#verse: wor

[manichalseys]

Hello! I saw that you write for TVD so I wonder if I can get a Damon x witch!poc fem reader, in which she, deferential to everyone who only expects the worst from him, sees something good in him, which is why she always chooses him and defends him (only Damon receiving all the love and care he deserves) please? With lots of fluffy and angst

thank you <333

deserving

damon salvatore x witch!poc fem reader

summary; you were not blind to everyone's aggression and faults, so why was everyone blind to everything but Damon's?

a note that this is not set anywhere specific in timeline - alsooo... minor Elena hate? She's such a villain to me.

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The living room of the boarding house had been destroyed, couch flipped and table turned to scrap by Stefan's outburst. He had stormed out quickly afterward, but not before telling both Elena and Damon that they had made him this way.

You stood near the entrance to the room, the magic in your veins humming as it begged to be released on the retreating, erratic vampire. He had been binging on human blood for so long now, you weren't sure he would ever go back to the mild mannered man you had first met all those years ago. No matter what scheme Elena and Damon concocted in their desperate attempt to save him.

"This is all your fault." Elena's voice wavered, but it was full of venom. Your eyes snapped to find her but she was locked on the eldest Salvatore. "You did this to him."

Damon shook his head, confusion marring his face. "Elena, you know that I've been trying-"

"If you had just cleaned up your act a bit sooner, Damon!" She was angrily gathering her things now, getting ready to storm out after her equally as volatile ex. "He wouldn't be this way if you hadn't influenced him."

Your eyes were only on Damon then, you could see the tell-tale clench of his jaw from across the room. The way his fingers flexed. He was upset, because he cared, but he would lash out because he didn't know how else to stand up for himself.

"That's not very fair, Elena. Stefan is his own person. Damon didn't make him do anything." Your voice was firm as you took the single step down into the living room, inching closer to Damon. Trying to let him know he wasn't alone.

Elena's eyes narrowed, a disbelieving smile gracing her face. "Are you really defending him right now?"

"Yes." No hesitation. "I am." You could feel his gaze burning a hole in your back while you stood like a human shield between him and the Gilbert. "I understand you're upset, we're all worried about Stefan. But it isn't fair to blame everything on Damon."

Her scoff would bother you for the next week. "Whatever you say." And with that she left.

The nervousness was settling in your chest when you finally turned to Damon, offering him a small smile. "Sorry about that."

His eyes searched yours for just a second before he turned around and walked upstairs silently.

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"Damon, you're bleeding." You noticed the blood literally pouring from his abdomen when he peeled himself away from you, having shielded you from the explosion that just rocked the gym of the high school. You vaguely noticed your friends pulling themselves to their feet around you, Caroline and Stefan arguing with each other over something. You didn't notice Elena storming over.

Everyone else's yelling voices faded away when you looked up to meet his gaze, noticing his eyes flickering over your dark skin, checking you for any injuries of your own.

You reached a hand out to heal him. You knew he would heal eventually, but it was the least you could do since he most definitely got injured shielding you. You didn't know what was going on with you and Damon lately, but just the thought of him bleeding made you nauseous.

Before your hand could make contact he was yanked away from you, a barely perceptible wince coming from him at the movement. You were angry before you even decided to be.

"How could you not warn us?" Elena's voice was shrill against the pounding in your head from the boom that happened moments ago. You couldn't help but noticed she didn't have a scratch on her but didn't hesitate to hit Damon right in the chest.

"Elena." You stepped forward to wedge yourself between them, not wanting Damon to take the matter into his own hands but not allowing Elena to put a hand on him. Vampire or not.

Everyone was staring now.

"No! Don't Elena me. He full knew that this group of vampires had ex military with them. A warning about potential bombs would have been nice!"

You tried hard to put a cap on your frustration. "Why would he willingly walk into somewhere that could blow him to pieces? Pretty sure there's no coming back from that. Even for a vampire."

Elena seemed to debate her reply for a moment, gaze going from the rigid vampire behind you to your own eyes. "One day, he's going to hurt you so bad, you won't care about his feelings anymore." She left with that, Stefan and Caroline in tow. Caroline was the only one who cast a haphazard glance back at you.

"Thank you." His voice was quiet, and your shock was loud.

"Of course."

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"Can you believe him?" You winced as Elena's angry voice sounded after the slam of the front door. You and Caroline had beat her to her own home after the showdown at the grill, hoping to clean up the broken glass you knew was waiting for her.

"I mean, what else do we expect?" Bonnie's reply was sardonic when they both rounded the corner, spying the other women in the kitchen.

"Damon is the most selfish, disgusting idiot that I have ever had the misfortune of knowing." Elena's tone was final as she slammed her purse down on the kitchen counter, pulling up one of the stools to plop into.

You tried to ignore that angry twinge that always started in your chest whenever people set their crosshairs on the older Salvatore. He seemed to be everyone's resident punching bag, despite the recent uncovered issues Stefan also harbored.

"I still say we should get rid of him." Caroline sounded chipper at the idea she presented, ready to have his head on a pike.

That was most definitely all that you could take. The glass you had been cleaning was roughly thrown into the trash can. "So we're going to get rid of Stefan too, right? Cut out the evil right at its root. Maybe Tyler too."

Her friends looked taken aback, each ones eyebrows pulling together while they stole glances at each other.

"Are you okay?" Bonnie was hesitant in her question, her caramel colored eyes focusing on your own.

"I'm fine, Bon. But it doesn't seem like you guys are. For the last year, all I have heard is how Damon is the bane of everyone's existence. How he's evil. How is what happened tonight his fault? Do you blame him for trying to save his mother? You surely wouldn't fault Stefan for doing the same. How can you make him the villain if you wouldn't hesitate to do what he does? If you were put in the same position?" You gripped the kitchen counter, willing your magic to calm from the swirling mess inside of your stomach.

"You can't mean that. He's done terrible things." Elena argued, arms crossing over her chest.

"So have you. So have I. But he's also done amazing things, Elena. He's sacrificed himself time and time again to try and win some kind of favor with you people but you've done nothing but take him for granted, and then demonize him even more when he dares to let your treatment of him hurt his feelings." By the end of your statement, you had your purse hanging off your arm and you were shoving past Bonnie to get out the door.

"Where the hell are you going?" Caroline questioned.

"To go make sure Damon's okay."

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You were pretty sure you knew where you were going to find him. Since The Grill was out of commission due to the commotion early in the night, he was definitely drinking at home. That's where you came upon him, sprawled out on the couch in the living room of his home, tumbler of amber liquid dangling from his fingers.

"Shouldn't you be plotting my demise with the Scooby Gang?" The defeat in his voice nearly made you halt, a sadness pulling at the back of your eyes. This man had no venom to him, only defeat.

You came around the couch and gently moved his legs to the ground, taking the seat you just cleared. Those clever blue eyes tracked your movements, something foreign shaded in them.

"I know you don't usually want to, but do you want to talk about tonight? It wasn't an easy decision to make, Damon." You tried to sound understanding without being placating, fearing him holding up behind those walls he so loved to build.

"It wasn't a difficult decision. She had to die. So she did." You would've believed his cold mask if you hadn't heard the cracking in his voice.

You sighed a bit, daring to reach a hand out to rest on his knee. His gaze snapped to yours quickly, hardening slowly like water in winter. "You don't deserve to feel like the villain, Damon. You're put in impossible positions to make terrible decisions, and then shunned for them. Please don't let their hatefulness make you feel any less than you are."

You thought he was going to quip back at you at first, a sardonic smirk on his face - but it dropped quickly, and his voice was almost a breath when he asked his question. "Why do you keep defending me?"

A million answers floated through your mind, because there were so many. But you felt like there was only one that would suffice right now. "Because I care about you."

His lips found yours quickly, fitting together like the last pieces of a puzzle.

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[swamp-gremlin]

Grim gets lost (alternative title; a really dumb comic about my incoherent media enjoyments primary motivated by the elderly)

[pinehutch]

The Silt Verses my absolute beloved: I'm relistening and was so excited to get back to Chapter 17, and the way that most of the episode just sweeps over you with an unexpected degree of kindness. Important to be reminded that kindness — or something like it — is possible, even in this brutal world.

[graunblida]

yoo i went back to work this week and while it was great to see my coworkers again ( not upper management, they can all ch*oke) my body and circadian rhythm have been out of whack. would love to get on the dash today but i gotta do some adulting first. hit me up for plotting!

[headstrongblake]

someone tell octavia that she doesn’t need to bring skairipa into every verse she has cause she claims it’s part of her development.

[predvestnik]

Crunching on his, now, chopped ice. Thanks, Kaeya.

Drinks a tall glass of freezing cold water in one loud gulp and instantly feels like a person again. ❛ Ahhhhhhhhhh. ❜

[wedriftlikelonelyplanets]

19– your choice if you’re taking prompts

19 - when the teasing in the dressing room gets a little too hot (we're changing this to the garage and driver's room)

from this prompt list

(and also HILARIOUS because i have three fics in the works right now with this EXACT premise)

Anyhow, have some Where's My Pride Oscarmark, bonus points if you figure out what scene this is from. Regular content warning for this verse that includes orgasm denial, cock cages, long term chastity, and implied power imbalances.

Mark's been doing it all day, gentle touches to the small of Oscar's back, lips pressed against the shell of Oscar's ear as he murmurs praise. Making it known that he's there, in every corner of Oscar's periphery.

It's maddening. He's been squirming since it started, pressing himself back against Mark, trying to cling closer.

He feels pathetic like this, when Mark's playing with him. Left him trapped in his cage, trapped in the car, trapped in media obligations. He feels hazy at the edges, needy, weak in the knees. He can barely glance in Mark's direction without flushing pink.

Mark just smiles back knowingly.

He doesn't know how he manages pole, when it feels like his hands are shaking non-stop, when he feels like he wants to vibrate out of his skin.

When he finally gets out of the car, it's not soon enough. He doesn't know how he's going to make it through the team debrief like this. Not with Lando's curious eyes on him. Not when Mark's done it on purpose. He'd told Oscar the purpose of the cage had been to help him focus.

But when he's acting like this, riling Oscar up, putting him on the edge, it doesn't feel like it is.

It feels like it's a trap, and Oscar's caught in the centre of it. It feels like a distraction. It feels cruel.

"Mark," Oscar whines lowly, as Mark wraps an arm around his waist, thumb brushing against his abdomen through too many layers of fabric. "Please." He's not above begging. Never has been.

Mark has him like this, Mark likes him like this, needy and pathetic and begging. Though he usually doesn't push the boundaries like this. Usually saves it for when they're in private, when Oscar can go down, and Mark can drag him back up when they're done. When Mark can take care of him proper.

Not when they're in the garage, not when they're relegated to the thin walls of his driver's room.

"We'll get there in time, pet. Take a breath for me, yeah?" Mark's voice has a thread of warmth woven in, and it's enough to at least allow Oscar to feel a little more normal, a little more grounded.

But Oscar's neediness is hardly enough to stop Mark.

He still brushes his fingers over the curve of Oscar's waist as he herds him into his driver's room. Hauls him close and drags his fingers through Oscar's hair, before cupping Oscar's jaw in one broad palm, tilting Oscar's gaze up to meet his.

"Look so good when you're out there in first," Mark murmurs, brushes his thumb over the curve of Oscar's lip. Oscar moves forward to suck it into his mouth, but Mark tugs it back, tsk-ing when Oscar lets out a disappointed sound. "You'll be distracted for your debrief, can't have you like that. Need your set-up ready for the race, pet."

Oscar knows how he sounds when Mark finally pulls away, after kissing him, just a gentle press of his lips against Oscar's. Knows that he sounds pathetic, a little devastated. He wants to beg, but he knows that it won't do him any favours. Mark will just look at him, impassive, corners of his mouth tilting down.

Sometimes, Oscar worries that Mark's going to tell him that he made a mistake when he locked Oscar up. Sometimes Oscar worries that Mark's going to tell him that the cage has made him too distracted, too needy. But he likes it. Likes the way it makes him feel. Likes that it makes him Mark's.

Sometimes, he thinks losing it would be more devastating than never getting to come again.

"Reckon I won't be able to focus anyways," Oscar murmurs, and Mark snorts in response.

"Make it worth your while if you do, pet." Mark murmurs, when Oscar drags himself out of Mark's hold.

The promise of something almost makes it worse. Makes Oscar feel like he needs to crawl out his own skin.

He thinks he barely hears anyone talk. It's just a rushing sound in his ears, focus on his cock where it's trapped and leaking in his boxers, on the way Lando's staring at him curiously. He nods where the need him to nod, attempts to put together a coherent sentence when it's needed, but he feels brainless with need.

Mark's waiting for him in his driver's room when the debrief is over. Takes one look at Oscar's face and smirks, the edge of it so sharp that Oscar thinks he feels it slice through him. "You sent me in there like this," his voice is a low hiss, and Mark raises a brow. "Swear they all fucking know." There's no true ire in Oscar's tone, only a lilt of mortification.

"What do they all know, pet?" Mark asks, "They know that I have their star driver under control with lock and key? Have him begging and desperate for me, even though he knows I won't let him come?"

The tone of Mark's voice has Oscar swallowing hard, glancing away when he can't meet the intensity of Mark's gaze.

"Has the teasing been too much for you, sweetheart?" Mark moves, then. Pushes himself off of the bench and walks towards Oscar. Oscar keeps his gaze trained on the floor, even as he feels the warmth of Mark's breath against the back of his neck, the brush of Mark's fingers under the hem of his McLaren polo. "Or do I know exactly how much you can take?"

It's not a rhetorical question.

"You know, sir." Oscar forces the words out of his dry mouth, feels the curve of Mark's smile against the crown of his head.

"Good boy."

Mark makes him bend over, brace himself against the wall as he fingers Oscar open, and it's so humiliating Oscar wants to cry about it. Wants to cry about the way he tries to force himself back onto Mark's fingers, about the way his cock leaks non-stop, twitching against the unforgiving bars of his cage. It's so much. Almost too much.

He's lost track of how many days it's been since Mark last let him come. Thinks it's been an eternity. And even when he feels it, close, creeping up on him, a tug in his guts, swirling need, he knows Mark won't let it happen anyways.

He knows that he sounds pathetic, the pained whimpers falling from his mouth are mortifying. He can't allow himself to think about the fact that the walls are paper thin, that his trainer could hear them.

That Lando could hear them.

"That's enough, I think." Mark murmurs, when he's three fingers deep, stretching Oscar open, brushing across his prostate. He pulls them out, and Oscar almost sobs at the emptiness. "You can ride me here," Mark murmurs in his ears, patting Oscar's bare ass gently, before he pulls away, moves to sit on the bench, brow raised expectantly.

It takes some effort, figuring out exactly where Mark wants him. Eventually they end up with Mark's chest pressed against Oscar's back, Oscar's thighs spread wide over Mark's, sinking down on to Mark's thick cock.

The drag of it from the angle feels like Mark's rearranging him, repainting the stars in the sky, creating new galaxies. Oscar's eyes flutter closed, head lolling back against Mark's shoulder, as Mark's fingers dig into his hips hard enough to bruise. It's less fucking, and more a slow, steady grind. Deep enough that it has Oscar gasping for air.

"Mark, please, please, can I?" He begs, when it gets to be too much, when he's sticky with sweat, can feel it rolling down the back of his neck. Grounded only where Mark's pressing into him, where Mark's hand rests, heavy in the hollow of his throat.

“Good girls only take what they’re given, Oscar. If you can’t come from this, you don’t get to come at all."

Oscar can feel his cock jerk in his cage at the words, knows that a desperate, needy sound escapes him, as Mark grinds into him, just a little deeper, a little harder.

"Mark," he's breathless, pathetic. "Mark I can't."

He feels overstimulated despite the fact he hasn't come, jerks in Mark's grip, tries to escape, fingernails scrabbling against Mark's arms, like he can gain any purchase. Mark's grip just tightens on him, fingernails biting into Oscar's hips, fingers squeezing around the curve of his neck, and then Mark's coming, deep inside of him.

"Guess you missed your chance, pet," Mark's tone is smooth, soft, gentle almost, as he stops his movements.

Oscar sobs, the sound of it ripped from his throat. He wants to sob that it's not fair. But he's the one who asked for this. He'd never asked for fair.

[archangeldyke-all]

hello! i'm angel, i'm 24, and i'm obsessed with sevika and finally decided to make a blog about it.

men, minors, ageless blogs, terfs, zionists, racists, and haters get blocked

come talk to me about sev! she's all i ever think about anyways. send requests or thoughts if you'd like, and check out my ao3! it's linked in my description :)

below is my taglist, masterlists, and link to the discord server and my kofi! if you'd like to be added to the taglist, comment on the post or shoot me an ask!

key for the emojis!

👶: little fucker/pregnancy fic

🐕: slayer fic

🦇: black vampire reader fic

🤠: cowboy sevika fic

💼: ceo amab sevika fic

💐: slow living fic

👑: royalty fic

⚔: ran, sevika, and reader fic

🍃: plug sevika fic

😾: werecat sevika fic

🐇: isha fic

🪳: roach 'verse fic

🪩: club mom reader fic

🖇️: baby butches fic

🏫: zaun highschool teachers fic

*once i write 5+ requests for a certain topic/au, i'll assign it it's own emoji, so it's easy to keep track of the full story :)

[deluxewhump]

Pride of Princes

A story in the Blackmuir Reign Verse

2: the cell

CW: imprisonment, torture mention, fantasy religious persecution, threat of execution, royal caretaker

Prev

Robb Muirdwele was a prison guard for castle Blackmuir. He was not kingsguard, nor was he a knight as he’d once naively dreamed of. But guarding the cells below the castle was an easier job than others he’d had, and he was grateful for the relative shelter the stone walls provided, and the generous meal they were given once a day, as all staff and servants inside the castle were.

But there were drawbacks. For one, it was dark and damp, and even in high summer he had a cough he could not shake. For another, there was the new prisoner. Robb now had to be on his toes at all times because of unusual visitors to the cells, including clerics and more than a few knights. Not only that, but there were the awful sounds that accompanied these visits to the new prisoner. They were torturing him, that much was clear. Robb wondered what it was he’d done to elicit such ire from men of the Tercet and knights and soldiers of the king. The prisoner never said. He never said anything to Robb, or any other of his ordinary guards. He never begged for an audience with the King, or something to write with, or tried to bribe them with desperate promises of money and favor. He cried out and screamed during the torture, of course, but that was all.

When Prince Aedric came to the cells, Robb thought this prisoner must have really done something extraordinarily offensive to House Blackmuir. He bowed his head hastily to the prince, and let him inside the cell.

“Light,” he requested, and Robb lit the cressets. When he’d provided the prince with all the light the cell was designed to provide, he stood just inside the door and watched with his hands folded in front of him dutifully, his back straight. He’d never been this close to a Blackmuir, and only seen the king once. Aedric was the eldest son and heir, with pale brown hair and sharp, straight features that made his face both unforgettable and striking. He wore a doublet of black lined in silver, Blackmuir colors, and a knife at his belt. He’d brought two soldiers with him, but instructed them to wait at the entrance door ten yards down the corridor. They did so silently.

Robb watched as the prince approached the prisoner, his fine boots making soft chuffs on the stone. The prisoner lifted his head slowly, fearful and bleary. The last visit involved a cleric again, and he’d had him beaten before they’d even exchanged words.

The prisoner stiffened at this new presence and flattened as tight as he could against the cell wall. The prince squatted to sit on his heels before him.

“Lord Barrowfen?”

So that was his name. Not that it mattered to Robb. Sometimes he knew their names, sometimes he did not. It wasn’t his job to know them, only to guard them and keep them alive.

“Are you alright?”

The prisoner lifted his head. One eye was swollen to near shut, and he had caked blood that had dried from his nose to his upper lip. He held his arms protectively over his torso, which Robb knew was likely deeply bruised, if not riddled with breaks. The knights or soldiers did the hurting. The cleric only ever watched, holding his white robes an inch off the floor so they would not be dirtied.

“Will you not answer?”

The prisoner spat in his face. Robb flinched.

Incredibly, the prince did not retaliate, but lifted his sleeve to wipe his cheek. “I would feel the same,” he said wryly. “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt. That was not on my orders, Lord Barrowfen. I want you to know that, because I’m trying to help you.”

“I’m not a lord in here,” said the prisoner. Robb strained to hear. “I belong to the gods. Not to my father’s new pretender gods. Nor yours.” The prisoner coughed and winced, giving an involuntary whimper at the pain it caused him to do so.

The prince turned. “Did you do this?”

“No, your highness,” blurted Robb. He’d forgotten the word royal. It was your royal highness for a prince, and then ‘sire’ thereafter. He licked his lips nervously. Why did the prince not know this was done by the king’s own men? Under supervision of the clerics? It didn’t matter. His job was to answer a Blackmuir’s questions.

“Who then?”

“Soldiers, sire. His Grace’s knights.”

“What about the clerics?”

“Yes, sire. They are present for it.”

The prince turned back to the prisoner. “Roan,” he said gently, almost beseechingly. “May I call you Roan, then?”

The prisoner looked at him guardedly. He blinked, something like a wince. Perhaps it hurt to shrug.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m going to send a healer down to you.”

The prisoner was caught off guard, if only for a moment. His look of naked hope turned to one of distrust. “One of the king’s healers?”

Robb could only see the back of the prince’s head, but he tilted it slightly at that. “I’ll come with him. I’ll watch him.”

“It won’t matter. They’re not going to stop,” said the prisoner. “They want me to recant.”

“Will you?”

The prisoner’s eyes grew bright as if wet, and he looked away toward the dark corner of his cell. “No.”

The prince moved from a squatting to sitting, letting his fine clothes contact the cell floor.

“Get us water,” he said over his shoulder. Robb turned to fetch it, wondering if it was for the prince or the prisoner. When he returned, the prince held out his arm to receive the cup without turning around. He dipped a kerchief into the water, and motioned toward the blood on the prisoner's face. Robb watched as the prisoner allowed the prince to blot the kerchief against his upper lip until the blood came off. When he was done, he offered the prisoner the rest of the water. He lifted one hand gingerly from his ribs to take it.

“But would it not be surrendering to go through with the arrangement?” the prisoner asked. Robb understood he had missed a piece of their conversation when he’d gone for the water. “Would I not still be capitulating?”

“Not to me,” said the prince, with his knees drawn up and his forearms draped over them casually, as if he were picnicking on a green hill and not sitting on the floor of the dungeons. “You can keep your gods, as far as I’m concerned. I’ll build you a shrine.”

“My gods have no need of a shrine.”

“Whatever it is they need, then. Whatever you need. You’ll have it, but we have to say the vows. I can protect you much more effectively if you are my peaceweaver.”

“Why would you protect me?”

“You’re betrothed to me. Why wouldn’t I? ”

“They won’t let me out without a recantation. They’re going to do worse, and then there will be a trial, and then they’ll kill me.”

The prince nodded. “It seems so, at the moment. Do you know how?”

“How they’ll kill me?”

There was silence before the prince spoke again.

“Treason is usually resolved with burning at the stake.”

The prisoner dropped his eyes.

“I don’t tell you that to be cruel. I’m trying to find an answer, but I think you might need to be that answer for yourself. Will you work with me?”

“I won’t accept the Tercet,” said the prisoner. His voice trembled slightly. “And I’m not afraid.”

The prince hung his head, and then brought it back up again. “Don’t do it out of fear, then. Find something else.”

In the firelight, Robb could see the prisoner’s eyes well up again. He grit his teeth and hugged his arms over his abdomen, looking over the prince’s shoulder at the wall of his cell. He was resolute. At length, the prince climbed to his feet.

“I’m still bringing a healer,” he said as he walked out of the cell. Robb shut the wooden door and fastened its iron bolt with the prisoner inside.

Next

[fourmula1]

Maxiel, heat

summer of cum whatever i want day 27: anon's prompt from 6 months ago

max/daniel. anxious baby omega max 'verse. 866 words.

-

When Max arrives in the Paddock he beelines for Red Bull’s hospitality and to get to Daniel’s room with as little interference as possible.

He feels like everyone knows; like one look at him will give away the fact that he just went through his first heat and he’s a ripe omega ready for the taking.

He isn’t. He hates it. He wants to be anything else but this.

Daniel’s room is predictably a mess already but it’s comforting to know that that means he’s already here, somewhere. There’s a hoodie flung onto the little couch, and various snacks and half-drunk drinks on his table and it’s. Familiar and safe.

Max drops his backpack and settles himself on Daniel’s couch, pulls out his phone to scroll and not think about all the appearances and team duties he’ll have to face over the weekend. He’s already hyper-aware of the leers he gets from alphas, but now he fears everyone will know he’s been through his first heat and it will only get worse. He can go on suppressants now, his doctor said, but his appointment isn’t for another week.

When the door to the room opens Max looks up, expecting Daniel’s surprise and eye rolls at seeing him there like he’s come to expect when he hides away in Daniel’s room, but this time there’s no surprise and Daniel slips in and closes the door quietly.

“You’re not surprised to see me?” He asks, joking a little as Daniel raises his eyebrows at him.

“Mate, sorry, but anyone with a nose is gonna know where you’ve been,” Daniel says and Max’s enthusiasm to see Daniel faulters for a moment, heart sinking into his stomach. Everyone can smell it. Him. Available omega fresh off a heat. It’s insurmountably upsetting and Max curls in on himself a little, crosses his arm up over his chest to rub at his shoulder.

Daniel must smell the way his scent changes because he’s over to the couch in a moment to squeeze in next to Max, the way they always do when Max hides in here.

“Maxy, it’s not a bad thing,” Daniel says, shaking his head a bit. “Sorry, just. It’s not easy being an alpha either, you know?”

I don’t, Max thinks, bitterly. Alphas are strong and respected and don’t have to deal with the nerve-wracking idea that they’re vulnerable to the world.

“Better than this,” Max says and he knows he sounds petulant. Daniel laughs, a little bitter himself, and Max looks up at him with a frown.

“I can smell not only you and your heat, but that you’re pissed off, too,” Daniel explains, shaking his head a bit. “It’s not easy. Alphas have instincts too, you know. It’s hard when I can smell that you’re upset and there’s nothing I can do about it,” Daniel says and Max frowns deeper because he supposes he hadn’t thought about that. Alphas can smell the change in omegas’ scents and moods, and Max knows that… that the good ones tune in more. Daniel tried to explain it before – instincts driving him to fix and make things better.

“Well at least no one’s sniffing you out thinking about making you some bitch to conquer,” Max says as he nudges his elbow into Daniel’s side.

Daniel is quiet, next to him, and Max is torn between wanting to look, and being scared of what he’d see.

“I’m not doing that,” Daniel says and his voice is quiet, subdued. Disappointed.

Max looks.

Daniel’s eyebrows are knitted together, eyes downcast at his hands in his lap and Max can feel a wave of empathy wash over him. Omega sense, he supposes, for the way he can feel and smell Daniel’s hurt feelings.

“I would never do that to you,” Daniel continues and Max feels his chest clench, feels like he needs to come up for air with how thick and cloying the emotion in the room is all of a sudden. He believes Daniel. He knows it’s true. Daniel’s been the one Max goes to escapes it all.

“I know,” he agrees, watching the way Daniel’s gaze is downcast, how he won’t look at Max. Something prickles at Max and he frowns a little, trying to work through what exactly he’s feeling. “I’m sorry, I know. You’re the only one, though,” he says, and Daniel snorts a little but it’s not a laugh. It’s annoyed.

“I won’t let anyone else, either,” Daniel insists, nostrils flaring a little, no doubt scenting Max without even really meaning to. “Just. Come to me always, yeah?” Daniel asks as he finally looks up at Max and meets his eyes.

Max feels a shiver up his spine at how intently Daniel is looking at him. Something… something beyond his understanding is happening here and he doesn’t know what to make of the woosh in his belly when Daniel’s hand reaching out to squeeze Max’s thigh gently.

“I will,” Max nods, watching Daniel’s tension soften at the assurance.

Something peculiar that Max hadn’t felt before… before his heat brought him into being a fully developed omega. A weird sort of pull, a tug, to assure Daniel and calm him.

Peculiar.

[twisting-echo]

𝐺𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑜𝑦𝑙𝑒𝑠 & 𝐹𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑦 𝑇𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑠: 𝐴 𝐽𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑦 𝑇ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑀𝑦 𝑆ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑃𝑜𝑒𝑡𝑟𝑦

With this post, you all are about to truly witness the depths of my Gargoyles and Disney Princess obsession—I’m talking fanatic level. I wrote these poems for some Gargoyles crossover ships my friend @19molly97 created, which inspired me to ship my kin character, Snow White, with my sweet baby boy, Lexington. And let me tell you, she cooked up a fanfiction idea so good it could start its own fandom. Honestly, I might have to start aggressively hyping it up until everyone is on board. (inhales deeply) Soooo, that's why these poems exist!

Brooklyn x Cinderella:

𝐻𝑒 𝑟𝑢𝑛𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑒, 𝐴 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡, 𝑎 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑑𝑒. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑛 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚, 𝑛𝑜𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑒, 𝐴 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙 𝑢𝑛𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑, 𝑎 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚 𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒.

𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑒𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚, 𝐴 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑠 𝑠𝑙𝑖𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑚. 𝑇ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑚𝑖𝑑𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝, 𝐴 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑝.

𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒, 𝑎 𝑡𝑢𝑛𝑒 𝑠𝑜 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑒, 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑠 𝑒𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑤. 𝐻𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙—𝑎 𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒, 𝐴 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒.

Notes:

For this poem I wanted to capture that Brooklyn is searching—he’s always chasing something that feels just out of reach, whether it’s adventure, love, or a sense of belonging. He’s a romantic at heart but love always seems to slip through his fingers. (This was a recurring theme for him in the show.)

Cinderella, on the other hand, isn’t chasing love in the same way—she’s waiting, believing, enduring. She doesn’t actively seek a romance like Brooklyn does, but when love finds her, it feels like a dream she never thought would come true.

This contrast is what makes them work together for me. Brooklyn represents motion and passion, a fire that refuses to be tamed, while Cinderella embodies patience, quiet strength, and the beauty of a love that arrives when least expected—almost like a ‘So This Is Love?’ moment~

I think the third stanza in my poem is what ties them together beautifully. Brooklyn hears her song, and in it, he recognizes a kindred longing. He's drawn to her voice, but deeper than that, he understands what it’s truly saying—that she, too, has felt alone, that she, too, has dreamed of something beyond her world.

So while he runs toward love, and she waits for it to come, their connection is built on the fact that neither of them have truly had it before—but now, in each other, they find it.

Lexington x Snow White:

𝑂𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑝𝑜𝑛 𝑎 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙, 𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙. 𝑆𝑜𝑓𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑎𝑤𝑛, ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒, 𝐴 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒.

𝐻𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝐴 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑘𝑒𝑟’𝑠 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑, 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠. 𝑂𝑛𝑐𝑒, ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠, 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑠 𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡.

𝑌𝑒𝑡 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑎���ℎ𝑠 𝑢𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒, 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒. 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑒— 𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑤.

Notes:

For this poem, I was very much inspired by Snow White's Wishing Well, focusing on her wish. Snow White’s verses reflect her pure faith in love—a belief that, despite obstacles, fate will lead her to something beautiful. She never stops wishing, never lets go of hope, and her kindness shines without hesitation. Her heart has never been alone, not because she hasn’t faced challenges, but because she continues to trust in the goodness of the world.

The second stanza is directly inspired by one of my favorite quotes from Lexington in The Thrill of the Hunt: "We can't hide from the whole world up here. There are kindred spirits out there for us, but we've got to look for them and we've got to give them the chance. Or else, we'll always be alone." I love that quote because it not only becomes tragically ironic after The Pack's betrayal—making Lexington's longing for connection more jaded—but also because it mirrors Snow White's ideology!

The way I see their relationship starting, Lexington wasn’t always distrustful, but after the betrayal, he grew wary—learning that not everyone who appears to be an ally truly is. His skepticism and guarded nature contrasted with Snow White’s unwavering kindness. He’s suspicious, unable to believe that someone as kind and open as her could be real. In his head, he's thinking, "Why is she being so nice to me? Is this some kind of trick?" But as he watches her, something in her sweet, trusting innocence makes him wonder, "Did I used to be like that? And if I did… what happened to me?"

So when he meets Snow White, he struggles—not because he sees trust as inherently bad, but because he knows what happens when it’s given too freely. To him, trust has become something earned, not assumed, and Snow White seems to offer it without hesitation. That unnerves him, makes him question her sincerity, even as he finds himself drawn to her openness.

Through her patience, she helps him see that trust isn’t foolish—that it isn’t about being naïve, but about choosing to believe in the right people. She doesn’t demand he lower his walls; she just gently shows him, time and time again, that she is exactly who she seems to be. And in that, he begins to believe again.

Hudson x Fairy Godmother:

𝑇ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒-𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑛 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠, ℎ𝑒’𝑠 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙, 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒’𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙. 𝐴 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑦𝑒𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛, 𝐴 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑙𝑠 𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑚.

𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑘𝑒, 𝐴 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑝𝑢𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒. 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑡, 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑢𝑛 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡, 𝑇𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡.

𝑇𝑤𝑜 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡, 𝑦𝑒𝑡 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑑, 𝑀𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑐 𝑚𝑒𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑡𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑑. 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠, 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑟𝑠 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠.

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑢𝑠ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑖𝑑𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡’𝑠 𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑚, 𝐴 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑡—𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚. 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑒, 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙—𝑛𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒.

Notes:

This poem was actually the easiest one to write and unlike the other three, gets a fourth stanza because that's how much I love Hudson and this ship!

I have a deep love for Hudson as a character and his history, so I really wanted to convey that Hudson is a mentor and protector, shaped by the challenges he has faced over centuries. His heart remains soft despite the hardships and losses he has endured. He does not wish for miracles, but rather, he accepts life for what it is—a cycle of battles and fleeting moments of peace.

The Fairy Godmother, on the other hand, exists in a world of wishes and transformation—where hope is never truly lost, and where a single spell can change the course of fate. While Hudson carries the weight of history and reality, she creates possibilities in places where others see only endings.

Hudson has long believed his story was already told—that his days of seeking love had passed, replaced by duty, wisdom, and the quiet acceptance of time’s weight. Yet, the Fairy Godmother reminds him that even for souls who thought they had seen everything, deserve a second dream. She does not rewrite his past nor change who he is—she simply offers possibility, a gentle reminder that some wishes are meant not for the youth, but for those who never thought to make them. Proving that love, when chosen, is never too late.

Griff x Aurora:

𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑝𝑢𝑛 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑, 𝐴 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑑𝑢𝑡𝑦’𝑠 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑. 𝐼𝑛 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡 𝑦𝑒𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡, 𝐴 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑛, 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡.

𝑇ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑦𝑡ℎ, 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑑, 𝐻𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑜𝑟, 𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑜𝑙𝑑. 𝐴 𝑘𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑒, 𝑎 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑓𝑎𝑠𝑡, 𝐴 𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑙𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑡.

𝑇ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑤, 𝑇𝑤𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑝𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑒. 𝑁𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑒𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒— 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑦.

Notes:

Aurora and Griff's stories are shaped by forces beyond their control, each abruptly thrust into lives they never asked for. Aurora is told she is a princess, a future queen, already betrothed to a fate she never chose. The weight of prophecy binds her, forcing her into a destiny decided long before she could dream of anything else. She is cursed—her life dictated by a spindle’s touch, a fate sealed before she even understood love.

Griff, too, is marked by fate—not by royalty, but by war. He was meant to die, a freedom fighter lost to time, yet instead, he is pulled forward into the future, saved yet displaced, left in a world where everything familiar has vanished. The purpose that once anchored him has shifted, leaving him to redefine his place in a world that wasn’t meant for him. That displacement could make his survival feel less like a triumph and more like fate uprooting him, pulling him from where he was supposed to be.

Though Griff and Aurora's burdens differ, they recognize the same weight in each other—the loss of choice, the struggle against destinies they never wanted. But their love is a defiance, a break in the cycle. They are not bound by prophecy or war—they are bound by a decision only they can make. In each other, they find not just understanding, but the freedom to write their own story.

[tangerinesgirl]

Kinktober 2024 - October 15th

Hair Pulling // Glory Hole // Teasing

Matthew Crawley x Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+, mature

Word count: 600>

Warnings: fluff (am I feeling okay)

Notes: short but sweet one today! No sex in this one but I've rated it 18+ anyways as 1) no minors should interact with my blog or kinktober, and 2) there are some mature themes still as reader seduces Matthew.

Kinktober List || Masterlist || AO3

Entering the library, you're greeted to Matthew nose deep in a law book, looking very comfortable in an armchair next to the warm, crackling fire. Swinging your arms around, you huff and puff out of boredom.

"Y/N, can you please stop."

"But I'm boreddd."

Matthew rolls his eyes, "Then grab a book or something."

All he ever does lately is read up on his law books. You think he deserves a break... you both deserve a break. The house was skeleton crew today, since everyone was at the manor house up in Scotland. Matthew decided to stay here as he had a few upcoming meetings. So naturally, you decided to stay with him.

You've already read most the books here, but you decide to join him and pick up a book regardless, just grateful for the company.

You start reading the spines when one catches your eye; The Complete Works of E.E. Cummings. An idea springs into your mind as you decide to have a bit of fun with Matthew.

You plonk yourself down into an armchair across the room and flick to one of your favourite poems in the leatherbound book. The smell of old paper wafting from the pages. You loved it in here, Matthew clearly does too, spending many days and nights in this room.

Your mind snaps back to reality, remembering the plan to relieve Matthew from his law abiding duties. Clearing your throat, you start to read the poem out loud.

"May I feel, said he", you enunciate each word, they roll off your tongue like liquid velvet.

"Y/N, please."

"I'll squeal, said she."

"I'm trying to wor-"

"Just once, said he. It's fun, said she."

You pause a while, waiting for Matthew to settle back down. Then, you get up out of the chair and walk over towards Matthew, heels clattering on the wooden floor. Your fingers trail down his arm.

"May I touch, said he."

You grab his book out of his hand and close it. He attempts to speak but you close them with your index finger in a "shh" motion on his lips. The book clatters to the floor as you throw it out of the way. You lean into his left hand side, lips ghosting around his ear.

"How much, said she."

The hair on his arms start to stand up on end before you start to straddle Matthew's lap. He looks at you longingly as his hands wander around your hips, cementing you in place.

"A lot, said he."

Matthew starts to move his head towards you, going in for a kiss. You move your head slightly towards him, when you change your mind at the last second and move backwards away from the kiss.

Matthew glares at you, raising an eyebrow. You smile at his reaction, seeing how quickly he melts for you. The man is besotted. He meets your gaze, when he snatches the book out of your hand in return, also throwing it to the floor.

He gets up out of his chair, holding you tightly to his chest. You can hear the sound of your dress ruffling as Matthew grips hold of your lower back, the underskirt tangling up in his fingers. Your legs wrap around his waist giving him a helping hand.

Matthew effortlessly carries your weight out of the library. Closing the door with his foot, he starts walking up the stairs towards the bedroom. Your head resting on his shoulders, grabbing his back for stability. Matthew spins you around when you reach the door, you giggle as he does so catching you off guard. He manages to open it with one hand.

"Why not, said she", Matthew finishes the poem verse. His voice deep and full of lust, as the two of you finally kiss.

[yaoi-priestess]

I think about Holland 1945 a lot

Pretty long post under the cut

The only girl I've ever loved

Was born with roses in her eyes

This is a great opening for the song, and as can be seen by the rest of the album, it's referencing Anne Frank. What he means by roses in her eyes is innocence, I think. Like viewing the wor d through rose colored glasses, she sees it innocently.

But then they buried her alive

One evening, 1945

With just her sister at her side

This really seals the point that it's Anne Frank. "Burying alive" in this sense is talking about how the holocaust came so quickly and took away so much. She had "died" as soon as the holocaust started, many people had, because of lost opportunity. The sister verse is talking about how Anne and her sister Margot lived together in the Bergen-Belsen camp.

And only weeks before the guns

All came and rained on everyone

This talks about when they actually died, in 1945. Only weeks is talking about how close the holocaust was to ending when they died.

Now she's a little boy in Spain

Playing pianos filled with flames

This line is about reincarnation, saying after her death she became someone else. I think the little boy in Spain is referencing Pepito Arriola, a piano prodigy. That makes it line up with the piano line. Arriola was also seen as a reincarnation of talent, and music, which explains why he's a prodigy.

On empty rings around the sun

All sing to say my dream has come

I never figured out what the second verse of this means, but im pretty sure empty rings around the sun is about hopelessness during the holocaust, and with every year or birthday (ring around the sun??) There was not much hope.

But now we must pick up every piece

Of the life we used to love

Just to keep ourselves

At least enough to carry on

This is again about reincarnation, but I think its relates to a later point in the song where he talks about his friend that committed suicide. How he just kind of needs to move on I guess? But not really, he's just trying to remember their lives so that he can live a happy life

And now we ride this circus wheel

Wheel!!! Reincarnation, again I think. The cycle of life of Anne Frank, like earlier in the song

With your dark brother wrapped in white

Says it was good to be alive

But now he rides a comet's flame

And won't be coming back again

Ok ok this is the part I was talking about about his friends suicide. He's riding a comets flame, knowing it'll crash and kill him. And obviously he won't be coming back from the dead. The dressed in white part is i think talking about how angels are dressed. This verse really always gets me sad

The Earth looks better from a star

That's right above from where you are

This is bringing it back to the holocaust. From space, you cant see the terrors of the world, I think that's what this is talking about. How from far away, the tragedies of the holocaust and humanity are unseen, even if you look straight in their direction.

He didn't mean to make you cry

With sparks that ring and bullets fly

Maybe this is about God possibly? Like asking God why the world is so terrible. Especially during the holocaust, which makes sense with the second verse of this. The warfare and belligerence is definitely enough to make someone cry.

On empty rings around your heart

The world just screams and falls apart

I dunno what the first line means, maybe about how much being in hiding or living through war hollows out a person. War is hell

But now we must pick up every piece

Of the life we used to love

Just to keep ourselves

At least enough to carry on

Just da chorus again

And here's where your mother sleeps

And here is the room where your brothers were born

Indentions in the sheets

Where their bodies once moved but don't move anymore

I hate to admit i really don't understand these verses well. I just thought they were talking about the deaths during the holocaust, especially of children, how their lives were taken from them so quickly

And it's so sad to see the world agree

That they'd rather see their faces filled with flies

All when I'd want to keep white roses in their eyes

Ok so this is definitely about the holocaust. How Jews were seen as less, and that somehow gave reason for killing so many of them. The white roses part does also mean innocence, like in the beginning of the song, but we can also see it as referencing The White Rose during the holocaust. They were a group of non violent resistance fighters who were anti-nazi.

That's about it for the song I guess?? Listen to it

[graunblida]

in her rogue one/andor era star wars verse, lexa dies facing vader inside the rebel ship, giving the soldiers (the few who survive) a greater chance of escape with the death star plans. it is a brutal 1v1, and while lexa is ultimately defeated, their fight sends him to the bacta tank.

[darling-ohara]

Blood Like Fire. Burns The Same Way

Miguel O'hara&teen!Spidey!Reader (gn)

A/n (oh dear god there's many)

Angst/no happy ending, hurt/abso-fucking-lutly no comfort, theres a major absence of them in this fandom

Literally miguel's life falling on the seems and reader steps on it

Grief, lots of that, hospitals/car accident mentioned, dead character(s)mentioned, abandoned family, replaced family, basically cheating, rubbing slat on wounds, pure evil, well deserved tho, major daddy issues,panic attack,quick mentions of reader physically suffering(i made my spider bite to be very very painful) crying,planty of that,crusing(warn me if i should add more)

Reader acts alot like miguel and picked alot from him even without meeting him, manners, intelligence ect.. they also wear reading glasses,but they don't necessary need them seeing as they're a spider

The reader is evil,cold, unfeeling to miguel,they only make it worst , getting their revenge and getting it fast

Shoud be gender natural if i didn't slip (do tell me if i did so i can fix it)

i did proof read this but i haven't slept in more them 24 hours so correct me where i go worng

You're half way through your new book when lyla appeared above the book, catching your attention

"lyla?" you asked the AI, she looked frantic, worried, which made you, in return, worried

She never gets like this, unless it was something serious, mostly about the multi-verse

"y/n! The canon happened! Miguel he's-"

Oh

The "canon" happened

You stooped listening to her and worring about it, expression going blank, eyes falling to book to resume your reading, it was more interesting then his "canon"

Lyla fell silent above up, her figure flinshing back slightly "y-y/n?" she hesitated, something you know she did on purpose

Your eyes snapped up to her, your reading glasses' frame divided your eye sight in half, lifting an eyebrow, you waited for her to continue

"miguel is coming back... " she said, hopeful, yet knowing the reality of the situation

Miguel o'hara , your biological father, left you and your mother on your fifth birthday to go live with another family, raising another daughter claiming that it's the best for the universe.

You lived with your mother for the rest of her days, 11 years to be more exact

She would always praise your father to you, saying how much of a great man he is, and how he's out there leaving his two most beloveds to save this universe

You smiled at her and pretended to believe her, because you know that deep down, she didn't mean a word of it

And you didn't need to reach deep down to know, in fact, all you needed were mere touches on your cyan screen, activate a camera, to see him smiling at a mother that wasn't yours, a family that wasn't his and most of all, a daughter that wasn't you

He left when you were 5,your mother left when you were 16

you were bitten at that age too, sitting on your mother's grave, angry at your mother for leaving, angry at your dad because he doesn't know that she left and most of all angry at yourself for thinking about him in such a moment, that's when it happened, a little pinch at first, you thought nothing of it, but by the time you reached your room, you were crying, kicking and screaming, hell running through your flesh, lyla hovering around trying to offer words of comfort but to no avail

And that's what you call, your "canon" For becoming a spider, suffering alone..(it was actually losing your mother, but hey! Maybe with both being absent you'll have more powers?!)

You weren't put into an orphanage because you were almost 18 with stable income and good grades, one thing you could thank your father over is his pay check and his intelligence,, which you question from time to time if it was your mother's, and she decided to keep it hidden

After alot and of studying the multi-verse (mostly out of spite to prove that miguel didn't actually need to leave, to which he didn't, it was a canon for that girl to lose her father, by him being in the picture the universe he's in will get destroyed when her canon becomes his and he loses her!)

but then again, that lab that only opens to him was proof, of your intelligence, since it's your lab/work place now,, only opens at your command, full of your tools and projects, would he ask for it back? Not that you would give it to him,, it doesn't belong to him anymore, hell, nothing in this house does

By the time you re-surfaced from your dark thoughts you were already washing dinner's dishes, damn, you didn't even enjoy it, you rolled your eyes, as lyla flew around mumbling stuff under her breath, she sounds like fly, you held in your smile

You dried the last plate when you senced it, your face dropped and lyla paused.

He was here

You acted like nothing is happening, wiping the counters, your back facing the entery of which he'd reach a few seconds after unlocking the door

Lyla disappeared, probably not wanting to deal with the tension coming in the shape of traitor with bloody,torn clothes, messy head of hair, red,puffy eyes, and barely standing on his two damn feet

You heard him pause right before reaching the opening that signals the end of foyer and the beginning of the huge living room, dinning room and kitchen tied to it, the only thing separateing them were bits of walls and counters

You can hear his confusion, and damn it was funny, confused why didn't his "true love waits forever" wife come hurring to his side already? the memory of her wishing every night in that hospital that his mission was over and he'll come to her the next morning as you try to fall asleep in her side in that uncomfortable hospital chair ignited your hate for him like gasoline to a fire

He's dragging his feet carefully now, wondering why hasn't his daughter come with her mother yet, standing behind her, leaning on the door pillar, looking up at him like he was a gift sent from the sky, a dream came true, a legend proven real, a hero coming from war

You almost laughed at the idea, if it wasn't for his breath hitching at the sight of you

You were wiping down the stove now, pretending to be blissfully unaware of him, despite all your spider sences screaming at you to turn around, either fight back or swing away, even they knew he was a stranger

The stove and counter were half way through their third wipe down when he finally spoke

".. Hey" a broken, shell of a word

You turned around to face him, acting like you knew he was there, or that he'd been there for ages already, and both were correct, but he wouldn't know that

"hey" you repeated, voice louder but not attacking, monotoned to match you deadpan stare at his redish eyes

He took a sharp breath, the lack of reaction having caught him off guard, ego reversing itself back into a tiny black dot

You looked him up and down, features like an ironed shut book to him, good.

"um.. Do you know who i am? " he asked, confused, does he think you were not his?

You almost huffed out a laugh before swallowing it down by "Miguel O'hara?" it was worded like a question, toned like a state of the obvious, he almost folded in on himself, seemingly smaller, somehow..

"yes but what else? "

You snapped

He dares ask what else, as if he ever played any else it your life

Traitor, lier, cheater-

"-my sperm donor" you said, an extended hand, to give him a slap on the face

His eyes widen with horor

"where- where is your mother! " he was the one to snap, sharp yet weak, and you could almost see him yelling, blaming your mother "i leave to save this whole universe and what do you do??? Tell them I'm their sperm donor?!? You felt nothing towards me or my honor to tell them anything else!... You never really loved me huh?"

So you kept staring

" where is your mother? " words more confident this time, more angry

You swallow the knot in your stomach that brings tears to your eyes

It was now or never, break him or make him, and you're not a maker

"she was my canon event" you said, and you hoped that the hallowness of your voice did a good job in hiding the sadness that came with it

It takes him a moment,, then two, until he looks genuinely terrified, red-eyes becoming glossy, quickened breath turns into pants and little dry sobs, legs finally buckling down, arm reach to the nearest surface to insure a safe(r) landing, other hand reaching for his throat, tearing what's left of that blue and red suit of his, it was almost comical how it happned

Little pants turned into heaving "h-how-why-y.. What-" the rest you couldn't make out even of you tried

"car accident, last year, stayed three weeks in the hospital after they told us that even if she survives she'll suffer, do they pulled out the plug, by her call " you let the high walls get even higher because no way you are crying in front of this unfeeling man, no matter how much emotions are currently being on full blast in front of you right now

More heaving in hopes of enough oxygen to enter his lungs and calm his storm of thoughts

"the last weekshe stayed alive waiting for you, she was almost certain that you'll come see a last time" you didn't usually like rubbing slat in open wounds, but his look like a delicious meal for you

And there it was- that heart-crushing sob,that sounds like chocking and feels like it too, that always come with more tears then you know what to do with, as he leaned on the wall hands on his face,plams pressing into his eye sockets,,tears somehow still a stream down his face,despite the un-humanly possible pressure he's using..

For the first time since he entered, you took a step, out of the kitchen, then another, until you were in front of him...

He stilled a bit by your closer presence, and you resisted urge to laugh at him, he really thinks you're gonna be here for him? after everything? What a fool

You inhaled, his scent ten times in your lungs, well more of a mixture of salt, ash, dust, blood, sweat and if you focus enough a, colone

"your room is the same as always, bedding is the closet,clothing is as well , there is some leftovers in the fridge, do. Not. try and open any other room, they're not yours anymore" and with that you sealed you lips again

If he stilled before, now he froze, all tense

You stood back up, turned around and started walking to your lab

"lyla" you requested, the lighting figure appear within rhe second, face scrunched up and worried "yes y/n?"

"do help him if he asks, I'm done here" you almost added if asks nicely lyla turned to see that horrific sight, with a gasp, she turned towards you, but was cut off by his , repeated, quick, wet, inhales that only come with a scream as hurtful as death itself, been there, done that,

Before he reaches a range to let out a scream, you closed the lab's door and the sound proof walls done their job, having some homework to do and projects to work on.

Blocking a horrible, terrible, scream and grief and regret, tainted not by one, but four sets of blood, one still so warm and running down his skin as you breath when you closed the distance between you two, to throw ice at his boiling oil...

This took me almost 4 hours,short for my liking tbh

I think imma add a few more parts to this, to fully fefill the title's meaning, not sure tho, what yall think?