrowed as you finally looked up some. “W-Why that?”

“Consent of course! Plus…I’ve always wanted to hear that handsome voice call me ‘sir.’~”

Still flushed as ever, you took a deep breath. You had really wanted this, but the idea was always scary. However, you trusted Gojo; he was your boyfriend after all.

You thought it over another moment, clutching the pillow before releasing another deep breath. “Y-Yes, sir.”

A grin grew on Gojo’s lips as he crawled over to you like a predator that found its food, but instead of you, he actually went for the nightstand, retrieving his eye mask from the drawer.

“W-Why did you grab that?” you asked.

“Well, it’s part of your lesson. That is, if you allow me.”

You weren’t sure what this had to do with anything, but you scooted closer, putting the pillow aside and waiting for his next move. Gojo put the mask over your eyes, bunching up the fabric in a way that concealed your vision. For a moment you though he was gonna put it on himself, not you.

“Wh-What’s this for?”

“Trust me. It’s all part of the lesson okay?”

And trust him you did, taking deep breaths to settle your nerves.

“Now, will you be a good boy for me, and put your hands behind your back?” You started to before he stopped you. “Ah, could I hear a proper answer~?”

You could tell he was teasing you again. You fought your nerves, mustering up what confidence you had, which wasn’t much. Your voice sounded meek. “Y-Yes, sir.”

“Mm…we’ll work on it.”

With your hands behind your back, Gojo took action. He carefully unzipped your pants, his hand brushing your semi erect shaft.

“G-Gojo!”

He halted, watching as you trembled from that brief touch. Honestly he wasn’t sure how truly interested in this you were, so he came up with an idea.

“Hey, if you really, really don’t want to do this, just say…’pineapple’, okay?”

A safe word. Okay, that put your mind at ease a bit, because you weren’t even sure yourself what you wanted. At least you had a back up plan.

You nodded. “Y-Yeah. I gotcha. Um…g-go ahead then, just…d-don’t stare at it.”

“Don’t stare? What do you mean I can’t look at this gorgeous cock of yours~?” Gojo didn’t miss a beat getting back into it, working on revealing a partially hardened cock from its fabric confines. “I mean look at that~”

“G-Gojooooooo…” you whined softly, nails gently digging into your skin. His touch felt heightened thanks to the blindfold, and your trembling body was a clear sign of it.

“Good boy~ Very good boy~” He gently began to stroke your cock, anything soft nearly immediately hardening as you sighed out in slow, deep breaths. You didn’t know praise could feel so good. It felt nice hearing him call you a good boy.

“Wh-What else is…i-in this lesson?” you breathed, your hips rocking up to match his strokes.

“Hmm…Well first, good boys stay still…”

Though it wasn’t a command, you found yourself stilling in place, biting your cheek to help you focus.

“Oh? Well I wasn’t expecting that. You stilled yourself right away. I think that deserves a treat~”

You were about to ask what it was, but you stopped yourself, wanting to just see where this would lead. Knowing you had that safe word made this a little less scary, which left you open when Gojo’s hand picked up pace, causing you to actively moan out instead of whimper.

“There we go~ That’s my good boy~”

Every time he said it, you let out a whimper, enjoying the sensation the words gave you.

“G-Gojo…I-I…—a-ah~—I-It feels…g-good~”

Perhaps it was the blindfold, or maybe it was the trust you had for Gojo, but you didn’t feel as nervous. Sure it was still nerve wracking, or maybe your nerves were too wracked to notice, but the pace of his hand alone felt like bliss.

“G-Gojo…s-sir, I’m…I-I’m gonna…~”

“Go ahead~ I want to see that handsome face contort from this~”

You threw caution to the wind, your hands coming down to balance you on the bed, fingers clenching the bedding as you bucked up into his hand, panting deeply as your climax approached. You moaned for you boyfriend again and again, even as it pitched up, until you finally released over his hand with a broken moan, relaxing afterwards.

With a small smirk, Gojo raised his hand to his mouth, his tongue coming out to clean his hand while getting a taste of you with a soft groan.

“G-Gojo…” you breathed. “I…Th-That was…fun~”

You felt the bed shift, and the fabric lifted up from your eyes, Gojo’s face smiling smugly at you.

“Ready for lesson number two~?”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 1: Afternoon Light]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 3.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

A/N: Not me pulling a Tom Brady by announcing my retirement only to immediately un-announce it. 😂😂 I regret to inform you that I am apparently incapable of not writing fanfiction. I had no ideas for a grand total of 1 week before this story showed up and possessed me entirely against my will...and then I fell in love with it. I’m still working on my book, but I had to get this out of my system too. I hope you enjoy it. 💜 I’ll tag some of my past readers, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to! 🥰

@elsolario @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07 @joliettes @trifoliumviridi @flowerpotmage​ @thewitch-lives​ @tempt-ress​ @padfooteyes​ @teenagecriminalmastermind​ @chelsey01​ @anditsmywholeheart​ @heliosscribbles​ @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @tillyt04​ @cicaspair418​ @fan-goddess

He’s thrusting into you, but you’re miles away: a speck of an island in the Mediterranean Sea, the glimmer of an unnamed star.

His rhythm is clumsy but never rough. He smells like wine and sandalwood, lavender and bleak perspiration. You moan when he expects you to. Your body moves with his, compliant, complicit. You roll your hips and tug at his white-blond hair, corollaries of ecstasy you wish you felt. You’ve learned to feign pleasure convincingly. Aegon will stop if he thinks you’re not enjoying yourself, and you need this to be over. What do you want me to do to you? he’ll ask, cerulean eyes drunk and muddy, words slurred, body repositioning. Do you like it this way? How about this? You can’t bear his curious consideration, his invasive hands. You don’t really like it any way. You’ve grown to accept that. You’ve had time to get used to the idea.

The air is sharp with the mineral ether of sex. Spots on the sheet beneath you are wet, clinging, cold. When Aegon kisses you—sloppily, carelessly—your lips and tongue follow his, willing him to finish, your eyes squeezed shut as he gropes your face with ungainly fingers. And at last, it’s done: he shudders, groans, flops down beside you on the mattress.

“Well done, wife,” Aegon pants. He gives your disheveled hair one absentminded stroke and then gazes up at the canopy, cloth embroidered with green roses and spiraling gold dragons. He yawns, his eyes dipping closed. The rise and fall of his bare, glistening chest is slowing.

“Aegon?”

“Hm?” He is inconvenienced; he is already half-asleep.

You roll onto your side, turning towards him. Aegon feels the mattress shift. Reluctantly, he rouses himself, sighs, swallows the rest of the wine in the cup he left perched on the nightstand. “I’m so sorry,” you say softly.

“About what?” He peers at you, groggy and half-listening, stray beads of red wine like blood on his chin. “Oh, yes. That.”

That. What he means is three miscarriages in one year, all early, all excruciating beyond words, all destructive to both the body and the soul. “You have no idea how hard I’m trying.”

“Don’t worry yourself, wife,” he says, yawning again. He always calls you that—wife—with a vague, impersonal fondness. Aegon doesn’t know anything about you. He doesn’t seem interested in remedying that. He doesn’t see it as something to be remedied at all. He attempts to set his empty cup back on the nightstand and doesn’t notice when it tumbles off and clanks against the floor. He burrows beneath the blankets like a hedgehog. “We’ll get it right eventually.”

Eventually, you think with horror, as you are left alone in the candlelight; Aegon plummets into sleep and is silent except for his snoring. How long will I have to do this?

Twelve months of marriage and you are no closer to fulfilling your purpose here. You are told what to eat, when to sleep with your husband, how to lie still afterwards so his seed can take hold, which saints to pray to. You are offered tender-voiced morsels of advice until they feel more like palms cracking across your face than gifts. Every second of your existence is consumed by the desperate need for Aegon’s heir, for the Greens’ future. And each time you lose a pregnancy, the clock starts over again.

How long can I do this before it breaks me, kills me, drives me mad?

~~~~~~~~~~

When a northern pike glides through cool rippling currents, yellow perch and bluegills scatter; and that’s exactly what the courtiers do to you. It’s a bit like living inside a glass bowl: people press their palms to the arched walls and stare like you’re a captive animal—a leopard or an elephant or a white bear from the Arctic—but they don’t speak to you. None of them know what to say. There are whispers flying, women in gowns and men in tunics gossiping about how last night was the first time the prince returned to your bed since your most recent miscarriage. The tentative speculation can begin again, glances at your waistline and delicate inquiries about your health. Bets are placed on whether you will at last produce an heir this time: boy, girl, white-haired or not, early, late, alive, dead. The clock has been reset.

You do not allow anyone to see your pain, your desperation. You have no true friends here. You are allied with the Greens, yes, but that does not mean they are your friends. The Duke of Hightower, chief advisor to the king, was insistent that you bring none of your ladies with you from your homeland; and so the women who attend you are English, polite but not particularly devoted, dutiful but not reliably discreet. He wanted no weak links, no chess pieces that he could not entirely control, no loyalties that ran deeper than his ambitions for Alicent and her children. Now, the Duke of Hightower is fiercely disappointed with you. He’s losing his ability to hide it.

As you traverse the Great Hall of Westminster Palace—an island, a lone cloud roaming across a clear sky—Prince Daemon, smirking and wolflike, stalks into your path.

“Hello there, Navarre,” he says, circling with one hand on the hilt of his sword, his strange deep-set eyes flicking all over you. He likes to call you this, a reminder of where you came from, of why Aegon married you: for an alliance, for advantages in the inevitable civil war when King Viserys dies, for heirs intrinsically linked with the Continent. You were one piece of a far grander design. Helaena was married off to Castile, you were brought west from Navarre, and thus the Greens gained supporters in the Iberian Peninsula. Helaena has given birth to one healthy son so far, and by all accounts has found great happiness in her new life across the Bay of Biscay. Daemon never tires of drawing attention to the fact that you have yet to fulfill your half of the bargain.

You bow your head swiftly, without conviction. “Prince Daemon.”

“My, that’s quite an extravagant gown. What have you got hidden under it? Your father’s famed archers, perhaps? Gold coins and steel daggers? I know what Prince Aegon would want under his skirts.” Daemon grins. “Lady Joanna Montford. Or is it Mountford? You must forgive me, I’m always mixing up the details.”

“I’ll defer to your better judgment, you have far more experience with whores than I do.”

He offers you a single rose, dyed black. “I regret that I did not have the opportunity to properly express my condolences after your most recent loss. It’s become difficult to keep up with them, they’ve grown so numerous. I’m sure you understand.”

You take the rose; untrimmed thorns bite into the defenseless flesh of your fingertips, but you don’t let it show on your face. “Only one from you? Your wife sent me a dozen.” They were red, the color of Navarre’s flag; though the resemblance to blood did not escape you.

“Yes, it’s true, her heart remains rather tender, much to my chagrin.”

“And yours remains nonexistent.” You pluck onyx petals from the rose one by one and toss them to the floor. Courtiers watch this, chattering spiritedly.

Daemon is still grinning. He has won. It never matters what you say, what you do; until you give Aegon a son, in every interaction Daemon walks away the victor. “I hope you enjoy the rest of this glorious July afternoon. And I hope you enjoy your evening as well. And the evening after that, and the evening after that…” He prowls closer, his voice dropping low and sinister. “And all those countless, blundering, long evenings you’ll spend under your mortifying drunk of a husband.”

You rip away from him—not his hands, no, even Daemon would not deign to touch you in front of an audience, but from his suffocating antipathy—and continue on your way to the royal stables, courtiers dispersing in your wake like startled doves. The cobblestones of the palace gardens are weather-beaten and craggy as you sail over them, warm summer wind in your hair, the hem of your gown dragging. Herbs and spices grow high and vivid green: angelica for digestion, feverfew for headaches, St. John’s wort for melancholy, betony to ward off evil spirits, chamomile to bring sleep, rosemary to quell nightmares, pennyroyal to induce a woman’s monthly blood. You have the opposite problem. All you seem to be able to do is bleed.

Inside the royal stables, the world is reduced to hushed subtleties: hooves thudding against straw, nickers and huffs, the swishing of tails, cascading sunlight dotted with whirling planets of dust. You drift by each of the stalls, inhaling the scent of horses and mid-summer. King Viserys promised you an Andalusian, brought by ship all the way from your homeland, for each child born to you and Aegon; alas, none of the animals housed here are yours yet. There’s Sunfyre, an Akhal-Teke, small-boned and shimmering gold. There’s Caraxes, a temperamental blood bay Arabian, and Syrax, a Marwari, cremello with blue eyes and delicate ears that curl in towards each other. Tessarion is a dappled blue-grey Percheron, young but gaining height and brute force each day. Jacaerys and Lucerys have Marwaris like their mother, Baela and Rhaena own volatile Arabians like their father. Joffrey is still riding a slow, potbellied pony; little Aegon III, Viserys II, and Visenya cannot ride at all yet. Every time you blink, it seems, the Blacks have added another child to their ranks, another inheritor to carry their claim forward. Your stomach sinks beneath your skin and scarlet ropes of muscle, a basket full of rocks.

You stop at the last stall, twice the size of any of the others. Vhagar towers over you. She is an English Great Horse, and the largest one that anyone can remember knowing of; her coat is a dark, lustrous brown, her massive hooves feathered, her muzzle sloped and velvety when you lay your palm against it. She lets you do this, as she always does; more than that, you think, she welcomes it.

You remove the letter from your bodice, your true purpose for coming here. You want to read it where you can be alone, where there are no prying eyes to report back to King Viserys, Queen Alicent, the Duke of Hightower, Aegon, Daemon, Rhaenyra the Crown Princess. You must keep your composure, your dignity. It’s all you have left.

You unfold the letter, your gaze skimming across your mother’s words, the slopes and summits of her letters heartbreakingly familiar, her fears loud through the ink-and-parchment silence. You expected this, and yet the weight of it stacks up in your ribcage like the splintered wreckage of a ship.

Think, my love, the Queen of Navarre writes. Think of everything you do, see, say, and feel. There is something that is poisoning the children inside of you. Do not trouble yourself with court gossip or bitter rivalries. You cannot serve your husband’s family—your family, now—if your attention is divided and your heart heavy with doubts. Shut yourself away from all things impassioned. Commit yourself to prayer and needlework. Purify yourself, dear daughter, prepare yourself in body and soul. God answers the cries of those who have won his favor.

You crumple the letter in your fists and then rip it to pieces, not out of wrath but so that nobody else might read it. The fragments flutter away like autumn leaves. You cannot resent your mother for her cushioned reprimands. She means well, but she cannot hope to understand; she bore ten children, eight of whom lived past the cradle, with no exceptional difficulty. Your father has taken mistresses on occasion, but not until years into his marriage, and regardless of his dalliances your mother remains his confidant, his greatest desire, his heart. Your life is nothing like hers. Your future has become something you didn’t know existed. You feel as if you have stumbled into a mirror, a duplicate world where everything is the same but the wrong way around. Where is your own satisfaction? Where is your soulmate?

There are footsteps, and you spin to see Prince Aemond standing in the doorway. He immediately turns to leave, and this is unsurprising; he never speaks to you, rarely looks at you, glides out of rooms as you come into them. You had once hoped to befriend him before his aversion to the notion became clear. He is palpably disinterested in you. But this afternoon as warm golden sunlight spills down on him, for reasons you cannot fathom, he hesitates; and now he’s waited too long, it would be rude for him to flee so obviously from you. Slowly, Aemond walks into the stable. He is so much like Daemon, though lighter: not in color but in gravity, his steps quieter, his hands graceful and precise. You’ve never seen him without his eyepatch. The Blacks call the cause of his maiming a sparring accident, the Greens call it an ambush, King Viserys doesn’t call it anything; perhaps he has forgotten it completely.

You expect Aemond to demand to know what you’re doing here, to scold you for jeopardizing your health with unnecessary excursions. “I’m so sorry for what you’re going through,” he says instead, his voice whisper-soft like pattering spring rain, like a leaf of lamb’s ear threaded between your fingers. “I hope my brother has been…kind about it.”

“He’s very kind. He doesn’t mention it at all.” Not once has anybody said those three words to you: I’m so sorry. They lift a million pounds from your shoulders, an eon of stones from your belly. “In fact, no one speaks of it with me. They speak in my direction, they tell me what to do differently, they assign blame…but no one has any interest in what I have to say back. No one asks me what it feels like to…to…”

It shocks you, knuckles to the gut: your breath hitches, your lips tremble, you swallow down tears like poison. It’s humiliating, this display of helplessness, this shattering of regal poise. You shield your face with both hands so Aemond cannot watch you war with yourself. And surely he is repulsed by you, this prince who has been mutilated and unavenged and overlooked since childhood. You have never known anyone as self-possessed as Aemond Targaryen. He endures all of life’s trials without emotion, without weakness. He must be appalled that you cannot do the same.

Yet when you are at last confident that you will not weep in front of him, you lower your hands to see that Aemond has silently obliterated the space between you. He is close enough to touch, his palm pressed to Vhagar’s monstrous neck. He’s looking at the horse, but he is listening to you. “She likes you,” he says gently. “She doesn’t like anyone.”

You’ve never been in such proximity to Aemond before. He’s taller than you remember; his eye is watchful and intent, a paler shade of blue than Aegon’s, more clear, a river rather than a sea riotous with storms. When you inhale, you taste pieces of him: leather, musk, the smoke of a blacksmith’s forge. There’s an abrupt weakness in your knees and ankles that you pretend not to notice. “Most of my friends have hooves these days.”

“I never see you go out riding.”

“I’m not allowed to.”

For an instant, his brow knits with confusion, and then he remembers. Horseback riding is thought to be calamitous for pregnancy, and your chances are slim enough already. “But that’s something that you once enjoyed, back in Navarre?” You flinch when you hear the name of your homeland, a reflex, Daemon’s taunts ringing in your skull like church bells. Everyone knows that’s what he calls you. “Forgive me, perhaps that word has painful connotations now.”

“It doesn’t sound so bad when you say it.” And that’s true: it’s not a dagger but a murmur, a musing, a dream. “Yes, I used to love riding horses. And dancing, attending hunting expeditions, reading poetry, plucking olives from the trees…my brothers and I would even knock swords together sometimes in the courtyard.” You smile wistfully, then lose it like a gull feather on waves. “And now I don’t do anything.”

“What brings you happiness here in England?”

“Nothing,” you reply, meeting his gaze for the first time. He studies you, his eye blue like the mid-summer afternoon sky, searching. And suddenly, you’ve never felt more interesting, you’ve never felt such raw hunger to unearth everything you’re built of. You skate your palm down Vhagar’s face and confess quietly, shakily: “I always thought I would teach my children to ride horses.”

“You will someday,” Aemond insists.

“When you’re little, five or ten years old, you dream about growing up and all the miraculous things you’ll be. And then you finally become an adult and you meet the rest of your life and…and…” You don’t like it. “It’s so different from what you imagined.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees, soft and mournful.

“But I’ve interrupted you,” you say. “You came here to take Vhagar riding, I’m sure, and now you’re caught in my little web of nostalgia and self-pity. Please, accept my apology, and don’t let me delay you any further.”

“I was planning to go riding,” Aemond admits. He’s wearing a black leather messenger bag, you notice for the first time. He pulls at the strap that hangs from his right shoulder self-consciously. You have never seen Aemond betray any sign of self-consciousness before this moment. In many ways, you have never seen him at all. He asks you pointedly: “What if I took Vhagar out walking you accompanied me?”

“I told you. I can’t.”

“Not riding,” Aemond says. “Just walking. We’ll lead her down to the edge of the forest, let her stretch her legs a bit and eat some of the fallen apples. You’re allowed to walk, aren’t you?”

“I suppose so.” You stare at him, perplexed. You almost ask why he would offer to do such a thing, why he would feel inspired to raise your spirits. But you don’t want him to change his mind. You point to his messenger bag. “What do you have in there?”

“Parchment. Quills. A bottle of ink.”

“What do you write? Battle plans? Letters to marriageable foreign noblewomen?”

“Poems,” Aemond confesses in a whisper you can barely hear, not looking at you.

“Could I read some of your poems?”

“No,” he says immediately, startled.

“Never mind. It was wrong of me to ask.”

He doesn’t reply; he just fetches Vhagar’s halter from the hook on the stable wall, black leather studded with sapphires the size of ladybugs. She allows Aemond to place it on her without any resistance. He attaches the lead chain—heavy silver links—but he doesn’t need it. Vhagar follows him out of the stables, her colossal hooves drumming like distant thunder, her jet black mane whipping in the wind. Aemond matches his pace with yours as the three of you cross the emerald green field that separates Westminster Palace from the tree line of the forest.

After strolling for a while—Vhagar chomping on apples, you stepping gingerly over felled branches and gnarled roots—you and Aemond sit beneath a sprawling cedar that blots out the sun, its limbs like the wings of a dragon. He recounts myths and legends of England, things that Aegon has not thought to share with you once in the past twelve months, weeks of which you spent in bed bleeding out his would-be children: King Arthur and Beowulf, Robin Hood and the Rollright Stones, Saint George the guardian of the royal family. And as Aemond speaks, at some point you stop hearing him and start seeing him, everything that brought him here, everything that will happen next.

Once upon a time, King Viserys named his daughter Rhaenyra his successor. She was his only surviving offspring, the last vestige of his cherished wife Aemma, dead in fruitless childbirth and cold in her tomb in Windsor Castle. The king then promptly remarried and fathered four more Targaryens, closer to afterthoughts than assets in his eyes: Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, Daeron. Rhaenyra is still the king’s favorite, and is much loved in Northern England, where her mother hailed from. She has the support of Scotland as well. Her marriage to their Crown Prince Laenor Velaryon was meant to consolidate the two nations under one ruling family, one flag. To reinforce this alliance, her uncle Daemon wed Laenor’s sister Laena. But then Laena died, and Laenor did too, and all those tragic pieces fell together for Rhaenyra to get what she evidently wanted all along: Daemon in wedlock, in her confidence, in her bed. Her sons with Laenor will soon marry his daughters with Laena, and each new white-haired child she produces with her uncle gives the Blacks one more dynastic pawn to play in the game of thrones.

The merchants of Southern England—the Duke of Hightower foremost among them—are aghast at the thought of Rhaenyra’s ascension. No woman has ever successfully ruled England, and she is sure to be malevolently influenced by her uncle-husband. The Pope will not sanction their incestuous union, nor those of their children, though this does not daunt the Blacks. They will make a new order here in the British Isles; they will not play by the Continent’s rules. In reply, the kingdoms of Western Europe—to varying degrees of zealousness—support the Greens and the coronation of Aegon II upon his father’s death. King Viserys is in fine health now, but that could change at a moment’s notice: with a fall from a horse, with veins darkened by infection, with a vial of poison, with a resurgence of Plague. When the king is dead, Aegon must have every possible advantage to offer England, including a clear line of succession. This was supposed to be your role. This has become your greatest failure. Yet here under a hundred-year-old cedar tree outside Westminster Palace, Aemond makes you forget that for a while.

Hours later, you are back in your bedchamber when your husband arrives to fuck you. That’s a crude word for it, but that’s exactly what it is: something he does to you, not with you. You gulp down a cup of your apple cider, the drink you like best here in England, not as thick and bitter as ale, not a poor imposter of the Continent’s red wine. It is bright, sweet, sometimes vaguely minty. It makes you think of spring and summer, of rebirth. It fills you with the undying ambition to bear fruit of your own.

You turn to Aegon, who is yanking off his white shirt with his back to you, his hair in disarray, his pores sweating out wine and indifference. He crawls into the bed on all fours, slapping himself lightly across the face, forcing himself to stay awake until the act is done.

And you think, for the very first time: I wonder what it would have been like to marry Aemond.

[mothiir]

sorry to be that rehash that droid de suggondeez plotline (I REFUSE TO CORRECTLY SPELL FRENCH) with big e stealing a wife but could we pretttty ppLEAAAASE get some more mothiir? i am obsessed with the eldritch inhuman but human behaviour you write him with. it makes me want to chew on him while simultaneously wanting to beat him with a brick out of hatred. i have so many ideas. but ill take anything you offer up fr ill live off the scraps like a feral dog, its just that the the whole david and goliath vibe is TASTYYYY. please dignify my complete insanity for just an intsy winsy second because all i can imagine is how utterly FUCKED the stolenwife!reader's pov is. you try fight back a little too much? oh haha, ur so cute, but keep biting or scratching him and he'll sicc one of the custodes (or a few) to really try you out. let you be so overstimulated youre begging for something in you, and oh boy big e'll sooo do that dont worry. or maybe humble you by keeping you basically half bare like yeah not so cocky now LMFAO IM SO SORRY I NEVER GIVE PROMPTS SO BRAZENLY LIKE THIS BC IM A COWARD FULL OF SHAMEEE UR SO MUCH BRAVER THAN MEEE (thank you sm if you do or dont run with anything i spat out just then)

first of all, never apologise for requesting stuff and also i totally respect your disrespect of the French language. as an englishwoman i am contractually obligated to hate those frog-eating bastards (disclaimer: this is satire pls don’t cancel me). secondly i absolutely love your description of my interpretation of big e because it is also exactly how i feel about him. beat him with brick, pat hair, back to brick. I know i have moved away from that content but I still wave my emperor fucker flag and am always taking requests for him

i promise there will be actual coherent fic soon, but for now here is a bullet pointed list of the sort of things that guilliwife experiences (if there is one in particular you want a full fix of let me know):

the Emperor steals you, and does not think to tell Guilliman — why would he? He fucks you, enjoys it tremendously, then has to go and do some important Master of Mankind warp fuckery that means you spend about a fortnight in some random rooms with no one to talk to but the Custodes. And they barely talk! You never work out if they are bodyguards or prison guards, since you can’t imagine that you are important enough to warrant guarding, but you also don’t think that there is much effort needed to stop you escaping. Where would you even go?

It would be so much easier if he was always a selfish monster in bed — but he isn’t. Worse: he eats pussy exactly how you think a man with millennia of practice would. He likes bringing you to the very edge of orgasm and just stopping, pillowing his cheek on your stomach and watching as you whine and cry, partly with guilt and partly with sheer frustration. You end up begging him to fuck you, stumbling out every title you can think of — lord, emperor, sire, master — but his patience is limitless, and he can keep going for hours, until you’re completely insensible, promising every depraved thing if he will just stop teasing and put it in you

You belong to him. No one else is allowed to touch you — apart from valdor, one of his oldest friends and dearest allies. And captain Kytan. And a few other custodes. Sometimes at the same time. They’re extensions of his most absolutely not divine will — they can partake in the same luxuries he allows himself, otherwise what kind of a leader would he be? He likes seeing his best soldiers happy, especially when it’s because valdor is balls deep in your arse, while he enjoys the sweet warm stretch of your throat. You jostle and whimper between them, so full that you can barely breathe, and afterwards the emperor watches as valdor thumbs open your cheeks, just to watch your holes struggle to close up around the shape of his cock. Still, valdor can’t linger too long - there is already a line

He will cum inside you so much you swear your stomach bulges a little from it all. You have nightmares about popping like a balloon

eventually word reaches the Emperor that Guilliman is looking to speak to him as a matter of urgency — he is currently buried deep in your throat, enjoying the cute little gluck-gluck-gluck noises your gag reflex makes as you try to fit him all the way into your tight gullet. He does not ask you to stop this before answering the vox from a distraught Roboute, who is blathering about his fiancée going missing? The Emperor chuckles a little to himself, patting your hair — ah, having a woman to be wed and a woman in his bed, Roboute is far more like his father than first thought — wait. Ah. Singular woman. Singular. Shit.

[tiredandwireds-blog]

@jennalistening i got u

Ok here's a list of all the best Dick and Damian(mostly with father/son dynamics) fics imo. Pls dont judge me.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40095006

The Stowaway (5099 words) by LittleLadybugs

Short sweet and fluffy! Damian sneaks a cat into the penthouse and struggles to keep it hidden. At least Dick always has his back!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32923282

Emergency Contact by DawnsEternalLight for grousemouse

Hilarious and cute! Damian gets attacked on a school trip and is just the way youd expect him to be lol. Dick freaks out ofc

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49322866

my shoulders are heavy already by a_alene

Ughhh its sooo goodddd! Damian and Dick sickfic cannot recommend enoughhh plsplspls read ittt

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36304804

a chance to celebrate by emavee

So cuteee! The batfam throws a party to celebrate Dick adopting Damian. Its such a cute story that gives insight into each characters feelings and its also fluffy as hell!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46392967

Father's Day (we were the best) by InkpotSprite

Damian decides to celebrate Dick on Mother's and Father's Day lol cute and absolutely hilarious!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40260231

I'll Carry You by BrickSheep

BrickSheep puts it best with the tag Comfort No Hurt. Its exactly as the title says dick carries damian and i get a rush of dopamine lol

https://archiveofourown.org/series/890946

I Saw Grayson Kissing Santa Claus by pupeez4eva

Damian becomes convinced Santa is after Dick Bruce is confused and Jason is evil. So pretty par for the course lol. Tbh tho this fic had me laughing so hard my sides hurt an absolute beautiful nightmare to read

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51531457

The Ping-Pong Wars by fadesfanfic

Stephanie and Damian bonding! Dick being worried over Damian! And oh the shenanigans! Its beautiful and sweet and funny and iloveitsomuchhh

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28186434

Paint Cans and Sneaking Out by CarrionCarnival

Damian sneaks out to do some graffiti and tries not to get caught lol. Cute and fun. A whole new look for Damian that I loveee

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22544392

The R Stands for – by Cirth

A beautifully written look into Damian's adjustment to his new home. Honestly made me cry ngl but sometimes you need that

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52221118

Obsolete Tools and Tangible Miseries by Corybantic

Ok we def in angst territory now gang! Damian thinks hes nothong but a weapon and Dick helps convince him otherwise. Read at your own risk cause i was sobbinggg

https://archiveofourown.org/works/37052449

the city without stars in its skies by Alienu

Ok i literally just reread this one anddd. Ughhhh im dyingggg. Damian is sent to kill Officer Dick Grayson you see where this is goinggg its so gooddd plsreadplsreadplsread

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40538418

Home Is Where the Heart Is by LittleLadybugs

Ok ill admit this ones more batfam focused then just dick and dami but still. So good. Dick is adopted by Slade not Bruce and goes running to blüdhaven to hide from him. Sadly the Birds wont leave hime alone

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22395412

Not by Blood, Maybe by Heart by Ellegrine

Ok we back to fluff now lol. Damian loves his brothers even if he never says it. In this fic he shows it by protecting Dicks honor lol

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18296282

Still the Best by Cdelphiki

3 great fics all in one spot! Literally some of the best stuff ive ever read! Iloveitiloveitiloveit pls readdd

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918887

Catch Me (All Records Indicate) by Engineerd

The evolution of the nickname lil D. Cute and so sweet. Short but such a comfort read

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29866386

This Too Shall Pass by DarthPeezy

Just oh. just so so goodddd. Another gorgeous look at Damian adjusting to his new life with the batfam tho this one is more plot directed and ohmygosh did that plot have me in a death grip

And finally my top 2 fav fics:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19718083

Throughout Infinity by flumen

Damian is sent to an alternate universe and meets young justice Dick and crew. Ok no summary i can do will do this fic justice just know i read this in one sitting and immediately felt my sense of priorities and my mind shift. No joke this changed me.

https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021464

3:16 by partingxshot

AAAHHHH

Ok now i can talk abt this. Im in the process of rereading this AGAIN bc i literally cannot be left alone. Ok quick summary: each chapter follows Dick and Damian adjusting to their new life as Batman and Robin. I feel like most everyone who is in love with the dynamic between Dick and Damian has read this fic but i cant leave it out bc its literally my fav fic EVER. i will never be normal abt this fic if you havent read it yet plspls do

[pshfantasy]

CONFUSION — psh.

genre . fluff? with heated kissing only

pairing . academicrival!sunghoon x femreader

warnings . kissing, ass-gripping

a/n — if people ask for a part two, ill make one as this is pretty short ☝️ the part two will be smutty though. i take requests and this is my first fic so feedback is appreciated!

You and Sunghoon have been at each others necks for the past few years, to say the least. The school knew the both of you as “the rival lovers” because as much as you guys would deny it, everyone thought you were secretly dating. Whenever you hear that title, you internally throw up because — You? Dating Sunghoon? never.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, likes the title. He would never tell you but, he thinks you're the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. Yes — the two of you were always bickering, but could he help thinking like that? The way you look up at him, pout, talk, everything you do makes him attracted to him.

It was the afternoon, and as always, you went to the library to study. There was an upcoming exam, one you were determined to beat Sunghoon in as he'd been on a winning streak so far. You just wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, make him realise you were more than capable of winning.

Of course, Sunghoon was in the library as well. He had already guessed that you'd try extra hard to beat him in this exam, so he wasn't about to take his chances and not study. The exam was based on English language and literature, a subject Sunghoon always excelled in. He was not about to let you get better marks.

You were busy writing notes, but you got distracted, looking up, catching sight of Sunghoon. There he was, focused, biting a pen whilst looking down at his textbook.

‘Has he always been this attractive?’ you think to yourself, tilting your head. Your eyes can't help but go down to his lips, noticing how plush and pink they were. You shake your head, blaming the fact your period was coming soon, and so you'd find anything attractive.

Sunghoon was more than aware that you are staring at him, but he doesn't do anything. He just lets you stare. He bites back a smirk, knowing you were probably admiring his looks. Yeah, he is well aware that he's attractive, girls drool over him all the time.

There was a small storage room with shelves, where you have to put the books you borrowed away. You get up, picking up the textbook you were finished with, heading to the storage room. Was it a coincidence that Sunghoon also got up at the same time to return his textbook? You ignore him, twisting the door knob and walking inside.

He follows you, walking behind you, into the dark room.

You can feel him behind you, but you say nothing. Lately there has been some... tension, between the two of you.

“So you're just gonna keep ignoring me, now?” he says, his hands finding their way to your hips. You don't even fight it, letting his hand find ownership.

“I’m not ‘ignoring’ you Sunghoon, I just don't have anything to say.” you say, turning around.

“Oh? You wanna explain why you were practically undressing me with your eyes just now?” he says, staring down at you.

You scoff, trying to deny his claim, knowing fully well it was true. “In what reality was I doing that? I think you've been thinking about me too mu-”

“I have and it's driving me insane,” he says, cutting you off, “do you know how pretty you look working so hard to beat me?”

This takes you by surprise, which makes you tilt your head in confusion. He thinks you're pretty? He's been thinking about you?

“Sunghoo-” you start, not even being able to say his name before he cuts you off again.

“Fuck this, I’m going to go crazy if I don't do this now.” he says, leaning down, the same lips you were staring at crashing down onto yours.

The kiss begins slow, almost hesitant, but as the seconds go on you find yourselves all over each other. The pent-up frustration and need pours into this kiss, betraying whatever harsh words the two of you would throw at eachother.

His hands that were at your hips were now lowering down to your ass, possessively gripping what he considered his, making you whine. Your hands are feeling all over his shoulders and arms, the same arms that you'd secretly been staring at due to his massive biceps.

What is this feeling? You want him, but you feel like it's wrong to want to fuck your rival. If you were to fuck him, you'd be giving him your first time.. Do you really want that?

The kiss gets more heated, and the longer it goes on the smaller the room feels. The two of you feel the need to move, but are constantly reminded by the fact that you're in a library.

You both pull away, not because you wanted to, but because you needed air. His eyes had darkened, his pupils were dilated, and his pretty lips were swollen. The two of you stare at eachother, panting heavily.

“What are you doing to me?” he says, running a hand through his hair.

You wish you had an answer to his question, you wish you could ask him the same question. But, being honest, you had no idea.

“I don't know.”

You were confused, to say the least.

[newstedz]

snowfall ☆ kirk hammett

okay so i'm relatively new to this but i just was so inspired by @mustainegf 's prompt that I just kept writing and writing and you get the idea. basic gist is that kirk calls you over to watch an old movie with him, its all fluff (timeframe is around 1987, post damage inc. tour.) also sorry for the incredibly generic title I literally cannot think of anything else

exhausted was an understatement.

you'd finally gotten a day off, and god was it needed. you barely had any energy to get out of bed to grab a snack, much less go outside. besides, it was freezing, and as much as you loved the idea of snow, it loses its charm when you're stuck waiting at the bus stop in the middle of a blizzard.  the day is yours, and ideally it would have been spent alone, tucked into bed. but then, you got a call. your stomach instantly dropped. you anticipated it'd be your boss, fabricating some asinine reason for you to appear at work today, even though nobody in their right mind would be out in the cold just to go to some shitty retail store. you pick up the phone with a groan. however, you're met with another familiar voice. one you weren't expecting, and suddenly, that dread in the pit of your stomach is replaced with butterflies.

"hey!" kirk beams from the other end of the phone. "sorry- did I wake you up?"

"no." you reply. granted, you weren't fully awake, but you didn't have the heart to make him think he may have been burdening you.

"oh.. okay!" he says, not seeming to need much convincing. "anyways, i just got this tape, you've gotta see this. it's some horror movie from like, the 50's or something. I got the tape  from this guy, he- I mean, that's not really important, I guess." he says, his enthusiasm dwindling as his voice grows more shy. "but I was wondering, I mean, i'd really like for you to come over and watch it with me. if you want." he offers sheepishly.

you can't help but smile. if it were anyone else, you'd consider making up some elaborate excuse about how you caught a stomach bug or fell ill after standing in the cold for too long. but you've known Kirk since you were kids, and you can't remember the last time you guys got to really hang out. between you working and his touring schedule, things just never seemed to work. it was something special to him, too. you knew how involved he was in tape trading, horror, and all that stuff you couldn't quite wrap your head around. but for him, you'd do it in a heartbeat. you gaze out the window. it's still snowing, but it had slowed to flurries. a thin layer of snow coats the grass and branches of the trees. you can't pass this up.

"sure."

"really? nice! so um. I'll see you." he exclaims, abruptly ending the call before you could even ask when he wanted you to be there. you sigh, getting up and heading for the shower.  one long bus ride later, you arrive at his door. as soon as you knock he rushes to the door, trying (and failing) to hide his excitement. "hey!" he grins, showing off his adorable, crooked smile. he steps aside allowing you to enter. "sorry its a mess in here. i just got back.." he murmurs. you cant help but laugh. "its whatever, man. i've seen worse from you." you reply, earning a chuckle from him. as soon as you two get settled, the snow gets heavy. very heavy. seems like you made it just in time. kirk seems to notice too. "looks like you're stuck with me."

_

the next hour is spent watching the movie, though it seems like it was only used as a catalyst for the two of you to play catch-up and for him to infodump trivia about the film. though you can't focus on the movie, at least not now. you're too focused on the way the light shines off his face and curls. the way he incessantly giggles when recalling a crazy road story. the snow is piling up outside, and it's only now that you realize he was trying to talk to you.

"hey, did you hear me?" he asks, tilting his head. he figured he was talking your ear off, though you really could listen to him all day.

"huh? i- no, you're good. i'm just.. cold." you attempt to wave it off unconvincingly, only leaving you to be met with more of his concerns. "are you okay? you were kinda just staring. are you bored? we can do something else, if you want." he murmurs as he gazes briefly at you, only to shift his focus to the TV screen. it could be the lighting, but you could've sworn you saw the lightest tinge of color come to his cheeks. 

"what about you?" you ask. the whole time you've been here, you've gotten the basic stuff, yeah. but it wasn't as personal as it used to be between the two of you. you used to stay up for hours talking about your worries, your goals. you were the first one he told about anything, and vice versa. but now it seemed like he was nervous just from being the same room with you. 

"what about me? i'm fine." he shrugs, now trying to shift the attention back to the movie.

"then why wont you look at me?" the question sorta just slips out. you didn't mean to pry, today was supposed to be lighthearted, but kirk's reaction seems to confirm your suspicions of there being something more, as he begins to stumble over his words. you place your hand gently over his. "you know you can talk to me, right?" as your eyes meet, his face goes red. "it's stupid." kirk murmurs again, though he knows he can't hide this from you anymore. "i feel like.. i'm running out of time. I mean- you're not always gonna be waiting around for me, and it's like whenever i'm gone, i.." he trails off, shifting his gaze away from you yet again. he takes a deep breath, gathering his courage. "I like you. like really like you, and I don't wanna drift off from you or mess anything up-" kirk rambles on, but you've heard enough. you laugh, suddenly scooting closer to him. all you give is an affectionate "shut up" before your lips meet. you move away to see his shocked expression, but he quickly swaps it for a huge, dorky grin as he pulls you in for another.

a few more shared kisses later, kirk pulls away, staring back at the window. he turns back to you. "y'know.. it's pretty nasty out there. maybe you should stay the night." he grins, not subtle in the slightest. you can't help but laugh and nod. suddenly, the room feels so much warmer.

[jyoongim]

~BLOOD & BLISS~

Human!Alastor x wife!Reader

Themes: 1930 based! Human!Alastor x wife!Reader, domestic life!fluff, smut, slow burn plot, devotion, slight manipulation, mention of children, pregnancy,  blood, murder, secrets 

————————————————————————

Chapter three chapter five

Chapter Four

“Oh darling look at you! And here I thought you wouldn’t give me grandchildren” your mother laughed as she hugged you.

Your mother had invited you and Alastor over since you had sent her a letter about some exciting news you wanted to share.

You didn’t know whether to take her comment as a compliment or insult.

”Why ain’t your husband with you? I know that man ain’t have you travel here all alone in your condition” she frowned displeased.

”Momma you know how busy Al is. He’s been trying to catch up on work so he can take time off for the baby” you pouted.

She sucked her teeth, before a smile dawned her face

”well that means we can go shopping! Have you decorated the nursery? Do you have a nursery? Oooh honey why don’t you come home when you have the baby? A newborn is a lot of work” she was ranting and you sighed, rubbing your heavy stomach.

”Momma im perfectly capable of taking care of my baby.  I’ve read all the books” your mother gave you a funny look

”books? Oh girl those books ain’t gonna help you. You need experience. Youre a first time mom, you have no instincts in raising a youngin ”

You pouted. You felt like a teenager being chastised.

You knew your mother meant well, but sometimes you had to stop her ‘good intentions’.

”Ill be fine. Alastor’s gonna be there and Im sure we can figure it out. Aint that what parenthood all about?”

She hummed “If you say, now lets head to town. I want my grandbaby to have the best!”

—————————————————————————-

You fanned yourself as you finally sat down. The summer heat was not kind to you as your mother had dragged you to every shop in town.

The two of you had finished up shopping and were now at a little restaurant. You smiled in thanks as the waiter sat a glass of cold water in front of you.

Your mother cooed as she looked over several items she had bought.

You think she was more excited than you and you were the pregnant one.

”Momma I think you overdid it. There’s no way the baby is gonna wear or use any of that” you mused, sipping the water.

She waved you off.

”so…how has Alastor handled the news?” She asked.

You blinked “he’s very excited. He says he don’t care about the gender, but he’s taken to thinking it’ll be a girl” you giggled.

”haha a girl? Oh no you’re definitely having a boy darling” she laughed.

You titled your head in confusion.

Your mother smirked “Your belly is big and low and you’re not even halfway through your term, that means you’re having a boy. ”

She continued “Most men want a boy on the first go. A scrappy boy is the jewel of every man’s pride”

You rubbed your stomach, smiling “Well it don’t matter im sure hell adore the baby no matter what”

She hummed and picked up the newspaper that was on the table.

The headline read ‘fifth body found in canal’

”Such a shame the authorities can’t find killer. Those poor souls. This is the fifth body that’s been found and practically in your backyard. You really need to careful dear” she said grimacing.

You weren’t too worried. All the victims were random, but they weren’t pregnant women. “I don’t think the killer is slaying harmless pregnant women momma”

She shrugged “Can never be too sure dear��

———————————————————————————

Alastor whistled as he cleaned the kitchen. Bright red water filled the sink as he wronged the sponge. You would have a fit if you saw the state of your kitchen and Alastor couldn’t have an upset wife.

You had went to visit your mother, thinking it was time to tell the woman that the two of you were expecting. You had wanted him to come along, but he thought it would be better if the two of you spent some time together.

So he took the time to go hunting. It had been a while since he had a good hunt and he had a taste for deer meat.

Once the kitchen was spotless, he discarded what he didn’t need into a bag. He headed down to the cellar with the rest of the trash.

He tied the bag and reached for the other one.

Hauling it back to the kitchen, he turned on the radio to listen to some tunes as he prepared to cook. You should have been coming home in a few hours and he was sure you would be hungry. It was rather hot today, so instead of slaving too much over the stove he opted for a simple stew.

He pulled the meat out of the bag and began to cut it.

He pulled a pot from the cabinet and filled it with  onions, carrots, and a little water were added into the pot as he cleaned the meat.

As the pot boiled, he plopped the meat in a pan to cook it down.

The kitchen filled with the smell of herbs and meat as he worked.

He added some seasoning to the meat and transferred the chopped meat to the pot.

He turned the heat low and let it simmer.

He nodded in satisfaction and took a look at himself. Disgusting

He was covered in blood. He sighed and went upstairs.

Light red swirled down the drain. Alastor rolled his neck, a soft pop was heard and he sighed in relief.

Once finished in the shower, he gathered the dirty clothes and headed out back in the yard.

He waved to the passing neighbors as thee fire crackled, a pleasant smile on his face.

Once the fire died down, he headed back inside to check on the stew.

He stirred it and turned it off.

He fixed a cold sweet tea and took a seat at the dining table.

His mind wandered to you. He wondered how you were fairing in this heat. He was sure you were ready to come home and relax. Your mother was a handful.

Your pregnancy was coming along nicely.

You had rounded out and now you sported a big belly. His cock twitched in his pants. He couldn’t believe how insatiable  he had become since you had become pregnant. He couldn’t keep his hands off of you.

You had transformed beautifully. You always seemed to be glowing, though you swore it was sweat. You had become incredibly sensitive, your mood swings putting you both through the ringer.

You had voiced your concern about your image as you had filled out nicely, gaining weight from the baby you now carried. You couldn’t fit any of your usual form fitting outfits, opting for loose dresses.

Alastor reassured you that you looked beautiful no matter what. He enjoyed a little meat being on your bones. 

You were softer and he loved every minute of it.

His eyes traveled to the pot, he wondered if you had ate. He really wanted to see how you would react to the meal he prepared. While you love his cooking, the baby was picking, which resulted in you being sick a lot.

The buzz from the hunt still rippled through him as his lips curled in a smile.

yeeesss how would his little wife enjoy the meal he prepared for her?

He made a mental note to take out the trash later but for now, he waited for you to return home as he opened a book about parenting. 

He should ask you what color you wanted the nursery….

——————————————————————————-

Your mouth watered as you came through the door “What did you cook Al it smells really good”

Your husband chuckled as he closed the book and walked over to you. You were trying to beeline it to the kitchen, but your husband wrapped his arms around you and pressed his lips to yours. He grinned as your stomach created a space between the two of you, running an affectionate hand over the bump “Well hello to you too my dear. How was your mother? I see the two of you went shopping” His eyes took in the amount of bags you brought back.

You huffed “Yea Ma would have bought out the entire store if I let her, i tell you I think she’s more happy about a grandbaby than when we got married”

Alastor coaxed you to the couch, smiling as you sighed as he massaged your aching back. He pressed soft kisses to your exposed shoulders “I didn’t know if you had ate already, so I made a stew. Let’s hope the baby like it. I read that warm foods were better than the ice cream you’ve been sneakng” he snickered as you pouted.

”Just relax a bit and Ill make you a bowl”

You smiled at him “I want crackers too!” You called after him.

Alastor returned with a steaming bowl of stew. It smells so good and your stomach growled in hunger. “I tried a different meat but I hope you like it my dear”

You thanked him and rolled your eyes as he picked up the spoon and held it to your mouth. You blew on it softly before chomping on the spoon.

Your tongue tingled as you savored the flavor. 

The meat was softer than you were use to, maybe pork or a different beef?

Whatever it was it was good!

”Mmmhmm this is so good. The texture of the meat is a bit off but its really good Al” you complimented.

He beamed at you, pearly whites glistening at you. “Im happy you like it and you didn’t throw it up im proud baby”

You quickly finished the meal and showed him everything your mother bought for the new arrival.

Alastor smiled in content as you happily showed him the baby wares; clothing, toys,and other gadgets. Seeing you so excited filled him with an unexplainable feeling. His hand caressed your belly as you ranted.

”Did you know that there’s a killer on the loose?” Your sudden question brought his attention back. Your face was filled with worry.

Alastor tensed, but relaxed “We had gotten a few reports down at the studio but no real leads. Why do you ask dear?”

You placed your hand over his that was on your bulging belly. “I-Im just concerned. I mean we do have a child on the way and i dont really feel safe walking the streets in this vulnerable condition. My mother suggested we move into the summer house.” You looked down, Alastor kissed your forehead “Im sure well be fine. Besides it seems the killer has a little mortals. No woman has been harmed. So dont fret my dear” he assured you. 

You sighed, he was right.  There was no need to worry.

“I would never let a soul hurt you” he whispered against your forehead.

You hummed and started giggling as he nipped at your ear “Al!!!”

You tried to wiggled away, but your husband softly pushed you back on the couch, being mindful of your belly.

”Now why dont I show you that I am more than capable hmm?” He grinned down at you.

—————————————————————————————————-

@nightshadelm@th3-st4r-gur1@southern-bayou-beau@yourdoorisunlocked@alishii@nettaw@simphornies@jellibean2018@purplecatsandhearts@missgurlsstuff@alastor-simp@alastorsgirl48@dasimp777@hazelfoureyes@thewinchestah@catherine1206@peachedtvs@luzzbuzz@markster666@preciousbabypeter@dennsfz@nanami1chu@chewbrry@smoky000@karolinda007-blog@alastorsaries@altruisticalastor@evedenn@alastors666creampie@siiv3r@yunimimii@popamolly @okay-babe@catmunist@wonderlandangelsposts@certifiedcrybabyyy @theangeliclibrarian@ilikemyteawithmilk@boney-horse@blubugg13@zombiesnips-blog@rulesareshadesofgrey@doggone-devil@amurtan@yuzurixx

[cerastes]

'stultifera navis' is a reference? I mean, when I saw people going "oh it means stupid boat" figured that that wasn't *quite* the whole story but no one's explained what else it means.

You know how we are intimately familiar with Plato's Allegory of the Cave?

This thing? Alright, so Plato didn't make just one allegory. Plato's Allegory of the Cave comes from Plato's "Republic", specifically Book VII. In Book VI, one can find the Allegory of the Ship of Fools. Long story short, the allegory's intent is to represent the problems of leadership and governance in a political system where the key figures aren't chosen based on expert knowledge, but rather, other things altogether ('divine right' is a good example).

Now, with this in mind, we talk about Stultifera Navis, a satirical allegory from 1494 by one Sebastian Brant, a German humanist. It's other title is Daß Narrenschyff ad Narragoniam, in medieval German, all meaning the same: "Ship of Fools". It's worth noting that the Ship of Fools was a popular concept in this era, much like the internet really likes the Allegory of the Cave! Humanity has always been the same in some regards.

Brant's Stultifera Navis was about a fleet, the Fleet of Fools, bound for the Paradise of Fools and, without getting too into it, because it's a decently long read consisting of over one hundred brief satires, it serves as a criticism towards the Christian Church and how it was, largely, a mangle of underqualified fools not only having WAY too much agency in the lives of WAY too many people, but also, it was driving itself in such a hilariously self-destructive manner that it eventually sinking was practically inevitable. Brant creates a character, the Saint Grobian, whom Brant made into the patron saint of vulgar and crass people, so not only was he making a whole book with over 100 little stories about how much a dumbass collective the Church was, he also got spicy and threw in his own OC, Grobian the Hedgehog, the worst and shittiest of them all, and the one that codified the Church most closely.

Now, you may be thinking, "Hey, did Brant get fucking burned at the cross for this or something? Wasn't criticism of the Church the leading cause of death back in those days right after being invaded by Church for no reason?". Well, there was a SPECIAL JUTSU you could use back in the day, one that rendered you naught but a little birthday guy that couldn't be killed for criticism: Employing the voice of the fool. Y'see, Court Fools were allowed to say whatever they wanted, because they were court fools, and this little loophole allowed certain figures of the time, like Desiderius Erasmus, to criticize the Church openly, as he did in "The Praise of Folly", and when the Churchboyz came to his house with pikes and broadswords, demanding he step right out to they could eviscerate him for the SIN of speaking ill against Our Most Righteous, Loving, And Considerate Of Institutions, The Holy Church Itself, Erasmus threw his arms up in mock surrender and yelled "I'm just a little fool! The work was written from the voice and perspective of but a fool! I'm just a birthday fool! Come on, man, don't get so mad!" and then the Churchboyz, smoldering in white blistering ire, sheathed their arsenal and walked away FUMING because he was now impervious to Christblasts.

Well, Brant used the same jutsu, as the book is Entirely about Fools, he claimed it was just the fools talking, ergo, it's not what he REALLY thought, ok? Just some food for thought, a little what if, no need to get so spicy over a WORK OF FICTION. So the Church harrumphed and hmppphroomed their way home, stomping their feet all the way through because AGAIN they couldn't execute someone for their (alleged) opinion.

Now, moving to the Arknights' Stultifera Navis, given how much the event shows the longing for the Iberian Golden Age, and very much states how impossible it is to go back to those days, simply because, one, the world has changed to something that would never again sustain this Iberian Golden Age, and two, the 'Golden Age' in itself was built upon the systematic oppression and suffering of others, ranging from the Aegir persecuted within the Iberian lands to the Victorians and Bolivars raided and pillaged outside the Iberian borders, and it was the selfsame greed, close-mindedness and ignorance of Iberia that led to its natural end. The Inquisition is very much a Ship of Fools: Guided by old relics, fueled by archaic and obsolete beliefs, it's bound to collapse under its own weight. Saint Carmen himself is the perfect representation of the Inquisition: Tired, old, full of regrets, putting a strong front, yet completely ravaged and exhausted, his life artificially prolonged well past the natural lifespan of a Liberi, guided by ostensibly good intentions and yet adhering to principles that necessarily involve the oppression of certain people in order to exist. I wouldn't say Saint Carmen and Saint Grobian are one and the same, but you can't help but see some similarity. Patron saint of the vulgar and crass indeed.

The allegory also extends to Aegir to some degree as well, but we don't have the full picture just yet. Stultifera Navis does suggest that Aegir Beefed It to some degree as well, and not a minor beef, either.

Notably, Laurentina defies the trope: Her recovery stems in part to having let go of her "Golden Age": The times when she could have pursued her passions as a sculptor, the times when she happily hunted away with her fellow Hunters in the 2nd Company, the times when she didn't have a country's worth of Super Death Rock Cancer Juice in her spine, the entire swath of time she lost due to having been replaced by 'Specter', the time when she was blissfully unaware of her Seaborn blood, she makes it clear to Amaia: She's fully aware that all of these things are irrevocably lost, and that that's fine, she's got the present and the future still. She misses that Golden Age of her life, but doesn't agonize over it, she simply has to make a new Golden Age, comprised of other, unknown, exciting things, in the future.

Sometimes, you don't need to think too hard about it. Just tear apart what's in front of you, and move forward. She is not a crewmember of the Ship of Fools.

There's a few more comparisons and connections you can draw between the Allegory of the Ship of Fools and Arknights' Stultifera Navis, but I think the point has been made!

[accidentalmistress]

New Fic - To Have a Voice

Alrighty, here's the new story that I've been working on for quite a while now. I hope y'all enjoy these new characters, because I sure as hell do. This story takes place in the same world as Accidental Mistress, Vibrahnem, but where Accidental Mistress takes place in the country of Schorseau, To Have a Voice takes place in the neighboring country of Merseheim. The events of To Have a Voice take place around the same time period as Accidental Mistress.

Title: To Have a Voice

Word Count: 9,772

Content and Warnings: snz - male, allergy

In which a young Archivist stumbles into a chance encounter that may well change the course of his life, though he certainly doesn't know it at the time.

--------------------

PART ONE: THE CAT

Jakob's mother had taught him from a young age that one must treat others as one wished to be treated. This, she advised, would ensure that one was well-liked by one's peers, which in turn would propel one into a successful and happy future. Jakob had now reached an age in his adult life where he suspected that his dear mother, though well-intentioned, was sadly misguided. For though he was nothing but kind to everyone he met, seldom raised his voice or lost his temper, and strove to always maintain a cheery disposition, these qualities had not brought him friendship and acclaim so much as they had relegated him to what felt like the background of his own life.

Which is all a very roundabout way of saying that, as his one and only close friend Vera liked frequently to remind him: Jakob Steiner was a people-pleasing doormat.

Still, the habits drilled into him by his moral upbringing could not easily be shaken. So when he saw the cat lying motionless along an exterior wall as he left the Archives of the Order, he felt compelled to do what he believed to be right and check on it.

His work in the Archives had kept Jakob late, as usual, while he fulfilled the various requests made of him that he could never quite bring himself to say “no” to. Night had fallen, and rain slicked the streets of Onteburgh with a glistening sheen. Thick cloud cover blocked any moonlight, and the city instead was awash in the soft golden glow of many arcane street lamps. The rain and quality of light made it difficult to tell if the animal was even alive, but if it was, then perhaps it needed help, and Jakob could no more turn a blind eye than he could call off the rain with his thoughts alone.

He approached the creature slowly, the rain whispering in a soft patter on the umbrella he held in a tightening grip.

“I hope I don't regret this…” he muttered with the tone of a man intimately familiar with regrets.

 The cat looked like little more than a lump of soaked, black fur on the pavement, its tail encircling its legs as it lay there curled up on its side. Jakob crouched down next to it and took a long look at the animal. If it had died of an illness, he didn't want to touch it and risk contracting some sort of contagion. After a few moments, however, he observed the cat's chest rise and fall with a shallow breath.

“Oh dear. So you are alive, poor thing. Are you hurt?”

The chance of illness remained, but he could not very well aid the cat without touching it, so Jakob reached a hand towards the pitiable creature and brushed two fingers along its head, between its ears. One eye opened, a distinctive shade of violet that took Jakob by surprise. He’d never seen a cat with such unusual, haunting eyes. Though, to be fair, he didn't spend much time around cats. He didn't spend much time anywhere that wasn't the Order's Archives or his own quarters.

 The animal lifted its head and looked at him, its strange eyes half-lidded, and opened its mouth. The meow that issued was so faint as to be nearly inaudible over the rain.

Well, I certainly can't leave it here now, can I?

With a sigh, Jakob set his umbrella aside and gently scooped the soaked creature into his arms, a few fat raindrops splattering across the round lenses of his glasses in the moments he was uncovered. The animal didn't protest or make any sort of indication that he was hurting it, but it seemed so weak Jakob couldn't be sure it could if it wanted to. After cradling the drenched little cat in the crook of an elbow, he took up his umbrella again and continued on to his quarters in the Order dormitories.

 When he arrived, he placed the cat carefully on his bed and murmured the chant that would activate the lamps in the room. The soaked umbrella he left leaning against a wall by the stout wooden door. If there was one thing that Jakob was satisfied with in his life, it was his living quarters. To be sure, there were far more luxurious places to live, but Jakob was fortunate enough to enjoy one of the most spacious apartments in the entire building. The main room was large enough that, with the help of a pair of folding screens, he could divide it into separate living and sleeping areas. It was also equipped with a private bath, a privilege that was not even afforded to many Knights. His role as an Archivist provided him with a life that was, if not glamorous, more than comfortable enough for a solitary bachelor.

Carrying the cat had thoroughly wetted Jakob's robe, and so he shucked the garment, only to find his shirt also soaked through to the skin. He stripped this too, then caught sight of himself, naked to the waist, in a panel of mirrored glass hung on the wall. The corner of his mouth twitched into the hint of a frown as he studied his reflection. Straight brown hair that brushed his chin. Pale skin that spoke to time most spent indoors. Eyes that were an almost yellowish shade of green. He'd been slight of build for his entire life, which was perhaps appropriate for someone of a scholarly bent. All that echoed in his mind, however, was the jeering voice of one colleague to another, words scarcely whispered behind their hands. “Goddess, no. He's far too scrawny…”

Jakob quickly turned away from the mirror. He had the cat to attend to.

Said feline had not moved from where Jakob had deposited it upon his bed. He fetched a towel and brought it over to dry the cat's fur. He gave a sniff as his nose began to run a bit, then rubbed the appendage with his forearm. At first he thought nothing of it, but then he groaned as realization hit.

“Oh no. Already?”

He'd thought that with the cat being wet he might not have a reaction to it, or at least not much of one, but it seemed this was too much to hope for. Cats always got him allergic to one degree or another, and this one looked to be no exception. At this point, however, his conscience would not allow him to do anything but see this task through, allergies or no. So he wrapped the little cat up in the towel and set about carefully drying it, even as his eyes began to water and a spot of irritation flared in the back of his sinuses.

“Stars of the Sister, -snnf- the things I get myself into…”

The poor creature was worryingly cold. Jakob could feel that clearly as he gently wiped the towel across its fur. Afterwards, he set the dampened cloth aside and instead wrapped the cat in a soft blanket, which he cradled to his bare chest. At least the blanket would keep the cat from touching his skin. His nasal passages were not quite so lucky, that irritation soon building to an intensity he could no longer ignore as an unsteady hitch threaded into his breaths.

“O-oh dear… hh… hh'nxtch!”

Jakob managed to turn aside and stifle the sneeze that seized him.

“Sorry,” he muttered on reflex, quite forgetting that the only other being in the room was the cat. The animal was already feeling warmer and had opened its strange violet eyes to look up at him. Under that intense gaze, it almost felt like he was talking to a person.

“I'm afraid I'm, um… hehhih'nxgch! Sorry. I'm a bit a- aller- allergic… to… heh-CHT! Heh-ITCHU! ISSHIU! HISHIU! Nguh…”

This time his attempt to stifle the tickle failed spectacularly, resulting in a rapid fit of sharp sneezes that misted his shoulder and slid his glasses down his nose. To Jakob's great surprise, the cat wriggled out of his grasp and slunk to the foot of the bed in an instant, wide-eyed. He didn't think the cat could move at all, let alone so quickly.

“S-Sorry, I… I-I didn't mean to sca- scare you- hh'xtch! Oh, goodness…”

He managed to stifle again, but the cat seemed no more interested in coming closer.

“Well of course it won't if I'm sne- sneezing like a ma- a ma- hhp'cht! Nhuh… a maniac,” he muttered, stifling yet another itchy outburst.

Rising from the bed, Jakob fixed his glasses and rummaged about his bedroom until he found a clean handkerchief, and none too soon as he buried his twitching nose in the cloth.

“heh’ISSHIU! ISSHIU! ISSHIU! Oh gods… HETCHIU!!”

He smothered another fit before blowing his nose. At work he was a habitual stifler in the sepulchral quiet of the Archives. Though dust was blessedly not among Jakob's myriad allergies so far as he knew, the Archives were so thick with it, and it was so inescapable, that he would be more surprised if he didn't sneeze at some point during his work each day. That stifling habit bled into his time at home, but this allergic tickle was so intense that he knew continuing to stifle would only serve to make matters worse.

“Don't worry -snf-,” he assured the cat, still staring at him from the foot of the bed. “It'll pass soon… I think.”

Several sneezing fits later, however, it was clear that Jakob's allergy attack had no intention of releasing him from its itch-inducing grip.

“Of course this would happen when I haven't got any allergy medicine… hehhp'tchiuhh!”

The living area of Jakob's quarters was equipped with an economical kitchen, complete with a small cooler-box. The thick-walled metal cabinet bore an arcane gem with an affinity for ice affixed to the door, and any food stored within was kept perfectly chilled. From this Jakob withdrew some leftover chicken from his dinner the previous evening. If the cat wasn't as physically injured as he'd imagined, then perhaps it was weak from hunger combined with the damp chill. It was thin, though Jakob knew quite well that slim did not always mean starving. Perhaps it was not the same for cats, but he could not count how many times in his own life he'd needed to assure one well-intentioned person or another that, yes, he was, in fact, getting enough to eat.

He placed a small portion of chicken on a plate before returning to the bed, where the cat still huddled against the footboard. Jakob stifled another couple of sneezes into his arm as he offered the plate to the cat, setting it down near enough for the animal to reach. The cat stretched its neck out and sniffed at the meat before snatching a hunk of chicken off the plate and devouring it in a few bites. A smile played at Jakob's lips as he watched the little cat tear voraciously into its meal, until at last the plate was so clean that there was nothing left for the cat to lick but its whiskers.

“Well, someone was hungry. Speaking of, I ought to eat something myself.”

He heated the remaining chicken for himself, and spent the rest of the evening alternating between attempts to befriend the cat and retreating to another part of the room so as not to traumatize the animal with his nigh-constant sneezing.

PART TWO: THE CURSE

In the morning Jakob awoke with a start and the realization that he had fallen asleep on his sofa. Bright sunlight streamed through his windows; the rain, it seemed, had moved on. Moments later his eyes fluttered closed and his chest heaved as he was drawn helplessly into a prolonged sneezing fit, his sinuses once more protesting to the fact that he had deigned to spend time in the presence of a feline, and overnight at that.

Once able to catch his breath, he cast about the room for the cat in question but did not immediately see it. Had it somehow snuck out in the middle of the night as he slept? Were it not for his furiously tingling nose and streaming eyes, he might think the whole thing had been a dream.

“Erm, kitty? Here, kitty-kitty… -snf-”

After an anxious minute of searching, Jakob was relieved to see two violet eyes staring back at him when he checked under the bed.

“There you a-are- het'chh! Sorry! Sorry. I know you don't like that…”

He sat back and scrubbed his nose with his palm, trying to quell any further sneezes. For the most part, he only succeeded in eliciting an unpleasant squelching sound.

“Mmh… Well, I-I've got to get ready for work. I'll need to leave you alone for a while, I'm afraid. I might be able to pop back on my l-lunch- heh-heh! Oh, goodness…”

A fresh tickle fluttered through his sinuses like a feathery wave from his quivering nostrils to the bridge of his nose, teasing him with a false start.

“On second thought, perhaps I ought to use my lunch break to get more a-allergy medicine… eh-tchiuhh!”

Jakob dressed in a hurry, the night spent on the sofa and morning search for the cat having completely thrown him off of his normal routine. He left a bowl of water and a bit of cooked fish out for the cat before heading out the door and rushing to the Archives.

“Jakob? Are you actually running late? Perhaps I should play the lottery.”

The elderly voice that greeted him pronounced his name in the Old Merseheiman fashion, using a “y” sound for the “j”. Yakob.

“S-Sorry, Mrs. Neumann…”

With how congested he was, he could hardly say her name properly. It almost came out like “Doybin”.

The ancient woman in front of him stood all of four and a half feet, and that's if she wasn't perpetually hunched over. While not exactly tall, Jakob's respectably average height still meant he practically towered over her. He sometimes wondered if there were fey somewhere in her lineage. Her hair was mostly silver yet shot with black strands, even at her advanced age, and was pulled back into a severe bun. Her skin reminded Jakob of a walnut.

She tutted with her tongue as she shook her head. “Oh, and you sound awful to boot. You could have simply sent word that you had taken ill. I would have given you the day off, you know. Sister knows you do not take enough time off as it is. Which is probably why you are—”

“I-I’m not sick, Mrs. Neumann.” Jakob cut her off before she could launch into a full tirade. “It's my allergies, that's all. You know how bad they get. I'm f-fine, re- real- ah-heh!” He managed to turn aside and throw a sleeve over his nose. “Huh’tchiuh! … -snnf- Really.”

The look she gave him was so flat you could build a house of cards on it, but she merely sighed and dropped the issue, much to Jakob's relief.

“Very well. A shipment arrived early this morning. Three crates containing a mixture of artifacts and written materials donated from a museum that is, unfortunately, in the process of shutting down. I need the items to be sorted and cataloged.”

Jakob bobbed his head, sniffling and rubbing his nose with the back of a hand.

“Understood, Mrs. Neumann. I'll get started on it right away.”

Receiving and cataloging new acquisitions was an aspect of Jakob's work that the young man truly enjoyed. Even the most mundane objects contained the stories of the people who once owned them, and within every shipment the Archives received was the possibility of coming across something truly extraordinary. In only his first year as an Archivist Jakob had cataloged a rather peculiar artifact, which he discovered had been mislabeled and was, in fact, a relic of such importance that it was now used as a holy symbol by one of the Order's Knight Sisters.

Though he highly doubted that he would be uncovering any holy relics today, there was nearly always something of interest to be found among the pieces the Archive received. He located the three small, wooden crates stacked in one of the store rooms. It quickly became evident from the appearance of the wood, aged and discolored, that they had not been packed recently. Whatever was inside must have already spent quite some time in storage at their former home. Jakob hunted down a small pry bar and set about working the lid off the top crate, but after having remained sealed for so long it was proving a stubborn task. After a few minutes he managed to create a small gap around the perimeter of the lid, as well as work up a slight sweat.

“I hate to admit it,” he huffed, “but Vera is right: I need to exercise more…”

After wiping his sleeve across his brow, Jakob thrust the bar into the gap he’d created and wrenched it with all of his strength and bodyweight. The wooden crate creaked, then groaned, and finally the lid came popping off with a loud crack before it clattered to the floor.

Jakob heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness…”

Panting like he’d jogged up a short flight of steps, the young Archivist noticed the rising plume of dust, motes sparkling in the beam of sunshine coming through the window, a split second before his nose twitched.

“Oh no, n-hh-heh! Heh! hhHIT’SHHiuh!”

It hit him too fast and strong to stifle, and his face colored with a burning blush at the noise. He buried his nose in the fabric of one hanging sleeve in an attempt to stave off any further dust, but it did not change the fact that he’d already gotten a face full of it.

“hh’chgt! hah-esshht! hhh’CHXT!-CHXT!-CHXT! Nhuh… huh-kssht! hhshhgt! hh’nxssh!-chiew… Oh Goddess…”

“I thought you weren’t allergic to dust.”

The sudden voice made him jump so badly he nearly dropped the pry bar. He spun and found a young woman with warm brown skin and long, curling hair of raven black done up in a high ponytail standing behind him. Her dark eyes glittered as the corner of her full lips turned up in a slight smirk.

“V-Vera! hh-CHT! Good Gods, y-you could have said something be- before- HUH-cndsh! Before you were right behind me.”

She tipped her head and gave him a one-shouldered shrug, the picture of nonchalance. “I tried to, but you were too busy sneezing your head off to notice. Don’t tell me you’ve developed another new allergy?”

Jakob pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose, shaking his head.

“No… No, I don’t think so. -snnf- I was already having an allergy attack. Since last n-night, actually. Huh’chggh! And you know everything sets me off when I’m like this.”

“Right… I guess nothing spicy for lunch, then. So much for my idea. I was gonna take you to this new stall that opened up along Market Street. They make a wicked curry.”

“Oh, don’t tell me that,” Jakob moaned, “I love curry.”

Vera folded her arms in front of her chest. She almost seemed to be enjoying taunting him.

“Well, don’t forget to take your allergy meds next time.”

“I didn’t forget! I-I haven’t got any!”

“Then maybe don’t wait until you completely run out to get more!”

Unable to think of a valid argument against that, he stifled another round of sneezing into his handkerchief instead. Vera walked around him and peered into the now-open crate. Whatever was inside was still concealed by a layer of wood wool packing material, as yet a tantalizing mystery.

“What are you even working on?” she asked.

Jakob made a vague gesture towards the crate. “New acquisitions. -snf- From a defunct museum. Mrs. Neumann asked me to c-catalog them- hh’tsht!”

“Want some help?”

Jakob waved a hand. “Oh, don't trouble yourself. I can handle it.”

Vera raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “I’m not troubling myself; I'm doing my job. I'm an Archivist too, you know.”

Jakob closed his eyes so she wouldn't see him rolling them. “I'm not saying you're incapable, I'm saying you don't need to step away from your own work just because you find me especially pathetic today.”

The heat behind those last few words surprised even him, and the hurt that flickered behind Vera’s eyes hit him like a knife to the gut.

“Wait, Vera, I—”

“Is that really what you think of me? That I’m only here because I pity you?”

The tone she used was so low and insulted, he almost would have preferred she shouted at him.

“N-no! No. Vera, I'm sorry. I don't- I didn't mean for it to come out like that. That's not what I think at all. I know you're trying to help as a friend, I just…” He pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes with a sigh. “I'm all out of whack this morning, and I feel horrid on top of it. But… I still shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm really sorry.”

Hard eyes glared at him for a moment more before Vera sighed and some of the stiffness went out of her posture. Still, her arms remained crossed in front of her, like one last barrier he had not yet broken.

“Alright, fine. I accept your apology. This isn't like you, though. Did something happen?”

Immediately Jakob's thoughts went to the cat, with its curious eyes and the presence it had when he spoke to it, like it could somehow understand him. Was he imagining it? He had to be.

“N-no. Er, maybe? I don't know… I found this stray cat last night—”

“A cat? Aren't you super allergic to cats?”

He nodded, taking a moment to blow his nose again and give it a thorough rub in the process. While this did not satisfy the itchy burning in his sinuses—nothing short of a miracle would at this point—it did at least succeed in pushing it to a background annoyance rather than an immediate concern.

“Why do you think I'm currently a sniffling, sneezy mess and sound like my sinuses are stuffed with cotton? I was around it all night.”

“Hold on a moment. Are you saying you found a stray cat… and then you brought it home?”

“Well, yes. It needed my help.”

“Jake…” She drew his name out in exasperation.

Jakob spread his hands. “I couldn't leave it! It was just lying there on the ground getting soaked by the rain, a-and it was so weak it could hardly even meow at me. The poor thing was freezing. It might have died if I hadn't done something!”

“Alright, alright. I get it. You brought an injured cat home and were up all night sneezing. I suppose I can see why you’d be out of sorts.”

Jakob rubbed the back of his neck. “I-I did manage to fall asleep for a little while on the sofa…”

Vera sighed and finally dropped her arms to her sides. “You ought to go home, then. Get some rest. I'm sure you're worried about the cat, too. I can handle these crates.”

“I'm fine, Vera. It's not the first rough night I've had with my allergies. Besides…” He turned back to the open crate and its mysterious contents. “I have got to know what's in these.”

Another sigh from Vera, this one more resigned.

“Alright, but I’m staying and helping you. I won't take no for an answer. And put a mask on or something, for Sister's sake. These things look like they're full of dust, and I am not carrying you to the infirmary again.”

“I-It was one time!” Jakob stammered, his voice squeaking up an octave.

“Yeah, one time too many.”

Unpacking the crates and sorting the contents did go faster with Vera's help. The cloth Jakob tied around the lower half of his face at Vera's insistence served to keep the dust out well enough, but when the fibers brushed against his raw, chapped nostrils in just the right way…

“hh-hhih’chh! Nnggh… Sorry.”

Vera waved off his apology without a word or even looking up from the fragment of ancient text she was examining at a nearby table with practiced care. At this point in their friendship, she seemed to take little more notice of Jakob's sneezing than she did of him simply breathing. After a few moments, though, she turned her attention to him for another reason.

“Jake, what do you make of this?”

“Hm?”

He came to peer over her shoulder at the text, her finger extended to a particular section of the parchment, yellowed with the passing of untold years.

“I think these are Tulyranese runes, but you've always been better with them than me.”

Jakob adjusted his glasses and leaned closer, squinting at the text she’d indicated.

“Mmm, yes. Definitely Tulyranese. Third century, I should think. See the way this first character is drawn? With the sort of looping tail coming off of it? That's typical of the style used in official and religious texts of that era.”

“So, we're looking at this being, what, seven, eight hundred years old?”

“Thereabouts.”

Vera gave an appreciative nod. “Wow. It’s in pretty good condition, then, for its age. I mean, whatever binding this text had is long gone, unfortunately, but the pages themselves are in good shape. The ones that are here, anyway. I’m almost certain they’re part of a larger work.” She glanced up at him before carefully shifting the pages in front of her with gloved hands. “Did you find any more pages in the other crates?”

Jakob shook his head, the motion almost setting off another sneeze. “N-not individual pages, no. -snf- Some scrolls that I’ll have to examine later when I have the proper tools. I’m honestly not even certain any of these items are related. Most of them aren’t even from the same continent, let alone the same era. And I can't believe that nothing is labeled! What sort of ‘museum’ was this place, anyway? No wonder they shut down. I mean, they sent us a cheap replica of the Five Seals of the ruling houses of Schorseau, like the ones they sell to tourists— Wait!”

He placed an urgent hand on Vera’s arm as something on the page she was currently handling caught his eye. With his other hand he pointed to an illustration near the center of the page that depicted a spindle-shaped object with three bands around it.

“That. That object there. That was in one of these crates!”

He whirled around, eyes scanning over a handful of broken pottery, a collection of handheld farming tools, and a number of figures carved from soapstone before his gaze landed on the object in question: an obsidian spindle that was a little longer than his hand and had three metal bands wrapped around it: one around its center and two more on either side of the first, equidistant between the center band and the artifact’s pointed ends. Jakob rushed to retrieve it, so caught up in his excitement that he forgot he had taken his own gloves off a few minutes prior when his hands had begun to sweat inside them.

“Jake, your gloves!” Vera snapped, just as a shock pricked the middle finger of his right hand where it touched the center ring.

He jerked his hand back with a slight yelp as a tingle ran up his arm. “Ah! S-sorry! I- hh-hhih'chh! Hih’CHH! eh-TCHIU! Nnh… I-I wasn't thinking.”

Vera rolled her eyes. “If you develop an allergy to artifacts, I'm forcing you to resign.”

“Oh, hush,” Jakob grumbled as he tugged his gloves back on, “It was only a static shock. It surprised me, that's all.”

His annoyance was quickly forgotten as he took up the artifact and carried it carefully over to the table with the texts. He set it down next to the page with the illustration, a grin hidden by the cloth over his face but present nonetheless.

“Look at the similarities! It's the same shape, the same color, and it has those three bands around it.” He leaned in, examining the metal bands more closely. “Wait, there are carvings here.”

“Tulyranese?”

He slowly shook his head. “I'm not sure… They're very worn. Could be, though. I'll need to examine them with a magnifying glass to say what they are for sure, I think.”

“Still, you're right that this artifact is a very close match to the illustration,” Vera agreed, “It's almost certainly related, somehow. Even if it's not the exact same object, it's at least a similar one or a replica.”

Jakob took the artifact in his hands again, turning it in the light.

“It can't have been a common item. I've never seen anything like it.”

Vera was bent over the pages again.

“You know, Jake… I may not be the best with Tulyranese runes, but I think this says something about a curse.”

He looked at her sharply. “What? A… a curse? Um, l-let me see.”

“Let's hope you were right about that shock just being from static,” Vera said as she stepped aside for Jakob to move in, “Do you feel strange at all? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“Oh, of course not. I feel fine. Well, as fine as I can be on a bad allergy day,” he replied as he began examining the text in detail, “True curses are extremely rare, and I think we'd know by now if we'd set one off.”

“If you’d set one off. I didn't touch the damned thing.”

He shot her what he hoped was a withering glare, but which probably lost much of its effectiveness with the cloth mask on. Then he huffed out a breath and turned back to the text, trying to decipher the runes.

“Alright, let me see here… This first section refers to the First Sovereign Emperor, ‘the one of great wisdom’. It seems he… hid the artifact in, um… someplace underground. ‘The subterranean place, the hidden deeps below the earth, the domain of Death.’”

“So, like, the underworld?”

He held out a hand, palm down, and tipped it from side to side. “Ehhh… The literal translation of these characters for ‘Death’ is ‘That Which Follows’, and there's still some debate on whether they were an actual death deity or a type of… collector of souls.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Well, one causes you to die, the other just sort of waits around for it to happen. Most likely the place it's referring to is a tomb or burial site of some kind.”

“So, if your interpretation is correct, the First Sovereign Emperor of Tulyran hid this artifact in a tomb?”

“I think so, but I'm making a very rough translation here. This next part… seems to be a number of praises for the Emperor. This means ‘to raise one’s lips to the sky’, so they are, ah, shouting their praises. ‘The one of great wisdom’, ‘the ancient power’, ‘the one who… brings changes’? I think?”

He could hear Vera tapping her foot impatiently.

“Okaaay, but is there anything about a curse?”

“I'm checking. I'm checking. Uh… Oh, here's something about ‘trespassing’. Um, ‘those who trespass upon the domain below’, if they ‘violate the’… ‘seal’, I think. They ‘shall be—’” He paused and glanced over at Vera before speaking the next word. “‘—cursed… Banished into shadow for all eternity.’ You were right, it does mention a curse.”

“I knew it! Are you sure you're okay? What if there’s some kind of ancient magic still active on it?”

“I told you, I don't feel any different. The only thing I feel is my damned sinuses itching.” He reached up to rub his nose through the cloth, which was apparently a mistake as it ignited a fresh prickle that flared up from a sore spot at his septum. “Oh dammit, and I fe-feel like I'm gonna- gonna sn- snee-hheeze!”

“Oh, Hell no! Mask or no mask, you are not sneezing on the artifacts!” Vera snapped, shoving his shoulder.

Jakob managed to turn and put his back to the table just as his lungs pulled in a sharp breath.

“Hihh! hh’ishht! Heh-chght! HEH! HH-CHHT! Nnh… S-Sorry. Excuse me.”

As he lifted his glasses to wipe a few tears from his eyes, Jakob turned to find Vera with a hand on one hip and another of her trademarked smirks on her face.

“Maybe you've been inflicted with a sneezing curse.”

He rolled his eyes. “If that's true, then I've been suffering from it my entire life.”

He pulled the cloth mask away from his face so he could blow his nose into his handkerchief, wincing at both the tenderness of his abused nostrils and the sounds he was making. The congestion in his nasal passages was so thick that the air squeaked as he forced it through. His best friend’s expression softened.

“Jake. Go get some allergy meds from the infirmary, and then go home and get some rest. Please.”

“But—”

“No buts. You are a mess. You said you wanted to know what was in the crates. Now you know. I can handle it from here. And these artifacts aren't going anywhere; you'll have plenty of time to study them later.”

Jakob sighed. Vera was not one to back down, especially when she knew she was right. And she definitely was right, though he was loath to admit it.

“Alright, fine.” He allowed a smirk to creep across his own face. “Just don't go hogging all the interesting discoveries, okay?”

Vera put a hand to her chest in mock indignation. “You wound me, sir! Would I do something like that?”

His response was deadpan. “Yes. You have. Repeatedly.”

“Well, okay, but never anything important. Besides, is it so wrong to have a thirst for knowledge?”

Jakob snickered. “Better than some of your other thirsts.”

That earned him a scoff. “You're just jealous that I get all the cute boys. And some of the girls.”

He poked Vera with an accusing finger. “Then I suppose there's more than one area of your life in which you ought to learn how to share.”

Vera gave his arm another shove. “Oh! You are in such a mood today! Are you sure you're not cursed? Or is this still that cat’s fault?” She paused, narrowing her eyes. “What are you going to do with it, anyway? The cat, I mean.”

Jakob rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly abashed. “I don't know… I was thinking, um, maybe I could… keep it for a while.”

Vera looked at him like he'd just declared his intent to marry the animal. “You… want to keep… a cat?”

“Just for a while! Maybe I'll get used to it! And I'll take allergy medicine—”

“You know what? Fine. If it'll get you to actually take your meds, go right ahead. Now go to the infirmary!” Vera grumbled as she practically shoved him out the door of the Archives storage room.

PART THREE: THE MAN

By the time Jakob arrived back at his quarters, he was already feeling better from the dose of allergy medicine he had taken as soon as he'd acquired it at the infirmary. In his hands he carried a small wooden case that held more tiny vials of the pale green elixir, enough to hopefully get him through the next month or so.

He pushed the door to his quarters open carefully, hoping that a little black blur wouldn't dart out and vanish down the street. When nothing appeared in the crack of the doorway, he swung the door in fully and stepped inside.

“Um, kitty? I'm home…”

He checked the plate of fish he had left out and found it clean, which he took as a good sign. Soon after he located the cat itself, curled up asleep at the foot of Jakob’s bed. It raised its head and fixed him with that twilight-purple gaze that struck Jakob so. When it continued to do naught but stare, he felt a sort of weight pressing down on him, like he ought to say something, anything to break the sudden awkward tension. Going with what was literally at hand, he held up the little box.

“I-I got some allergy medicine! Now I won't be, um, sneezing quite so much. Although I suppose I should warn you that I tend to sneeze a fair amount anyway. Just the way that I am…” He trailed off with a self-conscious laugh that dissolved into a defeated groan as he closed his eyes and brought a palm to his face. “Am I seriously talking to a cat?”

Prrrp.

A little trilling sound, almost like a soft chirp. Jakob looked up, found the cat staring at him just as before, but he knew he had not imagined the sound. He was not so foolish as to believe that the cat had actually responded to him out of genuine understanding, but it was the only sound the animal had made since that first pitiful meow in the rain. And it even sounded friendly.

“Oh…”

Jakob deposited the box on an end table and approached the bed. Perhaps it was simple exhaustion, but his steps possessed an almost dreamlike quality, as though he were sleepwalking while awake. He slowly reached out a hand towards the cat, not to grab or even pet it, just close enough for it to smell him if it wanted to. The little black feline leaned in toward his hand, sniffed him once… twice… Then it pressed its small, wet nose against his fingers and rubbed him with its cheek. Jakob could not help the delighted gasp that escaped his lips, followed by a chuckle as the cat brought its face back around for a second rub.

“You like me, huh? Or is this your way of saying ‘thank you’ for bringing you in out of the cold and giving you something to eat?”

Shifting his hand to stroke the cat’s head and down its back, Jakob was pleasantly surprised by the silky softness of its fur. The last time he had touched it, the cat had still been damp with rain, its fur slick and matted to its body. Now that it was dry, he could scarcely believe that he had picked the animal up as a bedraggled stray. This was the sort of cat that Jakob imagined would warm the laps of wealthy ladies or appear in royal portraits.

Maybe the cat was an escaped pet, a fugitive from some noble household who slipped out on a lark that soon became a misadventure. Or perhaps the cat had been spirited away from its home by force, to be sold or held for ransom, and had managed to flee its captors only to be unable to find its way home again.

Jakob felt around the cat's neck, giving it a few chin scratches in the process, but did not feel any evidence of a collar. Not everyone collared their cats, though. The absence of one was no guarantee that the cat was feral. Still, even as he imagined an owner, fretting and distraught over the loss of their beloved pet, there was a part of him that hoped that there was none.

Jakob's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, familiar itch.

“Uh-oh- heh! Etchiu! Etchiu!”

A quick, sharp double sneeze hit him, and he barely had time to turn and bury his face in his elbow. The cat flattened its ears and took a few cautious steps back, though at least it did not outright flee this time.

“Sorry! Sorry. It's not you, it's just me being, um, me. Er, well, it might be you a tiny bit, but it’s not nearly so bad as before.”

As the cat moved across the bed, concern sprouted in Jakob’s chest as he thought he saw it favoring one of its back legs. It had squirmed from his arms so quickly the previous night, and then hadn’t moved much afterwards, so he hadn't noticed anything wrong with its gait then. He scrounged up a bit of string and took a few minutes to observe the cat, teasing it back and forth across the bed. There was indeed something odd about the way it moved its right hind leg: not the pronounced limp of a fresh hurt, but the slight, stiff unevenness of an old wound that never quite fully healed.

Jakob frowned. Perhaps the cat really was a stray. He couldn't imagine that the owner of such a beautiful animal would allow their pet to suffer an injury like that without treatment. At the very least, the animal must have been living on the streets for several months, if not longer. Jakob took a seat on the edge of the bed and tried to coax the little cat nearer again. When it settled within arm’s reach, he went back to stroking its back.

“I'm afraid I'm no healer,” he told it softly, “but I'll do what I can to help you get better.”

Perhaps he was anthropomorphizing the cat too much, but he couldn't help thinking of the purring that vibrated beneath his hand as an expression of gratitude.

For the next several days, Jakob spent his time at work studying the strange artifact and text that he and Vera had uncovered, while his time at home was largely spent bonding with and caring for the cat. Sadly there was not much in the text he could glean about the artifact beyond what he had already translated. Vera was right that the pages appeared to belong to a larger work, and upon closer inspection Jakob determined that they were not consecutive—they all came from different parts of the original book. The page with the illustration was the only one they had that referred to the artifact at all.

The artifact itself was no more forthcoming on the particulars of its purpose and history. The runes carved into the metal bands, when he examined them more closely, did not match any Tulyranese runes Jakob was familiar with, nor any other script he knew besides. It did not possess any moving parts, so far as Jakob could tell, and though he could detect a faint echo of potent magic upon it, whatever power it contained in the distant past was long spent. It would no longer be cursing anyone to the shadows, it seemed, if it ever truly did at all.

As for the cat, Jakob consulted with a veterinary physicker and came home with a healing salve to be rubbed on the cat’s injured leg. The feline in question was surprisingly tolerant of this treatment, much to Jakob's relief. He thought for certain that he would have to hold the cat still in a death grip while he massaged the medicine through its fur and into its skin. Instead the cat lay quietly while he worked on its leg, almost as though it knew that the treatment was intended to help. There was no guarantee that the old wound would ever be fully healed, but after a couple of days of application Jakob swore he saw improvement in the cat’s mobility.

One night after Jakob had come home from the Archives and had already eaten supper, bathed, and tended to the cat’s medication, he lay on his back in bed while the little black cat perched on his chest with all of its paws tucked beneath it, a content purr rumbling in its chest. Jakob stroked it absently with one hand as he mulled over the artifact and the warning of its curse.

“Those who trespass upon the domain below, should they violate the seal, shall be cursed: banished into shadow for all eternity…” he muttered. “I don't think I've been banished to the shadows.”

He looked down at the cat watching him with its violet eyes, and smiled.

“What do you think, hm? Do you think I've been cursed, little one?”

It trilled at him in response, and Jakob chuckled. He grabbed the cat under its front legs and held it up, much to the animal’s consternation judging by the grumpy meow it gave.

“Oh, don't be cross with me. You're so cute! How can I not want to pick you up?”

For a moment he thought the cat might try to scratch him, but it simply lashed its tail and hung there, its back paws resting on Jakob's chest while its forelegs dangled in the air.

“Hm. If you're going to stay with me, I think you'll need a proper name. I'm not sure if you're a boy or a girl, though… Well, perhaps it can just be something neutral. Let's see… Vesper? No… Maybe Noctis? Eh, no. How about… Onyx? Hm, no…”

The artifact text came to mind again, “banished into shadow for all eternity.” In the original Tulyranese, the word for shadow was ahkre. Jakob perked up, pulling the cat back in close so they were nearly nose to nose.

“Ahkre… How about it? Would you like to be Ahkre?”

The cat stared at him, wide-eyed, like he had just personally insulted every single one of its ancestors. Jakob laughed and, with a grin, leaned in to give the cat a little kiss.

Everything went dark.

Weight.

Warmth.

Pressure.

Something was pressed firmly against his mouth. Something warm and wet and delightfully soft. Complete disorientation gripped Jakob's mind like a spider wrapping its prey. What the hell had just happened? In the next moment, sharp clarity pierced the haze as he realized that the thing pressing against his lips was… someone else's.

He was being kissed.

“Mmph?!”

He jerked his head back as far as he could in the limited space. Wave after wave of heat washed across his face, radiated down his arms and legs, and coiled up in his core as he found that he was now being pinned to his bed. By a man.

The man pulled his own face back, his expression just as confused as Jakob felt. His skin was a rich brown that reminded Jakob of river clay, and his face was framed by waves of long, silver-white hair. Jakob flushed even hotter. Oh, stars above, this man looked like he'd been chiseled from stone in the image of a god. High cheekbones. A strong, angular jaw with a perfect dimple in the center of his chin. A long, sharp nose with a slight bump in the ridge of it. Those soft lips that had been on Jakob's own just moments before. The man blinked slowly, like someone just waking from deep slumber, and as they locked gazes Jakob's stomach did a flip.

The man’s eyes were violet, like a band of vivid color across the twilight sky.

“Y-You… you're…” Jakob's voice came out as little more than a squeak, and it was of course at that moment that his traitorous nose prickled with abrupt, urgent intensity. Maybe bringing the cat so close to his face had been a bad idea. Panic began to set in as he realized that his arms were pinned at his sides. He clamped his jaws shut, pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth—anything to hold back from sneezing with this gorgeous man on top of him.

“P-Please, I’m- I'm gonna- hehh!”

No good. His breath hitched in his chest as the tickle insisted—demanded to be satisfied. He screwed watering eyes shut and did the only thing he could: turn his face into his shoulder as far as possible and try his best to stifle.

“G-gonna- heh- heh! HH’ISHHT!”

The man jumped up and sat back on his haunches, still straddling Jakob’s hips on the bed and revealing that he was completely, maddeningly naked. He held up his hands in front of his face, turning them over and over and flexing his fingers with a look of slight terror on his handsome features.

“I-I am so sorry!” Jakob stammered, “I d-didn’t mean to, um… hh’tssh! Sorry! I-I-I just… I mean, you were a- ah! Hih’CHH! Nguh, -snf- Y-you know, a-a cat, and, um… W-weren't you?”

Instead of replying the man scuttled backwards, flailing, and fell against the footboard of the bed with a hoarse, wordless cry that was practically a whimper. Jakob pushed himself up on his elbows and rubbed his nose, forcing the itch into submission for the moment.

“Oh my, are you alright? Well, no, I suppose you're not. You were a cat just a minute ago. You… were the cat, right?”

Jakob rose until he was sitting upright, but still the man didn't answer. Another raspy moan passed his lips, then a cough. He looked on the verge of panic, and it was this, more than anything, that eased Jakob's own nerves a little as the familiar role of caring for the needs of another before his own settled over him like a well-worn pair of slippers.

“H-Hey, it's alright. Don't be afraid.”

No response. He couldn't seem to get through to the man at all, who was hugging his arms around himself as his breath came in quick, shallow pants. Jakob's heart wrenched when he saw tears standing in those beautiful violet eyes. What could he do? There was no handbook for this, no instructions for what to do when the cat you've been keeping for several days suddenly turns human.

“Um… I…” He cast around, as though the answer might be written on the walls, but he knew that nothing and no one was going to swoop in and rescue him. He returned his gaze to the man before him and was suddenly reminded of a lost child, confused and afraid. So Jakob did the only thing he could think of: throw a warm blanket around the man’s shoulders and pat him gently on the head.

“Shh… It’ll be alright. No one's going to hurt you.” He murmured, stroking his hand across the man’s silvery hair. It was soft. Softer than anything Jakob had ever felt, he thought, like strands of silken moonlight. “I won't let anything happen to you.”

The man’s breathing eased. He looked up at Jakob, really focusing on him for the first time.

“That's it. Deep breaths,” Jakob said, keeping his voice low, as though talking down a skittish horse. “I'm, um… Oh, I never told you my name, did I? Well, I-I don't think people usually introduce themselves to cats… Um… B-But anyway, I'm Jakob. Do you… have a name? Er… Can you talk?”

The man’s lips trembled.

“Bh… Buh…”

He gasped, as though the simple act of trying to speak cost him great effort. He swallowed and gazed at Jakob for several eternal moments, straining and clearing his throat, before at last forcing out a whisper:

“B-Balthasar.”

He let out a breath, like a sigh of relief, and sat up straighter, and Jakob's face flamed as he found he was now the one needing to look up. Balthasar had the kind of body that many people would kill for, and not a few would kill over. A man like this had wars fought in his name. And he was sitting naked in Jakob’s bed.

“Um, i-it's nice to meet you, Balthasar.”

Balthasar’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his jaw working with the stiffness of disuse.

“Hh… S-Sorry… I… Mm… This is… strange.” He spoke in a bare rasp, difficult to make out.

Jakob leaned closer to hear. “Strange?”

Balthasar nodded. “Strange,” he croaked. “Strange to… b-be in this… body. Strange to… h-have a voice.”

“Oh…” Jakob nodded slowly, feeling like his thoughts were running through mud. “Er, yes. I-I suppose it would be.”

“I…” Those violet eyes couldn’t quite look at him. “Sorry for… kissing you.”

Another wave of heat washed over Jakob as he waved both hands in front of him. “Oh! N-no, no, it’s fine! Really, I-I think it would be my fault, if anything. B-But I had no idea that, uh, kissing you… would… um…”

“How—” Balthasar broke off and coughed before trying again. “H-How did… you know?”

Jakob looked at him quizzically. “Er, how did I know what?”

“Ahkre. Tynn bat’tam ahkre.”

“Oh, um… Well, I'm an Archivist. A-A historian, I suppose. I’ve been studying this ancient Tulyranese text and artifact…”

Jakob trailed off and his frown deepened. ‘Tynn bat’tam ahkre’ was the original Tulyranese that translated to ‘banished into shadow for all eternity’. He’d only said “ahkre”, so how did this man know the rest of the line from the curse? Jakob's eyes widened.

“Wait, you don't mean— You were under the curse? It turned you into a cat?!”

Balthasar nodded. “Mm. For a long time. I did not… I thought no one could… um…”

He spent a few moments in thought, then made a motion with his hands like he was snapping something.

“Break the curse?” Jakob supplied.

“Yes! Break. I thought no one could break it. I am… I must…”

To Jakob's great surprise, Balthasar suddenly placed his hands in front of him on the bed. He then bowed low, the blanket slipping down from his broad shoulders, and he touched his forehead to the sheets. Jakob couldn't help but notice the way Balthasar's silver hair fanned across the dark skin of his back, his eyes then drawn to the lithe curve of his ass as he bent forward. Jakob's heart began crawling up his throat. When Balthasar spoke, his voice sounded the firmest it had ever been.

“I am in your debt. I pledge myself to you. My life is yours to do with as you see fit.”

Jakob threw a hand over his mouth, his blush volcanic. “P-Pledge yourself? To- to me?! Oh, no. No, no, no. Y-You don't need to do that!”

He reached out and took Balthasar’s shoulder, warm brown skin beneath pale fingers, and urged him to rise. “Please, this is all very strange, and- and honestly a little overwhelming, so c-can we not talk about pledging oneself to one another right now?”

Balthasar looked at him, silver brows drawn together in confusion.

“But… You took me in. Cared for me. Healed me. Broke my curse. I owe you a debt. My life. I have nothing else to give.”

“Th-that doesn't mean—”

Suddenly Balthasar took Jakob's hands in his, a note of desperation entering his voice.

“Please. I will earn my keep. I swear it. I admit, I have a… a reason that is… it is… selfish. I-I…” He looked at their clasped hands and suddenly released Jakob's as though stung, his own face flushing. Then he cast his eyes down into his lap, his shoulders dropping and his long bangs falling across one eye. “I have no home. Nowhere to go. I wish to stay here… with you. Please.”

Jakob took a breath and tried very hard not to consider the implications of the “with you” part.

“But… What about your family?” he insisted, “Friends? Surely they must be worried about you.”

Balthasar did not raise his gaze, only shook his head. “They are gone. All gone. There are none left who mourn my absence.”

Something caught in Jakob's mind, then, puzzle pieces falling into place. Balthasar spoke with an accent he could not place, and the way he had spoken Tulyranese was like that of a fluent speaker.

“Balthasar… How long were you cursed for, exactly?”

He glanced up at Jakob's question, but quickly looked away to the side. As the light from the bedside lamp shifted across Balthasar's striking features, Jakob noticed a smattering of freckles across his cheeks.

“I do not know. A very long time. I stopped… stopped counting the years when I left Tulyran.”

Jakob's jaw nearly dropped. Though he had the suspicion, it still beggared belief. “You… You're actually from Tulyran?”

Balthasar nodded.

“But— But Tulyran has been dead as a civilization for… for… for hundreds of years!”

Again, a silent nod from Balthasar, and Jakob could only continue to gape, leaning in closer.

“Are you telling me that you lived as a cat for centuries?”

Balthasar turned, a flicker of heat behind his violet eyes that made Jakob flinch backwards. In an instant, the air around Balthasar changed: one moment he was steeped in mournful uncertainty, and in the next he radiated quiet strength.

“You do not believe me? My years as a human are a- a fraction of my life. I may as well be more cat than man. I watched as the people around me— they were born, they grew old, and they died. Over and over and over. Undying. Alive within the- the sea of humanity, yet ever an outsider. Witness to life's richest fruits, yet unable to touch. That is the true curse. To do nothing but… watch as everyone and everything you hold close in your heart… leaves you behind.”

By the time he was done speaking, his voice had grown hoarse again. Balthasar's pain was laid bare within his words—words fueled by centuries of torment. Silence reigned in the apartment for a long moment. Jakob knew that nothing he could say could soothe so deep a wound, yet he had to offer what balm he could. He spoke softly, his words infused with a gentle tenderness as he reached out to place his hand on Balthasar's. The other man's hand was large and sinewy, the hand of a warrior, yet it trembled beneath Jakob's fingers.

“I’m sorry. I never meant to imply that I didn't believe you. I do. It's just a lot to take in, that's all. And my gosh, I have so many questions, but…” Jakob swallowed his nerves and took a deep breath. “You can stay with me. For a while, at least. B-But I don't want you pledging your life to me, or anything like that! Um, how about… starting as friends?”

He offered a shy smile, but the one that lit up Balthasar’s own face as he took up Jakob's hand in both of his made the Archivist’s heart skip a beat or three.

“Friends! It would be my honor. You have my deepest thanks, Jakob, my… my friend.”

As Jakob took in Balthasar's dazzling, beaming grin, his expression of pure joy, and the thundering of his own heartbeat like a herd of horses galloping through his veins, one thought suddenly rose above all else:

Stars above. How was he ever going to explain this to Vera?

---------------------

End: "To Have a Voice", the first tale of Cursebreaker.

[bluestrawberrybunny]

Garth from @ask-marios-apprentice asks

I got some asks from some from some friends.

Mario: How does your Mario protect the Kingdom. Garth told me that he is not a SUPER Also congratulations on your wedding.

Peach: What is your Kingdoms government like. Is Peach doing a good job. What are relation with other nations.

Meggy: Meggy. Do you remember our mom and dad. Our biological parents I mean. I sometimes have trouble remembering who they were.

Shigeru Miyamoto: how is the Kopai doing. Does tears of the kingdom do well. We need to know if we can release it in tandem with the new switch in 2022

Ricardo (My dad): Ask if they need you also to kill the artist guy like in the universe with the mutants.

My dad was referring to how SMG4 in the @asksmg4hollowau wanted me to kill Axol because he was showing symptoms of an illness

SMG3: why would I ever want to marry that smooth brain knucklehead. I have me, eggdog, and a cafe i almost have a permit for.

Alice (The Fourth SUPER): ask what was the organized syndicate seem like in their 1950s. I want to know if their Alice stayed fully evil.

I'll see if I can find anyone else who wants to ask questions.

SMG4: Pfft. You would totally say that back then.

SMG3: Oh, shut up! ... baka...

SMG5: Ok, so... let's go question by question...

Mario: Okey dokey! Mario protects the kingdom by being Mario!

Luigi: ... he means the whole avatar thing...

Mario: That's what I said-donkey!

Luigi: Basically, the whole SMG4 crew works together for that. But Mario and I have some special abilities due to being our world's avatars.

SMG6: For the second question... um... our Peach here is... uh... we don't talk to her much after... the... um...

SMG5: Since SMG4 got possessed by a demonic keyboard in his pursuit of perfection and destroyed Peach's castle and kind of left her to rot down there for 2 years as some sort of virus mutant beast and then we snuck down there and then you got possessed by the demonic keyboard as well, and then we had to go in and save you and then we finally turned her back to normal but now she's taller and has 4 arms and white eyes and isn't exactly friendly with the crew anymore but will remain civil?

SMG6: Um... yeah... that...

Meggy: Um... no, sadly I don't remember our biological parents either. Sorry...

SMG5: What is Kopai...?

SMG6: I'll take this one, Bunny! It's doing. Although its more known as Nintendo around here. And Tears of the Kingdom is great! But... try not to... announce the title when the Queen of England dies. Yeah? Yeah.

SMG4: *wheeze*

SMG6: Wait! Controller drift! Get that shit fixed or I swear-

SMG4: Ok. That's enough out of you

SMG6: But Dad!

SMG4: Nope. Don't cus out random interdimensional Miyamotos. You can do that enough in our dimension.

SMG6: Ok...

Melony: You'd better not!

Axol: Yeah... I literally just got brought back from the dead a year ago... please don't kill me again...

SMG4: *laughing* Hey 3... wanna answer that last question?

SMG3:

SMG3: No

SMG4: Awwww... :(

SMG3: Listen, if other dimension me is asking why I'd marry SMG4 he's either lying to himself or has 0 feelings towards his SMG4, so... not answering

SMG5: SMG3 HAS HAD A CRUSH ON SMG4 SINCE BEFORE SNOWTRAPPED AND HE SAID THAT HE IS VERY IN LOVE WITH SMG4 AND WOULD DIE AND KILL FOR HIM AND THINKS HE IS ADORABLE AND ACTUALLY FINDS HIS JOKES FUNNY AND WANTS TO SQUISH HIS FACE AND KISS IT ALL DAY!

SMG3: ...

SMG5: I know. I read his diary.

SMG3: ...

SMG5: He also wants to do unspeakable and unholy things to him.

SMG3: I hope you die

SMG5: Damn. Rude.