#their care is what ultimately doomed them

[the-girl-with-too-many-ideas]

A bit of a thought, but what if, just like SJ shackled himself to Cang Qiong for YQY, YQY did the same thing for SJ.

Shen Jiu has absolutely no backing, no family, no wealth to fall back on, nothing. All he has is his Qi-Ge, who also has no backing.

Not until he becomes Sect Leader, then he has the support of the top sect backing him up.

All he wants is to protect his Xiao Jiu, but he can't do that without power. Spending years in a sect filled with young lords and mistresses, he quickly learns that power and money talk. If you have enough of it, nothing can touch you. So if his at the very top, he can make sure nothing can hurt or take SJ away again.

YQY who clawed himself to the very top and became The Head Disciple, the one to inherit the sect. YQY, who, much like SJ, managed to convince everyone that he was something that he wasn't. A young master from a respectable family, not an orphan slave with nothing to his name.

People seem to forget that this man raised Shen Jiu himself up until he was twelve. As well as the fact that he literally broke his soul trying to go save him faster.

(Which sort of brings up an interesting question: Does YQY trust any of the peak lords, excluding SJ? Because doesn't the fact that he shows his bias so openly, and they know nothing about either of their pasts, speak to a lack of trust. This man went feral when he received SJ legs. He probably doesn't trust people who are actively hurting the most precious thing in his life, his Xiao Jiu, right in front of him.

He can't trust that they won't weaponize SJ's past against him if they find out, so how can he trust in them when he can't entrust them with his Xiao Jiu? How can he trust that these people who come from privilege won't try to strip either of them from their power or even condem them for their past? They may have his respect and faith in their abilities, but never his trust.)

[wowthatsextra]

Not everyone gets Dawson and Joey like I do and that's okay (i say as i'm totally not screaming into my pillow over the most fascinating codependent relationship ever)

[an-eldritch-peredhel]

#dang it do i have a new oc now

Sounds like!! I'd love to hear more if you've got it!

(referring to my tags on this post)

You will meet a stranger, sometimes, if you make a habit to frequent taverns, inns, halls for game, or even the one tree where the young Bracegirdle cousins sneak off to play marbles. Well, you will like as not meet many strangers, except in the last case, but this one will be different. Or perhaps you get lucky, and don't frequent such places, but find yourself in one unexpectedly, and meet them regardless.

Everyone in Gondor knows someone who knows someone who met Lady Luck, no one has met her themself. If you do, starry-eyed romantics say, you'll be blessed with good fortune for all your days. The pragmatists tell you you'll be blessed with the good sense to discern a scam.

He may smirk at you after winning a bet, some dark-haired man, using his earnings to buy a round for the bar. It's always a different man, but it always goes to Alwed's tab. It keeps the crowd from getting too rowdy, even if the more superstitious get on edge.

No one remembers meeting them the first time, but dwarves with common sense avoid Audr's shell games and silver-toothed smile- you always win, but it's never worth it.

A woman with greying-gold hair and stiff fingers might call herself Eadrun, and challenge you to a game of dice. Few decline, and far fewer win.

For as few elves remain in Middle Earth, the one who calls himself Herendil and laughs as though his name is a joke should be recognizable. He seems young and lighthearted in a way most have lost, but he will play you cards, win just as much as he loses, and disappear, never recognized.

A hobbit-lass may giggle, red curls gleaming in the sun, and introduce herself as Peony Sandheaver, her family is visiting from Bree, and she wants to see how Shire-hobbits play Jacks.

Sometimes an orc prays over a set of knucklebones, knowing that at least one god will hear one prayer. Orcs have little luck in battle, but uncanny luck with dice.

There are countless stories, just as many true as not. Countless names, far more unnamed figures, always just out of place enough wherever they are to be interesting and promise new tales, never enough to provoke suspicion, not at first.

Even those in the Blessed Realm may find this dark-eyed stranger. Always dark-eyed, like bottles of dark glass. They stop by Aulë's workshop on occasion, to learn and suggest and play new games. They never win the first round, but most have the sense not to bet anything they aren't willing to lose on the second.

Oromë's people call them Umbarnica with a laugh and a toast in welcome. They thrive in the drunken revels after a successful hunt, sharp as ever as they dance from game to game, cackling at ill-advised propositions offered as collateral for or against a bet. Usually this means them winning to avoid it, a frequent enough occurrence as-is, but every now and then they'll decide to let someone get lucky. The bragging rights are the real reward.

And there are no guarantees with this stranger. No way to ensure their favor, though many ways to get their attention, few good. They like irony, take pleasure in hubris reaching its fall. They love superstition, even if they don't always honor it, and they love stories. There are gods that can be mistaken for kind, they are not one of them, created to serve the king the Dark Lord could have been. Their favorites are fickle, their grudges subtle but long-held. They love cheaters, unless they're at the end of the attempt. They will always catch you, and you will always regret it. They slink through candle-shadows and pipe-smoke, grinning, dance in town squares turned to faire grounds, curl up on comfy chairs indoors on rainy days.

But sometimes, in these days, you won't meet a stranger at all. Sometimes your storyteller will get a bright-dark glint in their eyes, and some dice will roll strangely high and some dice will roll strangely low and either way the story will be better for it. And if the next time the group meets you need to take a moment to remind the storyteller exactly what happened last session, well. That's why you take notes.

So pray to the dice-god, card-master, quick-sighted. It might do you no good, but they love superstition, and they love stories. And when you play a dark-eyed stranger, don't cheat at cards.

[micwrs]

rotating akechi in my brain so hard

im afraid to try my hand at actually writing him but oh he is in my head. he's crazy. im crazy. and i would let him take my hand and lead me into the depths of our shared craziness

i diagnose him with bpd and he's in love with yet despises the phantoms

[fionnaskyborn]

current mood:

[barnbridges]

every single time i see anOTHER work in this fandom be like marion and bunny didn't even care that much i'll literally go to the author's home and like. dropkick them.

[lcverwrites]

the lovers ― aegon targaryen

summary ... aegon had never known the tender touch of love, from the cradle as a babe, he was cursed to be unlovable. his mother held no love for him, only the safety he provided her. his father never spared him a glance, to sickness struck to see past his golden daughter. his siblings were indifferent to him, never really having the want to dig past his drunkard front. but then came her... aegon never understood why she loved him, what she saw in him that others could not, what he could not see in himself. but thank the gods above, there was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her devotion, because the unlovable had finally found someone who loved him; and who he loved in turn. pairing ... aegon ii targaryen x tyrell!reader (wife reader) warnings ... self loathing, talks of being unlovable, strained family dynamics, targcest (mentioned, but not seen), hurt/comfort, angst, trying to heal from unhealthy relationships, mentions of drinking, supportive wife mode note ... I want this fictional man a healthy amount, as you can clearly see. I might make some more things for this couple in the future, cause they've been on my mind for a loooong time. I just want to love this man for a second, after the shit storm they put him through this season. Let me know if you want more of aegon x tryell!reader, perhaps some smut between these two lovers 😏🫶🏻

⠀⠀⠀Voices spoke muffled words around Aegon, drowning him in their monotonous sounds, unimportant and distant from his thoughts. Aegon knew he should have been listening to his merriment of council members, they were talking about the needs of the realm, the wants of the smallfolk, the unwarranted needs of the already wealthy lords and ladies in his court, the impending doom awaiting them across the sees, with his sister plotting to take the crown from his very head.

The crown she was once promised, The Realms Delight was worlds away now, and the crown snuggly sat upon Aegon's head, the doing of the Mother and Grandsire, the controlling hands that guided Aegon under the guise of their affection and want to see him succeed, to bring the promised peace Viserys once spoke about.

But Aegon knew better now.

His mother held no love for her eldest son. She held him at arms length, with contempt, her lips pursed as if she couldn't ever fathom smiling at her own son. With a faux guiding hand, never reaching for a tender touch, only a harsh slap to awaken him from thoughts of straying from the path laid out for him. Alicent Hightower liked to believe she loved her children to the best of her ability, but Aegon knew better, knew that her love came with conditions, and Aegon's was to keep the safety of her family, even if he was killed in the process.

His Grandsire was a bitter old man, who reached above his station as hand of the king, all but ready to snatch the crown from Aegon himself. He was the driving force for Aegon's ascension, seeing the malleable drunk as a way to reach his ultimate prize, to be King through Aegon. There wasn't a bone in Otto Hightower that cared for Aegon past the power he could bring him.

Aegon could hear his mothers docile voice, sweeter than those of the men whom sat around her. Her words blurred into a flurry of movement, her lips parts around the words he wasn't taking in.

He watched his mother. Seeing his lips in her mirror image, full and pink, a slight downtick in the right corner, a frown always threatening to take her tender disposition by the throat. He could see the shape of her eyes, wide like a doe, but all innocence was washed away by a bland rage that barely simmered beneath their dark pools of amber liquid, subdued and boring. She could see her picking at the skin of her nailbeds, a bad habit she never outgrew in her youth, a habit she passed onto Aegon, if his red and raw nails were a certain sign.

He could see so much of himself in Alicent, in his own mother, a mirror into Aegon's soul. But all she could see in Aegon was his father, and she despised him for it.

His gaze traversed from his mother, to the stoic statue was his brother. Foreboding and concealed all at the same time, Aemond was a fearsome foe.

Aemond spoke little, hums of approval passed his sealed lips, displeased puffs of air fled from his nose. When words did leave his lips, they were precise, vicious and cold in the manner, strait to the point, never one to flounder and flaunt with unnecessary grandeur. He spoke as if he were a worldlier man, knew the bitterments was war and what was required to secure their victory, through fire and blood, through destruction and death. Aegon didn't know if it meant their own destruction or their foes, Aemond's want for power knew now bounds.

It's what desired him to his Grandsire.

He saw a likeness in Aemond that he didn't see in Aegon, and he held hatred and resentment for his oldest grandson.

Aemond paid no mind to Aegon, as if he was not there, the chare beneath him empty, no figurehead to be seen. He spoke to the counsel with the convection of a King, hand perched on the hilt of his sword, as if ready to strike at any given moment, lest one of the lords spoke against him, as if it were treason.

As young boys, Aegon and Aemond were like most boys he supposed. They poked and prodded at one another, until one of them bled, pleading for the other for mercy, running and crying to their mother. Often it was Aegon tormenting Aemond for his lack of dragon, for being the boring little know it all, smacking him against in the training yard in the name of bettering his skills, but Aegon wanted his little brother to feel even just a moment of the bitter resentment he felt feasting in his insides, sloshing around with the sweetened wine he drank himself into a stupor with.

He wanted his brother to feel small, unwanted, unloved, just as he felt. But no matter what Aegon did, his brother would always have their mother behind him, caressing his with the tender touch he craved. The lick his wounds with her tender voice, chaste kisses to the crown to his head, all the while berating Aegon in the same breath.

Aegon knew he shouldn't have treated Aemond so, they were both circumstance of their family, they were the only people who could truly understand each other, but resentment flooded Aegon's bones, strengthening his hatred for everyone whom shared his blood, and couldn't taste the bitter bite of his flesh.

Aemond resented Aegon for what he was given, just because he had the audacity to be born first. He was given the crown of their founding family, he was given the undeserving respect of the smallfolk, he was given the time and energy the the King's counsel. He was given the best tutors and training teachers, but he never respected what has trust upon him, not in the way Aemond would have welcomed him. Now his brothers days were spent on the throne he desired so, drunk in his cups and stupidly stuttering around like the idiot Aemond has always known Aegon to be.

Aegon leaned back in his uncomfortable chair, hand reaching out to play with the ball before him, the marble feeling cool beneath his heated palms. He felt as of he were just melting into the wood beneath him, and no one seemed to notice.

Except...

A hand reached for his arm, a delicate little thing, decorated with gentle rings that glimmered in the afternoon light, shimmering shades of glittering gold, azure blue and brilliant emerald. The smooth skin of a palm caressed his forearm, thumb digging into the malleable skin beneath his wrist, as if she knew he was slowly floating away, grounding him to this moment, to her touch.

Oh but she....

She was a marvellous thing. Aegon hadn't seen anything so precious in his life, so delicate, so wonderfully beautiful. There weren't enough words in the world for Aegon to describe her, nothing could ever truly do her justice, and he had tried, many a times, much to her amusement.

The Lady Tyrell had been a gift Aegon knew he wasn't deserving of, it was as if the gods were cursing him to gaze upon the mirror of the Maiden, but never being good enough, strong enough, smart enough to be worthy of even a glimpse in his direction. Aegon would only think himself lucky enough to dream about her gentle touch, to be the lucky man whom would receive her affection, to have her smile at him in a manner he'd never seen a maiden smile before.

Her smile started small, only an upward pulling in the right corner of her lips, inch by inch, her pretty pink lips would stretch in the most delicious curve, revealing the pearls of her teeth, little creased would dip in the skin of her cheeks as she would freely smile, a crinkle would form in her nose, her eyes would glitter with a golden looking happiness, as if you were the centre of her world in that very moment, the very reason she was smiling, like you were the only thing that could make her happy.

Aegon wished he could bottle the feeling her smile encapsulated, pure and true happiness unlike anything Aegon has felt before.

How could a persons smile be so contagious?

Despite his reservations, the Lady Tyrell held no contempt for him. She gazed upon him as if she were seeing him for what he was and she was willing to accept him, bitter soul and all.

The Lady Tyrell squeezed his arm, only once, and it was enough to have Aegon retreating from the narrow tunnel he was burrowing himself into. His gazed picked up from the marble to look upon the visage of his wife.

His Wife.

They'd been married when they were ten and three respectively, much to young to be married, but as is the way Aegon supposed. He hadn't even been given the chance to speak with her, before it was announced in the King's Counsel that they were to be married.

But they've come a long way from those scared children they had been all those years ago.

But the one thing that hadn't changed, was the devotion and love she had bestowed upon Aegon. Day in and day out, there wasn't a moment in time where she didn't love him.

"Perhaps the counsel should take a breath" Her melodic voice pierced through his muffled thoughts, like it always did, his every being was tuned into every sound and moment she made.

"Pardon, your grace?" Lord Lannister paused a moment, looking at her with a look of confusion.

"You have been discussing for hours now" She mildly replied, keeping an easy smile on her lips, looking like the pliant woman they demanded she be. "If we were to be attacked by our foes, they would have done so already, surely you all see this"

"Just because it hasn't happened, does not mean it will not happen" Otto Hightower's condescending voice bounced around the room, looking down upon the Lady Tyrell, as if she were a speck of dirt on his boot.

Aegon clenched his fist, loathing that she was rained down upon by Otto's hatred because she was connected to Aegon.

She never seemed to waiver beneath his gaze, nodding demurely at the Hand, as if she were bending to his whims.

"I do not disagree my Lord" She announced. "But perhaps we have spoken on the themes of war for much to long"

"Your Grace, forgive me for speaking so candidly--"

"Then do not"

All eyes turned to Aegon, who for the first time since the counsel had gathered, had found himself voicing the words that had been rattling around in the back of his throat.

"The Queen has excused you" Aegon bluntly replied, leaning further back in his seat, pulling his arm along with him, turning it just so, allowing his palm to slide right along her. Their fingers gliding together like magnets pulling them together, locking them in place.

Aegon relished the feeling of her warm palm beneath his own, smooth skin against his own rough calloused skin, like silk against leather. The cool metal of her rings biting into his warm skin, a zinging shock to his system.

"Aegon, the counsel needs to speak about--" Alicent tried to gage her son back into the conversation, but Aegon was already detached from everything that was her.

"Your King has dismissed you" Aegon interrupted his mother.

Aegon looked to his mother, seeing her lips parted in surprise. She wasn't used to Aegon snapping at her so, he had always been so willing to bow to his mother, wishing for her affection in return.

But he now knew what love without restraints and conditions tasted like, he craved the affections of his wife, whom would willingly allow him to be loved without limits.

"Fuck off" Aegon waved off the counsel.

He didn't even watch as each member grumbled up their breath about something or the other. He didn't notice the shared look of concern on his Mother and Grandsires faces, he didn't see the glare Aemond had wagered his way, icy and void of any brotherly affection. He didn't see any of it, and if he had, he wasn't sure he would care.

Not when she was gazing upon him as she always had.

With love.

"You may have been too crass my love" She smiled as the last of the counsel left the room, the foreboding doors slamming closed behind Otto Hightower himself, sealing himself out of reach of the King.

"They are a bunch of power hungry cunts" Aegon shrugged.

"Be that as it may" She conceded with a soft smile. She pushed herself from her seat, keeping her hand within Aegon's, walking around her corner of the table, until she was standing directly beside the chair Aegon was currently lounging in. "They are here because they support your cause"

Aegon huffed a breath through his nose.

He used their connected hand to haul his wife's body into his lap, she fell willingly into his embrace, wrapping her free arm around his shoulders.

"I do not wish to speak about them anymore" Aegon announced, shifting his wife further into his lap, until the side of her body was pressed firmly against his chest, the warmth of her body radiating through the thick fabric of her dress.

"Then we shall not" She decided, resting her forehead against his temple.

In this moment, Aegon hadn't ever imagine he would feel a love like this. He couldn't have ever pictured someone would love him for what he was, not for what he could give them.

He placed a gentle kiss against her cheek, enticing a soft smile to paint her pink lips.

Whatever god had decided to bring the two lovers together, he was praying that nothing would bring them apart.

[dalekofchaos]

Doctor Doom gets ruined AND WHITEWASHED AGAIN!

4 attempts to get Doctor Doom right

4

And we STILL can’t get this right

A master of magic and science. A man who rivals Doctor Strange and Reed Richards as the most powerful sorcerer and the smartest man alive. He rules an entire country with an army of Doombots. Considered to be one of the greatest Marvel villains. And they still can't get him right. They have to make him a fucking Tony Stark variant. Tony Stark is not Victor Von Doom and Doom is above Tony Stark.

Victor wearing the mask always is integral to his appeal and aura like Vader's mask. It not only hides his vain scars he caused due to his failures, but it closes him off from humanity and makes him believe he’s beyond it.

As far as I'm concerned Marvel Ultimate Alliance and EMH are the only good adaptations of Doom

Doctor Doom being a romani man with a background CENTERING his family's racial persecution. with his ethnicity at the forefront of his motivations and his tragedy. and they really just brought back Robert Downey Jr.

Being romani is INTEGRAL to doom’s character and without that he’s not doom. he NEEDS to be romani and played by a romani character. full stop, don't believe me? Read Book Of Dooms.

Since 1964 Victor von Doom has been established as a Romani character. His childhood was filled with antiziganism and his parents deaths were caused by it. This later led him to become Doctor Doom and overthrow the Latverian government to protect his people

I am so fucking sick and tired of this whitewashing bullshit and the ethnoerasure of Marvel characters.

The Maximoff Twins, The Ancient One, Moon Knight and now fucking Doom.

God fucking forbid an actual Romani actor PLAYS A ROMANI CHARACTER.

But no they pulled another fucking multiverse shit all so RDJ could return and it all feels like blackface from Tropic Thunder

I DON'T GIVE A FUCKING SHIT ABOUT ANTHONY STARK FROM EARTH-11029 OR INFAMOUS IRON MAN

If you wanted evil Iron Man so fucking bad, why didn't you just do Superior Iron Man?

The LAZIEST, DUMBEST, most CONTRIVED BULLSHIT casting ever, Marvel continues to not beat the whitewashing allegations. Doctor Doom deserved better.

Romani actor Charlie Clapman was right fucking there AND HE ENDORSED IT!

I'd even suggest Romani actor Óscar Jaenada as Doom. Again another Roma actor who's actively interested in playing Doom

And you know what? As bad as the 1994 movie was, Joseph Culp the first actor to play Doom in the Fantastic Four (1994) movie by Oley Sassone & Richard Corman. Culp was also white but he very clearly cared for the comics background of Victor von Doom

and you also know damn well they're going to erase everything about Magneto too that makes him who he is… which is his entire fucking background. how horrible of a person do you have to be to repeatedly disrespect the minorities who created these stories?

Doctor Doom is Roma Romani. He is not white. The MCU loves to whitewash its Roma and Jewish characters and it’s time we called them out for it. Dr Doom is not a white man, he is Roma!

They will never nail down the complexity of Victor Von Doom

Every year Doom goes to hell to fight Mephisto to rescue the soul of his mother. He finally won her soul with the help of Doctor Strange only for her to reject him.

No evil Stark replicant will ever fucking match the complexity of Victor Von Doom.

I don't care if this is a one time thing for RDJ. They specifically chose to do this when the fans were begging for a fucking Romani actor. It also doesn't fucking help that Marvel has erased nearly EVERY fucking ethnic character has been whitewashed.

Scarlet Witch & Quicksilver: Erased Romani heritage and whitewashed. Moon Knight & Wiccan: Casted non-Jewish actors. Sabra: Featured in anything at all, and actress is an IDF soldier to make matters worse.

The MCU is full of ethnic erasure, military propaganda & racism. it’s disgusting this is continuing with Dr Doom’s casting. remember to continue to boycott marvel, because of the genocide they support by casting an iof solider to play a character from the zionist terrorist occupation

Dr Doom is one of those villains that it should be IMPOSSIBLE to fuck up but wasting him on a cheap Iron Man nostalgia casting pop might be the way

[princessbrunette]

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … TASTE ♡

track one of the short n’sweet series. pairing: bunny!reader x puppy!reader — based loosely off the song taste by sabrina carpenter. disclaimer: this story is based in a separate universe to the usual pogue!puppy / bunny!reader universe! enjoy ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა

sometimes, relationships just don’t work out.

it wasn’t totally surprising — and looking back on it, to pup — it seemed as though it were doomed from the start. they were from totally different worlds, rafe being a kook and pup being a pogue and at first, truly she found it kind of romantic. the whole montagues versus capulet type of vibe that made her only wanna pin herself harder to rafe cameron’s side.

what made her love him was ultimately their downfall. he was downright mean most days, from the way he’d tug her about to the way he’d shake her head anytime she did anything he deemed too pogue-ish. rafe cameron is one of those few men that are so gorgeous that they could get away with murder, quite literally — so it wasn’t to anyone’s surprise that she put up with him for so long. that cruelty that she allowed was a reflection of how she truly felt about herself on the inside. undeserving of respect. each time he’d fuck her into the mattress with her face planted into a pillow, creaming uncontrollably around his base — she’d be revelling in the physical affection no matter how rough and violating it came across— even more so when he’d hold her at the end of it. always short lived, always fleeting, always made her feel better.

she’d escaped that relationship to learn how to love herself. with experience now under her belt gained from the kook himself, she was free to navigate the world and search for someone that just might touch her with a gentle hand. gone were the days she craved a strike to the cheek or blunt fingernails gripping into her ass. softness was what she needed, and by god she’d find it.

she didn’t actually think she’d care to think about him much more down the line a few months later— he was merely a thing of the past and honestly puppy was doing a lot better because of it. but unsurprisingly, old feelings were surely drug up when the kook boy who she forgot to unfollow all but jumpscared her on her instagram feed. not his usual self worshipping post of him on a yacht, no— it was her old rafe, with a girl on his arm. clinging to him just like pup did.

the girl was tagged, and puppy didn’t hesitate to press. it was just curiosity, she told herself as she scrolled down the sea of pink feed this mystery girl had created— a couple of pictures with rafe already posted. she was jaw dropping, a kook no doubt from the looks of her bedroom in the background of her mirror selfies. a prom queen, as titled in one of her posts with a tiara from a good few years ago at the bottom of her feed and an ex beauty pageant baby judging by the throwback thursday pinned in her highlights. there was this gentle yet pampered and spoiled energy around her like the world fell at her feet. a fluffed up, well fed bunny rabbit in a hutch of gold.

pup started to see bunny around more and more since finding her instagram. the pogue girl would find herself ever so slightly ducking out of vision upon spotting the two of them loading up onto rafes boat as she sailed past. her skin seemed to glow in the sunlight and pup wondered if rafe was the one to massage the sunscreen oil into her skin, taking extra time to massage it into the plush skin of her ass, even smirking when she squealed and told him to watch his hands in public. as they stand at the pier, rafe has a gentle hand on her lower back, fingers tucked ever so slightly into the waistband of her bikini. he looks… soft, and non threatening. touching her like she was made of glass, touching her gentler than he ever touched puppy.

puppy’s heart all but stopped in her chest when she served bunny at the checkout of the store she worked in. she supposed rafe couldn’t have been far, sending bunny in alone as to not have an awkward run in with her knowing she worked there. a part of pup wanted bun to be rude. she was a kook after all — and aren’t exes supposed to hate the new girl? of course, she was nothing of the type. sweet and patient, with good eye contact and a perfect smile. it should have made pup’s blood run cold. should have.

instead, pup buried herself in the weird guilt that sat on her chest when she’d find herself typing bunny’s instagram handle into the search bar and sliding a hand down her shorts a few nights later, in need of quick relief. she told herself it was purely physical, a strange bodily reaction to jealousy and comparison — and the fact that bun had her tits hanging out her top in every picture, and pup could distinctly remember the way her ass cheeks jiggled as they hung beneath her short hemline when she exit the store she works at. nothing more than a quick, weird orgasm.

bunny had heard whisperings of the girl rafe was with before she arrived in kildare. a pogue, not that it mattered but she was simply surprised. by the way rafe spoke so ill of those from the other side of the island, bun couldn’t help but wonder what that relationship looked like, why it ended, how. she tried to be subtle in asking around of course, purely out of curiosity — but words to quell a non existent insecurity were thrown vaguely her way instead, quick to put down the other woman. “you’re so much better with rafe. it just makes sense, you know? that girl before you… sheesh, i don’t know. pretty girl, but a real scruffball. i don’t know what rafe was thinking.”

the same thing carried through when she even tried to ask rafe, who simply scoffed and shrugged her off with a “why? who— who cares about that bitch.” before continuing on with his heavy petting, moving in to kiss her jaw. bunny turned her head away in thought.

bun’s heart rate picked up a bunch when they started to kiss. she must’ve been a sick perv for feeling curious, because each time rafes tongue passed over hers she could only imagine how many times the same wet muscle would glide through the pretty pogues folds to land up near her clit. she wondered if he ever treat her that well. she wondered if you deserved it.

when puppy heard that rafe had been speaking ill of her at the country club once more, she didn’t think — just immediately marched to tanny hill to confront him. perhaps it was unwise of her to think rafe cameron could be mature enough to handle a breakup without talking down on her — but regardless, she had done too much healing and growing to let things slide.

with blood pumping in her ears and anger thrumming in her gut she marched right into the open doors of tanny hill, figuring he’d be home. but after calling his name a good few times, demanding his presence in the foyer — she decided to go looking for him herself, mary-jane converse plodding up the stairs in the direction of his bedroom. a chill settles over her skin at not only the eerie silence, but the fact it had been a long time since she’d taken this oddly familiar journey.

swinging open the doors, pup is met with a gut wrenching sight. it wasn’t him stood before her, but bunny— and she’s clad in a stupid little pink silk robe.

“oh i’m not — i was coming to find rafe because— he’s — he is being an asshole.”

bunny looks nothing close to surprised. infact, she moves slow— blinking her dolly eyelashes as she takes it all in. pup was the last person she’d expected to see, and yet it was not unwelcomed. she wondered why she wasn’t shocked regarding an acquaintance barging angrily into the house. why she’d felt her presence from a block away.

“i know.” she breathes, and it’s all she says.

twenty seven minutes later, and pup finds herself on her back in rafe cameron’s bed once more— months after she told herself it was the last time. though it wasn’t rafe that had her throwing her head back and digging her pastel-painted nails into the sheets, it was the glittering cloud of woman between her thighs, lapping up each drop of juice that seeps from the peak.

bunny is hungry— she’d never eaten a girl out before but god does she know what she likes, twirling her tongue like a tiny ballet dancer in circles around pups poor swollen clit. the pogue is beside herself, feet pressed flat to the bed so she could raise her hips and hump against the girls mouth. she’s sure she’d had a dream like this once that she tried to erase from her mind.

knocked back by the force of puppy’s humps, bun pulls back to look at the girl all bleary eyed and fucked out, lips glossy despite her makeup being wiped off a while ago from their frantic, confused and desperate kisses.

“s’it your first time? rafe never…” she whispers, like saying his name made it more likely they’d get caught.

pup shakes her head, broken out of her trance with a wobbling bottom lip. “n—no. never. he said— said i wasn’t — he just wouldn’t—”

“oh gosh.” bunny sighs in disappointment. “literally can’t imagine why not.” her manicured fingers spread pups puffy folds, and she whimpers in arousal as she watches the pogues pretty clit twitching in desperation to be sucked on again. “i jus’ dont know what it is…” her hot breath kisses pups clit anyways. “but ever since i knew who you were… jus’ wanted to know what it was like…” she smears her lips around the area pup needed her the most, if there was any lipgloss left over it would have transferred to her skin. “to taste you.”

pup had to say, the feeling was mutual.

[cosmicjoke]

You know what's really screwed up about Eren's confession to Armin in the end? He admits to Armin that he knew only 20% of the human population would be saved, that 80% would perish, and even knowing that, he still went ahead and enacted the Rumbling. He knew the conflict wouldn't be solved, or ended, by enacting the Rumbling, because he knew the future, and knew that he wouldn't succeed in wiping out the entirety of humanity beyond the walls. He knew by enacting the Rumbling, he would only worsen the conflict and ensure its continued existence. He knew, in the end, that he was in fact dooming Paradis, not saving it. And he did it anyway. He did what he wanted anyway. That's why Armin gets so upset and angry at him, why he asks him so emphatically "why?", because he realizes what Eren is saying, what he's confessing to being. If anyone ever had any doubt, or actually thought Eren did it to save Paradis or the Eldian's or his friends, his confession to Armin at the end unequivocally proves otherwise. Eren did it because he wanted to. Because he wanted to see the sight of an empty, desolate world. That's what ultimately broke Eren, having to be faced with the truth of his own monstrosity. He couldn't hide from it, even as he initially lies to Armin and tries to tell him he did it to save his friends. Eren was a monster. Tragic for how he genuinely cared about his friends, genuinely loved them, but he couldn't put them over his own, selfish desires, and couldn't overcome his own, horrendous nature. Eren is a cautionary tale too, for what happens when we persecute others, and blame others and collectively punish others for things they didn't do. Eventually, it leads to someone gaining power who shouldn't have it. An idiot like Eren, a child like Eren. He never matured as a human being. He never grew. He retained the selfishness of a child to the very end. And we see then what a person like Eren does with that power. Truly terrifying.

[folkling]

SLASHED A 12 Day Spooky Season CAS Challenge 🩸💀

Hi friends! It's getting closer to one of my favorite holidays, and I thought I'd make a CAS challenge to help bring in the spooky season. I've had this challenge in mind for a while, and now is the perfect time for it. I love slasher films, Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, you name it. So, that's the theme of this CAS challenge. No rules, these are your slasher film characters. Just share, tag me (I'd love to see), and have fun!

Remember, use #windbrookslashed

*update: Day 6 “The Sacrifice” now encapsulates “The Fool” (stoner/ and or comic relief) character archetype - more details in glossary*

Find a character glossary below

Character Glossary

The Final Girl

Usually the one that survives the onslaught, they give the killer a run for their money

The Jock

A douche. They’re arrogant, irresponsible, and usually one of the ones to die first.

The Bad Girl

Flirtatious, sexy, and catty to a fault. Usually stuck up. They mean well, but ultimately cares only for themselves.

The Outcast

Responsible and level-headed, they're often perceived as a "Debby Downwer".

The Academic

Nerdy, kind-hearted, and loyal. They're either finding clever ways to outwit the killer or making the cast easy prey - by accident of course.

The Sacrifice/The Fool

We care about them, they’re funny and relatable. Usually ridiculed by The Jock and The Bad Girl. As much as we care about them, they typically die a gruesome death, ultimately warning the others of just what kind of danger their in.

The Skeptic

“See it to believe it” is their motto, and by then it's usually too late.

The Meddler

If there's a demonic ritualistic book locked by key, they're usually going to find a way to pry it open. Everyone suffers because of them, everyone.

The Harbinger

A creepy old person usually warning the main cast to stay far away from whatever impending danger they seem to be crashing into.

The Detective

Thinks they know best, and the main cast hates them for this. They're always poking around, checking things out. Typically they're a blessing to The Final Girl, helping best the killer, or a curse, in which you're happy to see them die.

The Hunter

Knows the killer's weakness and the best way to beat them. The Final Girl typically teams up with them to finally nail the killer. Usually, they're considered the other final character to survive.

The Killer

Iconic. The bringer of doom. It gives them pleasure to pick of the cast, reveling in their own cat and mouse game. No matter their backstory, it always leads to slaughter in the end.

[charmwasjess]

Still thinking about Galidraan, about the Legends vs Canon treatment of Dooku’s character, namely his exit from the Jedi. 

It’s funny how much it matters to me and improves Dooku’s story that he didn’t leave the Jedi out of growing disillusionment with the Order itself. In the current canon, it’s all framed around a very Padme-esque disenchantment with current political makeup of the Republic, the Jedi being used by the Senate and political machines inappropriately, and how planets with little wealth or influence are left out. In the penultimate moment of crisis, he leaves for Serenno, not because he can’t be a Jedi any longer. Because of a conviction that he could truly make something better. 

And I don’t mean to suggest that he never expresses any criticism of the Jedi or particularly, the Council. He seems to have founded that characteristic trait within the Disaster Lineage. (Ironically, the person in Dooku’s story who should have the most legitimate reason to have a personal problem with the Jedi Order is fucking Sifo-Dyas, who never seems to have considered leaving and literally dies telling the camera he did it all to save the Jedi, but that’s a different post.) But that isn't what compels Dooku to leave. In fact, he remains close with the Order for years afterward.

Why it matters to me is because that detail makes Dooku ultimately betraying the Order SO MUCH MORE FUCKED. 

Because they weren’t an old score he was settling. It wasn't seething resentment that boiled out into revenge years later. They were innocent collateral damage of his decisions. His family. His lineage. His legacy. It makes his treachery so much more personal. He had a wager, power for a horrible cost, and he took the power and paid the horrible cost. Sidious really gets him with:

If Dooku hated them and had always thought they deserved to be destroyed, it wouldn’t have been a true Sith bargain, the trade off wouldn’t have tallied. In the same way that Vader could not have existed if Anakin hadn’t loved Padme and yet still killed her.

If Dooku was just a horrible, conceited, power-hungry ass who expectedly traded the kinda shitty people in his life for a shot at more power, it wouldn’t be a very good story. If he really didn’t give a shit, why would Sidious make that his initiation? But if he does - does care deeply about Sifo-Dyas, does love Qui-Gon like a son, is touched by Yaddle’s kindness and sympathy, begins to see Asajj as a true apprentice, consistently tries to save Obi-Wan out of affection, still considers the Jedi his true family - and yet still dooms them all, how much more tragic and horrible and sickening and real and interesting is his story?

[sci-twi]

I think the most tragic part of Eurylochus’ part in Epic is that his one act of true selfishness (or two acts) are what condemns him not only in the eyes of Odysseus but also most of the audience. Warning: spoilers for all sagas of Epic: The Musical below the cut, up through Thunder Saga.

He’s introduced in the musical in Full Speed Ahead by mentioning wanting to find food to feed the rest of the men of the crew. In the same song, he grows defensive immediately after suspecting a lurking threat, suggesting that they take an offensive approach. He just wants to find what they can (to eat) on the island and keep going so they can all return to their families.

In Polyphemus, his only line in the entire song is him giving credit to Odysseus and Polites for finding the cave and takes note that there are enough sheep to feed everyone.

I have no doubt that he’s fighting along with everyone else in Survive.

But he shows his concern for the others in Remember Them. He is the one who snaps Odysseus out of the brief dissociation he experiences following the slaughter of a handful of his men. He also asks Odysseus what they should do with their “fallen friends.” Of course, we know that if people weren’t buried correctly, they were doomed to an eternity of unrest.

He’s worried about the souls of those men that they lost and is (most likely) not happy about having leave them behind and neglecting such an important ritual.

When Polyphemus awakens after being stabbed in the eye and it becomes apparent that there are more cyclopses in the cave, Eurylochus gets even more concerned and antsy, even pleading with Odysseus for them to just run before things get worse and they lose even more men.

In Storm, Eurylochus’ lines are all about expressing concern for their fleet (although a little pessimistic) and their well-being.

Luck Runs Out is personally one of my favorites and one of the most obvious signs that almost everything Eurylochus does is for the sake of their crew. The entire song is about him looking out for everyone else including Odysseus. “You could be caught off guard and lose your life. Or piss off this guard and infuse us with strife.”

It’s also important to note that the chorus has Eurylochus and the crew singing in unison. Eurylochus expresses his doubts but not because he wants power or to just get under Odysseus’ skin, but because he genuinely cares about everyone on board and just wants to make sure they’re making the right decisions.

And honestly, as a second-in-command, he should get some say or consultation and perhaps this song is him starting to realize that he is not being heard.

“I just don’t want to see another life end. You’re like the brother I could never do without.”

“And suddenly you doubt that I could figure this out?”

This right here is where it becomes apparent to me how dedicated Eurylochus is to Odysseus and the crew. And I can only imagine how he feels after pouring his heart out to only be met Odysseus’ indignant response. Eurylochus wasn’t trying to challenge Odysseus’ authority, but his response is defensive regardless.

Eurylochus switches from referring to him as brother back to referring to him as Captain, maybe sensing that sort of division, maybe sensing that he overstepped in some way. But still, he reiterates his concerns once more before Odysseus pulls him aside.

When Odysseus tells him that he needs to always be devout and comply with whatever he says and tells him to do or else they’ll all die, Eurylochus ultimately agrees. The beginning of that reluctance shows.

He doesn’t really have many noticeable lines in Keep Your Friends Close, but I do want to give you some food for thought that my partner and I @cat-gwyn-gunn discussed. Do you think that Eurylochus would have opened the bag of winds if Odysseus entrusted him with it to guard and made it absolutely clear what is inside and what will happen if he does?

How would you feel if you were your captain’s supposed second-in-command who had led the fight with you and stood by your side for 12 years suddenly came back from a god with a mysterious bag and guards it while staying awake for 9 entire days? Does that not show a severe lack of trust in your crew and would that not make you suspicious? Do you think maybe Eurylochus was sort of egged on by the crew who also thought it was treasure to check?

It’s hard to really put yourself into their shoes because we know how things end and we know that the storm is actually trapped in the bag, but they don’t.

Then, Poseidon comes in Ruthlessness. And Eurylochus sees all those men die. They went from 600 men to just 43 men. While of course he feels guilty for his decision to open the bag, he’s also hearing confirmation that Odysseus is the reason that Poseidon is after them. He probably remembers begging his Captain to just run and escape, and instead Odysseus proceeds to dox himself and all of that leads to that moment.

But still… that guilt does do something. Because after opening the wind bag, we don’t really hear any sort of defiance from Eurylochus for a long time.

In Puppeteer, we get an even further look at this growing divide between the two brothers (in-law). Eurylochus wants so desperately to let Odysseus know what he did, his tone is remorseful, he’s practically pleading for Odysseus to acknowledge him and reassure him. He is incredibly shaken after what happened with Poseidon.

Only for Odysseus to completely wave him off and send him on a mission. Perhaps it’s because Odysseus needs some time to process what happened and strategize or maybe he thinks Eurylochus is going to talk about it and he’s not ready to hear any of it. Or maybe even he’s jumping to being defensive, thinking Eurylochus is defying him again.

Eurylochus, who promised Odysseus that he’d be devout and compliant, and whose one failure to do so attributed to the loss of hundreds of their men, agrees to do what Odysseus says with little fight. However, his fears and concerns are left unaddressed and unacknowledged and he has not received any sort of reassurance.

While he is recounting his (and the crew’s) encounter with Circe, it shows that he is cautious in his decision to not join their men inside with her. Which pays off, since he gets to run back and let Odysseus know what happened.

When Odysseus says that he has to save them and Eurylochus says that they don’t, it almost sounds dismissive, like those men deserved what happened and they’re no longer their problem. This is a cold take and there’s no defending his callousness with leaving the men behind- I won’t defend it.

However, I will point out that with the next line he points out that they’ve already lost so much and gained almost nothing and once more he suggests that they run if only to preserve what little crew they have left. And again shows concern for Odysseus (or at the very least concern for him as their Captain who can get them home) saying that he doesn’t need to play Circe’s game and asking him if he will leave if she proves too hard to kill.

Notice that he says Odysseus doesn’t have to play her game instead of outright telling him not to. He’s trying so hard to be compliant because he just saw what happens when he isn’t.

He might also be wanting to avoid being responsible for even more bloodshed and loss even if slightly.

Eurylochus doesn’t really have any more parts to play during the rest of the Circe saga and throughout the entirety of the Underworld saga. He’s essentially not only just doing what Odysseus tells him to do but he’s also holding onto all this awful guilt and shame for what he did. 

Underworld is almost entirely Odysseus’ point-of-view. We really just see into his world for this saga. He tells his men that no matter what they find, keep going, yet he falls victim to the voices he hears and the guilt that arises and eventually peaks. We have no idea really what anyone else is thinking. For all we know, Eurylochus is drowning in his own visions. He has all this time to think and reflect.

In Monster, Odysseus comes to the conclusion that he will become the monster, he will do whatever it takes to get home to Penelope and Telemachus. I don’t think it’s a stretch to believe that Eurylochus also comes to the conclusion that he will do whatever it takes to make sure that the crew is taken care of and preserved. This is the beginning of when that line that truly divides them starts to be drawn. 

Different Beast is when it starts to become clearer to the crew and Eurylochus that a change has occurred. They start the song by singing along with Odysseus, using “we” and “us”. Odysseus is driving them all to be monsters. His actions are being reflected on the crew as a whole as their Captain.

Odysseus tells the siren that his actions almost cost his life, no longer reflecting on the crew’s toll as a whole, and that he must see his wife. This is when the crew starts to sing that “he” is the monster. And they end by calling his name- confirming that they are now aware that the monster is Odysseus. Really the only times someone’s name is called is when they’re an opponent like Polyphemus or Poseidon. So foreshadowing!

Scylla is where things take a turn for the worse- it’s where that line is nearly fully drawn between Odysseus and Eurylochus. But it doesn’t start off that way. Scylla begins to sing that “deep down you hide a reason for shame.” Immediately after, Eurylochus admits to being the one to open the wind bag and he apologizes profusely and pleads to be forgiven. 

Odysseus doesn’t respond but Scylla does in a way. She continues to goad Odysseus into believing that his actions are merited. It’s what he must do to survive to see his wife and son again. He has always known this deep down- he said it in Just A Man - deep down he would trade the world to see his son and wife.

The next time Odysseus speaks, he tells Eurylochus to light up six torches. Now, I imagine that this is a moment of great relief for Eurylochus. Even after the awful betrayal, Odysseus still trusts him. Going back briefly to Circe when she says “maybe showing one act of kindness leads to kinder souls down the road” maybe this (Odysseus showing trust in Eurylochus) was the act of kindness and Eurylochus picks men he trusts and likes to hold the torches as a way to pass on that kindness. 

Then, all hell breaks loose. 

He watches as all of these men are snatched up one by one by Scylla’s six heads. He comes to the realization that Odysseus knew that was going to happen, that he made him actively participate in the murder of six of their men. That he didn’t communicate anything about what he was about to put his crew through. 

Eurylochus knows what he must do. 

In Mutiny, He goes right out and demands Odysseus to tell him that he didn’t not know that would happen which is a far cry from “please don’t tell me you’re about to do what I think you’ll do.” It’s a direct challenge. He spits out the word “Captain” almost mockingly. He continues to prod at Odysseus, telling him to use his wits (when in Luck Runs Out, he said that people die on it). He brings up that every other time they faced someone Odysseus came up with a plan to save his men, but this one time he runs (when before it was Eurylochus who urged him to run with both Circe and Polyphemus). 

He has pretty much lost trust in Odysseus, but still is trying to give him the opportunity to say something, to explain. However, when Odysseus says he can’t Eurylochus says he’s forced his hand. He doesn’t really want to fight Odysseus, let alone kill him. 

Once again, Eurylochus is the voice of the crew. They know now that Odysseus is willing to do absolutely anything to see Penelope again. They attack him. They voice their doubts in him and echo the sentiment that Eurylochus does which is that Odysseus must be stopped. 

When he awakens, and they’re on the island, Eurylochus is the first man he sees and Eurylochus no longer sounds angry. He uses “we” and “us” telling Odysseus that hunger is so heavy in the crew. Voicing their concerns again. Looking out for them again. 

He holds no malice for Odysseus. He’s resigned; he has lost complete hope in returning home. All he wants is to share one last meal with his brother and friend and the crew. 

He switches to just using “I” stating that he is suffering, he is hungry, he is tired. This is one of the first times (if not the first) where he lets it known what his own desires and complaints are. Every other time it’s been on behalf of the crew. He’s being selfish. He knows this, but he’s so overwhelmed and hopeless that he’s willing to make this impulsive decision. 

Odysseus continues to respond to Eurylochus’ pain with only thoughts of himself. He says that he needs to get home, he pleads with just him. But then the crew comes in and echoes Eurylochus’ sentiments. Odysseus addresses the crew this time, switching to “we” can get home. He knows that he’s fighting a losing battle, that the crew is essentially listening to Eurylochus now, that they don’t trust him. 

And with Eurylochus’ action he declares that he’s just a man. He’s selfish. He’s hungry. He’s tired. He’s suffering. He makes mistakes. He can’t always just push through. He’s flawed.

And when Eurylochus hears the panic in Odysseus’ voice (which panic is not something he has shown before: he’s dissociated/been in shock, been angry, and desolate but never panicked) he realizes what he’s done. He immediately reverts back to seeking Odysseus’ guidance as his Captain. He calls for him by his title.

He’s relinquishing control, but it’s too late at this point.

Thunder Bringer closes out their portrayals of betrayal and brother's final stand arc with Zeus rubbing it in Odysseus’ face that his crew’s hunger is his responsibility. That as their King and Captain, he failed them so badly that they resorted to damning themselves to alleviate that hunger. He’s the one who drove them to mutiny. 

Zeus tells him to choose and the crew already knows what he’s going to pick. They realize now that the monster was with them all along, that Odysseus has come full circle to being the true monster. After they sing their piece and Zeus fills Odysseus’ ears with Penelope’s song, there’s a deafening silence as the decision is being made. 

Eurylochus breaks that silence, calling out one more time. He calls for his Captain but in his voice he’s calling out to his friend. He’s scared. He knows they’re going to die. It’s almost like they’re children. He’s making that final reach for reassurance that he already knows he won’t receive. There is nothing but resignation in his voice. 

When Odysseus confirms his choice, saying that he has to see his wife again, all Eurylochus has to say is “but we’ll die.” Again, he’s scared. He was willing to die over the cow, but that was an impulsive decision. It is very different when imminent death is staring you right in the face and especially when it’s at the hand of someone who you thought you knew and cared for. 

I imagine that as the rest of the crew rushes forward to strike Odysseus down, Eurylochus stays behind and just looks him straight in the eye. He knew all along who Odysseus would choose and he has accepted it. 

It comes full circle. Eurylochus came in as the voice of the crew and he died as the voice of the crew.

[utilitycaster]

I said this late last night but actually, I was serious: I really do feel like the stasis bubbles are ultimately at the core of Ludinus's attitude towards Aeor, and the fact that he doesn't seem to have focused on them at all is the key to understanding his agenda.

I don't believe the stasis bubbles are a lost cause. I think there's certainly failure points, ie, I think if one does not go about this with utmost care then yes, the people within will rapidly age or wither to dust and be lost. But I don't think a successful release of the Aeorians in these bubbles is impossible within the canon of Critical Role. I think it is very, very difficult, but I think it could be done.

Ludinus doesn't seem to have focused on this at all - not even a half-assed attempt. He's gone for a literal moonshot, connecting with something he didn't even know existed and destroying Molaesmyr in the process. To his limited credit I think it's entirely likely he didn't know about these stasis bubbles until Aeor excavations began about 60 years ago, but I don't think Aeor became his focus until he realized he could strip it for parts: both for its technology, and as part of his propaganda machine.

Ludinus's grudge against the gods began with the end of the Calamity, in his own youth, in those final battles, and we know that he was already studying mages like Laerryn and using the harness to extend his lifespan while he lived in Molaesmyr. He may very well have known about Aeor, but his goal was to kill the gods. He only just saw what was in the Occultus Thalamus now.

Aeor is a useful tool to him, and it's a better tool to him if he can act like it's lost forever and everyone is dead. Aeorians only help him if they're doomed corpses. If he cared about the deaths of the people of Aeor and the culture of the city, why let his general repeatedly target FCG, one of its only current survivors? Why shut down the researchers from Uthodurn and the Dynasty in the past 7 years? Why push towards this Thalamus even as his army falls to Dominox when the stasis bubbles are just outside? Are those collapses Essek noted just the ravages of time, or was he destroying the city even further?

He doesn't really care about Aeorians in the slightest. He wants to kill the gods, and treats this mass slaughter and cultural destruction of Aeor as a boon that fell into his lap so that he can say "look what they took from you" to the world that he's been ravaging and slaughtering his way through himself for the past few months (and, on a slower but no less violent scale, the last millennium). The second he lets one of the Aeormatons brought back by D speak? Or brings back one of the thousands of Aeorians who could, perhaps, survive and come back and even revive that lost knowledge? Well, then it's not lost forever at the hands of the gods now, is it, and that makes for bad press, and we can't have that now, can we, not when we're about to crack open the moon and eat the gods! Sorry that a phoenix killed your family and no one could resurrect them, but you know how it is. Let bygones be bygones, unless they're his trauma and his trauma alone.

Any claim that he cares about Aeor is a lie. He cares for himself and no one else. He loves that Aeor is gone because it's always been gone to him and, like any fossil, is only good as fuel for his own agenda. And we and Bells Hells are about to see a glimpse of life in the city that's more convenient to him when it's dead, and he thinks that's going to help his cause.

[prose-for-hire]

Evol (or, a backwards love story)

Pairing: Spike x reader

Request: Hey I love your spike x reader fics I was wondering if you could do one were like they both have a crush on eachother and he invites her over to his crypt but it's super fluffy and he makes it all romantic with candles and shit

Reader isn't a big fan of pink but doesn't like hate it or anything (just a heads up in case you love pink (like me) and it takes you out of the story).

Requested by: anon

A/N: Be kind please this is the first fic I've done in ages! Hope this is okay, love 💖

You had been in deep thought, your mind travelling ahead of you as your limbs tried to follow. But your wandering mind had led you down an unknown path. You had taken a strange turn somewhere and found yourself in unchartered territory.

You were at a crossroads, in almost pitch darkness. The streetlights had disappeared a couple of streets ago and you weren’t entirely sure where you were. You were fumbling through the dark now, trying to find something to hold onto, to anchor you.

You found yourself connecting with something, a figure in the shadows. You groaned, the last thing you needed tonight was to get eaten, your top was brand new. You recoiled slightly but a pair of steady hands righted you. He, of course, could see in the dark.

“What’re you doing round these parts, pet?” His voice came from the darkness, retracting his hands, a flame from his lighter ignited so that you could see.

“Got kinda turned around… I’m lost”

“Can’t have that, can we, love? If you’re not careful somethin’ nasty might eat you up” His eyes glinted with amusement, his lips curled slightly in that irresistible way he did. Even when he was being ‘evil’ he was attractive to you. You were doomed to fall for him.

“What did we talk about Spike?”

“Too much?”

“Only a little” you smiled despite yourself, now unable to look up from your feet. You were afraid that you would reveal too much, he could read you like a book. He always had, ever since you met a year ago.

It was tongues and teeth. Blood and sweat. You were backed against the wall, the vibrations from the music pulsing through you. You grasped the black t-shirt that clung to him so perfectly, the vampire you had only heard about.

You knew he and Buffy had faced each other on numerous occasions, you just happened to miss him each time. You had met them in college and had only known of the stories about William the Bloody at this point. But you always liked to judge people for yourself, anyway. And, well, you hadn’t realised how beautiful he was, you had been taken by him as soon as he stomped up to the bar and sulkily ordered a beer.

You heard voices through the crowd, through the headiness of that moment. Voices you recognised. You pulled away, your face a picture; as if you had seen a ghost. You weren’t supposed to be here,

“Go home” He had hissed, covering you as you slid away. Taking Buffy’s attention.

You should have known then he had a soft spot. Or, well, the potential for one. Usually he would have relished the awkwardness of Buffy walking in to find you kissing a vampire. Drinking with demons and beating them at kitten poker. But if he had the chance to do that again he wasn’t going to ruin it by getting the ultimate mood slayer involved, now was he.

But you hadn’t ever had any real time alone since. Sure, sometimes it felt like you were both the only people in the room but there was barely a chance to even allude to what you had done let alone reignite the moment again. Though he of course tried at every moment he got.

“Got have plans, love? My crypt’s only down the way” he spoke softly, almost tentatively if you didn’t know better.

“I’m late. I’m supposed to meet some… friends” You hesitated and you knew he caught it before you looked back into his eyes. Eyes you were slowly being lost in.

“Not those bloody losers again. You’re better than them”

“Those losers are actually my friends”

“Friends that you hide yourself from” He shrugged, not entirely able to drop it. He couldn’t hide his distaste for Buffy and the others.

Despite it all he gestured with his head, offering to take you to your friends. Even though you knew Sunnydale quite well after moving into your dorm a year ago and running around the town many times after (or often away from) demons, you still got lost a lot. It was a kind of running joke amongst the other scoobies.

He lit a cigarette as you rounded the corner, only pausing to offer you one which you declined with a soft smile. A smile that made him want to drop to his knees and declare his undying love for you. It pained him, how soft he was for you.

He shoved the other hand in the pocket of his duster, jaw tensing as he saw your friends speaking rapidly, apparently concerned about something. Willow noticed you first.

“We thought you’d been all ookified, we were worried!” She flung herself around you with a big smile of relief.

“You got lost, huh?” Buffy said with a smile, which quickly dropped when she noticed the company you were in.

“Yeah, Spike helped me get my bearings. Thanks, again” You grinned, despite Xander and Buffy’s distaste. Anya patted your head a little patronisingly at your habit of getting yourself lost.

“Anytime, pet”

“Yeah, right, evil dead is only good for being evil… and dead”

“Not that I’m not enjoying the boy’s wit, but I’ll be off now” He addressed only you, hoping to keep the barbs at his expense from the group to a minimum. Someone muttered something distasteful about Spike, which was of course in his earshot, but he didn’t turn back around.

“He’s, like, the lowest of the low.” someone agreed, shaking her head at the figure walking away.

You weren’t sure why that moment was the moment. Why you spoke something that had been so safely unspoken.

“Spike! Spike, wait-”

“Y/n, what’re you doing?!” your friends called after you, still in earshot as Spike ditched his cigarette and swung around to face you.

“Love, you go and do the friendship thing with the meddlin’ kids, okay? I’d rather stake myself than spend an evening with them”

“I know, I was wondering if the offer’s still on that is, well, I’m free tomorrow night”

He put both hands in his duster, rocking on the balls of his feet and looking down. It was as if he thought you were being cruel to him. Taking him up on his offer just to hurt him by rejecting him in the next breath with all your friends watching. He had to know you better than that, surely.

You reached for his arm, willing him to feel what you felt. Know what you knew. That you and him were meant for each other, that this chance that you were trying to take meant a lot. For someone you had kissed so passionately before it was strange how nervous you were suddenly at even grazing his skin.

“After sunset, tomorrow at your crypt?” You asked softly, though the vulnerability in your voice bled through. He saw it, he saw that your intentions were pure. There were some gasps and some vague unimpressed whispering from your friends behind you but you couldn’t bring yourself to take notice.

Instead you waited with bated breath for his answer. You knew he had offered earlier but there was always the chance he was doing it to tease you. That he had no interest in you. That he was playing with you, looking for something quick and easy. You could do that, of course you could, if it meant being close with him. But it may just break your heart beyond recognition.

This purgatory, which only lasted a second, felt like it lasted hours. Your grip on him tightened, as if you were afraid he would slip away from you.

He nodded, to anyone else it probably looked as if he wasn’t bothered. What he didn’t know was that you could read him in the way he did for you. You saw the slight upturn of his mouth before it disappeared, you noticed the way his eyes searched you with wonder for a fraction of a moment. You knew then, for sure, he felt for you as deeply as you had started to fall for him. Everything you had learned about him you held close, collecting it as the most valuable treasures.

You arrived the next night a minute after the sun set and promptly knocked on the door of Spike’s crypt. You could hear some scuffling about from behind the door and a lot of a British accent muttering ‘bloody bollocks’ every so often which made you smile softly.

You waited patiently until he swung the door open, allowing you to walk in. You gasped, he had transformed the main level of his crypt for the evening. There were candles everywhere, on every single available surface and surrounding the sofa where there was a couple of blankets piled up and a stack of VHS tapes.

There were wilted roses that had shed their petals all over the floor beside the TV set and you tried to ignore the high probability that these came from a few of the graves surrounding the crypt. Stuck haphazardly to the walls were pink and red hearts made from crepe paper and various strips hanging about.

I mean, it was a huge fire risk but you tried to ignore this fact as you appreciated his scattered decorations. You assumed that Spike was ensuring you were aware that he thought of this as a date.

“How was your night with America’s most haunted?” Spike asked, you could tell he was genuinely interested if you had a nice evening after he left you at the Bronze.

You told him everything in complete detail, you were a keen storyteller and he adored this about you. You spoke in such detail that he could picture himself there beside you as the night played out.

“Drink, pet?”

“Please”

You looked around as he started rummaging around with bottles and glasses. You read the words on some of the hearts, your brow furrowing slightly.

“EVOL? I think it’s spelt-”

“No, love, it was meant to be- they’re from the craft store. They, well, I didn’t want it to scare you off now did I?” He turned the heart around, the word was actually ‘love’. He hadn’t wanted you to think he was coming on too strong so he had hidden the word. Though the rose petals and the various pink and red crafts might well have done that if you hadn’t realised how deeply you felt for him.

You laughed, you couldn’t help it. You hadn’t been sure if he was making sure that all this romantic stuff didn’t take away from him being bad. Telling you he was ‘evil’.

He passed you a glass, different from usual where he would just drink straight from the bottle. You were surprised to note that it was your favourite drink. It was incredibly endearing that he had learned this about you, or perhaps it was his favourite and you just had that in common.

The glow of the candlelight accentuated his features, casting shadows from his cheekbones. You felt yourself leaning into him as he spoke animatedly, it was entirely involuntary. When you thought about it, you had done everything in reverse. You were tentatively courting after sharing a much more passionate moment the night you properly met. You much preferred it this way though, in some ways it cemented now just how much Spike had grown to care for you through the stolen moments you had together through the year.

Quick glances and lingering touches. The way he had thrown himself in front of a demon to ensure you would be safe. The way he always offered to walk you home, even if he was shot down every time by the slayer. He always made jokes in the hope that you would laugh.

The evening was lovely, you shared drinks and watched films together, while Spike made biting commentary on each scene. You were wrapped in a blanket while he stayed room temperature. He sat a little more rigidly than usual, seemingly unable to relax. He wanted the night to be perfect. He was concerned he might say something wrong, something a little too murderous and off-putting.

You hadn’t really been paying attention to the film. He had done everything to try and prove he was a man worthy of your love. You could sense he was holding back but you loved him for who he was, the flaws wrapped into the thread of his personality were just as important to you.

“I really like you, Spike. You don’t need to impress me, you know that right? I’m already yours, if you’d let me be” You spoke barely above a whisper. He turned to you, searching your face before a smile grew slowly on his lips. It was a smile you had only ever seen him give to you.

“You’re tellin’ me I can take all this sodding pink bollocks off my walls now then?”

“I mean, it’s a real improvement from the cobwebs but it’s not really my colour,” You grinned, pressing your lips to his quickly before pulling away.

You leaned against him as the night progressed, leaning your head into the crook of his neck. He shifted as you moved down the sofa so that you could comfortably rest against him. He inhaled, savouring your scent. It felt like home. He closed his eyes, focusing on your heartbeat thrum steadily. You were truly here, by his side.

Your body was made to fit beside his, you knew this as if it was fact. You couldn’t imagine a future where you wouldn’t hold each other. Or share moments such as this. The warmth from the candles and the care and attention that Spike continued to show you told you that his feelings at their core were clearly no act, his execution had been slightly exaggerated only because he hadn’t really dated in the usual way for a good few decades.

He slid his arm along the headrest behind you and you settled into watch the next movie. After a moment you realised his eyes were still trained on you, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. When you looked at him, giving him a quizzical look, he just gestured back at the screen with his head a soft smile on his face.

If this was the first proper date, you were looking forward to the rest. In fact, as his arm snaked around you and pulled you close, you were not sure you would ever be ready to leave.

[heartfullofleeches]

Offer me your flesh... Not like that

Yan Cultist + Forest Entity/Deity Reader [+18 mdni]

Warnings/Tags: Breeding, monster fucking but you are the monster, tentacle peen, slight size difference/kink, brief mentions of gore/blood but not related to the fucking dw

The watcher of the woods.

A creature known by many names for none of which it cared but remained its mantle to claim. Skin akin to aged bark; horns rooted from the base of its skull like the curving arches of branching trees - the beast towered over all sort of man and earned its title for its eyes. Rare were nights starless, but upon an eve without a single dot in the sky it was common to find them hiding out in the trees. As ancient stories foretold - it's said that on those days the guardian of the forest used all its strength even the light of the stars to lead lost souls home. Imposing as it may be, the creature was a peaceful giant, protecting its land and those who treated it in kind, but as legends of old often became lost in translation - it too fell to the hapless adulteration of time and unwavering, blind devotion.

The worship of humans was a peculiar mistress. Old as the soil itself, the watcher predated the existence of mortals in the region and civilization as a whole. When the founders of the town at the base of the hills culled its land to build the foundation their homes - the watcher taught them cultivate the furtile ground and keep peace. It consindered all who entered its lands as members of its flock - no matter how strange they may be.

For the majority, the humans adored their new guardian. The teachings of gods known before where easily tossed aside in favor of a new master. Caring as it may be- the watcher's fair intentions were mistrude as otherwise when it was found to take the bodies of those lost forever to the forest back to the mountains where it lived. It had seen the way humans stored their dead and wanted to honor their cultures as best it could. Its followers mistook its deeds as a call for sacrifice from the crop it had harvested - and who were they to deny their God.

Those who oppose and those who worked their entire lives towards the ultimate goal of being sacrifice to their God were the first to face death. Blood drained; bodies butchered and displayed on the forest floor like fine feasts. Their God was not pleased with their actions and was repulsed by the smell of human blood; diet consisting purely of what its land birthed and the occasional scraps left behind by the natural hunters of the woods.

The humans would sacrifice those worthy at mass and considered new loses to be god's will. It was seen as sacrilegious to return after a night lost in the woods. The watcher lost favor in their humans through these massacres- and the heart wrenching sobs of a lost hiker it had savecthroughly mislead in their worship and bestowed their false knowledge on new generations - but there was one thing they had gotten correct with their research and discoveries involving their lord.

A shift in behavior - marking the change between seasons summer and fall. The watcher's hardened shell withered and softened into thicker, mossy flesh; antlers curling twice as thick and pained whines the kind to send anguish into the hearts of all beings if not for the pleading moans and scents it gave off. The guardian longed for mate - just like every creature in its forest.

In true alignment with their predecessors, the new age failed to realize the correct way to approach their God in such a sensitive state accordingly. Bathing in the blood of the fallen and wandering naked through the wounds - it repulsed the creature so it fled into premature hibernation to rid itself of the aches and frustration. Doomed for entity - the only of its kind; the watcher suffered countless falls with release. It no longer desired the company of man yet yearned for embrace. Alone, wretched, miserable - the watcher imagined its remaining years trapped in endless parallel and pain... and yet as with the seasons-

All things change.

It happened as the trees were stripped of their bearings and nights grew fringed. A musk within range of the watcher's natural intensity wafted over the forest. The fresh dew of spring and the warmth of summer - two elements that brought the creature comfort in harrowing times. Following the scent, the lewd slick of flesh and muffled moans overlap - flooding the lesser god's loins with familiar ache and need.

The watcher tread out into the clearing to find a human perched beneath one of its trees - fingers at work between their legs and shirt tucked between their teeth. A circle of candles and incense surrounded them; a bed of leaves and spare blankets cushioning their body from the hard floor. The tee helped between their teeth was the same color as the moss encasing the local deity's body and the emblem of its horns. A ranger - one that bares resemblance to a face once riddled with fear; now barring the opposite emotion. Lowering the match the mortal's height, the watcher did as it does best - studying the human's acts of self pleasure with intent. Startled by a pitched whine, it's antlers knock against the trees as it lurches.

"You're finally here, huh? Kept me waiting."

The watcher reals as the ranger spreads their legs, fingers plunged deep as they wiggle their hips at the air.

"Don't be shy... We have a special connection you and I.... I'm talking to you."

With a soft chitter - you exit the trees. Stalking forward on all fours, you sniff at the human's arousal as your snout draws against their skin. Black tongue wagging, it sweeps their tender flesh pleased to find no traces of acidic blood and a hint of ripe fruits instead. Enthralled with their taste and scent, the fright as they bring a hand up to your face is enough to cause second retreat. They coo, swallowing the stimulation of being in their lord's presence, and reach out - free hand carding through their hair.

"Hey - hey, don't panic- You remember me, don't you? I was that hiker you saved a few summers back. I always thought the legends were bullshit, but I was still afraid of the unknown. It turned out to be beautiful - my soul mate. See this? I got it when I fell in the river and hit my head on the rocks."

A dated scar bleeds through their hairline. You snort, breath fanning their neck as you cage them to the trees with your larger body, awaiting their next move. Faith unwavering - their hands skim and carcass your torso, glinding through the mossy fur down to the build up of your tension. Teasing the sheath with their nimble digits, you shutter - legs parting as a tendril the color of the night sky and thick as the ranger's thigh unfurls from the slit. Quick to work, the human slides under you - both hands at the base of your appendage. You whine as their lips haul your girth in a trail of kisses - length traveling the side of their face as they reach your thigh.

"You must be in so much pain. So many years with everyone in town going about things the wrong way. It's crazy to think I'm the only one to have figured things out - but it just further proves we're meant to be. Don't worry - I'll take all of your loneliness and pain away."

You don't bother to piece together what their saying. The exhales between each word heightened your sensitive to their mouth riding up to the tip of your growth - lips wrestled slack by the weight pressed to them. You cushion their head and neck with one hand as you thrust, seeking the heat of their mouth. The tendril, slick as it may be - only hits quarter way before the human chokes; the convulsions of their throat drawing a pleased hum from your throat which drones into a concerned murr at the tears lacing their flashes. You pull free - bending down to lap at their face. The ranger's heart swells seeing the light of their god's eyes shine for them solely.

"Don't worry about me - I've prepped for this day since you sent me home. My body is a vessel for your desire - and our future seedlings."

Lost in translation - you get the general picture as they on their back, body displayed for your taking. Devotion engraved into their very being and supple flesh free of damage - this is all you've ever lusted for. The mortal body at your beck and call, captured in its purest beauty. You press forward - crying out in pure frustration and agony as your tendril glossing over its intended target. Rutting and huffing through desperate attempts - your follower guides through your eagerness and their own dire need, and angles themself properly beneath you - wind knocked from their lungs as you sink in at last.

Pushed to edge by every muscle contracting around you, and the sweet relief of finally, finally- obtaining an outlet for your insufferable heats - you howl in frenzied glee. Wasting no time, you start off at a brute pace - jowls snapping in rhythm to each slap of skin. Your follower mewls along with you, hands based on your torso - praying the entirety of the town below can hear your unity. Their stomach bulges with the outline of your tendril and they clench around you conjuring the swell of your young.

"Yes! Ah! My love - breed me! I've waited for this for so long. Take me as you. Give me your love, your young - anything, please!"

Their worship is cut short by the infiltration of your tongue down their throat. Choking as they did on your cock - their eyes dart back as you pin their knees to chest, steady on yours as you plow them into the makeshift bedding. The slick plap of their wetness dragging you back in and the suction of it drives you deeper with every grind. The lack of oxygen from your tongue altering the flood of air makes their muscles tighten further - ripping the first orgasm of the eve out of you as your talons pucker their flesh. Stilling momentarily - thoughts overload with the realization of your true purpose in this realm. Breeding every hole offered to you.

The smell of blood premonating your scents does little to waver the force and intensity of your release - years, decades of build up breaching as you slam against them - pursuing that increasing, staggering high. Your cum floods their hole - leaking around your cock and down their thighs. Rubbing your cheek against their head, you lazily fuck nearly every drop back into them as they twitch and spasm around you. The blessing of being the first real sacrifice to their God was tear inducing.

Your tongue pulls from their mouth, licking salty tears and saliva as apology for nearly asphyxiating them. Your follower gasps and pants, lips formed in conversation but missing the voice to speak. You slip out of them, fluids gushing from their stuffed hole. The sight causes another stir in your nether reigion. Picking them up like an oversized doll, you lean back against the tree as you lower them into your lap - this time being the one to guide your tendril into their greedy hole. Head rolling back, a hand shoots out to grab your horns as you rock upwards into them. Pleasure rocks your very core as they hold onto your sensitive mounts, hands climbing with each bounce. Your cock throbs as they eventually catch on and pour the remainder of their strength into rubbing every curve and bump of your antlers.

Mouth agap - the skin of their shoulder catches in your teeth. Having lost all restraint and repulsion in the stench you bite down, marking as they likely desired. An assumption proven seconds later as a scream tears out of them, body stuttering as they cum around your appendage. Your hand pads their stomach, adding surface for you to better fuck your squirming length into them. You take both of their wrists into your hands - slamming them back on your cock as you finish at the end of their peak - overestimating their shot senses as your length spasms against their fleshy walls. More of your spend leaks from them as you pull out which they shove back as you slump against the ground still cradling them in your arms. The ranger attacks your jaw and chest in kisses, warming your tendril with their thighs and rubbing their own sex against it. Your eyelids fall heavy, twinkling lights dimming. The ranger nestles into your chest - fatigue on the horizon but job far from complete.

"We'll be amazing parents someday. I'm so happy you chose me. Rest now - I'll take care of everything else from here on. Sweet dreams, Dear~"

A new scent - the smell of pine needdles in the winter. Winter - the season when you fell into a deep sleep."