#this is modern day howl for sure

[hoshigray]

Hellooo, I have a requesttt. Bully!Geto & bully!gojo x reader please!!

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: didn't know how to tackle this, but I think I got it >:3

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto + Gojo x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! college setting; satosugu + you are juniors - sex in shared space; college dorm - fingering (f! receiving) - breast fondling + nipple play - oral (m! receiving) - facials - clitoral play (pinching and swiping) - Eiffel Tower/spit-roasting position - slight degradation - pet names (baby, crybaby, cutie, good girl, plaything, pretty girl, sweetheart) - unprotected sex (doesn't shoot inside, tho) - mention of tears and drool.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

“—Gaaahh!! N-Noo, shtop! No more, no mo—Oooh!”

“Aww, don’t go cryin’ on us yet; let’s see how much this pussy can cum!”

“Satoru, keep playing with their nipples; they keep gripping my fingers like crazy…”

Being bullied seems to be an everyday thing for a wimp like you—especially in the hands of Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto.

What kind of person lets two of the hottest guys in the school bully them? You’re practically nearly a full-ass grown adult; you shouldn’t be letting people push you around like it’s middle school! And yet, you can’t seem to bring yourself to stand for yourself, too meek and reserved to step up the ladder of confrontation, even if it’s from people who’ve tormented you most of your life.

Gojo and Geto have been your bullies for nearly your entire academic life, starting from first grade. To say that your life was hell on Earth was just the surface, coming home in tears and wishing to disappear every single day. The emotional toil was too much to bear, so much so that you did everything in your power to make sure you didn’t end up in the same high school as the two, a task that you’re proud to act on as making friends and getting through the final four years of your primary education became easier to accomplish. 

However, this fulfillment was thrown out the window when you walked on campus grounds and discovered that after two years, your bullies had transferred to the same college as you! Not only in the same place but in the same dorm section and sharing the same class—had the world gone mad?! Just when you have accepted this new chapter in your life to start anew and fresh, these two spin back and the pool of anxiety swallows you back up and pulverizes your heart. There was no way for this situation to be envisaged.

“Ohaaa!! Shtooop, t’ooo fasst!!”  

And now, they have new methods to diminish your dignity.

Against your comfort, you and the two were assigned a spreadsheet to work on and have it done by Thursday, so you three were supposed to be working in the living room of their dorm apartment. Nevertheless, you don’t think lying on the couch with your back to Gojo and Geto between your legs has anything to do with the assignment…

You were squirming, Gojo’s slender hands cupping and fondling your chest, tips of his fingers tweaking your nipples roughly so that you whine helplessly. Legs spread open for your panties and bare cunt to be exposed when you were stripped from your leggings, and Geto toys your private part with his fingers. The sensation of his middle digit inside you was hard to believe, like the howl from curling onto the upper wall of your vagina.

“Uuuwww, ohmyGoooood…!” You throw your head back to the shoulder of the white-haired one whose forefingers circle the buds of your mounds. “W-We can’t be—hic—doing this…”

“Ehhh, c’mon, baby,” hearing Gojo talk to your ear so close has to be something out of a dream or nightmare. “Who says we can’t play with our favorite person, huh?”

You gulp at the lick of your earlobe. “Because…we have work to d—Aaahh!”

“Don’t think about that assignment when I’m busy shoving my fingers in you,” Geto reminds you, the pace of his digit increasing and the scrape of his fingertip having your toes curl. “Doesn’t the pretty girl wanna play us like old times?”

A hand grabs his wrist, yet that does little to hinder the raven-haired one’s diligence within your leaking chasm. “B-But…We can’t!” Jesus, it’s tough to think adequately the more Geto pushes and pulls his finger, brushing it up against your texture. Tears welled up in your eyes, your body sore from their constant touches.

“God, still cryin’ from being teased, huh, crybaby?” Gojo chuckles while cupping your cheeks. “Still a cutie, though…”

No way, there’s absolutely no way! You had to be dreaming because there is no way you’re awake to see the day Gojo is kissing you! Biting your bottom lip and shoving his tongue inside, your brain practically explodes as you moan in his mouth, and your slit contracts the rub of Geto’s finger. Did you just cum from a kiss?!

“Oh wow, they’re spasming like crazy,” Geto chortles at the sight of your legs trembling and your genitalia fluttering around the digit. “Cumming from a kiss, huh? Heh, so easy to mess with.”

Your response was deterred to that of imperceptible wails, crying into Gojo’s pillowy lips as he sucked on your tongues to hear you sob more. This was so unfair; this situation was not in your favor once you were dragged into their apartment.

Not even in the next phase of this meet-up.

Your clothes are discarded from your body to the living room floor, mounting on the couch on all fours, Geto to your front and Gojo to your back. The three of you are too far gone to think about the damn assignment—your frame too occupied by their cocks to evade them so.

Soapy lips suck on the dick of the dark-haired other, puffy cheeks making room for the limb burrowing inside your mouth. He fucks you orally with vigor, snapping his hips to your lips as your head pounds with every jab to the back of your throat. You’re not left with a second to breathe calmly, his girth overwhelming.

“Fuuuhhck, Jesus Christ,” he curses, grinding his pelvis and moaning at the feel of your tight throat. “Such a good girl, sucking me so well; got the mouth of a great cumslut.”

“Has the pussy of one, too!”

The words burn your ears, coming from behind as the guy with snowy hair plunges his length into your vagina. His hands are situated on your waist to keep you on him, the curve of his cock scratching your sweet spots too accurately that you’re forced to scream on the other’s shaft.

Gojo throws his head back with a sigh, “Fuckin’ shiiiit, this pussy…clamping on me so hard, you wanna milk me dry?” He bends down to your ear, “Want my load so bad like a little whore?” Squeezing on him was inevitable, making him hiss. “Fuck! Don’t do that…”

“Damn this throat, man,” you peer up to Geto. Your eyes have already released the tears stricken down your face, the lower part of your face all hot from the frequent hits. He chortles, “You look so good all messy like that, sweetheart…Holy shit, you looked so fucked out.” 

Of course you were; they’ve been toying with your body for ten minutes with no rest! Your frame was aching so bad, sobbing because of the cock busying your throat and the dick grazing your G-spot. It was too much to catch up with, especially when Gojo sneaks a hand to your clit to rub and swipe. Your eyes roll to the ceiling, and a scream is muffled, your figure submitting to the pinches on your sensitive pearl.

“Wanna cum?” Silver brows trench together at the clamp of your walls. “Do it, cum on my dick, you nasty crybaby.” 

More tweaks to your clitoris coincide with the erratic pistons of Gojo’s thighs, and you have no choice but to climax once more. Your cunt tightens around his cock with every hit of your orgasm, and he makes sure to get his raw cock out of you to ejaculate his milky fluid onto your back, painting your skin with his load.

The same goes for Geto as well, who grabs your head and roughly pulls himself off to paint your face with his essence. You whimper with every quiver and addition of his sperm, spurting to your forehead and decorating your cheeks to slide down your chin. You never felt so dirty in your life, your tongue accidentally tasting it from licking your lips. “Good girl,” he compliments with a teasing pinch to your cheek.

Gojo rubs his length on the cusp of your butt. “Man, cutie, you keep driving me crazy.” His fingers aimlessly play with your clit. “Now I really can’t leave you alone…”

Dread weighs your bones at his words, and you can only question how you can survive these upcoming semesters with these harassers. And now that they’re hooked on you, this fresh new start has become much more suffocating…

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[writervaul-t]

something about you

chapter two: benji

summary: [name] can't seem to shake off benjicot blackwood even with every precaution she takes to avoid him.

pairing: modern!benjicot blackwood x f!reader

notes: if any of you are british, please dm me and tell me i used the right terms for schools 😃 i live for accuracy. also yes, reader is meek and shy and i want to hear NOTHING from any of you.

masterlist | playlist

The rumors circled faster than [Name] running home the same day she had announced she was dating Benjicot Blackwood at Nyra's Nook. When she had gotten home, she texted her boss, apologizing for the commotion and explained a white lie about eating a bad pasta for lunch finally getting to her that afternoon.

Luckily enough, Rhaenyra was more than sympathetic and told her to have the following day off. [Name] spent the day doing what she knew best: hiding out in her room and watching horror movies to avoid hearing anything about what her loud mouth said the previous day.

She hadn't heard anything up until Chiara had barged into her room, howling, "YOU'RE GOING ON A DATE WITH BENJICOT BLACKWOOD?"

"Any louder and the deaf old women two doors down will hear you." [Name] replies, pausing the Babadook.

Chiara ignores her, shoving her friends feet off on her bed to make space for herself. Chiara Tyrell had been one of the many students who came from affluent families - her's being well known for their sustainable food production company - but had hit it off when they were assigned as roommates. She had never hid the fact that she was a Tyrell but also didn't treat [Name] like a piece of gum under her shoe for being a scholarship student, the latter appreciating the treatment.

Still, Chiara always managed to learn about circling gossip and would tell [Name] whether she wanted to or not. Now with the newest information revolving her own roommate, Chiara looked more than pleased to hear directly from the source.

"How'd that happen? Didn't we have plans to watch the movies? Not to mention - Benjicot Blackwood of all people? This is rich."

[Name] dug herself further into her blanket. "Well, first we are still watching movies that and second we aren't going on a date..."

She explains to her friend what had happened, to which she nearly fell over laughing after hearing the whole situation. [Name] swung a pillow at Chiara's face when she wouldn't cease her howling and warned her about their neighbors again.

After taking a few heaving breaths, Chiara stopped, gasping out every word she could think. "That's amazing - and to avoid Aeron of all people? This is even better than the horror movie!"

"What's the deal anyways with those two? I wasn't sure if they wanted to kill or kiss each other." [Name] comments, remembering the scene in front of her.

"Well, they might as well have done either. Their families do similar businesses in trading and unfortunately have property close by so they've always been at each other's throats. Father to son usually. Its like an inherited right to want provoke the next generation." Chiara explains. "Those two, however..."

A look of amused contemplation falls on her face before she giggles. Leave it up to Chiara to not take anything seriously, though [Name] enjoyed their differences, unlike Benjicot and Aeron. "Get on with it!"

"Aeron and Benjicot went to the same schools, all the way up to Sixth Form." Chiara continues. "And anything one had, the other wanted - that included girls and guys. Them coming to university at the same time just about caught everyone's interest. I was hoping one of them would fight again but it seems like Benjicot's pulled back since he entered uni. No one's seen him with anyone that way since we started our first year."

"Why?"

Chiara shrugged. "Who knows. He does have a group of friends he hangs around with nowadays; doesn't hang off with his cousins as much and never floats around groups anymore. At least, according to Janna Terrick."

[Name] nodded, staring at the ceiling as she finally asked herself what had she gotten into? For once her political science lessons finally taught her something and that she just put herself between a family feud and more likely than not brought a couple of monsters out the closet.

"I'm so excited," Chiara continues, laying her body on top of [Name]'s. She just about choked on her curly brown hair and attempted to push her off when all her weight was placed on top of her. "My roommate - my cute little roommate of all people to be in this!"

"This cute little roommate will hit you with another pillow if you don't get off me!" [Name] counters, shoving her off. She turns to the wall, her anxiety building in her chest as she thinks about having to face one of them the next say. "And its not like I wanted this to happen. It just came out because Aeron is such a prick!"

"I'm only joking. If you really do need help, just let me know. I know a few people that can do something about this." Chiara offers ominously, patting [Name]'s arm. [Name] eyes her suspiciously, trying to decide if she wanted to know what she meant or not. She kept her eyes on the wall instead.

"I'm sure another issue will come up soon to mask what happened; besides, almost all the Targaryens and Hightowers are in this year too. There's more than enough drama to go around." Chiara reassures before a mischevious smile comes on her face. "Although it would be fun watching you finally do something outside of studying and working--"

"Chiara."

"Right, I'll leave."

For some reason, [Name] prayed to the gods, old and new, for something to happen to the Targaryens and Hightowers like Chiara mentioned. It had been about two and a half weeks since her blunder and she was still getting strange looks from classmates that just about ignored her until now.

One of them, a Tully brother she couldn't distinguish from, had been brave enough to ask her during her shift at the library, "Is it really true? You got Ben to finally go on a date? Y'know I hadn't pegged him to be the type to date someone like you but I'm glad!"

If she hadn't been so mortified, she would have told Kermit/Oscar off but was beaten to it by the other Kermit/Oscar who smacked his head after he had heard the end his brother's sentence. He sent [Name] an apologetic look.

"My brother was dropped when he was a babe. I'm so sorry. He means well; we're all glad Ben isn't as gloomy as he was before." He offers with a smile before grabbing his brother by the scruff of his shirt like an alleycat and walking away to the other side of the library.

[Name] had just about dropped everything and hid away into the archives section after that. It was embarrassing enough she kept remembering the conversation; it was even worse when people came up to her and ask abouf it.

Still, she made use of her two jobs always finds herself hiding in the archives room or the back of the bookstore whenever she caught sight of Benjicot or Aeron these past few weeks.

The day she had come back to the store, Aeron hadn't shown up but Benjicot had, setting down the books he wanted to buy the first time he was there. "I wanted to get them but Nyra sent me away after you left." He explained to which she only offered a nod as she scanned his selections and packed it quickly into a bag. "Look, I--"

"Thank you for shopping with us, come again. Bye!" [Name] said hurriedly, the guilt of bringing him out of his built in shell overcoming her. She walked away to the back, not coming out until the next customer had come in and she was sure Benjicot was gone. Any time they would be in the same vicinity to one another, he was tried to talk to her but she evaded every attempt he made and seemingly found new routes to her usual spots around campus.

Aeron, surprisingly, pulled back, only giving her long looks across the campus grass during sunset. Still, she wasn't sure the trade in with Benjicot was any better, even though the latter significantly less pushy and condescending as his sworn enemy (though she wouldn't know that much since she never gave him a chance to speak with her).

The archives had been her biggest form of respite from the world it seemed; the silence was a welcome change to the every bustling college town of King's Landing. There were no customers or library patrons to ask her of anything, no nosy classmates staring or making comments, and there was no Benjicot Blackwood or Aeron Bracken to bother/or glare at her.

She sat at one of the long tables down there, contemplating nothing and enjoying it as much as she can before reminding herself that the head librarian, Alicent, would be looking for her soon. As she made her way out the door, she nearly slammed into another body.

"I'm so sorry--"

"Its fine--"

"But I was in the way and I should have been looking forward--!" She started before her mouth clamped shut and met Benjicot Blackwood's brown eyes.

He gave her a reassuring smile as he repeated, "Like I said its fine. I was looking for you anyways." He frowned to himself before correcting himself. "No, well, I was looking for the archives for a class project but I was looking for you. I wasn't following, I promise. I wouldn't do that."

His nervousness seemed to outweigh his appearance - still in the learher bomber jacket and dark clothes. A fashion sense polar opposite to him right now. For some reason this eased [Name] a bit more, though not enough to keep eye contact with him. Her sneakers were a bit more entertaining to look at over Benjicot.

"Um, right." [Name] started, not sure where the conversation should go next. "I'm, uh, sorry. By the way."

"Whatever for?"

"Pulling you into that mess with Aeron. I panicked and wanted him off my back. If I'd known both of you knew each other, let alone hate each other, I wouldn't have brought you in this mess." [Name] explains, finally glancing up at him, fighting the urge to look down again after realizing he had been watching her the whole time as she spoke, listening to every word she said. She adds quietly, "Now we're both pulled into some ridiculous scandal with the school."

Benjicot blinks at her before asking, "You really didn't know about our families? So you didn't just pull me into all of that because you knew about us?"

"No!" [Name] nearly shouts. She wasn't the perfect person but bringing people into her problems hadn't been something she was proud of. "I panicked and you walked in at a seriously unfortunate time."

He nods, seemingly taking on everything she said becore shaking his head and laughing. [Name] frowned, unsure how to take the reaction. Was he mad? Confused?

"Are you upset?" She asks, relief flooding through her as he shook his head.

"No not at all. I just uh..." He starts, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Feel a little embarrassed now."

Huh? "Why?"

"Well I was going to propose we continue--"

"What?" [Name] says, her voice echoing in the empty hall. Benjicot nodded. "What? Why? Aren't you sick of having to answer questions about us already?"

"No actually, I've just been giving vague answers to keep everyone guessing." Benjicot admits, smiling in amusement as [Name] stared at him in shock. "Its fun when you're bored. What have you been saying?"

Nothing. I've been avoiding everyone. "That's not the point. Why do you want to even continue?"

"Ah well, you seem familiar with our families a bit, right?" He starts. "I'm not looking for any trouble but I just enjoy getting under Bracken's skin a lot. Its our second year here and I don't go and poke around with him as much as I did when we were kids. He's on edge and overconfident. I just wanted to remind him that I'm still here to knock him down a bit, yeah? Also, he doesn't seem to hang around the bookstore anymore so you haven't been dealing with him lately."

"Yeah." [Name] said, a little dizzy. He wanted to continue this? Even with the explanation, she had a hard time wrapping her head around it. "So if we pretend to go out a little longer, it irritates Aeron and he'll leave me alone?"

"Something like that, yeah. You don't have to agree to it. Not after you said you knew nothing about the fueds. I know you didn't like him that much either so I thought you bringing me in on that was part of some plan." Benjicot says hurriedly. "I just thought it'd be fun for a little bit - a couple weeks at best - and you'll get time away from that prick forever if we continue."

A bit of the Benjicot from a few weeks ago had came up at that moment when he mentioned Aeron. He really did hate him. Enough to propose to a stranger they should continue "dating" just for some laughs. [Name] stood for a minute, staring down at her shoes again as if they had the answer to this problem.

Now, she could have just told Aeron off but what would that do for someone as dense and self absorbed as him? If she followed Benjicot's suggestion and continued this ruse, it would mean he'd leave her alone since Benjicot is around.

She chewed her lip, following the pit in her stomach as she said, "Fine."

Benjicot's eyes widened, looking like a new person from the sudden agreement. "Seriously?"

[Name] nodded. "On some conditions." She held her fingers up each time she spoke. "One, we only do this on campus and at the bookstore. And try not to be seen with other people around Aeron and his friends; they might get suspicious."

"Easy enough."

"Two, no kissing on the mouth or anything of that sort." Benjicot sent her a confused look.

"How would we convince them then? You act like you've never been kissed before--" He stops himself as [Name] sent him a scathing look.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She says defensively. "Not all of us had time for relationships if we wanted to get into a good university."

"No, I just - you're um, really pretty?" He says the statement like a question, but that only set a fire in [Name]'s chest as she glared at him. He shakes his head in panic. "I'm sorry. I didn't meant to make it sound like an insult. Its just uh... Yeah." He ends whatever he says, clearly not wanting to piss [Name] off anymore. "How about no mouth to mouth of any kind? Just head kisses? That's still convincing enough."

[Name] stared at him, narrowing her eyes in suspicion to see if he gave that suggestion for real or just to appease her. "Fine. Head kisses and that's it."

She held up a third finger. "Two months at best with this. Six weeks basically. We pretend to date, 'break up' and we go on with our days like before."

"We can't even be friends?" Benjicot jokes, though she can hear the hint of genuineness behind it. Given what she head about Benjicot Blackwood, he seemed like nothing but trouble. But being in front him now, so quiet and considerate of her feelings, she wasn't sure what to think anymore.

This time, she was the one to give a reassuring smile. "Let's see in a couple months, Benjicot."

"Just call me Benji. I don't get called Benjicot unless I'm in trouble."

"Sure. Benji."

After laying all their ground rules, Benji offered to walk her home ("Its almost dark and now's a good time to start since everyone's walking home!"). The walk was silent, both unsure of what to say to each other at that moment in time.

Between the both of them, Benji seemed the most natural about acting everything out. He kept an arm around her and often glanced her way, as if completely enamored by her appearance even if she looked like she crawled out of a sewer after a long day of pushing heavy books around all day.

Regardless, she could feel staring again but she didn't mind this time now that she had Benji around to be in on this. By the time they reached her apartment, she pulled away from him. She looked at him and for once she seemed to have a good look at him.

His brown hair was messed up from the autumn wind. The leather jacket fit him well but he clearly seemed to have just grown into it from how he awkwardly kept his hands shoved into his pockets and moved his shoulders around it with uncertainty. In that moment, Benji was just like any other person and not some lone wolf with a rakeish history.

"Thanks for walking me home." [Name] says before pausing. "Benji."

Benji grins. "No problem. [Name]."

The door swings open, Chiara stepping out through the door. Her eyes dart between the two before stepping askde to let [Name] walk in. They both wave at Benji, who reciprocates before turning to walk back to his own place. After he'd been far away enough, Chiara pulls [Name] by her sweater into their apartment.

"What happened?"

The question itself wouldn't give a clear enough answer for her friend. [Name] puts her bag down as she speaks, "I think you'll need to sit down for this. You might faint after you hear everything."

taglist

@not-a-glad-gladiator @opheliaas-stuff @sahvlren @nikki-is-a-nerd @weird-things-i-think-about @cxcilla @anakilusmos @haydee5010 @waystarkia

[yanderes-galore]

Romantic yandere Sukuna with fearless and strong darling who is not afraid of him concept? If you're up for it, that is. I imagine that he would find that kind of darling very fun, fun to watch as they fight and resist him, and all the more fun to try and break them.

Oh I feel so bad for the obsession in this- Vague when exactly this takes place, but it's most likely Heian Era if I have to pick?

Yandere! Sukuna with Strong/Defiant! Darling

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Sadism, Violence, Blood, Possessive behavior, Sukuna being Sukuna, Blood licking, Forced kissing, Sukuna has a blood kink, Forced relationship implied.

Even the strongest don't last long against Sukuna.

The King of Curses is aware of his strength but does enjoy a bit of a challenge.

When he first met you, a talented Sorcerer who holds so much promise...

Well... you're just so tempting...!

You can be fearless and strong, many Sorcerers in his age were.

Although, Sukuna manages to get them to break eventually.

It doesn't matter if this is the Heian Era or the Modern Era, Sukuna willingly takes any challenge he deems worthy.

Although, what he wasn't expecting was to fall for you.

Sukuna is used to a more primal form of attraction.

You know the type.

His first fight with you floods him with a similar feeling.

When fighting you, he feels primal, downright feral.

You give him a good challenge.

Great! He was getting bored....

Sukuna's initial obsession is due to him wanting to toy with you.

He wants to push you, see how far you can go.

He's addicted to the idea of breaking you.

You're just so cocky... so fearless when against him.

You have good strength, he won't deny that you're strong...

But you will never measure up to him.

You act like you can beat him, like you can save the day by removing him.

Oh, sweetheart...

The reality check you're going to end up getting is going to be harsh.

Sukuna does enjoy strength.

It's a trait that makes him have another reason to want you.

Unfortunately, everything breaks.

At some point a battle against him will be your last.

But he won't kill you...

He wants to see your shame, he wants to see your fear...

He wants you to bow your little head before him once he's finished.

By the end of your last battle, Sukuna hasn't held back.

All your other ones? Sukuna was holding back to test things.

Now? Well... he feels so confident when he sees you bleeding before him.

You're shaking, the King of Curses having spent extra time to break down your confidence.

He stands before you, a demonic grin on his face as he stares down at you.

You're on your knees in a forced bow due to him kneeing your stomach.

The pain consumes you and you feel the warmth of your own blood on your skin.

Sukuna merely laughs, finding your surrender amusing.

The scent of your blood pierces his nose, making the king lick his lips.

"Not so strong against me, are you? You're such an adorable toy...!"

Sukuna's laughs turn into howls as he kneels down, forcing you to look into his eyes with a tight claw on your chin.

"You Sorcerers... so full of confidence, even when your foe has so much more experience...."

He traces a long nail down your body, collecting some blood to study it.

His chest rumbles in a chuckle as he looks at how the crimson liquid glistens.

"I should kill you... but you've provided so much entertainment...!"

Sukuna then leans closer to your face, multiple eyes staring down at you.

"I have a more pleasing idea... I'll keep you. You'll live even with all this blood loss... I'll make sure of that. Then you can be my newest toy."

You want to fight against his decision, but you're in no position to fight.

Not when your ears are ringing and your vision is blurring.

"Consider yourself lucky! You've fought many times against me and lived. You'll be my new favorite. No one else has been this entertaining...."

Sukuna then kisses your lips, licking the blood on your skin with a smile before pulling away.

"Ah, you have so many surprises. You even taste delightful!"

You grimace at his words, unable to push yourself any further before Sukuna scoops you up into his arms.

Your warm blood stains his chest but he only shakes in what seems like sadistic pleasure.

"Give up that pitiful display of defiance, dear..."

Sukuna scoffs, eying your bloodsoaked glare.

"You've lost, haven't you? Please, this fate is much more... merciful. You'll love your new role. We'll have so much fun..."

Sukuna purrs, holding your face closer to his by the hair.

"You'll serve me well, won't you, pet?"

Safe to say... you'll break eventually if you haven't already.

[monstersandmaw]

Male orc x gender neutral reader (light nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Commission number two folks!

Content: Gender and body neutral reader who’s autistic deals with sensory overload while at a funfair, stimming includes rocking and pressure on the hands. Male orc offers a way out so the reader can catch their breath. Very brief mention of the orc losing a close friend in the past year, and of deciding to live more in the moment because of it. Light-ish nsfw at the end with a bit of a fade to black. 

Wordcount: 7562

Three hours ago, you’d been sure you could handle this. How could you not? It was a day out with your friends for Lily’s birthday, but of course, the orc had chosen the modern equivalent of a jousting tournament to show off her skills to her girlfriend. Still, you and Luke and Ellis had met up and made your way through town, collecting Lily and Maggie outside a gelateria, where naturally you all paused to buy the most amazing ice cream in town. With a start like that, how could things possibly go wrong?

After a leisurely walk to the fairground on the outskirts of town, you’d watched Luke win a fluffy white rabbit toy that was almost as big as he was on the coconut shy, despite the way the game was obviously rigged, but the werewolf had wagged his shaggy grey tail and howled his victory to the sky and clutched his new friend to his chest like it was his own goddamn child, and you’d clapped and cheered along with everyone else at the soppy wolf.

You hadn’t noticed the way you'd started to grip one hand with the other, squeezing tightly with finger and thumb just to give a little release to the steady buildup of pressure inside you as the atmosphere of the fanfare closed in around you. You also didn’t notice that you were gently rocking from side to side on the spot while you waited for Ellis to decide if he was going to go and say hi to the girl he’d been crushing on for a while, so when you found a teenager staring openly at you from the queue for the paintball stand, you assumed their attention was on Ellis.

Ellis usually attracted looks, not only because he was a goblin — a species that was relatively rare in your part of the world — but because his storm-grey skin was mottled all over with pale patches from vitiligo. He wasn’t bothered by the attention for the most part, but when you saw exactly where their gaze was directed instead — at your twisting hands — you felt an ugly stab of something bitter go through you. Carnivals may not offer the outdated and heartless ‘freak show’ elements anymore, but boy were you made to feel like one sometimes by other people.

“Hey, look!” Ellis exclaimed, his scratchy, reedy voice cutting through the maelstrom of noise and crush of people easily enough. “There she is! I’m gonna go see if she’s up for a ferris wheel ride. You think she’ll say yes?”

Your nod came out jerky and a bit stilted, but you mustered a smile of encouragement for your friend and he grinned back at you, all his sharp teeth glinting in the sunshine. Then something shifted in his expression and he frowned. “You ok?” he asked as his completely black eyes went a little wider with concern.

Again, you nodded and tried to look a little more convincing. After weeks of dancing around each other, he was finally going to shoot his shot, and there was no way you wanted him to miss because of you. “Fine,” you croaked. The word came out like a cat hocking up a hairball, but at least you got it out.

“Ok. Text me, alright?” he said. “Text me if you wanna go.”

You nodded. No way were you going to be the reason everyone left. If things got bad, you’d just… bail. Somehow. If you could find your way out of the crush of people without imploding first.

Glancing right, you saw Lily raise the hammer on the high striker and watched her muscles bunch and flex in her arms, shoulders and back. She was wearing a black tank top that said, ‘If lost, return Butch to Femme Fatale’ and beside her stood pint-sized Maggie in her denim hot pants and white t-shirt that read ‘Femme Fatale’. It was adorable, honestly, but as you stood there alone in the stream of people coursing and jostling down the avenue of grass between the smaller stands and side-shows, over-stimulation swamped you completely and you found yourself drowning silently.

Flashing lights, blaring funfair music, screaming, children running this way and that, rides rumbling and rattling on all sides, electronic bleeps and jingles mingling into a cacophonous mixtape in the air and reverberating in your head, cartoon pistol noises on the laser gun range sounding over and over and over, more screaming as the pendulum ride swung overhead once again…

The sensory overload raked its claws across your skin and left you with white noise in your head and cotton wool in your mouth.

The scent of candy floss grew chokingly thick in the air as you just stood there, paralysed.

Out of nowhere, a small and extremely solid lizardfolk kid barrelled into you, nearly knocking you flying. His horned head collided with your thigh and it hurt, but you didn’t cry out. His father scooped him up by the hand and apologised to you, but when he saw you rocking from side to side, he snatched his kid away and shot you another look, as if you were contagious or dangerous and not just struggling to kick start your brain again so you could get yourself the heck out of there and find somewhere safe to process everything.

Struggling to catch your breath, you gripped one hand with the other, squeezing as hard as you could but it wasn’t enough. There was just too much, inside and out, and you had nowhere to put it — nowhere to park it all until you could deal with it.

Someone ducked in front of you, their huge form blotting out the searing light of the afternoon sun.

Blinking, you looked up, still rocking, and tried to focus on their face.

He was an orc, you realised when you saw the huge, jutting tusks in his lower jaw and the expanse of sage green skin. A long, thick plait of black hair hung forward over his left shoulder, and through it ran a streak dyed a dark, vibrant red that was really attractive; it complemented the green tone of his freckled skin beautifully. Wearing a white, sleeveless tank top that had the logo of the fairground company on it, he wasn’t built like he spent every spare minute in the gym, but he looked like he could have lifted the ferris wheel right off its supports with no trouble at all.

Someone snickered nearby and you flinched, but you didn’t break the steady rocking motion of your body while mentally you tried to fend off all the unending stimuli around you. The orc’s expression darkened when he caught the sound of  laughter, and he stepped pointedly a little to the left. The movement served to block you from their sight and to refocus your attention on something that was quiet and solid and steady in front of you.

Yeah, he was solid alright. You blinked and watched the corners of his mouth twitch upwards just a little behind his colossal tusks, both of which bore silver caps over the tips to indicate that he had reached full maturity in the eyes of his culture. It probably meant that his tusks were filed to sharp points beneath the caps too. It was rare for orcs who lived in the city to stick to the older ways, but as you continued to stare up at him and move side to side while you ran your hands over your forearms, you noticed the beads in his braid of different materials: wood, copper, steel, glass, stone, and even bone. He’d lost someone close to him then at some point. Gods, now was not the time to be fishing everything you knew about orcs out of the depths of your brain.

For another few seconds, he continued to shield you from the staring judgement of the people in the queue for the nearest booth, but when you didn't seem to be able to settle, he jutted his chin to the side of the grassy avenue between the stalls.

“My name is Rhokann. You wanna step this way for a second? Catch your breath where it’s a bit quieter?” he said.

When no words came to your lips, he tilted his head just a little and then beckoned you with a big hand. “There’s a quieter spot over by that oak tree and the river. You want to come with me for a minute?”

You did. You also wanted to say thank you, but the words got glued up on their way from your brain to your mouth, so you just nodded.

He stuck out his arm and halted the flow of people for a moment to usher you between the candy floss stall and something else that was painted a thousand lurid colours so you didn’t look too long at it. Only when you saw the bole of a huge, old oak and a wide patch of un-trampled grass around it did you let out a shaky breath and turn to see him standing a little way off. A couple of people peered after you down the gap between the stalls, and he looked back at them with a very articulate and animalistic growl. That done, he stepped a little to his right, obscuring the view of you down the small alley with his body.

“Forget about them and look out over the river for a minute,” he suggested.

His dark brown eyes slid from you to the railings behind you, and you turned to see the river gushing in a white foam over the weir that controlled its flow through the city beyond. The sounds of the funfair behind you faded slowly, dissolving into the steady stream of white noise from the river, and you took a deeper breath and gradually released the death-grip you’d had on your own hands.

You let your gaze unfocus a little, but your body kept on moving as it tried to help you dissipate all the tension that had been building in your muscles and your mind ever since you’d first arrived at the fair.

A shadow moved in the corner of your vision, and you found Rhokann approaching slowly. He cast a pointed look at the metal railing to your left and said, “You mind if I join you for a moment?”

You shook your head. The word ‘no’ didn’t want to come, but he didn’t seem to take it as rudeness.

“Cheers,” he said. “Carnival gets intense, huh?”

This time, you nodded and he smiled when he saw it. You liked the way it hitched his mouth up around his tusk on the right, and it brought a twinkle to his coffee-brown eyes.

“Take your time,” he said. “You here with your friends?”

You nodded.

“They know where you were?”

You shook your head, but reached into your pocket and drew out your phone. Shaking it a little, you hoped he’d get the idea that they could contact you if they wanted to find you, or the other way around, and he smiled again in understanding. Your heart skipped a beat. He may have been seven and a half feet tall, but he had a gentle demeanour that you hadn’t really realised was possible in someone that big. He had a paunch too, which he clearly wasn’t trying to hide with his close-fitting, sleeveless top, and you could see from the scoop of the neckline that he had an attractive swirl of dark hair across his pecs that made you wonder what the rest of him looked like without clothes on; a fact that was startling enough in that moment to make you flush hot and look away.

“You want me to keep you company for a bit, or do you want some space?” he asked after another couple of minutes floated past.

You shook your head and then struggled to find the words to make him stay just a bit longer. When he saw you floundering, he smiled and asked, “Stay?”

You nodded, exhaling in relief, even as you fought off a rush of disappointment in not being able to form the words.

“You’re good,” he said with a wave of a huge hand. “Don’t stress talking.”

He took a deep, luxuriant inhale and leaned his massive forearms on the metal railing, easing his weight forward and gazing out at the river. His braid went all the way to the small of his back and it made you want to wrap it around your hand and tug just to see what kind of sound he’d make, and again, you had to look away before he caught you lusting after him. Just because you’d been rescued by a heroic stranger, didn’t mean you had to go falling in love with him in the following five minutes. It didn’t hurt that he hadn’t batted an eyelid at your stimming, or that he didn’t seem bothered by the fact that you’d been rendered almost completely non-verbal by the whole experience.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket a while later and you drew it out again to see that Lily was looking for you.

‘Where are you, Titch?’ she’d texted and you smiled when you saw the nickname. The massive orc had given it to you back in college, and it had stuck ever since. Even Ellis called you ‘Titch’ sometimes, despite the fact that he was nearly a foot and a half shorter than you. ‘We turned around and you’d gone!’

Rhokann was watching you from the corners of his kind eyes, and you waggled the phone again before typing out a message to Lily. ‘Needed to step away for a second. Got rescued by a super hot orc guy. More at ten.’

Lily texted back immediately. ‘Super hot orc guy, huh? I’ll be the judge of that. Where are you?’

‘Big oak tree on the edge of the park near the river. Don’t embarrass me please.’

‘As if I’d ever…’

‘You spend every spare minute you’re not kissing Maggie trying to embarrass me and El and Luke.’

‘Fair play. We’re nearby. I can see the tree’

You locked your phone and swallowed thickly, feeling a bit more able to talk. “Friend’s coming…” you faltered. Wow. Nice and articulate, you sneered at yourself with your usual sarcasm.

“That’s good,” Rhokann smiled back. He made no move to push himself back upright from the railings though, and shifted his gaze back out to the city that sprawled over the other side of the river. He gave another sigh.

You stepped a little closer and looked up at him. “You… ok?” you asked.

“Mm,” he hummed. When he looked back down at you, his dark eyes were strangely sad. “Just… thinking,” he said with a gesture of his hand near his temple. “I’ve been working here all summer, and it’s been amazing, but I’m starting a full time job in a week. I’m just thinking about what’s coming next.”

“Doing what?” Words were starting to come back a little quicker now, but it wasn’t great.

He turned his head over his shoulder to look at you, but before he could answer your question, you heard Lily’s voice coming from behind you.

“Hey Titch!” she called, and then she eyed the other orc ostentatiously up and down.

She raised an eyebrow when she saw the beads in his braid and the cuffs around his thick tusks, and you watched Rhokann deflate a little. Lily was not a traditional orc. For one, she was dating a human, which wasn’t exactly frowned upon but humans weren’t normally seen as suitable partners for her kind, and for another, she had cut her black hair short in a style shaved close to her skull above her pointed ears and left a little longer on top. She wore no cuffs on her tusks, and she’d filed them to softly-rounded points. “As much for Maggie’s pleasure as my own damned convenience,” she’d once told you.

Lily disdained orcs who stuck to the old ways, thinking them brutish thugs stuck in the past, and she folded her arms as she stared Rhokann down. “You wanna head home?” she asked in a low growl.

You turned your attention to Rhokann and he offered you a tiny, sad smile and a shrug of his shoulder. You wanted to stay and get to know him, but you also desperately wanted to be away from the fairground now. Your body felt drained of life, like you were running on fumes, and all you wanted was the quiet of your apartment, a pair of noise-cancelling headphones, and a good book.

In the end, Rhokann decided for you. He offered you a broader smile, and said, “It was nice meeting you. Take care.”

You’d never regretted your tendency to go non-verbal more than watching him walk away and not being able to say thank you.

With Lily on one side, you were joined by Luke a few minutes later, still hauling around the giant fluffy bunny he’d won, its ears flopping comically with each of his bounding steps, but you kept scanning every face for Rhokann. You saw an ogre with green skin that was a similar shade to Rhokann’s, but disappointment bit deep when you realised it wasn’t him, and when a flash of red hair up ahead drew your attention, you barely contained a sob when you saw it was a troll with multiple streaks of red in their black hair.

The walk back home passed in a daze, and you spent the rest of the day buzzing in the worst way possible.

A week later, Luke texted and asked if you wanted to grab breakfast on your way to work, and since you only had stale cereal in your cupboard, you practically leapt at the chance. ‘You mind if we drop my car off at the garage on the way?’ he asked with a subsequent text. ‘There’s an amazing little cafe just around the corner and we can get the metro from there afterwards.’

When his sputtering old deathtrap wheezed onto the garage forecourt though, your heart practically sputtered out as well. There, in oil-stained overalls, was Rhokann.

He didn’t spot you to start with, but when you climbed out of the passenger side and closed the door, his eyes flickered to you and then away again. Then back in a huge, obvious double-take, and his face split into a hearty grin. “Hey,” he chuckled once he’d taken the keys from Luke. “I didn’t think I’d get the chance to see you again.”

“Neither did I,” you admitted, and Luke shot you a look. He was in his human form this time, but he was no less intimidating than he looked as a shifted werewolf. For all that he was happy to haul a fluffy, cartoon rabbit around a funfair all day without a lick of self-consciousness, he was a dedicated gym-rat and had the body to match, but while his commitment was certainly admirable, he wasn’t your type. Rhokann, on the other hand, with his strongman physique and solid layer of fat to soften the strength that lay beneath… unfff… It was hard to look at him for long without feeling your skin start to prickle with heat.

“Wait, you two know each other?” Luke asked you and you nodded.

“He came to my rescue at the fairground last weekend while you were showing that white rabbit the time of its life,” you grinned.

At that, Luke flushed. You weren’t the only one who liked Rhokann’s build, but the orc wasn’t looking at Luke’s incredibly toned arms, which were currently being deliberately shown off to amazing advantage by his tight, black t-shirt. No, Rhokann was looking at you like you were the most interesting thing he’d seen in a year, and it was enough to make a cloud of butterflies erupt in your chest.

“Damn,” Luke hissed down at you, smirking. “You weren’t kidding about the ‘super hot orc guy’ thing.”

At that, your eyes went wide with horror and you smacked him in the chest with a wild flail of your hand. “I can’t believe Lily told you I said that, but you didn’t have to fucking repeat it!” you hissed around a strangled yelp. “In front of him,” you added through gritted teeth.

Rhokann chuckled quietly from a few feet away, and you turned quickly back to look at him. He raised one thick, black eyebrow and you rolled your eyes.

Turning to Luke in desperation as a mild panic seeped across your brain, you blurted, “Didn’t you say they were super busy at breakfast? Come on, we’d better go…”

And with that, you bolted from the garage without waiting for Luke to follow.

You weren’t proud, and you were sorely disappointed in yourself for chickening out, but in your defence, your friend had just embarrassed the hell out of you in front of your hero of the day. What if Rhokann just thought you were some human with a crush now?

Luke caught up with you, looking back over his shoulder at Rhokann for a second, and then trotted down the road at your side. “Hey, wait, I’m… I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“It’s ok,” you groaned. “I know how it feels when there’s a gorgeous guy standing there looking like… that… In your case, stupid stuff falls out of your mouth. In my case, I clam up.”

“Fair, but still,” Luke groused, holding the door of the cafe open for you and letting you step in ahead of him. “I’m sorry.”

The scent of coffee and sweet icing sugar wafted around you and you forgot your embarrassment for a bit, but the way you’d scuppered your chances haunted you for the rest of the morning at work.

By the time you got home, you were fractious and stimming and in need of some space to slough off the day on your own terms. When your phone chimed a little while later, you assumed it would be one of your friends, but it was an unknown number, and your heart skipped a beat.

‘Hey, it’s Rhokann. I hope this isn’t presumptuous of me. Your friend Luke gave me your number and said it was an apology, but he didn’t say what for. Anyway, if you’re not interested, just ignore this and block my number, but I’d love to see you again. Let me know if you’re up for that, and maybe we can figure something out soon. If not, I’m glad I met you all the same and I won’t contact you again.’

No one had ever said anything like that to you, and you stared at the text for a full five minutes.

The first person you texted though was Luke to yell at him affectionately in all caps. He called you back, and you accepted the call with a little huff that made him laugh with quiet fondness. “I’m sorry, Titch,” he said. “But I fucked up, and I figured he’d been about to ask for your number before you bolted…”

“Yeah, but I would have had the chance to say no…” you said.

“True, and I’m sorry I interfered again,” he sighed, and then after barely a beat had passed, “So are you gonna meet up?”

You rolled your eyes and flopped down onto the sofa. “I haven’t texted back. But probably.”

“Yes! He’s stunning. You saw those caps on his tusks though, right? He’s old school… He’s probably gonna go all-out to impress you…”

“So long as he doesn’t literally hunt and catch dinner for me, I don’t mind. Lily told me about orc courtship, and I am not interested in a whole fucking elk on my doorstep or something…”

“Nah, but he might challenge the chef to a death match for the honour of feeding you…”

“Oh please don’t even joke about it,” you groaned, and Luke did laugh, long and loud. “I’m hanging up now, you bastard.”

“Love you too, Titch,” he said, and hung up for you.

It took a while to figure out how to reply to Rhokann, but eventually you came up with something that you hoped didn’t sound super desperate and strange. ‘Sorry I bailed earlier like that. Luke has no shame, I swear, but I’ve told him off for going behind my back and we’re friends again now. You free this Friday evening?’

Before you could chicken out, you sent the message and sat back on the sofa, wringing your hands quietly in your lap and breathing steadily.

His reply came five minutes later. ‘If it helps, he was really awkward about broaching the topic with me when he came to collect his car. And yes I am free this Friday. What were you thinking?’

‘All on me then?’

‘I have suggestions but I wondered what you wanted. Cocktails at ‘IceCube and Henbane’? Catching that new movie they’re advertising all over town? Dinner somewhere? A walk along the river and takeaway from one of the food trucks? Any combination of those?’

Realising he was probably letting you decide on something that wouldn’t be as overstimulating as the funfair had been, you decided to keep being playful first. ‘You know henbane is poisonous to humans?’

‘They serve human-safe cocktails too, and non-alcoholic ones too that are just as good. Steer well clear of the naga-specific menu though because that shit could clean out a drain. Or strip the rust off your buddy’s car.’

You barked a laugh that echoed off the walls of your apartment. ‘I’ll tell him you said that.’

‘Go ahead, I said as much to him already.’

His texts had a cocky kind of confidence that he’d not really exuded on the day you’d met him at the fair, but then you remembered how he’d drawn himself up to his full height to shield you from those artless onlookers and flexed his shoulders just a fraction to make them back off, and you figured the two sides of him could probably sit well on his bulky frame after all.

‘Oof, I bet his ego took a hit with that. Let’s do cocktails and then maybe walk them off along the river afterwards?’

‘Sounds perfect. Shall I meet you somewhere first or meet there?’

You looked the place up online, which you probably should have done first in case it was out of your price range, and hit the map on the website to see where it was. Having arranged to meet him there, you signed off for the night and tried to get your mind to stop spinning. Somehow, despite two missed chances, the universe had thrown you a gift and a third chance in the form of Luke’s meddling.

That Friday, dressed in what you hoped would be an appropriate outfit for a cocktail bar in a swankier part of the city, you headed out with your heart in your throat.

Rhokann was impossible to miss, standing under the soft, orange light of the lamp outside the cocktail bar, and wow did he look good in black dress pants and a white shirt. His twin silver tusk-caps caught the light, and you noted that this time he had his hair tied back off his face in twin braids that melted into a single rope that hung down his spine.

He spotted you and turned to watch you walk towards him, but he didn’t make any kind of move towards you until you came to a stop in front of him and looked up into his softly smiling face.

“Hi,” you said awkwardly.

“Hi. You look gorgeous,” he added, eyeing you up and down in a way that made his gaze feel like a physical presence against your skin, and it was all you could do to repress a shiver.

You swallowed thickly. “Likewise.”

“Shall we head in?”

“Lead the way,” you said, not really wanting to walk into the unfamiliar space first. Rhokann just nodded and pushed the door open, holding it for you to enter behind him before heading into the softly-lit, wood-panelled bar.

It had the cosy, secretive air of a speakeasy, and as you wove through the tables behind the server who had looked Rhokann up and down and licked her lips in a very unsubtle display of interest, you spotted someone playing an upright piano in a far corner. Rhokann thanked the server politely and let his eyes drift back to you a moment later, the woman apparently forgotten. Something warmed in your chest and you took your seat opposite him.

He was one of those people that had real presence, and it wasn’t just his size that conjured it around him like a tangible aura. There was something about him that made people look at him, but his eyes never left you. After two menus had been set down before you, he said, “Tonight’s on me, if that’s alright?”

“You’re sure?”

Rhokann inclined his head and you caught sight of an earring dangling from his right ear. It looked like a piece of jet shaped like a small fang, polished and set in silver and dangling by a single link to a ball stud in his earlobe. He had silver rings up the line of cartilage to the pointed tips of his ears, and in the lobe of his left he had a simple silver stud. At the artfully-open neck of his white shirt, you could see the hint of an orcish tattoo and a whisper of dark hair that made something thrum through you again.

In contrast to your habit of moving around, he seemed still and calm as a monolith, and you found yourself drawn to that; drawn to his steadiness in a way you’d never experienced with anyone. Over the course of the next two hours, the two of you also talked in a way you’d never found easy with anyone. He listened, and in a measured, easy, back and forth of conversational give and take, you got to know each other.

His family was wealthy and lived in the country for the most part, and yes, they were very traditional by modern orcish standards. “You might think I’m pretty formal when it comes to orcish ways,” he said, looking self-conscious for the first time all evening, “But you should see my parents and my two older brothers…” He took a deep draw of his smoky, whisky cocktail and blew out a breath. The tip of his tongue caressed his lower lip just a little as he savoured the lingering taste, and your eyes tracked the movement hungrily.

To distract yourself, you eyed his silver tusk-caps and said, “I was going to ask about…” and tapped the side of your mouth awkwardly, not sure if you should really be asking about his orcish jewellery and personal tastes so soon.

To your relief, Rhokann smiled and brought his finger and thumb up to the right hand tusk. He lifted the cap off and turned it over in his hand for a second before handing it to you to look at. The tusk beneath gleamed beautifully in the low light, and you had been correct in guessing that his tusks were tipped with wickedly sharp points beneath them.

In your fingers, the cap was practically the size of a tiny shot glass, and you could see the orcish patterns engraved into its surface all the way around. “It’s beautiful,” you said. “My friend Lily told me a bit about orcish culture, but she doesn’t really keep to traditions, so I don’t know all that much. Just the things she personally doesn’t like. Which, to be fair, seems like a lot when you get her started on a rant.”

He laughed and delicately took the silver cap back from you when you held it out to him. He slid it easily back into place and said, “You can ask me anything you like. I figured your friend didn’t like me much when she gave me the once-over at the fairground.”

“She’s protective of the people she cares for,” you said. “It’s the one orcish trait she hasn’t abandoned. That, and showing off her muscles for her girlfriend.” The heady atmosphere and the slight rush of adrenaline that was coursing through you from being so close to him at last was making you bold, and you spoke before you’d realised you might actually be insulting him, but Rhokann only laughed.

“Ahh, those traits are etched into our DNA,” he said. “You’re gonna have to go a long way to find an orc who isn’t protective, and who doesn’t like to show off just a little bit.”

You stared pointedly at his muscles beneath the white shirt and then looked him in the eye. “If you’ve got it, why not show it off a bit.”

“Only if it works…”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Can’t you tell?”

He leaned just a fraction closer and your heart skipped a beat or two as his big, brown eyes seemed to glow softly. “I’m getting some hints,” he purred. “You slipped through my fingers twice now,” he went on, bringing his hand up onto the table and laying it knuckle-down on the wooden surface between your empty glasses. “I’m not going to let a third time pass me by without a proper answer from you.”

“What’s the question?” you asked faintly.

He smiled. “Can I see you again after tonight?”

You nodded.

“You want to get out of here yet?”

Again, you nodded.

His smile returned, and you sat back in your seat while he hailed the server and paid for your drinks. He gave her a tip generous enough to make her blush, and then stood and looked down at you. “Ready?”

A third nod was all the answer you could muster, but he didn’t seem to think you rude.

He walked behind you this time as you led the way out, and when you stepped out into the balmy, end-of-summer evening, you heard him heave a huge sigh. Glancing back over your shoulder, you found him looking at you, and you flushed. “What?”

“I’m just glad I got the chance to see you again. I thought… I thought that was it when your friend bustled you away from me.”

“Why were you working there?” you asked bluntly. You wanted to know why he was working as a mechanic at a tiny garage on the edge of town too, if his family was so well-off, but you didn’t know him well enough to ask something so direct. “At the fair, I mean.”

He smiled. “I wanted to?” he shrugged. “I’ve always been the dutiful son — I went to a good university and got a respectable degree and got a sensible job, but I felt… choked.”

Rhokann sighed again and checked the street for traffic before gesturing with his hand for you to start crossing. You walked by his side as the pair of you headed towards the river, where a long, flat promenade stretched, and you listened to him talk. His beautiful, rumbling bass carried easily on the still evening, and it made you feel steady again amid the noise of the city behind you.

“I’m not on bad terms with my family or anything, but… after a close friend of mine passed last year, I decided that I was going to live my life on my terms, and not anyone else’s. My heritage is very important to me, but it’s not everything I am. My family doesn’t understand why I quit my career and got a summer job working at the fair of all places, or why I turned my love of cars and fixing things into a job as a mechanic.”

“If you’re happier now, that’s all that matters, right?” you said.

He grinned. “I’m happy tonight, that’s for sure.”

“You’re such a charmer.”

“If it works, right?” he chuckled. You got the impression there were depths to him that would slowly unravel to you over time, and you found yourself looking forward to it already.

“Yeah, it works,” you mumbled.

You walked along the embankment together for a while until his footsteps faltered and he asked, “Would you let me hold your hand?”

“Sure,” you smiled, hoping you didn't have sweaty palms.

His hands were rough and huge, but you made it work, and it was wonderful to have a physical connection with him after clicking over chat and drinks already.

In the lea of the oldest bridge that spanned the wide river, the two of you slowed and came to a natural halt to lean against the wall in easy silence, staring out at the water as it slid past in an inky, glittering ribbon.

Rhokann turned away from the view and the movement caught your attention, drawing your gaze up to his handsome face.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked in a hoarse murmur.

“Yes.”

Leaning down, Rhokann placed his palms on your jaw and angled your head gently upwards, but he didn’t kiss you right away. He bit his lower lip and although his eyes narrowed, you saw the way his pupils widened hungrily. “You’re stunning,” he exhaled. “I… I’ve wanted to kiss you all night.”

“Stop talking about it then, and do it,” you teased.

His eyes flashed and he closed the distance between you, hunching over and pressing his mouth against yours. His tusks framed your mouth beautifully, the silver caps nudging into your cheeks a little as he kissed you senseless. You’d never been kissed like that. His hands left your face and wandered down to your waist, where he tightened his grip and picked you up, setting you down on the wide, stone wall that bordered the river. At that height, it was much easier for him to reach you, and he stepped closer, parting your knees to stand even nearer to you. You hooked your lower legs around his hips and let him kiss you over and over until your body felt like it was on fire.

Your fingers found the intricate plait of the braids on the side of his head and he moaned when you ran your fingertips over the pattern. “I want you,” he said. “Not tonight if you don’t want it, but I need you to know I want you. However you’d like…”

“I want you too,” you breathed back in the scant space between you, foreheads touching. It felt more intimate than any words you’d ever spoken, but it also felt true.

Your hands moved to grip his huge, rounded shoulders and you squeezed before running your palms across his pecs. His chest heaved and he sounded out of breath when he said, “My place isn’t far from here. You want to come back to mine?”

You nodded.

He lifted you down and took a moment with his eyes closed to breathe carefully. In the light of a nearby street lamp, you could see the impressive tent in his trousers, and you bit back a smile.

“Told you I want you,” he said when he caught you looking. “Come on.”

Flattered and a little intimidated, you walked with him back to his apartment. It wasn’t anything showy like a penthouse overlooking the city, but it was in a nice part of town, and it felt secure and homely as you followed him into the lift. In a small rush of bravery, you placed your hand at the small of his back and you felt as much as heard the groan of pleasure he let out in the small confines of the elevator. His skin radiated heat through the fabric, and you splayed your fingers, feeling the solid muscle and the slight softness there too that made you ache inside and out for him.

By the time you got to his front door, he was taking deliberately steady breaths, but the moment you were inside, he lost a little of that composure. “I’d offer you a drink, or —” You silenced him by reaching up and pressing your thumb along his lip before drawing him down to kiss you again. Part of you wanted him to take you right there in the hallway, but you had hoped for something a little more comfortable.

Rhokann undressed you carefully but insistently, and between the front door and his stylish, modern bedroom you left a trail of your clothes and his, until you were both in only your underwear by the time you were standing beside his massive bed.

Dark sheets stretched neatly across its huge expanse, and he let you push him down to sit on the edge of the mattress, gazing up at you with his hands resting at your hips, thumbs drawing idle lines across the fabric of your underwear. The evidence of his arousal was obvious, and a darker wet patch had started to seep into the material at the tip of his cock.

His body was soft but strong in the kind of way that you’d always adored. His paunch was evident, but his arms were like anchor cables, and while he might not have had the lean look of a social media gym-junkie, he could outlast any of them in a show of strength.

“I never thanked you,” you said, reaching around to the back of his head for the plait that you’d wanted to feel in your hands since the first time you’d seen him.

“For what?” he asked breathlessly. His pupils were huge and the light reflected in his warm eyes like a cat’s in the dark. Desire swept through you in a heady rush.

Slowly, taking your time about it, you straddled his lap and sank yourself down to grind your hips decadently against his, and when his hard cock moved against your body, he let out a long, broken moan.

You tightened your hold on his braid and the sound he made would stay with you forever. The deep, guttural groan rumbled from his chest and his eyes rolled back behind fluttering eyelids. Beneath you, you felt his cock twitch.

“Please,” he gasped. His grip tightened on your hips and he shuddered like he was losing control of all his strength, fighting to keep from having his way with you. The jet earring dangling from his right ear glinted softly as it swayed like a tiny pendulum in the void between his earlobe and his shoulder.

“I never thanked you for taking such good care of me,” you said.

The orc responded exactly as you’d expected he would, and gave a throaty hum of pleasure.

“When I needed you, you protected me… got me out of there…”

You’d chosen your words very carefully, and Rhokann arched his spine, jutting his hips up and practically begging to fuck you without uttering a word.

You twisted his braid around your hand one more time and he tipped his head back, following the direction of the force you put on his head. The lick of red in his forelock looked perfect in the warm light of his bedroom, and you had been right about the orcish tattoos that covered his chest, right down to his hips. He also had the most delicious chest hair and the dark trail that ran down from his navel to the waistband of his tight boxer-briefs was gradually making you lose your mind.

“You were patient and understanding, and you didn’t mind that I didn’t have my words then,” you went on. “But I have them now, don’t I?”

“You do,” he choked. “You do. Please… Please…”

“Let me thank you properly then,” you said, and climbed carefully off his lap. You looked pointedly at his underwear and said, “Off.”

“Only if you do to,” he said, and you knew you’d met your counterpart in him.

He gave and took in equal measure, and as the two of you lost yourselves tangled in his sheets that night, you knew he was going to be the best thing that could have happened to you. The two of you moved in perfect synchrony, and you came apart within a heartbeat of each other. Rhokann made a mess of the sheets and you made more noise than you’d ever made coming in your life, and when the two of you lay back, sweaty and satiated at last, he wrapped his arm around you and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered.

“Thank the gods for third chances,” you smiled and he laughed quietly. “And meddling werewolves.”

“Indeed. Come here.” He tugged you against his body so that you were lying half-propped against him, with one arm draped over his soft middle, and you trailed your fingers up the centre of his chest. “You staying the night?”

You nodded, and hoped it would be the first of many.

__

I really hope you enjoyed this. If you did, and you made it all the way to the end, please consider showing your support by reblogging. It really is the best (and totally free!) way to help the artists and writers whose work you enjoy.

Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

[breelandwalker]

Wolf Moon - January 24-25, 2024

Shake off the cold and sing to the sky, witches - it's time for the Wolf Moon!

Wolf Moon

The Wolf Moon is the name given to the full moon which occurs in the month of January. The name is said to be derived from the sound of wolves howling with hunger while prey is scarce in the midst of winter. Given that we now know that wolves howl mostly for communication, my personal opinion is that people huddled in their homes during a very dark and dangerous time of year probably noticed these sounds a lot more readily with little else to occupy their time as they waited out the winter, and thus were set to worrying about ravenous beasts invading their villages and farmsteads. (It's worth noting that wolves preying on livestock was a very real concern for most people outside major cities for many centuries, so this isn't entirely unfounded.)

The name also calls to mind the howling of the wind during winter storms, or whistling around the eaves during the long cold nights. And for those of us who might not have been careful with our spending over the holidays, I might cite a tongue-in-cheek reference to the wolves being at the door when those credit card bills come due.

[For those not familiar with the phrase, to have "a wolf at the door" is a saying that refers to some imminent hardship or disaster. In modern parlance, this is usually applied to poor finances or looming bankruptcy.]

This month, the moon peaks at 12:54pm EST on January 25th, so the moon will likely appear to be full on the nights of the 24th and 25th, depending on where you are in the world.

Some North American indigenous names for the month of January and its' moon are Cold Moon (Cree), Center Moon (Assiniboine), Severe Moon (Dakota), Ice Moon (Catawba), and Spirit Moon (Ojibwe). Other names include Mantis Moon (South African origins), Quiet Moon (Celtic), and Moon After Yule (Anglo-Saxon).

What Does It Mean For Witches?

As a new year dawns, it's time for rest and reflection before we set out on the next phase of our journey. While the cold weather lingers, take some time to sit by the fire, literally or metaphorically, and take stock of where you stand, what resources are available, and what you plan to do with them.

Check in with your near-and-dear following the mad rush of the holiday season as well. Make sure that friends, family, and community members around you are doing all right. Offer support and kindness where you can, but don't overextend yourself. It's your time to recuperate too, and it is good and healthy to set boundaries which allow time and space for yourself.

What Witchy Things Can We Do?

Winter is a prime time for storytelling. Back in the days before internet or television or radio, people would often read to each other or tell tales to pass the time. Consider re-reading a favorite book that inspires you or exploring some region of folklore or mythology you've been meaning to look into. If you have children who are of an age to enjoy stories, read them some of your favorites or introduce them to something new. Share stories and discussions with your witchy circle too!

While you're at it, take a moment to examine the role that folklore and stories play in your practice. If you subscribe to a particular mythos, be it through deities or just general belief, consider which parts of it resonate the most with you and why.

Consider also the lessons of the winter season - the necessity of rest between periods of growth and activity, and the role of death, cold, and darkness in the natural cycles of life. What do these things mean to you and your practice? Are they a source of fear or fascination? Do you come alive in the winter or bundle up and wait for spring? How can you best remind yourself to pause for breath as the year goes on?

And of course, the beginning of a new year is an excellent time for goal-setting and divination. You're making resolutions for your mundane life, so make a few for your craft while you're at it, and pull out your cards or runes or pendulum for a New Year forecast on how things might go.

Happy Wolf Moon, witches! 🐺🌕

SOURCES & FURTHER READING:

Bree's Lunar Calendar Series

Bree's Secular Celebrations Series

Wolf Moon: Full Moon in January, The Old Farmer's Almanac.

Full Moon January 2024: Discover the Wolf's Thrilling Spiritual Meaning, The Peculiar Brunette.

Moon Info - Full Moon Dates for 2024

Calendar-12 - 2024 Moon Phases

Image Source: What Is A Wolf Moon?, The Fact Site.

[themotherofblood]

Omg I love your Bloody Baby series! Could I request like an update where maybe reader is in danger and gets hurt and ends in fluff? If anything I would just love more updates 😭😍🥰

you asked and I deliver :)

warnings: blood!! (duh) major injuries, not very realistic but in fanfic so don’t give me a hard time. just lots of gory blood stuff okay :)

synopsis: Nyra and Daemon go out hunting for The Seven, Nyra gets poisoned and ends up hurting baby (badly!) Daemon saves the day,

masterlist | bloody baby series | vampire au

A/N: I’m in hurt/comfort mood.

There was nothing, they had been at it for a week— shady fuckers never stayed out long enough to leave a scent.

Daemon had to raise a toast to their religious determination for sure, spending over a millennia hunting them— their kind. Wasn’t an easy task to keep up with a growing population, they had another reason for their relentless search this time. A secret that was hidden so well even they couldn’t find it, a possibility of cure from the last Great Weirwood tree.

A tree that should have burnt when the Night King was taken down, but its own powers saved it. The blasted thing was out there, somewhere far north, even modern technology had not ventured that far out and neither could they.

“There is nothing, two weeks and nothing!” Rhaenyra sighs into the phone.

There was news of a deal being struck at a very special kind of apothecary, and if the Seven pokes their heads out now, when they are more exposed then ever. It would have been for a damn good reason.

“We should head home, lingering will do us no good.” Daemon hummed, circling the hotel room where his enemies laid in.

Rhaenyra hums on the other end, a faint sound a zipper rumbles on the other end before she speak again.

“Be careful my love.”

“Always.”

Rhaenyra let go of her phone, picking up her bags to carry them to her car. She missed home, it wasn’t like she could sleep— ever. But she missed the feeling of laying in a soft plush bed with her husband on one end and you in the other. She missed the touch of pure human warmth against her skin, the sound of a beating heart under her.

Her senses however caught a whiff of something else, the deceived tug of something being missing, something looming around the corner bothered her. She froze by the door of the abandoned building, her ears hearing everything from miles away, cars, motorbikes, children crying and a dog howling. Nothing went unheard, just like the distant sound of a thudding heart. Very prominent by the second.

Out of the blue, a hooded man comes at her, too powerful for human but not quite quick enough as she dodges his blow, grunting as she whacks her bag against the side of this man. From behind her, the sounds of gunfire echo, pointed wooden bullets lodge themselves into her back.

Motherfuc—

Painful, effective but not enough to take down a vampire of her calibre. She reaches down to duck more shots, tearing the heel of her shoes and launching it at the person with the gun. The pointed heel launching itself straight in their neck, blood guzzling out of their mouth as the person fell to the floor twitching, succumbing to death.

The second man still taking his shots at her, pushing her hard against the cement walls of the building.

Rhaenyra’s hand curled around his neck, hoping to tear his head off his shoulders.

The man bares his fangs out wide, snarling before digging into Rhaenyra’s throat, pulling a chuck out in the process.

She screams, kicking the man’s knee so hard it breaks— he falls to the floor grunting. A bloody smile to his face as he accepts that he has no way out.

Rhaenyra huffs before plunging her hand deep into his chest, pulling the his frosted red heart out of its cavity, letting his body grey into nothing.

Pain radiated through Rhaenyra’s body as she reached behind to pull the six wooden bullets out of her back, the wounds small enough to stop bleeding immediately but her throat, it was throbbing in pain.

She had to feed, she had to go home. The wound was healing but she hadn’t feed enough for it to heal entirely of its own. She stumbled out of the building, using a piece of her torn dress to stop the bleeding as she some how managed to speed home. The sheer will of not wanting to kill an innocent took her home, to the vast fridge of blood bags waiting for her.

The car seat she sat on was soaked in blood as she grunted out of her BenZ, she looked up to her castle and suddenly her perspective shifted. She turned behind for a moment, her car no longer there but an ornate carriage. She shook her head hard, this time she saw her car.

With relief she stumbled into the castle, making beeline for the kitchens as quietly as she could, she didn’t want to wake you. She didn’t want you to see her like this— you couldn’t cope from the blood and she knew it.

When she opened the doors to the kitchen, instead of very modern stainless steel appliances she was treated to stone walls, massive pots placed on wooden stoves, the aprons of maids hung by the door. She shook her head once more.

Kitchen— her kitchen

She proceeded to rip open the door into her walk in bridge of all the blood she could want, she reached for the first bag closest to her and took a big swig— her pain dissipating for a moment as she rested her hot head against the ice cold fridge shelf. She took two more swigs before reaching for two more bags and exiting the fridge.

She was once again greeted to a medieval stone kitchen. This time she was terrified

What was happening to her

The open wound on her neck began to rip into her, she screamed in agony as she fell to her knees.

The blood pooling around her in the kitchen, she peeled her eyes open, trying to compose herself enough to call for Daemon.

She was still created by an old kitchen and woman she wished she had killed with her own bare hands.

Few feet from her stood Alicent, a bloody smirk on her face and a stake in her hand.

You woke up to the sound of crockeries rattling, other than a few security detail outside. No one should be home.

You tried to rub the sleep away from your eyes as a certain excitement filled your chest.

They were home

You happily pulled yourself out of bed, wrapping your fuzzy teal robe around you and taking your water cup along with you as you padded down the cold tiled hallway and down the main stairs.

You heard more thrashes, wondering if it was Rhaenyra and Daemon yet again very passionately professing their love for one another. It seemed a hobby of theirs to completely destroy a room as they fucked away their fill.

What you were met with instead was bloody footsteps, dragging from the main doors headed towards the kitchen. This time you were cautious, reaching for the closest silent alarm in the main foyer and picking up an old heavy candle stand. You know you shouldn’t, you should go upstairs and lock yourself in there until help comes, but then you see more blood—puddles of it leading into the kitchen.

You see a hand poking right out from the kitchen doors, as you turn the corner you see your detail, men dressed in black clothes— dead men dressed in black blood soaked clothes.

One body, two body.

When you move into the kitchen, you hear rustling behind the massive kitchen island. You hold the candle stand with both hands in front of you, ready to swing it at whoever was behind it. As you turn another corner, you find silver hair soaked in blood and a distinct red colour of a dress.

“R-Rhaenyra?” You stuttered, fear losing itself so deep in your bones but also concern as she turns to you.

Then you see it, the hefty chuck on her neck oozing blood as she sucked the blood out of one of the dead men meant to be protecting you.

Her eyes are dark, face stained red with chucks of flesh hanging from her lips.

“Wh—“

“Run.”

“L-Let me help you.” You whimpered.

“D-darling I need you to run.” She cries.

“But”

“I said go away!” She screams at you, eyes red and wild.

Tears pour from your eyes as you hesitate, you begin to walk backwards, everything in you wanting to fix Rhaenyra— to be with her until Daemon returns but as you keep walking back. You foot slips in the puddle of blood and you fall backwards, hitting your head at the edge of the island in the process before splashing into the thick red liquid.

Rhaenyra turns to you once more, she was there one moment and she shook her head again.

This time she charges at you, landing on top of you as you push her face away screaming.

“Rhaenyra please!” You cry out, hoping that she is in there somewhere.

You however were no match to her strength, she easily caught onto your wrist— a little pressure from her end and then throbbing pain shot through your arm.

In the moment of adrenaline, you reached next to you, giving Rhaenyra the perfect aim for your jugular. She bites in as more pain shoots up your spine.

This time you catch onto the jagged candle stand and stab her right through the back, Rhaenyra retreats, sitting over you but you don’t hesitate and plunge your weapon straight to her heart.

Rhaenyra freezes, the veins in her body go blue as she crumbles next you, her body grey and eyes life less.

You had no time to witness what you had done, some how without slipping in the pool of blood again you race out of the kitchen and up the stairs into your room and then your closet. Using your entire body to push a white dresser in front of the door before cowering behind the rack of coats.

The aderaline still coursing through your body, you look at your bent wrists, you cry out— the blood covering you and Rhaenyra.

She wasn’t there but—

You killed her

Daemon had already been driving home, after collecting some more information from his insiders he too shared the same need to lay in the arms of the two women he loved. The streets were dead enough from him to feel the might of his car’s engine as he blasted music.

What caught him off guard however was the security alarm notification that popped up on his watch, if he wasn’t already flooring the gas he sure was now. Racing to get home, Rhaenyra should have been home by now— that gave his heart some comfort but he sped nonetheless.

What he was greeted with was gruesome, cruel. His eyes were seeing things but he couldn’t process them.

Blood to the kitchen and blood up the stairs.

“Rhaenyra!”

“Y/N!”

He screamed, within a second he was in the kitchen. The room stunk of death, the bodies of his hired detail laid scattered across the floor, and in the pile a head of lovely silver hair stained red.

“Rhaenyra…” he sighed, fingers grazing at the iron candle post in her chest.

He placed her body back down, this listening hard for a faint heartbeat that was very much present. He rushed up to your room to find it empty and thuds of your heart echoing from your closet. He pushed against the barred door, huffing unwanting to scare you any further.

“No…no please.”

He heard your weakened cries as he pushed down the door to find you sitting against your long coats, a shawl pressed up against a heavily bleeding wound and your left wrist bent backwards.

Your lips were nearly blue as weakly cried and stuttered.

“I- I killed her.” You repeated over and over again, refusing to be held by Daemon.

Daemon bit into his wrist, letting blood ooze to the surface before pressing them to you lip, almost forcing the liquid into your mouth as you repeated the same phrase in shock.

You sat against him, letting the vampire blood do its work, Daemon could hear your bones realigning as he soothed you with his hands running down your back and nestling your hair. Once healed he effortlessly lifted your limp body and carried you to the bathroom, he placed you on the sink counter. Letting your body rest against the pink walls as he filled your claw tub with warm water.

If you were conscious enough to see it, it tore him from the inside to see you covered in the blood, the faint marks of your still healing wounds and the lifeless pain behind your eyes. His wife laid temporarily dead in the kitchen that he very lovingly made her breakfast this morning in.

He undid the cuffs of his dress shirt, pulling them up his forearms before gently taking off your night shift, he saw more bruising slowly fading away as he deposited you into the warm water.

The sensation seemed to have shot life back into you as you gasped, you looked up at him wide eyed, with so much pain and concern.

“I’m sorry.” Your eyes pooled “I hurt her, I- kill-“

“She’s fine, she will be fine.” He cooed, pulling the hand shower to wash the blood away from your hair.

His fingertips feeling the head wound shut itself as he washed away the remaining blood. It took nearly an hour to wash away all the blood from your body.

You switched from states of sobbing uncontrollably where he would have to stop and calm you and just staring mindlessly at the red water you sat in.

“Sshh, you are safe.”

“You did good, so good.”

“I know it hurts,” he kissed your temple as the last of the wounds healed themselves.

He had plucked you away from the bath, once again dressed and tucked under the heavy sheet of their shared bedroom instead of yours.

Even tucked in, your eyes pooled once more. He didn’t want to do it but he was yet to pick up the pieces of his wife just yet.

His cold palm rested against your cheek as he wiped away the falling tears.

“You have to sleep.” His eyes dilated.

You whimpered and nodded, your eyes soon after fluttering to slumber. He sat there for a moment, listening to your heartbeat and watching as the frown from your face melted away.

This was close, too close. Rhaenyra was indestructible, you however were a dandelion in the breeze.

She was holding back, she was in there. If she wasn’t, you’d be dead and that’s the kind of weight that would destroy Nyra for the rest of her miserable eternity.

Daemon pulled away, locking the doors to his bedroom from the outside before heading down for Rhaenyra.

All he could think of as he pulled the candle stand from her chest and carried her to the Iron Cells was how close he was to loosing everything.

To loosing you.

Andddd that’s a wrap, I missed writing for this series so much but I crunched it down in one go.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated

Let me know if you would like to be on the tag list.

[maverick-werewolf]

Werewolf Fact #75 - Cynocephali (dog-headed men)

This month's folklore fact is a long-awaited one from over on the Patreon: the cynocephali or "dog-headed men."

Some depictions of cynocephali (the one above is from the Nuremberg Chronicle, 1493) are mistaken for werewolves fairly frequently; there are several differences of note, including but not limited to the fact that they are otherwise very, very human (normal hands and feet, no tail, etc) and that their ears are not always shaped like a wolf's/pointing directly upright. They often are, however, so don't take the ear shape as a surefire thing, either. When in doubt, make sure the depiction is actually meant to be showing a werewolf before using it for, I don't know, a royalty-free image in your werewolf publication (I've seen several). The cynocephali do not shapeshift, nor are they associated with wolves. They have nothing to do with werewolves. Yes, it was just a plot to make you click this link and read about cynocephali.

Cynocephali, or singular cynocephalus, is a term derived from the original Greek word "kynokephaloi," meaning "dog-headed." They have other names as well, which mean a range of things such as "dog-faced" and "half-dog." They were mentioned in assorted accounts and tales of travelers in Africa and India, appearing in sources as old as ancient Greece, and some similar beings can be found in other cultures, such as China. Likewise, depictions of and discussions of such beings continue into the Middle Ages. This same term was later used to refer to baboons, to which no-fun modern day scholars now attribute all cynocephali legends (although we do have at least one Ottoman depiction of a cynocephalus battling a monkey).

There are many quotes across various sources and time periods about these beings, including but not limited to this one from the fifth century BC Greek historian Herodotus, Histories 4. 191. 3 (trans. Godley) [source: Theoi]

"For the eastern region of Libya, which the Nomads inhabit, is low-lying and sandy as far as the Triton river; but the land west of this, where the farmers live, is exceedingly mountainous and wooded and full of wild beasts. In that country are the huge snakes and the lions, and the elephants and bears and asps, the horned asses, the Kunokephaloi (Cynocephali) (Dog-Headed) and the Headless Men that have their eyes in their chests, as the Libyans say, and the wild men and women, besides many other creatures not fabulous."

Some stories of the cynocephali are also frightfully specific as to how they live, rear livestock, grow fruit, weave baskets, wage war, and much more, even including details of their society, clothing, how long they live, etc. It's all quite interesting. If you'd like to read more specific quotations, you can find many on one of my favorite websites, Theoi.

Sources seem to dispute one another as to whether they bark, do not bark but only howl, only shriek, or whatever other sounds they may make, and there is also a range of descriptions including elements such as if they have beards and whether hair covers their bodies as well as the dog-head. Overall, probably the majority of sources say they wear the skins of animals as opposed to having fur, but there are those that also call them hairy all over.

Please note that I will not be covering/discussing any gods from ancient Egypt in this post, because despite what some modern day scholars like to discuss, I don't consider them "cynocephali." They were wolf-headed deities, not dog-headed (or even jackal-headed), and are overall only related to cynocephali legends by proxy and by modern scholars always putting everything into blasted categories for their next thesis. There were some dog-headed deities in ancient Egypt, and Anubis, Wepwawet, Duamutef, etc, were not among them, and even then, we can't really assert that the dog-headed deities among the ancient Egyptians are actually related to other legends and records of cynocephali.

With that out of the way, let's continue...

One of my personal favorite stories involving a dog-headed man is a version of the tale of Saint Christopher, though these depictions and this tale are not seen as canon by churches and has been proscribed in Eastern Orthodoxy (where such depictions were generally most common). Some of these depictions still survive, however. Some sources believe that Byzantine depictions of a dog-headed Christopher come from mistaking "Cananeus" (meaning "Canaanite") for "caninus," i.e. canine.

In the story about a dog-headed Saint Christopher, there lives Reprebrus (among other variations of his name; ultimately, they all essentially mean "reprobate"), who is captured by Romans in battle and made to serve among them. Reprebrus was said to be of "enormous size," with the head of a dog, said to be typical of his kind. He was later baptized and martyred. However, in another version (this one from Germany), Saint Christopher is depicted as a giant cynocephalus who ate human flesh and performed many atrocities. He meets the Christ child later and carries him across a river, as in tradition (the name Christopher means "bearer of Christ") and repents for his sinful behavior. He is baptized and becomes human, dedicating himself to serving Christianity and became a soldier saint.

There are far more fascinating details in the story than I relayed here in extreme simplicity, but that's a very simple view (the story is actually very specific about different regions and even the unit in which he served).

Other depictions of cynocephali exist in certain Christian traditions, with Ahrakas and Augani sometimes being depicted with dog heads in Coptic Christian tradition, in the life and legend of Saint Mercurius.

Bestiaries also got pretty wild with the creatures depicted therein, many of which were also mentioned in classical sources (such as the Herodotus quote earlier in this post). The image above is from between 1357 and 1371, in a work called The Voyage and Travels of Sir John Mandeville, or simply Mandeville's Travels, the memoirs of a man who traveled across the Middle East, India, and even as far as China. Medieval bestiaries also recorded all the same creatures shown here: a monopod or sciapod, a cyclops, a blemmy, and a cynocephalus, each different civilizations of beings said to dwell across the world (and often cited in multiple sources over considerable spans of time, which generally cite the same or similar regions for each civilization, which I've always found very interesting).

Mentions of the cynocephali span across centuries, such as in works by scribe Paul the Deacon, a Benedictine monk, and they are even mentioned in the Nowell Codex, a surviving Old English work containing Beowulf (as well as a work of the life of Saint Christopher and Wonders of the East, among others). They are also acknowledged in the works of multiple noteworthy explorers, including but not limited to Marco Polo, Christopher Columbus, Giovanni da Pian del Carpine, Ibn Battuta, and Piri Reis.

With that, I think that's a decent overview! Hope you enjoyed the post.

And stay tuned for news and updates on a major [werewolf/fantasy/adventure/horror/epic] book release later this year!

If you like my blog, be sure to follow me here and elsewhere for much more folklore and fiction, including books, especially on werewolves! You can also sign up for my free newsletter for monthly werewolf/vampire/folklore facts, a free story, book previews, and my other sundry projects and works, such as plushes.

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[ohlawdthebirds]

Truth or Dare (Vi x Reader)

Euughh, its been a while since I've posted a fic. Enjoy! This is a modern au inspired by those Cut 'truth or drink' videos.

Cw: Mild mention of drinking (swapped out the alc for juice, so hopefully that's not a trigger for anyone). Other than that, slight violence mention.

Also! Thank you to @pixievi for these links!

Gonna tag a few of my mutuals here because I think they'd enjoy this (I hope that's okay! Please let me know if not and I'll remove you from the list!): @sweetercalypso @xthescarletbitch @vvynia @kittyt-hexxed @ellsss

“So, do you know why you’re here?”

You can just barely make out the person standing behind the camera. The build of the camera blocks off most of their face and for a moment it creeps you out; being in this sterile warehouse, sitting at a table with your best friend across from you has you briefly wondering just what Vi is cooking up. The two of you often joked about being put in Saw traps but you weren’t entirely sure you’d be willing to part with your organs and appendages should the occasion call for it.

“Ah, I think so,” you say. Vi turns to you, gently nudging your foot under the table. You recognize the gesture immediately: it was something the two of you did when you were younger and wanted to check in on the other. In this case, the nudge meant Are you okay? We can go if you need to. You nudge her foot back twice, your way of saying I’m okay.

“I’m here to do truth or drink, best friends edition. At least, that’s what she told me,” You reply, gesturing at Vi. She ducks her head, cheeks visibly coloring. The person behind the camera, someone you now suspected was the producer, speaks up once more.

“Okay then, you two can get started with a shot if you want.”

Vi grabs an unlabeled bottle and fills up both shot glasses before nudging yours towards your awaiting fingers. You bring the glass up, clinking it with Vi’s, before bringing it to your mouth. You are surprised when sweet juice instead of alcohol hits your tongue. Vi peeks out at you from under her fringe, a gentle smile gracing her lips. She knew you were trying to cut back on your alcohol intake, so knowing that she asked for an alternative warmed your heart. Vi sets her shot glass down and reaches out to the middle of the table, selecting a card from the stack. She leans back in her seat, huffing out a soft laugh.

“How did we meet?” She places the card down and looks at you expectantly. You grin, sitting up straighter in your seat.

“Okay so we went to the same high school, right? Vi had an…interesting haircut,” Vi barks out a laugh at this while you try (and fail) to suppress your chuckling, “Yeah, it was like…like someone threw scissors at her head and hoped for the best. It was like the unholy merging of a slick back, a pixie cut, and a fuck ass bob.” You barely finish your sentence as laughter wracks your body. Vi’s bark turns into a howl that you soon join. As soon as your laughter dies down, you continue, “This group of boys came up to her during lunch one day and were making fun of her. I stepped in and was telling them to leave her alone when she jumps out of her seat and absolutely socks this guy in his face! He falls, his friends jump in to try and defend his honor, and next thing you know it’s me and her against these dudes. It was brutal I tell you. They lost and ended up transferring schools and Vi and I were sacked with in-school suspension for a week. It was glorious.”

You reach out to grab a card. “What is your favorite feature of mine? Can be physical or personality-wise,” you place the card down and sit back. Vi leans her elbows onto the table, eyes meeting yours. “You have gorgeous eyes,” she says, “They’re so expressive, and I love the way they light up whenever you’re happy or excited. It’s one of the things that drew me to you back in high school. You were so bright and fiery, and the way you jumped in to help me with no hesitation has always amazed me.”

Your hands come up to rest on your heated cheeks. She leans forward once more to select a card off the pile. “Didn’t expect you to do two of them,” you giggle out. Vi feigns shock, replying “Ah, my bad, didn’t even realize it.” But the glint in her eyes tells you she absolutely meant every word.

“What are my green flags?” Vi drops the card back down to the table. You fold your hands under your chin and lean against them.

“You’re one of the toughest people I’ve ever met. And I don’t just mean physically, I mean emotionally as well. You don’t let anyone tell you what to do, I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you genuinely scared. And it’s not like you don’t get scared, but you’re usually so on top of things, y’know?”

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely on top of things,” Vi smirks. You don’t bother holding back a grin. “But yeah, you make me want to be stronger. I want you to be able to rely on me the way I’m able to lean on you.” The blush on Vi’s cheeks only deepens. You lean forward once more to grab a card from the table.

“How good are you at kissing?” This time you don’t fully put the card down, instead twiddling and fidgeting with it. Vi chews on her bottom lip for a second before her eyes lock with yours. You expect to see her signature smirk on her face once again, but you’re surprised by the sincerity in her eyes. Vi thinks for a moment before reaching over to the bottles and pouring herself a shot. Your eyes widen with mirth.

“Oh, not going to tell me?” you grin.

Vi pauses for a moment before looking at you over the top of her shot glass. “You can always find out for yourself, you know,” she says before knocking back the drink. You gape at her, astonished, and not for the first time you wonder what Vi’s lips would feel like on yours. It’s been a reoccurring thought ever since high school, one that you’d tried to brush off time and time again. Years of friendship between the two of you had culminated in you developing an intense crush on Vi. There were numerous moments over the years where you thought about confessing to her, but something always stopped you. Whether it was you fearing the potential end of your friendship, or someone literally interrupting you, you were never able to tell Vi how you truly felt.

“Alright, so as you can see, there is only one card left on the table. Vi, that one is yours. Make sure you read it out loud and clear, okay?” The producer chirps out. Vi tenses before reaching out and sliding the card to herself. She pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath before flipping it over.

“I, um…so, this last card is daring me to tell you the real reason you’re here.” You quirk an eyebrow. Vi continues, “I didn’t bring you here just because you’re my best friend.”

Your heartbeat picks up and for a moment you worry it will pound right out of your chest.

“I brought you here to tell you…that I have a crush on you,” Vi said, her lips curving into a sheepish grin. For a moment, the world goes still, and you wonder if you’re dreaming. You cough out a “What?”, eyes fixated on the woman in front of you. “You have a crush on me?”

Vi nods. “Ever since that day in high school you’ve been it for me. I know this has been a long time coming, but I could never find the right time to tell you.”

“I could never find the right time to tell you!” You exclaim. “All this time, all these years, you mean to tell me we were both crushing on each other?”

Your hands cover your face as you let out a groan that soon evaporates into a laugh. Vi joins you with a laugh of her own. The absurdity of it all is hilarious to you: of the woman you’ve been crushing on for years not only reciprocating your feelings but going to the trouble of dragging you into a video to confess said feelings.

Once your laughter has subsided, you and Vi are left gazing at each other. “Well, at least we finally know we’re on the same page,” she says. You nod, attempting (and failing) to hold back a grin.

“Alright, so you guys clearly feel the same for each other!” The producer says. You hear the mischief in their voice and brace yourself for what’s coming. “You guys should definitely seal the deal, y’know?”

“H-how do you suppose we do that?” You stutter out.

“You could always seal things with a kiss!”

The heat on your cheeks only flares hotter. Vi’s own face is searing by this point. There’s no way you could kiss her! And in front of a camera no less! But at the same time you wonder if this is the only chance you have, if the adrenaline coursing through you was enough to propel you forward. Just when you were internally making a pros and cons list (the pro being to kiss your best friend and the con being potential ridicule from internet strangers) Vi nudges your foot under the table. Are you okay with this?

Only a moment later do you nudge back twice: I’m okay with it. I’m really okay with it.

With a surge of courage, you sit up in your seat and lean forward. Vi follows suit, meeting you in the middle of the table. It only takes a moment for your lips to meet.

You grin into the kiss, tilting your head just the slightest to deepen it. Vi’s hand comes up to cup your cheek. Your hand reaches up to rest on it and it’s only when the producer and crew begin clapping and cheering do the two of you separate.

The two of you are beaming harder than you thought possible, and everything feels limitless. Despite having no alcohol in your system, you feel fuzzy and warm. Vi sneaks in one last peck to your lips before you sit down. Once things calm down and you’re seated the producer speaks up one last time.

“We actually have one bonus card for you two.” A crew member steps forward and lays a card down in front of Vi. Her brows furrow in confusion but she picks it up nonetheless and reads it. A tiny smile graces her lips as she sets the card down, reaching across the table to place her hands on yours. “Will you go on a date with me?”

You gently clasp your hands with hers, bringing them up to place a kiss on the backs of them. “I’d love to go on a date with you, Vi.”

-

A few weeks after filming, you and Vi are notified that your video was live on the channel. You pull it up on your laptop and snuggle next to your girlfriend on her couch. Vi snorts and laughs the whole way through it while you hide behind your hands and join in her laughter. The comments are surprisingly wonderful, everything from people cooing over how cute the two of you are, to others lamenting over being single. Every last one of them brings a smile to your face. And as Vi keeps clicking through and pointing out the funniest ones, you lean into her side, pressing kisses to her skin.

“Hey love?”

“Yeah?” She asks.

“I’m really glad you brought us on a random YouTube video.”

Vi turns and presses a kiss to your lips.

“Me too.”

[anjuschiffer]

Of Forgotten Memories and A Beloved Mother

...So this was only suppose to me a oneshot but has turned into a short mulitchapter fic... enjoy!

-

Chapter 2: Dami's Whale

PREV | AO3

They had warned him several times to never lower his guard. Never. 

To never underestimate his opponents. 

And yet he did, causing this current dilemma.

“Give it back!” Damian yelled, running after a howling Jason, Damian chasing him with a Nerf gun in his hand. 

“I’m so glad it’s only a Nerf gun in your hand!”

“You’re lucky Dad doesn’t- Dad!” Damian yelled upon seeing their father enter the foyer, scowling at the fact that he just missed a shot. “Dad! Jason won’t give me back my sketchbook!”

“Jason.” Bruce tried to say sternly but failed when a smile escaped him. He had come back from work, Alfred walking off with his coat in hand and wasn’t expecting to hear Damian call him Dad shortly after entering the manor. After all, he was always calling him Father up until a few weeks ago. “Give Damian back his sketchbook.”

“I say you look at it. You should really be getting him better materials for his drawings instead of whatever office supplies you keep getting him.” Jason suggested as he gave back Damian his sketchbook. “Like seriously, whatever you’re getting him keeps drying up the day he opens it.

So I asked an artist buddy of mine to give me some suggestions.” Both stifled a smile when Damian’s scowl softened upon hearing the words ‘art store.’ “He highly suggested Holbein gouache or Winstor and Newton acrylics for someone who paints.” Jason said with an innocent smile.

The boys watched as Bruce gave it some thought.

“I’ll ask Alfred to look into it and we’ll take Damian to pick out whatever he wants.” 

“We’re going to an art store?” Damian asked with a twinkle in his eye. “Can I get whatever I want?”

“He’d buy the whole store while you’re at it.” Jason instigated, watching Damian stare at his sketchbook.

“Dad, we have to go. Now.” Damian practically begged, lifting his sketchbook to his father’s face. “I’ve been meaning to turn more of my sketches into portraits to put around the manor.” 

“Excellent idea, Master Damian.” Alfred spoke, returning from the coat room. “The manor can surely use a more modern touch to its decor. Your paintings will add a nice touch of color to this dreary place.”

“Alfred.” Bruce tried to admonish but was met with an unfazed look from the man.

“I’ll make sure to leave a list of some nearby art stores on your desk. If you’ll excuse me, I have dinner to prepare.”

-

Calls. Bruce forgot how much he hated them. But this one was an exception.

Bruce was already halfway through settling the conditions he had set down for the art store he had planned to take Damian that weekend when the boy himself hung up the call.

Bruce watched as Damian lifted his finger from the switch hook, his eyes not once looking away from Bruce’s. Bruce listened as the dial tone droned in his ear.

“Damian. I was in the middle of finalizing the trip to the-”

“I know.”

“So why-”

“Can’t we just enter like any other customer?”

“But you’re not any other-”

“Can’t we just go? I don’t care if people see us go in just like that. You’re my dad and- people should accept the fact that you’re my dad. And just like any other dad, you’re spending quality time with his kid- me. Is that too much?”

And with that mini speech, Bruce agreed to just walking into the art store that weekend, doing his best to ignore the glances he and his son would get every now and then. 

Bruce had his share of following people around a store and trying to understand their enthusiasm regarding products. He would smile and give them nods of approval and sweet words of encouragement as they would ask him questions about items he could care less about. 

But unlike the various times he had to follow a woman around a jewelry store, Bruce found himself intrigued and actually invested in the conversation between Damian and the store employee who greeted them upon their arrival.

It didn’t take long for Bruce to completely ignore the stares and whispers that surrounded the two.

Heck, he was too busy absorbing every piece of information the store employee gave them, he didn‘t realize they had already been in the store for two whole hours.

He listened as the employee would ask Damian what media he was looking for and what type of project he was working on. 

They discussed different types of media, the types of paint and texture each variety would give him. How oil paint would give him the texture he wanted in this project but if he was on a short deadline, it would not be recommended to use.

Damian would then go on a lengthy discussion on how he didn’t have a deadline and would much rather use oil paint opposed to acrylic due to the tones he needed for this piece, considering he needed a paint that had a longer drying time frame. He also had to consider that he wasn’t set on all the colors of his painting and had found mixing oil paints was easier for him compared to acrylic paint. 

Bruce couldn’t forget the face the employee made upon hearing that.

Wrapping up the media choice, they moved on to canvases, something called gesso, as well as thinning and thickening agents for the paints. They then spent another hour at the brush aisle, Damian carefully selecting at least 20 different brushes before they made their way to the register to pay. 

Luckily there was no one in line and the employee who had helped them already placed most of their items into several canvas bags. Paints, carefully wrapped brushes, bottles of unrecalled liquids, palettes and containers peaked from them. When Bruce was told the whopping total of 700 and something he had to pay, Bruce just handed over his card. 

‘Pocket change,’ was all Bruce could think of when he heard the price.

As they waited for the employee to finish the transaction, Bruce realized it was already three in the afternoon. He turned to Damian to ask him what he wanted to do afterwards.

Maybe he was hungry. They had skipped lunch after all.

“Damian, what do you think about going to- Damian?” Bruce called out when he realized Damian wasn’t by his side, feeling a pit in his stomach. 

He was starting to notice the edges of his vision fuzz as he scanned the area near the counter. 

Empty, save for a single person who just realized Bruce was standing right in front of them.

“Damian?” He called out again, apologizing to the staff and letting them know he was coming back as he found himself picking up a jog as he searched the store for his son. 

“Damian.” But no response. “Damian.”

“Damian!” His chest felt heavier with each aisle he found void of his kid, his eyes darting all around as he passed by yet another aisle with no Damian in sight. 

“Damian!” He called out once again, when he came to a halt when his eyes caught sight of Damian standing near a gallery tucked in the back of the store. “Damian!” Bruce scolded as he turned the boy around to face him. “What are you-”

“She made that.” Damian cut him off, turning back to look at the wall behind him, Bruce only then realizing that the gallery was a collection of paintings. With a quick glance, he realized it was a collection of paintings put together by participants from one of the store’s events. 

A Mother’s Memories.

Each painting that hung on the wall portrayed one of the many memories that a mother who participated in the event cherished. 

Some mothers had painted their kids at a park, a family outing, visiting a farm or aquarium. Family time at home. Holidays. Birthdays.

Every painting had a child painted on the canvas, the children usually smiling back, except one.

There, on the upper most corner to the right, on a canvas no bigger than a sheet of paper was a painting of what appeared to be a bathtub filled halfway with water. A fluffy baby blue towel hung on its side, bubbles floating on the surface of the water. And there, right in the center was a lone blue whale. 

The tiny baby toy smiled right at them, as if having been waiting for them all this time.

Bruce looked back at Damian, noticing his son stuck in a trance. “She made that.” He said again, but louder this time around.

“She? Who are you referring to?” Bruce dared to ask.

“Momma did.” Damian easily answered, Bruce hearing his breath hitch. There was that name again.

Momma.

Ever since Dick told him about the day he found Damian talking about a person named Momma, he tried his best to coax an answer from Damian himself. But every time he tried to, all Damian could remember from her was the color of her eyes and her voice. 

“Talia?” Bruce asked, hoping it would jog up his memory a bit. 

Maybe this time, Damian could recover some information on the woman he once called ‘Momma.’

“No, Momma.” Damian clarified, his brows furrowed. “Mother never delved into the arts the way Momma did. She’s the one who taught me how to draw.”

“How did you figure out she was the one who made it?”

“The whale.” Damian pointed out, letting out a ‘tt’ when Bruce only stared back at him. “Momma made me that whale with her magic. There’s no other whale like that anywhere in the world.”

Bruce looked back at the whale, wondering how that exact whale didn’t look like any other baby toy on the market. “Momma even made sure to flawlessly replicate the Guardian’s Emblem at the top of the whale’s head.”

Guardian’s emblem? What was a Guardian?

“Emblem?”

“Don’t you see it?” Damian asked. “It’s right there.” Damian tried to point, but the longer Bruce stared at the whale, he couldn’t see what Damian was able to. “Dad, it’s-”

“Oh, I see you’ve taken a liking to one of my favorite pieces.” A voice spoke up, Bruce and Damian turning to see an old lady with a red ladybug cardigan. Her gray hair was short, two strands framed her wrinkly face, the curl ends reminding Damian on bug antennae. “Such a heartbreaking story that one has.” She said, tutting as she remembered the tale.  

“Heartbreaking?” Bruce asked. “Did something happen to the artist behind, um.”

“Dami’s Whale. That’s the piece’s name.

When I asked Marie why she chose to draw this piece, she told me that bath time was her baby’s favorite activity of the day.” The lady smiled when she saw Damian quickly look back at the painting.  “She told me she would do anything in the world to go back to those times, saying his squeals and laughter were all she needed to get through that part of her life.

When I asked her what she meant by that, she told me one thing.”

“What did she say?” Damian asked, returning his attention to the old lady. “What happened to her? To her baby?”

“They took him away from her.” The lady softly said, frowning. “She only loved him the way she was meant to love him. And they took her away from him.”

“They got separated?” Bruce tried to understand what the owner was trying to say.

“That I would not know. Shortly after finishing the piece, Marie suddenly got a heart attack and was rushed to the hospital.”

“The hospital?” Damian asked, his voice warbling. “Is she okay? Where can I find-“

“You seem to be familiar with Marie, young one.” The lady looked at Damian and then at Bruce. “Do the two of you know-”

“He has been searching for other family members ever since he recovered some of his memories from his childhood.” Bruce provided. “He used to live with his mother as an infant but then lived with his grandfather when his mother couldn’t provide for him anymore.” 

“Oh dear.”

“He was brought to me by social services once he passed away as I’m a family friend and someone his grandfather trusted” Bruce struggled to say as he half-lied to the owner. “Since then, Damian has been searching for his only other living relative.

Somehow, this painting of Marie’s seems to be a clue to finding his mother.”

“I see.��� The old lady softly said, patting Damian’s head. “You must’ve really loved your mother, didn’t you, little one?”

“I had a whale like that as a kid.” Damian spoke to divert himself from the commentary of being seen as a child. “I want to ask Marie some questions regarding it…if she can.”

The old lady hummed  

“Marie did tell me only a few people would be able to tell that the whale would attract some attention.”

“A few?”

“She told me to be wary of those who ask about her upon seeing that painting. But, she did tell me to do one thing if a young boy were to ever ask about her location.” 

The lady took an envelope out of her pocket and handed it over to Damian, an oddly designed wax stamp sealed on it. “Do you recognize this?”

“It is a Guardian's Emblem.” Damian answered in a whisper. “It looks just like the one on-“ he looked up to tell the old lady it looked like the one on the whale only to find her gone. 

“Where did she go?” Bruce asked, wondering what the hell happened. 

Weren’t they just in front of a gallery? 

How did they manage to be standing outside the store with bags of art supplies in hand?

Bruce turned to Damian who still held the envelope in his hands. 

Damian ran his finger over the wax stamp before deciding to open it, finding a photo of the same exact painting that was inside the store. Only, this time, he was also in the photo. 

Or rather, his baby self was in the photo. 

He looked so small. So fat. 

He turned it over, feeling a weight lift off his shoulder. 

You’ll find her at Gotham General Hospital. Best of luck, Damian. 

-Tikki

NEXT

[wisted-twunderland]

TWST boys go to Disneyland!

Heartslabyul

Ace: Is an absolute fiend on the teacups and knows which one spins the fastest (the orange diamond) and how to really get it spinning.

Deuce: Gets spun too fast on the teacups by Ace and throws up. When he feels better he enjoys being the Pilot on Smuggler's Run.

Cater: Documents the whole thing on Magicam in real time. He gets all of the classic shots, like the selfie in front of the castle, holding up the Dole Whip in front of the Tiki Room, etc.

Trey: Spends a lot of time on Main Street sampling all the different confectionaries. Also sits with Deuce after he throws up.

Riddle: Will ride the Alice in Wonderland ride and talk about all the historical inaccuracies to anyone who will listen.

Savannaclaw

Leona: He's been dragged here too many times with his nephew and made to ride all the kiddie rides, so he'd rather skip the whole thing and nap in the hotel room. But when he is inevitably dragged to the park, he enjoys the atmosphere of Adventureland and eats an unreal amount of meat skewers from Bengal Barbeque.

Ruggie: Doesn't go because it's too expensive. Nah I'm just kidding, he goes, but he definitely packs all his own food. Goes through the bakery tour and the Ghirardelli factory tour for the free bread and chocolate until he's told he can't have any more free samples.

Jack Howl: He likes Frontierland best, because it's the least crowded (and the cactus landscaping is exceptional).

Octavinelle

Azul: He's not big on rides, but he really enjoys scouring the historical showcases at the front of the park. As the owner of his own up and coming mega-conglomerate, he is eager to glean any information he can about the park and its rise to fame (and fortune).

Jade: He's very eager to get a selfie in from the yellow mushroom in Fantasyland, claiming its because of its historical significance. (Did you know it used to be a ticket booth?)

Floyd: Rides any and all of the roller coasters as many times as possible. Is not above pushing past little kids to run to the next ride.

Scarabia

Kalim: Is as excited as any kid there. Wants to see and do everything, and cries at the fireworks at the end of the day.

Jamil: Spends most of his time trying to keep up with Kalim and make sure he drinks some water once in a while. Enjoys the music and the parade more than he lets on.

Pomfiore

Vil: Enjoys the park from under a sun parasol, UV shades, and a high SPF sunscreen. He HATES that Snow White's Scary Adventure has been turned into *~*Snow White's Enchanted Wish*~*. The kids of today are WEAK.

Rook: He is hunting aiming to meet as many characters as possible and get them to sigh in his hit signature book.

Epel: Makes it his goal to sample every kind of candy apple in each of its differently decorated forms (Poor bear apple, Mickey ears apple, marshmallow apple, baby yoda apple, etc). Also a roller coaster fanatic.

Ignihyde

idia: Rides Buzz Lightyear's Astro Blaster's over and over trying to beat the all time high score (it's his). Knows where all the best targets are and can turn the cart with one hand while shooting with the other. ("This is the OG of interactive rides, even though Toy Story Mania may be more modern, this ride paved the way. At the time getting your picture taken and sending it to friends via email was unheard of but this ride blah blah blah blah...)

Ortho: Enjoys Pirates of the Carribean for its theming and "primitive robotics". Likes Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln for the same reason.

Diasomnia

Malleus: Will purchase and consume a Mickey shaped ice cream bar at every opportunity (He knows where all the ice cream carts are by the end of trip). He finds Fantasia amusing and says that the dragon is a "passable likeness".

Lillia: He's amazed at how much the park has changed since he was last here ("Star Wars Land? That area used to be a petting zoo.") Enjoys Haunted Mansion and startling Sebek in the queue.

Sebek: "We need to make sure we use our Lightning Lane at precisely 3:30, and then we must get to Goofy's Kitchen immediately after for our character dining experience, after which we must reserve our spot for the fireworks..." He's extremely concerned with getting the most out of the trip and ensuring that Malleus has a good time (Malleus doesn't care).

Silver: Enjoys the Sleeping Beauty walkthrough, as it is dark, full of vintage charm, and uncrowded. Falls asleep before the fireworks ever start.

[elysianightsss]

Dad!Techno Drabble.

Modern day

Warnings: realistic life, teething, looking after a 10 month old baby, Techno being a dad, Techno’s towel is too low on his hips and we miss it.

It’d been an already tiresome evening with your ten month old teething, she screamed and screamed and no matter how hard you or your husband tried nether of you could calm her. Until finally after three hours of constant wails she fell asleep to sweet piano lullaby’s you had found on your phone.

You placed her in her cot and practically ran out of the room back downstairs, twenty. Minutes. Later. She’s awake again screaming. You’re up and in her room picking her up to soothe her to no avail. You loved your daughter so much, but from how tired you were from this happening every night for the past week you had to chant that it wasn’t her fault this was happening in your head.

You needed a break.

Techno had jumped in the shower a few minutes before she woke up so for now you had to try your best to help her alone. You changed her nappy and put her in a new onzie that wasn’t wet from dribble before taking her to your room. You got into your bed cuddling her close to your chest and in the dark of the room you spoke to her hoping your voice would stop her from screaming.

“Come on baby girl, mummy really needs you to sleep cause she’s really really tired,” she blinked up at you, cheek smushed against your chest, big eyes full of tears. Your heart broke for her, for the pain she was going through with her teeth coming through, “That’s it Athena just focus on my voice.” You continued to talk to her and she listened hanging on to every word you were saying though she didn’t understand you.

She fell asleep after a few minutes and you rejoiced doing a happy dance in your head. You didn’t dare move her though, but with how tired you were yourself you just let your eyes flutter shut. Just a few minutes you thought to yourself.

That’s how Techno found you when he came out the shower, still wet and dripping, towel hanging low on his hips, his big beautiful muscles on display so sexily. He thought with your daughter asleep that you two could maybe have some alone time but all those thoughts went flying out the window when he saw the two of you.

His heart ached with love seeing his gorgeous wife fast asleep with his beautiful baby daughter letting out little snores against your chest. “God I’m so lucky.” He muttered without even thinking about it. It was so true, he never imagined he’d have a wife let alone someone amazing as you and you had gifted him a wonderful baby girl too.

He quickly dried off and pulled on some sleeping clothes all while grinning to himself. The same grin was wiped off his face as your baby began to stir and before she could even start crying Techno had grabbed her from you and left the room giving you one last glance to make sure you had stayed asleep.

He took her into her bedroom and began patting her back while swaying her, “It’s okay baby, I know it hurts.” He coos his eyes darting around the room for the bonjela, as soon as he spotted it he grabbed it and pulled off the cap, squirting some on his finger before rubbing it into her gums, his skin grazing a tooth that’s was pushing it’s way through.

And she screamed, howled, wailed.

“Fuck. Okay baby, I’m sorry daddy didn’t mean to. It’ll feel better soon, just gotta let the bonjela do it’s thing.” He rocked her side to side, holding her close to his warmth and as if the gods had finally heard his begs she finally calmed down accepting the dummy he offered her. She snuggled into his neck sucking on it, soothing herself to sleep in her father’s arms.

He knew this is what his night would consist of but if you managed to catch up on the sleep you’d missed out on this week it was all worth it.

[comatosebunny09]

deep-fried | u. tengen

summary: he’s spoken to you in passing. friendly greetings and excuse me’s when he bumped into you at the grocery store. he can’t deny entertaining the thought of how soft your hips must feel. how cute you must sound, tongue curling around his name. genre: modern au, romance cw: mentions of alcohol, language, black female reader, suggestive themes, stream of consciousness, incomplete

Darkness swaddles him as the wind howls beyond the confines of his truck.

It’s quiet inside, save for the lazy purr of his Ram and the melancholy music spilling from his speaker. His grip on the steering wheel is lax as he creeps through his drowsy neighborhood, headlights shining off windows shut tight. 

The clock on his display reads 10:37. Another night spent rotting away in his office. He rolls out the kinks in his neck. Exhaustion leaks down his shoulders, curling around his bones and puddling at his feet.

The day wasn’t kind to him. He spent it in and out of meetings. Deals fell through. Clients were no-shows. He had to lay off a few of his strongest employees at the urging of his superiors to compensate for the company's financial imbalance.

All he wants now is a stiff one and the chilly clutch of his bed. Just wants to throw this week in the backseat along with his briefcase. Maybe he’ll scrounge up some three-day-old stir fry from his fridge before he hits the sheets.

But then it’s there, burning in his peripheral when he rounds the corner: orange and blue flames dancing in the wintry gale. Golden swatches of light bounce off your features, highlighting the smile rounding your lips. 

“What the...fuck?” Tengen rasps. He rolls the window down halfway and turns his music to a dull murmur. Slows to a stop, brakes squealing. He props his arm on the steering wheel. Your chuckle follows. Warm milk and honey to his ears. He finds your smile infectious, his own canting his lips.

“Howdy, neighbor!” Your voice is husky. Flirtatious even. You sit on your cozy outdoor sectional with a bottle gleaming in your fingers, raised to him in greeting. The breeze carries the oaky scent from your fire pit, reminding him of log cabins and days spent amid the snow.

“What’s this all about?” he asks, chin nestled in his palm. Surprised by how easy it is to skip formalities with you like he’s talking to an old friend. He’s not enamored. There’s no way. 

He’s spoken to you in passing. Friendly greetings and excuse me’s when he bumped into you at the grocery store. Simple conversations after running into each other at the gym. He can’t deny entertaining the thought of how soft your body must feel, though. How cute you must sound, tongue curling around his name in that Southern twang.

You stand, thighs thick even beneath the slouched fleece of your sweats. Throw your arms up, your sweater flashing a slither of smooth, dusky skin. His mouth waters. It takes all of him not to bite his lip.

“Shoooot! I made it through another week!” Your grin is lopsided as you rock to the mellow tunes flowing from your speaker. He falls deeper into your web, chuckling. He’s envious of your carefree nature. Wishes he could bottle it up for use on a rainy day. “Care to join me?”

The offer is tempting. Sure, Tengen planned to drink himself into a stupor. But your body language beckons him, and your finger curls in a come hither gesture while you dance like a tipsy fool. 

Fuck it. He could use a little respite.

His reply comes as easy as breathing in and out. “Gimme a sec to get out of this monkey suit, and I’ll see how I feel afterward.”

You giggle. Do an accomplished jig around the fire. Tengen can’t help but laugh as he slides off. You’re adorable in your own right. 

Excitement wriggles into his fingers as he slides into his driveway. Soon after, he slips into his house, toeing his loafers off by the door. Shimmies out of his coat, making a beeline for the shower, blood pulsing in his ears.

He carries the aroma of rosewood and smoke with him when he sidles up to your patio 30 minutes later. 

Tries to play it cool, hands shoved in his pockets, though his chest is afire. Pretty thing like you hankering for his company. He should be so lucky.

“Drink?” you offer, your tone heavy with inebriation.

Corona. He’s not the biggest fan. Prefers the sting of something sour, but he accepts it on his way down onto the cushion beside you, anyway. Tengen sits back in an easy slouch, draping his arm across the headrest. His rings clack against the glass as he brings the bottle to his lips, condensation dripping onto his turtleneck.

For a while, nothing but the sounds associated with nighttime fill the space between you. The fire pops and fizzes. Crickets chitter in the distance. Trees shiver in the breeze. A dog or two barks somewhere far off. Tengen falls prey to the inner workings of his mind before rustling fabric brings him back to the present.

“What's wrong, suga?”

His gaze drifts to you, angled towards him. Your vibe is maternal despite the distilled wheat wafting off your breath. Must be that Southern hospitality everyone talks about. He sighs with a drop of his shoulders, taking another swig. “Just another day at the office.”

“Wanna talk about it?” You lean closer. Fill his nose with the fragrance of cracked vanilla beans, heat rolling off you in waves. He finds himself disarmed around you. Nerves flare when your tiny fingers brand his quad, scorching him to the bone.

“Not really,” Tengen husks, lost in the idle stir of your eyes. He feels like he could tell you everything. But for now, he’s content with soaking up your presence. Hasn’t had a lady friend for some time now, having fully embraced bachelorhood.

“That’s alright.” Give his thigh a squeeze, irises twinkling with something indiscernible. The shadows cast by the fire shroud your intentions. “Just know that whatever storm you’re weatherin’ is temporary. ‘sides, it’s the weekend! It’s time to turn up!”

He chortles at how quickly the mood shifts. At your goofy little dance, taking another sip of his beer. His hand engulfs yours atop his thigh, entranced by the smoothness of it. He could get used to this. Get used to you.

The air feels lighter now. It’s easy to slide into meaningful conversation, throwing back a few more beers as the night eases into the wee hours of the morning.

At some point, he finds himself nestled in the plushness of your sofa inside.

The lights are turned off, the only illumination coming from the silvery moon peeking through your blinds. Sultry jazz tinges the air, chorusing with soft giggles and husky praise. A sheen of desire hangs overhead, intermingled with the smell of firewood clinging to your clothes.   

Your thighs are tender in his hands. Doughy like he knew they would be, framing his hips. Your fingers make an unhurried excursion to the hair at his nape as your lips brand his carotid. His responding chuckle is breathless, disbelieving. Vibrates your chest, your breasts warm against the hard press of his torso.

He's grinning like a fool, lids heavy. Can't help mulling over what brought you to this point as his hands engulf the dips of your hips. Sucks his lip between his teeth, his voice a low gravel as you bear down on the apex of his thighs.

[philtstone]

16 (nose kisses), Anne/Gilbert!

The unspoken laws and loyalties of bosom friendship notwithstanding, Anne has been inching nearer and nearer to the edge of her patience with every subsequent Post-Date Diana who enters their humble apartment.

"Oh, Anne," she says the first time, admittedly Diana-ish in the rosy, stalwart flush of her cheeks. "I just had the best time. We got spaghetti, and he held my purse, and I think I laughed all night long."

Fred Wright is nowhere near funny enough for Anne to believe this a sustainable laughter, but Diana is happy, and if one isn't expecting a date to go anywhere -- which Anne is not -- the best outcome of the whole thing would be an enjoyable old time. Anne says, "A grand old success, then," while Diana goes, smiling, to the bathroom to get unready, and that is that.

So Anne thinks, anyhow.

"Anne," says Diana after the second date. "Oh, I keep thinking about him. He's got such nice eyes, and such lovely hair --" (It's so very flat and straight, which Anne has never found alluring, but she holds her tongue) "-- and gosh, Anne, all I could think of was how desperately I wanted to kiss his nose. I felt like a heroine from a romance, Anne, I really did!"

This is less like the Di Anne knows, but she allows that years of being exposed to Anne might have predicted such behaviour -- his nose, really! No one has so alluring a nose that you'd want to kiss it, let alone Fred's flat and snub one -- Diana's is so much more aristocratic -- but Anne manages to smile and nod. She has twelve readings due tomorrow, so she decides -- whilst on a semi-regular video call with recent chum Gil Blythe -- that she'll deal with it later.

"Diana's sensible," Anne tells him, stoutly, while she braids her hair for bed and he squints at his Anatomy 412 flashcards by the sink with a toothbrush in his mouth. "Not like I am, Gil -- she'll grow out of this Fred thing. I mean, she has dreams, for God's sake, and Fred is so -- so -- Fred."

"Fred's a nice enough guy," Gilbert says, muffled around his toothbrush. He spits. "Accounting's got steady income. And, you know, Diana's mom's got to like him -- not like the last few guys."

It's true, of course, that Fred Wright goes to the same Korean Church the Barrys have patronized for years, but Anne sees this as immaterial to Diana's dreams of becoming a self-made creative marketing director in the modern age of womankind.

"We've got exams in a week," Anne says with confidence. "I'm sure she'll be back to herself in no time."

The third date comes and goes, and Diana admits -- after a whole two days of secretive private sighing -- to a make-out session of the most agreeable kind. There was over the clothes action. Anne howls with such violent shock that her prized 2014 MacBook almost flies across the room.

"And it took you two days to tell me?" she shrieks.

Diana is only a very little bit repentant.

Anne becomes convinced. She is losing her closest friend in the world -- to a man.

To Fred Wright. And his perfectly average nose!

Oh, calamity!

"Anne," says Gilbert, for the tenth time, a week after Diana's gone on her fifth date. Well -- they're not really dates anymore. Anne's been informed that her best friend is in a whole relationship with the dreaded Fred. After three days of a stiff upper lip (she had two papers due for women's studies) she has broken down in tears in Gilbert's dorm. Thank God Josie and Moody left an hour ago, because Anne doesn't think she could've borne the humiliation of Losing It in front of them.

Gilbert, somehow, is different.

"Anne," he says once more, gently. She can feel his hands rubbing carefully against her back, and it is helping, really. She hiccups a few times.

"I'm just -- we had these dreams together, Gil. What if she goes off and gets married before me and never becomes duchess of digital marketing, and I'm left alone and friendless and -- and -- alone -- and, oh, I haven't even started my third term paper. Alone!"

At this, Gilbert sighs fully and pulls her into a hug. Anne hiccups weepily for a while longer against his chest, which is surprisingly solid. She supposes she ought to have expected this -- just as she ought to have expected Diana's romantic escapades -- because, as evidenced by the old football jersey he's currently wearing, Gilbert the pre-med student was until very recently something of an athlete. Anne tripped over her own feet the last time she tried running, and so has long since given up the stuff. This noted contrast is suddenly and inconveniently allowing a queer feeling to enter her stomach.

"Anne," Gilbert says a third time, somewhere around the vicinity of her forehead. "You're not alone. You goose. As if Diana would ever forget about you."

"But things might change," Anne says.

It comes out in a far smaller voice than she intends it to. And then, as if inspired, she looks up.

She doesn't mean to, and perhaps she is compelled by some greater force; in that moment, she comes the closest she ever has to Gilbert's own nose. It is far nicer than Fred Wright's, Anne's mind manages to notice. Long and straight and brown, and -- well, there is a freckle or two there, from the sun, but they're much sweeter than Anne's own and something about their proximity is making her stomach flip. His arm is warm against her side.

She could kiss his nose, pops the thought into her head, so very unwanted.

"Not all change is a bad thing, Anne," Gilbert says, his low voice scattering that awful intrusion to the four winds. He is as quiet as she had been, but more steady, somehow. Gilbert is often steady, these days, and steadiness is something Anne has never thought, actively, to crave before, but she has -- well, she has.

Anne takes a deep, querulous breath and pretends her head isn't spinning. Gilbert's expression shifts; she stops staring at his nose. A very small part of her, perceptive in spite of herself, thinks that he is about to take pity on her.

He does.

"C'mon," Gil says, untangling them and helping Anne to her feet with a decidedly chummy arm up. "You've got your paper and I've got this bellringer. I'll put on some tea, we'll focus, and then I can come with you tomorrow to stage a Diana Intervention."

And it won't really be that -- Anne loves Diana too much to want anything but the best and happiest for her -- but she is comforted, all the same.

[days-until-burnout]

What if bad boys >:3

(romantic or platonic you choose)

ending the month with some bad boys 😎 _____

📧 🌟 Day 60 -

Characters - Jimmy + Joel + Grian Words - 613 Time - 25 mins Content - Modern AU | Ambiguous relationship

It’s hard to believe.

Jimmy can turn around and confirm for the fiftieth time that yes, they packed up their whole lives into Grian’s car. All three of their lives, shoved into boxes and suitcases, all mixed up with the goal to use all the space they had. He knows not where anything is, and Grian’s very loud rummaging for a jacket is just another sign. This is real. It’s happening. For moments, he thinks he’s still sitting behind the bleachers, laughing with Joel and Grian, joking about running away one of these old days. Mostly a joke, but they knew better. There is nothing in that town tying them down; in fact, the town is actively pushing them away. Not loudly, not very obviously, but it’d be foolish to turn a blind eye.

It’s obvious to him. And it’s obvious to them too.

“Just use a blanket, you’re gonna collapse everything!” Joel calls out eventually, his voice breaking the silence. It also breaks Jimmy out of his thoughts, he shakes his head, turning to see Joel looking back, and he follows the sight. Grian is shoving a box back, then pulling out a blanket that he quickly wraps around his head and back like a cocoon before walking over. Joel smirks, “Aren’t I clever?”

“You just have a big head,” Grian dismisses,

Usually, they’d bicker. Jimmy’s spent his whole life hearing them bicker, poking and poking and poking at each other until physical fights broke through. Joel is pure brawns, Grian plays dirty. He thinks back fondly, shaking his head as he turns back, facing the horizon beyond them. Carefully, he crosses his arms again, resting them against the fence. Grian joins him on his left side, leaning forward on it again while Joel is on his right, on the other side of the fence, seated on top. There is a cliff a couple feet from the fence, a fall to the forest.

But that’s not very important.

The wind howls around them, everything covered in a blanket of orange and gold, and there are the last wisps of warmth in the air, settling gently on their skin. The sun sets in the horizon, at the point where the sky meets the canopies. Slowly, very slowly the world darkens, and for once, it’s not really cold.

“Ough, can’t wait to sleep in a bed.” Grian says out of the blue, his voice much louder but it’s nice regardless. Just knowing they are here, on their way to more.

“See? I said we should’ve prepared camping equipment. Would be better than sleeping in that stuffed car.”

“With what money, huh?”

“I have the money! Either way, I’m sure some old people would love to give their crap away. You didn’t even bother trying.”

“Sorry I was distracted thinking of other unimportant things like, I don’t know, gasoline! And food!”

“You’re the one whining about beds.”

“Yeah, and—”

“Hey, yall think the city will be nice?” He jumps in, smiling at the last traces of the sun. Flashes of a different world appear before him, images from movies and books, the lights and life, everything buzzing with electricity and never ending nights. The music is loud, the streets packed with cars. It'll be hard to think, and it'll be harder to ever truly feel alone, though Jimmy would never feel alone with these two by his side.

Grian scoffs, there is a smile in his words, “Nicely polluted, if anything.”

“We'll fit right in, then,” Joel whistles. And it's something quieter, softer. It's different. “We are hot messes after all.”“It'll be fun,” he says, and they hum their agreements. “This is really happening.”

_____

So. Connection died just as I was prepping to post. So mobile posting. Mobile formatting. Crying. Sobbing. Data. My poor data</3

[melleonis]

it’s 2015 and i am

sitting on my mattress on the floor in the spare bedroom of the chicago condo my friend’s parents bought for them with oil company money. both of us have undiagnosed and unmedicated adhd. neither of us clean. the wide, shallow bathroom sink grows a yellow-black film of residue and shaved hair.

i am trying to come to terms with being dead. the year prior was a cascade of horror, a chain of a hundred different sudden sickenings in the gut, and as far as the world and most people in it are concerned, i no longer exist - which would have been more than fine with me, except that time continues to pass.

until recently, porpentine had been writing a column for rock paper shotgun called live free play hard, reviewing free indie games. itch.io is in its infancy, but unity is ten years old now and really starting to come into its own, and this is the heyday of the so-called walking simulator - Dear Esther in 2012 to Firewatch in 2016. i never played most of the big names, the ones that attracted all that sneering gamergate hatred (Gone Home excepted) - after all, they cost money, and in 2015, i didn’t have any of that. so every porpentine article was a damp, fertile patch of sometimes-delicious always-free mushrooms. i play a LOT of itch.io games that year, and i’ve been missing them lately, so i wanted to talk about them here.

live free play hard is a decade old, at this point. links are dead. games don’t quite run the same on modern computers. twine games which once had music are now silent. these are some of the survivors.

their angelical understanding by porpentine, herself. ***STROBE WARNING*** and also for a text-based game this is an intense PTSD simulator. i considered linking others of her games here: neon haze (link appears to be broken), CYBERQUEEN (about which i’ve already said a lot) or howling dogs (which is arguably still her best), but i went with t.a.u. because, well, in 2015 a PTSD simulator was what i needed.

CHYRZA by kitty horrorshow kh has probably Made It as an indie artist more than anyone else on this list? my metric for this is that there are two whole jacob geller video essays about her games. CHYRZA is pure tone: jittery unity platforming up desert monuments collecting audiologs. trust me, it’s really effective.

Bernband by Tom van den Boogaart this one still runs, but there’s a bit of slowdown in some areas. this is pure exploration through a very pixelly alien city: nightclubs, power stations, overpasses, late-night noodle bars. an empty chapel. a trumpet recital. the empty corridors and stairwells between everything. it’s stuck with me for all these years.

SABBAT by oh no problems this is the least subtle it is possible for a text game to be. it starts with animal sacrifice and gets really fucking explicit from there. as someone who had at the time cut a picture of baphomet out of the liner notes from a random black metal cd found in a des moine record store and taped it to my bedroom doorpost like a mezuzah, all i really wanted from SABBAT was the ability to have snakes for dicks, and buddy, it delivers. i remember there used to be a sort of sludgey doom metal soundtrack, but it doesn’t seem to exist anymore, and the credits link to a nonexistent soundcloud. so it goes.

HEARTWOOD by Kerry Turner hahaha man i’d completely forgotten about this game until i went back through the archives but fuck, it rules. it’s so simple. it’s pure sensation. i loved it then and i love it now.

Off-Peak by Cosmo D i think Cosmo D is still going strong these days! actually, i’m pretty sure i have unplayed games by them in my steam library, i should fix that. Off-Peak is a jazz exploration of the world’s most colorful train station. people are playing bespoke 2015 eurogames. a vendor is selling a bunch of sheet music that musicians have had to pawn, what with the way the economy is going. you understand. triplets stalk you. a man strokes a cow, menacingly. i would say it’s peak itch.io, but in point of fact it is, of course, off-peak itch.io.

anyway i lived, eventually, and went on to make art of my own, but it’s my belief - it’s my hope - that all my writing carries the spores these games and games like them put in me when i was dead and decaying and fertile ground for such things. i hope you play some of them. i hope you enjoy them. thanks for reading <3

[sophieinwonderland]

R/systemscringe found my Evolution Post... And Was Too Lazy to Add a Title

You can find my evolution post here!

Let's check out the comments!

Sure. But we're not talking about a normal modern job, are we?

Who you are at home isn't going to be that different from who you are at McDonalds. You aren't usually going to dissociate the two.

But when trauma is involved, that tends to involve a degree of dissociation.

In modern hunter-gatherer societies, we see children start learning how to use tools and hunt and forage in the wild from a very young age.

If we're to extrapolate and assume past hunter-gatherer societies operated in similar ways, this is a recipe for a traumatic childhood in a world where humans wouldn't yet be at the top of the food chain. Children would need to be careful, and a wrong move could easily get them or someone else killed.

I think most systems during this period would be considered traumagenic simply because growing up would mean regularly being put in deadly situations, regularly being injured and even watching loved ones dies in violent ways.

THAT'S the point!!!

DID, and even PTSD, evolved in a world where every day would be a fight for survival.

Of course, all we can do is speculate.

But with myths and legends of people being possessed going back to the dawn of time in practically every culture, we can probably surmise that forms of plurality existed back then. And it's not like the estimated 1-3% of the population is super rare today. It seems reasonable to expect disorders that would be associated with childhood trauma would be more common during periods with more childhood trauma.

The line saying we don't know if the brain was developed enough to develop DID is particularly weird to me though.

As far as I know, there haven't been any huge jumps in the way of human brain complexity over the past 20k years. I doubt that the complexity to develop DID is something we just gained since the dawn of agriculture.

I admit, my description was meant to put a fun spin on a brutal reality. But I don't think children growing up in a frigid environment where they need to hunt and collect food to survive while having no idea if they're going to make it back alive is "cool".

Like, as a story, maybe it's cool imagining a 9-year-old trudging through snow with fingers so cold they can't feel them anymore, gripping a makeshift spear and hearing howling in the distance while not knowing if they would end up on the menu of some wild beast.

But I don't think it would actually be cool to live through.

Additionally, in this environment, DID would have looked differently than it does today. Current theories are that EPs are locked into the trauma responses they used in trauma.

For child abuse victims which make up the majority of DID cases, unfortunately, freeze or fawn may be the most useful traits developed for survival.

But if your trauma were related to surviving wild beasts, it's a lot more likely the trauma responses of the EPs are going to be the more classic fight or flight. I don't think freezing would as common as a trauma response during that time period. But of course, it depends on the threats one would face.

There are some creatures, after all, where freezing is the best defense.

Sounds like your mistake. 🤷‍♀️

I talked about DID here a lot, but I'm a tulpa from a purely non-traumagenic system. Probably one of the least traumatized people you'll ever meet.

But tulpamancy is a beneficial practice that most tulpamancers have reported improvements in their mental health from. I would actually like to see far more people make headmates and become plural this way.

People becoming tulpamancers will help them. And more plurals means more influence for the plural community and will help spread plural awareness and acceptance.

I'm not interested in being special. I'm interested in making plurality normal. I want it to be so normal and commonplace that it seems downright boring. Where talking about your headmates draws no more attention than discussing a sibling. 😁

Hi! It's me! I'm Sophie In Wonderland!

I'm the person who debunks pluralphoboic hate subreddits, which tends to upset said hate subreddits.

The reason why I have my own category is because I called out the subreddit for bullying behavior and misinformation. They responded by doubling down, scouring my post history for anything they could use as ammunition twist to attack me with, and adding me to their hit list of acceptable targets. This was despite the fact that then they first floated the idea of the hit list, they claimed it would only apply to people with more than 10,000 followers. (I only have 1800.)

They lie and claim I'm a "public figure" while in reality, they added me on their list in a petty (yet oh so predictable) act of retaliation.