#tiny dark deeds

[books1311]

November reads. 😊

[aroacettorney]

in a way, ludger is an iconic example of "irredeemable" characters, as in those who cannot be fixed and not because they are throughly evil but because they stubbornly reject / give up on every chance and opportunity to better themselves.

in ludger's case specifically, his irredeemability is a self-fulfilling prophecy because he is constantly trapped in the loop of believing that he doesn't deserve to get better.

[certifiablyinsanez]

Stolas has probably spent the majority of his life wishing he was dead. He sang to his little daughter “when I’m gone you’ll be okay”. He’s made it clear that he places little value on his life. Before Blitz arrived in his life, he was probably hanging on by a frayed thread, his daughter being the only thing keeping him alive. But with his certainty that his daughter hates him, what does he have to live for? As someone who was passively suicidal for 13 years, I can say definitively that it isn’t enough to only stay because of the people you love. The suffering is just too great. The reasons someone stays alive are often unromantic, minute, and seemingly insignificant. More often than not, you’re only still alive because you can’t actually make yourself do the deed. You wait for the right day, to do it in the right way and the stars just never align to make it happen. Your days blend together in a haze of misery with tiny seeds of hope sprinkled here and there, and then one day you realize that maybe you do want to live. You never see it coming. You never plan for it or expect it to happen, or know when it’ll arrive. Blitz is that reason, that blazing light in an endless darkness. The shooting star that burst through a night sky as dark as pitch. The reason to live that surprised Stolas with how much fire it put back in his life, how much joy, how much light, even when it was causing him pain. Stolas Goetia, who has spent his whole life surrounded by glittering jewels and castle walls, able to summon the skies of stars and suns, had no light in his life until Blitz arrived. Blitz is the light.

Blitz has had to be stone for most of his life. In his childhood he had to brace his little spirit against all the odds, because he was an imp who had weird dreams, and was surrounded by people who had no faith in him. And the few people that loved him were lost to him. With no home and no family or friends, one can only imagine how hard his life was for many years after that. He had to steel himself, become hard and heartless just to get by. He still had dreams and ambitions but remained deeply lonely for many years. “You tried the solo act, it didn’t work out very well.” He’s a wounded dog that doesn’t know why he bites. He’s convinced he’s a walking curse, that he does nothing but hurt and leave misery in his wake. And because of all this, he didn’t bother trying. He allowed himself to take and leave nothing behind. He allowed himself to hurt because whether he tries or not doesn’t matter because the end result is always the same. Stolas was another thread in his tragic tapestry, but his thread was bright gold in a sea of beige. Blitz tried to ignore the thread. What’s one more? But it shimmered too brightly. It was too beautiful, too rare, too exquisite to disregard. His heart, sick and small, was removed in a strange twist of fate, and Stolas put himself in the hole that was left behind, giving parts of his own heart that overflows. Stolas is his heart.

[aemondsbabe]

From Ashes, Fire | Claimant Pt 3

summary: dragons take what they want, you and your brother are no different. but what will be left to burn in the name of happiness?

pairing: dark!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, angst, angst but happy ending, very cersei/jaime coded moment that's all i'll say, major character death, noncanonical death, very brief descriptions of injury, blood, i promise it's nothing graphic, reader turns to the dark side lol, piv sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), minor breeding kink, possessive aemond, possessive reader, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 8.3k oops

a/n: this is it, the grand finale! i had so much fun with this series and i hope y'all enjoy the last bit!

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 and part 2 here!

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"Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty."

“Jaehaera, please,” Helaena’s voice is gentle and melodic even as she scolds her daughter, pointing at one of the straw-stuffed dolls in her tiny hands, “You must share with your brother; how about you let him play with the knight, hm?”

One of Maelor’s little fists wraps tightly around your pointer finger as you chuckle at the displeased frown on the toddler’s face when she shoves the doll in Jaehaerys’s direction, though her lips quickly lift into a smile at her mother’s praise. 

“Good, that’s very sweet of you,” your sister smiles, watching her eldest two children play, sitting cross-legged beside them on the plush blanket she’d had spread out on the grass. 

A cool breeze blows through the grassy field while you idly look around at the many red tents and campfires, observing the groups of people gathered around – knights sat at one of the many wooden tables, a few servants peel vegetables brought from the Keep, and various nobles, lady’s maids, and other court patrons shuffle about. 

Taking a deep breath, you turn your face toward the sun, cooler now as day turns to evening, and savor the first moment of peace you’ve had in nearly a week. The days since your marriage to Jace have been… eventful, to say the least, with each new duty feeling like another stab to your already fragile heart. Respite hadn’t even found you in the night, each one spent fending off your new husband’s advances with excuses of your menstrual flux having come early, headaches, and various other ailments. He was getting anxious, you could tell – each night he pushed back a little more, arguing the importance of consummating the marriage, reminding you of the vows you had both uttered in the Sept. 

But how can a vow mean much if the Gods know it was only ever a lie?

You had felt your mother’s eyes on you at every turn, watching you and your brother like a hawk. Though as the days progressed her fiery stare cooled to one of guilt – a penance for subjecting you to the same fate that had befallen her. You suspected that was why she and Rhaenyra had organized this little trip; a celebratory hunt they’d called it, to commemorate the rift between your two families finally being healed. 

“Dear, dear wife,” your oldest brother slurs, goblet clutched in one hand as he staggers toward you and Helaena, groaning when he flops down on the bench next to you. “Oh, you look… ravishing,” your lips quirk up into a smirk as he drapes an arm around your shoulders, giggling and making faces at Maelor. 

“What did I tell you,” your sister says through a huff of laughter, violet eyes finding yours, “They ignore you until they’re drunk.”

If only that were the case, you think as you force yourself to laugh in time with her. 

“That is quite rude,” Aegon chastises, brows furrowed in offense while he takes a messy swig of wine, a few red drops run down his chin. “Do you see how she treats me?” He pouts, leaning closer to you with a wry grin, “The deed is done though, yes? Bastard knew where to put it?”

“Aegon!” Helaena hisses, swatting at his knee. 

The two fall into a playful round of bickering, thankfully leaving you out of it. With a sigh, you let your gaze wander again, tumbling thoughts muffling your siblings voices. 

“It’s not as hard as it looks, here,” Daemon’s voice catches your attention and you watch as he points a knife at the belly of a deer he and Lucerys had hunted earlier in the day, showing the boy where to cut, “Get your knife in there – good, like that, and now just cut downwards, one clean movement…” You glance away as blood spills from the beast’s abdomen, staining the grass below it.

Looking over the treeline, you try to ignore the sick feeling building in the pit of your stomach, though you know it won’t be settled until Aemond’s back at camp. Biting at your lip, you let out an irritated huff when you can’t make out any movement in the distance, no sign of your brother or Ser Criston, even your husband. 

You’d only spoken to Aemond once since your marriage – a hushed conversation hidden away in an alcove when the two of you had a spare moment alone after supper. He’d held you while you’d cried against the crook of his neck, shushing you and running a soothing hand up and down your back. You remember the way his jaw felt, teeth clenched as he rested it atop your head, letting you tuck yourself into him while he vibrated with barely contained rage. 

“I can’t do this, I can’t,” you lamented, peering up at him with a mournful sob as your fingers clung to the dark jacket he wore, “They’re planning on going back to Dragonstone! Dragonstone, Aem!”

“Shh, little one,” his hands had cupped your cheeks, wiped away your tears with calloused thumbs, “I’m not letting them take you.”

His words had held such conviction, you’d wanted nothing more than to believe him, yet you’d shaken your head anyway. “I don’t think there’s any stopping them, this time,” your breath had hitched with each word, “You heard Rhaenyra, they’re leaving as soon as we’re back from the hunt and she would never agree to leave Jacaerys here, never.” 

You had known you were spiraling, head spinning as you’d looked up at him, and yet the words tumbled out anyway. “I hate him, I wish he’d just… just disappear!” It was a childish little jab and yet, your heart had leapt into your throat the moment you’d said it. You were expecting to feel the clawing ache of guilt gnaw at your stomach, however, a weightlessness followed. You’d never felt lighter than in that moment – tucked away in the shadows, a secret you’d harbored since childhood finally set free.

Aemond had stayed quiet, but you saw the way his violet eye sparkled, the gears turning in his head.

Your words had echoed in his head, calling out to him like a siren’s song – the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. 

Finally convinced that the three men are truly not just going to materialize at the edge of camp, your gaze shifts to where your mother and Rhaenyra sit, huddled together beside one of the many firepits. Bouncing little Maelor on your lap, you’re vaguely aware of Aegon and Helaena idly chatting beside you, something to do with how your brother believes some such thing about the Small Council is a waste of time – a frequent complaint of his since taking the throne. 

You’re hardly listening though, head cocked to the side while you watch the two women laughing and animatedly conversing; they remind you of the young girls at court – youthful and carefree, too wrapped up in one another to notice much around them. 

That’s why she let them go together, that shadowy voice in the back of your head hisses, Too distracted to know better. You clench your jaw, only halfway aware of the stinging pain at your cuticle as you dig a nail into it.

“What say you to accompanying me on a hunt, nephew?” Aemond had asked earlier in the afternoon, voice low as he slunk over to where you, Jace, and your mothers had been sitting at one of the wooden tables, picking through a light lunch the cooks at the Keep had prepared.

“Aemond,” Alicent had sighed wearily, leaning heavily on her elbows while Rhaenyra regarded your brother with a cool indifference – evidently unaware of your family’s tensions. 

“What? I merely wish to bond with my dearest sister’s new husband.”

“Uncle,” Jace had finally spoken up, pointedly grasping one of your hands that had sat on the table, “As much as I would love to accompany you, don’t you think it a bit unwise for only the two of us to go? If I remember correctly from my youth, your father used to take a whole host of men into the woods with him…” 

“Do you not think yourself man enough to take on a measly buck, nephew?”

“Aemond!”

“Don’t fret, mother. ‘Twas only a joke, a tasteless one, I admit,” your hackles had raised at that, at how quickly he had stood down, so wholly unlike your brother, “Besides, I’ve taken the liberty of asking Ser Criston to accompany us as well.”

It was then, at the mention of the knight, that Rhaenyra had leaned closer to Alicent, the two of them laughing softly and sharing knowing glances while your half-sister whispered into her ear. 

“Surely the three of us are more than capable of subduing a deer or two, don’t you think?” 

Jace had balked at that, sighing heavily as his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly. 

“I think it sounds like a wonderful idea,” you had coached your lips into a tight smile when you interjected, “Doesn’t that sound like a lovely idea, mother?”

“Hm?” She had blinked, finally parting from Rhaenyra, the ghost of a smile still on her lips. 

“For Ser Criston to accompany Jace and Aemond, to go hunting with them.”

“Well, I –”

“Surely that would be safest, yes?” You pushed, glancing at Jace before locking eyes with Aemond, “A knight with them, a Kingsguard no less.” 

“I think it sounds like a fine idea,” Rhaenyra had smiled, squeezing one of your mother’s hands, “They should take the time to bond, no? Savor it while we’re together these last few days.” 

“Yes… yes, a fine idea,” she had immediately agreed, always swaying to your half-sister. 

“Wonderful,” your brother murmured, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he clasped his arms behind his back, “I’ll have Ser Criston ready the horses.” With that, he had stalked away, giving you one final glance. 

“You truly think this a good idea?” Your husband had questioned, turning to you while your mothers got lost in yet another hushed conversation.

“Of course!” You had nodded, clasping one of his hands in both of yours, “Aemond is… odd with his affections. This is just his way of attempting to rectify things, I’m sure of it.” 

“I suppose…,” he had sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

“It’ll be fine,” you had urged, going so far as to lean over and press a kiss against his cheek, one of the scant few times you had initiated any affections. 

Those words had echoed in your head while you watched the three men sheath their swords and load various bows and arrows onto their horses, the midday sun suddenly feeling much too warm against your skin. 

It’ll be fine, you had reminded yourself for the millionth time when they set off, horses galloping along a narrow path that led into the Kingswood, He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine. 

“Oh, shit,” Aegon whispers beside you, nearly dropping his goblet. 

You quickly follow his eyeline, looking to where he stares at one of the small paths that lead into the camp – the sight wrenching a hitched gasp from your throat. 

A hush seems to fall over the entirety of the camp, only for the quickest of seconds, before chaos erupts. Aemond stands before one of the horses, a grey one you recognize as Jace’s, steadying it while Criston pulls your husband from the saddle, smearing the side of the animal with thick streaks of red. 

Daemon quickly runs over to assist while you hastily hand Maelor back to Helaena, hardly looking in her direction as you do. 

“Jace? Jacaerys?!” Rhaenyra calls, picking up her skirts as she sprints over, violet eyes wide with terror, “What is it? What’s happened?”

Every noise sounds muffled when you make your way over to the huddle of commotion, Alicent following closely behind. A strange detached sensation fills you while you watch Criston and Daemon lay Jace down on a nearby bench, blood immediately soaking into the silk fabric of the pillows. 

It feels as if everything is happening both too quickly and too slowly all at once – a few of the other knights rush forward, hastily pulling his tunic out of the way before pressing stark white medical linens to the gaping cut on his side. They bark orders over his body, yelling for the servants to bring water and more linens. 

You feel your mother and Helaena grabbing at your arms and it’s only then you realize you’re shaking, swaying in place like a leaf on a branch; you know they’re talking to you but their words are dulled by the rushing of blood in your ears.

Somewhere in your periphery, you register the sound of Daemon’s voice, thick with desperation as he shouts question after question at Criston, “What happened? When? How? How long ago? How could you, you were supposed to protect him?!” They blend together, echoing through the haze in a roaring hum. 

Distantly, you register the feel of another warm body pressing into the small pack you find yourself a part of. Helaena shushes someone next to you and your gaze tears itself away from the pools of crimson gathering on the grass just long enough to realize that it’s Luke. Your heart breaks at that, a sharp pang in your chest at the fact that the poor boy is distressed enough to seek comfort from your family, of all places. 

“No! No, no, no!” Rhaenyra’s wails slice through the fog clouding your mind in such an exacting manner that your knees buckle, “Jace, Jace, look at me, please? Sweetling, please look at me!” She sobs, leaning over her son, one hand cradling his cheek. 

Unseeing brown eyes stare, unblinking, up at the hazy orange sky while yours focus solely on a single, paralyzing flash of violet. 

He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine. 

The Sept is eerily quiet, normal for this time of night but unsettling all the same; the occasional fizzling noises of the dozens of flickering candles is the only way you’re able to discern that time hasn’t simply halted. Pale moonlight shines in through the windows, bathing the floor in a star-shaped pool of light and making the whites of the painted eyes resting atop Jace’s face glow like beacons. 

You had picked out the stones and painted the eyes on them yourself, taking them from a spot in the gardens you knew he had favored when you were children and spent hours sourcing the pigments to make just the right shade of brown – one that reminded you of the rich chocolates that had been imported from Essos for your betrothal feast. 

“A wife’s duty,” your mother had said.

Rhaenyra had glared at you the whole time; silently, you wondered if she somehow knew it wasn’t duty that drove you – only atonement. 

Atonement, your mind echoes as you sit upon the cool stone steps beneath the Seven-Pointed Star, leaning your head against the bannister as you force yourself to look at his body, still atop black silks. 

Must one feel guilt to atone? Must I atone for not feeling it? When will it end?

Those questions had plagued you in the days since Jace died, bled out like a hunter’s boon in the field by the Kingswood. They’d settled over you like a fever, an ever-present haunting ache, made only worse by the soft, sinful voice in the back of your head that whispered the truth – that you didn’t care, that you don’t even now. 

You hadn’t cared, even as blood seeped from the gash at his side, even as you forced yourself to kneel by his still warm body and press gentle kisses to his forehead – the performance of a good wife. 

You hadn’t cared in the carriage ride back to the Keep, letting your mother and your sister hold you while you cried – I’m sad, I’m sad, I’m crying because I’m sad, I’m crying because I should be sad.

And you hadn’t cared when Aemond had come to you in the dead of night, had slipped into your chambers – your chambers – through one of the many hidden passageways in the old castle. 

“How?” You had asked, tracing patterns onto the pale skin of his bare chest while the two of you laid tangled in your silk sheets. 

“A boar,” he answered plainly, speaking through a sigh while running his fingers over the thigh you had draped across his hips, “Just as I’ve told you the last four times you’ve asked.”

“Aemond,” you sighed in that same tired tone your mother so often used; your eyes had narrowed when you saw the corner of his lips just barely twitch up into a smile; were it any other time, he would’ve made a cheeky comment about the similarity. 

“I’ve told you,” his grip tightened ever so slightly on your thigh and his other hand had grasped at your chin, guiding your eyes to his, “We had been tracking a buck, had gotten close and dismounted our horses, and had, I assume, stumbled into the beast’s territory and it charged at us.”

“Brother,” you had whispered, shaking your head and cupping his cheek, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie?” 

He had stayed silent for a long while at that, jaw clenched while he stared at some point off in the distance, lips drawn into a tight line. Eventually, you had laid your head down, resting your cheek on his shoulder while you tried to accept that you wouldn’t be getting the truth that night, if ever.

It was only then that he had spoken.

“Please, let me protect you.” 

“Protect me?” You had looked up, brows furrowed as you studied his face, “From what?”

“From the law –”

“Our brother is king, if he says it was not murder, if he says it was an accident, which he already has done, then no one will question his –”

“Fine, then,” he had snapped, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, “From the damn Gods! I…” He trailed off, sighing heavily while he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“... the Gods?”

He’d finally looked at you again and your heart had pinched meanly in your chest when you saw tears gathering in his violet eye, “They will judge me harshly for what I’ve done, whenever the time comes, but… I will not subject you to the same fate.”

You had scoffed at that, had rolled your eyes when he looked away shamefully and had climbed atop him then, straddled his hips and turned his face toward yours, “I don’t give a shit about the Gods.” 

“What?”

“I don’t,” you repeated, leaning down until your forehead touched his, “If they were good Gods, if they cared, they would not have subjected me to that sham of a marriage in the first place. They would’ve guided our mother rightly, but they didn’t.”

“Sister, I –”

“And I hate that our nephew paid for that, Aemond, I truly do, but I am the one who told you to do it.”

He had shaken his head while a mournful peal of laughter clawed its way out of his throat, “You didn’t tell me to do any–”

“Perhaps not directly,” you interjected, smiling sadly while you cupped both of his cheeks in your hands, running a thumb over the scar beneath his eye, “But I did. I could’ve told you not to, could’ve said I didn’t mean it, could’ve cautioned our mother against letting him go with you, but… I didn’t.”

“No… no, I suppose you didn’t,” he sighed, swallowing thickly as he tried in vain to blink away tears.

“I didn’t,” you echoed, your words hushed and cooed, like a mother soothing an infant, “I know what you’re capable of, I knew it then, and I didn’t.”

He nodded, his breath stuttered in his throat as a single tear rolled down his cheek. 

“Because I knew you’d protect me… and you did.” 

“I did,” he mumbled, nodding up at you as his face twisted and a small sob bubbled from his lips, “I did, I did it. I did it, I did. For you, for us.” 

“I know,” you murmured sweetly, stroking a hand over his long hair while you pressed sweet kisses against his forehead. You held him as he cried, huddled together in the dark of your chambers 

And you hadn’t cared when you realized you were smiling. 

“The hour is quite late, little one,” the suddenness of his voice makes you jump, though you settle quickly. 

“So it is,” you smile and look over your shoulder, tilting your head up while he walks down the steps to join you, “The hour of ghosts, yes? Fitting.” 

He huffs as he sits beside you before regarding you with a slight smirk, “I suppose it is,” he murmurs, only sparing the red and black draped body on the altar a passing glance.

“Why are you here?”

“I was looking for you… Hel said you would probably be here.”

“Mm,” you nod, idly running a finger over the pattern on your skirts, finding a morbid sort of beauty in the way the rich black silks glimmered in the candlelight. 

“Why are you here?” Aemond asks, eye following the line of your profile. 

“Praying.”

Without looking, you can practically feel him rolling his eye beside you, huffing a little breathy laugh again, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie, sweet sister?”

Hearing your own words from the night before parroted back to you pulls a laugh from you as well, though you wince as your giggle echoes throughout the Sept. “It’s funny,” you sigh, glancing about the cavernous space before finally looking at him, “This is the only place where no one wants to be.” 

He hums next to you and nods his head, lets the two of you sit in silence for a moment before you continue. 

“I don’t have to pretend when I’m here.” 

“Pretend?” 

Biting at your bottom lip, you nod and lean into his touch when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “That I’m sad… that I feel anything, really,” you sigh, breathing the words more so than saying them, “All Rhaenyra does is cry, Daemon is ready to strangle anything that moves, Lucerys is despondent to the point of being mute. Even our own mother cries for him and I cannot muster a single tear that isn’t a farce.”

Your eyes trail back over to Jace and you regard him with a mournful stare, staying silent for a long moment as you try to will yourself to feel sad, to feel angry, to feel guilty… yet nothing comes.

“Everyone grieves differently,” Aemond mumbles beside you, though his words only serve to make you more bitter, “Perhaps, in time –”

“In time nothing will happen,” you snap, grimacing at the harshness in your voice, “I’m not sad and I am… I’m tired of pretending I am.” You murmur, leaning your head on his shoulder. 

Aemond is quiet for a long while, though you can feel the energy radiating off of him in waves – you’ve always been able to tell when he has a lot on his mind. You’re content to simply let him think, taking his silence as a cue that it’s your turn to let him sort through things. 

“You… are happy, though? Yes?” He finally asks after several long minutes, going strangely rigid next to you as if he’s afraid of your answer, “I know you say you aren’t sad but…”

“Aemond,” you sigh, sitting up and staring at him as a slow, creeping smile spreads across your face, “I have never been happier.”

“Truly?”

“Yes!” You quickly shift yourself on the stairs, turning yourself more toward him and placing a gentle hand on top of his thigh, “Big brother, you saved me.”

He opens his mouth to speak but you don’t let him get a word in edgewise before the emotions you’ve been bottling up over the last few days finally spill over and you practically throw yourself into his lap, straddling his hips. 

“Brother, I've been tethered to him since I was eight and you have freed me from that,” you say softly, voice hardly carrying in the air. Slowly, carefully you pull his eyepatch off, the only one ever allowed to do so; there is a sadness in your smile when you gently trail your fingers over the crease of his scar, “We both lost something that night and have suffered for it ever since.”

Without another word, you press your lips to his and savor the groan your kiss pulls from him. His hands grab at your hips in the same instance yours card through his hair while your lips move together in a practiced rhythm. 

Impatient, one of your hands travels down his chest and stomach, though you hardly have time to pull at the hem of his dark tunic before he grabs your wrist, stopping you. 

“Aemond,” you huff, fighting against his grip. 

“Surely you don’t mean to defile this place in such a way,” he murmurs, violet eye sparkling as if he were challenging you, even as he glances over your shoulder, “What would your dear husband think?

You grin at the lecherous smirk on his lips, heart pounding in your chest as a familiar ache settles at the apex of your thighs. You give one final glance over your shoulder before turning back to him with a dismissive shrug. “Husband in name only,” you remind him, yanking your hand out of his grasp and trailing your fingers over the growing bulge beneath his trousers, “I have only ever been devoted to you.”

A rough growl leaves his lips and he clenches his jaw, narrowing his eye. “We will burn for this, sweet sister,” he huffs, pale cheeks flushing while he stares up at you, one hand still settled on your hip as the other comes up to cup your jaw. 

“The Seven can have their say,” your cunt clenches at the way he looks at you – surprise, lust, even reverence giving such an intensity to his gaze that it nearly knocks the wind from your lungs, “The Old Valyrian Gods can as well, I don’t care. Aemond, I don’t.”

Your hand finally, blessedly, pulls free the ties at the top of his trousers and you quickly find his length. The sharp grunt that’s wrenched from his throat when your hand wraps around it echoes through the Sept, each iteration of it making the fire in your belly burn brighter and brighter. 

He doesn’t attempt to stop you when you plunge a hand beneath the fabric of your black skirts and hastily tug your smallclothes out of the way, he merely studies you in awe, as if watching a newly hatched dragon spread its wings for the first time. His gaze makes you shiver, though you dare not look away.

“What do you care about, little one?” He murmurs suddenly, unable to help himself from glancing between your bodies, licking his lips while he watches you use your fingers to prepare yourself as you rub your own slick through your folds. 

“You,” you whisper, shuddering at the way you both gasp at the same time when you rut against his already throbbing length, “You are the only god I’ve ever worshiped, big brother.”

A loud groan bursts free of his lips at that and the hunger in his eye nearly catches you alight, and yet he still grabs at your hips tightly, preventing you from sinking onto his length – so out of his element, wholly unused to being taken in such a way. “Come, let us go to my chambers,” he tries, breathing your name against your neck as he leans up, “Where I can take you properly, hm? No risk of anyone interrupting…”

Undeterred, you simply shake your head and lean forward, pressing your lips against his in an eager, near feral kiss. It’s mostly teeth and tongues and thankfully, it’s enough to shock him into loosening his grip, just enough for you to take what you want. You bite at his bottom lip when you sink down onto his length, hard enough to taste iron, making him growl into the kiss, the sound of it deepening to a low groan at the feel of your tight cunt around him. 

The feel of his cock stretching you open somehow only gets better each time and leaves you gasping in his lap, your hands grabbing at his shoulders for leverage while you begin grinding yourself against him, impatient and ravenous. “Ohh, f-fuck,” you curse, squeezing your eyes shut while your walls flutter around him. 

Aemond’s chest heaves under your hands while he stares up at you, lips parted ever so slightly as breathy groans spill, unbidden, from them. Opening your eyes, your gaze is immediately drawn to a little smear of red beside his mouth and you lean forward – licking his pale skin clean without a second thought. 

“Little minx,” he smirks, meanly grabbing at your hips again and bucking up into you. He huffs a soft laugh at the sharp moan that bursts from you, sounding louder still in the large open space of the Sept; there’s a dangerous, challenging gleam in his eye that makes you shiver. “Go on, then,” he rasps, trailing a hand up from your hip to cup the underside of your breast, his touch warm even through the bodice of your gown, “Worship your god.”

A soft, stuttered moan wrenches itself from your lips at that and you quickly obey, staking your claim over him. As you find your rhythm, rutting wildly in his lap, the only sounds echoing off the walls are that of panted breaths and the slick, wet noises from where the two of you connect. “You’re mine,” you breathe, leaning forward to bite at his throat, determined to mark him in as many ways as possible, “Y-You’ve always been mine, Aemond.” 

He nods his head, hands scrambling at the ties on your bodice, determined to free your breasts. “I’m yours?” He taunts, sighing victoriously when he finally manages to practically rip the top of your gown open; his tongue darts out, wetting his lips at the sight of them and he allows himself a few seconds to appreciate the way they bounce so enticingly with each of your determined movements, “Show me, then… show me who I belong to, sweet sister.”

Something snaps inside you then, breaking and clicking perfectly into place all in the same breath; the feeble thing that was holding the dam inside of you shut disappears. Whatever greedy darkness Aemond has always harbored within himself has been slowly seeping into you since the night of your betrothal feast and now, it seems, it has finally settled into your bones as well. It’s as if he can sense it in the same instance you do and gives a subtle nod of his head, commanding you to give in. 

With renewed vigor, you grind against him harshly, pressing your hips as far down onto him as you can manage until you can feel his cock pressing against the entrance to your womb. The thought of him there, of the possibility of his seed catching, of the possibility that it may already have, spurs you on further. 

“I would kill for you, too,” you say lowly through clenched teeth, licking up the side of his neck until you can whisper into his ear, “I’ll do anything to have you, my love, I don’t care what it is.”

A low groan reverberates from within his chest, both of you all but snarling as you move together; his hips rut up against yours, unable to hold still any longer, and he bites a path down your neck until he reaches the softness of your breasts. You gasp as he teases at one nipple, flicking at it with the tip of his tongue while his fingers toy with the other one, only to cut yourself off with a loud moan when his lips seal around it. 

“I would burn this city to the fucking ground if that’s what… what it took, brother,” the words tumble from your lips when you card your fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head and holding him against your chest. Your head tilts down, heart pounding in your chest while you watch him savor the feel of your warm flesh in his mouth; his violet eye snaps up and his gaze bores into yours, making your cunt clutch greedily at his length. 

Feeling the knot building quickly in your belly, aided by the way your sensitive pearl brushes against the small patch of hair at the base of Aemond’s cock, you only grow more needy – craving confirmation that he is yours, that no one will be able to take him from you again. Your breath catches in your throat when you recall a conversation the two of you had had a few nights ago, the night of Jace’s death.

The two of you had been cuddled in your bed together, panting in sweat-damp sheets, when he had cupped your cheek and turned your face to his. 

“What is it?” You asked, familiar with the faraway look in his eye – God’s knew where he could’ve been in that moment.

“Marry me.”

His whispered demand had knocked the air from your lungs then, the whole world may as well have come to a grinding halt on its axis. “Aemond, we must wait, you know this. I hate it as much as you do but –”

“We need to wait for a Westerosi wedding, yes,” he murmured, leaning over you and shushing you with a soft kiss, “Too soon and it looks suspicious.”

“But –”

“But… a wedding in the tradition of our house need not wait, little one,” the determination in his eye had shocked you then, had warmed you from the inside out, “Our sister and her cunt of a husband hardly waited until Laena and Laenor were cold before they married… we could do the same.”

You had stayed quiet after that, too much death and change and uncertainty clouding your mind to give him an answer, and yet you knew he was right. Rhaenyra and Daemon had married in secret, so soon after Laenor’s sudden passing that it had always seemed a bit odd to you. Yet, no one ever questioned it; your own father had accepted it without so much as a blink, writing the marriage into law with no fuss. Aegon would do the same for you, you felt certain. 

Nothing was stopping you, nothing that mattered, anyway. 

That thought fuels you now as you rock on Aemond’s lap, both of you barreling toward your eventual ends. Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging him away from your breast despite his growl of displeasure. Just as he had with you, you cup his cheeks, focusing his attention on you. 

“Marry me.”

The rhythm of his hips hitches at your words and he fucks up into you harshly, moving you more desperately against him as another loud, guttural moan echoes through the chamber. 

“Tonight,” you continue, brows furrowing as you stare at him, greedily drinking him in, “I cannot wait any longer, brother, tonight, please…” 

A vicious, conquering smirk grows on his lips, white teeth gleaming in the low candlelight like a snarling dog. “You wish to be mine, is that it?” He teases, reaching between your two writhing bodies to rub hungrily at your pearl, savoring the pretty breathy moans he earns. 

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish speaking as an unrelenting, all consuming possessive ache starts spreading out from your heart, flowing through your blood vessels like fire. “I don’t wish it,” you pant, forehead resting against his while the wildfire burning in your belly threatens to burn you whole, “I told you, I would kill for you and… and, fuck, I swear it. A-Aemond, no one will have you ever again, never, none except me…”

Your words descend into a barely intelligible murmur as you finally let go, pushed suddenly over the edge at the thought of being so tightly bound together that no one would be able to tear the two of you apart again. Your brother growls again at the feel of your cunt pulsing around him, the movements spurring him toward his own end. 

He grabs at you when he follows you into oblivion, holding you against him as if you’d disappear otherwise. The feel of his spend spilling into you, filling you, nearly sends you over the edge again and you cling to him just as harshly, holding him while he trembles beneath you. 

“You are a vicious little thing,” he says softly after some minutes, holding you against his chest while the two of you catch your breaths.

“I learned from the best.”

He only sighs at that but you don’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling. “I would do it again for you,” he mumbles, eye fixed on Jace, “I would do it a thousand times over.”

He speaks in a reverent whisper, promises of death and destruction as sweet as a prayer on his lips. 

Aemond’s hand is warm in yours as he leads you through the winding corridors below the Red Keep, the flickering light from the torches lining the walls making the various statues and reliefs dance in your periphery. 

“I’ve always hated that he’s down here, stowed away,” he murmurs, yet his voice still carries some among the stone hallways.

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, glancing into each shadowy alcove you come across while you try to ignore the wild beating in your chest – the way your heart clenches at the thought of finally being so close to what you’ve always wanted. “Yes, he should be out in the sun, somewhere he can be celebrated.”

The old cellars under the Keep have always seemed so haunting to you, so cold and empty. The thought of the walls down here being lined with the ashen remains of generations upon generations of your ancestors had never failed to send a shiver down your spine. Yet, they unfold before you now like paradise; even the still, musty air begins to smell as sweet as honeyed wine. 

For the briefest of seconds, guilt joins you – walks alongside you, invisible like the Stranger. A stuttered heartbeat, that’s all and then it’s gone, at the thought that Jace would join them tomorrow, still warm from Vermax’s fire. 

How ironic, you think, glancing up at your brother and admiring the way the light gleams on his sapphire eye, That a place that holds so much death would be where our lives finally begin.

“I don’t want to wait any longer,” you’d said again, retying your bodice while Aemond tucked himself back into his trousers and searched for his eyepatch.

“Nor do I,” he agreed, stuffing the small scrap of fabric into a pocket – the streets of King’s Landing would be deserted enough at this time of night that he could get away without wearing it. “Tensions are bound to rise after tomorrow, after everything is said and done; I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

You had nodded and followed him out of the Sept, through one of the many old, forgotten tunnels that only a scant few knew existed, the list of which definitely didn’t include the guards stationed at the front of the building who had escorted your carriage earlier that evening. 

While he had helped you onto the back of his horse, the two of you shared a knowing look, each of you already thinking the same thing. 

Turning down one final corridor, your heart thuds in your chest as you’re finally met with Balerion’s petrifying gaze and, just like every other time you’d been in his presence, a little huff of reverence leaves you. Your eyes dance over the rows of his razor sharp teeth, gleaming in the glow of dozens of candles, and you can’t help but imagine the horrors those jaws have inflicted, the pain they wrought while subduing the continent – all in your family’s name. 

“Targaryens have always taken what we’ve wanted,” Aemond murmurs beside you, staring up at the gargantuan skull with just as much respect as you are, “Tamed our desires in fields of fire.”

“And rivers of blood,” you turn your heads at the same time, soft smiles on your lips when your eyes meet, like you’re sharing sweet words of love rather than painting pictures of horrors. 

Perhaps that is what wrath is for us, you wonder, your eyes flicking between violet and sapphire when you turn toward your brother, What is death if not the sweetest of devotions?

He takes your hands in his, glancing down when your fingers intertwine before looking back up at you; you can feel yourself blushing under his intense gaze, heart squeezing in your chest as he looks at you like that in and of itself is an honor. There’s such softness in his eye, you would think him incapable of violence if you didn’t know better. 

“You truly wish for this?” He questions one last time, needing to be sure. 

“I’ve told you, I do not wish,” your hands squeeze his, “I need this, Aemond… I would kill for you, for this – for us. Anything, just as you did.” 

Your voice trembles when you speak, the intensity of your hushed promises making your head spin because you would. The want you feel, that you have always felt, is not some soft yearning thing. It’s not so simple as some mere whisper uttered in the dead of night at a holy altar while your skin is awash with the glow of candlelight, no. 

No, your want is something far more insidious – something deep-seated. An oppressive, clinging thing that has always coaxed you further and further down into that shadowy part of yourself; the part that has always reminded you too much of him. 

The demon, lurking in your periphery, that has always begged you to look, has tempted you since childhood with the sweetest of promises, finally rejoices. 

Aemond nods, a satisfied smile pulling at the corner of his lips, and you watch as he lets go of one of your hands to unsheath his dagger. The sight of the worn leather handle makes you smile bashfully, though your core clenches all the same, and you gasp when you feel another drop of his seed soak into your smallclothes. 

“You know the words?”

Again, he nods and your head cocks to the side curiously when a wash of pink grows on his pale cheeks; he smiles again and fixes you with that same intense stare. “I used to spend hours reading them, over and over, when we were children,” he whispers, leaning closer to you like he’s revealing some deep, dark secret, “I always wanted to get them perfect for you.” 

A little peal of laughter echoes through the cellars before you swallow thickly, trying to tamper the tightness at the back of your throat as the backs of your eyes sting, tears pooling in your waterline. He cups your cheek and you smile when he brushes one away, a pleased hum leaves his lips when you nod. 

Aemond raises the dagger, glancing between its shining blade and your lips while you ready yourself, one hand clenching at the black silk of your skirts. “I’ll be gentle,” he promises. 

You hold stock-still, gasping when he presses the cool edge of it against your lower lip, yet your eyes don’t leave his when he finally cuts – nicking your delicate flesh just enough to draw blood before offering you the dagger. Grasping it, you mirror his steps exactly, just as careful with him. 

Setting the dagger to the side, you both reach up at the same time, swiping a thumb over your own lip before reaching out. Your arms intertwine when you brush each other’s foreheads, leaving behind two crimson lines. 

His gaze never breaks from yours as he takes the blade again and carefully cuts his palm, holding it out to you again and waiting while you do the same, gasping at the sharp sting. Finally, the two of you join hands, blood mingling together as a few drops of it splatter on the stone floor as Balerion bears witness to your union. 

“Hen lantoti ānogar, va syndroti vāedroma, mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr,” he recites, murmuring the words with care, making sure to enunciate each syllable, to make the vows unmistakeable to whichever ghosts may be listening, “Izulī ampā perzī, prūmī lanti sēteksi, hen jeny māzīlarion,” (Blood of two, joined as one, ghostly flame, and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires, a future promised in glass.)

Aemond pauses, taking a breath as he squeezes your hand with his, echoing your smile.

“Qēlossa ozūndesi, syndroro ōñō jēdo, ry kīvia mazvestraksi,” he finishes, all but breathing the last few words as his eye grows misty. (The stars stand witness, the vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.)

The two of you stand still for a moment like you’re waiting for the world to crash down around you and you can feel his heart beating in time with yours as your palms press together, both of you seemingly in shock at finally, finally having everything you’ve ever wanted. 

You can’t tell who moves first but suddenly you’re crashing against him, dagger clanging as it hits the floor, while the two of you clutch at one another desperately, uncaring of the blood smearing on your clothes. 

Your lips press against his like they’re a lifeline and you moan at the touch, swiping your tongue over his while you grab at the lapels of his jacket. His hands cup your cheeks, staining one with red, before carding through your hair. 

“Gods,” he groans, resting his forehead against yours while the two of you pant, breathing out soft laughs. “My little wife…” He says the word slowly, lets it drag over his tongue. 

“Husband,” you reply between soft kisses to his cheek, head spinning at how a word that once had to be dragged from you, that had scraped against your skin like thorns, now felt like silk slipping cooly over you. 

Your brother growls deep in his chest and his eye flutters shut for a second before his hands are at your waist again and he’s walking you backwards, only a few paces, until you’re pressed against one of the stone columns surrounding the great dragon’s skull. Though your landing is soft, it wrenches a gasp from you all the same but you don’t have time to question his intent before his lips are on yours again.

You moan into the kiss, matching each of his deep groans with one of your own as your tongues tangle together. “Aemond,” you pant when he begins trailing kisses down across your jaw and neck, “What –”

He nips at your cleavage then and you can feel him smirking at the loud whine he pulls from you, soothing the skin after with a sweet kiss before sinking to his knees before you. The sight is enough to make you weak – the man that loves you more than eternity itself, who loves you enough to do terrible, monstrous things, kneeling at your feet and staring up at you like you are his salvation. 

Your hands tangle in his soft hair while he pulls at your skirts, pushing them up and out of the way, kissing your thighs as he goes. “You had the chance to worship at your altar, sweetest little wife,” he pants, groaning when he pushes your smallclothes to the side and licking his lips at the sight of your cunt, still wet with your combined spend, “Now let me worship at mine.”

That’s the only warning you get before he dives in, lapping at your center with a loud, satiated growl. Your head thuds back against the column while your eyes are fixed, half-lidded, on Balerion, on the fire that surrounds him. 

You understand, then – the curtains of fire that blanketed the continent were necessary to conquer it, just as blood was necessary to bind the two of you. Perhaps one day you’ll be called to answer for that, but even then you would do it a thousand times over; even if the dark, shadowy parts of yourself, of him, lead to the deepest pits of the Seven Hells. You would do it, again and again, for him. 

You were always meant to burn together.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

consider adding yourself to my tag list or check out my works on ao3!

[catghoststories]

Frank, Eddie, and the Tell-Tale Heart

So, I know the main focus of this update was Poppy, which I was happy to see (though I'm not happy to see what happened to her).  I do have a theory cooking about her, Sally, and the Commedia Dell'arte, but Frank n' Eddie are my favorite pair, and I've been stewing over this particular theory since the July '23 update.  This tiny line from the Looky-Loo storybook is what cinched it for me.

Source: Merchandise Page, Looky-Loo Storybook

This line isn't read out loud, but we can see it at around the 9 minute in the video, above Eddie, looking so polite.  It reads,

"Villains!" I shrieked, "I can deny it no longer! I admit the deed!—tear up my flower bed!—here, here!—it is the ticking of my beloved alarm clock!"

This isn't the actual line from The Tell-Tale Heart.  The original line reads "Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed!—tear up the planks!—here, here!—it is the beating of his hideous heart!"

Source: The Tell-Tale Heart

The Tell-Tale Heart is about someone murdering their roommate, cutting him into pieces, and hiding the evidence under the floorboards of their house. 

And I think this is what Frank is going to do to Eddie, in an attempt to protect him in a perverse, misguided way.

This rewritten lines seems very specific to Frank and Eddie.  We know Frank loves his garden.  And who's the only character in the Neighborhood who owns a clock?  Eddie.

At the end of the Homewarming video, Frank sees how distressed Eddie is.  As many have theorized, Frank seems to be somewhat aware of what's happening, although we don't know to what extent.  But he sees that Eddie is now in the line of fire of The Powers That Be, and he becomes worried for him.  

I think Frank will dismantle Eddie and hide him in his garden until he deems it 'safe' for Eddie to come back, once the 'eyes' are off him.  (Kind of reminds me of the Eye of Sauron from Lord of the Rings).  An unintentional—or perhaps intentional—side effect of being dismantled and put back together, with new parts, is that Eddie doesn't remember things well. 

Including, possibly, his and Frank's relationship.

This goes along with the theme we've seen several times in WH now, including this new Halloween update.  The puppets unintentionally—yet seriously—harm their loved ones in order to protect them from something they deem far worse—whatever that may be.

As these posts by kykudos, oniongrass, and nikkiiiscute discuss, there is an image from one of the hidden bug clips of Frank's garden with 9 clothespins—one buried in the dirt.

Source: Welcome Home Hidden Audio ('til it's back on the official site :3)

And there's the references to burial in Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight, too.  This post by the-nosy-neighbor goes quite a lot into this song very well, especially how it might indicate Frank could put Eddie into a suspended state!

Source: Transcript Page, Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight

Now I have been thinking about this dismantling/reassembling thing for a long time, especially since the last Halloween update.  Eddie is one of the puppets with a new costume, and he is Frank(enstein)'s monster.  And he has a big yellow band-aid on the back—Frank's color.  If Eddie is taken apart, Frank will patch him up again.

Source: Clown's Tumblr

(Also, I'm curious about the blue hand and face in Eddie's costume design. That's Barnaby's color. Does Frank use Barnaby's spare parts to put Eddie back together?! 😳 Especially since I feel like Barnaby's time on Mister Bone's Wild Ride is fast approaching—but that's yet another post 😅)

But based on the Tell-Tale Heart line, Frank may have been the one to do the dismantling in the first place, which is quite dark.  Based on the below picture from the former staff member page—clearer image here from Clown's Tumblr—Frank may be aware they're puppets and made up of various parts.

Source: Welcome Home Wiki until it's back on the official site :3

There is also an intense piece on Clown's Ko-Fi here (please support Clown if you can!) that shows butterflies doing SOMETHING to Eddie. Are they putting him together? Or taking him apart to join them in their hibernation? 🤔

Frank also likes gelatin. As he tells Poppy in their hidden audio, 'it holds perfectly sliced fruit beautifully'.  Perfectly sliced, cut up fruit, eh?  Gelatin is a preservative that we also see in the cookbook recipe, and we all know Eddie has an unholy encounter with his single pea.  So yet another symbol of suspended animation that is related to Frank and Eddie.

Source: Merchandise Page, Cookbook

So it seems like Frank has some experience in preservation, hibernation, etc. and knows how to use it, if it comes to it.

The next big update will likely be spring-themed.  A long time ago, Clown posted that Frank has a holiday in spring. Of course this isn't canon until it's on the website, but either way, I think Frank will have an important role in the spring update, which I believe will also focus on Julie.  We may see him wake up Julie from hibernation...and Eddie from his dirt nap.  

Source: Clown's Tumblr

(I've been so curious about that shadow behind the flower.  At first I thought 'OMG, it's Eddie's hand!', but I don't think so. 😅 I dunno what it is, but it doesn't quite seem flower like to me...🤔)

This Ko-Fi post (again, please support Clown if you have the means!) was posted around Easter this year and had a bunny/Easter theme.  Clown says "What is there to say though... Well! We know what the next holiday is in our Home Sweet Home, I'd say."  A huge theme of Easter/Spring are Rebirth and Resurrection.

As this post by serene-hatterene so beautifully details, Frank may feel pressured to kiss Julie to wake her up to prove his heteronormativity.  Maybe to further protect Eddie, too, to prove they aren't a thing.  Seems like Julie's family may show up this update, too, and we know family can cause a lot of pressure for couples during holidays. 😬

My last item isn't that strong, but I have been thinking of since the July '23 update.  In Eddie's Big Lift, Frank says the following line:

Source: Transcript Page, Eddie's Big Lift

The tense of "You always did work too hard" always bothered me.  Why doesn't Frank just say, "You always work too hard!"  And Eddie doesn't seem to know what he's talking about. Frank sounds almost wistful here.  It's like he's talking about his ex—a former version of Eddie, pre-dismantling, perhaps?

(Also, 'Enjoy the ground, Mr. Dear'? Dude, if this theory is right, that line is even more screwed up than it already was. 😳)

Here is my order of how I feel these events actually happened:

Secret Bug Audios (Eddie and Frank flirting) -> 1st Halloween Audio (Eddie still seems like his chipper, knowledgeable self) -> Homewarming -> Springtime (and Eddie's Resurrection)? -> Eddie's Big Lift

Not quite sure where this last Halloween update lands, but I feel like it's later.  Eddie seems ignorant of the potential adverse effects The Brickening (TM) could have on Poppy.  I feel like he's been more sensitive to Poppy and others in the past (but maybe I'm wrong, I'm biased towards him, heh).  Perhaps after his Reconstruction, his memory has now been reset, and he has "fallen into line" with the other Neighbors and their weird, pile-onto-one-person ways.

Anyway, what do you all think? 😬😬 I do hope I'm wrong, since Frank is my favorite, and this would make me feel very differently about him. 😬😬😬 Please tell me your own WH theories, too! I find them so interesting!

[saturnmosaic]

succulent berries nestled in the yard.

pairing : ellie williams x female reader

synopsis : ellie, your wife, gives your cat away, out of envy or circumstance, you can't tell. leaving behind the past, you and your wife move into a new home. but with a relationship on the brink of ravage, the house seems to harbor sinister forces. and with the insatiable hunger for berries you discovered in the yard, things crumble rather fast.

warnings : pussy eating, mentions of miscarriage, animal deaths, blood, cannibalistic yearning, figures/ creatures sorta?? haunted house.

wc : 1.8k

a/n : um yeah...it's kinda bad and not executed well but i wrote this during the week of my exams, can you blame me? also i got kinda lazy during sum bits sooo

betrayal lingers in the car, stirring amidst the crisp air of the AC. the tapping of the rain against the mist covered windows, like the rhythmic pumping of your ruptured heart, does no good to the gnawing feeling inside you. how could she have given away your blythe. the tiny creature always so nimble on her feet at the call of her name, so fond of seeking slumber on your lap.

you’d found her on a similar day like this— grey hues enveloping the sky, water droplets crashing the tender and moist earth with all their might, and the rumbling of thunder in the distance. amidst all that chaos, her meek meow had stood out. her black fur was sleek with the heavy rain, and her belly was smeared plum dark.

you’d taken her home on an impulse. time and medical care healed her. and she had healed you. a lovely year spent with her, reminiscent of a lilac bloom in the summer. but now she was gone, taken away from you by your own wife. your own wife! a blasphemy.

"are you still mad at me? we had no other choice." aventurine eyes dart away from the distorted road to get a glimpse of you. your eyes still bleary and bloodshot, hair ever so tousled, and the silk of your dress embracing your petal-like skin. a bittersweet sight.

"don't say we." not even a glance spared her way, the face you’d seek for in every room you entered, now a face foreign and surreal.

"oh come on, she was sick anyway. it was only a matter of days before she died!" her temper, planted in her like a tempting hydrangea, speaks before her rationale can articulate words, knuckles gripping the charcoal leather of the driving wheel.

"she was not sick."

she sighs, the guilt of her deed looming over her like a sickly, withered willow. “baby, we both know she was and i’m really sorry but we can’t do anything about it. we’re moving to a new town, a new house. bringing her with us would be..a burden. besides i’d rather you not witness her death, i don’t wanna see you suffer like that.”

��i’m already suffering, aren’t i?”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do, huh? i’m just trying to do what’s right. a-and it’s like i’m always second to that cat!”

the confession, lays bare like an ornate scroll, and makes you ponder if envy was the cause of it. but was what she said entirely fallacious? maybe you had been giving blythe more attention that she’d felt frivolous in your eyes.

“just- i’m sorry, okay? but i promise jesse will take good care of her.”

silence ensues, and soon the quaint house surfaces into your eyesight. the rain and dusk obscured it's intricacy but from what you could make out, it was painted in warm whites and browns, with ivy weaving up the sides and windows curtained in white lace.

…

a house is a body, your mom used to tell you. a haven meant to be worshipped in return for solace and warmth. this house became your body. its walls were alive in the daylight, screeching and beckoning for something while ellie was at work. it fed on your sorrow and resentment like a famished beast, stripping them away to procure life. your heart was indented in these walls.

the house would foist bad omens on whoever visited. aunt daphne had a miscarriage, the frail thing of a baby was bled out on the black and white tiles of your bathroom. it stirred memories of your own miscarriage, and ellie thought that was the reason you leaned so heavily on blythe, loving her as though she were your own child. when uncle luke visited, his golden retriever was found dead in the yard, leaves sitting idly on its fur like an atonement.

ellie wasn't one to believe in curses or anything remotely superficial, but she'd felt something innately sinister residing in the hollow of the house. she wanted to move, but moving away meant leaving behind your body, so you stayed, which compelled her to stay rooted to the house too.

…

on a sunny morning, beads of sweat kissing your skin, damp hair heavy under the sun’s gaze, you’d been lead to the brambles in the yard by the house itself. the raspberries were glistening and plump with saccharine juice.

they might’ve been tainted with fox piss, so you gather them in a dainty basket and slip back into the confines of your home to wash them. the water from the tap cascades down onto the fruits in your hand, ridding them of the insect debris and other dirt.

a tatted arm snakes its way around your waist and a head heavy with sleep rests on your shoulder. it had almost slipped out of your mind that it was a weekend.

ellie's other arm reaches out to turn the tap off and put the dampened raspberries away from your hand. without warning, pearly whites bite down on your neck and her tongue flicks out to languidly soothe the bruised splotch.

a carnal desire courses through your veins. ever since you moved here, and ever since blythe was no longer in your gentle arms, words barely existed anymore. and sometimes silence felt like a human presence, mocking the insubstantial souls around it. without words, sex was your salvation.

she turns you around to hoist you up on the counter, shadows smudged under her eyes. she'd come back from work late last night, you figure.

her calloused hands are on your thighs, pushing them apart with a fervor. a similar fervor that'd paint itself on her whenever you showed her a hint of normalcy. your hands still in her tousled hair, as the velvety pads of her fingertips tug your underwear off.

her knees hit the marble tiles, warmed by the sunlight streaming in through the kitchen windows, as she lifts the fabric of your dress up, a gentle rustle against the morning ambience, revealing your slick folds.

her tongue teases your weeping cunt, one hand clutching the dress up and the other resting on your thigh. you whimper in desperation, pushing her head further.

“ellie..”

she pats your thigh in response, fucking you with her warm muscle, feeling your insides devour it with a hanker. noises flow out of your mouth as smoothly as the tranquil descent of a waterfall, as your fingers dig into her scalp.

a sultry moan muffles into your hole, and she pulls back, the taste of you lingering on her tongue.

“what the fuck? why’d you-” your whine is silenced by the solace of her lips. her tongue slides into your mouth and presses against your own, slick and insistent. your own taste dissolves into your mouth, mending with your saliva.

you bite the soft pillow of her lower lip, drawing crimson liquid and earning a throaty noise from her. somewhere between a moan and a grunt.

“babe..” she lowers her gaze in an attempt to catch sight of the fresh blood. before she can wipe it away with the pad of her thumb, you lick the red off her pillowy cushion of flesh.

the taste is seraphic as it sits on your taste buds, a pure bliss, like thyme on a wound. the sensation of her tongue back inside your clenching walls heightened this feeling, if not subdued it wholly. but the taste still lingered.

her fingers soothe your swollen clit, circling around it as if afraid it’ll be seized from her grasp someday.

she laps at every drop of juice that manifests, like she’d done to your tears, as a fatuous inside joke, a long while ago. so long, she can’t remember if it was a hazy dream.

“fuck. i’m so close.”

her mouth pulls away when you reach your pleasant climax, her fingers still on your clit, helping you through your high. your hands go limp in her hair, and she languidly wipes the glistening slick from her mouth and chin with the back of the hand that releases your bunched dress.

...

the berries stay forgotten until the next morning, when it’s delicacy is withered and rotten away under the exposure to air and temperature. you throw the shrivelled fruits away and pick several more.

the new ripe ones sit snug in a ceramic bowl, alluring and tender. you feast on ten, eleven, twelve, and then the count numbs in your brain. the fluid so grossly alike to ellie’s blood, makes you delirious. it’s utterly enthralling, the juice dripping down your chin, its sticky residue settling on your skin. your teeth and lips and hands stained in a crimson hue, a crimson hue reminiscent of ellie’s blood. ellie’s blood. they chant themselves on the tip of your tongue.

spindled figures, engraved on the floors, long limbs and pulsing eyes, they seem to close in on you. the bowl is emptied, raspberries already in the pit of your stomach. the yearning grows in agony, an animalistic desire surging through the ivory of your bones.

you feel light like you’re meandering through the air, though you can feel the faces of the figures underneath your feet, something metallic making its home in your hand.

you blink and you're standing in your bedroom, ellie coddling her apatosaurus plushie, as her eyes stay fluttered. a vulnerability so immensely coating the room. the knife glides down her supple skin, the smell of meat stirring your senses. was her heart the sweetest part of her body?

"what the fuck are you doing?" her raspy voice cuts through your trance and suddenly the object in your hand feels foreign. with a sharp yank to your arm, the metal clanks on the marble floor.

"what is wrong with you?" ellie's gripping your arms, her face contorted with disbelief, shock and wrath.

"n-nothing." but something is. you both know. tears gush through your eyes, the salty pearls melding with the sweet smear of berries on your skin.

"god, it's this fucking house! we should've moved. fuck!" her grasp on your arms are gone, her hands fumbling for her phone. frustration envelopes her like a smothering blanket as she talks to demolition contractors.

your pleas fall on deaf ear, your mere presence as measly as a lamb. you let yourself be escorted out of the house, eyes sodden, red flickering in them, as you watch- watch the house your body collapse to the ground.

the berries come retching out of your mouth, along with a hideous flow of blood. the walls crumble and the world around you dances like an uncanny painting. sirens wail in the distance and layers of black pierce through your eyes, shutting them for slumber.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just One Reason: A Walk in the Park

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn’t end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You push through the door of the lobby and hold it open for the elder woman hunched over her walker. You patiently let her through but she doesn’t even acknowledge your deed. It’s too bad that most times you help people, you don’t even seem to notice. That’s fine. You’d feel worse to see her struggle. 

She heads for the outer door but before you can rush over to get that too, someone else does. You blanch as you recognise the man with the bristly mustache. It’s Lloyd. You haven’t seen or heard from him in the week since the sandwich shop encounter. You just assumed it was another random crossing of wires. 

The woman mutters as she passes through the door and his cheek twitches as he waits until he’s through to let go. He shakes his head and turns to you, “there ya are. Didn’t know your unit so kinda just been hanging around.” 

You blink, “you’ve been waiting on me?” 

“That lady was a grouch, huh? Not even a thanks. Telling ya, tootsie roll, you’re too sweet,” he says. That pet name is cute but a bit much. 

“Um, yeah, but she’s probably in a lot of pain. Maybe one day I’ll be in the same way and someone will hold the door for me,” you shrug. “But uh, why exactly are you waiting in my lobby?” 

“Friends stop by to say hello, don’t they?” He grins.  

“Sure, but uh...” 

“You said we’re friends so... did I misread this? Were you just being nice? The way you do, huh? Because lying isn’t very nice, tootsie.” 

You shake your head, “no, I just... I don’t know. I’m surprised. That’s all.” 

“Good surprise?” He lifts a brow. 

“Yeah, of course,” you squeak. 

“Mm, and where are you off too, besides helping little old ladies?” He challenges. 

“Just going for a walk. I like to walk through Garnet.” 

“Garnet? You mean the sh—the path down there?” He points to the wall and you nod. 

“They have pretty flowers.” 

“It’s... almost winter,” he sniffs. 

“Yeah, I know. I like it though. There’s still ducks around.” 

He nods, his eyes narrowed discerningly, “you always see the silver linings, don’t ya?” 

“I try,” you shrug. 

“Well, can I crash your walk? Could stand to stretch my legs.” 

You nod and hum, “that’s fine.” 

“Just fine?” 

“Lloyd,” you give him a look, “you’re more than welcome to walk with me.” 

You tuck your earbud case away. The left one is broken anyhow. He pulls the door open again and waves you out. 

He follows and catches up to you on the sidewalk. You walk down the pavement and breathe in the brisk air. You fix your beanie over your ears and slip your hands up your sleeves as you cross your arms. 

“Damn cold, isn’t it?” He puffs a cloud of steam into the air. 

“I can’t wait for the snow,” you say.  

Your father always loved the wintertime. You would watch the flakes drift down and build a snowman, even a tiny one if there wasn’t very much, and you’d have hot chocolate on the porch in your mittens and pajamas. And Christmas... 

You push away that thought. 

“You’re quiet? You alright?” He nudges you with his elbow. You flinch. You forgot he was there for a second. 

“I’m wonderful. How are you? How’s your ear?” 

“My ear...” he echoes. “You remember?” 

“Did you get it looked at? Does it still hurt?” 

“Yeah, it’s alright. Still a bit fuzzy on that side,” he shrugs. “It’s whatever. I’m a big boy.” 

“Right, but did a doctor say so or--” 

“You worry about me that much, tootsie?” He scoffs. 

“It’s important. You never know, could be worse than you think. And if it’s nothing at all, at least you know,” you say. You don’t want to nag him, even if you should have nagged your dad. Maybe... 

“No, I didn’t. Really, it’s not the first time I got a good blast to the ear,” he says. 

“Right,” you accept as you turn through the gate to the park. The arch is missing letters but it’s still beautiful. 

He sighs again and rubs his hands together. “God, I hate the cold.” 

“You should get gloves,” you uncross your arms and reach into your pocket, “I don’t know, mine might be too small.” 

You offer him the woolly mittens. He clicks his tongue, “that’s cute, definitely too small.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and chatters. You look at his jacket. You try to see the inside above the collar. “What are you doing?” He glances at you from the corner of his eye. 

“Is that lined?” You ask. 

“What?” 

“Your coat. Is there a lining in it? It looks thin.” 

“I’m just fine, mom, thanks,” he snips sharply. 

“Gosh, sorry, I just... I could sew a lining into it. I replaced the inserts in my boots too. It’s not that hard.” 

He furrows his brow, “it’s whatever. I spend most of the winter south. Right by the equator where it’s nice and sunny.” 

“Ooo, that sounds cool,” you say. “By the ocean?” 

“Surrounded by it,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Wow. I’ve never seen the ocean.” 

“You haven’t... tootsie, what’re ya doin’ to me? You’re lying.” 

“Nope,” you shake your head. “I’m sure one day I will. Is it pretty?” 

He looks at you and his nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath, “yeah, it’s... beautiful,” he looks ahead thoughtfully. “Guess I should pay more attention, but yeah, real blue and big and sh—stuff.” 

You bounce on your feet and stop suddenly. You hit his arm and point, “don’t scare him.” 

He nearly trips as you gesture to the little chipmunk on the broken bench. You can’t help a squee as it skitters onto the seat and glances around nervously. You squeeze Lloyd’s sleeve without thinking. 

“He’s so c-y-ute!” You say, “isn’t he?” 

He doesn’t answer right away but you’re too enamoured with the tiny critter to care. 

“Yea, super cute,” he agrees at last. 

[naffeclipse]

Speakeasy

Reader x Mob Bosses!Sun and Moon

Commission Info

Many thanks to Anonymous for letting me go ham with the mob boss brothers and making them absolutely dastardly! I love the scenario for this one and just how sinister but sweet Sun and Moon can be when they have their favorite little thing sitting in their laps. The boys just love to show off what's theirs.

Content Warning for suggestive themes.

———

You are anxious, to say the least. Two large hands escort you. One rests on your shoulder, the animatronic’s off-white and yellow thumb sliding slightly underneath the neckline of your dress to stroke the bare skin of your shoulder. The other is on your waist, dark blue and silver, keeping you close despite your urge to race straight out of the speakeasy.

The mob bosses smile down at you with the wicked, wide smiles of sharks. In no uncertain terms, they are keeping you with them.

Swallowing your visible nervousness becomes hazardous as you realize that the illegal venue is very much open for business. Instead of a nightlife of posh people prepared to spend exuberant amounts of money on smoking and drinks, then swing away on the dance floor open before a small stage for a band, there are gangsters everywhere. They line the bar stools, sit in the plush, rich leather couches and seats, and musicians play low, soft jazz as if to not disturb the entrance of the crime lords of the Celestial Gang.

Your throat becomes thick as you smell cigarettes and alcohol and sharp, overapplied cologne. Low lights burn yellow and cast thick, clogging shadows around the open room. Several animatronics already flank a center sitting room away from the bar and dance floor. Human men dressed in sleazy suits quickly move towards the mob bosses. 

The small swarm settles when Sun and Moon escort you to a fine, black leather couch big enough for just the three of you. You bow your head under the scorching attention, all eyes seemingly upon the outsider their bosses brought along to the business meeting. Your hair falls into your face as a brief curtain to the overwhelming atmosphere. 

How did you get here? One moment, you’re researching the famed Celestial Gang for a column in the newspaper which pays you well to find the best, most reliable information, and the next, you were ‘borrowed’ by none other than Sun and Moon. The crime lords have done dark and dirty deeds to keep themselves high in the underground. Why kidnap you for a few days just to put you in a red dress and take you into the heart of their illegal dealings?

“Take a seat, love.” Sun presses close to your ear, warming your face when his faceplate touches the corner of your cheekbone.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Moon’s rough voice touches you. He lifts a hand and removes the shield of your hair and sweeps it behind your face, exposing your freckles and wide, green eyes. “What would you like? A drink, perhaps, my dear?”

You recoil, revealed by force once more to the many eyes, but the real danger is the ones with their hands on you, refusing to allow you to escape. A stutter begins in your throat. Swallowing it down, you force yourself to say in a tiny, demure voice, “No, thank you.”

“Later then.” Sun nods his sharp sun rays towards a man behind the bar. He moves swiftly, his hands flying out of sight. 

Sun and Moon promptly set you down on the couch, and you can’t help but wonder if this is what a minnow feels when crowded by two sharks as they take their seats on either side of you. Caging you with their bodies, your eyes widen at how they press their legs against yours. 

Sun leans forward in the slightest to take your hand between his own and unfurl the anxious fist you made. Moon leans deeper against the backrest and slides his arm behind you, cradling your waist. Stiffening, you hold as still as a doe deer in the sights of a hunter. All the while, every last goon stares down the three of you but not a word nor electric breath leaves those who await their bosses’ command.

The man behind the bar emerges carrying a silver tray with one lowball glass filled with a rich amber liquid. Close beside it is a dark blue pack of cigarettes.

You shift in your red dress as the bartender approaches. The fabric of your gown is rich and built to flare out when dancing. You didn’t want to put this on—no matter how lovely—but Sun and Moon cowed you with firm reminders. While they’re ‘borrowing’ you, they intend to dress you as they please. 

The checkered shrug was all you could manage. It took much to convince them to allow you to wear it but you pleaded, and they seem to enjoy it, much to your embarrassment.

The bartender bows and offers the tray to Sun first. Strangely, the animatronic accepts the glass while containing your hand in his other grasp. The amber liquid swirls between his nimble fingers. The bartender crosses to the other side of the couch. Moon tilts his head. His red eyes glance at the offering in approval before plucking the pack and immediately opening it.

Your mind spins with how they might indulge in the very human vices, but to your amazement, it seems to be a sort of ritual. There’s something ceremonial about the presentation. The enjoyment of something refined and toxic without partaking.

You watch the liquor glimmer in the crystalline cup. Sun pale eyes, sharp and dagger-like, pierce you with a glance.

“It’s bourbon, dollface.” He tips the glass closer, offering it to your lips. “You couldn’t imagine how much blood and money went into acquiring this one small glass. Would you like a taste?”

You flick your gaze up. He leans over you, crowding you, dwarfing you until you’re almost sliding onto Moon’s lap. His brother eagerly keeps you in place as Sun studies you. His smile holds an edge while he squeezes your hand in the slightest.

“I shouldn’t,” you murmur, but you shrink as you speak.

Sun’s eyes flash like the tip of a blade. He lowers the glass closer still to your mouth until a rich aroma spills upward and invades your senses. 

“Oh, but I say you should.” His grin bears down upon you. “No one touches my bourbon but I do want to know if it’s as worthwhile as the bottle says. One sip, turtle dove.”

You hold his gaze, almost trembling. It won’t kill you, certainly, but this is more than the pressure of a drink.

“Okay,” you concede meekly.

Sun’s smile is lethal as he presents it to you. Gazing into the amber liquid, you lean forward, unable to even hold the glass as Sun carefully presses it to your mouth and gently tilts it. A sweet spiciness spills over your tongue, reminding you of the solar crime lord. You merely wet your lips before it smoothly slides down your throat before you turn your head away. Sun allows it, satisfied with a sharp electric click of his tongue.

“How does it taste?” he purrs, catching your chin and lifting it higher as he admires you. A flutter overtakes your middle.

“Expensive,” you manage, “and strong.”

Tilting his head, Sun’s grin widens as his voice enters a growl so sweet it matches the bourbon’s flavor, “Good. It’s earned all the blood and money I spent on it.”

A few bodies shift from foot to foot and animatronics blink a few optics. Mercifully, Sun releases your chin. Again, you duck your face to hide as the liquor cools your stomach. Only a few drops and you already feel strange and tiny like a trapped rat.

Moon flicks a lighter. The sharp spark of it catching causes you to jump, and Moon chuckles a dark, rolling sound deep within his chassis.

“Relax, baby.” His red eyes search through the curtain of your hair. “You’re in good hands.”

You take a long strand of hair hanging in your face and begin twirling it around your finger. Twisting and twisting the lock, you watch Moon methodically pick a cigarette from the pack using one hand. Slowly, he slides his arm out from behind you. A dark pulse to his gaze washes down you until he reaches for your face and sweeps back the hair dangling in front of you.

“Look me in the eyes. You’re too pretty to hide from me,” he says in both warning and affection, and it chills you to the bone. “Don’t do that again.”

“Okay,” you breathe. Every function within you shrivels under the intensity of his red eyes holding you captive.

His fingertips slide over your cheekbones, lingering for a moment as if he might count every freckle dusting your skin. You tremble inwardly. Moon shifts the cigarette dexterously to his fingers. Holding it steady, he leans forward.

“Be a doll,” Moon rasps. He’s not asking.

“I—” you take a deep breath, your heart pumping hard. “I don’t smoke.”

“I know, my dear,” Moon chuckles sinisterly. You do not doubt that he does. “You’re going to help me light it, nothing more.”

A part of you writhes but you can do little but part your lips. Your fingers twitch as if you had a hope of taking it yourself, but Sun’s firm grasp on your hand is thick as shackles and Moon is as unyielding as a cold night.

He sets it softly on your lips. Unfamiliar with such a ritual, you freeze as Moon holds out the pale flame. He cups it, looming over you while he sets the end aglow with red-hot heat, and all the while, his eyes are devouring you whole.

“Hold still,” Moon commands. 

He lights it, and on instinct, you inhale. A poor choice, considering the flood of smoke that quickly sets fire to your lungs with a singing flavor of anise. A fierce cough overtakes you. Moon takes the cigarette from your lips as Sun tuts his tongue. 

“Naughty thing,” Moon chastises as he allows you to finish your fit, but he draws the cigarette away from you, holding it perfectly between his fingers while his other hand roams your back, hitting softly until you, at last, expel the last of the forsaking tobacco now staining you fiercely.

“You need to be good, love,” Sun reminds close to your ear. His digit plays with the dangling jewelry hanging from your earlobe. A shiny, silver sword. “What are we to do with you if you can’t behave?”

You choke but for a far different reason.

“I’ll be good,” you say, unable to get out anything else but whatever might please them.

“That’s all we ask, baby.” Moon’s hand slips under your chin to turn you towards him. Your lips part as he squeezes in the slightest, and you feel like a fish with your lips puffed into a pout. “Business will only take a moment, then we’ll get back to you.”

You bleed a fierce blush at how he holds you, his eyes commanding you without restraint. You utter a pathetic sound of agreement before the crime lords share a look.

They keep you firmly in place all the while they conduct the mafia meeting. Throughout, Sun’s and Moon’s hands are constantly upon you. Sun speaks of numbers, how well the handling of merchandise such as alcohol has transpired and Moon focuses on conflict, the safety of the gang and the casualties suffered, and how to strike back against those who crossed the line against them. You listen, feeling little more than a plaything in their palms. Moon rubs your side gently. Sun traces his thumb over your knuckles. You endure their forced closeness, unable to even hide behind the curtain of your hair as per their warning.

Then, at last, Sun and Moon lean back with a sort of finality. The goons relax in the slightest, able to ease off from their strict attentiveness before a slow murmur of talk stirs the air. The music picks up a touch louder. A slow, smooth sound of jazz that fills you to the brim. You can hardly unclench your jaw before Sun and Moon share a look so devilish, you fear for your soul.

“We worked hard today, Sun,” Moon drawls out sinisterly.

“We have. We need a reward,” Sun hums, pleased and dastardly. 

“What are you talking about?” you ask, your heart racing within you.

“A dance, of course, dollface.” Sun takes your hand and lifts it high. Moon captures your other before you register how they lift you from the couch in one swift motion.

You reel as they escort you to the dance floor. One flick of Moon’s hand commands the musicians to turn up the music, and the gangsters’ eyes follow you as you’re pulled onto the last place you want to be. The dance floor. 

In one sure motion, Sun begins to remove the shrug from your shoulders. Any resistance you might have made is cut by Moon holding you in place by your chin until Sun carelessly tosses the checkered cloth off to the side. 

“Beautiful,” Moon announces. His thumb finds the tattoo of a quill on your right bicep and strokes it adoringly. You shiver under the caress.

You freeze when another presence falls into your shadow.

“Lovely little thing,” Sun says as he traces a finger along the line of your bare shoulder. Another shudder rolls down your spine.

You turn as if you might escape but Sun seizes you by the hip and lifts your arm high, twirling you until the world is a blur of low light and smoky haze, and dips you. You gasp. The same nefarious hands catch you by the waist, bowing so close to your face, the sharp crown framing Sun’s head in sharp, yellow rays takes over your vision. A blush fills you to the brim.

“There’s nothing to fear, love. We’ll lead,” Sun reassures you with a laugh that flips your heart. “Won’t we, Moon?”

“We will.” Moon answers by stealing you away into a swift step that leaves you dizzy and with a head rush. He half drags, half carries you with a tight grip on your hands. You can barely catch up. 

You flush, trying to protest that you want to leave, now, and stop being a shining new toy to show off to their underlings, but there’s no denying the crime lords. Moon sweeps your feet off the ground as he grabs your waist and lifts you in a half circle. The red fabric of your dress flares out. Your stomach drops and your heart soars.

Then you’re back on your feet. Breathless, left spinning after Sun’s dip and Moon’s twist, you can hardly register the closeness until both mob bosses are upon you. At your back, Sun clasps your hand, holding it behind your waist as if he intends to pin you against his brother. Moon likewise captures your other hand, holding it shoulder-level. Two palms fall to your hips, and in a strange, electrifying motion, Sun and Moon force you to dance with both of them.

“How do you know how to do this?” is all you can gasp. It’s too perfect. Too prepared. Sun looms over your shoulder with a lethal warmth while you turn your cheek as if you might keep both of them in your vision. Moon presses closer to you, hanging over you like the cool threat of a storm.

“We have thought long and hard about what we might do with a troublemaker like you,” Sun speaks low into your ear. “You’ve been learning too much, turtle dove.”

You stiffen in the slightest. Despite this, your feet are caught in their rhythm, slowly spinning in time to the romantic tune floating in the air.

“What?” you breathe. “How did you—”

“We have our ways,” Moon reminds. He tilts his head, his fedora covering the lowlight and shadowing his face even deeper. 

They know. You found out their relation to their elder brother. The police chief.

You also found that they haven’t spoken to each other in years.

Your pulse picks up in horror. This is what this has been about. This whole time, the cat-and-mouse game, is because they’re going to kill you.

“Please,” you say, trembling. Their hands squeeze your own. 

“Hm? Speak up, love,” Sun laughs, taunting you. “I can’t hear you.”

“Don’t kill me,” you say it starkly, quietly. Your eyes are wide. There is nowhere to hide while they trap you between their chassis. 

Moon stares at you, his red eyes darkening into crimson before he releases your waist and slowly leans down. He captures your face between his palms. With Sun holding you in place, there is nowhere to run. You close your eyes.

A brush of something cool and tasting of anise falls against your lips. You start under the lunar crime lord’s kiss. When you open your eyes, his grin is pleased, wicked. He holds you a moment longer under his sharp teeth.

“That would be a waste, don’t you think?” he rasps.

Sun grunts something before he spins you around by the hips. Moon allows him, and he takes you by the waist to keep you on your feet while Sun looks upon you with desire so fiery, that you fear it will engulf you. His pale eyes gnaw away at your every edge.

“I thought…” you murmur senselessly. 

“You thought wrong.” Sun presses a finger to your lips with a wicked grin. “I need to take a bite out of you too.”

This time, your eyes are wide open when he bends down to press his faceplate to your lips, and you gasp underneath his hungry kiss. He pushes and pulls, and you almost sway were it not for the Moon stabilizing you. Sun releases you slowly, greedily.

“That’s right, dollface,” Sun purrs as Moon presses close and kisses the back of your neck. “We have plans for you.”

[dailyadventureprompts]

Deity: Tergrid, God of Fright

"Terror is the natural state of a child, they know they are small, vunrable, glass fragile. It is only once we grow that we delude ourselves into thinking we are safe, that we are strong, that we have control over the world we live in. Show a grown man how little control he really has, and you will see the child he always was: pissreeking, repentant, and pleading for his mother. " - Gerheart, village executioner

A goddess for those who hold close to the light dreading the unknown or those who wander gleefully into the dark seeking it, Tergrid is a deity of imagined horrors and terrible omens.

Depicted as a young woman always bearing a lantern, myths speak of Tergrid's shadow as a monstrous, murderous thing with a will of its own. Unable to kill the goddess due to the light she carries, it vents it's directionless wrath on those who linger beyond the lantern's glow. This duality, as both as the victim of fear and the source of it defines the brightmaiden's worship; as she is both threat and saviour to those who draw her attention.

Adventure Hooks:

The party arrive at a country roadhouse at dusk, only to find the inhabitants have nailed shut every door and shutter as if preparing for a siege. They say some horrid murderous things are lurking just off the road, and as the light wanes they refuse to let the heroes inside. The roadhouse's residents are terrified and are willing to fight to keep the party out, half convinced the party are themselves the things they should be afraid of... which isn't to say there ISN'T anything else waiting for that door to open. After negoitating their way inside (or forcing the issue) the heroes discover the roadhouse residents were warned of the danger by a mysterious woman who passed through earlier, though none can remember exactly what she looked like.

A knight renowned for his fearless deeds wanders the street in a waking nightmare, seeing threats everywhere and lashing out at phantoms and passersby. Even after being subdued it’s clear he won’t awake, and many suspect interference from jealous rivals in the upcoming tourney. The knight’s meek squire asks the party to help investigate the causes and possible cures of her master’s madness, never suspecting that her suppressed resentment at his recklessness might’ve manifested as a curse.

In desperate need of answers, the party consults an oracle dedicated to Tergrid who has them undergo trials of fear and phantasm so that they might know the truth. Chiefest among these is battling in a dark cave full of shadow monsters, while flickering visions of the future are cast on the wall by the guttering lantern light. The longer they can endure, the more they will know, but that isn't likely to be long unless they fight harder than they ever have before.

Inspiration: Tergrid is a shameless lift from Magic the Gathering's Kaldheim setting, which I've never played but apparently keep returning to as a consistent well of inspiration.

Fear both as a mechanic and motif is something I think is underutilized in D&D which is odd considering it's a game about venturing out into the unknown to face potentially deadly challenges. Fear and risk are what our heroes must endure to experience the wonder and rewards on the other side of their journey. As such it makes sense for a goddess of fear to play a role in the thematic weave of the stories we end up telling.

Speaking in less lofty terms, I also think using the lantern as a symbol for being frightened fucks hard. It's a tiny, fragile, and temporary respite from an ocean of darkness and the threats it contains.

Worshippers: The lost and abandoned, Unseele Fey, Shadowcasters and other denizens of the shadowfell. There is also heavy overlap with the worship of the night goddess Nyx.

Signs: Nightmares, unnatural or living shadows,

Symbols: A Lantern, often surrounded by a circle of darkness.

Artsource

[1whore1gang]

it’s the little things 🤍

Part 1 is here!

in which the 141 turn into toddlers and you and price must figure out how to make it work

I’m sorry this one’s a bit short! 😕

Taglist: @gaymistakeboi @batw3nch @thedevillovesflowers @almightywdm @ghostslittlegf @sketchyfandomgirl

(if i forgot anyone i apologize)

You had woken up in the middle of the night to feed Gaz, trying to keep his crying to a minimum so he didn’t wake up Soap and Ghost. “Shhh… you’re okay.”

You were rocking him on your hip in the kitchen as you waited for the bottle to warm. “It’s almost ready, I promise!”

As soon as the microwave was about to go off, you opened it so it wouldn’t beep and wake up Price. You mixed together everything and gave it a good shake before adjusting Gaz to feed him.

The kitchen was dark, only the moonlight peering it lighting the space. The compound was quiet as everyone slept, giving this moment some slowness. You stared down as Gaz drank, his eyes closed. You couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight.

You’d be kidding yourself if you said you never wanted kids, but it hadn’t been in the cards for you. You quietly cooed at Gaz, rocking him as he held his own bottle. Sighing, you watched as he tried to get every last bit out of the bottle, taking it from him and washing it out quickly before returning to your room.

Turning to set Gaz down, you see Soap standing up, a giddy look on his face as he grasped onto the top of the playpen wall, bending his knees to make his body bounce. You laugh a little as you set a sleepy Gaz down and pick up Soap. “What’s got you all energized huh?”

He was giggling and grabbing at your face. Excitement was written all over his little face. You laughed quietly as you sat down with him and held him as he laid against you. “And I thought you had energy as an adult. Simon sleeps more than you right now.”

Soap let out a noise in response to your voice, looking up at you. “I wonder if you know what’s going on, or if you’ll even remember any of this.” Soap moved his arms to lay flat on you as he turned his head to lay on your chest as you began to lay back down in your bed.

“Do you wanna go back to sleep?” You moved to put him in the playpen when he whined. “Nevermind.”

You woke up to feel a wet spot on your t-shirt, looking down to see Soap still laying on your chest, a pool of drool taking place on the collar of your shirt. “Great.” You slowly sat up, putting Soap down, seeing the other two boys still asleep. Yawning, you stretched your arms out, seeing it’s only 5 am.

You leaned over the side of the playpen gently, staring down at the littles when a stench hit your nose. “Uh uh. No way.” One by one, you lifted each boy up to smell who did the deed.

Once you picked up Ghost, it made the scent stronger. “Oh come on.” You carried him stretched out from your body, his little head lopsided as he slept. You looked around, realizing you left the diapers in Price’s room. You sighed, propping Ghost on your hip as you walked down the hall to Price.

A small knock landed on his door as he opened it. He was shirtless, wearing flannel pajama pants and messy hair. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“What the fuck is that smell?!” He looked down at you in disgust.

“Ghost. I left the diapers in here.” You chewed your bottom lip.

“Right.” He moved to go retrieve them and handed them to you.

You both stared at each other for a moment before he raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never changed a diaper before.” You say shyly.

Price’s eyebrows raised for a moment in comprehension, then took in a deep breathe. “Come here.”

You entered his room as he took Ghost from you, laying him down on a towel spread on a side table by his couch. “This is going to weirder than it has to be.” He said as he began to change the diaper. “You see these little tape straps? You gotta peel those back.”

He snapped and signaled for the wipes, which you quickly grabbed. “Hold his feet.” You took ahold of Ghost’s tiny feet and held his bum up away from the towel. You watched as Price discarded the diaper, quickly wiping away any mess and applied the new diaper. “It’s not super hard.”

“You made it look easy.” You laughed.

“You’re gonna need to learn to do it. Especially with the three of them.” Price gave you a pointed look.

“I know. Thanks for your help.” You swooped up Ghost and began to head to your room.

“Wait, why don’t you bring the buggers in here? You can use the couch. That way if something like this happens again we’re close. Share the caretaking.” You nodded as Price took Ghost from your arms.

You began to bring things in trips to Price’s room. The boys in one trip, the playpen in the other, and then finally your belongings.

“I had blankets for you, you didn’t have to bring your own.” Price said as he saw you making the pullout couch up.

“It’s okay, I had to bring some other things too.” You say, setting down a change of clothes in case Gaz spit up on you again.

“Do you need anything else?” Price spoke, crawling into his bed. “We could both stand to get a few more hours of sleep.”

“All good here.” Your voice was quiet, watching as he arms flexed as he adjusted himself to become comfortable. He hummed in response and laid on his side.

You sighed as you laid down yourself.

Suddenly, you woke up to crying, violent screaming if you will. You shot up, seeing Price already halfway out of bed. You both bolted to the playpen to see Ghost crying his eyes out, clinging onto Soap.

You picked him up, shushing him and bringing him out of the room to comfort him. “Hey it’s okay Simon, you’re okay!” You made sure he didn’t need a diaper change. “Are you hungry?”

“Y/N!!” You hear Price’s panic. Bursting back into the room, he’s got Soap sprawled onto his bed.

“John?!” The use of his first name slipped past your lips as you saw the evident worry in his expression. “What’s going on?!”

“He’s not breathing!!”

The world stood still as you watch Pric perform CPR on Soap’s little body. Everything slowed down around you.

Soap wasn’t breathing…and Ghost alerted you both.

The sound of your pounding heart was the only noise you heard as panic swallowed you whole. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process the situation.

You feel Ghost being taken from you, but you can’t react. You fear the worst, that you’d lose one of your best friends, and he won’t even know what happened because he isn’t an adult anymore.

God, Soap won’t even know he’s dead. He won’t even know what happened.

Suddenly, you break out of your spell due to two big strong arms pulling you in. “Hey, you with me?”

You can’t respond, your body is trembling with fear. “Y/N? Hey, come back, come back to me Y/N.”

Finally, the strength comes upon you to look up to see a teary Price. “John?”

“Y/N.”

“Is he…?”

A hand comes down to turn your head towards the playpen where Soap and Ghost are clinging to each other, cooing with wide eyes. Soap’s breathing.

You let out a breathe you didn’t realize you were holding as you lose control and begin to sob. A hand flies to your mouth to silence yourself. “You saved him.”

“Sshhh…” Price holds you tight against his chest. “See? He’s okay. He’s alright.”

You are too focused on Soap moving and being alive to notice how sweet Price is being. “Soap…”

“He’s alright, he had a small toy stuck in his throat. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Oh my God, I put those toys in the playpen! It’s my fault!” You quickly began to crumble as you backed away from Price in horror.

“Y/N, breathe. It’s okay.”

“It’s not! I almost killed Soap! If Ghost hadn’t of started crying, we wouldn’t have known!!” You we’re violently shaking at the ordeal.

“Look at me.” Price’s voice rumbled out his chest. He wasn’t asking, it was an order. Your eyes snapped up, wide in horror. “It’s not your fault. Besides, he’s okay.”

“I…I’m so sorry. I didn’t-“

“Stop talking.”

“I didn’t think he’d try to swallow it-“

“Y/N!”

“Oh, I, oh God-“

“Shut up.”

“But I-“ Price came up to you and put a finger to your lips.

“Next time your captian tells you to stop talking, I’d listen.” He was dead serious. His military side coming forward. “Now lay back down, rest up. I’ll stay up for a bit to make sure Soap doesn’t try to kill himself again.”

You nod, still visibly shaking.

This was all your fault.

But why didn’t he yell at you? Why didn’t he reprimand you? Tell you you were useless? Insult you?

Instead he took you in his arms and shushed your crying.

Something was changing inside of John Price, and little did anyone know, it went deeper than the three littles laying in the playpen.

[anonymouscheeses]

Im sorry i have to say it..: Get Your Hands Dirty sounds like a love song.

HEAR. ME. OUTT!! (No i dont mean a love song between Chloe n Ella omg 😭)

What I'm implying here is that it sounds like one of those niche high school love stories when one of the lovers(most likely a goodie two-shoes) goes to their mentor/parent/even the person their loving/etc to ask for advice on relationships. Or more specifically, if this person is worth it or even a good person. From the top of my head: I Won't Say (I'm In Love) and the goodie and the wildchild dynamic is pretty similar to Gabriella and Troy from hs musical, which iws(iil) kinda inspired this post tbh but also ive been thinking about this ever since i first watched the movie. (You plop in ur own songs, i js KNOW this trope exists)

Now that we've established the well used niche trope existing in this niche song made by the niche king that is Disney.... why do i think that Get Your Hands Dirty is a love song, i hear?

Lets analyze THE LYRIICS 😈😈

"Right and wrong, cruel and kind, who's to say?" "There's a code that I believe in."

"Robin Hood" "yeah?" "Awesome guy" "yeah!"

"Every choice, you're gonna find there's shades of grey." "There are rules for a reason!"

"So you could then cross that line, theoretically."

"You'd agree?" "But he stole for the poor."

"The decision's always up to you. When there's only one thing left to do"

"I don't know you anymore.."

Okay, so i shortened and made it tiny for obvious reasons, that bein its too long 😭 so! AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO GETS A FEEELIN?? a feelin that this is SCREAMING denial?! Its giving...

Chloe: Ellaaaa.... this girl im talkn to is SOOO HHHOOOOTT and PRETTY and cool and stuff but ugh.... SHE EEEVILLL!!

Ella: oh my gosh.. STFU. Shes prolly not even that evil ill prove it smh..

*get ur hands dirty starts playing. No exaggeration. No cap.*

"Okay, but there's some universal truths you must recognize." "Like?"

"Valiant knights, pure and good, guaranteed" "That depends on what they're fighting for"

"Creepy witches selling potions for evil deeds" "She could have kids she's providing for"

"If your good-good things will come to you"

MORE denial, Chloe wants to be friends with Red SO bad she looks stupid, but she brings herself back by trying to prove to herself that she's evil and they SHOULDN'T be that close. Which also is a big sign of comphet and heteronormativity, i would know 🧍 (which is a post for another day i might make. Prolly 2 prove that Chloe is a lesbian in deep comphet)

"But just how far do you go? How much do you compromise? Oh, tell me, how do you know. Where do you draw the line?"

"There's nothing I wouldn't do. If my heart tells me it's right. If it's for someone I love. If it's to save a life."

"To save your life."

Further deepening the trope i mentioned. The first line could be interpreted as a double meaning since the song is kind of mostly about Chloe coming to terms with the fact Red isn't really evil or as bad as she thought, plus the argument of where the line between evil and good is. It could refer to Red or Ella, maybe both, but Ella changes the meaning with her own experiences so it drifts off the focus from Red because we cant have ANYTHING 🤧 but i still believe Chloe intended it to be for Red since the entire song is really just for the progress of their relationship n stuff.

Now this could definitely all be in my head, yes, Disney would most likely NEVER canonize or even imply heavily a queer relationship or anything lgbtq on a pre established franchise (cowards.). But there is always a chance.... deep inside the dark heart of the mouse..

Plus, with the subtle hints here and there of Red and Chloe's relationship growing, romantically or not, they are still super close and love eachother alot. Chloe is js (kinda) canonically a girl kisser who cant help but find a girl kissable (same)

And don't get me started on this movie and its obsession with love and proving how it is not "ain't it". Hello...? They set the tone of love, but i see NO person close enough to Red established for this message (other than Chloe) and if they introduce some random guy in the next movies, NO ONE would care nor would they want it unless somehow its 100x better than redcharming, but thats impossible cz wlw 4 life.

So, this entire thingy is me basically finding scraps and wanting to provr that charminghearts IS canon and WILL be established soon! (Im delulu)

[stalkerofthegods]

Ares Deep dive

Ares is the Greek god and patron of many things, he is the edge of the sword while you hold the soft side, no god can be the god of war without the bloodshed, so don’t judge so quick, he is an amazing god, we love Ares here.

Herbs • Garlic, basil, buttercup, yarrow, ginger, anything with tiny yellow flowers, spicy stuff (ex- peppers, paprika), Water hemlock, Snapdragon, Poppy, Nettle, Magnolia, Ginger

Animals• Vulture, Colchian Dragon, serpents, barn owls, woodpeckers, dogs, horses, Stymphalian birds, boars

Zodiac • Aries

Colors • Red, black, and dark purple

Crystal• garnets, rubies, bloodstone, obsidian, red scoria, smoky quartz, red jasper, carnelian

Symbols• a helm, a shield, a spear and sometimes a sheathed sword, flaming torch, armor, palace, four fire-breathing horses 

Jewelry you can wear in their honor• Iron, armor

Diety of• masculinity, civil order, Battle lust, courage, City guards/police, Rage, Violent deeds, Fights, Murder, Manslaughter, Quarrels, cheese, dancing, rebellion 

Patron of• the Amazons, City defenses, City defenders

Offerings• Dragons, Dragon imagery, Dragon art, Strong dark red wine, Strong whiskey, Pure water, Black coffee, Black tea, Olive oil, Beef, Red meats in general, Cooked fat from meats, Blood from cut meats, Heavy spices, Spicy foods, Garlic, Red, black, and dark purple candles, Art or statues of Him, Statues of horses or dogs, Weapons, armor, and shields (ex- art, statues, toys, handmade.), Trophies, Spicy jerky, Sport drinks / protein shakes, Hand drawn or printed art of HimArt or images of dogs, horses, and vultures, Feathers from vultures, woodpeckers, or barn owls, Iron or steel jewelry, Red flowers (ex- roses), Thorns, Miniature or toy weapons and armor (especially helmets), Snake skin, Animal teeth, Write down your fears or successes and give them to Him, Medals and ribbons you’ve earned, Antiques, Photos of riots or past wars, hot sauce, Pork ribs, homemade meals, poultry, hare, venison, wolf hearts, chili peppers, lemons, green bananas, unripe peaches, batons, bullets, kendo swords, shields, military helmets, bullet-proof vests, military boots, military belts, dynamite sticks, grenades, lion pelts, shark teeth, ram skulls, explosives (handle carefully), Medals or Certificates, dog fur or dog teeth (ethically sourced), horseshoes, bull horns, war memorabilia, broken glass, spicy jerky or twiggy sticks, Carmel, sushi, stormwater, spicy salsa, Mexican food, chocolate or chia pudding, burnt matches, cigarette butts

Devotional• Create a playlist and listen to music that makes you feel brave/empowered, Donate to the Rape Crisis Center or other similar programs, Donate and support victims of war, Cook with garlic or heavy spices that you haven’t tried before, Try new things and don’t feel ashamed about doing so, Tell Him about your accomplishments, Tell Him about your fears, Learn about shadow work and try it for yourself, Learn about history, past wars, and past riots, Learn what they accomplished or failed to accomplish, Learn and educate yourself about the downsides of war and what can happen to the people affected by wars, Partake in combat sports (ex- martial arts, fencing), Exercise, Play some strategy games like chess, Risk, and Civilization, Stand up for yourself and what you believe in, write to your governor/mayor for things you want to see changed, attend riots, Pray to Him (ex-strength, ability to fight and defeat enemies, courage, to keep others safe, and help in a battle), go to a protest, learn first aid, educate yourself on PTSD, do unharmful things that give you adrenaline rushes (ex- amusement park rides, bungee jumping), watch action movies with him, pet a dog, Playing Strategy Games, Work on managing your anger, bones, go do axe throwing, a playlist that makes you feel, brave, energized and confident, keep track of your successes (this can be daily tasks, when you conquer them cross them off, and then offer the list to Ares), write down or draw art of your fears, go to a rage room, pray or meditate during thunderstorms, watch war movies and documentaries and play war/combat and strategy video games

Ephithets•Adámastos/adamastus/ἀδάμαστος/ΑΔΑΜΑΣΤΟΣ/ἀδάμας -unconquerable & indestructible, Ænyálios/enyalius/ἐνυάλιος/ΕΝΥΑΛΙΟΣ -war-God, Alcimus, Álkimos/alcimus/ἄλκιμος/ΑΛΚΙΜΟΣ/Adj - valiant, brave, Alloprósallos/alloprosallus/ἀλλοπρόσαλλος/ΑΛΛΟΠΡΟΣΑΛΛΟΣ- loyal to the struggle and to the souls who are engaged in it, Ánax/ἄναξ/ΑΝΑΞ -lord, king, Aphneiós/aphneius/ἀφνειός/ΑΦΝΕΙΟΣ -rich, wealthy, Arrectus, Árriktos/arrectus/ἄρρηκτος, ΑΡΡΗΚΤΟΣ -unbreakable, Brotoctonus, Enyalius, Hippius, Hoplochares/Hoplodupus/Hoplophorus,  Íppios/hippius/ἵππιος/ÍΠΠΙΟΣ -horseman,  Mægasthænís/megasthenes/μεγασθενής/ΜΕΓΑΣΘΕΝΗΣ/μεγασθενές -very strong,  Megasthenes/Mægasthænís., Ombrimothymus:See Omvrimóthymos/Omvrimóthymos/ombrimo hymus/ὀμβριμόθυμος/ΟΜΒΡΙΜΟΘΥΜΟΣ/ὀβρῐμόθῡμος -doughty, indomitable, Oplódoupos/hoplodupus/ὁπλόδουπος/ΟΠΛΟΔΟΥΠΟΣ -clattering in his armor, Oplokharís/hoplochares/ὁπλοχαρής, ΟΠΛΟΧΑΡΗΣ -rejoicing in arms, Oplophóros/hoplophorus/ὁπλοφόρος/ΟΠΛΟΦΟΡΟΣ - he who bears arms, Phrictus/Phriktós/phrictus/φρικτός/ΦΡΙΚΤΟΣ - horrifying, Polæmóklonos/polemoklonus/πολεμόκλονος/ΠΟΛΕΜΟΚΛΟΝΟΣ -he raises the clamor of combat, Polemoklonus/Polæmóklonos, Sceptuchus/ Skiptoukhos/Skiptoukho/sceptuchus/σκηπτοῦχος/ΣΚΗΠΤΟΥΧΟΣ -he who bears a scepter, Teichesipletes/Teikhæsiplítis/Teikhæsiplítis/teichesipletes/τειχεσιπλήτης/ΤΕΙΧΕΣΙΠΛΗΤΗΣ—he who storms the cities in battle, Vrotoktónos/brotoctonus/βροτοκτόνος, ΒΡΟΤΟΚΤΟΝΟΣ -the slayer of men.

Equivalents• Mars (Roman), Onuris-Anhur (Egyptian god), Tiu-Tyr (Germanic god),  unnamed war-god (Scythian god).

Courting• unmarried, but courting Aphrodite. 

Past lovers/crushes/hookups• Aerope, Agraulos, Harmonia, Otrere, Astyokhe, Demonike or Sterope, Kyrene or Asterie, Astyokhe

Personality• He’s a great father, and a great lover, I talk to a godspouse of his and they talk about how he calmed them and was always there. He’s a great father because I’ve talked to a person who their father is ares and he’s always there for them, he’s also generous.

Home• Mount Olympus 

Mortal or immortal • immortal

Fact• Ares was the only male greek god that never raped or sexually assaulted any woman

Curses• Routing armies, Cowardice, Death on the battlefield, Military invasion, Sacking of cities, Rebellion, Uprisings, Sedition

Blessings•Driving armies, Bravery, fighting strength & endurance,  Averting war (peace), Repelling invading armies, Maintaining civil order, Crushing rebellions, Restraint violent instinct,

Roots• Thrake, Ancient Greece.

Parentage• Zues and Hera

Siblings• Enyo (twin sister), Eris (sister), Apollo (half-brother), Artemis (half-sister), Athena (half-sister), Hephaestus (brother), Hermes (half-brother), Dionysus (half-brother), Hebe (sister), Heracles (half-brother), Aphrodite (half-sister).

Pet• four fire-breathing horses (Aithon (Red-Fire), Phlogios (Flame), Konabos (Tumult) and Phobos (Fear))

Children •ANTEROS (God of reciprocated love, son of Ares and Aphrodite), DEIMOS (God of fear, a son of Ares and Aphrodite.), ENYALIOS/Enyalius (A war-god son of Ares and Eris), EROS (God of love, a son of Ares and Aphrodite),  HARMONIA (Goddess of harmony, daughter of Ares and Aphrodite.), NIKE(The goddess of victory, a daughter of Ares), PHOBOS (God of panic, son of Ares and Aphrodite),AEROPOS/Aeropus (son of Ares and Aerope.), ALKIPPE/Alcippe (daughter of Ares and Agraulos), AMAZONES/Amazons (Warrior women of Assyria, daughters of Ares and Harmonia), ANTIOPE(daughter of Ares and Otrere), ASKALAPHOS/Ascalaphus (son of Ares and Astyokhe), DIOMEDES (son of Ares and Kyrene or Asterie), DRYAS (son of Ares), EUENOS/Evenus (son of Ares and Demonike, and sometimes the son of Ares and Sterope), HIPPOLYTE (daughter of Ares and Otrere.),IALMENOS/Ialmenus (son of Ares and Astyokhe), KYKNOS/Cycnus) (son of Ares and Pelopia or Pyrene), LIKYMNIOS/Licymnius (son of Ares most say his father was King Elektryon), LYKASTOS/Lycastus) (son of Ares and Phylonome.), LYKOS/Lycus (son of Ares who used to sacrifice strangers to his father), MELANIPPOS/Melanippus (son of Ares and Triteia.), MELEAGROS/Meleager (son of Ares and Queen Althaia, but most call him a son of King Oineus), MOLOS/Molus (son of Ares and Demonike), NISOS/Nisus (son of Ares, but most accounts say he was a son of the Athenian prince Pandion), OIAGROS/Oeagrus (a son of Ares but some say his father was King Kharops),OINOMAUS/Oenomaus (son of Ares and the Pleaid Sterope or Princess Harpinna), OXYLOS/Oxylus (son of Ares and Protogeneia), PARRHASIOS/Parrhasius(son of Ares and Phylonome.),PARTHENOPAIOS/Parthenopaeus (son of Ares and Atalanta, many say his father was Melanion or Meleagros), PENTHESILEIA (daughter of Ares and Otrere), PHLEGYAS (He was a son of Ares and Dotis or Khryse.), PORTHAON (son of Ares or according to others of Agenor), PYLOS/Pylus (son of Ares and Demonike.), REMUS (son of Ares and Ilia), ROMULUS (son of Ares and Ilia), TEREUS (a son of Ares.), THESTIOS/Thesius (son of Ares and Demonike or Agenor and Epikaste), THRASSA (daughter of Ares and Tereine.), DRAKON ISMENIAN (A monstrous dragon-serpent, it was a son of Ares and the Erinys Telphousia.)

attendees• DEIMOS & PHOBOS (The twin gods of terror and fear), ERIS & ENYO (goddess of strife, hatred and war), KYDOIMOS/Cydoemus (The god of the din of war), NIKE (goddess of victory), OTHER ABSTRACTIONS(spirits described such as Rage, Anger, Threats, Death and Valour)

Appearance in astral or gen• In ancient Greek art, he was depicted as either a mature, bearded warrior armed for battle, or as a nude, beardless youth with a helm and spear.

Festivals • Artemis Agrotera/Kharisteria , and Genesios, maybe.

Day • Tuesday 

Scared places• Odrysia in Bistonia, Thrake (his birth-place)

Planet• Mars

Tarot cards• Chariot & Emperor card

Scents/Inscene • Frankensince, Sandalwood incense, resin, burning wood (especially if Himalayan salt in thrown in since it reminds him of blood), and red sandalwood incense

Prayers• 

Prayer to Ares for the Safety of a Soldier

Bold-hearted Ares, bright-helmed son of thundering Zeus and noble Hera, well-honored god of war, any battle will you face, any foe will you fight, without fear and without hestitation. Ares, god of warriors, ally of those who risk their lives on the field, to you do soldiers offer their prayers. You know each one’s name, O Ares, you know their lives, you know their worth. Great Ares, I pray to you, watch over ____________ who heeded your call, who practices your art, whose name you know well, for s/he is one of your own who does you honor with each day s/he serves. Ares, I pray to you.

In general 

Bright-helmed Ares, strong of arm and stern of visage, firm of stance, unyielding of will, ever ready to face any foe, to hold the line against all who may come, to battle until the end. Ares, son of noble Zeus and wise Hera, cherished by golden Aphrodite, honored by those who call on you for strength and courage, in the north were you much honored in times of old, in Thrace and Thessaly were you held in esteem by those whose lives were harsh, whose world was stony, whose comforts were hard-won. Ares who answers the prayers of the despairing, I honor you

For Courage

Ares, fierce-hearted son of Zeus and noble Hera, full-famed you are as god of war. To you do soldiers pray when battle is most heated, when mettle is most needed. To you as well do we turn in desperate times, to you do we call for strength, for the spirit to endure. You understand the terror of struggle and strife, you confront it in every way. Ares, your courage is unquestioned, your might and your prowess unequaled. Ares, friend to those in direst need, I pray to you, grant me the nerve to face what must be faced, grant me the will to do what must be done, grant me the heart to forge ahead.

Links/websites/sources •https://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/gods/ares/

https://twelfthremedy.tumblr.com/post/624476009567289344/ares-offerings/amphttps://aspisofares.wordpress.com/tag/offerings/https://www.tumblr.com/warriots/622104378198933504/a-guide-to-ares-worship https://www.tumblr.com/warriots/622104378198933504/a-guide-to-ares-worship https://scarletarosa.tumblr.com/post/187742800571/ares-greek-god-ofhttps://www.tumblr.com/diana-thyme/722942201197363200/greek-gods-101-ares @enyalios-shrinehttps://greekpagan.com/category/prayers-2/ares/

BIG HELP TO

https://www.tumblr.com/tarotbee

Ares is the Greek god and patron of many things, he is the edge of the sword while you hold the soft side, no god can be the god of war without the bloodshed, he is an amazing god, we love Ares here.

I use resources, I do not own the info, and most deep dives have UPG (that I use in my work.) And I only take some information from sources. I am 14, this is my hobby, I am learning but I spent many hours and days on this, and I am always open to criticism. I have been doing worship for 5 years. Please know you can use the info, I do not sue, but I will take action if this work is used without permission and not put as a resource if used in any work. without permisson and not put as a resource if used in any work, for the public.

[sgt-seabass]

ʙᴜʀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ

✧˚ · . your fairy tale life ends in a slew of blood.

pairing — witch!bucky barnes x fairy!f!reader w/c — 5.3k listening to — ♫burn the witch warnings — no use of y/n, dark elements, body horror, blood and gore, non-con, kidnapping, bondage, chasing, mild violence, use of magic for evil deeds, drugging, dead dove (don’t eat it and complain to me about it) a/n — happy halloween! thank you to @goldylions for beta-ing. all mistakes are my own. shout out to @navybrat817, @rookthorne and @vonalyn for cheering me along with this fic.

Many fairy tales had been read to you as a child, back when you were small and your wings tiny. The forest was a place for fairy kind, as were all biomes. A holy sanctuary for those with magic, where the trees hugged and created a shelter of heaven-spun leaves and branches. An unspoken promise of protection.

It was not a place to be afraid. Not even in the nighttime. For the moon, bathed in the sun's light, provided a wave of peace to the world around it. The deepened hues of a dark forest lit by starlight were a place of magical refuge.

While many normal humans would be afraid, fairy-kind was taught that forests were a place of ancient souls, like the deep sea or the clouds above. And being half-fairy, this was a teaching you received at an early age.

But the forest you woke in was unlike any story you’d heard before. This was uncharted territory.

“Tinker Bell.”

The misty voice startled you awake. Your eyes opened, immediately taking in the deep red sky. There was a blood moon above, unlike any lunar eclipse you’d seen. The red glowed across the sky and your skin, as if you were alight with the malice that lay hidden.

As you sat up, you took in your surroundings. The dark oak and spruce surrounding you stood as noble knights, protecting something from view with its thick foliage. What wanted to remain hidden?

The dirt floor was sodden with woven roots and fallen leaves, dead and decaying. The only sweetness in the air was the subtle whiff of sap, but it was entirely eclipsed by the earthy smell of rotting wood among damp, stale bark.

This was no fairy tale but a place of nightmares.

No animals scurried at the sound of you rising, no birds sang, the area seemingly barren of any life. You didn’t know how you got here but knew you needed to get out. A place like this was not something Mother Nature would have conjured.

Your heart craved the softened, freshly aromatic scent of the forest near your family home. Where the leaves were crisp, and the sun gently kissed the treetops, creating a beautiful shine. You could almost taste the lovely sweetness of the fresh berries you’d find foraging. It was the opposite of how your stomach roiled at the smell of a dying forest.

The red light made it hard to see, darkness covering every inch of land. Looking down at the muddy turf, you wondered if it was blood you stood upon. But a quick swipe through the grime confirmed it was earth. There was an oddness to the scent of the soil. You rolled it between your fingers, pursing your lips. While it was dirt, this was not dirt you would find in the human world. It did not hold the magical properties it usually would.

This meant either you’d been transported to another realm or were stuck in a plane between the layers of earth and heaven.

Your hands patted over the clothes you’d been put in. A green sundress with a red robe tied neatly with a bow around your neck. These weren’t items from your closet. They felt fresh. New.

A sense of danger prickled across your skin, goosebumps rising on your flesh and hairs standing on end. You were not alone here.

The sound of old leaves crunching sounded behind you, and it didn’t take much initiative to begin running in the other direction.

Your heart began to race as a chase started with the unknown entity. You could hear it behind you, deep breathing and grunting. It was an obstacle course trying to avoid logs and roots, while trying to stop yourself from retching due to the pungent smell of burning, decaying flesh.

Sprinting away from danger raised a primal fear in you. The kind that rips your body apart so that every ounce of concentration, energy and intelligence can be used to escape the nightmares that trailed behind.

A blend of growls mixed in as a pack of rabid wolves jumped out from the side, lunging for you. You yelped, narrowly ducking and weaving away from the gnashing jaws of the animals. They joined the chase behind you, barking when you managed to jump a log that tripped a few of them. The wolves didn’t stop, though. They joined the ominous deep breathing that pursued you, as if you were Red Riding Hood fleeing from danger.

Needing to go faster, despite the close confines around you, you extended your wings from your back and threw away the cloak. Normally, your wings would open to the light of the sun, the streaks of light reflecting beautiful rainbow hues. But now, they added to the glowing red surrounding you, as if they were broken and bloodied. A sense of foreboding overtook you at the thought. 

You began fluttering to move faster, your feet only lightly touching the ground. Being half fairy, you couldn’t reach the heights of a typical fairy, restricted by your human-sized body, but that didn’t matter with the many branches that loomed and imprisoned you close to the forest floor.

Crows cawed, their wings flapping as they followed you with red eyes. You could tell they and the wolves were not real, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t hurt you. The birds dove for your wings, and you had to change paths to try and avoid them.  

Snakes slithered along the ground, and spiders bared their fangs on the branches above your head. It was claustrophobic, as if this evil presence was closing in on you, causing you a fear worse than your most violent nightmares.

With heaving breaths, running on pure adrenaline, you pushed yourself further than ever before.

You started to lose the animals and the mysterious creature, and it gave you a chance to begin your song.

Fairies cast their magic through their voices, affecting all who listened. Humans often did not understand the words but did not need to. The melody alone was enough to bring love and laughter to life. For that was the gift fairies brought. Through the pureness of their hearts, magic could be accessed and shared with the world.

While fairies appeared like blossoming flowers, there were dark vines that snaked from the ground. Those who used their magic for wicked intentions were considered dark witches. Banned from the sanctorum where Mother Nature sits, witches could never gain Mother Nature's trust, hence never earning their wings.

The song you cast into the acrid air was one of hope. A beautiful tune that caused fairy dust to fall from your wings as you fluttered faster, your strength increasing. But what you did not see behind you was the way the ground swallowed the dust, absorbing it to fuel a power that lay below.

“Tinker Bell.” A voice called to you. The name is reminiscent of the childhood teasing you’d endured during your youth. But the voice now held no innocent oblivion to the way it made fun of you. “Pretty fairy, you cannot outrun me.”

With no destination in mind and no path to guide your way, you continued through the forest with threatening sounds behind you. And before long, the trees opened up into a small clearing. There was no reprieve, though, as the trees that formed the circled area were so thick there would be no way you could continue into the forest without having to squeeze past.

Skeletons and discarded bones covered the ground, and each time your foot touched one, they crumbled with a sickening crunch. Humans, animals, and all kinds of beings lay dead in the field, no flesh left to discern them. Their graveyard would soon become yours too, you feared.

“Tinker Bell,” the voice sounded, and it was much closer now. You spun around with fluttering wings, doing a full turn with magic dust falling to the ground, but you couldn’t see anyone. The ground rumbled beneath you, and you gasped at the sight of vines shooting up to try and grab you.

With darting movements, you maneuvered around the vines that tried to capture you. But the more you began to panic, the more magic that came from you, and the world around you absorbed it. The vines started growing in power, getting thicker and faster the more you tried to fly away.

The blood moon was in full force now. The entire sky was a pool of scarlet, ruddy and nauseating. This realm was feeding off your fear, taking it and using it for its own power. 

It was then the being showed itself, walking from the thick foliage into view. The sight of him shocked you so severely that you became distracted, and the vines took their chance to snake around your ankles and up your legs, stopping at your upper thighs. Another two vines grabbed each arm, holding you helplessly in place.

Before you stood an Oni. Or at least someone appearing to be one. A Japanese legend, Oni, were created through the death of a wicked human. Weidling iron clubs as their weapon, they would find enjoyment in crushing and destroying humans. They were bearers of punishment. While this man had no weapon, you feared for what he had planned for you.

But what did you do apart from giving the world your pure heart? What made you deserving of an Oni’s wrath?

Your wings kept fluttering as you took in the man's mask. Covering his face was intricate carvings on a deep charcoal wood. Horns extended on either side, with swirls that covered them down to the blackened eye holes. You could see his piercing blue eyes, stark in comparison to the darkness that surrounded them. The carved swirls continued down the mask's jaw, where it had cut sharp teeth with two fangs on both sides. The man was bulky, not the size of the Oni you had heard of, but he certainly eclipsed the size of an average human. He had to be almost seven feet at least.

He wore only black, with loose pleated pants on his legs and a robe covering his top beneath. One of his hands shone in the red light, and it took you a moment to realise that’s because it was an intricate metal, not flesh.

The sight caused an unrelenting fear in you, as if he had your heart in his hand, beginning to squeeze your very life with his threatening grip.

“Hello, Tinker Bell,” the man spoke, the deep timbre of his tone shaking you to your core as you struggled against your binds. “Are you lost, little fae? These woods are no place for a fairy like you,” he teased, and you could hear the smile in his voice despite the way his face remained hidden.

“Then let me go,” you snapped, trying to use wisps of magic to get the vines to recede, but all it did was make them stronger.

“Ah, hm, no.” The man approached in long strides with flouncing hair as the vines forced you to your knees, your body sinking slightly into the plush earth. “That would be an awful waste of all my effort, Tinker Bell.”

“That’s not my name,” you snapped, beginning to tire of his antics. You just wanted to go home.

“Don’t bore me with your birth name. Tinker Bell suits you much more.” His stature towered above you as he looked down at you, his hair falling around the sides of the mask. The mask was even more intimidating up close. Power radiated off his being, darkness oozing like a sick sludge from him. This was a man to be scared of. 

You began to tremble, causing the vines to rustle as you tried to still yourself. In the eyes of a predator, it is best to try and make yourself seem intimidating. But there’s not much you can do as tears well in your eyes. Your mother had always teased you for having such a sensitive soul.

“Aww, are you going to cry? I haven’t even done anything yet.”

You sniffled, spikes of fear lighting your blood like an electric bolt. “What do you want?” 

“Those wings, pretty girl.”

Your eyes widened, and your blood ran cold. You held your breath with a sharp inhale, anxiety clutching at your heart. When you’d first presented with your wings, you’d been warned that they were a rare commodity, much like an elephant's tusks. There were puissant people who wanted to increase their power, and a set of fairy wings granted immense magical properties.

“I don’t want to die,” your voice turned into a high whine as reality set in. This red forest would be your final resting place.

The man laughed heartily, causing you to flinch like he had slapped you.

“Oh, you’re not going to die. Don’t you know? Fairy wings grow back. Why on earth would I kill you when I can have a fae of my own?”

If anything, that was a fate worse than death.

“What’s your name?” You gulped, holding back the sobs that wanted to escape.

“You can call me Bucky.”

You were not above grovelling, and you were already on your knees, so you begged. “Bucky - please. Just let me go home. I’m begging you. I have a family, friends, people who will miss me. Just let me go, and I won’t tell anyone about you.”

His eyes darkened as if they were adapting to the shade of the mask surrounding them. There was a deathly silence as he considered you. “No.”

He seemed angry at the mere thought of you being missed. You wondered if it was jealousy. Does he have anyone caring for him? Unlikely based on his method of trying to gain more power. This does not seem like a personable man.

So, you tried a different angle.

“Bucky, you’re a witch, right? That’s how we’re in this realm. You made it?” His eyes narrowed as you spoke, but he didn't stop you. “We’re the same. Magical beings. We should be working together, not against each other. M-Maybe I can help you with some magic? In exchange for my release?”

“The moment I let the vines go, let you leave this place, you will leave me and never look back. Don’t lie to me, Tinker Bell. I can see through your bullshit,” Bucky spat venomously, moving away from you towards a large log that sat in the clearing.

And he wasn’t wrong. It was your intention to run and conjure a teleportation spell the moment you got out of this nightmare realm.

The vines picked you up despite your screams for freedom, carrying you towards the log. “Please, don’t do this! We’re cut of the same cloth. We should be working together! You can stop now. It’s not too late. Please, let me go!”

Bucky watched as you were placed over the log so your front rested against the bark. Your body curved over the trunk, breasts squishing uncomfortably against the hard surface as the vines pulled your arms and legs towards the ground.

A heat rose in your cheeks. You were stuck with your ass elevated, your dress ridden up, so your panties were on display to Bucky. The more you struggled against the binds, the stronger they held.

The blood rushed to your head when you let your neck relax, chin bumping against the log. Reality was setting in, your hope beginning to whittle away. “Please, don’t.”

“Plead all you want, Tinker Bell. No one can hear you here,” Bucky’s voice sounded behind you, his hands groping at the flesh of your thighs. “In fact, I’ll enjoy it more hearing your sounds.”

Bucky let his hands run over your skin, causing goosebumps to rise everywhere he touched. You could sense the power emanating from him, a dark magic present in his entire being.

The vines held firm, so tightly wrapped around your limbs that it felt as if they were seconds away from snapping your bones in their grip. You whimpered, skin cutting against the bark as you writhed.

You couldn’t help the arousal that began to pool in your core with the way Bucky groped you. His devilish hands warmed you like he lit a fire in your entire being. He was undoubtedly a powerful creature.

“You’ll want to be numbed for when I cut your wings off…” Bucky trailed off, and when you looked back you gasped.

He’d taken his cock out. Hard, veiny, and inviting – the thick flesh had an angry red tip, shining precum at the tip. You wondered if he tasted as powerful as his magic.

Bucky took a string of fabric to tie back his hair so it was in a tight bun. You watched, mesmerised by how he moved so fluidly.

He kept his eyes on you the whole time, his dark stare not leaving you as his cock bobbed between his legs when you let out a sniffle.

The mask stayed on after Bucky had finished with his hair, and you couldn’t help but be curious about your captor. Would he look like the demon he projected?

Bucky lifted the bottom of the disguise to spit into his hand, running his palm over the ridges of his cock with a grunt as his metal hand yanked your panties down.

Reality came crashing down, and you cried out. “Wait! Don’t! Please, don’t.”

“You don’t want to be in pain, do you? I could cut your wings with no analgesic, but I’m doing you a favour by giving you my cum,” Bucky’s hands gripped either side of the trunk, allowing his cock to sit nestled in your exposed ass cheeks. “I’m being nice. I’m not even going to fuck you.”

You shook your head, a sob escaping you. “This isn’t being nice.”

“Oh? Not even when I do this?” Bucky snapped his fingers with an incantation, and a small vial of pink liquid appeared in his hand. He took the ampoule, moving his cock out of the way so he could pour it over your ass, letting the pink sparkling fluid seep down into your folds.

Your entire body went taut, sudden bolts of pleasure shooting through your body like firecrackers. Your toes curled, and you wailed out a moan, wings fluttering crazily as you tried to process what was happening.

The arousal coursing through you was like nothing you’d ever felt before, Bucky’s magic infecting you and making your brain spiral like you’d had multiple orgasms at once.

Rainbows of colour swirled in your vision as Bucky began sliding his cock against your ass. You could barely register the rocking movement as euphoria filled your brain, the lust making your hair stand on end.

“See? It’s not so bad, Tinker Bell,” Bucky groaned, humping against you and pushing you harder against the log. “I bet no one has touched you like this before.”

Bucky kicked your legs out so you were spread wider, allowing him to slide his cock along your pussy, collecting your arousal. He rubbed the tip of his cock on your clit, and you moaned obscenely. “St— op”

“Ah, you don’t really want me to, do you? Look how wet you are for me. I bet I could make you cum just with my cock.” Bucky wasn’t wrong. He rolled your clit with the head of his dick, and whatever magic he’d used on you had it feeling like tongues were lapping at you.

“That’s it, come on, cum for me. Soak me. Lose that innocence for me, my little slut,” Bucky leant forward, hands pressing down on your wings, teeth nipping at your ear.

That was all it took for the dams to burst. The world was vibrant as you came, red filling your vision, your body shaking with mewls as your juices gushed against Bucky’s cock.

Your wetness allowed Bucky to easily slide against your flesh, heat radiating from his pulsing cock as he grunted with each thrust. “Fuck. You’re perfect.”

Time seemed to warble, your brain unable to keep up as Bucky grabbed your ass, pressing your cheeks together so he could fuck them harder. “Shit, fuck, oh— oh, I’m close.”

Bucky suddenly pulled back, and you hoped the ordeal was over. How wrong you were.

“They’re soft as silk, Tinks,” Bucky commented, running his fingers over the reflective surface of your wings. You tried to flap them to get his hand to move away, but he was fast, grabbing onto the delicate membrane of your wing.

“Don’t touch them. That hurts,” you whimpered in your haze, writhing against the vines.

“Oh, I’m going to do far more than just touch them.”

You felt as Bucky played with the pliability of your wings, the body part easily manipulated as it was soft and light, the only dense part of your wings being the cartilage that secured them to your back.

Pure horror filled you as he placed his palm onto your wing, forcing it against the log, using his other hand to curve the opalescent surface of your appendage around his cock.

“Fuck. So fucking soft. I knew it would feel amazing,” Bucky moaned, using your wing like a sheath for his cock.

You could feel the heat from his dick against you, your wings sensitive and full of nerves like the rest of you.

“Stop…” You cried, tears still falling, and you were surprised you had any left to cry.

To be defiled like this was something unimaginable. The happiness that you so often felt in your soul was becoming a chimera – no more than a hopeful illusion.

With Bucky’s grunts sounding behind you, you craned your neck to look at the sky, the red reflection making it look as if you were shedding tears of blood.

The blood moon shone proudly, the sky clear of clouds, leaving just redness to cover everything. What did you do to deserve this? Was it simply your fate to be a sacrifice to the wretched? Was there such a thing as fate at all? For so long, you’d considered your life set up upon a lineage Mother Nature set out for you. But no loving figure would force this reality upon one of her creatures, right? Your whole belief system felt shaken, like your entire world compass was stomped on and shattered.

What had you done wrong?

In reality, you’d done nothing to merit such treatment.

Yet the world bestowed the pain on you regardless.

“Enough, stop. It hurts,” you whimpered, the bend on your wing uncomfortable as Bucky thrust into it.

“Oh, it feels too good to stop, pretty girl. It’s like fucking straight magic.” Bucky’s hands braced against the log, using wisps of dark power to keep your wing in a circle.

The power from him escalated, dark clouds pouring from him and billowing across the ground, covering the graveyard of souls surrounding you. His breathy moans got louder, his grip on the log causing cracks to form in the wood.

“F-Fuck, feels too good. I’m going to cum. Yeah, you want my cum, don’t you? Dirty slut.” His hips lost their rhythm, beginning to stutter as he came. Bucky was quick to pull back, his cum coating your back where your wings connected with your flesh.

It was an odd feeling that washed over you. It was something akin to calmness, although it was forced upon you. The last movement you could manage was to look back, brows knitting together when you saw that Bucky’s seed was coloured black, before your body went involuntarily lax.

You lay over the log, your breathing levelling out as you became numb to the world. His spell didn’t just anaesthetise your body, but your emotions too.

You couldn’t even wish to be asleep as you started at the foggy ground.

The vines eased up, not needing to hold you so tight when there was no struggle, their tension leaving marks on your limbs.

“You’re so perfect.” Bucky complimented, but there was no smile on your face.

There was nothing.

You were nothing.

This was the end of everything, and the start of the aphotic zone.

The remnants of your tears fell onto the bones below, cleaning away some of the dirt covering them. But the damage to them remained. Just as the damage to you began.

You couldn’t see what Bucky was doing, nor could you feel it, but you could hear it. There was a sick squelching noise, followed by a sawing sound, as Bucky began to hack at the cartilage connecting your wings.

It was like nails on a chalkboard, nausea roiling in your stomach as you had no choice but to lay there like a rat in a laboratory, ready to be dissected in some horrid experiment.

He could have magically removed them. He’d more than exemplified he had the power to. But he’d chosen the barbaric route for his own crooked pleasure.

Bucky was silent, concentrating on his work as your body wobbled with each run of the jagged blade against you. Blood coated your skin, the ichor running down your sides and covering the wood below you. It gushed out, and if you didn’t feel light-headed before, you certainly did now.

The only words you heard enter the world were a whispered fire incantation. It was then you smelt your flesh burning, the blade heated to cauterise your wound as it sliced.

If you had any control, you’d be wailing, screaming, doing anything to try and get out. Bucky stole your anguish from you, leaving you like a doll atop the log as your identity was violently stripped from your back.

Mother Nature had gifted you your wings. They were your responsibility. And you failed to protect them.

Yet, in your neutered state, you were apathetic about it.

The impromptu surgery went on for what felt like hours, the slow removal of your body parts done both with intricacy and unrelenting brutality.

Your back felt significantly lighter as your wings fell to the ground, crunching the skeletons below into dust.

It was done.

You would never be the same.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I left some scarring. I want my fairy to be special and bear markings made by her owner,” Bucky said proudly, as if you could respond.

You just stared at the skull below you. God, how you wished to be dead on the ground.

Bucky came around the log and stood in front of you, cupping your face with his palms so you were forced to look at his masked face. “Ready to go home?”

Drool dropped out of your mouth and down your chin, unable to control your functions. Bucky swiped away the moisture. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Bucky snapped his fingers, and you were instantly transported to his home.

It seemed like a small cabin in the middle of a forest, based on what you could see from the dirty window. Every surface was covered with tomes, vials, herbs, and materials needed for spells.

The place had an earthy smell with a mix of floral sweetness.

You sat in the corner of the room, and it took you a moment to realise you sat in a large birdcage. With your body still paralysed, you could only elicit a small whimper at the realisation that you were trapped. A purple field covered the cage, assumedly stopping you from using magic.

Bucky startled you, suddenly materialising with your wings in his arms. Seeing them made your heart drop to the earth's centre. They’d lost their colour, aura, and everything that made them special. Now, they were no more than an ingredient.

You watched as Bucky placed them onto his desk, dusting himself off before turning his attention back to you. “Sorry about the mess. I should have cleaned up before you came over. But I’m sure you won’t mind.”

There was a sense of anticipation as he removed his Oni mask, showing you for the first time his face. You were surprised at how handsome and regular he looked. Sometimes, the evillest were the people we’d never suspect if we passed them on the street. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” He waved the mask before placing it next to your wings. “Since I act like a demon, I might as well look like one, right?”

With a grin, he moved to the bubbling cauldron that was hanging atop a fireplace, scooping up some of the mystery green liquid into a small wooden bowl.

There was intention in every movement as he collected the foul-smelling soup. As he came to your cage, every part of you wanted to scream and run. Yet you didn’t move an inch, sitting upon the cot with your back to the cage wall.

“Here. This will help you heal faster,” Bucky said, as if you had a choice in what you consumed. You felt ill as he got closer with the sloshing broth, your stomach flipping as he raised it to your lips. He had to physically pry your mouth open to pour the soup in, the heat sliding down your slack throat with ease. “That’s my girl, Tinks. Such a good fairy.”

His praises fell on deaf ears as your senses were overtaken by the putrid taste and smell of whatever concoction he had fed you. Almost instantly, you got movement and feeling back.

For the first time in your life, anger overtook you. You’d never felt rage before, but it was all that occupied you now.

With your wings gone, a whole part of you had been taken away. Without your gift of purity, you didn’t have the same emotional control. You felt human.

You jumped up, whacking the bowl from his grip and wrapping your hands around Bucky’s neck, ready to squeeze the life out of him. “I’m going to kill you,” you snarled, entirely unlike your usual self.

Bucky had stolen your innocence and replaced it with darkness.

“Is that so?” Bucky tilted his head, unphased as you squeezed. “Interesting.”

Your anger turned to desperation as Bucky’s form turned to sand in your grip, the course grit slipping through your fingers.

“No!” You screeched, running for the open cage door.

But Bucky was faster, reappearing on the other side of the cage and quickly slamming the wire door in your face.

“No! Let me out! You fucking wench! Hag! Get back here, you old bag and fucking let me go!” You gripped the bars, shaking them desperately as you tried to conjure as much magic as possible. But you had nothing, Bucky’s forcefield holding strong. “I can see why Mother Nature rejected you, warlock. You’re nothing more than an imp, picking on others so you can feel better about your own weakness. You fucking prick.”

There was no chastity left. Your virtue had been lost when your wings were stripped from your being.

“Now, now, that’s not nice. You hurt my feelings.” Bucky frowned, moving back from your enclosure. “Those wings of yours will grow back, and so will your temperament. I’m a very patient man, and I have no issue making your whole existence suffering. But if you know what’s good for you, you will apologise when I return. Wings or not, I expect you to keep the nature of a fairy, Tinks.”

With a flash, Bucky disappeared, leaving you alone in the dank room.

You collapsed to your knees, resolving into a fit of sobs. Without your object of anger there, you were reduced to nothing but sorrow.

Letting out a shuddered breath, you looked over your shoulder. Out from the scarring, popped the smallest amount of new cartilage.

The cycle would begin again.

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[aziraphales-library]

hey!! first of all, this is such a great blog and i am so freakin grateful for you who run it! i’ve never been in a fandom with a virtual library like this and it’s genuinely so helpful. thank you so much!! :D

secondly, do you have any recommendations for fics with aziraphale female presenting and crowley male presenting? i feel like it’s not as portrayed as much as the other way around.

thanks again! :))

much love, bean💜

Hi! We have a #female aziraphale tag you can check out. Here are more fics to add...

Scandalous by hiya_angel (E)

As Aziraphale pulled away from the counter, she heard a tearing sound, and felt a fluttering sensation of fabric across her legs. Turning to find the source of the sound, she saw a piece of fabric that looked an awful lot like her skirt hanging from a loose screw at the counter. Glancing down, Aziraphale let out a breathless scream as she was met not with the sight of her skirt but instead with her tiny white knickers, her favorite pair with the lace trimming. Her skirt had been ripped off; she was standing in the middle of a busy cafe in just her little knickers. When Aziraphale finds herself trapped and humiliated, the barista Crowley, her longtime crush, comes to her rescue.

More Than Friends by StarsSeasNSkies (G)

Crowley and Aziraphale used to be friends, childhood neighbours. Then Crowley left for three years, not even leaving Aziraphale a way to write to him. Now Crowley's back and upon finding Aziraphale unwed, he's determined to find her a husband. Only thing, they're both in love with each other Inspired by Season 3 of Bridgerton

a grain of sand, a universe of beaches by batsingotham (T)

In which Aziraphale wears her heart on her sleeve far too often for Crowley's liking (resulting in him being forced to do good deeds, if anyone asks) and yet never says what he wants her to until it's too late. (Alternatively: Aziraphale goes to Heaven and Crowley decides to bring her back home.)

watermark by summerofspock (T)

Aziraphale happily works as the librarian of a small liberal arts university in the rural town of Tadfield. When the newly hired biology professor seems to enjoy tormenting his students by sending them after obscure references, she decides he needs a stern talking to. He decides they could be pretty good friends.

The Librarian by EveningStarcatcher (T)

Azira Fell is a librarian living a very normal and somewhat boring life when a stranger with dark glasses and red hair bursts into her life. Now to find out who he is and what he was running from...

The Dark Stranger by tuddles (E)

Miss Fell is a young, somewhat innocent woman living in London and doing her best to do good. One day while she is walking through Hyde Park, she comes across a dark stranger in the middle of a storm. Who is this tall and handsome man and why does he make her feel so… wanted.

- Mod D

[goodlucktai]

the soft animal of your body (1/3)

rise of the tmnt daemon au word count: 4k title borrowed from 'wild geese' by mary oliver

this au is the brainchild of myself and my dearest meeks, @gibbouslunation on ao3, @mykimouser on tumblr. it's inspired by 'his dark materials' but we're playing fast and loose with canon so please dont take it too seriously <3

the daemons so far !

read on ao3

x

“Mikey,” a persistent voice says, “wake up!”

“Mmmmno,” he mumbles, rolling over. “Five more minutes.”

The mattress gives beneath him with a bounce and a furry body wriggles its way close, shoving a wet snout against Mikey’s cheek. He giggles despite himself and tries tugging the blanket over his head, but it’s caught carefully in a set of teeth, and a game of tug-o-war starts immediately. 

“I thought you wanted to make Raphie and Teddy’s favorites for breakfast this morning! If you sleep in there won’t be time!”

With a start, Mikey remembers the significance of the day and shoots upright. A second later, his arms are full of a very enthusiastic Border Collie. Helianthus is always excited to see him in the morning, like she didn’t just see him the night before. She’s always excited to see everyone, and Mikey both understands her and loves her with his whole entire soul. 

He gathers Sunflower’s head in both hands and kisses her firmly between the eyes. She holds as still as a statue until the deed is done and then explodes into action, licking his face like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do, entire body wagging from the force of her happy tail. 

Dodging her affections and untangling himself from the blanket, Mikey manages to climb out of bed. He’d wanted a hammock when he was little, but when Sunny settled, it didn’t make sense to have a bed that was so tricky for her to get into and out of. 

She was the first of all his siblings’ daemons to settle, even April’s. She knows exactly who she is, and always has. 

“Breakfast!” he reminds her.

“Oh, right!” she says, and shoots out of the room like an arrow. 

A startled squawk in the kitchen probably means Donnie and Terror are up already, which probably means they pulled an all-nighter. And if they’re awake, their twins definitely are.

Leo’s relationship with sleep is hot and cold on a good day, but there isn’t a force on earth that could persuade him to lay around in bed while his counterparts were getting into trouble somewhere without him. 

Sure enough, Mikey rounds the corner to find the four of them clustered around the kitchen table. Lucky perks up when she sees Mikey, and waves with one of her tiny paws, and he takes that as full permission to swoop in and steal her from Leo. 

Leo smiles into his coffee mug and lets his little daemon be the one who says, “Good morning, Angie!”

She rubs her face against Mikey’s cheek, as outwardly affectionate and sweet as Leo likes to pretend he isn’t. 

“Good morning, Lucky girl,” Mikey tells her, giving the ringtail an extra squeeze before letting her climb nimbly up his shoulder and perch on the lip of his carapace. 

With his daemon already smothered in love, Leo leans into Mikey’s hug immediately, none of that new reluctance they’re all trying to maneuver present in any inch of him. That’s how you game the system. 

(April was surprised by it when they first met. She was nine years old at the time, and absolutely fearless about following her new friends to their subterranean home. She greeted Splinter with the brisk, unbothered attitude of any native New Yorker and was an order of magnitude more impressed by Yumemi, who landed on August’s head in greeting as gently and prettily as a snowflake. 

Mikey had been pretty sure that nothing on earth had the power to surprise this girl. 

But less than an hour into her visit, Terror had gotten into trouble, as usual. She was scampering up the cabinets as a red-knee tarantula, because she’d made a bet with Lucky that she was just as fast climbing as she was flying. But when she was little, Terror tripped over her feet constantly no matter what form she was in, and eight legs was way more than she was used to keeping track of.

A panicked little squeak was their only warning when Terror slipped from the top of the cabinet, and maybe she would have thought to shift in time not to get hurt or maybe she would have kept scrambling to catch herself. It didn’t matter either way, because Raph reached out with both hands and caught her in the cup of them, safe and sound. 

April had sucked in a startled breath, but the twins and their daemons all chorused, “Thanks, Raphie!” as he stood on tiptoe to place Castor carefully back in the spot she’d slipped from. And the spider raced off again, lesson totally unlearned. 

“It’s okay, she won’t fall again,” Mikey had piped up, six years old and completely misunderstanding April’s reaction. “Terror is super clumsy but after their game she’ll probably turn back into something that flies!”

“It’s not that,” April said, looking between Raph and Mikey and Teddy and Sunflower like she had just discovered something besides their green skin and turtle shells that made them very strange to her. “Didn’t it—feel bad? To hold someone else’s daemon?”

She hugged Augustus to her stomach like the thought of anyone getting too close to him was enough to upset her. 

But Raph tilted his head in confusion and Teddy, a fluffy baby cow at the time, tilted hers with him. “It felt the same as holding mine,” he said. 

Any silly scampering part of Donnie was a part of Raph, too. Obviously. 

They hadn’t known it was anything strange growing up, as insular as their family was. Of course, they hadn’t known about their ninpo back then, either—that secret mystical connection they inherited the second Splinter became their father, that tied them all together, that made their souls neighbors to each other. 

And only a few years down the road, on a random summer afternoon in a busy comic book convention hall, when the big crowds were causing Teddy to shrink into a miserable little ball on Raph’s shoulder, April would say, “Come here, baby.” 

She wouldn’t overthink it or second-guess herself when Theodora crawled into her arms, even though a random kid in the crowd who clocked the exchange would do a comical double take. She would just scoop her little sister up and make her feel safe, like it was the simplest thing in the world. Because by then, April would be Hamato, too.)

While Leo’s occupied, Terror hops across the table and dips her beak into his cup. He clocks it and sighs deeply but doesn’t wave her away. 

Terror can get away with most things by virtue of being able to out-talk literally anyone, or by simply flying around like a maniac until her siblings get tired of trying to scold her and move onto damage control instead. 

“It’s not my fault your coffee tastes better,” she complains, feathers ruffled. “Donnie’s still trying to pretend like he likes to drink his black, and it’s gross!”

Sunflower laughs out loud, then tries to pretend like she didn’t. Donnie’s head snaps up from where he had it buried in his phone, an expression of theatrical betrayal painted across his face. 

“Castor!”

“Buy my silence! Use some syrup and creamer!” the hooded crow screeches back. 

Leo is giggling too, slumping down in his chair so he won’t be Donnie’s next target, and Pollux springs from Mikey’s shell on his way past the table to rejoin her person. She has her own little cup of coffee but she dips her weasel-like snout into Leo’s instead, because whatever Terror does, Lucky wants to do. 

“Good morning, Michelangelo,” a melodious voice greets him as he ties his apron on. 

Mikey beams at the little moth perched on the upright handle of a wooden spoon and says, “‘Morning, Emi. Did either of those bozos make you tea yet?”

The moth hums, an amused, affectionate sound. “Yes, my dear. They’ve been awake for an unfortunately long time already.”

“Ugh, that’s what I was afraid of,” Mikey grumbles, but his heart isn’t really in it. There’s no sunlight in the lair, but the company of his dad’s daemon is warm and bright all on its own. 

Yumemi is all the parts of Yoshi he doesn’t know how to express. Even back when his bad days could turn into bad weeks and he couldn’t muster the strength to get out of bed, his children never had the opportunity to question his love.

Not when Yumemi remembered all of their favorite things, and oversaw meals with watchful eyes to make sure everyone was eating their vegetables, and woke them from bad dreams with lullaby soft Japanese that needed no translation. 

Of course dad loved them. His soul was proof. She told them every day. 

Since he’d prepared the batter the night before, Mikey makes a decent headway on breakfast and has a tall stack of thin, flaky crêpes to show for it by the time Raph and Theodora wander in. 

They look surprised and then pleased to see everybody waiting for them, smiling at the lively chorus of “good morning”s and “happy birthday”s they’re accosted with right out of the gate. Terror is quick to flap around them at speed, talking a mile a minute, and it detracts from the weird bit of tension between Raph and Leo that still exists in the margins. 

Lucky quivers eagerly where she’s perched at the corner of the table, uncertain of her welcome and waiting on a cue. But the second Raph puts his hands out for her, she’s leaping into them. 

“Happy birthday Raphie, Teddy! We picked out the best best best presents for you!”

“We helped!” Terror interjects, incapable of being sidelined, or silent for longer than thirty seconds. “It was a team effort!”

“With all four of your heads together, I bet it’ll blow us away,” Raph says, gentle in that particular way he saves just for little siblings. 

To his credit, he doesn’t hesitate at all to pull Leo into a sidelong hug at the same time as he does Donnie in the opposite arm, and Leo sinks into it readily. Things have been a little weird and different, but not necessarily bad. 

When you can hold each other’s hearts in your hands on the regular, it’s hard to miss how loved you are. 

(About a week after Splinter’s abrupt announcement two years ago, shifting the leadership mantle from Raph, who had always held it, to Leo, who had never given indication he even wanted it, things were tense, to say the very least. 

Yumemi was downright chilly with her other half in a way Mikey hadn’t witnessed since the disastrous flu incident when they were kids, that time Donnie’s fever had to officially break 101° before Splinter could be convinced that Something Was Wrong.  

And unfortunately for dad, Leo had decided he was fully not on board with the decision, being his most contrary, uncooperative self at every turn. You have never seen malicious compliance until you’ve seen Leonardo with a point to prove. 

It all came to a head in a big blowout argument that really everyone should have seen coming. 

Looking back, Mikey doesn’t remember what started the fight, but it had been festering for days. Raphael was frustrated and his feelings were hurt. He’s been replaced out of nowhere, and his replacement didn’t seem to care about the job one way or another. 

And to make matters worse, Leo almost seemed to be baiting him. He had his arms folded and his hip propped in the doorway, a mean little smile on his face that Mikey almost didn’t recognize—he had never, ever seen Leo smile like that at Raph before. 

“Can’t you take something seriously for once in your life?” Raph said, fists clenched at his sides. “This is important and you’re acting like you don’t even care.”

“I think it’s safe to say you care enough for both of us,” Leo replied blithely, unmoved. 

Mikey felt a sharp spike of worry from Sunflower, who was reading all the high emotions in the room like a book. Teddy was still trying to mediate, but her soft voice got shouted over. 

“What if you goof off and one of your siblings gets hurt, huh?” Raph yelled, at his limit. “What if somebody gets killed cause you couldn’t bother to just grow up!”

Leo’s expression didn’t change at all, every inch the irreverent, unbothered teenager fully prepared to breeze past everything his big brother had to throw at him. 

But Lucky burst into tears. 

It drew everyone up short. The entire room just froze, like someone took an ill-timed screenshot. The only sound was Lucky crying, and then the scrabble of nails on concrete as Sunny raced across the room at top speed to comfort her, and Terror clicking her beat anxiously, all puffed up to twice her size. 

Raph looked like someone punched him in the stomach. Leo didn’t look at anyone at all. At least his mean little smile was gone. 

“Okay, boys and girls,” Yumemi said suddenly, startling them all out of the tense tableau. She was perched on the back of a kitchen chair, having observed the argument for who knew how long. Long enough, probably. “Family room, now.”

She was using the no-nonsense mom voice that got everyone moving. Seemingly between one blink and the next Mikey found himself on the sofa, Sunflower pressed into his side and panting anxiously. 

“I won’t pretend not to know what this is about,” the moth says. “Yoshi has certainly spent the last few days hoping it would resolve itself before intervention was necessary, but that clearly isn’t the case, and I’ve let this go on for too long.”

She wasn’t scolding them. She had a soft spot for her turtles and their daemons that was a mile wide on all sides. But she clearly expected to resolve this issue right then and there and wouldn’t tolerate the usual time-wasting tactics. 

Beating everyone to the punch, Terror bated her wings and blurted, “They don’t want to be the leaders, duh.”

After a beat of silence that felt extremely loud, Donnie added, “I would have thought that was obvious.”

Raph seemed shocked and Mikey felt that way too. Their whole lives together were a multi-part series of Leo stepping up and smoothing things over when they got out of hand, convincing his brothers to wait half a second instead of diving right in, scheming a way to get them out of trouble—or into trouble, as the situation called for it. He always seemed to live for it when a plan went off without a hitch. 

Mikey had never thought about it before, but now that it was laid out in front of him, it was weird. You’d think Leo would jump at the chance to lead. 

“It’s not really my bag,” Leo said instead. He had a hand on Pollux, almost hiding her completely. “All that extra work and responsibility, and not even a decent pay raise? No thanks. Besides, Raph does a great job. Why fix what isn’t broken?”

He refused to bend, sticking to his story. Knowing she was the weaker link, Lucky pressed her face into his plastron and wouldn’t answer any direct questions. Raphael looked like he was afraid to even breathe too loudly in their direction after making his littlest sister cry, and nodded rapidly when Yumemi asked if he was alright with things going back to the way they used to be. 

“Yeah. Of course. Whatever—whatever’s best.”

The moth sighed, but not at any of them. 

“Very well. I will speak with your father. He was wrong to handle this the way he did. Any future changes will be discussed beforehand, as a family. As for right now, Raphael is the eldest and he will continue to lead you.” 

Leo was out of his chair and out of the room so fast that Mikey wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t teleport. Donnie followed right behind him, their regular roles flipped. Raph didn’t move at all, hands squished between his own knees as if he didn’t trust them. 

Teddy was talking to him in her gentle voice. It was always so obvious to everyone who knew him why Raph’s soul took the shape it did, this soft thing that carried around a love so big it was better suited to someone ten times her size. 

Mikey couldn’t hear what Teddy was saying, but it wasn’t for him to hear in the first place. He couldn’t bear to leave his big brother like this, but he couldn’t bear to leave another brother hurting out of sight either.

Their bond pulsing both ways with white-hot worry and impatient, leaping love, Mikey could tell when Sunflower absolutely couldn’t wait another second. She hopped off the couch and circled around to where Raph was sitting and laid her head on his knee. 

It was delayed, but still a knee-jerk reaction for their biggest brother to give her the attention she was begging for. After a few minutes of petting her soft glossy fur, it was Raphie’s turn to cry. 

Lingering, still not entirely willing to leave them and feeling torn in two about it, Mikey looked at Yumemi. The moth waved her antennae at him gently, an unspoken assurance that she would stay and make things right. 

So Mikey left his heart behind to work her magic, and followed the twins from the room to work some magic of his own. If he could wheedle at least one smile out of each of them by dinner, he would call it a win. 

That evening, when everyone had been dragged to the table not quite kicking and screaming but close to it, Splinter stood up awkwardly and apologized to the far wall for how he had handled the situation. From his expression, Mikey wouldn’t have been that surprised to find someone holding a gun to his head. 

“The important thing is that you are a team,” Splinter went on, the formal stiffness fading from his tone and something more natural, more rueful and affectionate, replacing it. “You have always been a team, and a very good one at that.” 

Yumemi fluttered from the table to his hand, wings opening and closing slowly in approval. Splinter took strength from her, and added, “It does not matter who leads and who follows, as long as you remain on each other’s side.”

Leo darted a quick, sidelong look at Raph, who met his gaze hopefully. Some line of tension in Leo’s shoulders went slack and he said, “Where else would we be?” and smiled as easily as if the last handful of hours had happened to somebody else. 

Forever the more honest of the two, Lucky crept across the table inch by inch until Teddy could draw her into a tight hug that lasted well into dessert.)

Now Sunflower hops down from her padded bench and scrabbles like crazy around the counter for Raph’s attention. She’s such a good girl for waiting when all she ever wants to do all the time is run right to the people she loves as soon as she sees them. 

Raph scoops her up as easily as April can scoop up August, a full size Border Collie dwarfed in his big arms. She shrieks gleefully and bellows “Happy birthday!” loud enough for all of Manhattan to hear. Mikey smiles as if her joy is his own and carefully flips the next crêpe. 

“What do you want to do after the party tonight?” Donnie asks, setting his phone down. “The world is your oyster, Raphala.”

“But no patrol,” Terror pipes up. “It’s an important holiday.”

“It is an important holiday,” Sunflower agrees, tilting her head to the side so deeply that her floppy ear matches the upstanding one. “So are we going to the arcade? The movies? The park? New Jersey??”

“Hey, watch your language,” Leo says faux-sternly, causing her to yip with laughter. 

“I was thinking ninja tag,” Raph says. He crosses the room to Mikey as he speaks, and wraps both arms around him from behind to lift him off his feet in a big bear hug, spatula and skillet still in hand. Mikey giggles and holds breakfast as steady as he can. “We haven’t done that in ages,” Raphael adds. 

It’s an activity that rides the thin line between training and play, but if that’s what Raphie wants to do on his birthday, then that’s what they’re doing. Leo falls in line now as agreeably as he did two years ago—maybe even moreso. There’s some whining and complaining when the situation calls for it, but no more than any of the others are prone to; average annoying little sibling stuff because it’s good for Raph’s constitution. 

Mikey thinks the biggest difference is that Leo doesn’t really suggest his own ideas anymore. He doesn’t test Raphael’s authority the way he used to, even when sometimes they could really use his voice of reason or his lateral thinking. He so adamantly does not want to lead them, for whatever reason, that he won’t do anything that might give someone the right idea he’s leadership material. 

It’s something Mikey desperately wants to bring up, but every time he starts to, he can’t help but remember that uncomfortable family meeting and at that point his courage always deserts him. 

The last thing he wants is for Lucky, that easily hurt part of Leon’s heart that walks around unguarded outside his body, to feel small or sad because of something Mikey said. He doesn’t know if he’d ever recover from that. He doesn’t know how Raph did it. 

Two years ago, Leo would have thrown up his hands and said something like, “Ninja tag? For your eighteenth birthday? Come on Raph-a-doodle, think big! We’re hitting the Cheesecake Factory and then your favorite karaoke club. We can play ninja on the way home, how about that?”

Today, Leo stretches his arms above his head and then folds them, leaning back in his seat and telling Raph in his good-natured teasing kind of way, “Whatever you say, big guy. But don’t think I’m gonna let you win just ‘cause it’s your day.” 

It’s a change you have to squint to see. But Sunflower told Mikey in a whisper one night that she missed how playful Pollux used to be. She missed the little ringtail who used to want to be everyone’s friend and solve everyone’s problems, who used to run around in circles trying to be helpful and good, never worrying about making herself a nuisance because she knew better than to think her family would love her any less for it. 

“Maybe she’s just growing up,” Mikey had whispered back, stroking Sunny’s soft ears and ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach his own words put there. 

“Maybe,” Sunflower said, but she didn’t sound very sure either. 

[huicitawrites]

Priestess of The Malevolent Shrine

Yandere! Trueform! Sukuna x Priestess! Reader

tags: @a-tiny-teez @kazusan7yanderekun @eleventhdoctorsangel

warnings: yandere (“slow-burn), violence

Part 0- prologue | Next part

The Jujutsu world is an unforgiving one. While there are folk that are spared of witnessing the true colors of this world, others have the innate talent to see ‘curses’ and manifest ‘cursed energy’.

These people are called ‘shamans’, and they fight curses.

Curses are horrid creatures, born of the negative emotions and the selfish nature of human beings. Some are mindless living creatures, others have the capability to reason and feel just as humans- which makes them all the more dangerous. However, both are driven by bloodlust and a desire to massacre and devour human beings.

Shamans make their day to day by slaying curses in an endless cycle of battle. As long as humans exist, shamans and curses are born to clash.

The Jujutsu world is a complex one. A society of the ‘blessed’ , or better said the ‘cursed’, woven with solid hierarchies and questionable alliances. There is pride and honor, yet dignity is often casted aside. What began as a quest to rid humanity of the plague of curses ended in a survival of the fittest, only a few remain loyal to the initial values of shamans.

The Jujutsu society is composed of many clans and talented individuals. Of course, there are those whose names and families stand out. In fact, there used to be four Great Jujutsu Clans.

The Gojo clan.

The Zenin clan.

The Kamo clan.

and the [L/n] clan.

There used to be. The fourth family has been scraped off the list, none other than by the most infamous and feared name in the Jujutsu World– Ryomen Sukuna.

A powerful sorcerer turned curse user and finally reborn as a curse, a traitor to humanity and a menace to curses alike, Ryomen Sukuna is rightfully feared.

A remorseless fiend with a cunning, dark mind and insatiable bloodlust. Unmatched and unrivaled, even by the now smaller elite of families of sorcerers. Any sorcerers that dare try to exorcize him end up purged in their own pool of blood, flesh and organs. Your family, of all people, would unfortunately know best.

He is the one and only King of Curses, a title he earned of his own murderous deeds, overwhelming cursed energy and exceptional cursed technique and prowess.

As he is feared, he is respected, revered even.

Sacrifices, prayers and offerings have been made in his name, heads bowed before him - a sight he enjoys as they babble their mouths and beg him not to end their miserable and pathetic, insignificant lives. Save for the mad and the strayed, no one worships him true of heart, but Ryomen Sukuna minds not.

Yet tales tell of the Priestess of The Malevolent Shrine. A beautiful young woman that carries herself with apparent grace and diligence, but at her core she is wicked and hellish- loyal in heart and truth to the Cursed King.

You, however, knew better- after all, your heart is your own. Only you would ever know the torture and suffering of being the Priestess of the Malevolent Shrine.

A/n: Here begins a yandere sukuna series I wanted to publish for a long time, enjoy!