#this may be a plea for fanfictions

[angst-fairy]

Give me a story with queer characters set in the 70s, I will kiss you. Make it a fanfiction? I will die from happiness

[pinguwrites]

You Set My Soul Alight | Jonathan Crane

Pairing -> sub!jonathan crane x villain!reader

Summary -> You and Jonathan Crane have always been at odds. He's an arrogant asshole and you're a sarcastic shit, and no matter what you always find a way to bump heads. The worst part about it is that deep down you find him brilliant and attractive and utterly intoxicating. One day, Crane comes to you with a plea to enticing to resist, and you find this the perfect opportunity to put him in his place.

Warnings -> smut (minors dni), enemies with feelings, sub!Jon acting like a brat, swearing, dom!reader, degradation kink, ma'am kink, unprotected sex, edging, hair pulling, ball slapping, slapping in general, if you squint real hard Jonathan's lowkey a little sexist, bruce wayne is a playboy, reader's kinda a simp

Word count: 5k

Disclaimer: The Dark Knight trilogy/DC characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

Jonathan Crane glared at you, his piercing blue eyes filled with a layer of contempt and almost embarrassment like he was regretting this entire endeavor. It was delightful, seeing him in this state, and you made sure to enjoy every second of it — the way his cheeks were tinting a light pink, his muscles tensed up and his tone coming out a desperate yet still arrogant plea. Moments like these were rare, and you were ready to savor and drag them out every chance you got. 

  “I need your help,” he repeated, his tone distasteful like he was swallowing a bitter pill. “I told you, I need more money for my experiments, but I can’t do it without any funding. Wayne Enterprises is hosting a gala next week. All the richest of the city will be there and all of them are looking to donate. Charity, science, whatever will make them look good. I know you’re going, so I’m asking — as polite as I can be — please, get me an invite.”

You tilted your head to the side, eyes trailing off to look at some random painting on the wall. You briefly wondered how he got past your home security, but after a few seconds, you focused your attention back on him. “Sorry, what did you say? Can you repeat that?” you said with a slight grin.

Jonathan pursed his lips. “Don’t be clever with me.” But then he shakes his head and lets his serious facade go. “We both know you have the connections to score another invite . . . Please, my darling.”

Your heart fluttered at the nickname, the way it always did when he called you that. You wondered if he knew just how much you enjoyed it.

“I like it when you beg, it’s always been a good look on you.”

Jonathan smiles. A mock smile.

“Well, it’s true. No point in getting all upset.” You shrug, heading over to your kitchen to get some iced coffee for the both of you. “Tell me, why should I help you? Why should I help the man who has made it his mission to offend me every time we speak?”

You may have been a little unfair in saying that. Sure, he was a brat, but so were you. In fact, ever since you two met you had always been at each other’s throats, demeaning one another, insulting everything from intellect to personality to looks. You doubt your paths would have ever crossed had it not been for your good friend Harley, who introduced you both one fateful summer evening.

You don’t know what went wrong that day. Maybe it was the weather, the exceptionally hot wind that only frequented Gotham once every couple of years, the ones that made the city cranky and sweaty, or perhaps it was simply a bad first impression, the ones that just happened every once in a while. It had happened far too long ago to remember what it was that made you dislike Jonathan so much in the first place, and you were sure it didn’t matter. According to everyone who knew him, he had always been an ass, but he was good company once you got to know him.

Maybe he was. You wanted to figure that out, to peel away the layers of armor. You could be friends, lovers even. He could be yours. Yours to do whatever you wanted with. Yours to put in place, because god knows he needed it.

You weren’t sure when you started to think like this. To grow an obsession, but you did, and you couldn’t stop your feelings now. You didn’t want to stop. Loving Jonathan was too addictive, no matter how much he pretended to hate you — because you knew he didn’t actually hate you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t stop in once every while, under the pretense of snarky put-downs or brags. He wouldn’t graze his fingers with yours when walking by, and he wouldn’t ask your friends (namely Harley) what you did, what you liked, and what you talked about. 

“Because deep down,” Jonathan answered, following you into the kitchen, “you know I’m brilliant, and you know I deserve your help.” He accepted the coffee, taking a small sip before continuing, “But you’re too prideful to admit it.”

“Maybe I am, but that’s not a good reason. Deserve isn’t enough, Crane. At least not for me. I know you can do better than this, convince me. That mouth must be good for something.”

Jonathan paused, his tongue briefly sweeping over his lower lip, making it glisten in the light of the lamp. You weren’t sure if the brief silence was because he got flustered, or he was just thinking. “Then do it because you want to,” he finally said. “Because you know my research is important and you care for it, enough to do me this one simple favor.”

“I don’t know . . .” you trailed off in a teasing tone.

It seemed like Jonathan was getting annoyed again. “My dear, won’t you help me?”

“I’m still thinking.” 

He groaned. “Pretty please?”

You let out a little sigh, barely audible. “I will. For you.” 

That last part had intended to come off as flirtatious and pretentious, but instead, it was soft and delicate, so vulnerable it took you off guard.

“Thank you,” he said, setting his glass down. He had finished all of the coffee, quickly enough so that there were still ice cubes lying on the bottom of the glass. “I’ll pick you up, around four. Who knows, maybe we’ll even have some fun.”

And that was it. He left through your front door without saying anything else, leaving you with thoughts of the gala and what dress you were going to wear.

That next week you had settled on one and bought yourself a burgundy dress, a beautiful shade of red, one like expensive wine or fresh blood, a color that you knew looked good on you. It was a deep cut that went through the valley of your breasts, but if you pressed your arms inwards just slightly, which you fully intended to do, they would push up. It was a look classy enough for a gala, but still seductive enough to garner attention. 

Originally, you weren’t going to attend the function at all. This kind of stuff had always been boring for you, even as a child who was forced to go, but if Jonathan was going on your behalf then you sorta had to and definitely wanted to.

A ring sounded through your house. He was here. 

You opened the door and took a deep breath once you saw Jonathan. He was dressed in a neat suit, but not like the suit he was wearing when you last saw him. This one was charcoal black, silky, and smooth, with a white handkerchief in his outer breast pocket. His shoes were the same color and looked like they had just been shined, and in his hand was a bouquet of red roses.

“For you,” he said, placing them in your hands. His eyes swept over your figure, and his mouth parted for a moment. “It matches.” You huffed, secretly flattered. “But it’s such a shame.” You furrowed your eyebrows, confused. “Such a pretty little dress wasted on such an ugly little thing.”

You blinked, and then tossed the flowers to the side, letting them fall into a patch of dirt (you were definitely going to pick them up later). “Like you’re such a piece of work.”

“I am,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Men and women love me.”

Despite how attractive you found him, you really didn’t believe that. You were sure his attitude warded most people off, and besides, he was an introvert and a criminal. Dating wasn’t just something people like him did often.

“We’ll see. This gala will be filled with attractive young bachelors. Get one interested in you and I’ll admit you're handsome,” you challenged.

“Admit?” He laughed, a beautiful laugh. “Admit implies that you already find me handsome, you just don’t want to confess so.”

This man needed to be slapped. He needed to be given a good, hard hit across the face.

“You know what? I feel like being alone tonight. I think I’ll just go to the gala without you.”

You were about to close the door, intending to head to your garage, but Jonathan grabbed your wrist and pulled you outside, shutting the door behind you.

“No takebacks. You promised. Where’s your honor?”

“Honor?” You scoffed. “I’m a killer, what did you expect?”

Jonathan must have really thought that you were going to leave because he gripped your wrist tighter. “I’m sorry,” he quickly said. “I’ll be good tonight.” He placed his index finger to his thumb with his free hand and made a zipping motion across his lips. “See?”

“You better be. I’m doing you a favor here. Now, come inside, we’ll take my car—”

“I have a car,” Jonathan said. “I even got us a driver.”

You took a peek over his shoulders. Sure enough, there was a fancy car waiting in the driveway, engine still on. It was difficult to see through the windows but you could make out the faint outline of a man in the driver’s seat.

“If you insist.”

He held out his arm for you to take, and while you did want to, you instead shoved it away. For a moment, you swore a flicker of hurt crossed his face, but it was gone too fast for you to be sure it was even there at all. 

“Where’s my invite?” he asked.

“You don’t have one. You’re going as my plus one.”

“As your date?”

“It’s not a date. I thought you said you were going to be a good boy. What’s with all this complaining?”

“I’m not complaining, I was expressing my feelings. You should work on that. As a psychiatrist, I recommend—”

“—I recommend you shut the fuck up.”

Jonathan put his hands up, surrendering, but he did so beaming.

It hadn’t taken too long to get to the party. Traffic was high as always, but time seemed to be flowing faster than ever, despite you and Jonathan staying silent.

When you arrived there was a line of cars. Wayne Manor, a building you had only been to twice before, was still as impressive as you remember. It was a collection of elegant architecture and stonework, with a large wooden entrance that opened up to a main hall. The size of the driveway and front lawn was a bit unnecessary, at least to you, but what else could you expect from old money? 

After getting out of the car you were greeted by cameras and reporters, lights flashing in your eyes, but you didn’t bother with them. 

Jonathan reached out his hand, and this time you did take it — but only because everyone was watching, and if you pushed him away it would have caused an unnecessary scene. Jonathan’s driver drove the car away for parking and you both walked inside.

The inside was spacious, with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and people dressed classy, with gloves and diamond earrings, all mingling and chatting with each other about the stock market or their annoying ex-spouse or how it was such a bother when their vacation to Switzerland had to be canceled because of work. There was a tray of snacks and waiters walking around with luxurious drinks, something you immediately took advantage of.

“Thank you, sir,” you said politely, taking a glass of champagne, but before you could take a sip someone called out your name.

You turned around to see Bruce Wayne himself waving over to you, a boyish charm about him. He had two women on his arms, models or prostitutes, or both, you couldn’t tell, but they were drop-dead gorgeous. 

Your parents did business with him, and as a result, you met him at a young age. You were never really buddy best friends, but you went to the same school and that was enough for him to invite you to all his parties and greet you as though you were a family friend.

“You know Bruce Wayne?” Jonathan whispered, but before you could answer Bruce approached you both.

“I haven’t seen you around in a while,” he said. “This is Mila and Stephanie. Say hi ladies.” They giggled and waved as he gave the back of your hand a little kiss. “Gorgeous girl. You should wear these outfits more often, you truly look stunning.”

You let him put his arm around your waist, enjoying the compliment. 

“Oh, no,” you said modestly. “It’s just a dress.”

Jonathan chuckles. “Ah, don’t be like that, my darling. You look exquisite.”

You all but glared at him. Now he said you looked nice. 

“What’s your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” Bruce removed his arm from around your waist and held it out to shake Jonathan’s hand. 

“Dr. Jonathan Crane,” he responded, a little tense. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne.”

“Jonathan’s actually doing some research into brain chemistry,” you said.

“Really? Tell me about it, Dr. Crane,” Bruce said, flashing a charming smile. 

“I would,” Jonathan responded, turning to you, “but I don’t wanna bore my girl.”

“Your girl?” Bruce repeated, eyes glancing at you. “ You’re a lucky guy. Tell me how scored such a beauty like her?”

“Oh, it wasn’t that hard.” Jonathan reached around and put his hand on your shoulder. “She was practically falling all over me.”

That was true, but your jaw still clenched. “He likes to exaggerate,” you told Bruce with a little laugh.

“Well, if you ever want to change things up a little, I’m right here.” Bruce winked comically, leaving with his girls.

You could tell Bruce wasn’t joking. It sounded like a serious offer, only told in a joking format so as to not rile Jonathan up, as he was under the impression Jonathan was your actual boyfriend.

“You’re a jealous mongrel,” you told Jonathan once Bruce was out of sight. You both walked over to a more secluded corner. “Can’t imagine the idea of having to share, huh? Had to go and make up stories?”

Jonathan scowled. “He was shameless around you. Be grateful I warded him off,” he said arrogantly. “And it’s not like you guys would have worked out. With what your hobby and all.”

You didn’t say anything. Jonathan was jealous, huh? You know felt a sudden urge to go after Bruce, get a little drunk, and follow him back to his room. It’s not like he wasn’t handsome, he was the most eligible bachelor in the city. And you did like him. He was funny and nice. Plus, you two had known each other for a long while. What a fun trope, especially if it was making Jonathan mad.

“A good fuck needs to work out only for the night.” You shrugged.

“You—you can’t,” Jonathan sputtered out. “You’re here with me, not him.”

“I don’t see the problem. I got you in the door and now you don’t need me anymore. What’s wrong if I have some fun?”

“You can’t.”

You waved him off, though you were enjoying the way he was pouting.

“Brat,” you muttered under your breath.

 “I’m not a brat.” He gave a dry chuckle. “Excuse me for wanting to spend the night with you.”

“Then why don’t you act like it?” You grinned devilishly. “Act like you want nothing more than to be here.”

Jonathan’s breathing hitched. Yours did too.

“You want it?”

“Don’t be scared.”

After you said that he didn’t hesitate to lean forward to give you a hard kiss, bringing his hand around the back of your head to push you both even closer together. He pulled away, his face still close to yours.

“Like that?”

“Yeah, like that,” you breathed out.

“I can give you more,” he whispered in your ear, his breath almost ticklish. “I know you want it. Been fantasizing about me all this time, hmm?”

You smiled coyly.

“For me to bend you over like the whore you are—”

“—Careful, Crane. I might just have to slap you.”

“Say it. Say you want me to fuck you. Fucking say it—”

You took a quick glance around the room to see if anyone was looking, which they thankfully weren’t, and then gave Jonathan a quick, harsh slap to the face.

The force of it made his neck turn, and his cheeks immediately turned red. He stayed silent for a moment, looking up at you through thick eyelashes, eyes narrowed in lust. It was all the conformation you needed to grab his chin, lift his face up, and give him another slap.

Before you could say anything else he pressed his lips up against you again, pressing you up against the wall passionately.

You backed away, and he furrowed his eyebrows, but all you did was grab his hand, feeling a frenzy of desire take over you. “Let’s go.” 

You dragged him through the sea of people and out a backdoor. There were a couple of people walking around in the garden, but you managed to find a place secluded enough for you and Jonathan. The ground was grassy and soft, and no one was walking by. Even if they did, they’d have to be purposefully looking for you two to see you both behind the trees and flowers.

“Lay down,” you ordered.

He grinned but did as you asked. “Here? Outside? You’re such a naughty girl.”

“Do you wanna wait until we get home?”

“No,” he said, a little too eagerly. “I want it now.” He sat up and tugged on your dress, running his hand up your leg. “You’re so soft,” he murmured, planting a few wet kisses on your thigh. 

You sighed contently, enjoying the affection he was giving you. This moment felt like a haze, like the world was just slipping by and you were stuck in time, a feeling that made you wonder if this was a dream or not. The evening sunset and dark sky weren’t helping either. It all felt perfect, too perfect.

“Mmm.” Jonathan reached up and hooked his fingers into your underwear. You snapped out of your trance and swatted his hand away.

“Getting a little touchy there, aren’t you?”

He smirked, looking up at you through thick eyelashes. “Just tryna please you, darling.”

You thought for a moment, then decided that you would let him eat you out.

“Alright then. Please me, Dr. Crane.”

Jonathan’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment at the name, savoring the way it rolled so delicately off your tongue. He lifted up your dress and pulled down your panties. You kicked them off to the side and rested your dominant leg on his shoulder.

He pushed his finger against your folds, making a humming sound. “You’re so wet, darling.”

He leaned forward to suck on your clit roughly.

You lightly gasped at the pleasant sensation, bucking your hips into his face accidentally. You had meant to show more control, but how could you when Jonathan was so hungrily lapping? burying his face into your pussy like he was starved, passionately alternating between licking and sucking.

“Oh, Jonathan.”

His fingers, which had been gripping your hips, moved upward. As he continued to press his tongue against your clit his finger gently prodded your entrance, making sure that you were ready. He pushed his finger, curling it slightly. 

You stifled your moans, not wanting a passerby to catch you two in the act, but you were finding it difficult. He kept thrusting his finger in and out of you, adding another one just a minute later.

You threw your head back, eyes shut. You held his head for balance and relaxed, letting yourself go into a peaceful bliss. But then you felt Jonathan’s teeth nip your bud, biting into it deliberately, and you yelped.

Gripping his hair, you forced him to look at you. His mouth and nose were covered in your wetness, and his lips were curving up into a delightful smile.

 “What was that for?”

He shrugged. “Mmm, I couldn’t help it, Ma’am.”

Instead of reprimanding him, you took the selfish route and pushed his face in between your legs, grinding onto his lips until you felt that familiar sense of elated happiness. You came all over him, your brain shutting off, or rather, getting overloaded at that euphoric, all-consuming release.

You let go of Jonathan’s hair, but he didn’t pull away. He licked up your cum, making your nerves feel overstimulated, but after he was satisfied, he stopped.

“You like that?” he asked.

“F-fuck, yeah.”

You grabbed your panties and put them back on, much to Jonathan’s dismay.

“Where are you going?” He got up, using his sleeve to wipe off the remaining juices on his face. You could see a tent, his cock poking out from under his pants. 

“Home, of course. And you’re coming with me.”

He shook his head vehemently, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing his hard cock against your body. “Let’s finish this here. I can’t wait any longer. Don’t make me wait.”

“If you’re a good boy, you’ll wait.”

“I can’t,” he bitched desperately, hurriedly pulling down his pants. “I won’t. I’ve waited too fucking long.”

You grabbed his cock through the fabric, squeezing it tight in his hands.

His face contorted to one of pleasure and pain. “Huh!”

“You think you can just get what you want? After you’ve such a dick? Oh, ‘she was practically falling all over me’. ‘Such a pretty little dress wasted on such an ugly little thing.’”

“C’mon, I didn’t mean it! You looked so beautiful, I was just trying to make you mad. Be nice . . . Pleaseee?”

You gripped it tighter and he whimpered. “See how pathetic you get the moment I show an ounce of authority? How you start to beg?  If I say something you do it. Do you understand?” He didn’t say anything, his lips still parted in pain. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes!” he choked out.

You let go. “Good boy. Now go call your driver and ask him to pick us up ‘round back. Unless you want everyone to see your erection?”

You gestured to the front of the manor, where through the bushes you could still see people enjoying the party. 

“No, no.” He called his driver, trying his best to cover his erection by interlocking his hands in front of his waist. “You’re a cruel goddess.”

While you two waited for the driver, you peppered sweet kisses along Jonathan’s neck, but when he arrived, you stopped, making him groan at the loss.

Throughout the drive back to your place, you ghosted your fingers over Jonathan’s lap, occasionally resting your hand on his length. Once the driver dropped you both off, you wasted no time in pushing him to your room.

He took off his clothes as did you, his white cock springing up furiously. It was just the right size, bigger and longer than average, almost so that you worried about having to fit it inside you.

His figure was lanky, but still muscled, just the way you thought it would be. You placed your fingers on his chest, twisting his nipples. He shuddered and took off his glasses, placing them on the nightstand. You shoved him down on your bed and he immediately spread his legs, giving you perfect access. 

“Want me to suck you off, Jon?” 

“Yes!” he said impatiently. “Just do it.”

You spanked his balls with your hand, carefully watching the way they bounced ever so slightly.

“Nghh! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Do it whenever you feel like.”

Despite his words, you could see him waiting anxiously for you to touch him.

You did so, kissing the tip of his head and running your tongue through the slit, tasting the salty precum he was leaking. He hissed when you took his entire length. “Ah.”

You gripped your thumb so you wouldn’t gag and took him in all the way, hollowing out your cheeks. He thrusted up, deepthroating you for a hot second before he placed his hips firmly against the bed, not wanting to do anything that would upset you.

“So—so warm,” he stuttered out. “Can’t wait to feel your cunt, if your mouth is this fucking good.”

You would have said something, but your mouth was filled, busy bobbing up and down. He squirmed and moaned, shamelessly being as loud as he could. You could feel yourself getting wet again, but you controlled your urges for the sake of Jonathan.

He brushed your hair out of the way, scrunching up his face. “M’gonna — hnghhh — m’gonna come!”

That was when you pulled off of him.

It took a moment for him to realize what you were doing, but when he did, he wasted no time in complaining. 

“No,” he mewled, tearing up. “I’ve been such a good boy. Such a good boy.”

“Have you?” You giggled.

“I need you, I need this,” he moaned. “I’ve wanted you so bad — that’s why I came to you, that’s why I came to you and no one else. I didn’t even need the sponsors that bad, I just wanted to see you. I . . . I’m in agony,” he continued dramatically. 

“That’s sad.”

More tears ran down his cheek at your nonchalant words. He sniffled. “Please, stop that and just make me come!”

“Okay. I think you deserve it.”

But instead of putting your mouth back on him, you sunk onto his cock, slowly at first, so your pussy could get used to the size.

“Oh, fuck,” Jonathan cursed, placing one of his hands on your waist, his fingers digging into your skin. His other hand went up to play with your breasts, cupping and kneading them like they were pieces of dough. 

You started bouncing, a string of incoherent words and moans leaving your mouth. Jonathan sat up and wrapped you in his arms, kissing down your neck as you moved. 

“You feel so good,” you murmured, clenching around his cock. “I s-should have done this sooner.”

“Should’ve,” Jonathan agreed. “But — ah — we can always do this more often, yeah?”

Too blissed out to respond with words, you just nodded your head, resting your head in the crook of his neck. 

It didn’t take long for both of you to come after that. His hot load spurted inside of you and you came again, but this time on his cock.

He collapsed, exhausted from the sensations. 

You slowly got up, letting out a little wince as you felt his length leave you. You cuddled up beside him, caressing his cheek, wrapping you both in the blanket. He looked a little tired, and you didn’t blame him. So were you.

“You set my soul alight,” he said softly. “You always have.”

You wanted to ask him how deep his feelings ran, if this was just sex, or if it was something more, but when he fell asleep on your breast, you dropped the idea. He trusted you enough to let his guard down around you, and for now, that was more than enough.

The rest of the night was spent holding each other in your arms as you slept. When you woke up in the morning, he was still there, snoring softly like he was a peaceful angel.

You pulled him closer to you. “I’m never letting you go,” you murmured darkly. “Never.”

[spacebarbarianweird]

Elven for Astarion fanfiction

I absolutely love the idea of Astarion using Elven words and phrases

Here are some useful phrases and words you can use for fics. I specifally chose what you might find useful, for more terms you can check the sources.

Source (wiki)

Source (dictionary)

Phrases

Ai armiel telere maenen hir. - You hold my heart forever.

Aillesel Seldarie - May the Seldarine Save Us.

Al Hond Ebrath, Uol Tath Shantar En Tath Lalala Ol Hond Ebrath – A True Friend, As The Trees And The Water Are True Friends.

Besthunit Nenle – ‘Hurry Up Slowly’ (Eastern Lythari Dialect)

Bwaelan Dro - "It's Good to be Alive", a religious hymn of celebration.

Chu Set – ‘Hold Calm/Calm Down’ (Eastern Lythari Dialect).

Dilit – Be Quiet (Eastern Lythari Dialect).

Es'Caerta – Deeply Emotional Plea Ending A Prayer (like Amen).

Gys Sa Salen – Give Me a Drink/I Need A Drink.

Maethe - maybe.

Ikwe - Get back!

Iorwe - Step aside!

Oloth elgg ssussun - Darkness slays light.

Seldarine! – Gods! (Expression of Exasperation).

Uluvathae (pronounced: /ˈuːluːˈvɔːθeɪ/ Oo-loo-VAW-thay) - "[May your] fortune bring you joy". An informal greeting or parting used amongst individuals which enjoyed each other's company. Used amongst close friends, it was either seen as an insult, or as a warning that a third party was listening.

Words

aethen - "others", modern elven slang for non-elves.

alun - transgender.

amastacia - star flower.

ar - sun.

arael – heart.

aravae - great joy.

ardavanshee – Elven Juvenile Delinquent.

arivae – sunlight.

a’sum -  daughter.

avae - joy.

avae’ess - joy bringer.

arkhlavae - lovemaking.

bhin - young human male (slang).

biir - "garbage", used as an insult against those of half-elven and human heritage.

calann - cup (one’s hands, to hold).

daoin – star.

damia - a term of endearment directed to sweethearts or children.

ebrath - friend.

essraul – enthusiastic Slaying.

e'sum – son.

etriel - noble female elf (in bloodline, character, or both).

evae - love, absence of malice.

filliken – open skirt (Prostitute).

hond ebrath - true friend(s)

immaea - familial love, loyalty to kin and family.

immeeira - act or demonstration of love (deed, testimonial or honour, not lovemaking).

ithlil - lily.

ivaebhin - boy filled with brightness.

kerym - blade (as in blade made of steel), sword.

liyan - homosexual male (slang).

lorkh - Savage Butchers who Lost Their Elven Nature Long Ago Through Such Behavior.

mor - darkness, the true death.

nanta - destiny.

nias – agreement.

nikym – dagger.

nor - love, passion.

N'Tel'Quess - "Not-people". A derogatory term elves use to describe non-elves.

o'si - mother.

o'su - father.

penaal - battlepoet (bard).

piir - treasure.

re - bear.

ru - dream.

rua - star.

saece - crossdresser.

savalir - murderer.

sha'Quessir - elf-friend.

Sildur - "at rest after changing". Referred to an animal, insect, or plant having reached maturity after passing through a life-cycle of changes. Was later borrowed by Common as a term for transgender individuals.

solicallor - warm light of the sun.

srendaen - beautiful, only applied to things of natural beauty not to people.

srinna - One Who Tests Limits and Establishes New Boundaries.

talibund - the veiled one. referring to the creature whose future is unclear and cannot be divined.

taran - gift.

Tel'Quessir - the collective name elves use for their race. translates into common to mean, "The People".

tham - to be close to.

thor - vow, promise.

vaarnar - evil entity or sentient being.

vaendaan-naes - reborn in life's bright struggles.

vaendin-thiil - fatigued by life's dark trials.

veluthe – beautiful.

vyshaan - power-mad (derogatory).

[poptod]

Within You (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: You make prayer to the Gods to be one with your beloved.

Notes: hey lads its been a while. this story is, um, more like a moral-of-the-story than a fanfiction. its about obsession and very deep love (in a healthy way). i talk about it a little more in the notes of the Ao3 chapter. WC: 3.9k Ao3 Link

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You were staring again.

Most of your mornings were spent staring. You woke up much earlier than he did, after all, and rarely could find the ego to leave the bed without him. Thus you spent your mornings staring.

The sun had just barely risen over the eastern hills, and the winds, typically harsher in the day, were only a quiet brush against the reed shades on the windows. A warm glow began to fill the Prince's bedroom –– slow at first, and then a little brighter, till the sun shone directly through the window's angle, and boasted rays of light like blooming lotus petals unfurling downwards through the air. But this dappled light; the gently floating dust like pollen, the warmly-coloured walls and their painted decorations, were only a backdrop to the beauty of the Prince before you. Ahkmen dozed peacefully in the warm morning, resting on his stomach with his long eyelashes still darkened from yesterday's kohl. 

You reached up slowly, wary of disturbing him, and carefully brushed his hair away from his face. A few loose strands entangled in your fingers and easily came away from him; those you placed in your own hair, like a medallion of the Prince's love. A part of him within you.

It was something you longed for desperately. You loved the sensation of being close to him, your chest pressed against his, hands roaming all across in a plea for more and more of one another. You loved even more the feeling of him being inside you –– always pleasant and warm, and about as intimate as one could get with another. But still something seemed to lack; something was not whole. You were not whole. You wanted to crawl into his mouth and sleep in his heart. You wanted to reside within him.

His eyes fluttered open –– a pale colour made vibrant by the dark ochre and golden skin of his freckled face, framed by his smudged black eyeliner.

He smiled.

"Good morning, merwty," he said, and stretched, raising his arms high above his head, showcasing his ribs and slim waist.

"Good morning," you said with a soft chuckle. "How did you sleep?"

"Alright," he mumbled.

He reached over, and pulled you into him. You gladly acquiesced, and wrapped your arms around him.

"You do know I have to go soon," you said, your voice muffled against his breast. "I may not attend the morning worship but, I do have to clean up after some of it."

"Yes, I know," he said with a sigh, and held you tighter. "Just for another minute, my lotus."

You giggled, breathing in his scent, which only melted you into his hold.

Eventually you had to tear yourself from him –– just as you did every day –– and prepare yourself to go to the temple. Being a low-level priest, you had more freedom and less responsibilities than the High Priest in Memphis, but still had a standard level of cleanliness to adhere to. Most of that cleaning of your body was done on the temple grounds, with water purified from the Nile. For now, you wrapped yourself in white linens, and searched for the wig that you had, last night, tossed somewhere in the room. Ahkmen simultaneously searched for his own wig, and in the process found yours. You found the Prince's wig in the corner.

You set it on your head, and brought it over to him that way.

"What do you think?" You asked, twirling around. His wig was much shorter than yours, with the ends capped in gold, and all braided in fine, thin strands.

"I think you are beautiful," he said, grinning. "Maybe you should wear it for today."

"Really? And what would you wear? Your bare hair?" You laughed.

He laughed with you, and rested his hands on your hips.

"By Gods, no. I have other wigs, you know. This one," he played with the strands now on your head, "is just my favourite. But maybe I will wear your hair today."

"Mine?" You asked, laughing.

He bent down and picked your wig up from the floor, and quickly settled it atop his head. The thick braids were all a mess from being tossed about, but nothing could diminish the brightly glowing grin shining from his face, although his eyes were obscured by the out-of-place hair. You laughed and brushed it away, settling everything in its proper place.

"Well... it's not horrible," you said.

"You think so?" He asked softly, reaching up to fondle the braids.

His eyes widened imperceptibly, and suddenly he was reaching for his hand-mirror, upon which the image of the Goddess Hathor was carved into the handle. Holding it up, he began to move the hair the way he liked it, and smiled at himself. With a small turn of the mirror's angle in his hand, he caught you in the mirror's reflection. His smile grew, and emulated a deep warmth.

"Beautiful," he said softly, his smile coy as it was sweet.

"You want to wear it?" You asked.

"I think so. A piece of you with me. It smells like your oils," he said, "and the incense from the temple."

"Let me fix it for you, then," you said.

He sat down upon the floor, on the reed matting that ran the length from the doorway to the window, and you sat behind him on a three-pronged stool. All the while as you worked he held the shining mirror, watching you in the reflection. Contented, soft eyes followed yours, till at the door of the palace you parted for the day, both waiting eagerly for when you would meet again.

Today Ra seemed to shine especially bright and warm, though the effect might've been caused by your shorter-than-usual hair. Until you arrived at the temple you received no stranger looks. Upon entering the enclosure walls of Hwt-Ka-Ptah, a few people stared, and by the time you reached the sacred lake the higher priests were staring at you. They had just finished their morning ritual, and were now cleaning themselves of the ash and oils burned and smeared across the image of Ptah, the God to whom the entirety of the complex was devoted to. 

"Have you gotten a new wig?" Seshemnefer asked as he stepped out of the lake, his skin already beginning to dry in the sun and breeze.

"Sort of," you said.

Seshemnefer was a chanter of Ptah, accompanying the higher Priests in many of the daily ceremonies. Essentially all of the priests in the complex ranked above you –– including Seshemnefer –– but it was not something you minded. Whilst most priests were, in their time of work, confined to the walls of Hwt-Ka-Ptah, you were allowed free roam, which gave you evenings to spend with Ahkmen. You surmised that if it were not the Prince calling upon you, you too would be set to live in the temple grounds. Still, your ranking made you replaceable, and thus the call of the Prince was given more importance than your duties in the temple. 

"Well," he ran a cloth over his bare head, "it looks nice. Although a little..." he pursed his lips, "... unlike you. Anyway, you better hurry up. The halls need cleaning."

"Of course, of course. Thank you," you said, and hurried down into the waters to cleanse yourself.

Throughout the day you worked dutifully, but just as with every other day your mind always remained on Ahkmen. Thoughts of the Gods would be more proper; love for Them, adoration for Their qualities, and gratefulness for Their gifts and mercies. Your work was good enough, you supposed –– cleaning the floors, dusting the sand away, and doing whatever the higher-ups called on you to do. Ahkmen was your gift from the Gods, this you knew, and so perhaps appreciation for him would do just as good as gratitude directly to the Gods Themselves.

But in the evening, a rare chance presented itself to you. The inner shrine of the temple was off limits to all but the highest of priests, the Hem-Netjer-Tepi –– the first servant of God. The common people spoke their prayers outside the temple, or conversely paid priests to pray to the Gods directly for them. Your work kept you in the temple late into the night, and the Prince had yet to call upon you; thus the higher priests continued to use your labour wherever needed. The last ceremony of worship was performed. The chanting ceased, and the fires inside the inner shrine were put out. Although the incense was taken away, its thick scent and smoke remained, spilling out from beneath the cracks in the large doors blocking the inner shrine from watching eyes. The priests had not tied the binding rope tight enough, and now it fell loose.

You could, of course, go get the Hem-Netjer-Tepi and ask him to tie it back up, or even tie it up yourself. For some reason, however, you hesitated. You stared at the dark slit in the open doorway, and heard a silent beckoning.

You were unclean. Sweat on your skin, dust clinging to you from your dirty work. But there was something you desired more than anything, and now you had a chance to ask the Gods directly; to postulate yourself, and in your own words ask for something you would never admit to yearning for to anyone else. Before you fully realized it, you had dropped your supplies, and your hand was raised towards the parted doorway.

You whipped around, checked your surroundings, and slipped inside.

Without the sacred flame the priests carried inside the chamber, the inner shrine was pitch black, with the only light source being the slit in the doorway, illuminating a thin beam of light across the edge of the God's naos shrine. With wide eyes not yet accustomed to the dark, you fell to your knees and pressed your forehead to the ground. You had yet to even see the image of Ptah, but His presence was overwhelming, and your body began to shake.

"Oh Great God Ptah," you began, nearly whimpering the words into the dust at His feet, "oh He who listens to prayers, please grant me this desire. O Ptah, south of His wall, Who lifts the Heavens with His hands, let me be one with my beloved. Let us not be apart, let us experience the oneness of being complete. Let me return and be his heart once more. O Ptah, I ask this out of pure longing and love. I ask forgiveness for entering Your sacred shrine. I ask for Your mercy. Ptah, Lord of the Life of the Two Lands –– praises and adorations upon Your name."

You continued, rambling in both anxiety and ecstasy, as your closed eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light. Praises and adorations again and again; and the repetition of your one request. When you raised your head, your eyes had fully adjusted, and you caught sight of Ptah looking down upon you, His eyes wide and vibrant against His golden skin.

You fled the shrine room.

Barely within your mind, you put away your cleaning tools, and hurried back to the residence of the Pharaoh.

Ahkmen was nearly asleep by the time you returned. The oil lamp at his bedside was ready to flicker into oblivion, and the wind had settled for the night. His breath was quiet. The door creaked as you closed it, and the sound roused him gently from his passing.

"Good evening," he mumbled, and rolled over from his stomach to his back.

You quickly pulled the wig off your head, and crawled onto his bedframe.

"Hello, merwty," you murmured, moving quick and careful to caress his head.

"Where were you?" He asked.

"They asked me to clean up after the evening ritual," you said, which was not a lie. 

"I see," he said. "Are you tired?"

"Um..." adrenaline had kept you going since you left the shrine. But now that you were in the warm light of Ahkmen's room, it seeped away into exhaustion. "I.. am, yes."

"I'm sorry we didn't get much time tonight," he said, and some of the words slurred together.

"You will have to tell me about your day tomorrow morning," you said as you settled down into his arms.

"Oh yes," he murmured, nuzzling you.

It took only a few long breaths before you both fell asleep.

In the morning, you felt no body next to yours. The strange and unfamiliar sensation jolted you awake.

"Merwty?"

Ahkmen spoke in a panicked voice. At once the realization came to you, and you remembered the previous night. Your prayer to your Maker.

"Merwty, did you really do that?" Ahkmen asked, his breath still moving quick through his chest.

"I... I did," you said. 

The words formed on Ahkmen's tongue, and passed through his lips. Your lips. Each of his movements was now yours –– each of his memories now yours to recall, just as your memories were his.

You both, simultaneously thinking the same thing, scrambled out of bed and rushed to the mirror. Crashing down onto the floor on your knees, you grabbed the mirror and held it up to your face, your knuckles white and frigid. It was a question of appearance; had you taken on Ahkmen's characteristics, or had he taken on yours? Was your shared face now an amalgamation of your features?

To your consolation, your shared face was Ahkmen's face. There was no worry about hurrying out of the palace, lest someone mistake your shared body for an imposter in the room of the Prince.

You let out a shared sigh of relief.

"It's kind of hard to believe," Ahkmen said, touching your face, "that your wish was granted."

"A little," you agreed, "but I know that if the Gods gave me you, then I must be in Their favour."

He chuckled, and though your shared eyes closed, you revelled in his smiling expression in the mirror when he opened them.

"You are sweet. But this will take some getting used to. I think... we should be able to communicate without speaking aloud, right?" He said, still speaking to you through the mirror.

"I think so," you said. 

In the meantime, you grew increasingly interested in moving Ahkmen's face. You stuck your tongue out, pursed your lips, moved your eyebrows about, and finally opened your mouth wide and let your tongue roll out.

Ahkmen shut his mouth immediately, and dropped the mirror. Your face became very, very warm.

"Stop that," he laughed, digging his nails into his palm.

You unclenched the hand.

"You stop that, that hurts," you said, looking down at the red crescents stamped onto your palm.

"I'm sorry, merwty," he said softly, and kissed his palm.

You giggled.

"Let's get ready, yes?" You said.

"Of course. The day will not wait for our play. We shall return to it in the night," he said.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and squeezed tightly, humming in deep satisfaction. To be one with Ahkmen fulfilled all pleasurable desires, and at last satiated the deep sense of longing and separation within you.

You went off to bathe and were assisted by ladies who brought oils of every fine scent. The day was already beginning to grow hot, and thus the cool water was a great relief to step into. With each movement you were filled with enjoyment –– the grace of Ahkmen's feet upon the floor, his slim legs, the gentleness of his lean arms swaying to and fro as the two of you seemed to dance within your body. The ladies watched with wide and curious eyes, and seemed surprised when you turned down their offer to wash your hair and skin. Instead, you did it yourself, lavishing one another in the scent of rose and the luxurious feel of smooth oil dripping down your humid skin.

I adore you, I adore you, played over and over like a mantra, one after another being spoken in each other's voices within your head. Washing yourself was a slow and delicate process that you both relished in, running your hands over your shoulders, thighs, and waist, and pressing your lips against your shoulder in quiet, unassuming kisses.

By the time you were finished, you were already late to meet Ahkmen's father. But you insisted and took the time to get dressed in fine garments of white linen and golden jewels, lavishing yourself and admiring how your tanned skin contrasted and complimented the colours.

"Come now," Ahkmen said to you within your mind, "I do not want my father to be cross with us."

"Very well," you grumbled. "I wish you could carry a mirror around all day, so I could always see your beautiful face."

"You already wished to be one with me," Ahk said, and you left the room, headed towards the court. "I am not sure the Gods would be so merciful to change societal structure to allow us to hold a mirror all day."

You laughed, but managed to hold it inside –– only a smile showed itself, earning you some odd looks from the people you passed in the halls.

The two of you moved through the day with relative ease given your new living arrangements, all the while fawning over yourself in both directions. In times of required silence, you fondled your hands either in front of you or behind your back, running your fingers over your knuckles adoringly, and making subtle kisses with your lips each time one finger tapped another finger, distracted from any outside occurrences. People would, now and again, give you strange looks. From those ranking below you, they were often more curious and befuddled than anything; from those higher-ranking, they were punishing glares, and were a weak attempt to shame you into not loving one another. But you just smiled coyly, like a cat with slim, mischievous eyes, and continued to touch your hands behind your back.

Not being able to see Ahkmen slowly dug at you. Each twist of your shared expression, from the little smirks to the soft blinking of his lashes, was now hidden by virtue of your eye's angle. This little discomfort and dissatisfaction was not the only thing to bother you, either –– there was none of the pleasure of placing your arm around his waist and pulling him in, none of the sensation of feeling his body heat next to yours. You could no longer feel his lips on yours, nor easily stare into his eyes as he stroked your cheek.

All of these things you pushed aside. You were lucky to be able to speak with him and spend the day with him at all; after all, usually you were apart for near the whole day, separated by your duties. 

As the sun set behind the white walls of the palace, you awaited eagerly your dismissal from royal duties. When the moment finally came, the two of you practically bounded back to your room, laughing to yourself as your gold and white tresses billowed behind you. You dismissed all servants from the area, and fell onto your bed behind closed doors. Slowly your eyes shut, and deep breaths replaced the giddiness, allowing a sense of tiredness to settle deep into your body.

"Oh, to be united as one," you said, running your hand over your stomach and feeling the dips and ripples of fat and muscle. 

"Merwty, I miss your face," Ahkmen sighed.

"I miss your face, too," you said softly. "But more than that..."

As you lay there, you could easily imagine Ahkmen's body resting on the bed –– an image called back from your memories of many evenings. In those moments, your beloved lying exhausted on his bed, you would often bring him water or fruits if he desired them. You massaged his feet and legs, caressed his body, braided his hair, and took great joy in any service towards him. Even washing fruit for him to eat felt holy.

"I love being a part of you," you mumbled, "but I miss being of service to you. Like, bringing you pleasure. Now if I want to feed you dates, I have to just feed them to myself. That's no fun."

"You enjoy feeding me dates that much?" He asked amusedly.

"It's not just the dates, it's the principle of the thing," you grumbled, feeling delight and humour bubble in your chest.

Ahkmen laughed, brushing his hands through your hair.

"What does it mean, then?"

You paused and thought. Suddenly, a white light filled you –– a deep understanding of the nature of the soul. 

Ahkmen, privy to your thoughts, understood as well.

You knew what you needed to do.

"Really?" He said.

"Really," you said.

That night, you snuck out of the palace and over the white enclosure walls of the temple, and in secrecy opened the door bolt to the inner shrine. Even being a Prince you were not allowed in this sacred room; it was an honour and duty reserved only for the High Priest. Thus you continuously looked over your shoulder till you closed the shrine door behind you, enveloping yourself in the darkness.

Each breath seemed to echo in the tall space. But with no sense of coordination and no sight to aid, you took only a few, stumbling steps forward before falling once more to your knees. Forehead to the floor you began muttering again, prayers, adorations, and your plea.

"O Great God Ptah, O He Who listens to prayers, forgive me for what I asked of You, thank You for Your mercy in bestowing understanding. I am sorry for doubting Your will in separating us as different beings. I see now it is pleasure to serve personally, another whom you love. Please, may Your mercy extend to us –– may we be of service to one another once more, and continue to serve You, O Beautiful of Face."

With hands clasped in front of your chest you raised yourself, and slowly, shaking, met the eye of the God.

His eyes, strikingly pale and wide, were staring down at you.

You fled the shrine room.

A certain anxiousness kept you in an uneasy sleep for several hours. Neither of you were sure if Ptah would listen; if His mercy would extend to fix your hubris. You had been taught by the priests that the mercy of not being punished for your sins was the same mercy that Gods showed when They did not answer your prayers immediately. Extensions of the same kindness. Humans were blind and could not see the whole map –– where one seemingly good wish led was just as dark and unknowable as any ill-tempered desire, as the effects of human choice could not be seen on the linear timeline that the living experienced. If Ptah was not so merciful to save you from yourself, then He would likely not want to use the energy to switch you back at your behest. Yet it could also be seen as a mercy that Ptah listened to you in the first place; that He afforded you the opportunity to learn and enlighten yourself. You could not tell which circumstance this one was.

These thoughts churned, salted by an anxious sickness, until you eventually fell asleep in the very early morning.

By the time the sun had fully risen over the mountains, you were stirring awake, your eyes heavy with exhaustion. Your head rolled to the side, and beside you lay the sleeping body of Ahkmen. You sighed a breath of relief. 

A few minutes later Ahk stirred, and you moved, shifting to pet his face and slowly wake him.

"Good morning, merwty," you said with a smile.

He smiled up at you, and brushed the hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

"Good morning, my love."

[dying-brb]

desolation / an ellie x f!oc fanfiction / tlou universe

!slowburn !angst !subreader !domellie !fluff

tw: this is a heavy fic. mentions of sa, violence, gore, etc. 18+

(oc starts off 14 but only for backstory)

click if you haven't read chapter 1

chapter 2: 1900 words

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Natalie  -  14 yrs old  ⋆⭒˚.⋆

The leader of the cannibalistic cult that had captured me, David, began making regular visits to my cell.

Every morning. Every night.

Initially, I tensed at the creak of the door and his heavy steps echoing through the confined space. He would slip into my cell at dawn, before the sun even rose, and again at dusk as twilight fell. I assumed he chose these times to avoid detection by others in the community. If they were capable of consuming their own kind—people they had known, and enjoyed it—what regard would they have for their "Father" assaulting a young girl?

At first, I fought. I screamed, kicked, begged, bit, thrashed—anything to stay alive.

But after 22 days in this grim cell, my will to fight ebbed away. This wretched place drained my hope like a reverse transfusion.

The hope I once clung to was grounded in the possibility of a cure, believing my immunity could make a difference. But what kind of world would my immunity even be saving? A world where girls are confined like animals in cages? Where desperate pleas are met with cruel, heartless laughter? It was a world too far gone.

So I simply let go, releasing my tight grip on life. It seemed easier that way.

They fed me once a day, enough to sustain me if I had actually consumed what they served. Each time dinner arrived, delivered by a young girl much younger than myself, I refused—knowing full well what they were disguising as 'just venison.' I would gag and swiftly retreat to the farthest corner of my cramped cell, desperate to distance myself from the plate. I would sooner embrace death than stoop to this dehumanizing level.

David noticed my refusal to eat, observing my breath growing more ragged each day, my shirt hanging looser on my small frame. His displeasure was palpable.

"You know, if you don't eat, you'll just die. Starvation is a slow and miserable death. Is that what you want?" His eyes squinted in my direction as he spoke.

I chuckled weakly. I may not have had any fight left in me, but this defiance was the one thing I could still wield against him—something he craved but would soon lose.

"So? Let me die. I don't care. I won't have to endure you anymore," I whispered, my voice cracking, lungs wheezing with each word. A pained smile crept across my extremely chapped lips.

"I know they're tired of me taking up space in this cage. They want me gone. Your community needs food. But you don't want that, do you?" I scoffed, laughter tinged with bitterness. "You're deluded if you think you can keep me here forever. I'll die soon enough, with or without your buddies butchering me first."

Sometimes in my dreams, I glimpsed the light—the one they say appears before death. Yet, every time, just as I approached it —my hand reaching out desperately— I'd awaken to the cramped confines of my cell.

Disappointment flooded me each time.

Please. Make it stop. Let it end.

I silently begged myself and any deities who might hear my cries for help.

The sinister man—the false prophet—simply stared at me, his expression devoid of emotion.

"If you just eat, it doesn't have to be that way. You can survive this. You could join us. If you behave, of course."

Behave.

My fingers twitched at the word. He had used it incessantly during his visits. It pricked at my eyes and pierced my skin, much like the frigid air on my first night here. My stomach churned. Was it hunger, disgust, or perhaps fear?

"Never," I choked out, tears streaming down my cheeks as he grinned, evidently pleased to provoke a reaction from me.

Now, death was the escape I sought out, death was my vengeance. He would no longer hold my life in his hands, and I would finally be free of him, this place, this cruel torturous world.

A young girl interrupted my thoughts, entering with dinner and placing it on the floor outside of my cell.

"Ravioli today. Mommy said not to waste it or you'll be punished," she chirped, nudging the plate so it slid beneath the bars of the cage. With a skip in her step and a faint smile on her lips, she hummed her way out of the room.

Punishment was reserved for disobedience, escape attempts, or failure to answer David and the others. They'd burn the soles of my feet to ensure I couldn't flee. It had been over a week since I last endured it. I hoped to keep it that way.

I didn't comprehend how they could subject a child to witness a prisoner like this: innocent, naive, and impressionable. This young girl bore daily witness to my battered body. I frowned, contemplating her upbringing, silently hoping for a better future than that of the other corrupted souls trapped here.

Aware that the ravioli came from a can, I crawled over on hands and knees, trembling as I ate the cold concoction with the spoon they provided. Normally denied utensils, I suspected it was the young girl's oversight. David remained oblivious.

"Good. You're eating," he remarked, rising and casting a glance in my direction. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it, Cupcake?"

I recoiled at the nickname. Throughout my time in confinement, they had never managed to pry my real name from me. Instead, they relied on pet names or simply calling out "Hey, you!" to get my attention.

I mechanically stuffed the ravioli into my mouth, despite my stomach already feeling uncomfortably full from days of only sips of water. Every bite was a struggle, but I forced it down, knowing I would need my strength for what lay ahead.

They left the spoon behind. It was a mistake.

After finishing every last bite, I slid the plate back under the barred enclosure and carefully tucked the spoon beneath my makeshift bed—a bundle of newspaper and a thin blanket, but enough to hide my newfound tool.

Tonight marked David's final visit. Tonight, I would make my escape.

—

The night sky gleamed through the window directly opposite my cage, a constant reminder of freedom just out of reach. Tonight, though, I vowed to step into that moonlit world, to feel the crisp outdoor air on my skin once more. Never again would I have to gaze hopelessly at that window.

David had left some time ago, granting me a fleeting sense of security to plan my escape. The night watch continued their rounds, checking on me sporadically. As the weeks of my captivity drew on, the intervals between their visits stretched longer. Perhaps they mistook my subdued demeanor for resignation, believing I had surrendered any hope of freedom. Maybe yesterday they were right, but today, they would be proven wrong.

Mentally calculating, I estimated the next check-in was approximately 45 minutes away.

"Plenty of time," I muttered to myself, retrieving the spoon from under my pillow. This small oversight, this spoon, was my ticket to freedom.

Pressing the spoon against the cage's lock, I heard the bars lightly clank as I leaned into them. Damn it.

I prayed no one had heard the noise emanating from my confinement; now was my moment to slip away unnoticed. This was my sole chance, my final opportunity before the end. I knew it. The lock securing the cage door wasn't intricate—a simple, rusted padlock with a cord wrapped multiple times around the door and cage. In another time, perhaps it had been a bicycle lock.

With determination, I wedged the spoon's end between the shackle and its base, bending it toward me, shaping it into the tool I required. Straining with every ounce of remaining strength, the spoon bent into a U-shape, exerting pressure on the lock's shackle. The metal groaned, protesting against the strain until finally, with a snap, the rusted shackle yielded, freeing the old lock.

I exhaled a long sigh of relief before slipping out of the cage, my limbs trembling with adrenaline, my mind racing. Glancing at the butchering table that had loomed in front of me for so long, I smirked and quietly seized a cleaver as I tiptoed from the room.

"David, you're dead," I thought to myself, the rush of adrenaline keeping me alert and steady. A frenzied sensation prickled my skin as I navigated the dark corridors, hunting for him.

Yet, instead of David, I encountered someone unexpected—the young girl who had dutifully brought me dinner every night since my arrival. The 9, perhaps 8-year-old pointed up at me, her finger trembling with what seemed like fear. "You're out. The Father won't like this," she whispered.

I gazed into her eyes, my expression pleading silently. I didn't know how to beg a child for my freedom, but I couldn't risk her revealing my escape either.

"Hey, kiddo. I'm going on a little adventure, okay? It's our secret," I whispered urgently.

"I love secrets! I hide them from my mommy all the time!" the little girl chirped, twiddling her fingers and scanning the room.

I chuckled softly, enough to comfort her nerves. "Me too. How about we play hide and seek? You hide, and I'll come find you," I suggested, seizing the chance to divert her attention and buy myself time.

I burned with the desire for David's reckoning, but survival drove me more.

The girl beamed, nodding eagerly and clapping her hands once before scurrying to a nearby corner, starting to count aloud. "Okay! 1, 2, 3..."

I moved cautiously past her, quickening my pace once I was out of earshot.

I swung open the front door of the building, bracing myself against the biting winds of Colorado's unforgiving winter. My hands instinctively wrapped around my body, seeking warmth that was elusive in the frigid air. This wasn't the liberation I had envisioned—feeling the cool breeze on my skin, my clothes fluttering in the wind. No, this was harsh, cutting against my weakened frame.

I recalled vividly the night when David had dragged me here, barely alive, teetering on the edge of frostbite and hypothermia. The memory made my skin crawl with the same chapped numbness as the icy winds whipped around me now.

In the distance, a horse neighed, its sound cutting through the cold night air. I pushed myself to move faster. Escaping on horseback would increase my chances of survival, offering a chance to find shelter far enough away from David and his followers, yet close enough to navigate through the wilderness.

Tears streamed down my face, turning to ice on my chilled cheeks. If I managed to escape on a harsh winter night like this, survival seemed improbable. Yet, the thought of taking control of my fate, even in such brutal conditions, ignited a flicker of hope within me.

With trembling hands, I finally reached the stable. I approached the horse cautiously, shushing her gently to signal I meant no harm, then stroking her neck to earn her trust before attempting to mount. The touch of the icy metal and the warmth of the horse's flank provided a stark contrast against the freezing air. As I settled into the saddle, the once extinguished fire within me surged back to life. This moment, seated firmly on the horse, marked the start of my battle for freedom on my own terms.

[emerald-onion]

Things Dr. Ink Is Not Allowed To Do At The Foundation, by Dr. Dream (WIP)

Stop teaching Agent Blue swear words.

Not even in different languages.

Spike the coffee machine with laxatives is not only gross but also immoral.

Don't the SCP file as your personal notebook. How many times do I have to say this?

Try to convince everyone that SCP-404 is 'a big softie inside' is just plain suicidal.

Answer "What the fuck do you want?!" with "Your SOUL" is right out.

Stop telling everyone your paintbrush is secretly a staff member.

Stop telling a staff member they are secretly a paintbrush.

"I forgot!" is not and will never be an excuse for nearly killing all of your co-workers.

And neither is "They didn't pass the vibe check".

Nor "They shouldn't have eaten the last muffin".

Rolling up to someone with a trenchcoat and saying "I have brought the goods" isn't as hilarious as you may think.

Don't tell the new recruits that SCP-99 will adopt them if they call it 'Nootmare'.

Don't tell people that your medicine is drug.

Don't hide drugs in your medicine. Trust me, I'll know.

Showing SCP-404's shitty Undernovela's knock-off was fun one time and one time only, and that was before it destroyed our entire west wing.

Don't give Agent Blue candies.

Don't give Agent Blue honey.

Don't give Agent Blue cake-pop.

Don't give Agent Blue any kind of sugar, period.

No, "What have you done?" is a desperate plea for you to stop, not "Please continue".

There is not any SCP Dating Simulator. There has never been a SCP Dating Simulator.

Not even in Japan.

And no, this isn't a suggestion to make one.

Dr. Ink is not the God of Creation. Not even if your cult says so. Since when did you have a cult in the first place?

Stop submitting your paperwork in the back of a Kung Fu Panda DVD.

Stop stealing SCP-404's chocolate.

Stop hiding SCP-404's remote control.

Stop rearranging everything in SCP-404's containment cell by one inch to drive it insane.

Stop messing with SCP-404, I beg of you.

Drawing SCP porn on the Foundation walls is strictly forbidden.

Don't tell Agent Red this world is a shitty crossover fanfiction and everything he knows is fake.

Don't tell Agent Red that he and Agent Blue are the clones of Dr. Sans.

Yes, I know that it's possible, Agent Cross is standing right there, but stop giving him an existential crisis, please.

Don't tell Agent Blue his action figures are alive and they're silently screaming for him to break them from their inanimate prison.

Don't call Agent Blue Berrybaby specifically to piss him off.

Don't convince Agent Blue Santa Clause is real and he just needs to go to Antarctica to find him.

Seriously, leave the poor guy alone.

No spilling melted chocolate on someone and telling them it's SCP-99's goop.

Stop trying to wear high heels to make yourself taller. You broke your fucking leg, Dr. Ink.

Didn't I order you to stop messing with SCP-404? Why do I see a giant graffiti of SCP-404 in a cat hoodie in front of its containment cell?

SCP-404's dolls are not made of the remains of its dead victims. It has already been terrifying enough already, stop fanning the flame even more.

Yes, you have a bad memory. No, even that won't make you forget the large fire you start in the cafeteria 10 seconds ago.

The Foundation exists to protect the people, not a big conspiracy to control everyone's mind.

There is no such thing as a Reset button. Stop saying that every time you mess something up.

SCP-99 cannot be pacified with a lullaby. Don't tell the other scientists that. We're short on staff already.

Playing your flute at three in the morning is just plain creepy.

The Foundation does not have a dress code. Especially not 'Maid uniform'.

I know you still meet up with SCP-90 sometimes. I don't know how, but I know. For God's sake, Ink! He's a freaking body-snatching parasite!

You're absolutely not allowed to knock on the D-personals' door and tell them "It is coming. There's nothing you can do to stop it."

[myanonymousfeh]

So I got a question about Four

I found this video awhile back, but this part stuck out to me. Specifically around 1:41. And my single thought when I saw that segment was. DANG, Green or Four as a whole has a beautiful singing voice. Why the heck has the fandom not used this! Yeah, :|, so now I want to see Four being a singing diva!

🎤🎶

I beg to all that is the Linked Universe Fandom, may someone hear my pleas. Someone make Four a singing diva somehow either in fanfiction or comic, anything please!

🥺🙏😭

[writingwithcc]

Writing Sample: fanfiction, Legend of Zelda, Breath of The Wild, Zelda and Link, Zelink, General, Blood and Injury, Near Death Experiences, War, End of the World, First Kiss

Drabble based on the beautiful art by Helimarr.  "In the battlefield, there is no place for hope. What lies there is only cold despair and a sin called victory, built on the pain of the defeated." — Emiya Kiritsugu

    Zelda did not know war. She knew of it, had read many leather-bound books on the subject, studied multiple strategies, glanced over painfully detailed illustrations. These things were not war, though. They barely scratched the surface. Books did not mention the stench of blood and sweat and death. Strategies did not say how to handle a clenched heart when loved ones were faced withswords and beams of concentrated power. Illustrations did not show the little stuffed toy left behind, never to be held by its child again.

    Vah Naboris was the first of the Divine Beasts to be infiltrated. It was clear that something was wrong the moment its power ceased, paused as though in stasis, little more than a tall statue of stone. There was nothing they could do.Link had his hands full defending against Bokolin's, Moblin's, Lizalfro's, Wizards— and he defeated them, one by one, while Zeldaprayedin the growing expanse of mud, knees on the ground in submission as she curled inward and whispered her fevered pleas.

    "Hylia, Goddess of Light, Protector of Hyrule, You Who Share My Blood—"

    A Lizalfro shrieked as Link's blade drove through its neck, his grunt rising above the sound.  

    "I ask for Your guidance, I ask for Your light, I ask for Your aid to release my power—"

   Link's grunt. A man's not too distant cry.

   "Grant me my power so I may serve Hyrule in Your name—"

   Crying. Grunting. Shrieking.

   "Give me power, I will serve You, give me power, I will fight for You, give me power—"

   Vah Ruta fell.

   "Hylia, Goddess of Light, Protector of Hyrule, You Who Share My Blood—"

   Vah Rudania fell.

   "I ask for Your aid, grant me power—"

   Link's grunt. A Boboklin's shriek. Groaning and yelling and orders and clanging of steel against steel against flesh.

   "Let me protect them—"

   Vah Medoh fell.

   "Hylia, please!"

   The Castle of Hyrule fell.

   Zelda felt the weight of grief consuming her chest like a parasite, eating hungrily at everything she had, ripping out her heart and gorging on its core. Her father was no longer visible from his tower, and yet their soldiers honored his last command, fighting and dying against the growing wave of strength that engulfed them. They were losing— no. They had lost.

   Link knew. In all the time she had known him, her knight never ran from a fight, yet at that moment, he grabbed her hand and yanked her from the ground. He led them away from the castle and into the forest, pausing only to shoot arrows at the enemies who attempted to follow, his movements quick and precise and deadly upon every impact. They kept running. There was a loud, shuddering burst of dark energy from the castle. They kept running. Their enemies fell far behind and lost their trail, growls, and snorts and shrills fading from earshot. They kept running.

   Everyone was gone. They had lost. Hylia, even then, had refused to answer her call. How despicable must Zelda have been for the Goddess to deny her power, even then?

   You are the heir to a throne of nothing: nothing but failure.

   She didn't know where Link planned on running to. Perhaps he didn't, either. His hand gripped hers so tightly that on some level, Zelda recognized that it hurt, but the pain didn't quite register. She grabbed his just as hard. Then tears began to choke her throat, and she couldn't breathe. Her legs became weak, and her hold on him slipped. The mud beneath her sandals slicked, and Zelda fell in the one moment that Link loosened his hold. He stopped and spun to look at her, eyes wide, searching for danger but finding nothing. Nothing but Zelda on her hands and knees, panting and gripping the earth beneath her hands as though she could strangle an answer out of it.

   "How?" She asked in a broken whisper. "How did this happen?"

   There was the sharp shrill of the Master Sword retreating to its sheath and Link knelt before her. Rain began to pelt against Zelda's back, cold and pitiless. She spoke the words that seemed impossible; the Divine Beasts, their best defense, were now Calamity Ganon's and the Champions were trapped within them. It was all due to Zelda's inability to be worthy of the power that was supposedly hers by birthright. Everything she had done up until this point had been for nothing. 

    She truly was a failure; the sacrifices of those she loved proven meaningless. Her subjects, her Champions—  strong, loving Urbosa (had her death been quick?) Gentle, brave Mipha (she must have been so scared.) Good-hearted, faithful Daruk (did he regret trusting her?) Confident, unyielding Revali (he had surely fought to the end.) Her father. All dead in vain, all dead because she had failed them.

   The barrier Zelda had wrapped so carefully around her heart was ruined, and as she cried out in a painful wail reserved only for the mourning and forlorn, her body slumped into Link's arms. It was the only place that seemed safe. Sobs shook her shoulders, and wordless grief tore at the skin in her throat, stripping it raw, but her cries only came harder in retaliation. She gripped Link’s shirt as he held her. It had taken so many hours to sew the blue tunic he wore. But oh, how proud she had been as they'd stood before her father, displaying her Champions for the world to acknowledge.

   She didn't want to be proud anymore. Hylia could give her every ounce of burden and shame, she had earned it, deserved it, and would shoulder the weight willingly if only things could return as they were. Yet that wasn't an option. There was nothing left to do but face their own eventual deaths, for they could only run so far, and Calamity Ganon would always run further.

    It wasn't fair. Zelda slipped her arm around Link's torso as she buried her face against his chest, calming her thoughts by focusing on the rapid drumming of his heart. She wondered if his heartbeat was always so fast after battle. Her tears began to taste bitter at the realization that she had dreamt in quiet dreams of being held in his arms so many times. It was the smallest indulgence she allowed herself, but their embrace was never meant to be in this way. The moment which she had hoped would be sweet and tender was now stained by blood and sweat and death and rain and her tears. Zelda wondered if it was punishment. Yet Hylia had never been known to be a jealous Goddess, and it had only been an innocent dream, nothing more. She had been good. She hadn't done anything, had kept true to her purpose and devotion, had turned away so many who flickered at her heart. She had been good.

    Goodness had yielded her nothing, though. Zelda's sobbing wore itself out, sputtering until her emotions dried, and Links hold on her never wavered. He didn't speak. She didn't expect him to (what was there to say?) His heart continued to pulse erratically against her cheek. A numb, logical voice in Zelda's mind said that they should get up and keep running. Ganon's creatures would find them eventually if they didn't continue to move, and it was their duty to survive for however long they could.

    She didn't want to. It seemed so futile to fight something that had already won. They were going to die anyway, her and Link, it was only a matter of when. Something about that thought was calming, though. At least soon it would be over. Everything. The pain, the whispers, the humiliation, the grief, the failure— what did it all matter if they were no longer around to experience it? Zelda wondered if they would still be reborn as the prophecy said. Ganon would suck the world dry of its life and leave it a crumbling ruin, so perhaps they wouldn't. Perhaps this was the true end of it all, the destruction of a cycle that was once thought to be eternal.

    The rain continued to fall, and where it had once been painful upon her skin, now it seemed like reverence. It was possible that this would be the last rain to ever fall upon the Earth, as though fate was intent on cleansing the blood which soaked its surface before a final farewell. Zelda took a breath. Then another. She wanted to see Link. If there was nothing else for the world to give, if it was preparing to empty itself of all who had ever known it, then she wanted to at least see Link once more.

    Yet when she pulled back, trails on her cheeks where tears had flowed through dirt, her green eyes couldn't rise to meet him. She had failed so many people. Failed him. The shame still felt so heavy on her neck, domineering and cruel. Even so— even so, her heart retained an ounce of selfishness, and Link stayed so very close. He always stayed close, no matter what came. There was a day when she had stomped her foot at his loyalty but was it any wonder that he won her over in the end?

    Could she truly be blamed for loving him the way that she did, when Link was the way that he was?

    Perhaps Hylia was a jealous Goddess, after all. Perhaps She hated how Link held a part of Zelda's heart that she had not tried to shut close, and perhaps that was her mistake. It didn't matter now. They would be gone soon enough, and Hylia could choose her fate then, could rebirth her into a world of desolation or dissolve her into true nothingness. For now, Link was with her. For now, he was close, and her lips weren't far from his, and when she tilted her chin up they were even closer, he was closer, and it wouldn't take much to indulge as Zelda had never truly indulged before. There was no reason not to. Beneath the scent of a battlefield, there was simply Link, and it reminded her of a wild wind. 

    They would die, anyway. They had lost, anyway. Why not, her mind begged, why not?

    Link was the source of temptation and resistance. It made sense now why Hylia preferred him over her, for Zelda was selfish, and the Chosen Hero was noble. She couldn't drag him down to her level. Whatever punishment awaited,he didn't deserve it. However delicious the heat from his mouth might taste, it was not hers to take. Zelda squeezed her shut eyes ever tighter as though she could will her vile heart away and lowered her chin. She felt Link's hand cup her face, comforting and warm and more than she deserved. In the space between their chests, she breathed the words, "I'm sorry."

    Then Link's other hand was upon her, calloused fingers splayed across her cheek, passionate and desperate as the kiss he pressed to her lips. He tasted better than Zelda's darkest thoughts had ever imagined. While his hands were rough, his lips were so unbelievably soft, and it seemed as though they melted against her like the honey he so loved to drizzle upon baked apples. It was wonderful.

    Zelda's sob broke the kiss, short and sharp as it tore open her mouth to cry, but before Link could pull away she tugged him closer. Her lips were on his and her hands slipped around his neck, up into his hair, fingers tangling themselves in everything that was him. He was covered in dirt and sweat and other's blood, and he was perfect. Hylia was right to be jealous.

    She moved her kiss to the corner of his mouth, his temple, his forehead.

    I love you.

    He kissed her cheek, her neck, her shoulder.

    I love you.

    Her hands gripped the sides of his face. His hands gripped the back of her head. Their lips met once more and refused to be parted, the heat necessary as air. If what they did was indeed desecration, then sacrilege was sweet and worth damnation. 

    I love you.

    At that moment, Zelda decided that Link would not die. She would, and that was fine, perhaps that was the way it was always meant to be— but he would live. When it came time, she would tell him to run (he wouldn't listen), she would tell him to leave her (he never would), and she would defend him (she didn't know how.) Hylia could have her failed reincarnation and do with her as She saw fit, but Link was no longer Her Chosen Hero. He was Zelda’s, and he was all she had. He was the only person she loved left to protect, and losing him was not an option. 

    She would have spent an eternity with him. But eternity was brought to a close by the familiar, almost musical beeping of a Guardian preparing to attack. Ever the knight, Link was quick to shove Zelda behind him and draw the Master Sword once more, plunging it into the Guardian’s glowing blue eye. He defeated it. More came. He stabbed the inner workings of their gears, slashed their mechanical legs, and reflected parts of their blasts with a well timed tilt of his blade. Over and over, the Guardian’s challenged him, drawing them out of the forest. Over and over, Link laid them slain amongst patches of flames left in his trail of destruction. 

    But Link, for all his bravery, was not immortal. His strength waned, his speed slowed, and little by little, even The Hero of Hyrule would fall. 

[heimdallsram]

 ━━━━ masterlist. soundtrack. archive of our own. taglist.

title: perennial

pairing: heimdall x female! goddess! reader

"You were a goddess of oaths and vows. It was only fitting that Odin would

bind you to his service in only the most ironic way that he knew how: marriage."

this fanfiction contains the following: domestic violence, blood, gore, choking, violent sexual content, bad BDSM etiquette, non-consensual somnophilia, blood drinking, unhealthy relationships, and much more content that may be sensitive to some readers. reader discretion is advised.

*for inquiries about the taglist, please dm me and i will add you to it.

 Odin was a terrifying man. While he appeared the genteel, kindly older god with an inquisitive twinkle in his only good eye, he was anything but—to most, or all outside of Asgard, he was a monster who did not deserve his place. He was a manipulative man, a smart and narcissistic one that had driven the best of them into their early, shallow little graves before they were brought back again to serve as his Einherjar. He had exiled his wife, after all, sealed her existence to Midgard and corrupted the Valkyries that were loyal to her—twisted her own son’s heart to her, though she had a hand in that as well, cursing him with immortality and invulnerability as she did. Freya—Frigg, as she was known in Asgard—could not be blamed for wanting to protect her child. But not giving the same regard to Odin… she had sealed her fate more quickly that way, and for the good of all others, Odin had never succeeded in that particular spell.

 You supposed that was why he kept you around, at first. A goddess of oaths and agreements was detrimental to him if left unchecked. You held all of his hidden secrets, his deals, his vows with magics, his pacts, his promises, his wishes, in the palm of your hands each time he made one, sifting through the forbidden knowledge with a careful eye. Each time a marriage vow, or any other form of a promise, was created, you would know, and it would be made known to you the promises and agreements made in their specified vows; just like now, like today, as you bore witness to the violent, almost… bloody fight between man and wife.

 An insipid dalliance with a lover had stolen his wife’s heart from him, you recalled. The words shuttled through your mind painfully and quickly, like daggers of ice. With each vow broken—love, eternity, fidelity, faithfulness—you felt the bindings of their fates rapidly unwind like a loose spool of silken thread. Spin, spin, spin, and it was all falling apart before your eyes, through a magic window framed with wood and lit with warm candles.

 The woman cried as the man curled his fists into her hair and pulled. Her pleas did not reach his heart, for he had shielded it against her—against everything she stood for. You could not pity her for what she had done. Instead, even as she was brought to her knees and a leather belt lashed across her face, you felt fiercely proud of her for taking control of her happiness despite the pain it was now bringing her. Her husband, while feeling the betrayal keenly, was not faithful nor was he in any position to feel wronged, for he had committed the same crime and found himself innocent.

 When the breaking of the vows had made themselves known to you, you had risen from your bed in Odin’s grand hall, bundled yourself in warm furs and silks, and braved the chill night as it rose over you in an ill tide. Your leaving had not gone unnoticed; there had been several eyes upon you as you had made your way down the frozen, muddy path and to the home sequestered among many others. Munin, loyal creature that he was, had flown and followed and remained at your side upon the bench you now sat on, watching the events unfold as you knew they would.

 It was another version of foresight that the All-Father found… pleasing to have in his employ. It was the only way you could explain the way his mouth had twisted into that friendly, yet not so kind, smile when you had spoken to him of his broken fatherly vows to Thor—the ones he had unwittingly made after bringing a child into the world. Love, warmth, care; Thor had been denied them all. It had not even taken a teenage goddess, newly minted and born from the previous, to point that out.

 You could not do as Heimdall could and read thoughts and intent. You were not as the Norns were, able to pick through decisions and fate and weave together a predictable future. You did not even have the sooth saying abilities that the Giants had, long gone as they were. The vows and oaths spoke to you and you would obey; that was all that Odin knew. All he would ever know, for now; he had no need of the knowledge that you were both judge and executioner.

 “It’s kind of a cold night to be witnessing vows, isn’t it?” Odin was never obvious in his appearances with you. He was always quiet, always contemplative, desiring the upper hand always. Much like yourself, he had abandoned his thinner robes for more thickly lined ones; even his eye patch was lined with fur, perhaps to keep the aching loss of his eye safe from the cold. Perched on his shoulder was Huginn, tilting his head to and fro, not quite looking at you but through you. “When I was told you had left, I almost didn’t believe it.”

 It was a lie, of course, in lieu of acknowledging the way the woman’s husband had abandoned his wife on the floor to take a swig of bitter ale.

 Your answering smile was small. “Much as we are all slaves to fate, so am I to the oaths made between those slaves. They call and I must answer, you understand. Even in the cold of night.”

 “Sometimes your disrespect is refreshing,” Odin sighed lightly. To you, it almost sounded tired; as if speaking had simply exhausted him. “Not like Thor’s or Sif’s or… Hel, Frigg’s.”

 You kept painfully quiet at the mention of the former Queen’s name. Instead, your eyes remained trained on the window where you could see the husband come into view once more, ale on his lips and beard and his shirt abandoned. There was nothing you could do to hide the grimace as the man hit his wife so hard that she rolled on to her back, slammed her nose into the baseboard of their bed, and coughed blood. Beside you, Odin did not flinch.

 “Well, don’t take too long,” he said, finally, with a tone of amiability. He patted you on your shoulder like an old man might as if speaking to a good friend, Munin leaping into his arm and melding with his flesh. “Big things to do in the morning, little time to do it, you know.”

 You did not look away from the woman as she rose to her feet, fists raised and trembling. “Of course, All-Father.”

 He vanished into a flurry of black birds with golden eyes. You paid it no heed. You continued to watch as the woman began to fight back, little by little, inch by painstaking inch, until both she and her husband were bleeding, laughing lightly at each other, stroking each other’s bloodied hair and bruised cheeks.

 Only then did you rise to your feet, your cloak dragging in the mud and soiling the white fur as you approached the door to the warm, violence blessed home. You knocked on the door only once, knuckles white against the wood. You tucked your hands carefully against your stomach, folded neatly, and schooled your expression into something… other. Something placid and stern and knowing. Something only your powers could give you.

 Your feelings did not matter when it came to this. Could never matter, in the end.

 When the door opened, your stomach curled unpleasantly. They had made haphazard attempts to clean themselves up: streaked, wet blood here and there, hair pulled back tightly. The husband had thrown on a shirt; the wife had tied an apron around her neck to hide the belt lashes across her chest and ribs. A deep sigh threatened to escape your lungs. All slights had been made right between them, their smiles dimmed with confusion as they took you in: a stranger in the night, dressed in rich silks and fine furs, your hair pulled back into a severe tail at the nape of your neck.

 “I apologize for the lateness,” you began, your voice monotone and lifeless as you edged past the husband, past the door frame and into the home within. Blood stained the floor at your feet, mingled with ale and spit and other indiscernible bodily fluids. A stool sat in front of the hearth, an abandoned knitting lying helpless as it smoldered under the heat. In the corner, sleeping pitifully, was a baby, cocooned in warmth and shielded by a newly woven basket. You took in all of this with one sweep of your gaze, your heart pounding in your chest in a crude drum beat. “But you have broken your vows, and they called to me. I must obey.”

 It was always a little heart breaking to see the way their faces dropped when they realized who—what—you were. You never forgot how their eyebrows would sink low over their eyes, their mouths fall open and slack for just a moment before words and pleas bubbled from their lips, the way a wife might freeze or a husband may raise his sword to you. It was always the same variation of reactions, one never quite the same as another but similar in all respects, and you had come to expect them all at some point, when your guilt had failed to override the sense of duty you now held to yourself.

 Neither noticed as a breeze, sweet smelling and of sage and lavender, quietly closed the open door and flashed pale lilac. It would not open until dawn, just as the sun peered over the horizon, and the floorboards and fur rugs of the home had been soaked in more blood than had been shed by both husband and wife. In the corner, cooing innocently with a bundled sprig of mint and holly in its little fist, the baby awoke to brilliant, sparkling rubies dripping from the roof like mother’s milk.

 You would not be there when the surrounding inhabitants woke for their day and slowly noticed their neighbors were not outside as per usual with their child in tow. You would not be there as a comely old woman made her way into the house and gasped at the grisly sight before her. You would not be there as the child was scooped up and brought to safety, even though the threat was already over. You would not be there as the local carpenter tried, and failed, to scrape the rune burned over the headboard in shining lilac light off, not to disturb another family who may occupy the space.

 You were never there.

 Instead, you would shed your clothes upon your return, as nude as the day you had been born from the flesh of the former Var, and sit in the morning sun on your stool, unblinking and unseeing. You would bathe yourself and cleanse your skin of the blood you had shed, bundle your clothing for washing, and carefully weave your hair into something presentable. You would present yourself as if you had never claimed two souls in the night, as if you had nothing to do with the events at all—Odin would see to it if fate did not.

 You would drink, smile, and remain placid. Your place was secure. Odin needed you and you would keep going as you were, Freya’s parting words to you echoing in your mind like a plaintive wail.

 Never trust him.

 And you knew she had been right when your morning was interrupted by a servant carrying a letter, Sif right behind her, dressed in her immaculate blue gown and her hair like spun gold. She appeared apprehensive, not at your nudity as you accepted the letter but at your potential reaction. You could already feel the loom of oaths and vows spinning as the golden haired goddess shut the door behind her, parting the wax seal with your thumb and exposing the contents within.

 ‘[Name],

 It pains me to do this, but you leave me with no choice. You are to be bethrothed to Heimdall, in all ways that matter. I cannot trust you as you are now, you understand.’

 It was not signed, but it did not have to be. Your disrespect to Odin had gone on long enough, it seemed, and he could not tolerate it any longer. It was both a punishment and a leash, one shorter than he gave most. Thor had a longer leash than this, and his was studded with proverbial spikes and metaphorical shame. You had been expecting something like this to occur, but… Heimdall.

 You burned the letter over a candle at your bedside, watching the edges flicker and turn pitch. Odin might think he was clever, subjecting you to his most loyal dog and binding you to him in the way you thought worst, but you always had a plan, a card up your sleeve should you ever end up in one of his schemes as your Queen had done.

 Heimdall was an itch you could not scratch. A mystery you could not unravel. His only oaths were to Odin, his only promises to Odin; his loyalty was unmatched. But just like any dog, there would come a day where it would bite the hand that feeds it, and you would make sure it would come to pass one way or another.

 You made an oath that morning as the sun rose to its apex in the sky. And when it descended, heralding the arrival of Odin’s beloved hound and a night of festivities for the equinox, your mind was a shield and your mouth a blade.

 The moment Heimdall laid eyes on you, eyes shining and fuchsia and a burning shade of Bifrost as he tried and failed to read you, sitting quietly in a corner and entertaining the woeful drunken stupor of Baldur’s widow with your doubloon gold gaze and a tiny, sly smile on your face, you knew you had won.

 But that victory, you would soon come to find, would not come without a price.

| next.

[sevendeadlywhispers]

7Seals

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Chapter 19*

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•Previous Chapter: Chapter 18

•Next Chapter: Chapter 20

•Chapter List

•Content: Levi Ackerman × OC female. Slow Burn! Canon verse!

•Word Count: 3.5k

•Warning: This content may not be suitable for all readers. If you've watched all of AOT then you will understand that the show handles heavy subjects such as abuse, racism, violence, and other heavy subjects. This fanfiction will also have the same heavy themes. Chapters with heavy themes will be marked with (*) at each chapter.

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A/N: Hey babes! I’m back with a new chapter this week. Starting to get back into the swing of things. Hopefully you guys enjoy :) also I didn’t proof read this. I’m sorry for grammar mistakes. I’ll be going over it tonight🫶🏼

5-16-24

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Operation to reclaim Wall Maria

846

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The cobblestone streets whispered with an eerie quiet, as if mourning the fate that awaited us beyond the walls. Faces of the refugees bore the weight of uncertainty, their eyes reflecting the fear of the unknown. 

Women wept openly, their tears a silent plea for their loved ones to stay, while children clung desperately to their fathers, their tiny hands grasping for safety in the face of uncertainty.

This wasn't like any other expedition. It wasn't just my squad and comrades on standby. It was a procession of refugees, their presence a haunting reminder of the unspoken purpose behind our mission.

Wall Rose stood tall and imposing before us, a silent sentinel guarding the gruesome scene beyond. As we waited for the gates to rise, I perched atop my pale horse, my gaze sweeping over the anxious faces. Around me, grown men fidgeted nervously, their unease radiating off each other.

The tension in the air was thick, simmering with a mix of anticipation and fear. Even I couldn't shake the knot of anxiety that coiled in my stomach, but there was a twisted satisfaction in watching the discomfort spread among the men.

Among the throng of refugees, I recognized faces of those who once mocked us for venturing beyond the walls. Now, they stood before the same gates they once condemned, their fear etched into every line of their faces. It was a sight both chilling and strangely satisfying, knowing that they would now taste the same experience we do on a mission beyond the walls.

I relish the sight of fear in their eyes.

But beneath the surface of my amusement lay a deep-seated concern. These were not seasoned soldiers, but civilians thrust into a battlefield they were ill-prepared to navigate. Some rode atop wagons, others trudged alongside us on foot, equipped with the weapon of desperation. Their lack of experience was a glaring weakness, a vulnerability that threatened to undermine the entire mission.

As we prepared to venture beyond the safety of the walls, I couldn't shake the sinking feeling in my chest. This was my first expedition back, and already I found myself surrounded by incompetence masquerading as heroism.

Can I truly survive without him?

As I rode along the path, lost in my own thoughts, her voice shattered the silence like a thunderclap, pulling me back to the present. My gaze snapped to hers, narrowed with suspicion, as she sidled up beside me on her horse. Her green cloak billowed slightly in the wind, a feeble attempt to conceal her presence. I couldn't help but feel a surge of irritation at her audacity. Why was she here, meddling in affairs that didn't concern her?

"Why are you here?" I demanded, my tone laced with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

"Easy there," she retorted, her voice tinged with annoyance. "And lower your voice. I'm not exactly supposed to be here."

"No kidding. But seriously, why?" I pressed, unable to fathom her motives for defying direct orders.

Her brown hair tumbled messily around her shoulders, partially obscuring her face as she attempted to hide behind her cloak. It was a feeble disguise, but she knew that in the chaos of the expedition, her absence would likely go unnoticed until it was too late. She was always cunning, always finding a way to get what she wanted, even without leveraging her family name.

"I'm here because I refuse to let you hog all the excitement," she grumbled, her voice softening slightly as she met my gaze. "And I know this is your first mission back."

"I'm fine," I snapped, bristling at her concern.

"You don't seem fine. You're on edge," she observed, her words cutting through my defenses.

"Because you shouldn't be here," I shot back, my frustration boiling over. "You were explicitly ordered not to join this mission by three different commanders."

"I couldn't care less about my father's orders. And if I were anyone else, I'd be assigned to this recon mission," she countered defiantly. "Besides, your presence here isn't exactly authorized either. Don't think I didn't overhear you pleading with Captain Levi and Erwin last night to let you join."

As our voices clashed in a storm of disagreement, the gate opened and the crowd stirred, their footsteps echoing against the cobblestones, a somber rhythm marking our departure from the safety of Wall Rose.

"That's none of your business,"

"Likewise. Yet here we are," she quipped, her defiance matching my own.

"Okay, but the difference is, you're not ready for this. It's your first expedition—" I began, but she cut me off with a fierce glare.

"Don't pretend like you're ready either. Just because you're a veteran doesn't impress me," she shot back, her anger palpable. "We both know this is a suicide mission for you. I don't know how you got clearance, but I'm here to make sure you don't do anything stupid."

"As if I don't have enough to deal with," Levi's voice cut through, his tone laced with irritation as he addressed Lillie's presence. My body tensed instinctively, the rhythm of my horse's trot faltering momentarily beneath me.

I observed Lillie's feeble attempt to hide her identity, but Levi was having none of it. With a swift motion, he reached out and yanked her hood down, exposing her face to the unforgiving scrutiny of his gaze. His hand closed around her hair, holding her firmly in place as he forced her to meet his eyes.

"Thought you could sneak past me, huh?" Levi's voice was cold, his words dripping with disdain. There was no room for excuses or explanations in his steely glare—only a simmering anger that threatened to boil over at any moment.

Silence descended like a heavy shroud, broken only by the sound of our horses' hooves against the cobblestone streets. In that tense moment, Levi's gaze bore into Lillie's with an intensity that seemed to pierce through her very soul, leaving no room for doubt or evasion.

In the thick of tension, Levi's piercing gaze flickered between Lillie and me, his grip loosening on her head but his intensity only escalating.

"What in the hell are you two doing here?" His voice sliced through the charged air like a knife.

"Levi! Aldridge! Formation, now!"

My heart hammered against my ribs as Commander Erwin closed the distance, his presence imposing and commanding.

Levi's contempt dripped from his words as he directed his fury at Lillie.

"This little shit snuck out," he spat.

All eyes zeroed in on Lillie, the focal point of the storm, as Erwin's voice shattered the silence.

"Lillie. I see you disobeyed direct orders from not only me but Premier Zachary. Do you think this is a game?"

Commander Erwin's calm composure in the midst of a high-stress situation unnerves me to my core. It's not just the lack of visible anger that sets me on edge, but the cold, calculated way he maintains control. His steady gaze and measured words feel like a mask, concealing the storm of emotions I know must be churning beneath the surface. It's as if his tranquility is a form of passive aggression, a subtle way of asserting dominance without raising his voice. The disparity between his demeanor and the chaos around us makes me uneasy, amplifying the tension and leaving me feeling helpless and off balance.

"We both know if I were anyone else, I'd be on this recon mission," Lillie countered.

Erwin's voice reverberated with authority, each word laden with smoldering anger.

"Today is not the day to play soldier just because you want to rebel against your father. Today more than ten percent of our population faces imminent death. So I'm going to ask you again, do you think this is a game?"

His face flushed with intensity, Erwin's unwavering gaze bore into Lillie, demanding acknowledgment of the severity of their circumstances.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the chaotic ruined town. Titans lumbered through the streets that were once our home, their grotesque forms a nightmarish sight against the once peaceful landscape. The air was thick with tension and the acrid scent of fear as Scouts and refugees alike scrambled to hold their ground.

"Titan on the left!" a Scout's desperate cry rang out, piercing through the cacophony of terror. His horse thundered toward Erwin, hooves pounding against the earth.

"Two titans coming from the right!" another voice yelled, urgency lacing every word.

Levi's voice cut through the chaos, calm yet commanding.

"Abnormal coming from the center."

His eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation, the gravity of the unfolding carnage settling heavily on his shoulders.

In an instant, everything changed. Titans were pouring in from all directions, their monstrous figures dominating the horizon. It was always uncertain when we ventured beyond the walls, but this—this was a nightmare come to life.

Erwin's voice, authoritative and unwavering, broke through the chaos, "Keep her alive. That's an order for the two of you."

Without another word, he spurred his horse in another direction, riding off with a sense of urgency that only heightened the tension.

Levi's eyes locked onto us, intense and unyielding, "You heard him. Do not wander off. Either of you."

"You are not to be involved in any way. Your only concern is to stay the hell away from Titans. Do you understand me?" Levi's words were directed at Lillie, his tone growing sharper as the sounds of men being devoured grew louder around us. His face was a mask of controlled fury, the muscles in his jaw tightening with each passing moment.

"I'll be back. Don't get eaten."

Levi's command hung in the air, a lifeline amidst the chaos. As he rode off to confront the oncoming threat, I couldn't help but feel a pang of fear and admiration. His bravery was unmatched, but so was the danger he faced.

The world around us was a blur of movement and noise, but Levi's parting words anchored me in place. All I could do was hold our ground and pray that we would live to see another day.

Was today the day fate laughed in my face? All my hardships and perseverance was for nothing? Was Alexander right?

The monsters' feast had begun, an unholy banquet of blood and carnage that engulfed us in a sea of despair. The Titans, grotesque and merciless, tore through the masses with horrifying ease. It was a bloodbath, a nightmare unfolding before our very eyes, and we were powerless to stop it.

Lillie was beside me, her body trembling with fear. She shook her head in response to Levi's command, her eyes wide with terror. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she stared past us, her gaze fixed on the horrifying scene. She watched the Titans devour each refugee in their path, the hopelessness etched into her expression.

Men on foot scattered in all directions, their faces twisted in panic. They had no weapons, no ODM gear, nothing to defend themselves with. They were lambs to the slaughter, running blindly into the jaws of death.

No matter how many expeditions I had been on, this one felt different. It was numbing. The usual mix of fear and adrenaline was absent, replaced by a cold detachment. I watched the carnage with a strange sense of detachment, as if it were happening in another world. I wasn't scared. I didn't feel bad for those around me. It was as if I had become numb to the horror that surrounded us.

But then Lillie changed everything.

"Iris, we have to do something!" Her voice was a desperate whisper, trembling with a mixture of fear and determination.

I turned to her, my eyes meeting her tear-filled gaze. Her desperation pierced through my detachment, a stark reminder of the humanity that still clung to us in this hellish landscape. Levi's sharp command cut through the chaos.

"Stay put and don't do anything reckless." His eyes bore into us, the authority in his voice unyielding. But Lillie's terror was palpable, her eyes pleading for some form of action.

"Levi, we can't just stand here!" I shouted over the cacophony, my voice laced with a frustration that mirrored Lillie's desperation.

"Your orders are to stay alive," Levi snapped back, his voice like steel. "You're not equipped for this fight."

The sounds of men being devoured grew louder, each scream a dagger to the heart. I could see the resolve in Lillie's eyes faltering, her spirit crushed under the weight of the carnage.

"But they're dying out there!" Lillie cried, her voice breaking. "We have to help them!"

Levi's expression softened for the briefest moment, a flicker of empathy crossing his hardened features. But his resolve remained firm. "You're no good to anyone dead. Stay here and stay safe. Let the real soldiers work."

The cold reality of his words sank in, a harsh reminder of the world we lived in. The Titans showed no mercy, and neither could we afford to. Yet, as I looked into Lillie's eyes, I saw a reflection of my own soul—a soul that still clung to hope, to the belief that we could make a difference.

The numbness that had gripped me began to thaw, replaced by a steely determination. We might be outmatched, but we weren't powerless. There had to be something we could do, some way to turn the tide.

"Lillie, we stick together," I said, my voice steadying as I placed a hand on her shoulder. "We follow Levi's orders, but we don't give up hope. Not yet."

Her tears slowed, a flicker of resolve igniting in her eyes. She nodded, taking a deep breath as she steadied herself.

"I won't let them die in vain," she whispered, her voice firm with newfound determination.

The battlefield was a symphony of horror, each scream and roar a discordant note in the orchestra of death. Blood soaked the ground, turning it into a grotesque canvas of red and despair. Among the chaos, Lillie's voice pierced through, raw and broken.

"Is this what my father wanted?" she cried out, her hands buried in her face as she sobbed uncontrollably. She was oblivious to the danger around her, consumed by the sight of the people dying beside us.

"Clear your head," I urged, feeling the gravity of the situation tighten around us like a vice. "It's not the time for that. We need to stay alive."

We were surrounded by blood-curdling cries, each one a testament to the brutal reality of our situation. Everywhere I looked, someone was fighting for their life, a grim reminder that no one was safe.

"How?" Lillie screamed, her voice filled with anguish. "We are going to die. I can't fucking use ODM gear."

Her words cut through me, the desperation in her voice echoing the chaos around us. "All these people are dying right now because of my father," she whimpered, struggling to control her breath.

"My presence here isn't helping the situation."

I gripped her shoulders, forcing her to look at me. "Now is not the time for doubting," I said firmly, my eyes locking with hers. "You wouldn't be a Scout if you couldn't use your gear."

Her eyes were wide with fear, tears streaming down her face as she fought to steady herself. The reality of our situation was suffocating, but we couldn't afford to give in to despair.

"Focus, Lillie," I continued, my voice steady. "We've trained for this. You've trained for this. Trust in your abilities. Trust in us."

The battlefield was a nightmare, but we were Scouts. We were trained to face the impossible, to fight against overwhelming odds. Levi's orders echoed in my mind, a reminder of our duty. Stay alive. Don't get eaten.

"We have to move," I said, my grip on her shoulders firm. "Stay close to me. We'll get through this."

I grabbed Lillie's horse's lead, trying to pull her away from the open, but she slapped my hand away with surprising force.

"What the hell, Lillie? We need to get out of the open!" I snapped, my voice rising above the chaotic noise around us. My emerald eyes locked onto her tear-filled ones, and the playful spark that once danced there was replaced by a dark, hollow void.

"Erwin's right," she sniffled, her voice trembling. "I bought my way into the Scouts. I'm a fraud, Iris. I can't use ODM. I just wanted to piss my dad off."

"Don't worry about that now," I sighed, trying to push the shock and frustration aside. There was no time to process her confession. Grief and anger were luxuries we couldn't afford in the middle of a battlefield. "Just—"

But I was too late.

Before the words finished leaving my mouth, Lillie had already dismounted her horse. Time seemed to slow as I watched her walk away from her steed, stepping out into the open. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear and disbelief paralyzing me.

"Lillie, no!" I screamed, but she didn't stop. She turned around to face me, arms outstretched to the sides, her gaze drifting upward to the sky. A single tear traced down her cheek as her eyes met mine. For a fleeting moment, she gave me a weak, pathetic smile.

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine," she said, her voice eerily calm. But the light in her eyes was gone, and it was clear she had lost all sense of reason. She stood there, a tragic figure against the backdrop of chaos, completely exposed.

My mind raced, unable to comprehend what was happening. Words spilled from my mouth, but I couldn't even hear them. My legs felt like lead, my body stiff with shock and horror.

And then it happened. A Titan's massive hand reached down, gripping Lillie's fragile body. She kept her eyes on mine, her lips parting to mouth something to me.

"I'll always..." The rest of her words were lost in a gurgle of blood. Her head lolled forward, her eyes wide and lifeless as the Titan swung her body around, smashing it repeatedly against the ground until she was unrecognizable.

My scream tore through the air, raw and anguished. The carefree, sassy Iris vanished in that moment, replaced by someone else entirely—someone shattered by the senseless loss of her friend. The battlefield blurred around me, the sounds of battle fading into a distant roar. All I could see was Lillie's broken body, all I could feel was a burning rage and helplessness.

Hands wrapped around my mouth, silencing my scream. My eyes never peeled away from Lillie's body, dangling lifelessly in the Titan's grip. The Titan's head, freshly severed, fell right in front of me, rolling to a stop as steam hissed from its neck. It was surreal, like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.

I felt another person's warmth against my back, a stark contrast to the cold chill creeping over my skin. Their hand still covered my mouth while the other took the lead on my horse, guiding us away from the gruesome scene. I couldn't move, couldn't think; all I could do was stare as Lillie's body disappeared from view.

The hand finally released my mouth and pulled the green cloak over my head, shielding me from the horrors behind us. It was Levi, of course. His presence was unmistakable—cold, efficient, and utterly commanding.

Levi's hand tightened on my shoulder, a silent reminder that I was still here, still alive. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. I looked up at him, my emerald eyes meeting his icy gray ones, searching for some hint of emotion. But Levi was as unreadable as ever, his face a mask of stoic determination.

"We need to move," he said, his voice low and steady, cutting through my haze of despair. "Iris, focus. We're not done yet."

I wanted to scream at him, to tell him that I was done, that I couldn't do this without Lillie. But I bit my tongue, knowing it would be pointless. Levi didn't do emotions. He didn't do breakdowns or tears. He did survival, and right now, that's all he expected from me.

With a heavy heart, I nodded, letting him guide me through the chaos. My mind raced with memories of Lillie—her laughter, her sass, her stubbornness that matched my own. She had been my light in the darkness, and now that light was snuffed out.

"Stay close," Levi ordered, his grip firm yet strangely comforting. I clung to that small comfort, the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely. We moved through the battlefield, dodging Titans and debris, every step a painful reminder of what I had lost.

The world stopped turning that day. I felt it deep in my bones. The birds stopped singing, the sky darkened, and the sun ceased to shine. When you died, Lillie, the little bit of joy I had in this bleak world died with you.

I died the moment you dismounted your horse. You didn't save me; you killed what was left of me. Everything seemed so pointless now, the fight, the struggle. How could I go on when the person who made this hellhole bearable was gone?

Lillian Pyxis. Why did you leave me?

[beea-idiot56]

Let Me Know, I need to make a decision.

Some of you may be confused if you do not personally know me/follow me on Discord, but I've been seriously obsessed with Minecraft Diaries recently. yes. the series was made 8 years ago by a creator who has now been making childish to the point of cringe videos on youtube. The series ranged on for 237 episodes and has 3 series, was discontinued, and then remade(which I don't know but I don't believe it was ever finished). specifically, I've been obsessed with Garroth. GARROTH..... I mean why does my heart hate me so? why must I be obsessed with him if all characters, it's really bad.

So in my fanfiction writer abilities, I've been thinking of/daydreaming/conjuring up a plotline for a possible Garroth x reader. I wanted to know if this was anything even SLIGHTLY exciting and if it was I was planning on maybe writing out a few chapters, and then going from there. I am well aware that this post, nor any chapters I may or may not post, would get any cred. but to the people who may see this, let me know! I'm super curious and if it piqued anyone's interest then I'll explore the possibility of putting Perfect Hit on hold for a little while to divulge my hyperfiction.

well, here we go, some little snippet weird prologue summary thing I've conjured up

First things first, Aphmau IS alive and well in this series, heck shes even the lord! however, at some point on one of her journeys, she returned with someone who looked a little down on their luck. they didn't respond to anyone and seemed to stick to aphmau like glue.

"Oh dont mind them!" aphmau would excuse anyone who questioned them. however one day Garroth let his concerns get the better of him "Lady Aphmau, I mean not to pry more than my position allows me, but I worry for your safety. Who is this person?" he would ask, and the person would look at aphmau with wide eyes that were full of fear. she would sigh and hesitate before speaking.

"Im sorry, Garroth. i cant tell you before they are willing to let me, ut rest assured they wont hurt me." aphmau would say. silence would pass between the three for a few moments before the person sighed, they opened their mouth, shut it, then opened it again and this time words followed.

"Im Y/N." they started, their voice cracking a little since it wasn't used to being worked, "I come from a village far off south, I was a guard for a long time, but the lord became corrupt and would turn against the villagers if they didn't look at him the right way. so when aphmau came by, i had tried my best to deter her from entering the village, visitors were not particularly welcome, especially lords." Y/N had begun, the words flowing out of their mouth in a tidal way of sudden information. "She had refused to listen to my pleas and came in any ways, stating that she needed to talk to the Lord for some sort of potion. In reality, she was looking for the past lord who had been killed. not under my watch, but rather the lead guard at the time, who was then executed as it was found he had been the one conspiring against the lord. that was when the lords son rose to power and appointed me to be the head guard." y/n sighed, rubbed their arm, and then continued, "Well aphmau came in and found the village in complete disarray. so she decided to help with her utmost kindness. I was thankful to her and began to talk to her more as she stayed the night in my village. I found out she was a lord and immediately wanted to follow to her village. so she helped me escape."

"How did you escape?" garroth had asked, being curious considering he himself had gone under something similar. "Well, it wasn't particularly hard. i simply told my lord I wanted to leave, for a long time it was a back and forth between her and him as they argued for who would take me. Eventually, it came to the point I decided to simply leave, so I asked aphmau to take me in a golden lasso and go home."

"Before you say anything garroth, it took a long time to convince me, it felt wrong to take away the head guard of the town, but y/n assured me that the apprentice guard that was training under them would help." aphmau spoke, smiling as she reminisced in the old adrenaline that followed their daring escape.

"so why don't you reside bear the title of guard now?" garroth asked, curious as to why he hadn't been training this person as a guard if they were previously a head leader.

"oh that's easy!" aphmau spoke, smiling, "because they don't want to be!" with the words released in the air everyone paused for a moment, but aphmau quickly started speaking again. "they made a deal with me actually, they did not want to be a guard that was out in the open about it, but rather a personal guard of mine that would be there in disguise. they would carry weapons but conceal them. we both agreed it would be easier on future trips and in general, it would provide more protection if Y/n was under the premise of being seen as a mute follower!" aphmau smiled.

garroth had nodded, then reached across to hold his hand to y/n, "well then Y/n. welcome to the guardship of Pheonix drop, you are officially aphmaus secret bodyguard."

from there the two had a blossoming relationship. y/n had continued to be silent, but would show up more to guard meetings and had stated to talk a little more to the other ones. laurence, dante, garroth, and aphmau were the only ones who knew of this arrangement and they kept it well in secret.

however, one-day aphmau asked to go on a trip by herself, she had wanted to go to bright port, it was only to be a four-day trip to check up on the people of the town and visit the wolf tribe. so y/n had stayed back, and suddenly they found themself bored.

What were they supposed to do when no one was around? looking around aphmaus property they sighed, before looking up to the guard tower, ah, that's right. they could go up there. they smiled thinking about it, deciding they would bring some paper and a quill and draw the scene that lay at the top of the tower.

so they went, grabbing the materials needed and climbing the large staircase, they hadn't expected anyone to be there. since it was mid-day many people were either eating lunch or hanging out in the plaza, so most guards would most likely be in patrol or joining their families in lunch. however, when they climbed to the top, they found garroth sitting on the side and looking out into the ocean.

"oh, hello there Y/n" garroth spoke, his voice grim and his face downcast. he had obviously been shuffling around in an attempt to put on his helm when he heard the trap door open. "hello there, garroth. i apologize for intruding. ill be ff" they spoke, a little disappointed they would have to go somewhere else, the tower produced the best scenery. "no need, you may sit with me if you'd like, you seem to need the company" garroth spoke, leading y/ns gaze with a wave of his hand towards the chair next to him. y/n nodded and sat down, taking out their quill and beginning to do a light sketch of what lay before them. making sure to include the wide arrangement of objects that were seen on the horizon.

"do you often come here to draw?" garroth asked, which earned a shrug in return. garroth looked at them before a small chuckle erupted from his lips. "I feel as though we are not a good match when it comes to socialization." garroth spoke out loud, his voice seeming more upbeat. rather than grim as it was before. "it is because neither of us seeks out a conversation unless sit is of importance. we are simply comfortable with the silence of the world or the conversation being held by someone else." y/n stated, having noticed this very thing on other occasions. it was not often the two were alone. however, when they were it was always an awkward silence. Neither of them were outgoing, and neither of them were willing to break their old habits of being quiet to cure the silence.

"well, should we try?" garroth asked, "to communicate better" he spoke, clearing the air of questionatore. "We both work together so I feel as though it would be worth it. additionally, you seem lonely"

"sure..."

(also this story would probably be in season 1, but not in war and before they enter the dimension with rene and shz)

so let me know, honestly, i think I could write a really cute fluff heavy story :D

[euphorickaeya]

Hello!! I saw your post about sagau and if you want could you do sagau Xiao smut? If you’re i’ve read the rules but if you’re uncomfortable with this please ignore!! Please take care and thank you💓

yes I do smut! I’m a little scared though because it’s been a while since I wrote smut and I’m kind of bad at it, plus I don’t rlly do sub!reader, mostly sub!character, I should put that in my rules.

MINORS DONT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

GENTLY

honey’s notes: lowkey excited because I haven’t written smut in a while and I want to familiarize myself, i kind of want my writing to be extendable and i think this is a good way to start!

no tags! don’t want to tag people who may not want to see content like this!

recommended song: i was never there - the weeknd.

[content warning: sub!xiao, dom!gn!reader, mostly service top!reader. Xiao getting a blowjob basically, I will try my best to keep it as gender neutral as possible. a little light choking, worship, HANDS. am a hand lover, xiao has a praise kink. this kinda reminds me of a fic i read once haha.]

Xiao had no idea how he ended up under you, your gaze hypnotizing him, a muffled whimper leaves his lips, your hands slowly running themselves down his toned body, his shirt was long discarded somewhere on the floor of your bedroom, he tries to remember what led up to this moment.

oh yes, he was..called to your bedroom, on urgent business, he had thought something had happened, as soon as his name left your lips, he’d appear in your bedroom, looking up at him with an unknown look in your eyes. Almost, angry? But he had just arrived, has he done something.

And suddenly he’s against your dresser, you’re kneeled in front of him, as if worshipping him. “your highness- ah!” Light scratches from your nails makes him jump, you could see red lines start to form down his stomach, you knew all those fanfiction you read about him back in your world wasn’t lying, Xiao’s skin was milky, smooth and soft.

Standing up from the floor, his eyes still on you, your hands were on both sides of his figure, red covered his face as you slowly closed the gap between him and you, it was expected that xiao’s lips were really soft, despite being a servant to morax his whole life, he knew how to give a kiss, and he loves it, he started gaining confidence in his hands, both of them gripping your wrists.

He started pushing you to your bed, you let him, falling into the bed a few steps later, you part away from him, a small string of saliva follows your lips as you glance at xiao’s amber eyes, seeing them fill with love and adoration. “This..your highness..you want this?..you want..me?..” xiao mumbles into your hand, pulling it to his lips to flutter kisses onto the tips of your fingers.

“I wouldn’t of called you if I didn’t.” You whispered back, a small whine left xiao’s lips as he dipped back down, capturing your lips, desperate, he tugs on your button up, a silent plea to remove it. You, not wanting to upset the Adeptus, you gladly do as he asked, Xiao’s breath hitched, he took you in, you were definitely divine. He wonders what he could’ve done to let him touch you like this, he, a tainted demon, touching such an angelic thing. He could’ve never imagined it.

“It’s okay, xiao, relax. I want to take care of you.” You mumbled against him, letting him fall into your bed himself, resting up on his elbows, watching you undress him lovingly. Embarrassed, Xiao looks away, a hand over the lower half of his face. He jolts from the way you let a finger trail down to his…oh he doesn’t want to say. This is embarrassing he thinks.

Your thumb runs over his tip, Xiao’s hands momentarily grip the sheet, you slid your hand slowly, feeling xiao’s cock harden in your hand makes you smile, nuzzling your face into his neck, kissing down to his collarbones. Xiao let’s his silent pants slip from his lips as he glances at your hand pumping him slowly.

You part from his neck as he looks at you, Xiao’s eyes were lidded, he could barely see you from his vision, your hand sent electric shocks to his body, almost making him buck his hips up to meet your hand. “I…hngh..” xiao tries to speak, but his mind’s too focused on the pleasure you’re causing him.

“haah…wait..please wait..” Xiao pants out, a coil in his stomach starts to form, You stayed silent during this moment, silently admiring Xiao’s concentrated face, as he tries not to cum so quickly.

You hum, as you fasten your pace, a surprised moan leaving Xiao’s mouth. He unknowingly bucks his hips up to your hand, trying to earn more friction. You get off from the bed, positioning yourself at the end instead.

Xiao felt the dip of the bed from your movements, opening his eyes momentarily to see what you were planning, before he could look down, he felt your tongue on his tip, “ah! hah!-huh?…” a garble of surprised sounds leave Xiao. Your lips wrap around his cock, looking up at his reactions, seeing him clench his fists and shut his eyes tight.

You left his cock with a pop. Trailing small kisses down his shaft, your free hand fondled his balls and xiao couldn’t stop his moans from leaving him, even if he would cover his mouth with the back of his hands, his whimpers and moans would only come out muffled. “Please..” a plea suddenly leaves Xiao’s lips.

“hm?..” you want to hear xiao beg for his release, too much of an opportunity for you. “Please let me, I want to..” xiao seems to struggle with what he wants to ask, grumbling the end of his sentence. You decide to tease him a little. “you want to what?.. I don’t know what you could possibly want, Xiao.” You mock, a small chuckle coming from you as xiao continues bucking his hips up to meet your hand.

“I want to cum, oh please!” He finally exclaims, his hands held the bed sheets once again, his fingers holding the white sheets on a death grip. Xiao’s hair decorated your bed perfectly, his hair scattered in all the right way. You smile, prompting your hand to pump faster, holding his balls in your free hand, watching xiao squirm even more.

His moans unknowingly get louder and desperate, signalling he’s close. You stood up from the end of the bed, sitting on the end of the bed and dipping down, to pull Xiao Into another kiss. That seemed to tip him over as he erratically bucked his hips up, his cum spurting out from his cock and coating your hand with his semen.

“Aah! Hnngh!…hah-ha!” Xiao squirms uncontrollably as you let him ride out his high, pumping and slowing down only until he falls limp against the bed, his head facing the side, a small sheen of sweat covering his forehead.

“You did so well Xiao, my acolyte. My beloved.” You praised him, reaching over him to your bedside table where, a table cloth was sat neatly folded, you grabbed your bottle of water, pouring a bit onto the cloth before wiping your hand.

“Thank you..” Xiao mumbles, loud enough for you to hear, you were preoccupied with gently wiping Xiao’s cum off of him, being careful and gentle not to overstimulate the poor adeptus. A satisfied rumble leaves Xiao’s chest as you helped him into your bed, needing some good cuddles from him to end your day with.

You lay beside him as he clutches your wrist in a protective way, unbeknownst to you. A certain archon has been eavesdropping on you, trying to keep his moans in as his knees buckle from his..little problem.

[365runesoftheamalgamations]

The Not Yet Forgotten Introduction

hello and how are you?

This has been far too long since we have been active and we've wanted to get back into the flow of things! And we believe it is time for a Reintroduction! So, without further ado,

A Proper Introduction

Welcome to the Writing Blog! We are the Not Yet Dead Authors, the Natsume Rune! You may refer to us as Natsume as a whole, or say hi to any of the specifics who run the blog/do the writes! Our pronouns are we/they, and we are an aromantic/asexual genderfluid cluster of whispers drowning in the Void for more than two decades. So just another set of Wanderers who wish to reach out and touch the Worlds in a more pronounced way!

Full Writeblr Introduction under the cut!

Getting To Know Us

We are most comfortable writing and conversing in italics! It just feels like it speaks with our souls, so please be aware that most of the posts and such will be within that realm of writing.

Our most comfortable sense of writing is in third person present tense! We also write in first person (sometimes) and second person (rarely) but our comfort lies in others and their present.

We write mostly fantasy but also dabble in horror, science fiction, dystopian and other works and writing styles. We do hold our own universe, the Storyverse, that we will hint, note, and talk about, depending on things, as well as a multitude of Worlds that will be given over to the Stories happening within in. Hardcore about both worldbuilding and storytelling, so we will probably have a lot to say about both the Worlds and Stories that come with our hyperfixations.

Our writing forms include: fanfiction, short stories, drabbles, flash fiction, novels, poems, and role playing! We enjoy rolling through forms and trying out different ways of telling and sharing stories, so please note that there will be a lot of everything on here.

We follow from the System's Blog, @365runesofthesystem, and will try to be really active in the community, so if you see us around, then feel free to indulge us! We love to be tagged in games and sent asks and the like and will try to get to all of them in due time. [ yes, we do hoard Tag Games, shut the fuck up about it. ]

If there is anything else anyone would like to know, do not hesitate to ask or message us! But be aware that we are not afraid to deal with anything impolite or inappropriate, we have a zero tolerance standard and we will keep it without hesitation.

The Amalgamations of our Creations

We have a lot - and yes, we mean a fuck ton - of Works and Stories that we want to tell at some point in our lives, so this list will definitely grow and expand and shift as we go through our journey.

If you want a full list of all of our Works, check our both our Original Works Masterlist and our Fanworks Masterlist!

All Links to WIP Pages and Intro Posts will be added as we get things sorted and settled!

But here are a few of our more pronounced Works, [ yes, they can and will probably shift and change. No they are not in any particular order, we hate figuring out orders. ]

Grayland's Shadow

Original Work | Fiction, Low Fantasy, Horror Elements First, Second, Third Person | Second Drafts

Ecstasy. The screaming, the struggling, the pleas for mercy, he loved them all. He loved the way they always seemed to think that he would set them free. That, if they were good and tried hard enough, he would just let them live, bleeding and knowing. As if he would ever let anyone go. He never did. He never wasted an opportunity either. So when a girl, around her way into adulthood, sat down next to him on the bench that day, he had no intention of letting her go. None.

Constellations By Orion

Original Work | Fiction, High Fantasy, Action and Adventure Third Person Present Tense | Scene Drafting/Worldbuilding

Orion is the first one she goes for, as he always points North. "I am just saying, your little stowaway is pretty cute." "I don't need a man Orion, I need directions across the sea." "Trust me, if you want a purpose, you should find Ursa Major. She's the guide of adventure, new life." "And where can I find her?" "At the heart of the ocean. She is the Guardian of Polaris and her baby, Ursa Minor."

The Queen & The Heir

Short Story | Fiction, High Fantasy, Medival Third Person Present Tense | Scene Drafting/Prompt Response

She hates herself for hesitating. She stares at the note, gentle cream instead of stark white in order to hold the same connotations of the maid notes that she, and more importantly he, was accustomed to seeing. She glances at the Guard, barely catches the door closing completely, locking her in with the words that would prove herself justified. Or truly and quietly mad.

The Rapunzel Witch

Short Stories | Fiction, High Fantasy, Fairytale Retellings, LGBTQIA+ Third Person Present Tense | Chapter/Scene Drafting

Vibrant and sharp, it is another small check to his identity; the Queen is staring at him, though instead of the hard determination of a leader, he stands before the soft gentleness of a person unused to such direct contact. Something shifts in those eyes; the Royal Majesty frowns more before he lets his eyes drop to the ground between them. “Well, that’s that then, isn’t it?” The Knight feels a soft pang; he almost takes a step forward, hand twitching at his side before the Royal spins around and walks away from him. “Your obligations are fulfilled; the Rapunzel Witch lives.”

The Plague Begins With Me

Original Work | Dystopian, Horror Third Person Present Tense | Scene Drafting

Lost to the devastation of the Plague and destroyed by the aftermath of Humanity’s Fall, the World of Zeomia holds nothing but the dystopian devastation of disease and decay. Shouldering a responsibility that no one else is allowed to know, Zero tries to give mercy to those who have fallen from her own twisted fate.

Main Tags of the Blog

rune ⊹ writings | general writing tag rune ⊹ works in progress | where you can find all of our works rune ⊹ wanderlust | general tag for other blogs rune ⊹ nonsense | fun and silly things outside of the writings/writeblr rune ⊹ beloved | general tag for the mutuals of the writeblr rune ⊹ asks | tag for answering asks and anything from the inbox rune ⊹ authors | writing updates and softer thoughts of us rune ⊹ background noise | anything to do with the blog

[angst-ideas]

List of Good Omens Angst/Whump Ideas That Have Been Stuck in my Head (+ bonus fluff/humor section!) —————————————

(Part one : ur here

Part two: TBD)

This first part will be mainly Aziraphale centric! yes I know who doesnt love a good hurt Crowley, but i think there are SO MANY missed opprotunities for hurt Aziraphale, so of course I have taken the liberty of shouting my ideas to the world in hopes some other deranged soul out there hears my pleas and makes these into actual stories. (That sounded way cooler in my head…) If you want me to do a part two for Crowley please let me know! As always my ask box is also open for requests for any other fandoms or scenarios youd like, and if you do use these please tag me on tumblr or my ao3 account "Bangsty"!

(ALSO FORGOT TO MENTION, THIS MAY CONTAIN BOTH SEASON 1 AND SEASON 2 ASPECTS IN CERTAIN PROMPTS, SO SPOILER WARNING)

—————————————

•Aziraphale getting injured protecting Crowley

lets start off easy! We all know that our good buddy angel can neglect his own well being for the sake of others, especially for Crowley. Imagine Crowley getting into some sort of trouble, and instead of Crowley getting hit, Aziraphale takes the blow for him, resulting in what can be a small but worrying injury, to maybe full on discorporation (might be a little extreme but hey! we love that stuff here) its then up to Crowley to get Aziraphale out of that situation and make sure he lives to tell the tale.

-little extra point if Crowley blames himself for Aziraphale getting hit, even when it was literally the angel that flung himself infront of crowley, wings fully spread just taking the fucking hit like a champ

—————————————

•Crowley realizes Aziraphale is in trouble because he feels it spiritually/from his Crowley sense (idk what its called give me a break)

ok I gotta admit, Crowley being able to sense Aziraphale has always made me smile when reading fanfictions, having Crowley be going on with his daily routine and just suddenly sensing Aziraphale distressed or hurt is an amazing concept

-Extra points if you write both Crowley and Aziraphale's POVs (preferrably 3rd person)

—————————————

•Crowley coming to terms to what he witnessed while body switched/swapped with Aziraphale

when Crowley is pretending to be Aziraphale during the execution event, Gabriel is a fucking ASSHOLE, I would love to see more fanfics where Crowley afterwards thinks back to what he heard and saw, and just SEETHE, maybe he talks to Aziraphale about it but he basically just goes "oh what? pff thats the tamest shit ever Crowley smh" which angers Crowley even more!

—————————————

•Aziraphale with secret scars/lots of scars

AZIRAPHALE WITH SCARS IS SO UNDERAPPRECIATED, we get so many of aziraphale noticing crowleys scars, why not write it the other way around! Aziraphale is supposed to be this divine entity that is nothing but pure, so what if crowley either notices aziraphales pantleg/shirt sleeve rides up, or maybe crowley walks in on aziraphale changing his outfit and just sees the scars on him, catching crowley off guard

-Extra points if aziraphale explains where some of the scars came from, if aziraphale gets slighty flustered/nervous when called out, and/or if crowley is just infatuated with them and finds them super cool/pretty :)

—————————————

•Aziraphale getting his wings severely damaged

We love ourselves some wing whump! But one thing I’ve never seen is Aziraphale getting injured while in flight/mid air, but it doesn’t have to be that! Seeing Aziraphale struggle to mend himself while trying not to get overwhelmed at what happened is a very rare treat to see in fanfiction (cuz most of the time it’s also tagged with something like “hardcore sex” or “mpreg” ((NOT TRYING TO JUDGE IM JUST SAYING)) )

-Extra points(?) If Aziraphale doesn’t flinch as much as Crowley thought he would, and he just explains that “heaven prepared him for pain like this” which sets off some THOUGHTS in Crowley

—————————————

•Aziraphale revealing his “true” angelic form while in a moment of weakness/vulnerability

I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THE THOUGHT OF AZIRAPHALE HAVING A MORE “BIBLICALLY ACCURATE” OR “ELDRITCH HORROR” FORM OMG!! I was so sad when I only found ONE small comic about it and ITS NOT EVEN FINISHED :((( so I’m definitely adding this!! Maybe Aziraphale gets injured or cornered while in a moment of extreme stress, hell maybe Crowley gets close to being injured in a moment and Aziraphale just gets so incredibly overwhelmed with emotion that he just- let’s loose, of course though it’s incredibly tiring to use that much power at once, so afterwards he would just be EXHAUSED

-Extra points if Crowley had no idea what Aziraphale looked like truthfully! And is either absolutely terrified when he first sees it, or is shocked that Aziraphale was even capable of being that powerful…

—————————————

•Aziraphale falling unconscious when injured

HEAR ME OUT OKAY I KNOW THIS SOUNDS BORING AND GENERIC!!! Aziraphale is one that is constantly seen being bubbly and full of energy, he’s constantly on the move whether it’s working at the bookstore or doing his angelic duties, it’s all Crowley has ever known! So seeing Aziraphale actually pass out/get knocked out while injured is very jarring for Crowley, some might even say worrying (though he would never admit it). There’s so much writing potential in having Crowley tend to Aziraphales wounds and just having to wait for him to wake, ‘why isn’t he talking? Why isn’t he moving?’ “I miss you….please come back….”

-Extra points for going into insane detail on what Crowley does while he waits, what he’s thinking, how he treats Aziraphale, etc.

—————————————

•Crowley walking in on Gabriel “punishing” Aziraphale

This one sounds weird I know, because this typically only happens in fanfiction where Gabriel actually comes down to the book shop and beats the hell out of Aziraphale (lmao), and typically it’s just Crowley always walks in after it all happens, what if he walked in while it happened? I like the concept of knowing he probably can’t do anything about it, and maybe shifting into his snake form to not alert Gabriel of his presence, and then immediately after he leaves just BOLTING to Aziraphale, Aziraphale is all apologetic about him having to see that as he’s weakly pushing away Crowley in attempts to look fine (boy you are bleeding a river stop tryna look okay), but the scenario and how Crowley reacts is up to you!

—————————————

-Bonus Time!-

First one ever on this blog! I normally will do bonus times if I think of a few concept that aren’t e x a c t l y angsty/whumpy, but I like them so much that they just HAVE to be mentioned

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

•Aziraphale swearing infront of Crowley accidentally

When I heard Aziraphale say “fuck” right as he’s being discorporated, it was by far one of the best timed fucks I’ve ever fucking heard in my life! Ever since then I fell in love of the idea of Aziraphale having another slip up (doesn’t have to be full on discorporation though) but this time, Crowley is in the same room as him, let the endless shock and teasing begin!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

•Crowley first realizing he is actually in love with Aziraphale, like, legit legit, not just a tiny crush or “oh he’s cute”

I love the scene in season two between Crowley and Nina, I just wish we got to see what Crowley was exactly thinking/feeling during that, but that’s hard to make in a film so why not write it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

•Crowley just in general, staring at Aziraphale, imagining the things he wants to do to him

(NOT THAT WAY YOU FUCKERS)

Now that we got that out of the way! Whenever I read fanfic and I see Crowley looking at the little details on Aziraphale it makes me so happy, I love seeing those fanfics where Crowley just watches Aziraphale be himself, or while in the moment of a fight/encounter he notices everything he loves about Aziraphale, and he’s just imagining holding him close….holding his hand gently….just in general doing everything he’s ever wanted to do, but never had felt it be appropriate to do because he’s a demon. He’s not supposed to feel love! He’s not supposed to wanna cup someones face and just lightly kiss them….but god does he wanna do it so bad.

-Extra points for DETAILS PEOPLE DETAILS!!!!

-Also extra points for super flustered and nervous Crowley when he realizes what he’s thinking!!! This is a must omg please

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

—————————————

Random end note: I notice people seem to HATE writing the nursing back to health part of the fanfic, let me tell you something right now hesitant writers: ITS SO MUCH BETTER WHEN YOU WRITE IT (I get so pissed off when people skip the obvious wound bandaging and moments of panic the other person goes through, especially when its like "it all fades to black" and then we're suddenly in the next scene of them being awake, like COME ON JUST CHANGE THE POV OR SOMETHING AND GIVE ME THOSE JUICY DEETS) If you do use these prompts AND write this part, I WILL KISS YOU ON THE MOUTH, I WILL MARRY YOU (AND TO THOSE ASEXUALS ((which i also am)) I WILL BAKE YOU A 20 FOOT CAKE)

That is all I can think of for now!! please like, reblog, and comment (I love reading comments!) if you have any requests for me to do please put it in my ask box or comment! And if you do end up using these ideas for something please tag me! I would love to see what you do and I would totally reblog it! Thank you!!!

My Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bangsty/profile

[arcadian-litterateur]

adam warlock: man? child? bug?

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

summary: an analysis of the debate on adam warlock’s age and whether it’s appropriate to write smut about him.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: this is a rant that no one asked for nor needed to hear so read at your own risk

a/n: the second part of my will poulter content for today, since our boy is 31 today!!!!!!!!!!

𝗜 𝗦𝗔𝗪 a post the other day that said something along the lines of, “writing fanfiction about Adam Warlock may be tempting, but you shouldn’t, because he’s a child trapped in a man’s body. The body is nice; the mind is a child.” And while I understood the point that this person was trying to make and totally respect their decision to not write smut for Adam Warlock, it made me think more about this whole issue as a whole: the idea of Adam’s age and how, as fans, we should think of him.

See, there are two sides to this argument, from what I’ve seen. There’s the “he’s an adult physically but a child mentally” camp, and then there’s the “he’s a childish adult who’s inexperienced” camp. And I see the arguments for both, and they both have a point—which is why I’m not so sure it’s that simple. I don’t think there is a black and white answer when it comes to Adam’s age. There are several different ways we can interpret Adam’s character in terms of age, and I think that it should be up to each writer to decide how they personally interpret the character. I also think that no one should be shaming someone else for the interpretation they are set on, because it’s such a gray area.

This is why I wanted to explore this whole debate more. So I spent a lot of time analyzing it, and now I’m going to explain my stance on Adam Warlock’s age and how that affects how I will write about him. I am not saying this is the “correct” stance; like I said before, it’s simply my personal interpretation. The two paragraphs above are my plea for kindness in our fandom. The paragraphs below are my personal conclusions that you do not have to agree with at all.

First of all, if you ask me if Adam Warlock is a man or a child, I would tell you that it’s not that simple. In my mind, his age cannot be labeled by a simple black and white term because his situation is so complex. The best term, for now, would most likely be “man-child” because he has characteristics of both. The lore tells us that Adam Warlock is one of the Sovereign, a race created by the High Evolutionary to be perfect. Adam Warlock was supposed to be the ultimate “model” of this race; the perfect man, but the High Evolutionary took him out of his cocoon too early, so he was unable to finish growing. 

This idea that Adam was taken out of his cocoon too early and therefore is a child comes from this lore. I can understand where this assumption that early out of the cocoon=child comes from, but I don’t personally believe it and don’t think it’s true for several reasons. One, when we first see Adam, he is in the body of a fully grown man, which, if he is a child, either means that he was only taken out of his cocoon a tiny bit too early, or that he was fully grown in the cocoon but simply hadn’t hatched yet. Neither of these options make much sense, especially when we see that the High Evolutionary loves efficiency. What seems more likely to me is that Adam was indeed full grown but had not undergone all of his intellectual and common sense development yet—but only the development needed to make him smarter and trickier than humans. He’d already developed enough to act as a normal Sovereign citizen, but he was supposed to develop even better intelligence and did not get the chance. If we think back to the early appearances of the Sovereign, they all act very similar to Adam Warlock. They have enough smarts to function, but hold childish habits that include arrogance, pettiness, and the inability to see how their actions affect other people. So by this theory, it seems that Adam is a fully grown man with similar deficiencies to the rest of his people who hasn’t had much life experience yet. 

To add on to this point, let’s talk about the actual cocoon part. When we see insects or other creature form cocoons in nature, the cocoon does not serve the function of birthing the creature or holding it when it is a child. A caterpillar goes into a cocoon once it is full grown to transform into a butterfly—to emerge in its true, glorious form. Adam may have done more developing than just young adulthood in his cocoon, but the end result was still the same—he went in so that he could emerge as an adult in his true form. Only instead, he was taken out before he could fully transform into a butterfly—or in this case, super smart. It’s as if a full grown caterpillar went into a cocoon and then came out a few days later with a teeny-tiny, useless pair of wings, but still very much a fully grown caterpillar (not a butterfly). He’s fully grown, he just wasn’t given the opportunity to reach maximum potential. By this theory, it seems that Adam is a fully grown man who hasn’t been able to reach his full potential yet.

So if we’ve established that Adam being taken out of his cocoon early does not necessarily equal Adam being a child, then let’s move on to how he acts, because that’s another huge point of contention. I obviously already touched on my belief that he acts just like the rest of the Sovereign, so I’ll skip that. I understand the opinion that Adam acts like a child, but like I’ve stated above, I simply think he acts childish—which is different, yes. Sure, he thinks Rocket is a puppy—I might, too, if I can’t really see what the animal is as it’s crawling all over me and I have an overbearing mother who doesn’t let me leave the house. Sure, he doesn’t understand how his actions hurt other people—how is he supposed to know? He hasn’t been given the opportunity to learn, and he’s controlled by a sadist and an overbearing mother. Sure, he calls his mom “Mummy” and cries into her arms—I’m an adult woman, but I still call my mom “Mama” and cry into her arms. Just because he’s a guy doesn’t mean he can’t love his mom. All of these habits he has may be childish, but they don’t automatically make someone a child, just like the cocoon argument doesn’t automatically make me a child. 

Side note, but it almost seems as if he has a lot of similar traits and habits as female characters in Marvel as well, but he’s the only being called a child because he’s a soft male character who shows emotions and isn’t strong all the time. It’s like the internet hating on Peeta Mellark for being “weak” all over again, as if Peeta isn’t everything some of us want. Anyways. 

Moving on to the next piece of this, I have to start with a question: if Adam Warlock is a child’s mind inside a grown man’s body…when will he have a grown man’s mind? Will he ever? Will his “child’s mind” continue to grow until it “catches up” to his body? If not, is he stuck as “a child’s mind” forever? Who gets to decide when he will have a grown man’s mind? Is it fair to try and put limits on this fictional character’s ability to experience the world because you’ve decided that having childish habits makes you a child?

See, at the end of the day, this is what frustrates me the most with those who are trying to gatekeep Adam Warlock as a child. Because they call him a child trapped in a man’s body and then stop there. They don’t—or can’t—address the implications or complications of their claim. They don’t dig deeper, instead taking the issue at surface level, and then don’t address the fact that their argument doesn’t make sense unless they can answer the above questions. And it’s okay if they want to leave it at a simple level like that, but if they are going to shame people for writing for Adam Warlock and then claim that Adam is a child, then the burden of proof rests on them to prove it without using the same old claims and half-assed evidence. 

Thank you for listening to my TED Talk. Whatever you decide to write or not write for Adam Warlock, may you find the motivation and words needed to make it awesome. I believe in you! 

[j7sty]

" SHADOWS IN THE WINDOW "

fanfiction masterlist - masterlist - intro - my ao3

II - Where Shadows Sip Secrets

You were elated to say the least. A woman as captivating and bewitching as her wanted to ask you out that same night. You swore the breathe caught in your throat when she asked if you were free, her grandeur halting the words that were to come up. You were not the type of person to show perturbation in front of others but May Carleton was no simple woman and she had the looks to prove it. Biting on your tongue, you toiled with the idea of what to wear to meet your new confidant. Not many women went into The Garrison so something that blended into the background was a good option but then she wanted to impress May who would most likely be polished and dapper in pearls and a fur coat. Would it be a better idea just to wear your work clothes? You could wear shoes that weren't covered in ash or that new black coat that hung off the doorknob, glaring at you. After checking the time, you settled into hysteria as it was 7.57 and May wanted you at the Garrison by 8. It wasn't a short trek from your dingy flat to were you would be meeting so the coat was slung on and out of the house.

---

In the dimly lit corner of the bar, May sat perched on a plush barstool, an elegant silhouette amidst the ambient chatter. Her gaze, fixated on the delicate hands of her wristwatch, betrayed the silent cadence of her racing thoughts. The soft glow of the overhead lights reflected in her champagne glass, the effervescence of the bubbles mirroring the myriad uncertainties bubbling within her. As the seconds ticked away, May's outward poise belied the internal tempest of worries that swirled beneath her composed exterior. With each sip of champagne, she attempted to mask the apprehension that clung to her like a delicate veil, determined to project an image of confidence, even in the face of looming uncertainties. The rhythmic ticking of the clock seemed to underscore the tension that danced in her eyes, as if time itself conspired with her restless heart. 

Each time the bell above the door chimed, May's gaze instinctively darted towards the entrance, a silent plea for the arrival of her awaited guest. Disappointment etched her features with each false alarm, until, like a serendipitous revelation, the door swung open to unveil the woman she longed for. In that moment, time stood still as the newcomer entered, a vision of ethereal grace that transformed the room into a celestial stage, and in May's eyes, she appeared as an angel sent to dispel the shadows of uncertainty. The same uncertainty that was eating away at her insides but seemingly dissipated once her beacon of hope made her way through the masses of rowdy, and to May's inconvenience, handsy men. "Oh May! Do excuse me for being terribly late. I was at home doing chores and then saw it was 7.57, how time flies!" The woman panted out between shaky huffs, hair slightly frazzled, a patent indicator that she had ran her way here. "Oh don't fret. I'm sure it's not your fault." She let an enchanting smile play on her lips as she spoke in such a way that it made one feel as each syllable sounded was done so meticulously. "Well, I really should have set off earlier cause I live out on the ou--" "I'm sure I'll find out where you live later tonight angel~. First we need to get you a drink. Pick your poison." She froze as May pressed a finger to her lips as she interrupted her nattering and she turned crimson without delay as the other wore a wicked grin, pleased with the woman's fluster. She stuttered as she breathed out her drink of choice to her bestower of abashment. "Never pinned you as the type of girl to go for that but I'm sure you're full of surprises." May winked at her as she turned from the bartender, holding the woman's drink and her third refill. 

"Do you want to get one of the booths?" "I'd like that, it would be nice to not be surrounded by quite as many drunk people." May laughed as she replied, the woman looking into her eyes as if she was the only girl in the world, cheeks still painted in rose. They settled into one of the booths away from the bar and stewed in the awkwardness until May tipped back the rest of the golden booze that was left in her glass, prepared for whatever was to happen that night.

---

"I'm not saying I'm unlovable, just--. Some are easier to love that others." May spoke with a slur as she stirred the ice water in the bottom of her glass with a cocktail stick, occasionally looking up at the sober woman that sat watching on as she wined about her past loves. It had been an hour and a half and she had already gone off the rails, talking about things you wouldn't say to someone you had met that very day but her angel didn't run or gasp in shock. Instead she hung onto everyone of her words. "You know. I've never been with a girl." May smirked as the woman's countenance moulded into one of surprise, understanding exactly what was implied. "Have you?" "N-no." She gulped. "I'm sure this will be a riveting experience." May giggled before hiccuping. She stared in silent as she watched the woman look at her cracked watch before scrambling up to her feet and grabbing her jacket. "It's really late May. I've got to get back home." The woman started walking over to the door ."Hm, I guess so." May stumbled behind her. She became shrouded in a sudden cold as she stepped into the winter night's brisk breeze. The woman rummaged through her pockets before resting a cigarette on her lips and offering her one. She took it with a nod and shuffled closer as she lit the light. May looked up as the light orange of the flickering flame reflected off of her delicate features. "Can I walk you to your house?" She asked, the woman taking a drag from her cigarette before speaking. "If you want." She smiles softly and begins her walk down the road. Rain was beginning to fall down and land on their heads. May cursed to herself for not bringing a coat and glanced over at the woman who stopped walking and began to move over to her. When she felt the weight of a coat on her shoulders her face lit up with a smile for the woman who looked at her slightly smirking. The sat in pleasurable silence for the rest of the walk, a blush painting May's cheeks the whole way. They stopped at a house in an estate, and the woman walked over to the door, her trailing behind. "This is where I stop." She smiles and May gets closer to her. The woman read the situation wrong and believed she wanted to come in. "I don't think it's a good idea if y--" Her words were cut short by May's warm enveloping hers, sloppy but all the while delicate. As they parted they didn't move from their positions for a few minutes until May moved back from the woman, smirking playfully. "Have a good night."

tagged: @call-sign-shark

a/n : god I'm sorry this took so long to finish. I wrote like the other half at 3 in the morning so sorry if it's bad