#unmovable-sovereign

[i01-xcl]

[harmonysanreads]

When you hug them for the first time.

characters : al haitham, neuvillette, scaramouche, furina

cw(s) : very gentle yandere themes, everyone is surprised pikachu in different styles

──⚝ al haitham

For the first time in his life, while being at least two consistent steps ahead of everyone — Al Haitham finds himself at a loss.

Perhaps that had been your intention as well, a part of him suspects. You were certainly not the first in this endeavor, seeing a usually composed person behave contradictorily to their nature is, unfortunately, the source of amusement for a specific group of people and, bewilderment for unsuspecting onlookers. Albeit, the Scribe doubts the former to be your main objective because, the last wicks of rebellion were snuffed out by his persistent hands. The mesolimbic pathway of the brain is known to regulate incentive salience and many reward related behaviors, Alhaitham knows this much because of continued perusal. Indeed, science can explain many things, logic can place things on a concrete scale.

The Scribe may also try to rationalize the feelings you create within him in ways that fit his comfort zone, but, more often than not, they fail to prove satisfactory. You alone have the supreme power of luring him out of his shell by simply existing beside him, and he, the foolish scholar parched in search of enlightenment, follows the mirage's call each time. Many have tried to tear his ataraxia to shreds and only one has succeeded. Which is why, he remains still, unmoving, muscles terse from the pull of his pride. Maybe giving a last chance to his ego, seeing, if ignoring this gnawing addiction would shoo it away for good, and of course, he is a foolish man.

He hadn't done anything in that precise moment but, later that night, he had held you tighter than he ever had.

──⚝ neuvillette

It is universally acknowledged that justice bends to no one, but, what verdict should be declared upon the person, who drives the very symbol of justice insane?

It is both Neuvillette's delight and agony the control you have over him. You keep him dangling by your finger and the odd thrill that spreads across his soul from it, entices him to further entangle himself in this intoxicating chase. Sometimes, he's yanked to awareness by his conscience, it should be insulting for a man of his stature to be so helplessly smitten. The thought that he, the mighty Sovereign of Hydro, is just as susceptible to temptation as an ordinary man is, should appall him. Perhaps, they did concern him initially. Would it not have been wise to uproot the source of this burgeoning obsession from his heart when he still had the chance? Before this exact scenario which he knows will plummet him to a trench he won't be able to—will not want to—return from?

Yes, that would have been a reasonable decision. But, it'd not be so exhilarating. A drowning man from whose fingertips the surface has already escaped, finds peace in the feeling of sinking to the unknown depths. Neuvillette embraces his fall and, you'd think such desperation was impossible from one single man if you didn't feel it pressed to every inch of your skin. The Iudex's sigh will blow over your hair and in your arms will he rediscover his breath. How utterly foolish of him, why did he deny himself this sanctuary for so long?

Neuvillette is so dazed from the peace that, he wouldn't mind dying in that moment, if only he could remain in your embrace.

──⚝ scaramouche

It really is a mistake to give a man an inch who unashamedly steals a mile, but, it's too late for you to reconsider now, isn't it?

Innocent Kabukimono likes the feeling of being in your arms, it reminds him of a distant night where his mother brushed his tears aside. But, a part of him knows the way your gesture translates to him isn't quite what he had felt from his creator. Your embrace makes him secure, just like hers — but, it makes tiny sparks bloom in his vacant ribcage as well. He doesn't know what it is, or, if he wants to know. All he's certain about is that, he wants to remain in your arms forever, tucked away from the merciless eyes of fate.

Kunikuzushi's wary eyes dart across you in anticipation of a dagger at his back or, a triumphant smile for having discovered his weakness. It's not that he doesn't like this, but, more so that he can't bring himself to not complicate the gesture. Why do you give him something that no one has bothered with? He thinks it's better he remains careful—though he doesn't pull away—because, it'd break him beyond repair if you betrayed him, too.

The Balladeer is startled, out of every one of your tricks to render him speechless, this one has been the most effective yet. You should probably stick to this from now on (not that he'll say it out loud). The Harbinger would rather swallow those tooth-rotting dango than admit that there is some genuine kindness left on this cursed planet. As much as he suspects you of fostering ulterior motives, he isn't as caught up in it as Kunikuzushi that every other detail eludes his judgement. He makes a show out of how annoying he finds it, how much inconvenience you're causing him by the grip of your arms. You'd believe his words and ‘irritated’ body language as well, had his fight with the curve of his lips wasn't so blatant. Perhaps, you should apologize for hugging him without permission with a kiss, hm?

The Wanderer wonders what beget this expression of kindness. In his lone vagrancy, he's encountered the sight of these gestures periodically. His curiousity yearned to know what significance was contained in an embrace, how it felt and why he was never at the receiving end of one. These questions were pushed at the depths of his soul—or whatever it is that lets him ‘live’—where they festered into want and then hunger. This slumbering appetite was emboldened on the day he willingly bore the memories of his past. But, the weight of a lifetime rendered him tired. For once, he did not want to think, suspect or tease ; he only wished to be held without restraint.

Which is why, Wanderer is the only version of this puppet who returns your embrace.

──⚝ furina

Not even acute mastery over the art of improvisation could've prepared Furina for this out-of-script situation.

It should've come as no surprise to her, she's been the center of a nation's adoration for five centuries, people of Fontaine flock in line for the chance of catching a glimpse of their Regina. You must've been unable to contain the immense affection you have for her, just like everyone else! But, for some reason, that thought feels bitter on her tongue when applied to you. She realizes that comparing your affection to the one her people shower her with leaves her with a howling dissatisfaction. The warmth of your being and the tentative tightening of your arms make her legs wobbly, send her heart prancing and her stomach twisting in the most pleasant way.

Of course... the citizens of Fontaine love her for her performance, for the role she plays ; not and never for herself. But, the percipience that you may love the cowardly, lonely and pathetic girl she truly is — tumble upon her like a plethora of bricks and almost make her faint. When she lifts her arms next, the notion of her returning the hug is tossed promptly in the flurry of tickles. You're forced to succumb to the enticement of hearty chuckles and, she joins you — hoping that, the raucous sound of laughter will conceal the tears streaming down her face.

And she prays that, just for this one moment, she wouldn't be judged guilty.

happiest new year to whoever is reading this, you are lovely and you'll continue to shine in the next year(s) as well<3

[chrollogy]

SFW; fluff, making out with neuvillette & him just being really into it, major 4.2 fontaine archon quest spoilers (not detailed but a spoiler, nonetheless). wanted to work on my kissing scene writings so here ya go :> divider: cafekitsune

── neuvillette was not a man of many expressions—even when seated at the opera epiclese where trials are held, the hydro sovereign remains unmoved but that exterior melts away as soon as he’s in your presence. the chief justice’s ever-neutral face now painted in a deep crimson blush, ivory brows knitted together as he passionately kisses you. his lips warm like the first ray of sunlight peeking from the azure horizons; his hair that resembled the brightest starlight all dishevelled from the works of your hands, gently tugging at it to elicit dulcet moans of your name in between kisses.

neuvillette practically turns into putty as you tantalizingly run a finger down the length of his spine, touch as light as a butterfly but enough to induce an icy shiver. his knees buckle at it, body leaning into your own; god, you were both fully clothed but he felt bare and sensitive under your languid touches. and when your hand meets his lower back, you waste no time pulling his hips into yours, drawing out a surprised gasp from the iudex. “how brazen. .” neuvillette groans, tugging at your bottom lip before trailing wet kisses along your jawline.

your lover’s hand rests on your nape, angling your head for better access, and before you know it, he’s back on your swollen lips like a starved man. barely giving you both a time to breathe, neuvillette moans into your mouth, his free hand gripping your hips and squeezing at it—a telling sign that he wants more. oh, how you manage drive him into complete madness is beyond his comprehension.

[nalyniavadelletargaryen]

{ TWIN FLAME - Aegon Targaryen + Rhaegar Targaryen }

{ SUMMARY/PREVIEW CHAPTER }: Twins carry a shared soul, a force that only exists between them. One may pull, and the other may push, but by fate's hand, they’ve been conjoined by a shared will for power. The elder strays from the path of morality while the younger strides upon it with just as much pride. Both men share a desire: an attraction to what they are forbidden to have.

{ WARNINGS }: MDNI + SMUT + ANGST + TARGCEST + AGE GAP + BLOOD + LANGUAGE + VIOLENCE + NIECE/FEM READER + MATURE THEMES

{ PRESS ▶️}:

"To war then!"

Aegon's voice rang loud and clear through the council room, setting unease on those who sat on either side of him, but one man remained unmoved by his heady announcement.

Rhaegar smirked, a broad amusement in his expression, "Good..."

The two men share a fulfilled grin; the elder is pleased to see his dark-haired half so encouraged by his decision.

They'd never agree on most things, but inciting rightful violence to achieve personal satisfaction was a common interest.

However, you were another exception to their differing worldviews.

Aegon slid down into his chair, glancing away from his second younger brother to eye the men and his mother, who sat in tense silence. "You are all dismissed..." he left no room for debate on the command. Alicent swallowed hard, holding back the words of wisdom she knew neither man would listen to, and with a slow exhale, her anger dwindled to plain discouragement.

Rhaegar did not shrink under her turning gaze. Unmoved by her silent plea for help, he was firmly comfortable in his seat as she and the rest of his brother's councils rose from their seats.

"Arrogance.." she mumbled bitterly, walking past him with a swiftness he and Aegon had learned to overlook.

"They refuse to act and fear a war that's already started," Rhaegar spoke freely when the last council member had stepped out, the doors to the room slammed shut by the king guard on watch, and a moment of shared silence short-lived between them. Aegon scoffed loudly, a smirk plastered on his face, "That's quite obvious, brother. Our mother intends to be timid about bloodshed. It's quite pathetic." He tossed his hands up in apparent disbelief, shaking his head at the thought of the woman who'd so proudly pushed him to be sovereign now seeking a quick end to a great conflict, and Rhaegar shared his disdain for the anomaly that was their mother.

"She'd sooner trust the gods with our fate than be reasonable. I don't see why you keep her at this table.."

Aegon eyed his twin, his face dropping to a callous frown. "As relieving as it would be to put her aside, you know well how our mother would never cease prying into our dealings with or without permission."

A more accurate statement had never left his elder brother's lips, and Rhaegar was impressed by him for a solemn second.

"Hm. It's surprising to hear you, of all people, see my side of reason." He chuckles, taking a brave gulp from his wine chalice. "Need better spirits at a time like this," the brunette bit out, tongue-numbing from the dull sting of alcohol in the wine, and his observation drew an offended reaction from Aegon

"It's the best drink to my taste." His amusement faded quickly on the premise of his preferences being questioned. "Do you take issue with me-"

Rhaegar laughed, a hearty sound that eliminated anything his twin was apt to spit out, "Oh, don't you dare twist my words, brother!" He set his cup down with a firm shake, grinning wide as Aegon glared at him directly.

"You speak too freely, Rhaegar.."

His laughter halted, grin falling to a closed smile as he relaxed into his chair at the end of the unoccupied table, "I speak what I think, Aeg. Which is much more than you can offer..."

The silence returned, filled with mounting animosity between a brother of pride and another of worthy praise.

A king and a warlord.

A rake and a hidden saint.

Made of one blood but with many contrasts in life.

Silence and lingering hate connected them.

Aegon poised to further it with a heady retort, greedy for triumph in a conflict many knew to be brotherly rivalry, but a solid rap of knocking on the closed council doors stopped him.

Rhaegar raised a brow at the sound, intrigued rather than annoyed as his brother seemed to be.

"They've come back for another debate so soon?" He chides out loud, unbothered by Aegon's grimace.

"Bothersome imbeciles..."

The knocking came again, quicker and louder. Each tap was executed with an exciting pace, different from the slow, solid thumps of a man readied to spill his thoughts on warfare.

Aegon hesitated to allow the visitor entry, glancing at his brother, who already had his eyes on him.

"They seem eager.." he mumbles, finishing his wine without care for his brother's exasperated sigh.

"Enter..!" Aegon announced, taking a gulp of his drink and sucking his teeth at the bitter taste.

The king's guards swung the doors open, nodding their heads to the culprit of the sudden interruption. "Thank you, Ser Lanis and Ser Daleon." Your gentle voice cut through the air in a familiar cadence, alerting the two men of your presence before you came into their direct view.

Both knights showed you a grateful smile, quick to shut the doors again as you paced up the steps leading to the nearly empty table. Rhaegar greeted you first, smiling as he reached a hand for your own. You gave him the courtesy, slipping a hand into his open one, returning his smile as he placed a chaste kiss on the back.

"Niece..." he muttered against your skin, his voice tender and hardened eyes softening completely as you swipe your fingers along his jawline affectionately. "Uncle," you greet him back, chest tightening with pure delight when he chuckles upon hearing it. However, your shared moment abruptly ended as Aegon called you.

"You'd leave your King unnoticed, sweet girl?"

He did not attempt to mask his jealousy, and you yelled at it with practiced grace. "No, my King. You'll always have my attention." You show him a smile, not afraid to roll your eyes at him as you step away from Rhaegar and stride towards him.

Aegon is far less cordial when greeting you, standing from his seat to look down as you bow to him. You are respectful in your initial approach and stand up straight when he rests a hand under your chin. "I'll hold you to that, princess," he lowered his voice as if to tell you a secret, and you merely hum sweetly in response, accepting the lingering kiss he placed on your cheek. Unlike his brother, Rhaegar could hold his tongue to some restraint, seeing you receive affection from his counterpart.

However, it did not last long as Aegon stepped closer to you, clearly set on keeping your attention on him and him alone.

"Why have you come here?.." Rhaegar poised the question in earnest curiosity, satisfied to see it gain your focus and ruin his brother's apparent intentions. You shifted away from your eldest uncle, looking between him and his nearly identical half before divulging why you'd found your way into the council room.

You never seemed to stay away from either of them long enough, with little motivation not to when your mother had urged you to do so longer than you could recall. By consequence, you'd been left in their care at the turn of your grandfather's death, present at his side the night before he took his last breath in hopes of keeping him company since your mother could not manage it. Still, with little warning, you'd found yourself in opposition with your closest kin by association.

You found your position to be a cursed blessing. I'm glad to be within reach of the men you cared about most besides your older brothers; you were highly aware of the danger the nearing conflict of birthright claims would surely bring.

You tried hard not to reminisce about the war's aftermath, keeping yourself observant yet pliable in the grip of the Green faction.

Even as you stood in the presence of the men you'd grown to trust despite all outside protests, their very existence reminded you of fate's tricky hand.

"I've come for your help." You tread carefully with words, pacing them to carry on your voice softly, knowing well what a simple change of tone could do to either man. Rhaegar sat up straighter, eyes never leaving you as he inquired for a better understanding of your intended words.

"Our aid for what, ..?" You paused, hearing the doting nickname he'd chosen to call you since your first encounter, resolve to melt a little as he followed it with a reassuring smile.

Feeling Aegon resting a hand on your lower back did not keep your heart racing slower, his firming touch stealing your train of thought for a split second, but one glimpse at the head seat he'd been sitting in only a moment ago brought your sense back to you.

They had been your weakness for far too long, filling a craving for experience and attention you couldn't satisfy in your mother's household, but now the time for a stronger mindset was needed.

Your mother deserved the seat Aegon so proudly claimed now; no matter your love for him and Rhaegar, you intended to see her in it, and with a steadying inhale, you continued with your mission to do so.

"I've been...having some trouble finding peace as of late. Especially at night, the masters can't find a remedy for my issue.."

Sleep. You hadn't been able to rest since the coronation, and it was no help that both men had made it a point to create boundaries with you that hadn't existed before. You'd grown accustomed to seeking one or both out for a good night of sleep, never having to exchange any flesh for the security they provided, but not above laying your head on their pillow to dream of it.

Aegon smiled at you, his hand on your back sliding in a small circle as if to ease your strife as minimal as it seemed to him, and you flashed him a grateful upturn of your lips in return.

"I...I had hoped that either of you would give me peace of mind. I'm aware of many things but still am left in the dark in the light of the most important knowledge."

Your heart sank as the faces of your brothers, mother, and father crept past the forefront of your mind. Every single one of them dawned an expression of distant concern, so clearly betrayed. Imagine their reaction to the news of your lingering presence with the side of the family who had no right to the throne, which made your stomach twist with knots.

You wanted to get back to them, to be beneficial even if they'd never considered acknowledging you as applicable. Yet, as you implemented a plan to find your way back to them, you couldn't feel entirely confident in their presumable welcome when you did return.

Jace might be the only one who'd be genuinely happy to see you again and not hold a dormant grudge towards you for staying at the late King's side and inevitably supplanting yourself as a hostage for the Greens.

Rhaegar studied you, sensitive to the minor details of your request, discerning every word you spoke on instinct to hang onto each one.

"You wish to know of your place in..." he waved a hand, motioning to the air of war that loomed closer and closer with each passing day, and you nodded tentatively at his gesture. "Yes...or at least if I'm to be used as leverage..."

Your blunt reply cuts through both of them differently. Aegon glares, momentary anger consuming him as he inches closer to you, head lowering so that his voice reaches your ear directly. "You are safe with me. Here in my..." he hesitated, meeting Rhaegar's observatory gaze before finishing his quiet declaration, "...in our protection. That I can swear to you with certainty ."

His noticeable overconfidence peaked through his tone, and your anxiety was anything but calmed by his promise. Your chest lightened from relief, knowing he still harbored adamant devotion to your well-being rather than wishing to use it as an advantage over your mother.

Rhaegar held a similar attachment to you, expressing it with less egoism than Aegon did through an even response. "Our opinion of you has not changed. You shall be kept here in fair respect."

He stood from his chair, leaving his chalice with it as he came to stand on your unattended side.

Your gaze automatically shifted to him, struggling to stay there as Aegon's burned into you with unabashed envy. "You have the King's word and mine," he passed a thumb over your cheek, speaking directly to you as if his brother did not exist inches from you just as he did. Your breath caught in your throat, heat rising to your face and spreading to your lower belly as he took his time gauging your reaction.

"Let that be the answer to your questions. War plans are nothing for a young girl like yourself to be concerned with, understood?"

Rhaegar pressed you into submission with a tailored ease, pairing the underlying demand with a lazy smile that never failed to make your head spin. You bit back your own, nails digging into the draped sleeves of your dress as you clasped your hands behind you.

Of course, he'd seen right through you, cut off your prying for knowledge like any intuitive man of his nature would, and you desperately wanted to push past the restrictions he intended to set up. Still, the possibility of appearing too apt for valuable information made you hold your tongue.

You swallowed the pride, bubbling up to spill from your lips, pressing them into a small smile as you nodded in agreement. "I understand, uncle."

Rhaegar hummed in satisfaction, not bothered by his brother's palpable disdain. "She knows better than to ask us for such details, brother. You needn't mold her to be compliant." Aegon tugged you closer to him, hugging your side and making no move to let go.

You went still in his embrace, familiar with it, but not all pleased with how he spoke of your intentions or concerns.

Stupidity and obliviousness were never your strong suits, and having been pushed to the side and ignored by so many throughout your life made it easy for you to play on those faults better than most.

Rhaegar had grown wiser to your act sooner than Aegon, mentioning nothing of your love for secrets and manipulation to anyone in the simple efforts to bring you to heel at the direst times.

This was the perfect opportunity, and if his all-powerful brother could realize your intentions too, he could have the chance to relish in the delight Rhaegar did seeing your innocent facade falter. Aegon remained unwise to it, resting his chin on your shoulder after placing a ginger kiss on the exposed skin as a wordless apology for his younger's implication.

"No soul in this castle is out to get my throne, Rhaegar. Not my darling girl, anyway..." You shuddered against him as he kissed behind your ear, feeling the smile on his lips as he hugged you tighter. A blush painted your cheeks as his hands kneaded your waist through the fabric of your dress. This openly lustful action brought butterflies to your stomach and agitated Rhaegar to the point of impulsivity.

"Pawing at your niece is unbecoming of you, brother..." he made no effort to mince his words, mirroring Aegon's glare as you lowered your head in slight embarrassment. "She has yet to tell me to stop. It seems to bother you more than it does her..." Aegon chuckled at his blatant mocking, nipping at your ear to earn a soft whine and solidly his claim.

Rhaegar held his stare, failing to withhold an equally rousing laugh before lowering his head to meet yours. He found your eyes with his own as he spoke to you softly.

"Come to me.."

He says it only once, and you react with little thought, longing to feel him like Aegon held you. Your body shifted toward him, one step eliminating the space he'd maintained, and your lips found him with little hesitation or shame. Aegon grunted a scathing curse as you reached for his dark-haired twin, leaning back into him as the younger wrapped a hand around your throat, deepening the kiss with the slip of his tongue into your mouth. Rhaegar peered at his brother as you moaned against his lips, a smirk tugging at him the entire time.

"Bastard..." Aegon grumbled, refusing to show the shreds of amusement he felt seeing you crumble at the simplest pleasures, drooling trickling down your chin, and your weight pressing against him as the emanates of sense left you. It came as no surprise to Rhaegar when the older raised a hand to tangle in your hair, pulling on it so you had no choice but to break away from the heated kiss and his low whine of pain.

You let out shallow breaths, afraid to look into either of their eyes as you tried to compose yourself and ignore the needy warmth culminating in your belly. Aegon turned your head to him with subtle force, taking in the dazed expression on your face, the gradual swell of your plush lips, and the gloss of combined spit that lingered on them.

"Open." He commands in one breath, smiling when you do just as he asks and part your lips for him. He steals a glance at Rhaegar, smug as ever, and spits into your mouth with natural ease, turning his gaze back to you as it slides down your throat with a quiet whimper of his name. His lips come to meet your then, slow and harsh. A complete contrast to his brother's swift and sweet approach. He bites at your bottom lip, drowning in the muffled groan you give at the blooming pain he inflicts, returning it with a timid nip on his.

Your lungs burn for a breath. Aegon won't let you catch, so you peek at Rhaegar for help. You are torn between gratitude and confusion as he tightens his grip on your throat before using it to pull your lips away from his brothers and back to his.

He lets you go when your eyes water with tears, allowing Aegon to turn you around in his arms and hug you close. "It's been some time since we shared you, little one..."

It's a statement. It is a clear fact that you have no will to deny. Too lost in your head to respond appropriately or notice Rhaegar sitting in the nearest council chair. He lounges in it leisurely, head resting on one hand as he watches Aegon's hands begin unlacing your dress strings with unconscious finesse. You find your bearings then, feeling increasingly vulnerable as the eldest of them unties your bodice and steps forward until you have no choice but to be within his twin's reach.

"You've been so faithful and well-behaved for us, too. We'd hate to see you left unrewarded for that. Wouldn't we, brother?" Aegon eyed the brunette over your shoulder; a bittersweet smirk reflected as he nodded in agreement. "Wouldn't be very fair to her at all..." he speaks lowly compared to his brother's boastful tone, deeply embedded in his desires at the sight of your bare skin being exposed to him as your bodice slips to the stone floor.

You shiver as the air douses your skin, breasts pressed to Aegon's clothed chest, and the warmth he emits prompts them to be sensitive and pertinent. His hands find your sides again, steadying you in his hold while Rhaegar rips the fabric of your skirts. He does the same to your small clothes, letting them fall atop the torn clothing. "Wouldn't be very fair to us either."

A/N: A cliffhanger on a smut?... yeah, I know. I'm sorry, but I must lead you guys on before giving you the complete filth of it all...

{ BONUS CONTENT + }

Credits to creator and I literally watch this edit on repeat …it’s so fucking good ;) 🖤

[takenbypeter]

hiii! can i request a chalamet!wonka x fem!reader where they’re childhood best friends and have grown up on the ship together and get stuck at scrubbit’s together?? and willy is super upset he got them into this mess and they’re stuck in own room (with one bed 🤭🤟) and fluff and confessions happen

Share This Moment With Me

Willy Wonka x reader

Words: 1728

You couldn’t believe this.

5 years together on the ocean and even then you had your own cabin, but of course, at this small inn where you’ve been trapped the only room they claimed available was a single.

Now you didn’t blame the boy for spending all the sovereigns, you didn’t blame the boy for even finding this place, and to be fair you signed the contract without reading correctly either, so partially it was your fault as well, but what’s done was done and it couldn’t be changed. You were gradually coming to terms with that.

Willy not so much.

There he was pacing back and forth as you sat in the chair, your chin in your hand watching the man practically unravel in front of you.

“Sit down,” you breathed slightly annoyed at his trance, but he ignored and kept his pace. He walked back and forth muttering to himself with his hand raised and a fingernail between his teeth.

You had to do something, you couldn’t let him drive himself insane, or rather you insane. Blurting a “Willy!” You advance to the poor boy and placing your hands on both sides of his shoulders you push down, seating him on the mattress behind that barely looked clean. “Sit down, take a breather. What’s done is done,” you instruct calmly.

He peers up at you, his big brown eyes wide, “how are you so calm right now?”

You remove your hands from him, a tranquil tone present in your voice, “I’m not, but one of us has to keep it together.”

He threw his head in his hands, shaking it disappointedly, “I can’t believe I got us into this mess.”

“Hey, hey, you’re not the only one I could’ve taken a closer look at the contract.”

“I promised you a better life and look where it’s got us stuck.”

You pressed your lips thin at his pessimistic words. Giving up? This was unlike him, you didn’t like it. “It’s alright. Everything will be fine,” you said and he just sat there unmovable. “This isn’t like you,” you said, shocked at how dull your friend appeared.

“What happened to your positivity?”

Without answering your query he stands abruptly and heads for the door, “I’m going to ask again if they have two rooms.”

“Willy, even if they had one they’re not going to give it to us, that’s clear.”

He stopped hand frozen on the door handle because honestly you were right, just from that one experience with Mrs.Scrubbit and Mr. Bleacher, it was obvious they cared not a lick about comfortability that’s for sure.

“Come on, it’s late, let’s just get some rest. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

At your mention of rest you noticed his expression contort a little, it was quick but it was an expression you couldn’t quite name.

“You take the bed, I’ll find comfort on the floor,” you offer but he quickly denied it. “Are you kidding? You take the bed, I'll take the floor.”

“If you take the floor I’ll just join you on the floor.”

“Fine, then let’s both just take the bed.”

“Fine.”

Willy pulls up the blankets that cover the bed, first the heavy one then the light one. You grab the light one while he climbs in and you push the heavy one more to his side.

Shutting off the light you climb in next and throw the light blanket over your body. Laying with your back to the boy and his to yours, you realize just how small the bed actually is.

Trying to ignore the knowledge of his body practically touching yours you pull your blanket tighter, instead focusing on how cold the night was.

That obviously was no help because now your body was just cold, you tried your best to conceal the feeling but no matter how hard you thought you couldn’t stop your body from shivering.

No doubt noticing your shivers, you feel a weight land over you, and you pull the heavy quilt over you and up to your chin.

Five minutes go by.

Fifteen minutes go by.

Twenty minutes go by and you’re still awake and alert.

You knew it wasn’t the cold keeping you up, in fact you were warm now, very warm. Now of course the quilt was keeping you warm but that didn’t explain the warmth you were beginning to feel in your cheeks, no that was caused but the knowledge of Willy Wonka’s body mere centimeters from yours.

You’ve known the boy since you were practically a child, it’s safe to say you’ve had your fair share of a crush on the boy. However, it was always one that would come and go and you’d like to think you had control over your feelings. However it was hard, when you were in such a situation like this.

You wait a few more minutes, but then you feel his body move no doubt turning around as you hear and feel the creak of the bed frame. “Can’t sleep?” You ask.

“No, can you?” You hear from behind and you turn, making your own creaking noises as you shift to face him. “No.”

You lay across from each other, face to face, staring as the light from the moon peeks through the window illuminating his facial features just enough for you to see.

You’re looking into his brown eyes while he does the same to you. You gaze over his features, his curls, his eyes, his nose, his lips, back to his eyes.

“Are you thinking about this whole mess again?” You finally ask.

“No.”

“Then what are you thinking about?”

He was silent, his eyes remaining on you.

“Willy, you’ve gotten into plenty of trouble before, what’s going on?” You ask, genuinely concerned for the boy and his thoughts. It was not healthy to be thinking so negatively.

“Yeah, but It’s easy to be optimistic and positive when it’s just me I have to take care of, but now I’ve roped you into this mess and who knows what will happen?” You lay in silence because he was right, who knows what will happen? “I asked you to come with me, I’m supposed to keep you safe. I just don’t want to be the reason someone I care so deeply about gets hurt.”

That was a lot to take in, he wants to keep you safe? He cares about you deeply?

“How am I supposed to imagine the future if I can’t even keep you safe in the present? “

“The future?”

He must’ve revealed something carelessly because in the next moment you could make out how his eyebrows knitted together and he sat up, “I have to get up,” he says and you sit up as well allowing him to scooch out from the bed and walk around, pacing as he did before.

“You picture us in the future together?”

“Well yeah, of course, I can’t imagine my future without you.”

The warmth that was only in your cheeks, spread, now affecting your whole face.

“Good, cause I can’t imagine a future without you,” you repeat, causing his nervous paces to slow.

“You do?” He asks, appearing to be in disbelief.

“Yes.”

“What do you picture our future like?”

You shrug suddenly growing shy, “what do you picture our future like?”

It seemed like this back and forth would never end.

“Okay, I can’t do this anymore,” he waves his arms around like a lunatic, “I have something to say,” he announces as if you hadn’t been listening. But just to show how in tune you were, you pushed against the bed positioning yourself closer to the edge to show you were paying close attention.

He froze, looking at you for a moment before beginning to pace again. “Just say it!” You urged tired of waiting for an answer.

He interlocks his hands together, tapping his pointer finger against his knuckles, “alright, I’m going to say something, and I don’t want this to ruin anything, because I value our friendship so much.”

You could practically see where this was going, he was just taking too long to get there.

“I mean we’ve been friends for so long, I wouldn’t want to do anything to cause damage to that,” unable to take the suspense any longer you do you both a favor and utter, “I like you.”

His mouth closes, quiet, while you contort your face into an embarrassed expression. It was hard to make Willy speechless but it seemed like you’ve just about done it. “I don’t just like you, I have feelings for you…” still, silence. “…romantic ones,” you add hoping that would knock him out of his apparent coma.

But it didn’t.

“Ahem,” you cough out, eyes now averted from his as you wonder if you’ve misread the whole situation. It can’t be, right?

You don't have too much time to think of it, because luckily he finds his words, “I like you too.” You finally peer back at him and he sits beside you on the bed. “I mean I have romantic feelings for you.”

A smile sneaked onto your face, but his still remains upset, “but now you’re stuck here with me, and it’s my fault.” Reaching over, you take his hand, “Willy, I’ve told you over and over again, it’s alright. Plus there’s no one I’d rather get stuck with than you.”

He let out a single laugh, “that sounds ridiculous.”

“Yeah well I happen to know of a chocolatier who loves ridiculous things, oh wait that’s you…” you say laughing at your own words, and of course your laugh causes him to laugh.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“So I guess you love me,” you meant it to be jokingly and lighthearted but you said it without thinking. You expected him to brush it off but apparently he was giving it much thought as he looked at you earnestly.

“I guess I do.”

This time, Willy didn’t hesitate. He tilted forward until his mouth met yours. It was a long awaited and lingering kiss between you two. One that left butterflies in your stomach as he smiled against your lips keeping his forehead pressed against yours.

“Oh I’m definitely going to have a hard time going to sleep now,” you joked while he laughed again, reattaching his lips to yours.

[weeb-polls-with-pip]

Morally Questionable Anime Milfs Side A Round 2 Match 8

Ozen -

"Here is a 7ft tall BEAST, who is one of the most dangerous humans in one of the, if not THE, most dangerous place in the world. She has repeatedly dove into the Abyss, survived any and all dangers, and returned countless times over. She currently lives in the 2nd Layer, and mans the Seeker Camp, an outpost in the middle of an upside-down forest. Ozen is ruthless and holds no punches or if she IS holding punches, expect her to gradually increase her punch force to figure out what your breaking point is. She is an apex predator in a highly dangerous ecosystem and won't hesitate from attacking children to convince them that this place isn't for them. Even still, she's the mentor to Marulk, an orphaned boy with a severe allergy to sunlight. The Unmovable Sovereign found Marulk's crashed ship and took to housing him in the Seeker Camp, away from the sun. Ozen's age is unknown due to the fact that she has implanted 120 Thousand-Men Pins (strength-enhancing relics) into her body but she has been a Cave Delver for at least 50 years. Also, Ozen has been noted to have risked everything for her former apprentice's newborn, forsaking a large ancient relic in-order to carry the baby out from the Abyss. Among the top Delvers, the White Whistles, Ozen is regarded as one of the kindest there is and no doubt it's because she's a genuine soul at heart with a brutal skin matching her dangerous domain."

Kafka -

"She's implied to be the Trailblazer's mother (genetically 25% of them), and shows up occasionally to blow things up execute nefarious plans and drop vague hints about the Trailblazer's unknown past. She kind of seems like she's attempting to help the Trailblazer but she also kind of appears to have no problem with killing people whenever it's convenient, so I think she falls pretty solidly into 'morally questionable' territory. She's also hot as fuck and I would let her shoot me."

[dailymtgflavortext]

"Be like the sea: flow around that which is unmovable; for everything else, crash into it unrelentingly."

-Merfolk Sovereign

[pavus]

PROMPT : Sovereigns. DRAGON AGE 2 ERA. Words: 2414. Characters: Verity, Fortune, Carver, and Leandra Hawke.

Gamlen’s house smelled like sour milk, sweat, and… citrus?

Once her eyes adjusted to the darkened room hours of drinking in the blinding midday sun, Verity spied her brother, Fortune, sitting cross-legged by their meager fire with ribbons of bright orange-and-white peels scattered across the floor in front of him. Their mother perched at the edge of a chair barely big enough for half her hips with a knife and a second fruit.

Fortune perked up at the sight of her, but Leandra seemed content enough to skin her orange in silence, her attention unmoved.

“Where’s Carver?” Verity unbuckled the sword belt hanging from her waist and let it fall on the table beside a cascade of already opened letters. Gamlen’s doing, as ever. “In his room?”

“What d’you need Carver for?” Fortune asked, his voice muffled around the juice-soaked thumb that he’d buried halfway into his mouth to clean. “I think he’s asleep. Meeran had him out at dawn, and he only got back a few hours ago.”

Without another word, Verity crossed the cramped living quarters and shoved open the door leading into the even-more-cramped bedroom the five of them shared in shifts. Fortune had been right; Carver was sprawled over the bottom bunk with one leg dangling off the side and a hand tucked up under the shirt that barely fit him anymore.

And he was snoring, best of all.

READ THE REST ON AO3.

[zapplle]

NECROMUNDI

Necromundi is my worldbuilding project, set in a dark fantasy setting inspired by the likes of The Refugium, Vermis, Merrymog, Elden Ring, Conan, The Lord Of The Rings, Kill Six Billion Demons, Nausicaä, Fear and Hunger, Berserk, and others. The Setting takes place upon the Corpse of God, from whose body arose the world we know. God is not an anthropomorphic entity, however. Rather, in life, they would have resembled something akin to an enormous celestial holothurian or Kos from Bloodborne (or even the Lady of the Lake illustration by Zhengyi Wang).

The World is, importantly, not a planet, rather its an enormous area of flat land, illuminated in its center by an unmoving Sun, below which rages the Everstorm; A hypercane made up of dozens of other smaller cyclones, hurricanes and storms, together resembling the surface of Jupiter. Around the Sun orbit the Four Moons, with the furthest and smallest moon known as the Pygmy Moon, while the remaining three moons orbit within the same belt. The further one is from the Sun, the darker and colder the days and nights become, and the pinnacle of this is the Evernight, where the Sun is but the brightest star in the sky. Beyond the Evernight is the Abyss; the eternal expanse of pitch black void and iceflats where no star glimmers and old dark things live, drawn to the corpse like moths to light. In contrast and mirror image of this, the lands directly bellow the Sun are assailed by eternal daytime. The Stars are celestial spores, glimmering in the firmament of the heavens, where they may, at times, bloom into demiurges or miscarried godlings.

The World is at this moment divided into Five Ages, or Generations;

The 1st Age; the Age of rot, recursion, putrefaction, and fermentation.

The 2nd Age; the Age of plenty, chaotic growth, and abundance.

The 3rd Age; the Age of calcification, stillness, and dormancy.

The 4th Age; the Age of distortion, metastasis, and disparity.

The 5th Age; the Age of dread, uncertainty, and the Fear of the Unknown.

The world is also meant to be akin to a sort of speculative evolution playground for myself.

(Below is in relation to the 4th Age)

There are no flowering plants upon the Corpse. Rather, forests are made up of towering conifers and gingkophytes, shrublands are made of mosstrees and fernshrubs, and the plains are comprised of lycophytes and grassferns. There exist no insects in this world. Rather, springtails and crustaceans reign sovereign in their place. Following this trend, there are no true spiders, mammals, or birds. Rather; mites, trigonotarbids, therapsids, and flying suchians called drakes exist in their stead. The biota of the 4th Age is meant to resemble that of the Triassic, Permian, and Carboniferous periods, though nothing is a 1:1.

Below are some sophonts of the 4th Age;

Magic does exist in the setting, as do gods and spirits. Some were born during the very moment of Gods death, while others predate the death, existing only as ambient nonentities of the Abyss before their enlightenment after the death of God, and yet some have been manifested and born countless ages after the death; originating from thoughts, wills, attachments, perception, dreams, phenomena and apotheosis. The death of God released the substance that became ideal forms - absolute entities that produce all things and phenomena. The ambient substance, separate from worldly matter and living creatures, exists in a state of superposition with the material world, as if in its own realm that can't be seen. Magic itself is an immaterial substance that ideal forms and spirits are made from. Divinity itself is a spectrum.

Expect irregular updates concerning Necromundi! I sincerely hope you all will enjoy!

[fakesurprise]

the queen on her throne unmoving heard neither pleas nor begging - her gaze a mirror to those below who marvelled at her regal form

the statue was dusted down daily by those who were punished after for touching the sovereign's flesh and not a single citizen ever knew

all praised her rulings passed in death the silence forcing wisdom to prevail

[hiswordsarekisses]

This was written by my friend Ann, and I’m in awe of how perfectly worded this is - explained so beautifully well.

“I’m not going to tell you that I pray, knowing I’m going to get the answer I want.

I can’t.

I know better.

I am absolutely confident God is not my pop machine or a genie in a cloud or any such thing.

If that’s your take on prayer and God, you will be sorely disappointed, when you find out God has been known to harden an enemy’s heart against you, as you prayed for a way through.

He will make you uncomfortable, as often as He conforms you. What you believe He will answer and what He might actually do, can blow your mind. I’ve got a hundred examples, but here’s just one of mine.

My son was dying. I was praying. I had a dream/vision that I stood in front of Jesus in the throne room.

As I gave Matthew to Jesus, I asked him to heal my son, totally and completely.

Jesus looked at my son in his arms and I saw them smile.

I woke up more than excited, more than hopeful, wildly certain God would heal my little 2 pound son! I totally believed it was going to happen.

When he died a month later, my heart flew to the throne room. “But I thought you were going to heal him!” I wailed and wept. And into my spirit I heard the lesson never to be forgotten.

“I did heal him totally and completely. That is why he is here with Me now.”

That was a hard revelation.

We’re so careless in prayer.

We often lose focus of what God wants, wanting what we want.

I did not pray “Thy will be done”, because I didn’t really desire what God wanted.

I just wanted my son……alive.

The purpose of prayer is never to direct God to your answer, the way you want it answered.

He’ll teach you different.

Prayer is a conversational adoration. As a courtesy to us, Scripture tells us to make our requests known, that it’s God’s delight to give to us, that we do everything by prayer and thanksgiving, that He gives to us because He wants our joy to be. full.... yes, even in the unmovable no. Or maybe not that season, but in due season.

Prayer is about revealing what God wants in our lives first. It’s to find a way to stand in His service, even in our groaning and grief and frustration.

It is a glorious and great thing that we have access to a holy almighty sovereign God, who does answer prayer every single hour of eveth single day.

But .....prayer is never an access to try and control God, to get what we want when we want it, or how we want it done. It’s not to make us happy with outcomes.

Prayer is for us to be humbled, to grow, to be strengthened in our

faith, to pass the tests of the trials, to bow in adoration, to fall in awe,

to let God be God. To worship Him as God. Always.

He is faithful to lead you there if your heart is to be fully His alone. From there He rules and reigns and hears His servants say:

“Now unto Him who able to do abundantly above all we could ask or even imagine, to Him....be the glory. “ Ephesians 3:20

~Ann Stewart Porter

[questing-wulfstan]

@disc0bandit said 'what if Dream owned a comb ?', my brain replied 'you know what would make a great comb ? Hob Gadling's hands !!', inspiration struck and 1380 words ensued ...

Their noses met and slid along one another, the tips of them sinking in the flesh of the other’s cheekbone as their lips collided ; the mechanism of it precise as one engineered for centuries, in spite of the novelty of it between them. Sighs barely escaped the interstice of their mouths, drawn together like lodestones. Their eyes had fluttered shut, leaving it to touch and taste to lead them.

The rest of Dream’s shape remained unmoving, but he did not recoil as Hob tentatively set one hand on the collar of his cloak. Cautiously, considerately, his digits glided up, pluricentennial calluses ー from wielding the guard of a sword to the shaft of a fountain pen ー meeting the unblemished flesh of Dream’s nape. He held it for an instant before venturing higher, until the base of his skull, and the tip of his fingers met the end of hair as soft as a dormouse’s fur.

Dream tilted his face, allowing more than the sole tip of Hob’s tongue into his own mouth, and the mortal took it as an invitation to frankly bury his hand in the dark mane and mold the shape of his skull with it.

They explored each other’s mouths for a moment longer before Hob decided to further his ー so far successful ー tentative exploration of Dream’s figure. He enjoyed his hand where it was, but he enjoyed even more that the other wrapped around Dream’s middle and cradled him against his own flesh, so this one had to ruefully withdraw from his hair, and even more ruefully ー though inadvertently ー pulled Dream’s head back and away from the kiss.

Their eyes thrilled open. Hob curled his fingers and found himself inextricably tangled in the tight knots of Dream’s hair, a meddlesome roly poly caught in cobweb. Hob blinked, Dream mirrored him.

“... well, I would have expected the King of Dreams and Nightmares to have bed hair but you don’t actually sleep, do you ? How is it, your hair is as tangled as if you did ー and did not comb for several nights ? And how does it not look remotely the part ?”

Dream’s response was an enigmatic smile.

“Appearances are in the eye of the beholder, Hob Gadling, mine above any else.”

“Are you saying, that I am actively ignoring the state of bundle of knots of your hair for the sake of my sense of aesthetics , or that I chose for my hand to stay trapped in it ?”

Meanwhile, Hob was cautiously and unhurriedly withdrawing his fingers, detangling the knots in Dream’s hair as he went. The concerned party solely smirked.

“Perhaps you wished for the opportunity to comb my hair and created it for yourself, as I do not innately require it.”

Had he ? Or was it Dream who had created the opportunity ? It mattered little to Hob eventually.

“May I, then ?”

“You may.”

𝄽

They sat on the stairs that led to the throne of the Dreaming, Hob a couple steps above Dream, feet on both sides of him, knees framing him like the armrests of his seat of power. Lucienne had come, bringing with her a bound volume and a task that demanded being seen to by the Sovereign of the Dreaming, and her Lord was now absorbed in reading. Meanwhile, Robert Gadling was carding through the hair of his lover with his bare hands as sole comb, minutely and unabatingly unravelling the knots in it.

“... How ?” came the puzzled exclamation as he let the strand he had been laboring over flutter free of his grasp, now untangled and lithe, and it settled down Dream’s neck and down further in between his shoulder blades. “Are all the knots truly storage for the actual length of your hair when you wish to wear it short ? Is that all the hair you’re allotted for the entirety of your existence and it won’t grow back if you cut it ? Or …” An impish smile stretched his lips and he seized the strand of hair again, pulling it almost taut as he angled himself to whisper directly into the pinna of Dream’s ear. “Or is that really where your power lies ? Would a haircut depose the King of Dreams and Nightmares ?”

Dream emitted something between a huff and a scoff, head briefly tilting back as he found the suggestion both amusing and ridiculous.

“The story of Šīmšōn has already been told, Robert Gadling. It is not mine.”

“No ? Truly ?”

“No.”

Dream’s tone was conclusive, and fleetingly silenced Hob. He straightened up again, eyes riveted to the handful of raven's feather-spun filaments he cradled.

“Has your hair grown long in my hands because I envisioned you with your hair long ?” There was wonder, and reluctance all at once in Hob’s quiet enquiry, as two fingers tackled a new tuft of Dream’s hair.

They fell away as Dream turned to look at him, features a mirror of Hob’s unease. But that fell away also, his expression morphing into reassurance.

“It is my very essence not to possess an appearance of my own, but to reflect what dreamers need come face to face with. I am seldom perceived at all by your kind when walking the Waking. I have no will on the matter upon which you might be infringing, Robert Gadling.”

Hob plucked the instant to scrutinise it : Dream’s cast, and the echo of his words. It was a rare occasion, overlooking the King of Dreams and Nightmares from a raven’s eye as he was now. Dream towered above all and any as a rule, Hob included. That he willed. Hob supposed anybody looking upon Lord Morpheus, whosoever they might be, ought to envisage him with might over them. Perhaps the sole significance to Dream’s appearance was ascendancy.

“You did not choose the visage you were born with either, beloved.”

“Aye, but I am merely human, barely more than mortal. You are Endless.”

“Yet I have no more and no less authority over my own appearance as those under my dominion over theirs. I would have thought you rather fond of the notion …”

Hob laughed. Dream smiled, and took hold of the hand that had been in his hair to bring it up and press lips delicate as moth wings to it, sealing the end of the conversation. Hob dipped to plant a sonorous kiss on Dream’s cheek in retaliation. Then he resumed his task, diligently unravelling the raven-hued strands of hair.

Dream returned to the bound volume in his lap, but the fixity of his neck and the loud absence of pages being turned betrayed his distraction and the shutting of his sight in favor of savoring how tender Hob’s digits in his hair were.

A long time elapsed thus. At last, Hob gazed upon the whole of Dream’s hair rid of knots, supple and silken, and combed his digits through it with as much ease as he would through a lilting brook. As he beheld the completion of his work, he registered that Dream’s attire had morphed the austerity of his customary black robe into lush dreamt velvet, ornately embroidered of black silk. Thicker matt fabric overlay the outline of his cleavage and extended into épaulettes upon his shoulders, leaving vast expanses of Dream’s unblemished neck and chest and shoulder blades exposed.

Hob deliberately draped Dream’s hair over one shoulder and, deliberately still, dipped until his lips were mere inches from the ivory skin, letting his breath warm it before he eventually closed the distance and kissed the offered flesh. His pupil were just above the horizon of his shoulder, and embraced the delight that graced Dream’s traits at the gesture.

The Oneiromancer stood then, escaping Hob’s lips merely to turn back and extend an inviting hand. His new attire was ampler than Hob was used to see him wearing, concealing most of his shape even as it unveiled much of his shoulders and cleavage. A spur to embrace him and regain through touch what had been removed from his sight pricked Hob. His gaze enfolded Dream’s and fettered it as he took hold of the offered hand, was hauled to standing and led out the throne room to wheresoever his lover might wish his presence.

[fellmother]

❛ i know under all that rage is a beating heart. ❜

From the hero sentence starters || Accepting

     She would wager there is no more adequate a place than this.

     It is not the first occasion, where they would meet on the sands of Plegia. Not the first or last time weapons would cross, and neither emerge victorious. Yet it is here, in the middle of his own path of destruction, that Morgana deems a sufficient place of confrontation. Where all the world falls off at the sides in every direction within but a few arm’s lengths. Obscured by dust kicked up by their own forces and a haze born from a thick, suffocating smoke that seems now to accompany the Exalt whenever he should haunt the country. All washed in an orange hue, a rich a fertile land now appearing as little more than a place long abandoned by any gods or the people following them. The smell of ash and sweat and metal sticking to what little air remains. None exist in this moment, save for the two and sun— an ever-present and burning eye, watching with a kind of malevolence either ruler might believe to be aimed at the other. He, who wages against her kingdom a bloody and violent crusade in the name of saving the world from tragedy. She, who has met him at every turn with similar ferocity, fighting for the innocent and the right to live in peace.

     And he speaks of sympathy.

     Had Morgana no decorum, she would retch at the very idea. The Exalt, who sits on that beast, donned in armour and clutching in his hand a sword blessed from a pact with the divine and wielded by heroes long immortalised in legends. A legacy he now carries on with massacres of villages and reducing homes to ruins and ashes. Perhaps some handful of years ago, those words would have been uttered in a different context. Playful banter between a crown prince and princess, occupying themselves with games outside of discussions taking place within fortified walls. But he is not that blissfully unaware child, swinging about a stick in practice, and neither is she. Nor can they hide in the shadows of those before them for whom they now champion the sides of a conflict far beyond themselves.

     She is unmoving, atop that wyvern. Poised, weapon held above her head, pointing downward. One hand at the end of its handle, arm bent at the elbow, the other but a short length down from it. The curved edge of an axe aligned to where she might run him through, and where her husband had laughed and suggested that perhaps she ought not aim there in the first place— that miserable cavity devoid of everything but hubris. Like some statue depicting the manifestation of judgement and retribution in a comprehensible form more than an aggrieved sovereign.

          "Oh, spare me your falsities. You are a being of violence and mindless slaughter; not words,"

     Comes her reply, lifting over that discordant roar and the beating of wings, biting through the haze and dust. And she need not give an example. The scenes in all directions would speak for her claim, however obscured in the moment. However much he would choose to turn away from them.

          "If my heart yet still beats, it does for my people. It does so, for the lives you have destroyed. It beats with the very blood your hands are drenched in!"

     Thirteen. That was the queen's age when the first Ylissean invasion marched upon her home’s soil. Eleven years have since passed, three of which she had not been on the throne for. Barely a life to have lived, before being encompassed by war. A conflict that sees now farmers and untrained citizenry from his own land conscripted, fields left unattended and barren. Neither willing to give in. Families of either side, never to be whole again. Blood of her people, shed by his order and belief of conspiring to lead the world the ruin, guilty only of existing in the wrong place at the wrong time. So consumed by legends of a dragon who destroyed all in its path that perhaps he fails to realise that same fear and paranoia has now pushed them all to the very ends he and those who raised him saw in their shared nightmares. For within her has she just begun to nurture a child who, too, will be born into war, but so they might invoke that same god of end times and life after death to put an end to their suffering. To end this crusade.

     Until then, she would play her part. For now, while able, upon the frontlines only after scouts and spies could verify beyond all reasonable doubt his presence leading yet another attack. Later, a decoy veiled by the same dark magic his land persecuted, shaped by only the most accomplished of sorcerers so that no detail would be missed. Leaving him none the wiser, until it was already too late. They have already the hints of confirmation that have been waited on, some for a decade, some for two thousand years. But all a nation tired of a war against their existence, who would not dare let the only chance left for peace slip from their grasp.

     All she must do is ensure as little harm as possible befalls her— as had been promised. Sworn upon vows if not for her sake, then their unborn saviour, even if Validar would never let her wander out of his line of sight. And so, Morgana narrows her focus. Sun glaring, closer to the horizon, reddened wisps of light an ornament to the haze and her alike, setting pale hair and the edges of all six armoured eyes at her shoulders alight.

          "I will not rest until your body is hung on display before those innocent you wish dead. Should you call that rage, then perhaps even your sight has fallen to your beliefs. What else left have you now than a penchant for death?"

[all-consuming-sea]

The Rumbling

EAT MY FLESH, OR I'LL EAT YOURS.

As if there was a sudden impact, the ground shakes and dust lifts. Not quite for long enough to be an earthquake, for earthquakes were named, settled, and carved out from the whole, an eternal wound left in the heart of the demon beneath my feet. His reign was shattered, his wrath excised. The demon that swallowed everything I'd ever known had grown bitter since that.

Regardless, the hand of a child buried by the dirt was in front of me, unmoving. We named earthquakes, but this? This he could do without a hint of remorse. I'm forced to kneel as I touch that gentle, cold hand. She's dead. It could have been my sister that he merely decided to chew on, or some poor child from another family that he decided to eat. It didn't matter. The dragon called GROUND liked to play with his victims. He was a gaping hole, an immense mouth that loved to eat, but not to swallow. His pride was always in the little things that got stuck between his teeth. The things we made, or people like us, both destroyed but not consumed enough to be invisible to the eye. Powerless to do anything but weep at the tragedy, and breath in the dust that rises as he laughs.

The ground shakes once again, and bellows with the sound of collapsing caves.

EAT MY FLESH OR I'LL EAT YOURS.

I put my forehead on the ground as I hold the little hand, unsure what to do. Defenseless. In anguish, I meekly ask for the reason. Not that I expected to find any meaning behind his desire. Not that I expected any answer. This was all nothing but a game for the sovereign under everything. And yet, with a rumble, I see the answer.

The earth is disturbed, and thousand of holes gape open across the land. From the displaced mounds of dirt, slowly emerge soft and pink jelly-like beings without any expressions. One wouldn't notice, but I do out of instinct. Humans. Survivors. Worms. Those that are not eaten by him, eat him, and eat, and eat, and eat. His slaves. His parasites. Shackled to an eternal hunger. To live in dirt, to eat dirt, to shit dirt. Wet, dark, dirt: Forever. That, or… My grip hardens at the hand I hold. It's cold. It wasn't quick.

I LOVE YOU. I DESIRE YOU SO MUCH. The ground keeps shaking more and more, but never enough to be destructive. It is a sovereign, but it still can't break the rules of this world, the meaning we gave it. It can just swallow, for now. I WANT TO BE INSIDE YOU. AND I WANT, FOR YOU TO BE INSIDE ME. FOREVER. OUR MARRIAGE.

And the dirt starts moving around me, encircling me. I can feel the ground losing solidity, starting to sink. The pebbles trickling over my feet whisper my name.

I'M A LOVING KING, AND ALL MY CONSORTS ARE EQUAL UNDER MY REIGN. BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER. DIRT IS THICKER THAN BLOOD. WE'LL NEVER BE APART EVER AGAIN, NOT EVEN IN DEATH. The cloud of dust is becoming impossible to breath. He does not speak, but tremors course through my body, subtle as the whisper of a rat, monumental as a falling giant. His corrupted and immeasurable lust forces one to break, or to adapt. As if its fondness was a gruesome pressure that made us evolve. I start coughing. I know where this is going. There's no way out. The moment I stepped there, the moment I noticed the buried kid, it was too late. BUT IF YOU'RE UNABLE TO LOVE ME, I'LL TELL YOU OF MY DEEDS. I'VE EATEN KINGS, I'VE EATEN KINGDOMS, I'VE EATEN CONTINENTS, AND I'VE EATEN THIS WORLD. I'M THE ONE THAT EATS ALL. CONSUME FIRST, OR BE CONSUMED.

I close my eyes. I put my hands on the filthy ground, and I shovel his flesh to my mouth. I won't live, but at least I shall survive his grand and terrible love. This love is bitter. This love tastes horrible. Inedible.

IT IS AN ACQUIRED TASTE.

Today, I shall never starve again.

[waltwhitmansbeard]

go on, claim my heart: chapter thirty-three

see my masterpost for what came before this.

Pike doesn't hesitate. She doesn't have the time. Her legs are little, but she pumps them as fast as she can, nearly rivaling Vax in speed as she beelines for Percy's side.

(What nauseating angle, what unseeing eyes, what still chest—her friend is dead. She can fix it. She can fix it.)

Her hand roots around in a pouch affixed to her hip. She knew. Maybe this was Sarenrae's forewarning, the nudge in the back of her mind to bring it with her, the small pocket of diamonds granted to her by the sovereign so many years ago. She curses under her breath; there is so much in this damned pouch, so many components and tools of her trade, and she can't find—

Her fist closes around a section of smooth velvet. "VAX!" Her voice echoes violently around the cavern. "KEYLETH, COME QUICK!"

As she spills the diamonds over Percy's unmoving chest, she motions for Vex, who still stands trembling and speechless just a few feet away, to come closer. The woman falls to her knees as Keyleth crawls up, hardly breathing through the force of her own sobs. Vax arrives in just a few moments, and even through her intense focus, Pike feels the balm of seeing baby Vilya in his arms ease her racing heart, just a bit.

She rips a piece of chalk from her pouch and begins to draw the carefully practiced symbols around Percy's head. "We have very little time," she explains, speaking in a rush. "We must coax Percy's spirit back to his body now."

"How?" Vex breathes, reaching down to grip his hand. Pike's eyes flick up; there is a flame of hope in Vex's watery eyes, and Pike will need that hope if they are to succeed in this.

"Say something. Anything. Whatever you think will make him want to come back." She drops the chalk, the final symbol completed. "Someone start!"

Vax looks down at the child he cradles so delicately. "She needs you, Percy. My daughter needs you. She needs an uncle, someone to teach her the things a father can't." He looks, then, to his wife, who weeps openly on the stone floor. "She needs you, too. You asked me once, if I could break her heart to save her life. The answer turned out to be no, because I am simply incapable of breaking her heart. And I think you would say the same, brother."

Pike looks down at the chalk markings around Percy's head. They glow, and she sighs in relief. "Next, please."

Keyleth sniffles, a loud, violent sound, and grabs onto Percy's free hand. "You already know why you must come back. We may have retrieved Vilya, but my family is not yet whole again. I cannot know peace without my brother by my side—and neither can Cassandra, who waits for you now in the woods above. We are not done loving you, Percy.

"I could not have made it here without you. I don't just mean to Whitestone, to Vilya, I mean...I could not have known that such love and happiness were possible for me if I did not first have you to show me that I were worthy of such things. And we have lost so much, you and I, and I simply cannot bear to lose any more. I know that I cannot be the leader that the Ashari deserve without you, my dearest friend and most loyal counsel, by my side, and so..." She wipes at her eyes, straightens her back. "I am ordering you, Lord Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III, back into your body and back by our side. Your future sovereign demands it."

Once again, the symbols around Percy's head glow, and Pike nods to Vex for her to finish the ritual. Vex stares at Percy, reaches up, brushes some hair from his staring eyes. She squeezes his hand, then takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out. Pike's fingers tap a nervous rhythm atop her knees; she doesn't want to rush Vex, but they are rapidly running out of time.

To her surprise, Vex leans down, hovering just above Percy's body, and brings her lips close to his ear. She whispers, her voice little more than a ghost in its own right, and Pike knows that there is no hope of Vax or Keyleth hearing what she says.

But Pike does.

"I need you, darling. We both do."

Vex straightens back up, and as the symbols glow for a third time, Pike swears she sees one of Vex's hands press into her belly for just a moment.

There's no time for Pike's mind to dwell on that for even a second, because suddenly, the symbols go dark, the chalk dimming to a dull gray that becomes almost invisible against the stone. No one breathes, all eyes locked on Percy's lifeless face. Even Vilya is silent in her father's arms. The moment stretches out infinitely, and Pike's heart sinks deeper and deeper into her stomach, sure that she has failed, sure that her friend is lost forever.

Then a cough, and his sightless eyes blink, and everyone's bodies sag in relief. They all gasp out sighs as Vex launches herself onto Percy, who is halfway through sitting up and catches her with a breathless oof. "Oh," he says, his voice still faint. "Well. Sorry about that."

Pike buries her face in her hands. She did it. He's alive. She sends a quick prayer to Sarenrae: Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Everyone is still somewhat speechless—no one has yet written an etiquette guide for best social practices after a friend has been risen from the dead—except for Keyleth, who clings onto Percy's side, babbling some teary, incoherent nonsense at a thousand words a minute. Percy just chuckles and pulls her into a one-armed hug. "Just needed a quick nap, is all."

Pike watches him exchange a look with Vax, his eyes darting between father and daughter in question. Vax nods and mouths, She's alright, and Percy's shoulders slump, the tension leeching away.

Just then, a small sound from deeper in the cavern draws their attention away from the formerly dead man. Pike looks past Vax to see a bruised and battered Lady Briarwood, up on the dais, her once-coiffed hair falling about her shoulders and a long, trembling finger aimed directly at the group on the ground.

Pike's heart leaps into her throat; Vax and Keyleth's backs are to her, but her shout of warning dies as panic overtakes her at the sight of crackling green energy gathering at the tip of the outstretched finger. Pike knows that she does not have the tools necessary to revive another lost friend, not here, not now—

It happens so quickly, she must put the pieces together after the fact. There is a thunderous boom, and then Lady Briarwood is a pile on the dais, and in the dancing flames of the torches, Pike can see viscous, red-black blood oozing from a round hole in her throat. She blinks, and now she sees Percy's gun in his hand, still raised and smoking. Pike cannot fathom the reflex, the quickness with which Percy snatched his gun up from where it had fallen beside him and aimed a perfect shot at Lady Briarwood's neck. He breathes heavily, eyes unblinking as he watches her choke to death on her own blood. Pike grips the holy symbol around her neck—Sarenrae, goddess of compassion, of healing, of redemption—and prays that Delilah Briarwood is carried on the swiftest of wings to the deepest bowels of hell.

[weeb-polls-with-pip]

Morally Questionable Anime Milfs Side A Round 1 Match 12

Propaganda:

Misaki -

"Misaki was a miserable lounge singer and mafia-mistress, who secretly resented her daughter, Miri, for being the result of an unwanted pregnancy. Though Misaki later abandoned her, Miri loved her dearly. When Misaki learned she was dying, she attempted to make amends with Miri, claiming to want to spend what little time she had left with her daughter. She ultimately passes away and leaves Miri in the custody of the two men who had been lovingly raising her since the abandonment."

Ozen -

"Here is a 7ft tall BEAST, who is one of the most dangerous humans in one of the, if not THE, most dangerous place in the world. She has repeatedly dove into the Abyss, survived any and all dangers, and returned countless times over. She currently lives in the 2nd Layer, and mans the Seeker Camp, an outpost in the middle of an upside-down forest. Ozen is ruthless and holds no punches or if she IS holding punches, expect her to gradually increase her punch force to figure out what your breaking point is. She is an apex predator in a highly dangerous ecosystem and won't hesitate from attacking children to convince them that this place isn't for them. Even still, she's the mentor to Marulk, an orphaned boy with a severe allergy to sunlight. The Unmovable Sovereign found Marulk's crashed ship and took to housing him in the Seeker Camp, away from the sun. Ozen's age is unknown due to the fact that she has implanted 120 Thousand-Men Pins (strength-enhancing relics) into her body but she has been a Cave Delver for at least 50 years. Also, Ozen has been noted to have risked everything for her former apprentice's newborn, forsaking a large ancient relic in-order to carry the baby out from the Abyss. Among the top Delvers, the White Whistles, Ozen is regarded as one of the kindest there is and no doubt it's because she's a genuine soul at heart with a brutal skin matching her dangerous domain."