#wait no do malformations count ??

[bretonalchemist]

this website is missing a very important discourse : can healing magic heal the matters of the mind ?

[thewisecheerio]

Elden Ring, Rejection of Authority, and Transcendentalism

Elden Ring rejects authority as a final solution to the ills of the world, and then offers a message of transcendental hope that such lowly creatures as ourselves might be able to effect real change.

Elden Ring's world is locked into a seemingly endless cycle of violence. No one—not the humanoids, nor the many demigods and gods—has been able to come up with a solution that would establish an everlasting peace.

Count Ymir points out one of the roots of the cycle, which repeats in character after character. He tells us that the Golden Order's system as a whole is rooted in evil, unhinged from the start. Marika and the Fingers—the "mothers" of the system—birthed it malformed from the very beginning:

I fear that you have borne witness to the whole of it. The Conceits - the hypocrisy - of the world built upon the Erdtree. The follies of men. Their bitter suffering. Is there no hope for redemption? The answer, sadly, is clear. There never was any hope. They were each of them defective. Unhinged, from the start. Marika herself. And the fingers that guided her. And this is what troubles me. No matter our efforts if the roots are rotten, then we have little recourse.

Ymir also laments a similar situation with his son, in which he takes the blame for his son's malformation:

Forgive me, I failed to birth you whole, I failed to be your mother. For now, my dear, sleep soundly.

In both cases, we see him blaming the parent for the malformation of their children.

Ymir says separately that without a "true mother", how are we to flourish?

We all need a mother, do we not? A new mother, a true mother, who will not give birth to further malady.

So using these dialogue together, we can see that he believes that children can only flourish with good guidance from a mother figure, and that conversely children (and systems) birthed of a rotten mother will only continue to do harm when their creators set them up to be harmful from the start.

We see the same theme repeat with Metyr, daughter of the Greater Will. She is abandoned and left without its guidance, according to the Staff of the Great Beyond:

The Mother received signs from the Greater Will from the beyond of the microcosm. Despite being broken and abandoned, she kept waiting for another message to come.

We know that 1) the Fingers she birthed were rotten from the start (from the first block quote) and 2) Ymir's supposes that all of us are left floundering without a parent's guidance. We can then surmise that Metyr waiting on guidance from the Greater Will and never receiving it—while simultaneously refusing to change course and seek guidance within herself or another source—led to this malformation of her children. She kept doing the same thing she'd been doing since last hearing from the Greater Will, and that refusal to change course in the absence of guidance was her downfall.

We see this same cycle of abandonment and refusal to change course repeat with Messmer. An NPC spirit's dialogue begs Marika to come collect her abandoned child, presumably Messmer, to put an end to the violence he is doing—as if his violence might be ended by intervention from an authority he respects. But originally set on his genocidal course by his mother (see his armor set clothing tags), Messmer refuses to change course even after being abandoned, as he tells us:

My purpose standeth unchanged

and then proceeds to beat the ever-loving daylight out of us so that he can go back to spearing Hornsent. It's important to ask, "Why? Why must your purpose stand unchanged?" After all, he could simply end the genocide himself, disbanding the military forces that so respect him. But it's his refusal to do anything but act on the last command he received from his preferred authority figure—his mother—that ensures that his cycle of violence will continue.

So if all of the authority figures are truly rotten in Elden Ring, and those who rely on them end up making grave and violent mistakes, where then are we to turn?

The Mending Rune of Perfect Order might give us a clue:

A rune of transcendental ideology which will attempt to perfect the Golden Order. The current imperfection of the Golden Order, or instability of ideology, can be blamed upon the fickleness of the gods no better than men. That is the fly in the ointment.

The Rune reminds us not to worship gods—or any authority figures—for they are just as fallible as the men who blindly follow them. It explicitly warns us against relying solely on guidance from authority to decide on what we think the right course is.

And so if we cannot rely on authority, where then do we turn?

I think the gameplay gives us two answers. After all, the only ones who can make actual change within the game world are 1) ourselves, and 2) our community, should we choose to summon other players for help. So instead of worshipping any authority figure, hoping that they will simply tell us what to do, we are forced to make decisions with our own and our community's input alone.

Elden Ring challenges you to think critically about what you and your community think is truly right and effective in any given situation. In this way, Elden Ring gives us a thoroughly transcendental message of hope, that such lowly creatures as ourselves and our community might remake the world to be better.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Hayloft.

Yan Mahito x GN Reader.

Synopsis: Mahito wants to farm.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, Mahito as his own warning, implied minor character death, and implications of violence/forced cannibalism.

Word Count: 800.

*~*~*~*

“Sounds fun! Looks so too!”

Mahito’s fingers tap and tap on the glass, unsurprisingly never leaving any fingerprints or smudges. He is a curse, after all. It makes sense. Not that you have to be reminded of such, with how little he knows of human culture, the world at large, or with how much he shapeshifts into a disembodied head at night to scare half-awake you. 

You are both sitting on a giant bean bag in the shape of a green slime of all things that Mahito brought in an hour or so earlier. Mahito, as expected, takes up most of it with a malformed arm wrapped around your shoulders and back. 

In your hands is a Nintendo Switch, the sticker case on the joycons, and the screen itself somewhat peeling off, but still the pink bunny and strawberry drawing designs stay intact.

The YouTube app is on, showing a playthrough of Stardew Valley. This part of the sewers had two bars of wifi from the little ramen place above it, something you are grateful for in some aspect. Because of it, you have one more piece of entertainment that is now Mahito bringing you back stale snacks and stuffed animals (that you pray to whatever higher power that they were not alive before Mahito got his hands on them) and nearly smothering you with hugs. 

This is calming. When you just read the dialogue of the characters and listen to the music and pay attention to the satisfying sight of the farmer planting pumpkin seeds and apple tree saplings, it is calming, you are calm, Mahito is, at least partially, calm.

Mahito wanted something to watch today and brought the Nintendo Switch for you to play with as he simply observes. It could be worse, you reminded yourself before you attempted to protest, stopping yourself. It could be much worse. He could turn you into the Nintendo Switch, or much, much worse.

It can be so much worse. He can be so much worse. Your life as a captive can be so much worse. Everything can be so much worse. That is a line you never want to cross because everything can be so, so much worse than it already is.

Mahito raises his free hand, and you pause the video, just as you were taught to. He then points again at the field of two-dimensional, square-like crops all in multiple rows of hoed soil. 

It’s springtime in the game, you think, from how the cherry trees have pink blossoms and petals falling onto nearby ground all around it.

Mahito counts with his fingertip, jumping from one plant to the next and then from one row to the next.

He whistles, and it makes you flinch because that is the same noise he makes whenever you scream, a reaction to when he brings a body part of someone you loved here, throwing it down beside the small dog bed you were given for good behavior, the blood staining the fabric as it falls with a grotesque, sort of plopping sound.

If Mahito wants to grow vegetables and fruit in the few places this sewer has sunlight, he can be your guest.

“Potato, cauliflower, garlic… green beans, kale, parsnips, rhubarb, strawberries…” He says each word like he has never heard of them before. Considering he has never really set foot in a grocery or convenience store for anything other than chips, it is not all that surprising. With another wave of his hand, you rewind it to the moment where the farmer character starts watering the seeds when they are freshly planted. He waits. So do you. “Sounds good! We can make some cheese cauliflower, parsnip soup, pizza, hashbrowns… just imagine it! Yum… I can just picture it now.”

With yet another wave of his hand, you stand up and so does he. Relief goes through you, like a ghost, both horrifying you and making you feel the smallest bit of hope that for once Mahito can act normal.

…

“M-Mahito, vegetables don’t grow that fast.” You say, looking down at the plate of baked fish with what smells like kale and garlic underneath, along with lemon and salt. “H-How-”

“It’s simply the power of love!” Mahito exclaims, inhaling loudly to smell the dish in front of you two. He sighs softly. “A pure demonstration of my love, all I do for you, and all I will do for you in the future.”

You could have sworn that there was the smallest voice from the fish if Mahito’s bragging of how much work went into making you a dish from Stardew Valley was not so loud.

Help me.

“Dig in, cutie!”

You would do anything for Mahito’s grin to not turn into a frown, so you pick up your fork with trembling, scarred hands.

[markpellegrinoimagines]

Redemption or Damnation??

Request from Anon: Can you do a story of reader losing their virginity to Lucifer?

Y/n = your name

H/c = hair colour

E/c = eye colour

Fem!Reader x Nick!Lucifer

Tw: Smut, Rough!smut, Selective Mute Reader, loss of virginity

--

Summary: After their most recent hunt, the winchesters bring home a new face to the bunker, much to the surprise and interest, to its non-human inhabitants.

3rd p.o.v

Her gaze snapped between the two men who were protecting her. She'd lost count of the number of days she'd been held in this old barn, chained to a rotting post as she waited on her turn to be the beasts next meal. With each morning, she'd find its disgusting malformed features laid next her own and with each night she'd had to watch helplessly as it dragged in a new woman. Only for it to sniff at them and then cry out in a fit of rage as it began to rip them apart.

She didn't know why it'd kept her alive, what made her different from the rest. Was it because she couldn't scream? The stress of everything had her struggling to even make a peep, much less speak. On a good day, she was lucky if she could squeak out a hello to her land lady. But now here she was clutching to the back of a man who was easily 3x times her size.... As the second man set the decaying body of the beast who'd taken her, aflame.

Even as she watched its horribly scaled face crumble into ash and a relief she hadn't felt in weeks flooded through her, she couldn't bring herself to open her mouth and utter out the thanks these men deserved.

Every time, her lips would part, only for them to wobble and snap closed again. Even as she was slowly led out and they asked her question after question, she was unable to respond. Her own mind and body betrayed her like it always did. It took several minutes of them helping her get situated in the back of their car before she was able to get her shaking and numb hands to function properly and form the practiced signs she'd been taught at a young age.

The shorter of the two just looked at her like she'd grown a second head before turning to his friend with a look that Clearly said he thought she was a whacko. Sam, however, she's pretty sure that's his name, had a look of understanding before his features melted into the overly soft gleam of pity and support. It sent a small shiver down her spine, she hated pity.

His voice was slightly uncertain as he finally whispered out a small question, "Are you..mute?"

Y/n nodded her head with a small smile before she shuffled her hand in a so-so gesture. Her hands were slow as she form her signs.

-My name is Y/n, can you read sign?-

Sam's eyes scrunched up a bit before it smoothed out into a small smile.

"It's nice to meet you Y/n, though I think we both wish it wasn't under circumstances like this?" His lips pulled into a slightly weary grin that his eyes crinoline up in his attempt at humor.

Dean scoffed to his left, "Of course you know how to understand what..ever..it is that she's doing."

Sam rolled his eyes before turning his smile back onto you, "Y/n do you think you can tell me your address, or if you have any family we can take you to...?"

Sam watched her eyes dull slightly, and then she shook her head. She'd been gone so long that she doubted her apartment was still hers, and any family died when she was very young.

"Well, what about friends?"

Another shake of her head. Dean huffed, "let's just drop her off at the hospital Sam, the cops can deal with it after that..."

Dean was not prepared for the shaking hand that latched onto his sleeve and the watery wet eyes set on him. Her free hand was frantically signing out words over and over.

-please don't leave me, please, I don't want to be alone..-

She didn't want another one of those things to show up... they killed it... what if that made others like it angry..

Sam swallowed thickly, he could see the panic and slight fear in the girls eyes. It must have been horrible, stuck in a place like that, watching everything that thing did without even being able to scream or call for help.

Dean could see Sam's face fall, "No..we can't...sammy!"

"Just until she's healthy again, Dean, I mean..."

"What, are we just supposed to leave her at the bunker...with.. them!"

Sam scratched the back of his head, yet when he glanced back, meeting misty E/c eyes, his resolve crumbled, and Dean let out a huffy groan.

"We are so going to regret this.."

Y/n felt a little bad for causing any stress, but she didn't know what else to do. She had nothing anymore. At least with these two, she could try and repay them for saving her life. They mentioned a bunker... maybe she could keep it clean for them?

--

Y/n eyed the metal door with a growing interest. Sam had been telling her about their profession during the week it took them to get here. Kansas sure was a bit a ways away from her original home. But the scenery on the way had been beautiful.

If she hadn't been captured by one, Y/n never would have even considered the existence of monsters. But now, with undeniable proof all she could do was take that info with stride and bury the anxiety that came with it, deep down, very deep down.

When Dean had pulled the sleek black car into what she could only describe as a fan boy batcave, she'd had to do a double take. If she was capable, she'd have let out a small hum of awe. There were several cars and a few bikes in the large open garage, and there was a metal door to what she assumed led to the place they called the bunker.

Sam said it was their home base, a place for them to go after their hunts. She could understand that. Her old home had felt like the only place she could relax and be herself, it was the only time she could ever hear her own voice without any stuttering that would come with it when talking to very few she trusted.

She stood next to Sam as he pulled a duffle bag out of the trunk of the car. Her fingers fiddled with the buttons of the shirt he'd lent her. It was huge in her. She was almost certain that he'd been a moose or a giraffe in a previous life.

Gently she tugged on his sleeve.

-Thank you for taking me with you, I know I caused you a problem with your brother..-

"Don't worry about it Y/n, you didn't have anywhere else to go, and you felt unsafe. I understand. It will take Dean a bit to warm up to you, but I'm sure you'll win him over with your treats."

A small blush bloomed across her cheeks. She'd made the off mention to Sam of having been working at a pastry shop before her kidnapping. The pay wasn't great, but she'd enjoyed it, and well Sam had been teasing her since.

"I do have to warn you though, that we aren't the only ones that live here... I suggest just staying out of their way for now... some of them are.. grouchy."

Y/ns head tilted to the side. The way he'd said that had been hesitant. Like he'd wanted to describe them in a different way. Her brows furrowed, and she ran a hand briefly through h/c locks.

-OK, is there anything I can do to repay you guys?-

Sam waved her off, "You don't have too!"

-I want to!- She shot him a large pout in an attempt at emphasis.

All she got in return was a small chuckle as he began to lead her into the main areas of the bunker. He was pointing out rooms to her as the past them, a gym, a firing range, storage, bathrooms.. it went on until they stepped into a large kitchen that her eyes lighting up In excitement.

Y/n slightly danced in place, a small whine getting caught in the back of her throat. Sam had gotten used to the small huffs and groans she would let out. He'd never actually met someone with selective mutism before. Her kidnapping probably didn't help at all with her disorder.

As he lead her out of the kitchen Sam felt a but of apprehension coil in his gut. He could hear the voices of the angels who lived in the bunker with them, getting closer as he led her to the main area. Stepping out into the room with two tables surrounded by a group of celestial beings made Sam's steps slightly falter. Enough for Y/n to run face first into his back with a small oof as the air got knocked from her lungs.

Y/n huffed, her lips parted but all she could get out was a low groan as she smacked a petulant hand into his shoulder...(she couldn't reach the back of his head)..

"Ah, sorry, Y/n. I lost focus.." His voice seemed to catch the attention of the group. And soon Y/n found herself slightly wilting under the combined stares of at least half a dozen men... really intimidating men.

E/c eyes snapped down to look at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in existence. A jovial voice spoke up with a slight mocking tease.

"Heya Sammy! Did ya bring yourself home a new girlfriend? A pretty one at that."

Sam choked on air while Y/ns head snapped up with a horrified grimace on her features. She shook her hands in the air, her head shaking out a violent no. Then she turned to look at Sam he hands flying through her signs as he tried to keep up with what she was saying.

-NO! That's not-.. I'm sorry Sam!-

Soon Sam was waving off her own attempts at apologizing.

"No, no, you're OK Y/n. Don't listen to Gabriel, he's just being a dick." He ignored the offened shout from said man.

One of the other men was chuckling, "Seems like she really doesn't like the idea of being with you, Sammy!" The blonds eyes glinted mischievously, "Why don't you come over here and introduce yourself, darling? I'm Balthazar!"

Y/n shot the man, Balthazar, and unimpressed look. And just shook her head no. Finally, she took in the others. One of them was looking at her like a lost, confused puppy his trench coat was slightly bunched on his shoulders as he tilted his head at her.

Sam began to tug her closer to these new people, and she could feel her anxiety rear its ugly head inside her. Her motioned towards the trench coat man first, "Y/n, this is castiel. Cas meet Y/n, she's going to be staying here for a bit."

Y/n gave him a timid smile and a small shakey wave as she wavered under his intense stare.

"I..see. Dean was agreeable with this?"

Y/n drooped with a small pout. And Sam rubbed the back of his head with a small grin.

"He'll come around. She makes good cupcakes.." a small hand whacks his side followed by a huff.

Gabriel had perked up at the mention of cupcakes, "You bake?" His brows furrow though when all he gets is a small nod.

A loud scoff comes from Gabriel's right, a man with short black hair and cold blue eyes dug a piercing glare into her.

"You humans, always so rude and pathetic. If you're going to impose yourself on us, then you should at least speak and show some respect to yo -" Michael's words trailed off when the small sniffle filled the room. The eldest of the angels blinked in shock as small tears built up in the girls eyes, and she was suddenly pushing herself behind the Winchester. His shock only grew as he was leveled a harsh glare from the human moose.

"Michael, Y/n has mutism. She can't speak." Sam settled a hand on the girls shoulder, but she refused to poke her head back out.

Michael's brows furrowed. He was so used to the combative and annoying nature of the winchesters that watching the girl break down into tears from his words alone had been a surprise. He'd thought the girl to be a hunter friend of theirs.

--

Lucifer let out a low huff. He watched the weak human girl with a sneer on his lips. What the hell was she doing here if she couldn't even handle a few harsh words. He wasn't sat at the table with the rest of them, so he'd been leant back in one of the chairs out of the way.

From his spot, he had the perfect angle of the girls tear streaked face. Mutism.. just another flaw proving his father's failure. Why had the winchesters even brought this girl here. It was obvious she was no hunter.

He tried to ignore the rest of the conversation to go back to his book. But he found his eyes continuously slipping back up to take in the girls appearance. As humans go...he guessed she wasn't exactly bad looking. With way, her eyes sparkled while filled with tears.

Lucifer found himself grimacing at his own thoughts as he let out a furious grunt and stalked out of the room. He missed the way E/c eyes trailed after him with a soft curiosity.

--

Y/N P.O.V

My hands fiddled with the cupcake held gently in my grasp. I couldn't stop the fidgeting of my feet or quell the raging beat of my heart as I glanced up at the door with great hesitancy. It's been nearly 2 months since the winchesters accepted me into the bunker, and things had been going fine so far.

I'd taken up the cooking and organizing for them whenever they were here or off on hunts. Putting away research books back into their spots and making sure they had some travel snacks for on the road.

The angels... God, I'd been shocked when that'd been revealed to me...came and went. Though they were here most nights using the rooms they'd chosen as their place to perch. Balthazar was a constant flirt, Michael hadn't spoken to me as harshly as he had before, and Gabriel was all over me. Constantly snatching up things, I baked. Cas was kind but kept to himself unless it involved Dean.

The only one who didn't bother me was Lucifer. In fact, he always left the room as soon as I entered. I knew he wasn't afraid of me. He was the literal devil, and there was nothing to fear from an anxiety driven mess like myself. I was positive there was something deeply wrong with me, though.

I hated the thought of him disliking me. I knew all about the apocalypse and everything that went on. Sam had gone into great detail about the things the fallen angel had done. I appreciated the winchesters attempts at keeping me safe, but something about the blue-eyed devil just drew me in.

I let out a small sigh and gave a firm knock to the door. There was a shuffle from behind the door, followed by the thud of feet.

"If you winchesters need something...then don't." The door jerks open and the annoyed frown of the angel who'd been taking up all the space in her head came into view. "Oh...it's you.." lucifers eyes drilled through my own with an obvious confusion and a slight surprise.

I shuffled my feet again and then lightly thrust out my hands, presenting him with the red velvet cupcake. Its base was a deep blood red with the frosting being a dark purple. Lucifer stared down at the cupcake, unsure of what was happening.

My jaw trembled, as I parted my lips, "f-for...y-you" my voice was lower than a whisper and wrought with stutters. I barely even recognized it after going so long without speaking even in my own company.

The angels blue eyes had snapped up to mine in immediate shock, if it weren't for the obvious strain visible on my face and the dark red taking up my cheeks, I'm sure he would have believed it to be his imagination.

I was half expecting him to slam the door in my face, but I felt a certain relief when he reached out and plucked the treat off of my palm. He was eyeing me again with a certain interest that hadn't been there before.

"You went out of your way to make this for me, little human?...and what is it you want in return?"

My brow furrowed, and my head tilted, "n-nothing...Good night..." I winced at the crack in my voice and then scurried off down the hallway before he could respond.

Something was definitely wrong with me. I couldn't even bring myself to talk to the nice angel Cas or respond to Sam's puppy dog eyes. But for some reason, I'm able to talk to the human hating celestial being hell bent on human genocide? Being monste napped must have damaged me more than I thought?

--

3rd P.O.V

Lucifer watched the girl all but sprint away from his door with flaming red cheeks and wide eyes. Almost absent-mindedly, he pulled the cupcake up to his mouth and took a bite. He was expecting the usual disgusting taste of molecules, but was shocking when his tongue exploded in flavourful he'd never experienced before. The deep chocolate of the red velvet and the sweet bite of the frosting had him finishing it of with a few more bites.

Is this why Gabriel was constantly shoveling candy into his mouth?

He leaned against his door frame as he thought about the human girl. If he were being honest with himself, it was the first time she'd crossed his mind. In his attempt at pushing her from his thoughts, he was always keeping a distance from her.

But even then, it did nothing to wain his infuriating interest. She was just...so innocent. Compared to any other human he'd met. The little human could barely hold his gaze without fidgeting and looking down with a blush. She did know who he was... right?

A small smirk grew on his lips as he ran his forked tongue across the bottom one. Maybe she wasn't as innocent as he thought...

Why else would she present him with a gift? Wasn't that one of the things humans do for courting or showing interest? He couldn't blame her. His impeccable taste in vessels and his celestial status would be any normal humans undoing.

His mind went back to her voice. He wasn't aware she could speak, didn't the moose say she was mute? It was scratchy from disuse, and if she really did have troubles with it...why speak to him first..out of everyone.

"How..interesting.."

--

Y/n swallowed heavily and ignored the anxiety building in her gut. She was slipping books into their proper shelves in the library, and that usually wasn't a problem. Only usually, she didn't have glacial blue eyes digging into her back and watching her every move.

Lucifer was perched on one of the library chairs. He sat in it backward with his elbows resting on its back and his chin in his palm. It's almost like a hawk stalking it prey.

She'd be lying if she said she was scared. She wasn't. All her lizard brain could focus on was that he wasn't ignoring her. It was practically preening under the sudden attention. While the logical side of her brain was telling her this was bad.

Y/n frowned as she tried to reach up and slip a book into the top shelf. Damn giant, why couldn't Sam get a step stool for her and Dean to use? She swore the guy was putting stuff up on high shelves just to mess with her at this point. She stretched up the tips of her toes, but she still was able to reach the top shelf.

Her lungs constrict on themselves when a freezing cold chest pressed into her back, and chilled fingers slipped the book from her hold in order to push it into its rightful place. Her little gasp had brought a haughty smirk to the angels face as he slowly settled one of his hands on the swell of her hip, as if trying not to spook an animal.

The other stayed pressed against the library shelf, trapping her between the various books and the somehow hard yet soft planes of his body. She could feel the steel like muscle and the power in the places his arms brushed against her. Yet the stomach that began to push further into her was soft flesh stretched over hard muscle.

'Oh dear..' this was good at all. The natural cool sensation of his skin was seeping into her heated body, the duel feeling was casting a war unto her mind.

"It seemed like the little human needed a hand." The touch on her hip squeezed almost gently before she felt his thumb begin to rub teasing circles into the slip of barely revealed flesh. Lucifer let out a small tsk before sliding his hand forward to rest above her navel. He used this leverage to pull her back flush to his body. He could feel the fully body shiver that went down her spine, and the small gasp that slipped past her lips.

A small frown tugged at his mouth, that just won't do. He wanted to hear her voice again, something nobody here had heard but him. His hand slipped a little lower but didn't dare breach past the hem of her pants. He was many things, but consent would always be ingrained in his being.

Y/n was trying to stabilize her erratic breathing as she felt lucifers hand leave cold trails on her stomach. Meanwhile, other hand reached up to run a gentle finger along her jaw and then down her throat. The touch was feather light and teasing as she trembled in his hold.

"...L-Lucifer..." it was a small squeak in comparison to the baritone of his own voice that rumbled through her when the archangel let out a low groan. She was caught off guard by his body pressing her further into the bookshelf. Soft cool lips lightly touched this skin at the back of her neck before it was replaced by blunt teeth.

Lucifer left teasing nips and surprising gentle open mouthed kisses along her shoulder.

"Again...say it again, little thing."

Y/n gulped. She wasn't sure she could at this rate. Her chest felt like it was going to burst and her fingers were scratching uselessly at the spines of old books. She could feel lucifers hips practically digging into her from behind. Her mind was screaming at her to stop this, stop him, but the slick slowly growing between her thighs and her heart were begging her to give in.

She opened her mouth, planning to ask him to stop, but that not what came out. Instead to her slight mortification, a low moan of his name was breathed out instead. Her cheeks burned with slight humiliation at the raspy tone of her own voice. She'd never heard herself sound like that before. Not that she's ever been in a situation like this.

"Lucifer~.."

His groan was louder this as he moved his teeth up to the lobe of her ear, giving it a brief nip. Then he was gone. His hands were no longer traversing her body and his lips no longer searing invisible marks into her very soul.

Y/n whipped around only to have her back nearly slammed into the shelf as those hands began a more impatient exploration. She glanced up, meeting a pair of gleaming red eyes. Her breath hitched, and her lips parted in slight awe.

Lucifer took the opening to connect their lips in a clumsy and lustful kiss. Y/n let out a small whine as his tongue slithered into her mouth, it turned startled when two independent halves circled her own tongue and started mapping out her teeth and inner cheeks.

Lucifer was groaning into her mouth, as his hips rutted into her stomach. Nerves fizzled to life as she felt the hard length that pressed up into her. Was...that going to fit...?

Lucifer broke the kiss giving the human time to breath as he trailed his light bite down her neck. He latched his hands under her thighs and lifted her legs up to wrap around his hips. Her embarrassed and pleasure squeak echoed un his ears when he rolled his hips between the warm flesh of her thighs.

"That's a good girl, let me hear more of you. Be a good little pet."

Each squeeze of his hands on the backs of her thighs and the unhurried rolling of his hips earned him breathy little gasps, but he wanted more.

"I can make you feel good, can have you moaning and screaming out my name, all you have to do is say yes."

He felt her hands settled on hus shoulders and he pulled away from her neck when he didn't get any kind of response. Confusion coiled in his gut as she refused to even meet his gaze. Isn't this what she wanted?? Why else would she have brought him a gift and spoken to him..

Her whisper barely reached his ears, "I-Ive never.." her gaze shifted down to wear the obvious tent in his jeans was pressed firmly against her.

Lucifers eyes widened. Before his lids lowered into a satisfied smirk.

"A Virgin?" His groan bordered on a pleased moan as he pulled her away from the bookshelf.

A bout of vertigo hit her as the view of the library around them disappeared and was replaced by a shadowed room. Her back landed on the soft cushion of a bed with lucifer perched above her.

Y/n looked up at him wide-eyed, like a quivering bunny under the stare of a starving wolf. His grin was dark and lustful.

"I can't gift your body with pleasures it's never known unless you day yes."

She watched his split tongue travel across his lower lip as she swallowed. Her eyes were flicking in every direction as she tried to come up with some sort of excuse to turn him away. But even the part of her mind that had been screaming at her only a few mixture before had fallen silent.

"I-I..yes..."

That was all he needed in order to lunge into her space. His lips devoured hers in a hungry daze as his hands pulled her into place beneath hik like a limp rag doll.

That shouldn't have been as hot as it was. Her cheeks were burning now, as she felt her jeans slowly get pulled down the shape of her legs. She hadn't even realized that her feet no longer had any shoes until her pants had slipped off without restraint.

Lucifer looked down to take in the exposed flesh with a gleam in his eyes. He runs his chilled hands up the expanse of her thighs with an appreciative groan.

"You're so very tempting for a human. It's been a real chore keeping myself away from you, little girl."

Y/ns eyes widened at the admission, but she didn't get a chance to think about what that ment before a broad swipe of his tongue ran up the seam of her panty covered slit.

The squeal that built up in her chest earned her a chuckle. His tongue repeated the motion a few more times before it wasn't enough for him. The angel reached up, hooking his fingers in the soft, damp material before he pulled down her legs. He tossed them over his shoulder and then slipped his hands under her thighs. His grip was gentle but firm as her opened her up fully to his gaze.

Glancing up at her through his lashes he was met with an awed look. Her lips were open in a o as she gasped for breath. Tempting indeed.

Y/n couldn't describe the moment his mouth decended on her clit anything beyond devouring. His teeth dragged across sensitive flesh, his lips sucking harshly at her untouched button. His tongue would slip down to poke and tease at her damp entrance, swirling around the hole before running back up to latch onto her clit once more.

Her moans were music to his ears as she fell apart beneath him. He hasn't done this before, but the memories bouncing around in his vessels head were letting him know just what spots he needed to touch and leave quivering for more. He hasn't bothered with sexual interaction since the conception of his son, but there was something about this innocent little human that had him wanting to ruin her.

He wanted to see her eyes roll into the back of her head as she came apart on his cock. He felt his pants get tighter at the mental image of the girl. When he could feel her arousal beginning to drip down his chin and dampen his sheets he unlatched his lips from her overstimulated clit.

Very slowly, he ran his hands up her sides, leaving damp kisses up her stomach. With a snap of his fingers, her shirt and bra were gone, and he was left shirtless. Her small gasp brought a grin to his face.

"I'm going to take very good care of you, pet." Oh, he was going to ruin her. After this, there won't be a single human who would ever be able to compare.

Y/n slightly grimaced when his lips captured hers again. She could taste herself on his tongue, and it was a slightly salty and sweet taste. She got so distracted by the meeting of tongues, that she missed the clink of a belt and the rustle of fabric.

Y/n slightly jolted in his hold when the slick head of something cool to the touch gently brushed against her dripping entrance.

"Luci-"

"Shh.. I've got you." Lucifer surprised himself when her gently rubbed soothing circles into her hip as he slowly pressed his hip forward. He watched the way her face scrunched up at the intrusion, the uncomfortable stretched of her warm walls almost made him want to push the rest of the way in.

It felt like she was ducking him deeper, her body wanting more while she let out small whimpers.

"That's it, such a good girl. Almost there."

She let out a smell yelp when he shifted his hips in a sharp roll. Forcing his hips flat against her own as his cock Settles against the back of her dripping cavern.

Lucifers groan was long and drawn out. The hand not on her hip was digging tears into the sheets below them, and his jaw was clenched tight as he fought to keep himself still and wait for her to adjust. A low grunt left his lips when her legs circled his hips and her arms wound around his neck and shoulders.

"Y-..ou..can move.." he didn't even let her finish before he'd pulled his length free from her heat just to drill it back in with a harsh roll of his hips and a loud smack of flesh.

Y/ns moan was louder than any of the rest she'd huffed out that night, and lucifer only responded in kind. The pace he picked up was a concise rolling of his hips, his cock carving her open with each hip smacking thrust. Lucifer could feel her chest pressed up against his own as her caged her into the mattress.

Her symphony of noises were only driving him along further, she was usually so quiet and timid. Knowing that he could pull these sounds from her had his ego twisting in self pride. His brothers wouldn't be able to do this for her, he won't let them. She...was...HIS..

His arms wrapped around her waist pulling her flush to his body, as if he was trying to fuse the two of them together. The grind of his hips rubbed down into her clit with every pass and soon she was a whimpering mess.

"Lucifer! Please!" Her hands tangled in his hair as his lips attacked her neck.

"Say it again! Beg for it pet, I want to hear your desires."

There was no stutter to her words this time as her moaning pleas slipped free.

"Please, I'm almost there, you feel so good lucifer!"

"That's my good girl." He could feel her velvet walls clench down on him with the praise, he didn't mock her for it, but his lips pulled into a sinful grin. "Be a good pet for me Y/n. Let go, I want to feel you squeeze down on me as I fill you up. No one will ever be good enough for you but me."

Y/n whimpered as she felt that knot cinch8ng tighter in her gut, then his cock rammed into a spot that she didn't even knew had, and it sent her hurtling over the edge with a wrecked scream of his name. A deep moan rumbled into her neck as she felt a wet warmth begin to fill up her sensitive walls.

Her small whimper was devoured by his cold lips.

"Such a sweet little thing. And your all mine... Your voice, Your purity," his hips rutted his softening member deeper into her, "Your body, soul...and soon Your heart."

She was breathing heavily into his shoulder barely registering the words being mumbled into her hair.

"I will have it all."

%@^@&

OK, so I know it's been forever since I've written on here!! I am sooooo sorry. But hopefully, this really long fiction that was honestly supposed to be like a fourth this length makes up for it!

Now there were some things here that weren't requested, but I had some thoughts that the anon gave me ideas for with their request!

[ninjadeathblade]

Haircut (a Nimona fanfic)

Summary: Ballister has to cut Ambrosius' hair after making a present went wrong.

Fluff

Warnings: None

Word count: 777

Author's notes: I FINALLY GOT THEM TO ADMIT FEELINGS! Also, this is super short. But i did add the confession (it wasn't originally in this). Enjoy!

Ballister knocked delicately on the door to Ambrosius' room, listening carefully, waiting for a reply.

"Who is it?"

"It's Ballister."

"Yeah, come in!" Ambrosius responded cheerfully. Ballister opened the door, jaw going slack as he looked at his friend. Ambrosius held a haphazard lump of wood, a knife beside him on the floor and a hot glue gun in his other hand. There was sticky, melted glue all over the carpet and somehow in his long blonde hair as well.

"What the fuck did you do?!" Ballister swore, crossing the room carefully to avoid the mess.

"I was trying to make you a present," Ambrosius mumbled, holding out the lump of wood. Ballister examined the vaguely love-heart shaped carving, lumpy glue surrounding the middle in a line from top to bottom. "Do you like it?" Ballister looked up from the malformed gift, at Ambrosius' nervous expression.

"It's great but you didn't have to go through all the trouble," Ballister said softly. Ambrosius grinned at him, standing up. Strands of glue ripped from the floor and attached to his trousers.

"I did. It's our friend-iversary."

"Our what?"

"Anniversary of our friendship. Ten whole years Bal!" Ambrosius explained and Ballister chuckled.

"Again, you didn't need to use up however much time you spent to do this," Ballister said matter-of-factly. Ambrosius rolled his eyes as they both walked through to his bathroom. Ballister picked up a sponge and some soap, beginning to scrub at Ambrosius' locks. "It's not coming out."

"Try brushing it…?" Ambrosius suggested hesitantly. Ballister picked up the hairbrush next to the sink, trying to drag it through his friend's hair. Ambrosius almost immediately let out a shriek and Ballister scowled as the brush tangled in his hair.

"No, this is gonna need scissors." Ballister felt sympathetic as Ambrosius' eyes widened.

"But it's so pretty. I don't want it cut," Ambrosius whined and Ballister agreed. His long blonde curls were stunning and reached down to the bottom of his shoulder blades. But right now, they were ratty and tangled and had a brush stuck in them.

"It'll be ugly forever if you don't let me cut it," Ballister warned. Ambrosius looked like he wanted to cry at the news.

"Do it. But if you make it ugly then you have to let me cut your mustache and beard," Ambrosius threatened. Ballister took a deep breath before chopping off the first chunk of hair from the right side of his face. An hour passed of him carefully trying to sculpt his friend's hair before it was finally finished. Ballister put down the scissors, nervously biting his lip.

"You probably think it looks shit." Ballister watched as Ambrosius carefully reached up and ran his hand across his hair. He seemed pleased with the left side, which Ballister had managed to salvage some of and had left at ear length. As soon as he reached the right side, his smiled dropped and he smoothed his hand across the short, cropped hair. Ambrosius pushed last Ballister, looking in the bathroom mirror. Ballister picked up the wooden love-heart, holding it close to his chest.

"It's beautiful." Ballister almost missed Ambrosius' awed whisper.

"What?"

"This haircut. Absolutely metal," Ambrosius assured him, turning around and offering him a smile.

"Oh." Ballister felt dumb as he said it. Ambrosius wrapped an arm around his waist, leading him out the bathroom back to where the glue had hardened on the floor.

"Wanna order out some nachos and watch a movie?"

"Sure."

"I'm still gonna cut your mustache and beard."

"Okay."

"God, will you react to anything I say in a non-basic way?!"

"Never."

"Ha! You said something non-basic!" Ballister chuckled as the two of them sat down on Ambrosius' bed. Ambrosius scrolled through his phone, ordering the nachos while Ballister flicked through channels on the TV. "Hey Bal?"

"Yeah?" Ballister glanced down at where Ambrosius was curled into his side. Ambrosius looked nervous as he balled one hand into a fist, the fabric of Ballister's shirt getting mixed up in it.

"Have you ever found guys attractive?" Ballister froze for a second as he registered the question.

"Um, yeah." Ballister didn't add on the part about finding Ambrosius attractive.

"Would you ever go out with a guy?"

"If he was like you then of course," Ballister instinctively replied before recognising what he'd said. Ballister let out a high pitched sort of squeak as he did so, wanting to immediately leave.

"Bal, would you go out with me?" Ambrosius asked slowly, sitting up. Ballister nodded shyly.

"Of course."

"Great! Nachos are here in five," Ambrosius stood up, walking away.

"Get back here! You can't just walk off after that conversation!"

[ebaylee422]

Chapter 1: The Pig

The Emerald Prince and his Sapphire Princess

Aemond Targaryen X  OC Lyssa Targaryen

Author’s Note: Sorry I said I would update this what feels like months ago (which it has been). I’ve finally reached a point where I’m actually story planning and not just winging it. LMK if this chapter is too long or short in the comments, I have a hard time with deciding chapter lengths. Thank you for reading! Taglist is also open and I can remove you if you don’t want my random updates.

Summary: Rhaenyra gives birth, afterwards the children gather within the dragon pit. Where Aemond and Lyssa are put in great danger from a prank.

Characters: Mentions of the historic reigns of both Maegor and Jaehaerys

Warnings/Tags: 18+ !!!! Minors DNI. Talks of potential suicide attempt, murder and shock of nearly being killed, description of injuries to people and animals, description of birth and pregnancy. (If I missed any large ones for this chapter)

Word Count: 5k +

Prologue - 1 - 2 

“Queen Elinor found Maegor upon his throne, slashed from wrist to elbow and a stray blade of the throne threw his neck between his chin and collar. Posed as if he’d fallen backwards, his face was pale and struck with agony much like his reign.” Viserys answered the plainness of the text he’d implored me to study the past fortnight, waiting for another Velaryon and Targaryen cousin from Rheanyra. She’d started aching the past few days, explaining I would understand someday as she wished her mother had been able to explain to her. I’d waited within the corridors when Jacaerys was born, with a nose large enough to fill the lungs of his thick body. With Lucerys I held him first after his own mother he cried loud enough to shatter windows, we were surrounded deftly after by Ser Laenor and Ser Harwin to look upon the child they’d swore to protect.

“Do you think he did it? Granted himself a coward's death?” I asked, watching one of the stone workers Eddard beside my uncle carving, aiding in an articulate depiction of a vision of Old Valyria. Eddard was lean and unspoken at least for a few chuckles and smiles as I studied under Viserys. He had a kind slim face with honey eyes and delicate pale skin that showed off the rugged muscles of his hands as he worked. While the Maester took gently to tending to the King’s back with hands woven in pungent smelling white linen. My own hands soft as they tumbled over the crinkled pages of my journal, caressing to somehow untap the potential behind my writings.

“Only the walls of the Red Keep know what occurred those few hours after Towers and Rosby left the King to his thoughts. Could have been the King Guard, sworn as his shield and first line of defense. Or the Black Brides, the family believed it was Queen Elinor torn in grief and rage of her late husband and malformed stillbirth from her less than tumultuous unhappy marriage.” 

“So he was cursed then, A Mad King. After an age of conquest, came the age of insanity.”

“As the texts I gave you lead you to believe, yes? However, above all he started as a mere man, raised in scorn of his mother’s boot to become the Kinslayer he will be known for until the next conquest. ‘Maegor The Cruel’-. Ouch, careful!”

“Apologies, My King. The Wounds are spreading-” Maester (name) held up his hands in surrender as if he’d burned the King.

“That is enough for today dear Maester, please stitch me so I may continue my nieces studies. Without your distraction.”

“Yes, My King. We will allow you respite until the evening. You will soon welcome a new grandchild into the world.”

“Rhaenyra’s still in her labors? Hasn’t it been nearly a day?”

“Labors Princess, vary for many unknown reasons. Typically the size of the child is the most affecting of them.”

“Then the Princess is giving birth to a boulder, is she?” The men of the room laughed in harmony of what would be my potential horror after my marriage bed. 

“Someday you will know the great burden child, now. Suppose, why do you think they say Targaryen’s are closer to gods than men?”

“The Gods granted us Dragons.” I answer quickly as if it weren’t the most obvious part of my own life. 

“Yes, and?”

“I don’t understand. Targaryen’s gained power and control of the Kingdoms by our dragons, no common man can claim a Dragon. We can touch the whipped clouds of the sky while a man falls from a tree to stay on muddied ground. The rooftops the highest they will be until the afterlife.”

“Hmm.” He shakes his head unceremoniously and furrows his brow in concentration, 

“Uncle, now that Maegor is dead. I will learn of my namesakes?”

“Yes, Queen Alysanne our Granddam, and Princess Alyssa, my mother. Within the reign of Jaehaerys I, who ruled for a peaceful 55 years. Even if you hadn’t shared my brother's face and strong pleasure to disagree with me. Your eyes showed you were a dragon, long before you knew of us.”

“Do you think that’s why Silverwing came to me that day on the mount?”

“I don’t have to think, she knew. I’m sure if Cousin Rhaenys hadn’t laid a strong claim and bond to Meleys, she would have come to you as well. The Queens know strength when the realm needs it the most.”

“Then Queen Elinor did it, she impaled Maegor upon the throne?”

“My King, Princess. The Princess Rhaenyra has given birth to a son-”

“My, what glorious news! Lyssa my robes, we must give him a Prince's worth welcome.”

“The Queen has requested them with her chamber.”

“Ah yes. My wife is quite superstitious within her new found faith. Come Lyssa, walk with me.”

“If Maegor hadn’t eaten or drank in days, pondering the likelihood he would die at the hand of his child nephew and sister-wife’s Dragon’s. Neither had any to lose or gain, except the promise of revenge. Of the lives she watched him take, the life he squeezed from her loins. It all ended in tragedy, regardless what he accomplished diplomacy was nothing only in architecture and word of mouth from his reputation.”

“That’s why Jaehaerys was so profound, his partnership.”

“The realm declared him King of the Small folk before he even began to usurp the throne to avenge his father.” 

“Yes, they were very loved by the Kingdoms. Not only did they define a great rule until Jaehaerys death, it lasted-”

“55 years, The Conciliator.”

“Yes, before I was found heir after my Father Baelor died. Passing over his granddaughter Princess Rhaenys, despite Alysanne’s wishes. What does a Conciliator do?”

“I-, I don’t know Uncle.”

“It’s a Peacemaker, they bring opposing forces together. Jaehaerys brought the realm together starting at just a boy of four and ten.”

“What will they call you?” I ask abruptly enough for Viserys to stop his steps in front of Alicents chamber door.

“They will call me what they call all men of families in strife, Viserys The Peacekeeper.” I smiled broadly at his double meaning, as I helped the serving boy open the door. He thanked me excessively and Viserys entered the chamber, his voice only half a jovial as his face. “What happy news this morning.”

“Indeed, your grace.” Laenor helps Rhaenyra sit upon a chair within the Queen's chamber. One I was fond of when visiting her before bed as she read to us children. That was when I first arrived at Kings Landing and none of Rhaenyra’s children ever invited. I pondered if it still occurred even as we were growing older. 

“Where is he? Where is my grandson?” Viserys asked as Laenor bowed, passing the babe from Rhaenyra, still damp in perspiration to Viserys holding him in his right and newly singular healthy arm. “There.” Joffery coos, as Viserys dotes on him turning and beckons me over with a nod. “There he is. Oh, a fine Prince. Sturdy. You will make a fearsome knight.“ At first sight the child is smaller than his brothers previous, but still lovely. With a full head of brown hair a strong grip on the Targaryen quilt.

“Yes, you will, dear little cousin.” I cooed as Viserys rocked him gently,

“Does the babe have a name yet?” Alicent asked as Viserys was in his own little bliss, meeting his third grandchild. A grateful thing when each passing day was harder than the next with his failing body, his mind was one thing he wished the gods to help him remain strong. 

“We haven’t spoken-”

“Joffrey.” Laenor interrupts Rhaenyra, “He’ll be called Joffrey.”

“That’s an unusual name for a Velaryon.” Alicent remarks to no one in particular, but when Rhaenyra's face flushes with either pain or anger. I knew someone has yet to comfort her on her achievement, another boy, a healthy boy and birth she’d lived through. 

“I believe he might grow into yet your grace, don’t you think?” I tell Viserys, brushing Joffrey’s wisps of dark hair on his soft crown drying with life’s blood.

“I do, I do believe he has his father’s nose. Don’t you?” Viserys turns to all of them talking to his grandchild to be within the crowd by Rhaenyra again, I brushed by Laenor’s curt nod to stand beside Rhaenyra’s chair.

“Yes, your grace. The blood of the Dragon and Sea runs deep.” Lyssa said squeezing Rhaenyrea's shoulder, her cheek came to rest upon it. Immediately relaxing with her cousin's calm presence.

“If you don’t mind, your graces, your daughter has exhorted herself heroically and should rest.” As Rhaenyra tries to stand without help, I offer my hand to which she grateful holds as Alicent swoops the babe away from Viserys. 

“Of course. There.” Viserys hands him to Alicent willingly and takes Rhaenyra’s free hand in his. 

"Well done, Princess. He is beautiful and so calm." I brush my thumb over the softness of her wrist as I trail my hand to grip her elbow. 

“I do hope the labor was easy.” Viserys whispers to his daughter, I turn for their own moment of privacy watching the careful way Alicent handles her grandchild when not of any blood of hers he came into this world. May he see at least the barest kindness from her now, as may he not come to realize how complicated Alicent truly is. I bless upon him in her arms,

“I think I called the midwife a cunt.” They both giggle, 

“Oh?” They kissed each other's cheek, lovingly "Lyssa, I believe our lessons are done for the day. As my family rests in triumph of a new member, so shall I. You may spend the remainder as you wish." I bow to Viserys in formality, turning to fully embrace Rhaenyra. 

“May I help you to your rooms?” I offered to Rhaenyra, as I held her tight.

“Yes, thank you Cousin." She sighed weakly into my hair, I graciously scooped Joffrey from Alicents arms. Ignoring her lasting comment to Laenor as I walked ahead of them both. To the Princess’s shared apartments with her immediate family. Unknown to most this was where Alysanne raised her children, Aemma wanted the same life and love shared in her children. Rheanyra kept to her same chambers since childhood, only filling the halls with her children rather than her mothers. Alicents children lived near the opposite in Maegor's holdfast, the Kingly apartments. Where I took my father’s chamber growing up, Viserys wouldn’t have it any other way. If Daemon wished to visit his brother he would stay in Viserys' childhood room, until then it remained empty. It had been some time since anyone visited the halls of my apartments, only a few servants and ratcatchers, besides myself. While the King and Queen had the highest apartments, their children close by across the garden, Rhaenyra had the second level same as the small council chambers. Mine were lower echoing of Maesters studying in the library. Viserys once said that his father Baelor chose these chambers to raise his sons so that they would have strong brains and patience. I supposed he may be rolling in the catacombs to see how differently his sons turned out to be. Another serving boy opened the door to Rhaenyras chamber as I approached, hearing the jovial clamber of the young boys within.  Met with the soft honey eyes of my other mentor in my fathers steed Ser Harwin Strong, his face softens with a nod as he sees the small babe cradled to my chest.

“Princess-” He starts to say until Laenor and Rhaenyra enter and he’s violently interrupted by Lucerys in his path.

“Mother.” Jacaerys gets up from his place on the carpeted floor,

“Mother, we chose an egg for the baby.” Luke bonds to his mother until Laenor catches him in succession to his excitement. Jace lifts the lid to the iron pot to show us all a black egg with shimmers of oranges similar to Syraxs. 

“Ahh. That looks like the perfect one.” She tells her children in a voice soft and supple as the Joffrey. Harwin offers his arm as she sits.

“I let Luke choose.”

“Thank you, Jace.”

“Well done, cousins.” I ruffled the hair on Luke’s head as I pass him. 

“Not everyday an egg leaves the Dragonpit, Princess. I thought it best to escort the lads.” Laenor comes to stand near my shoulder cradling the top of Joffery’s head, smoothing the furrow of his brow with the pad of his thumb as Joffery wiggles in my arms at the affection.

“Laenor and I thank you, Commander.”

“Another boy, I heard.” I smile at Ser Harwin, moving the blanket lower on Joffery’s chin so that he may see his face.

“What a fine knight you are going to make, eh?” Laenor laments,

“And scholar, we must make sure he knows the delights of the big bright world.” I whisper,

“Might I?” Harwin implores, eye finding the ground as if he is ashamed for asking,

“Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey.” Rhaenyra commands Laenor and I to release the beautiful boy.  

“Of course.” Laenor drops his hand, smiling large. I step twice to Harwin he towers over me arm under arm he takes Joffrey. Harwin has never been anything less than graceful from his bruting frame and deep voice, a towering stature to match. He makes us all feel safe just being near, seeing such a powerful body cradle a child like spider silk is clumsy and endearing. 

“There.” I mutter wrapping the blanket from under my elbow.

“Joffrey, is it?”

“Mm-hmm,” Laenor answers as Rhaenyra and Harwin share a knowing glance. He appears sad but placid as if she had already discussed her distaste for the name. 

“I believe it means Peace amongst Strangers.”

“Father, please may I hold Joffrey.” Lucerys begs, pulling on his father’s arm. Pushing his way past Jace to Harwin.

“No, no. No.” Laenor tells him as he pulls both sons by their collars.

“Ah. ah, ah, ah, Ah!” Harwin pushes Lucerys hand gently away from Joffrey,

“Hey!” I push at his shoulders the doors opening for them, 

“Nope back to the Dragonpit with you two. Come on. Before they send out a search party!” Laenor bows before continuing with his children down the hall. Leaving the three of us together, I clear my throat suddenly lost for words.

“I shall accompany the children after the Ravenry, write to Father and Lady Laena of their newest nephew. ‘Tis a blessed day for you, Princess. Good Morrow Ser Harwin.” I bowed to my glowing cousin as she looked so softly upon Ser Harwin holding Joffrey.

“Yes, Princess Lyssa. I shall see you on the training ground.” Harwin bowed his head without breaking eye contact with the sleeping babe, only cooing when Joffrey moved slightly to adjust his small hand beneath the warmth of the blanket. 

“I look forward to it.” I smiled at them before turning stride and closing the door behind me. Raking my skirts into my fists as I raced to the Ravenry on the other side of the training yards, entirely across the keep. Entering to see a Maester feeding all of the assortment of birds used for lettering. Along with two others posted each to either send or collect them. Maester Paxton sits at a writing desk, he’s of middle age and the one who organizes most of the day time operations. 

“Princess Alysanne,” he greets me, all the others pause their duties greeting me with shallow bows before returning to their duties. “A great pleasure to see you on this fine day. How may we assist you, my lady.” I smile courtly, taking a needed breath from racing to the hall.

“I wish to send a letter to Prince Daemon in Pentos. Princess Rhaenyra has just given birth to a third son.”

“What a joyous day for the royal family, please sit and I may draft it for you myself.” Paxton walked around me to a simple small chair with withering red cushioning on the seat, ripping at the sewn seams of the mounting sides. I sit gently as a shiver runs down my back as a large gust of birds fly overhead.

“Actually if I may draft it myself Maester Paxton. That is why I came instead of my maid.” His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline in disbelief of my request.

“Of course, Princess.” He bows his head turning to find parchment and ink setting it on the desk before me. “Let me know if you need any more assistance.” I sigh heavily as he backs away, headed towards the cages to another apprentice or servant. Giving me a moment with my thoughts,

‘Dear Father, Laena and sisters,

I am very grateful to be the one to inform you that Rhea has given birth to a healthy baby boy. They have decided to name him Joffrey, the family wishes you safe travels from afar. Your absence is greatly felt by all of us, I hope to soon find you back at Driftmark for my siblings' arrival. I do hope Lady Laena that your birth does not last a day and then some close to Rhea’s. She misses you both as dearly as I, Laenor also speaks of you both often. Between Father and his battles within the Stepstone to the adventures of Laena and him as children, it is hard to imagine we are not reliving the events. King Viserys had just ended my studies of Maegor The Cruel, I am to learn of Jaehaerys The Conciliator next. Knowing partly from my own intrigue of Silverwings past yet excited to learn of our nearest grandsires. While I measure my wit with King Vieserys, Ser Harwin has allowed me to wield a sparring sword and not a wooden one since my last letter. It is truly heavier than I imagined, I can’t imagine riding or running into battle with a sword longer than my arm and heavier than baby Joffrey to defend. Yet I still tried, just as Bronze Tail had begun his rider training. He is nearly taller than Aegon, at this rate he will be bigger than a horse the next time we gather. Exceeding even Sunfyre’s size as I write to you. Do give my love to my sisters Baela and Rhaena, I miss them dearly. As I see how much Jace has grown, I fear to find I will hardly recognize them both when you return home. To whichever one of you read this now I miss you ever dearly, and though never to pray like the common men. I wish for your health and safety, perhaps the next letter we exchange will include the name of the next newest Targaryen inside. Born of a different land. 

Always of love, your daughter.

Alysanne Targaryen’

  I blow on the ink allowing it to dry before folding it carefully calling upon Paxton that I wish it to be sent.

“Do you wish me not to correct any mistakes you made, Princess?” I sneer at the jab at my wits for being a highborn lady, I am one of the only Targaryen’s who doesn’t order a Servant to deliver a message in my stead. Writing letters since Father and Laena ran away to Pentos to be together after Rhaenyra and Laenor married. Leaving me to stay as Viserys ward. There was more potential for me here, Father always wrote when I wished to visit him in Pentos. His brother needed me, with my Daemon’s daughter in the Capital if something were to happen to Daemon. I am his first heir, it makes complete sense. 

“No thank you Master Paxton, I believe the King has amended my penmanship in recent years.” I smile as his face turns white, realizing he not only insulted me but the King due to his older belief system of Woman not being as well educated as Maesters. Men who give their lives to science and study. Not very different from Septon’s and Septas, yet they only answer to a different Vassal. I walk out of the Ravenry, pride seeping from my posture as I make my path to the Dragon Pit. 

Standing between Aemond and Jace as Vermax is guided by chains up the stone steps to the small training ground directly above the caves of the Dragonpit. As Jace is pushed forward I creep forward next to the Dragon Master.

“Let him come” He tells the wranglers, Aegon yawns obnoxiously from behind us. His bond with Sunfyre was immediate after her hatching from the cradle. The rest of us weren’t so lucky. Helaena claimed Dreamfyre after years of waiting, Luke and Jace struggled and fought for their dragons control which started unruly rumors of their heritage along with their brash muddy appearances in comparison to the rest of us. My egg hatched in Kings Landing after I claimed Silverwing nearly a decade after coming to my rightful home. While dear Aemond’s egg never hatched, still hidden deep within a trunk at the end of his bed. He hadn’t been able to claim another dragon, only coming to the pit to observe and obsess over something he might never have. 

“Call Vermax to heel, Prince Jacaerys.” The translator and second Dragon Keeper tells Jace, her face is dirtied by kind as she nods to the younger.

“Serve!” Jace commands the youngling, he stretches to full height before growling in our direction Jace steps back into the Dragon Master. “Halt!” This time Vermax holds eye contact and heeds his Rider. Sitting back on his haunches,

“Sȳrī “

“Well done.” I echo for Jace, while he’s distracted with pride. Vermax hears his meal bleating from the grapplers. A Sheep tied by its neck to a stone slab across the grounds.

“Vermax, Vermax!” Jace calls as his Dragon stalks the sheep, 

“Halt!” The Master commands, the entire room follows. He continues to teach Jacaerys.

“You must hold mastery over your dragon, my young Prince’s. As Prince Aegon has with Sunfyre. As Princess Alysanne’s claim of Silverwing.” The Keeper translated, 

I look over my shoulder to my kin: Luke is restless shifting his weight from each foot, Aegon glows with resented smugness as this is his escape from maternal overbear, and then to Aemond whose hands are cradled in front of himself as he picks his nails bloody. He sighs longly picking up his eye from their place on the ground as if he felt my searching for him. I give him a curt smile as the lesson continues. 

“Once they’ve fully bond to you they will refuse to take instruction from any other.” Jace nods in understanding before smiling tastelessly at the Master.

“Can I say it?” He eagerly wondered, the master hummed in agreement. As Jace turned around to the other boys I pushed his shoulder to attention.

“Don’t be crude.” I led him, holding his shoulder until he relaxed under my grasp. I heard a singular breathless chuckle from behind. Sounded almost as if it were an accident and watched tentatively as Jace calls for his Dragon’s Fire. The very same which all of us share between our veins, the tether of all of Targaryens souls. 

“Dracarys, Vermax!” Vermax is released behind wooden dowels approaching the sheep before collecting a breath in a screech and releasing the flames from his gullet. Taking the life of the sheep as it screams in agony of its death, Vermax feasts life gives life. It makes it no less horrible to watch, to my rescue the female Dragon Keeper pulls me aside.

“Skorkydoso emagon se jēdrar treated ao, dārilaros?” The boys hear as I’m whisked away. ‘How have the skies treated you, Princess?’

“Aemond, we have a surprise for you.” Aegon tells his brother leading him away

“What is it?” Aemond answers incredulously

“Something very special.” Lucerys says as he runs past me to the opening gates of the pit.

“You’re the only one of us without a dragon.” Aegon points out

“Indeed.” 

“Even the baby has an egg and Lyssa commands two. We felt badly about it, so we found one for you.” Aegon taunts with a guiding hand

“A dragon. How?”

“The gods provide.” Aegon snickers, I only hear laughter as they become too out far to hear any longer.

“Silverwing is lovely, I miss her dearly when we're apart. Do you think she would allow another to accompany me?”

“What do you mean Princess Alysanne?”

“Well she did fly all the way to the wall once, and my own grandmother carried her children on Meleys before her death. Do you think Silverwing or Bronze Tail, when he’s strong enough, will allow another rider to mount with me?”

“Is there a reason you ask me this?” I turn my head in the direct of the Princes noticing immediately the one I’m looking for is missing. I walk towards them, the two Kingsguard still against the far walls of the pit.

“I wish I could replay his face over again.” Luke comments, watching Vermax

“A grand touch with the hand crafted wings, nephews.” Aegon commends Luke with a punch to his arm.

“Aegon, where’s Aemond?”

“Upon, the Pink Dread!” Luke laughs before Jace shushes him,

“I don’t know, perhaps learning new riding techniques now that pigs can fly.” Aegon has to bite his lip to stifle a laugh.

“I beg your pardon?” 

“We got him a pig, dressed as a Dragon. He must have left-” A screech and shove of the caves under us shook the ground we all stood on.

“That sounded of the sisters, again.” The Master spoke in High Valarian, Dreamfyre and Silverwing despite being of the same clutch could greatly despise each other. A great black pit filled my belly with sickness as it happened again. I rushed for the steps of the caves, running for Silverwings nest. Yelling for him as grapplers were hot on my heels,

“Aemond?-” I screamed running around a corner seeing him on his back as Dreamfyre gave him a warning breath. The heat around us tells me this is not the first. “Aemond!” I covered him as he grasped onto my skirts for purchase. 

“Halt, Dreamfyre! Obey!” I commanded her in her fury, as she readied another blast I slumped to my knees holding Aemond in fear. Only we were not met with fire, only the sounds of heavy boots and chains on the cavern floor. As Silverwing pushed her sister from the stone opening, standing guard over us both. Aemond shivered as we were brought to our feet, he clung to my sleeve as second longer as he was fussed over by the Kingsguard. Who arrived after every other worker of the Dragon Pit, my heart pounded in my ears. Silverwing purred from her spot blocking her sister, wing unfurled and awaiting instruction.

“Are you alright Princess?” The grapplers asked,

“Take him to her grace, I shall deal with the others.” I instructed brushing off the weary looks of those around us both. Walking back the way I came, I turn on my heel to face them again. “No more Dragons today, see Dreamfyre and Silverwing are separated with large snacks. Bring me Bronze Tail, once you are finished.” 

I spend the rest of the afternoon bonding with Bronze Tail in the open area of the Dragon Pit, until a Kingsguard interrupts and informs me that the King has requested my presence. Bronze Tail is led back by chains around his neck as a Kings guard breathes down mine. As if I didn’t know where the Kings chamber may be. When I arrive the Guards part away from the door to allow me entry into Viserys chamber. He smiles so hard, I can see each one of his teeth clearly as his eyes squint.

“Lyssa my dear, come sit with me by the fire before my wife joins us.”

“Of course, your grace.” I curtsey, following his gaze to a lounge bench with decorative cushions along it. Sitting with my feet tucked under me, I grab a quilt to drape along my dress. The bottom is dirty with soot, mud while some of the hem is torn from racing to Aemond within the caves. I also became very aware of my smell, Dragon. They smell of meat, dirty creatures who sunbathe just to end up rolling in the damp grass. Scratching their back along the cavern walls wet with moisture of the ground. Then an upkeep of warmth from the heat they possess, their bodies and their fire collecting it all. It’s currently stuck to my every being.

“Leave us.” Viserys orders the guards, each of them exiting as he adjusts painfully in his chair. “I suspect by your appearance you stayed at the Dragon Pit after this afternoon's accident?” I nod shamefully, smoothing my hair off my face. Only to Viserys amusement I smear dirt along my forehead from Bronze Tails chains.

“I would have bathed before coming here so you wouldn’t be victim to my state but-”

“It’s alright Lyssa, it is just us.” Viserys says in our family ‘s ancient tongue. I breath a sigh of relief when he immediately speaks again.

“To be truthful, I miss the smell of Dragon. It was before Rhaenyra when I last rode mine. Never claiming another after Balerion, it is comforting.” We sat in peaceful silence as he rose from his chair, gathering behind his dressing screen. Water runs and he returns with a linen, I hold out my hands and instead of giving me the cloth he takes each hand in his. Wiping them each clean, raising my sleeves slight red rims where Aemond had gripped my forearm tightly. Crescent indents, and a purpling bruise shielded by the loose fabric. He brushes each mark with his thumb before tipping my chin up and wiping my forehead.

“Thank you, your grace.”

“Uncle.” His smile is contagious, as he says it. 

“Thank you, Uncle.” He tosses the cloth on a nearby table before sitting across from me again. Sighing deeply as he watches the warm hearth, drying my wet hands craving the warmth of anothers again.

“Aemond was brought to Alicent earlier today, claiming he was gifted a pig dressed as a Dragon. Yes?”

“Yes, I did not see the pig until after Aemond had been retrieved from the Dragon Caves.”

“Right, and what happened my dear?”

“I was speaking away from the boys as Vermax was held by a sheep, when seeing Aemond's absence there was a rumble below. Dreamfyre and Silverwing have been known to quarrel yet there was snarling and the Kingsguard were still present. If Aemond had left one would have been with him-” I told Viserys hastily,

“Breathe, Lyssa. He is fine now.”

“Yes, I ran around to Dreamfyre’s entrance to see him cowarded on the ground. Dreamfyre was about to fire her second warning blast when Silverwing interrupted, knocking her away from us. Then the others came, I captured the pig. He’s within the royal pens.”

“Why do you have the pig?” Viserys inquired

“There was no reason to keep him tied within the lower levels.”

“Lyssa, the truth.”

“I- I wanted to feed him to Silverwing the next time we have a lesson. Defending Aemond while implementing only a slight fear within the others. Jacerys was the one who told me of the prank. Aegon dismissed his brother's absence.” Something catches in my throat as I speak, I look down to my hands. My mind spinning with many emotions: the fear, anger and denial of what had transpired. 

“I give you permission. After all, not only did you save Aemond but you cleared a few inner turmoil's for myself.” I grimace, at the terror if I had been too late. What if Silverwing hadn’t interrupted? He must have noticed, “The Queen believes our children may do no wrong, yet it is hard to punish children for being children. Instead you may show Aemond that the pig is as fragile as the joke the others showed him. Especially since my grandchildren and their youngers. I trust you, the eldest next to Aegon-”

“Uncle…” I interrupted as tears flooded my eyes, I wipe them as soon as they threaten to shield my vision completely, “Aemond could have died. We could have died. To Dragon Fire no less. I'm afraid a show of my Dragon’s power isn’t justice. I had I not noticed Aemond’s absence, had I not been there-”

“Dear Lyssa, do not be so cruel to yourself. You did well. I know the guilt you and Jaecerys carry is as large and profound as your hearts. Everyone is safe now.” The door opens to Criston Cole announcing the Queen's presence, Aemond with his hair wild and face just as dirty as mine was previously entering the room.

“Your Grace, Prince Aemond.” I rise to my feet, accidentally dropping the blanket covering my unseemly appearance. 

“Princess, why your dress. It’s ruined!” She moves around Viserys chair gripping my arms with intensity. I whimper as she makes contact with my forearm, her eyes go wide pulling up my sleeve as Viserys did with less kindness but more motherly intention. 

“It’s just a scratch.”

“We’ll ensure the Maester gives you ointment so you do not scar.” She smooths the hair off my shoulders before wiping her hand on the cloth on the table next to me, effectively releasing me. Aemond’s soft eyes heat my cheeks as he doesn’t break contact with my standing form.

“Thank you. If I may, I came directly from the pit. I wish to wash before dinner.”

“I believe we are all to dine within our own chambers tonight due to today’s events. Lest exhaustion get the better of us.” She stands behind Viserys rubbing his shoulders lightly as she speaks motioning Aemond to could further into the room. I know my invitation to dine with the ‘greens’ is only extended when Viserys demands Alicent be cordial. She has a large heart and would do the worst for her children, yet I am Daemon’s child. An offspring of the Prince who dismisses her family’s importance and acknowledges their conniving nature. 

“Well then, if I may be excused.” I curtesy to each of them after Viserys agrees, finally meeting Aemond’s eyes. He looks exhausted, my heart aches as it begs to give him more comfort. Yet affection within this confusing large family dynamic amongst other deeds is frowned upon because of its rarity. I keep my distance walking past him within the large chamber, breathing a deep sigh of relief as I approach the halls of my lonesome apartments. 

Masterlist

Taglist: @stargaryenx​ , @bellameshipper  , @supmymainhuman , @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @nitimurinvetitumsposts​ , @50svibes​ 

Requests: Open

[syn4k]

an impassioned debate about the validity of sand as a spice

It was a cloudy Saturday night, and a well-worn but well-kept car pulled out of the parking lot of a bar. Switching its headlights on, it turned east, headed down the dark and empty stretch of road that it inhabited to brighter and gentler habitation somewhere beyond.

In the car sat four people. Three were various levels of drunk. The fourth was driving silently.

"Man, those burritos tasted like sand," sighed Jimmy, jammed into a corner in the backseat with his head tilted towards the ceiling of the car. "Crunched like sand too."

"The burritos were great," said Fwhip, sitting next to him. "Your taste buds are just malformed."

"That's it," said Jimmy, sitting bolt upright with sudden fervor. He held out one slightly sweaty palm. "Give me that twenty dollars back. I'm revoking the fact that I paid for your drinks."

"No way in hell I'm letting your sweaty mitts get onto my precious tender," said Fwhip, leaning away from him. "Calm down, dude."

"Do you want to go?" demanded Jimmy. "Do you want to fight? Because I can fight you."

"Dude, you know the rules. If anyone starts a fight in here, they get kicked out of the car."

"Then I'll fight'em too!"

"Don't. Your drunk ass would not make it out of there alive."

Joel, riding shotgun, sat up a little straighter and rubbed his eyes blearily. "If you can eat sand," he mumbled, "then does that make it count as a spice?"

"What?" asked Jimmy incredulously, all thoughts of violence pushed out of his mind by the question. "Dude. You can't eat sand."

"Yes, you can," said Joel. "That makes it edible."

"I've eaten sand before," added Fwhip helpfully. "And I'd do it again for a bet. It has a nice crunch to it. Also, Joel's right. Everything's edible technically because if it fits into your mouth and you swallow it then you ate it."

"What if you die, though?" said Jimmy.

"That's just a casualty."

"Sand is edible and you can sprinkle it onto things, which makes it a spice, right?" asked Joel. He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes again with a groan. "Holy god. I am so going to regret this tomorrow."

"You're going to regret this right now if you keep talking," said Jimmy. "Sand isn't meant to be eaten, so it's not a spice."

"Sand is basically tiny rocks," said Joel, turning around to look him in the eye. "So is salt."

"Your point is?" asked Jimmy, arms defensively crossed.

"You assume that sand isn't meant to be eaten," said Joel. He pointed at him. "But if I pick it up with the intent to put it into my mouth and then eat it, that makes that argument completely null, innit?"

"You always get so philosophical when you're drunk," said Jimmy with an eye-roll. "Go back to sleep, Joel. Sand isn't a spice."

"It could be used as one, though, for sure," said Fwhip with a shrug. "Like, I have no idea why you'd want sand as a seasoning for your steak or whatever, but it can definitely be done. Wait, hold on. I kind of want to try that now."

"Fwhip, you'll die," said Jimmy, deadpan.

"Will not," said Fwhip. "I've eaten this stuff before, remember? I'll be fine. Wait, hold that thought, we're like hours away from the nearest ocean. Nevermind. Where's the closest lake?"

"Fuck if I know," muttered Joel from the front. Jimmy shrugged assent.

"Wait," said Jimmy, sitting up again after a brief period of silence. "Joel, you're not driving right? Please tell me you're not driving."

"Nope," said Fwhip. "You're visiting the States, remember? The steering wheel's on the other side here. You're fine, buddy."

"Jim got so drunk that he teleported to another country," said Joel with a snort. "No, I'm not driving. We'd all be dead right now if I was driving."

"But wait, hold on," said Jimmy, a note of panic entering his voice, "if I'm not driving and Fwhip's not driving and Joel's not driving, then who's driving the car??"

"Pixl is," said Fwhip patiently. "He agreed to just drink water tonight so that we didn't have to pull an Uber. We figured it out beforehand and everything."

"Okay," said Jimmy. "I forgot. Sorry Pixl."

"You're fine," said Pix from the driver's seat.

"Wait, hold on. Pix, you know stuff about like, earth and rocks and shit, right?" asked Joel.

"You could say that, yes," said Pix, still not taking his eyes off of the road.

"You are the one sober person in this car right now. Oh my gods, I should have just asked you this but whatever. Is sand a spice?"

"Spices are made from plants, if I remember correctly," said Pix, looking behind him briefly. "Sand is rocks. So no, whether you intend to eat it or not, sand is not in fact a spice."

"Here's the real question," said Fwhip. "Sand's not a spice, we've established that. However, technically, it could be a seasoning if you do it right." He said it like a statement, but it was really a question.

Pix just shrugged. "I'm an archaeology major, not a culinary arts major. Not my area of expertise. No idea about that one, chief, you'll have to decide for yourself."

"Okay, then," started Fwhip with a shit-eating grin.

"Please, let's not," begged Jimmy. "Please. Just don't."

"If you don't like the discussion, just stay out of it," said Fwhip with a shrug. "Anyways, Joel-"

"Nope, you keep me out of this one," said Joel with a yawn. "I'm going back to sleep. Someone shake me when we get back to the hotel."

"Pix?" asked Fwhip, slightly desperate. Pixl did not respond. "Okay, then. Guess I'm just going to be having these really cool and philosophical thoughts all by myself, then."

"Then perish," mumbled Joel from the front seat.

The car was quiet the rest of the way back.

[liliallowed]

a giant monster chasing mono down the hallway . mono teleports away running around zapping through space. he was cornered.

he slowly backed away to the wall.

an axe sheen glistened from the corner of his eye as he looked back at the approaching monster

the monster pounced towards him as he reached for the axe-

BAM! the monster banged it's hands against the wall stoping itself from going headfirst into the wall.

it's ltwisted limbs slid on the carpet while its face finally stopped just a few short gnomes off.

mono giggled leaning into the axe as he proudly pointed at his third slash mark on the wooden wall.

the monster let out an annoyed gruff.

"told you I'm faster! can't catch me- HEY!" the monster picked him up as it sat down.

it mimicked a smug horrendous laughing sound.

mono simply looked at it with a poker face.

"hey! this doesn't count! I didn't even say the next round has started!"

the monster grumbled kicking it's large malformed feet with a loud thump.

"someone is grumpy." he snorted.

the monster sent a small huff his way it's long early hair dangling above him.

he paid it no mind. he wasn't afraid.

"wanna play a different game then?" he tilted his head.

the creature shook it's head as it put him down returning to tend to the distantly playing music box.

"oh. you're tired... well as long as you think that's okay... I... uhm..."

he quickly tossed aside the axe as he saw it.

bitter memories began to flood back to him. tuning into the intertwined signals of the past and future...

a stagnation.

he knew what he had to do eventually.

but... couldn't they just live in the moment? just a bit more?

the longer he waited the more the tower would corrupt and twist his best friend.

he knew.

but to take that away from her... he wasn't ready to say goodbye to her yet.

he felt so alone in that damned hell hole.

if this was how things were gonna end he deserved at least THIS MUCH-

he realized the monster was lightly tapping him on the shoulder.

"I'm okay six... really. I just... you know. the tower messes with your head... it's okay though. I'll stay here with you. I won't wake you up from this dream. we can still share it." he muttered.

the creature tilted it's head seemingly unable to fully understand what he said.

"you know it'd be fun to go make a mess out of that school we went by. never really had a way to teach that teacher a lesson..." he smiled.

the monster let out a hiss of distain.

"yeah no. I'm joking. we're not going there. that place sucks." he patted it's hand reassuring it.

his hands were so small compared to hers.

he sighed. "you know... that music box is pretty nice but the song is a bit... idk repetitive. don't you get tired? maybe a new song?"

it shifted it's weight feeling uneasy.

"no no relax relax! I'm saying like maybe we can find spare parts for another music sheet thing? like I'm not gonna break it or anything. just thought maybe it'd be a nice birthday present... I don't really know how long we've been here but... I'd like to at least give you something-"

the monster skurries away before returning with a teddy bear.

"I uh... PFFFFT... yeah no I don't mean I want you to gift me something... thanks anyway. you reckon is has a key inside?"

he giggled.

the monster huffs as it lays down on the ground.

"I'll... I'll look around for it. this place is wonky. surely there's at least something I can find. I'll be back okay? don't go anywhere."

[devil-doll13]

Sword and Sorcery

(Part 2)

Tw: Mentions Of Death/Corpses, Giant Spiders/Arachnophobia, slight angst maybe? 2 idiots in love, seriously this is REALLY sappy and they are both a bit stupid lol

(Abigail belongs to me, Clay belongs to @rottent33th <3)

First Part

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

After an arduous trek across the unwelcoming Witches’ valley, Clay finally made it to Webwood. The name was apt; a maze of large silk webs adorned the spindly trees, and he’d more than once cut down a giant spider here. For him that wasn’t much more than a trifling encounter, and yet he still kept his guard up. He was not the sort of man to let pride cloud his judgement.

His vision was already clouded enough; thick fog surrounded him and threatened to swallow him whole. Even in places with better visibility, a thin veil of mist blanketed the forest ground, obscuring his armoured feet from view. He’d opted to lead Chevy through the thick of it himself, wary of the uneven terrain. It wouldn’t do to have her take a fall because of it.

A large part of this was the fact that this forest was also a graveyard. Tombstones were littered haphazardly across the woodland floor, corpse stinking graves often infested with spiders and coated in web. Clay had no doubt the forest was haunted; more than once he’d seen some shrouded figure appear beyond, then disappear into the fog. He could understand why the villagers were so terrified by this place, even he was put on edge by these mysterious entities. That and the giant spiders, he reminded himself wryly. A howl sounded from a distance and he tensed, gripping the hilt of his sword. He waited for a few seconds until he’d decided there was to be no ambush, but continued on with a ready hand to fight at a moment’s notice.

…And the wolves. The wolves here were unusually large and aggressive, he found. Really, it was a most unhospitable place. He almost found himself doubting there was really someone living here at all. Who would even want to live here? This Witch, if she exists at all, must be quite confident in her own abilities, he thought. That could either be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on what sort of woman she was.

Even so, he found himself breathing a sigh of relief when he reached a small clearing. The mist dissipating as he got closer, Clay observed a little black cottage billowing smoke from a chimney. Illuminated by the light of the full moon, nearby was a herb garden and a stone well to draw fresh water from. The house itself was itself attached to a gigantic, malformed oak tree, and he felt some awe as he counted the number of crows and ravens perched upon its ancient branches.

The rumours are true, then. A Witch really does live here… He remained cautious in his mind, however. He was fully aware that he was still treading into unknown territory. Clay dismounted his horse with a hand held steadily on the hilt of his sword. He needn’t tell Chevy to stay; the old girl immediately occupied herself with grazing on the woodland grass.

Approaching the hut, he couldn’t help but feel caged in by the sinister gaze of the surrounding birds. It felt like they were watching his every move, ready to strike at the slightest sign of attack. Maybe they are, he thought to himself… Still, not one to be deterred, he made a fist and banged it twice against the wooden door.

“Enter.” A soft, feminine voice came from within. Sounding much younger than he’d admittedly been expecting. Taking a breath, he pushed the door open.

Stepping inside felt like entering another world. Clay couldn’t explain it, but the air felt different inside. Almost like he was entering a place of worship, or some other sacred ground. (He had to duck to get in, too, it was evidently a house built for smaller persons)

It smelled like sage and cinnamon. A large number of candles burned brightly around the room. The walls were lined with various herbs and potions, furnished with shelves containing thick magical tomes and scrolls. The hearth was lit with a roaring fire, radiating warmth. It was strangely inviting. Despite the watchful vigil of the birds outside, he felt no hostile intent directed toward him in here. But what his eyes first sought out was the owner of the voice; a lady sat by the window, overlooking a crystal ball.

Pale in the moonlight, the woman wore a silk black dress. On her feet were little wolfskin boots, and atop her head was a black pointed hat adorned with flowers and feathers. Long black hair fell about her shoulders, a scandalous sight for the women of the civilised world. She looked every bit the little mystic, and little she was indeed. The woman stared back at him with an unreadable expression, and he saw she had the most striking emerald green eyes.

Clay’s breath hitched as they looked at eachother. He had stopped in his tracks in the middle of the room. The woman before him was most certainly the Witch he had come to see, but the bartender hadn’t told him she would be this gorgeous.

“I… I, um… I’ve come to- to…” What had he come here to do? His mind went blank momentarily as he stared into her bewitching eyes. Shyness overtook him, and Clay couldn’t help but stumble over his words, stuttering like a lovestruck squire. “…To request your guidance…”

“Yes, I foresaw your coming here.” She replied, seemingly calm. Her voice was light and airy. It had a pleasant lilt to it, he thought.

Clay cleared his throat nervously, stepping forward to present his case. And to get a closer look at her.

“As of late there has been a dragon terrorising the kingdom… My quest is to slay the wyrm, but the beast hides away in its lair. I would ask for your help in discerning its location.” He recited these words as he had practiced them, somewhat dryly. He watched as she nodded slowly, placing both of her pale hands on the crystal ball before her.

“I will divine it.” Was all she said.

He blinked. That was fast! He didn’t even need to offer her payment, it seemed…

For some time there was silence between them. Clay couldn’t help but feel awkward, standing around with his red face and clammy hands. The room was so low he could almost feel the top of his head touch the ceiling. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly unable to be still.

“… I see a snowy peak. Dark clouds gather over the lair of the beast”

Clay squinted to look into the orb, but could see nothing as she had described. He supposed only she had the ability to view it. What a gift. He thought. But then he frowned, remembering all that he had been told about magic before this. How did she acquire such power? He dared not ask, as certainly that would be inappropriate. Though he found himself wanting to ask all sorts of questions…

He suddenly felt mesmerised by her hair. It was really quite long, he realised, even longer than his own.

Clay then felt soft fur brush up against his greaves, and looked down to see an adorable black cat rubbing his ankles. It had the same green eyes as its mistress. He resisted the urge to pet it.

“There is the ruins of an old temple, long buried by the passage of time.”

He straightened back up as he heard her speak again. Damn it, if it wasn’t her distracting him, it was her cat.

“Here wind blows Eastwards, towards the sun.”

She lowered her head, the brim of her hat obscuring her face. He felt disappointed, wanting to see more of her lovely eyes.

“That is all.”

“I see…” He replied. He turned over the new information in his head, trying to retain some of it.

She mentioned a ‘snowy peak,’ was it on a mountain? Clay frowned. He could only think of one place where the land met the sky that far up, but it was not an easy journey there…

It surprised him when she stood up, walking over to stand right next to him. Almost too close. Then he saw that on the hearth was a large black cauldron. She reached out a delicate hand to lift the lid. A pale green mist seeped out, and he wrinkled his nose at the odour. Not the most pleasant smell… Clay watched her pour the brew into a small glass bottle. She extended it toward him, silent.

“Oh…” He realised she wanted him to take it, and he carefully did so.

“This will… Help you.” She murmured, Her voice hushed to a whisper. Her hands fell to her lap.

“T-Thankyou.” He cleared his throat again, trying not to stutter so much. “I’m very grateful for your help…” And he was. It occurred to him she was probably putting just as much trust in this encounter as he had. He was close enough now that one swing of his sword could probably do it.

With this in mind, he added: “I will be sure to remember this, and discourage anyone from coming to harm you.”

The Witch said nothing else, her face still unfortunately hidden by her hat. Clay awkwardly bowed and bid her farewell, leaving before he was tempted to stay any longer. The cottage was feeling warmer by the minute.

The presence of the birds felt less stifling this time as he walked outside, breathing in the fresh air. He felt the embarrassment cling to him, still red in the face.

Chevy greeted him with a whinny, still happily munching on grass. As he clambered up the saddle, the lady’s emerald eyes still gripped his mind.

She was so enigmatic to him. He wanted to ask her more questions. Like What’s your name? And Do you want to meet my horse? Or Are you single? Well, Maybe he wouldn’t have the boldness to ask her that last one just yet. The most pressing issue as of now was of course following her directions to the dragon’s den (If he could remember them), But he knew he had to come back afterwards.

He took one last longing glance at the Witch’s cottage before he set off to play the role of hero once again.

The moment Clay shut the door behind him, Abigail let out a deep breath. She waited a few moments before discerning he’d left for certain, then removed her hat to reveal her flustered face. Her heart was racing in her chest. She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks, knowing she’d just barely managed to keep her cool in front of him. She hoped he couldn’t see the scarlet blush on her face, the seams of her mysterious persona falling apart. It was the only thing that shielded her from terrifying vulnerability.

What I told him wasn’t too confusing, right? I was just trying my best not to sound nervous… I hope it helps.

She paced back to her seat, free hand fiddling anxiously with her hair.

This was not the first time they had met. Although Clay didn’t know it, she actually had time to develop a crush on him for quite a while before this.

Abigail had been in disguise as a peddler woman at the time, and came across a collapsed bridge on the road. As it happened, the fiery-haired knight rode by just at that moment, and offered to help her cross. She couldn’t say no: Abigail the Witch would have no problem at all, but as Abigail the Peddler Woman she had to keep up appearances.

(Of course that was the only reason she allowed him to help her…!)

He was strikingly handsome, but more than that he was genuinely kind. Despite his rugged appearance, he was truly gentle as he guided her across the river. The knight reminded her to keep herself safe, and that the roads were dangerous for travellers as of late. She hid her blush with her scarf and mumbled out a Thankyou, watching him leave with her heart beating a mile a minute.

It had made such a strong impression on her, she was stricken with infatuation for him since that day. So rarely she had ever felt the touch of a kind hand, and his was so warm. The ache of loneliness plagued her once again, and no amount of magical pet projects could distract her from it.

Of course she refused to entertain the thought of him returning her feelings. It would be foolish to get her hopes up like that; surely he already had some fair lady he was devoted to? She, the loathsome witch, did not belong in his courtly world. Abigail was reminded of that every time she felt the little scar by her ribcage, a harsh lesson learned. All she could do was admire him from afar, kept at a safe distance emotionally and physically.

So when her darling Edgar had flown to her in a hurry to tell her of his journey here, she’d panicked a little to say the least. How could she have expected this? It seemed almost too coincidental. More than that, she’d been in the middle of concocting a potion (her personal hobby) when he’d told her the news and surely looked in a disarray. Abigail immediately rushed to fix her hair and find her best dress so she could look presentable for him. That, and a large hat to hide her blushing face. How could she not feel flustered under his steely gaze?

She looked to the open window to see Edgar perched there, offering her a sympathetic caw.

“Oh Edgar, what should I do with myself…?” Abigail sighed, feeling now that it would be even more difficult to get over this unrequited crush of hers.

(Taglist: @slaasherslut, @goldrose-star)

[cannedcum]

There’s a wire jutting out of one of your stickier wounds. You’ve been tucking it back again and again and again but without your tools, without spare synthetic skin, it keeps popping back out. When she comes home from work, clacks across the floor to the corner where your malformed body sits, peels your shirt off, you can see the displeasure in her otherwise expressionless face. She smiles as her fingers dance over the ink blots of oil leaking from a gash on your ribs. You try not to flinch when her thumb and forefinger pinch the exposed cable, rub over the frayed inner circuitry poking out of the wire. You just watch, waiting. Counting the seconds.

“I hate when you do this.” She says, all honeyed and pleasant.

You swallow around nothing and your oil blood feels cold in your inner mechanisms. “I’m hurt, master.”

The crash of glass when she bashes a mug into your face and you try not to flinch but you can’t help it. A sliver of skin on your cheek hangs open to reveal the glistening silver beneath. An even sweeter smile as she leans in close, breath fanning over your ajar mouth. “You’re not hurt. You’re a machine, silly. You’re just broken. And I don’t like when my toys break, Matviko.”

It sits on the back of your tongue, a hot mass of molten lava. The sun is in your throat. You’re not human. But your model is the closest to human it gets, one of a kind. You feel pain and you can’t turn that off no matter how hard you try. You get hungry, you mourn, your engine heart trembles when you hear the click of the front door as it’s glided open. You even grow hair. But she won’t listen. At some point, you gave up trying to explain all the ways that you can hurt and do whenever she plays with you like this.

“I need… synthetic skin for an M032 model, master.” You finally get out, eyes lowered, jaw clenched; more oil trickles steadily out of your ribs. Your split cheek crackles with electricity hotly. “In the shade pale ivory. So I can perform my repairs. I’ll just keep bleeding-“

You bite on a scream and arch as she takes your exposed wire and yanks, tearing it further out and ripping a bigger stripe into your abdomen in the process. You writhe as subtly as you can, eyes saucered and hot with tears, and you tremble with the effort to stay still to avoid further damage. Her lips curve up into an even more prominent smile and, perched on your hips, she puts more of her weight down. Tethered with no way to escape and your vein in her fist. “You. Do. Not. Bleed. Humans bleed. And what are you?”

“A-“ You choke on the vile pain and squash down a harsh cry when she twists the wire around her finger, unspooling more of your insides- “A MACHINE- I’M A- fuckin- Hhah, ROBOT, A ROBOT, A D-“ She spits into the oozing sliver and sparks fly in your chest, hot electricity crackling and your voice stammering mechanically from the disturbance in your hardware, “I’M- A- Ffuck- ing ROBOT!”

“You’re a robot.” She confirms, smile slinking off of her mouth as she unwinds the wire from her finger. “You’re a thing. An object. Do you understand? You always say you understand but I don’t think you do. If I tore your circuits out with my bare hands and pissed inside your metal body, nothing would happen. You would power down. You have no soul, no cosmic fabric. You’re just a machine, something that can be broken and put back together a million times without a single thing changing. You may think you’re a particularly complex or clever machine but your thoughts are just code. Humans are the dominant species for a reason. We are Gods among men. Do you know your place?”

“It’s beneath you.” You pant, the fight torn out of you and the guts too. You rub her sides and then further down, watch the glaze fill her cold eyes. “I exist to serve humans. I exist to serve you. My place is beneath you, Master.”

“Good little machine.” She says, in the same tone one would praise a roomba they’ve grown just a little too attached to. Or maybe people address a roomba with more affection than she addresses you. She slips out of her panties and sidles up your chest. “Satisfy your master. And maybe I’ll consider getting you more spare parts, after you’ve been such a nuisance.”

“Yes, master.” You say, not because you want to. But because you’re an android living in a humans world. And you need to obey if you’re ever going to see that world again. You need the new skin, you need better parts. You’re falling apart. You’re falling apart. You can’t run away from her, from all these shitty fucking scumbag humans, with all this damage. You have to put yourself back together before you can even get to the door, let alone (you’re so alone) open it and run. You wet your lips and stare at her sex, eyes lidded. “Let me serve you, master.”

[timmie-p]

It was an accident, really.

I’m ringing up the last item on this lady’s haul, a can of some brand-name soup. Soup isn’t my thing, but whatever, I don’t judge. Really. To each their own, I guess.

It’s about three minutes past the end of my shift and she seems to be taking her sweet time digging each individual piece of change out of her purse. Fine. Not like I’m in a hurry to get home or anything. Bitch.

Sorry, not bitch. My therapist tells me I need to work on my assumptive attitude toward other people’s motives in non-hostile situations. Basically, be less judgemental. I’m working on it. Really, I am.

Anyway, she finally counts out the money and hands it to me. She’s just short of the total amount and I can tell she’s hoping I don’t notice, but I just sigh and send her on her way. My shift was over approximately… four minutes ago. I technically don’t even work here anymore. Not my problem. Fuck ‘em companies.

She ambles out the doors and I start locking up the place as fast as I can. My cat is waiting for me and that idiot will eat up my bedsheets if I don’t get home to feed him in time. I hate that stupid little shit.

Now, the store is in an okay area. Graffiti, trash, piss on the sidewalks, the usual stuff. Not posh by any means, but I’m not worrying about getting my sorry twig ass stabbed even when it’s getting dark out now. That’s why seeing the dude there was so goddamn weird.

I’m going through the motions, trying each of the keys to find which one is the right one — they all look the same. Maybe someone (cough cough, my bitchass forgetful manager) should start labelling them. It’s fine, I don’t care. Really.

I start hearing this rattling coughing and shuffling behind me as I’m wrapping it all up. Probably some homeless dude with a cold. The guys in the area have learned that I’ll usually “donate” a box or two of medicine if I can sneak it, but I’ve already locked up today and I’m in a hurry to get home. My shit-for-brains cat is going to start ravaging my bed soon and I just washed my sheets, thank you.

I turn around to let him know I’ve got nothing for him and I’m met with the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my life. Really, I swear. He’s got that facial structure models have and his hair is messy in that “actor in a movie who supposedly just woke up” kind of way. A face my baby sister would squeal at and make fancams for or whatever weird shit she does. The kind of guy that pointedly does not belong in front of this shitty store looking at my very much average face.

He’s all dressed up in an expensive-looking suit with a watch that looks like it’s worth more than several years of my salary. There’s a unique pin on the breast of his suit jacket, probably the logo of some company I can’t be bothered to recognise. And also he’s splattered in blood. And also he’s definitely Rich with a capital R. In a “dude what are you doing here shouldn’t you be gambling with inferior people’s money in crypto stocks or something” kind of way. I fucking hate Rich people.

He’s hunched over, blood dripping from his side, and panting like one of those pugs trying to suck in air through its malformed snout after taking the shortest easiest walk known to man. Probably deserved it, honestly. Wait, no, I’m being judgmental again, I don’t even know this dude. For all I know he’s a perfectly normal, perfectly nice dude who is also suffering from a severe and perhaps life-threatening injury.

I’m looking at him, he’s looking at me. At this point, I’m mentally going over my last therapy session and trying to recall what my therapist said about approaching difficult and unfamiliar situations with an open mind.

“So… you alright?” I open, and immediately I can feel that I have made a Social Blunder. Great. A plus for effort. Wrap it up boys we’ve hit nothing and it’s time to jump off a bridge. Sorry, I didn’t actually mean jump off a bridge, just a force of habit. Gotta keep a positive outlook and all that.

He’s staring at me like I’m stupid (I am) and there’s a beat of silence. My palms start sweating and I really just want to walk away and forget about this interaction entirely, but this guy does seem to be. Dying. Of sorts. So it really isn’t in my moral conscience to just leave him there.

He wheezes something unintelligible and I swallow. Ok, let’s try this again.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. How would you like me to help you?”

Ok. The customer service voice wasn’t exactly what I was going for. But good attempt. I pat myself on my back for recovering the social situation.

“Hospital,” he groans, and wow he sounds gorgeous too, like he could narrate audiobooks or documentaries. And yes, of course, hospital. For the injury. Yes.

“My car is parked just down the block, I could give you a lift if you’d like?”

He again looks at me like I’m stupid, and I take that as a yes.

I ease my arm around him to prop him up and help him walk, and he is heavy. Dude is absolutely ripped and it’s all fucking muscle mass. Whatever. I am not going to drop him and make him walk himself with all those fucking muscles. But I am very tempted by the idea.

I somehow manage to drag him all the way to the car and set him down to catch my breath. I plop him against the side of the car and there’s this almost hilarious contrast between his first class looks and my shitty, secondhand ride. I keep my laughter to myself, though.

I pull out my key and shove it into the little lock on the handle of the passenger side. There’s this little manoeuvre you have to do where you push the door in and pull the handle slightly upwards while you unlock it or else it won’t open properly. It’s annoying but I usually don’t have any passengers so I haven’t bothered getting it fixed.

I adjust him into a princess carry and put in all my strength to lift him up and push him into the passenger’s seat. Lift with your legs, not your back. Well, lift with your entire fucking body because holy shit he is massive and I do not exercise on a regular basis. I think I jostled his wound in the process by the way he gasped but at least he’s in the car now.

I buckle him in and shut the door, making my way to the driver’s seat. I’m just starting up the car when I think to myself that I do not have time for this shit. It’s been twenty minutes since the end of my shift, there is a dying guy in the passenger seat of my car, my sheets are going to be ribbons by the time I get home, and wow I am low on petrol.

This guy better fucking pay for my petrol.

I roll into the street and start down the route to the hospital. The guy is still doing that rattling wheezing which is probably very much not good. Didn’t help that I probably maybe definitely made it worse while getting him into the car. His blood is pooling onto the seat and that stain is never coming out. He needs medical attention ASAP.

The hospital isn’t close, but I do know a few shortcuts around the city.

We’re approaching the first turn when I see a couple of black cars coming up from behind me in the rearview mirror. Huh, that’s strange. There’s usually not many people out this late around here.

I signal with my blinker and start turning when I hear this loud bang and the entire car shakes. What the fuck. This piece of shit cannot be breaking down right now.

Thankfully, it keeps chugging along and I glance up at the mirror again.

There are. Several cracks. In my rear window. Those wasn’t there before, I think. I would have noticed them. Okay, fine, whatever. Gotta get that shit fixed later. I guess.

I’m halfway down the street when I see the black cars turn on as well. They are going really fast. Must be in a hurry or something. However I am also in a hurry because the dude next to me is still dying. Fuck.

That’s when the second bang comes, the car shakes again, I look up and there are several more cracks in the window.

Okay what the fuck is happening?

The black cars are fast approaching behind me. Their windows are all tinted so I can’t see who’s in them, but the closest one has its window on the passenger side rolled down and there’s an arm stuck out on the side of it, fiddling with some kind of device.

Oh my god is that a gun. Am I being shot at with a gun. What the fuck. What the fuck.

I make the next turn, and the man next to me groans again.

“Wrong way to hospital,” he grunts, shifting to sit up properly.

“Shortcut,” I reply tersely, because what the fuck is going on right now.

The black cars are still following me. My hands are trembling and the car swerves a bit. There’s another bang and the shot narrowly grazes the external mirror. Mmm. Holy fucking shit.

The guy is unbuckling his seatbelt, and I do not care. If he wants to fucking fly through the windshield and become a meat crayon on the road when we inevitably crash because someone is shooting at us then he’s free to do so.

My hands are shaking and I can barely keep the car straight. Another few shots miss, I think. I don’t know, my mind isn’t processing any of this.

The man reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a fucking gun. Okay. Great. This is great. What the fuck did I get myself into.

He’s shakily loading bullets in when another shot hits. There’s a sound of shattering glass and the car jolts. When I look up, there is a gaping hole in the back window of my car and the black cars behind me are driving very, very fast.

I step on the accelerator.

As my car slowly accelerates because of course it struggles to reach anything above the speed limit, the man pushes himself up and takes aim behind us.

The sound that comes from the gun right next to my ear is so loud that the world suddenly goes silent.

There’s a brief moment where I think I’ve died. The bullet must have hit me and I’ve died. The world is quiet and I’ve never noticed how loud my tinnitus is until now, when the silence is deafening. The moment seems to drag on forever, silence my fate for eternity.

Then a ringing starts, quiet at first like a fly in my ear and growing until its all I can hear and it echoes back and forth between the space in my skull.

The man is shouting something at me and I cannot hear him.

I spare myself a glance up, the cars are closing in. I press the accelerator all the way down.

We rip down the road, the fastest my car has ever gone in its decade of life. I think I hear the engine throbbing, rapid and intense and beating out of my chest like it’s trying to escape.

There’s another turn up ahead, one of those that look hidden from the angle road unless you know the route well. It’s bumpier but will cut the time to the hospital in half.

The man takes another shot. My ears ring again.

My hands are clenched so tight around the wheel that they’ve drained pale and bloodless. My sweat coats the wheel and I’m scared that my hold will simply slip off. I grip tighter.

There are more cars coming from the front.

These ones are also black, windows tinted, but each is emblazoned with a logo on the front that looks vaguely familiar.

Windows roll down, hands out the windows, also holding guns, great fine wow haha.

I jerk the wheel and the car barrels through the turn.

The road here is much more narrow and unkempt. My car is practically bouncing over the potholes and I’m praying that a tire doesn’t blow. Not here, not now.

Thankfully, whatever existence above seems to hear me and is even blessing its favourite little mortal because the turn was sudden enough that it threw off both sides of our pursuers, at least for long enough to let us gain some distance.

My ears are still ringing and I’m going to have a hell of a story to tell my cat when I get home. If I get home.

“Keep driving,” the guy rasps. “They’ll catch up soon.”

I continue forward dutifully.

We’re speeding through when the whine of a police siren starts up from off to the side. Just what I needed. I fucking hate my life.

I ignore the officer. Fuck the cops, whatever.

And just my luck, the black cars are on our trail again.

I’m so dead. I’m so fucking dead.

The hospital is so close. Three more turns and we’ll be there.

I can make it.

One of the black cars has started gaining on us again, the first that shot at us previously. It’s the same arm as before.

The arm raises to take another shot and the black car is rammed from behind. The arm drops the gun.

It’s one of the emblazoned cars coming up from behind. The passenger in the car shoots at the first black car and it’s a bullseye, home run, hole in one, the car crashes and the logo rolls on forward.

My heart soars; they’re helping us. We’re going to make it.

Then a well-aimed shot takes out my right external mirror.

Ah. Right. So that’s a no-go.

The emblazoned cars continue to shoot both at the unmarked black cars and at my car, while the unmarked cars defend themselves and shoot at us. The police sirens are getting louder.

I make the turn, clipping the curb. Not good for my tires. No time to think about that.

Two more turns.

My breathing is fleeting and it feels like I can’t get enough air.

The man unloads several shots in succession. I think my eardrum has been blown out.

He curses and ducks back into his seat.

“Out of bullets.”

My eyes flit to him. He’s bleeding harder now. The blood is definitely never coming out of that seat.

“Mn.”

What else can I say? Not like I can fucking reload his gun with my mind. We’re so fucked.

My car is making an awful clanking noise and it feels like I’m holding it together through sheer willpower.

There’s police cars coming up in front of us. They’re starting to set up some sort of blockade and I cannot deal with this right now.

They haven’t closed up the road entirely yet. I eye the space on the very side.

Another shot hits and I cut across the road.

There’s a high-pitched, ear piercing, nails-on-chalkboard screeching as the car scrapes against the blockade. I shut my eyes and clench my teeth.

I come out the other side with two less doors and several years shaven off my lifespan.

A breath escapes me and there are police officers shouting from behind.

Black cars ram into the blockade and destroy it.

Not out of the fire yet.

They’ve slowed down, taking damage from the barrier, but are still right on our tail. Bullets fly out around us. I can’t tell how many have hit.

We’re going so fast that I almost miss the opening.

I twist the wheel as fast as I can. Taking the corner, the car pitches and both I and the man are thrown to the side. He, not wearing a fucking seatbelt, slams into the side.

“Sorry,” I mutter, even though it’s his fucking fault.

One more turn.

I suck in a breath. We just need to make it over this last stretch.

A bullet flies through the open back and skims right past my cheek through the windshield.

Glass shards fall onto my dashboard. I yank a hand away from the wheel but a piece still finds itself embedded in my arm.

The car veers and I curse under my breath.

Both hands back on the wheel. Worry later. Drive now.

Zipping down the street and everything burns red hot. My chest is beating so hard I can’t even breathe. Vision is darkening around the edges and everything is blurry. Ears still ringing.

Turn up ahead.

Cars behind. Getting closer.

There are no more unmarked black cars. Looks like the emblazoned ones took them all out.

I’m next.

Right there. I can make it.

The man is still heaving beside me, albeit fainter now.

I wrench the wheel and the car lurches.

We drift, wheels making an ungodly noise against the road. They were not made for this.

I’m desperately spinning the wheel, trying to regain control as my car slips. At least we’re still going in the right direction. Shit.

By some miracle, I tug the wheel just enough, blowing past the sidewalk right into the hospital lot.

Holy shit we made it.

I look at the man slumped in the passenger’s seat. Still bleeding but still breathing.

The fact that he’s held on for all that is honestly a feat of wonder. Perhaps he’s even set the world record for most blood lost without dying. He’s definitely won the record for most blood soaked into my fucking seat on account of being the only contestant.

Cars rumble in beside us. And in front. And behind.

Hm.

Perhaps I should have realised that they would not stop their pursuit simply because I reached my destination.

This is not good.

People in suits start getting out of the cars.

I draw in a shaky breath and prepare to meet my end. My therapist put in so much effort for me and here I am, about to die anyway. Not even on my own terms. And who’s going to feed that little idiot waiting for me at home? I hope my neighbours will take him in once they realise I’m not coming back.

Fuck.

They approach the passenger’s side first, jiggling the handle. It doesn’t open, of course.

“Sorry, dude,” I murmur to the poor guy bleeding out beside me. All this and I couldn’t even get him to a damn hospital.

There’s someone reaching in from the doorless opening on my side. I stare at the towering man who grabs my shoulder, his eyes staring unflinchingly back at me. Fuck, I want to see it when it happens.

Every embarrassing and regretful moment of my life starts flashing before me (woah, just like in the movies) and I’m internally apologising to Mimi for tugging on her braids when I was 6 when the man next to me raises his hand.

“They’re with me,” he chokes out.

The grip on my shoulder loosens.

The passenger’s window shatters and someone unlocks the door from the inside. They get a hold on the man and lift him out easily. Maybe I need to start working out.

“Get out,” the tall man orders gruffly. I hastily unbuckle the seat belt, fumbling with the band until I just give up and let it dangle loosely.

As I step out of the car, I notice how dark it’s gotten. It hadn’t really registered while I was driving, but the sun has set completely and I’m usually home by this time, enjoying myself some soggy microwaved dinner after serving my stupid cat.

They’re carrying the injured man towards the hospital now, and I catch another glimpse at the pin on his blazer. It’s the same as the logo emblazoned on the cars surrounding me.

If they work for him why were they fucking shooting at us?? Employees planning a coup?

The tall man notices my questioning gaze and clears his throat.

“We apologise. We believed you were a hostile entity and had not received any orders to halt our assault. We were to take our leader back by any means possible.”

Okay. Thanks big guy, that explains so much. Really. For sure.

Five points of interest.

One: What the fuck.

Two: Did I get myself involved in some goddamn mob shit.

Three: I need to piss.

Four: I need to go home and feed my cat. And then go to sleep and never wake up. Everything aches.

Five: What the fuck.

I hear police sirens in the distance. Mm, great. Okay.

I look at my car. Or what’s left of my car. It’s missing two doors, all the windows are shattered, and there are numerous bullet holes in it.

A marvel that none of them hit me. No, one almost hit me earlier. My cheek is burning and there’s blood dripping down my face.

And now that I’m starting to think about it, pain is rushing back into my system full force. My arm radiates a stabbing sensation where glass is still lodged and I’m scraped and bruised all over my body.

The tall man has gone to talk with the others. I can see the police starting to pull in to the lot.

A woman splits off from their group and walks over to me. She looks kinda like a professor I had in college, that sharp-eyed, stick-up-their-ass kind of look. I really don’t have the energy to talk, so I just nod at her and she nods back.

“I’ll escort you to get medical attention first. We will take care of any police attention.”

I don’t know and I don’t care to find out what that entails.

I follow her wordlessly and the rest is a blur. Someone patches me up and I somehow make it back home without my car. Maybe that guy’s employees (underlings?) sent me back, I don’t know.

I flick on the lights and the idiot is already yowling at my feet. The remains of my bedsheets cover everything. I fill his bowl up with the entire can of the deluxe tuna I save for special occasions and drag myself onto my bare mattress.

The stupid little guy rushes in, tuna still on his whiskers, and curls up onto me as I pass out from exhaustion.

The next day, I wake up to a sleek, new car and an invitation to become a personal driver. I have a penchant for staying calm and quiet in difficult situations, I’m told. Starting salary in the six-figures.

Well, I can’t say I agree with the evaluation of my character, but it’s an offer that’s hard to turn down. Really.

I guess my idiot will be having deluxe tuna more often, huh.

REVERSE TROPE WRITING PROMPTS

Too many beds

Accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss

Really nice guy who hates only you

Academic rivals except it’s two teachers who compete to have the best class

Divorce of convenience

Too much communication

True hate’s kiss (only kissing your enemy can break a curse)

Dating your enemy’s sibling

Lovers to enemies

Hate at first sight

Love triangle where the two love interests get together instead

Fake amnesia

Soulmates who are fated to kill each other

Strangers to enemies

Instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren’t actually dating

Too hot to cuddle

Love interest CEO is a himbo/bimbo who runs their company into the ground

Nursing home au

[theivorybilledwoodpecker]

Prolifers seem to be blaming doctors for not providing abortions in the cases where people have had their lives endangered and yet...it's so strange. I seem to remember doctors explaining very clearly that they needed better exceptions...here. Let me jog everyone's memories with a few key statements (sources in hyperlinked text):

From an article on May 12:

"The questions implicit in these phrases—What constitutes an “emergency”? How does one define “substantial” or “reasonable”?—are left unanswered. “These laws presume a certainty that doesn’t exist in medicine,” Cara Heuser, a maternal-fetal-medicine physician in Salt Lake City, said. “How ‘life-threatening’ the situation has to be—I don’t know what that means.”"

....

"Nikki Zite is an ob-gyn in Knoxville, where an arsonist burned down the local Planned Parenthood clinic on New Year’s Eve. Zite told me about one of her patients, a mother who had a terminal health condition and who elected to have an abortion. “The pregnancy was not going to kill her, but it would accelerate her death,” Zite said. “She and her husband and her physician reached out to me because she had decided that she did not want to bring a child into the world when she was going to die shortly, and also because she wanted to be around as long as possible for her current children.” It is difficult to imagine even a hard-line pro-lifer quibbling with a dying mother’s wishes for herself and her family. Yet her dilemma may not count as a “medical emergency” under Tennessee’s trigger ban.

Likewise, most abortion bans do not make exceptions for catastrophic fetal anomalies that cannot be detected until late in pregnancy, such as anencephaly and certain cardiac and renal malformations. Depending on the situation, these are pregnancy losses by another name. Zahedi, who for a time was one of only a handful of providers nationwide who performs later abortions, said that state legislators “don’t understand the nuances of situations in which a fetus has major anomalies that are not consistent with life. How long do we wait? Do you have to carry the pregnancy to term?” In these cases, she went on, patients are “taking a risk to their life, to continue a pregnancy to term or to stillbirth, with the knowledge that they won’t go home with a live child at the end of the day.”

...

From an article on May 26:

"Maria Phillis, an obstetrician/gynecologist, told the Washington Post, “There’s not one button that says, ‘This one thing is threatening a woman’s life.’ A lot of it is a slow decline, and at what point is a physician empowered to say that there is an emergency?”"

...

Dr. Lisa Harris in Michigan told NPR some common complications such as heart disease have a 20-30% chance of causing death during pregnancy.“

Is that enough of a chance [of death] or does it have to be more? I hate to even put it like that,” said Harris, who was a guest on Michigan Radio’s Stateside. “But is that enough of a chance of dying that that person would qualify under Michigan’s ban for a lifesaving abortion? Or would their risk of dying need to be 50% or 100%? And so those kinds of things are very unclear.”

...

So prolifers, doctors aren't to blame. You are. They warned you, and you ignored them. If you don't remember them speaking out, why not? Why don't you?

[twobitcowboy]

Easy Work for Easy Prey

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Word Count: 1,527

Tags: Body Horror, Gore, Vampire!Eddie Munson

Read it on AO3

PART I: BIRTH

He has been made undone, flesh and soul torn asunder. The whipping tails and gnashing teeth like the hounds of hell upon his back, dragging him to his punishment pit. It is a peculiar thing, to feel the warm, wet slip of your own organs card through your fingers.

He watches the face of that sweet boy, those saline raindrops that paint their faces. Poor Dustin, he thinks, I did this to save you. Will you ever forgive me? It’s with a shaking breath that he lets go, and slips into the floaty space where the hotcoldshaking doesn’t make his stomach roll. It’s just for a little bit, he’s sure. Just for a little while and he’ll be back, no need to worry. He’s dead though. He’s dead, but it’s just for a little while and then he’ll be back. He tells Dustin this, but his lips won’t move; his tongue is still and dry behind his teeth. It’s no matter, he knows. He’ll know. 

The sky above him shifts, the swirling deep blues cut with bolts of red chase out any mortal life from below- or above, he’s not really sure of The Upside Down’s orientation- leaving him alone. It starts with his skin, the slow knitting of necrotic, black and grey tissue running in swaths like a river of death over his body. They itch like a healing tattoo, something he’s used to, but isn’t any more comforting in its familiarity. Worse still is the way he can’t soothe the feeling, stuck in a frozen limbo as his body changes against his will and he has to be present for it all. 

The waiting is the worst part, the weeks spent immobile as the realm eats at his flesh, reshaping him just to spit him back out. Nothing to do but feel the ache in his jaw as new, keen fangs work their way in, pushing out the teeth in their way. Perhaps the worst is the wings. It starts with the familiar bone-deep ache of a growth spurt, racing up and down his back, but settling heaviest in his shoulder blades. Growing new bone is one thing, but the emergence of these new limbs is excruciating. The building pressure, for days as the skin turns taunt and inflamed, until it finally splits like a too-ripe fruit. Feeling the skin bursts and flesh tear to birth malformed wings, shaped in a mockery of his downfall.  

The pain eats away at his mind, worming its way in to replace even the sweetest of memories, of which there are few. His mind knows no sounds but his screams, the primal calls of a man on the edge of sanity. It is a gift of mercy that he has no control of his body, for surely his vocal cords would have been rendered futile. The pain is one of madness, the kind that drives beings to take their own life, just to end the suffering. 

In the end, he is no more human than anything else that calls the Upside Down its home. 

-

The bats do not leave him alone. It is a cruel, taunting jest that they gather about him, always sweeping low to lash him with their tails. Their shrill shrieks ring in his ears long after the beasts themselves have gone quiet. Following where ever he roams, he detests his little entourage and how they travel on those damned wings. His own dip and drag, the weight of them sending searing muscle pain down either side of his spine. They shake and tremble like a baby fawn when he tries to use them, still learning how to even think about moving the muscles in these new parts of himself. Having the brain rewire itself while sitting through it awake is agony, synapses making new connections that fire little shocks of electricity through grey matter as they learn new limbs. He thinks maybe it’s worse than the initial transformation, at least then he was in control of his own mind, even in torment. 

His patience runs out on the third day of reanimation. The rocks of the quarry act as a roost for the demobats and himself, though the little terrors rest much lower. Watching the black mass of them rise from the deep hole is as awe-inspiring as it is horrific. 

It’s on one of these flights from the nest that an errant, low-flying bat catches his ire. A pale, taloned hand shoots out and snags one of the creature’s tails. The force from the bat’s speed initially yanks his arm back, jerking his body before he flexes his newly overpowered muscles, reeling the creature back in. It shrieks and thrashes, tails whipping and wrapping tightly around his arms. He tucks his wings in as best he can to avoid damage from the flailing appendages. Its wings are strange, so unlike his own but similar nonetheless. He repositions his hold on the bat, gripping it tightly by the neck with his left hand and holding it to the ground so he can further examine it. 

He stretches one of the bat’s wings out with his hand, running his fingers over the leathery flesh. It’s smooth, cold, almost slimy in a way, like the skin of a frog or a fish; nothing like the warm, velvety feel of his own wings where they brush against the bare skin of his sides. The other wing still swings wild and free, one of the sharp hooks at the end of the bone catches the skin of his face, drawing a neat, thin line of stinging pain. 

He hisses, jerking back from the creature but tightening his grip at the same time. The bat wails, thrashing even harder in his hands. He looks to the wing and notices his sharp, hardened nails threaten the integrity of the delicate membrane. With sick satisfaction, he presses harder, even as the shrill calls deafen his ringing ears. Thin flesh flexes and bends with the pressure, bulging out grotesquely until each little vein is visible, even in the murky gloom of this fated Hell. Vindication fills him as finally, finally , the skin gives with a pop! The pressure on his claws immediately dissipates, leaving the thick, cool sludge of the bat’s blood to coat his fingers, run down, and pool in his palm. 

The smell breaks something loose in him. A hunger so unspeakable inundates him, his mouth puckering as it floods with saliva, spilling past his cracked lips to wet his chin. He gasps, shudders, and pants as he digs his fingers into the flesh. He wants to rip and tear , to decimate the corpse to an unrecognizable heap at his feet. Trembling, blood-soaked hands bring the creature to his face without volition. A bite will do too, he supposes. 

His tongue laves over the cool stomach of the creature, still trying to wiggle its way out of his grasp. It's soft here, the flesh gives under the prodding pressure of tongue and teeth; different from the skin-wrapped bone, the bumping ridges of the rib cage, the hard, thick sturdiness of the head. Soft with the promise of padded tissue, entrails and blood . The sharp points of his teeth break the surface of the skin, and something in the back of his head tells him that this is familiar . He sinks his teeth further in, pushing the lax flesh into his mouth more and more until his fangs meet, splitting the abdomen open. Entrails rush to fill his maw, flooding his tongue with the sour of viscera and the metallic tang of blood. 

A guttural moan shakes itself loose from his chest, his eyelids flutter as the crimson irises they house to roll back in ecstasy. His jaw unhinges more, letting him suck in shaking, panting breaths around the feast of innards. His brain lights up, and sends zipping shocks through every limb and vein, making muscles tremble in elation. 

The slip of intestines in his mouth, down his throat, is familiar once more, as they once were at his fingertips. He slurps , gulping down the rotten nectar of the bat, fangs puncturing and molars gnawing until he can swallow. The meat slithers down his gullet, leaving a trail of burning warmth even though it’s cool to the external touch. His head pulls away, tilting back as little white strings- like spiderwebs- of fascia tether his mouth to the creature. Maniacal laughter bubbles in his chest, gurgling the sludge-like blood that sits in his throat. It’s an uncontrollable, all-consuming pleasure, he’s lightheaded with euphoria as he laughs, laughs, and can’t stop laughing . 

Blood drip, drip, drips from his mouth onto stone, soaking into tattered black denim. Very metal, his voice says in his head. Whatever that means. When the laughter subsides some, to just little bursts of breathy elation, he hums, looking back down at the demobat carcass in his hands. It’s dead, the only movements left are little cadaveric spasms, twitching wings, and the like. What a shame, he would have liked to dig up into the chest cavity, and feel its heartbeat against his lips. Well, there’s always next time.

[sachi-nakamura]

@uwuthatshit @papuru666 I hope you are having a nice time today, maybe this will cheer you up :)

This is a small thing I wrote to expose some of Sachi's thoughts, how she views her relationship with her Master and to show her feelings. If there's support I'll write more scenarios of master/slave (not sexual, not yet) so please reblog ✨ thank you.

⛓️Puppet⛓️

A scenario in the torture chamber

Kanato x Sachi

Master/slave relationship

Not explicit but at least +13

Abusement, sub/dom, not sexual

Words count: 1.335

On random occasions, a sense of sporadic rational thinking comes across my brain, judging me for the decisions I've made in these past days and doubting seriously the poor condition of my mental health, worse each passing day.

Am I doing the right thing?

I couldn't answer my own question when I snapped out my thoughts at the cold feeling of metal handcuffs on my wrists.

I totally forgot I was in his torture chamber.

What a nice place, perfect for the ideal romantic date I've always dreamt about.

If only I didn't give up on that silly idea time ago, now having to conform to this kind of treatment and all the perverse thoughts that come across his mind.

Not so long ago I was just Juliet waiting for her Romeo.

The red haired, green-eyed Romeo.

But as Mom always told me, reading fictional stories and having fantasies is the only way childish women who can't face the real world can experience the ideal version of love they have in their, I quote, stupid and malformed brains.

Well, Romeo and Juliet's love story isn't exactly a good example of an ideal relationship but you get the point.

Oops, I think I've been avoiding my situation (once again), where were we?

Oh yes, the handcuffs. And him.

Not the boy with ginger hair I dreamt about but a porcelain-looking young man, with the most delicately chosen clothes and eyes that glimmer like amethysts.

He looked at me, having to lift his head to look right into my eyes, and I noticed that every time he has to do this motion he  suppresses a frustrated grimace.

Adorable.

-If only you could stay still I wouldn't have to resort to this, even though having you like this is not that inconvenient, it's just another proof of how badly trained you are. What a disgrace, and you call yourself my slave? You should be ashamed.- he was right, I always cover my body unconsciously when he hurts me. Last time was when he was about to brand new one of his latest acquisitions, a beautiful silver dagger, with me, and I couldn't avoid covering my torso with my arms.

As a result, now I have even more scars in my forearms. Cool.

-I'm really sorry, Kanato-sama. I'll try to behave more properly next time.

He ignored my response and adjusted the handcuffs, locking them and putting the little key that would open them (I hope) in his pocket.

I wonder what it's gonna be this time.

A knife, daggers, a whip, hot wax?

Limitless choices, this was like the equivalent for him to being in Disneyland.

The only difference was that in his Disneyland there's only one ride: me.

His slender fingers slowly caressed my left cheek, where I have one of my recent bruises, covered by a boring, white bandaid. My face sure looks miserable.

My Master furrowed his eyebrows as his touch turned more and more aggressive, causing my wound to stink, ignoring the little pained whine that escaped from my lips the exact moment his nails tried to enter into my skin

He hates this wound.

Because he is not the cause of it.

Mom always knows how to find new, exciting ways to torture me, incapable of formulate the minimum attempt of a rational thought and justifying her hatred towards me by declaring herself a saviour sent by God.

I think she is frustrated by the fact that every day, when I leave home to go to school, I always return.

I would bet my entire book collection that what she truly desires is me, coming back home from classes and when I'm about to end crossing the street that separates me from the hell I call home a drunk motherfucker driving a gigantic truck (or better, a school bus full of innocent infants, more dramatic), runs over me and smashes me into the pavement, guts and what once was a functional brain spilled everywhere, an unlucky old woman passing by screaming until she has a heart attack and Mom seeing all the scene from the window of our shitty apartment, smiling slightly (does she know how to smile?) to then look away, keep reading the newspaper, or the Bible, who cares, and lazily sipping her "morning" coffee due to the fact that it is 3:00 am, thinking to herself that all of this was in God's plan.

Anyways, you can start visualising the type of person my mother is, can't you? Of course she wouldn't hesitate to damage my face.

And Kanato hates her for that.

And I love him for that.

-Hey, tell me, Puppet.-I hate that nickname, "Puppet", he can't even grant me the honour of calling me his "Doll".- I'm sure I've already told you several times but up here isn't exactly your place, right, Teddy? -Teddy doesn't say anything, sitting carefully on the table where Kanato lines up all the instruments he plans to use on me whenever we come here.- Yes, Teddy I agree. Time to fix that.-

The second after he said this he pushed me onto the ground, making me stay on my knees, grabbing the chain that is attached to the collar he forces me to wear and lifting it up, making me look up at him forcefully. My neck ached. 

-Now that's better.- he chuckled.- the proper place for a good slave.-

I nodded, immersed in his beautiful purple irises that made me forget about everything else and the fact that I still didn't know what he was planning to do with me tonight.

Then suddenly, without any warning, he slapped my face, right into my bruised cheek.

-Answer with words.-

-I agree, Master.- it hurts.

It hurts so much, everything he does to me.

But how oddly good it feels, to be loved this way.

-What game should we play today, Puppet? You are still sore from yesterday, aren't you? That cut on your back was so deep I almost reached the bone, fufu, lovely, I want to see that sight of you one day, no meat left, only bones… should I end your life by cremating your body? I'll have to think about it...- 

While he was saying such romantic words, he kneeled down to be at my level and started undoing the buttons of my shirt, exposing what I was reserving for my knight in the silver armour some time ago, when I still had hope. A silent tear tragically freed itself, sliding through my face slowly, slowly…

I wanted to be in his doll collection so badly...

Wait, is that the reason?

I'll pretend it is.

He kissed my neck, making me shiver at the contact of his cold lips on one of my most sensitive spots and removed my clothes until only my brassiere stayed in the way. I'm unable to stop his motions, the handcuffs laughing at me and my tragic fate.

Despite that, and I might sound like a fool, I wanted this.

I wanted him to do a hundred things to me. This time, I craved it, for his cold hands to roam my whole body, for the silver dagger he wanted to use on me, for the black whip he uses when he considers I'm being specially naughty that day…

I want...

I…

…

My purple haired Master removed the tear from my face and tasted it, as if my suffering was his nutrient source.

-You won't be able to cover yourself today, and today no one will come to bother us.  So let's have fun, shall we? All night long…- and then, he smiled. I expected a maniac grin but no, he smiled, sweetly.

Like candy.

So I melted into his sugary words and acted like a perfect, still puppet.

For his entertainment.

For the illusion I created in my head.

…

And then, something broke the silence.

Another bloodstain to decorate the room.

And another tear that escaped from my soul…

[ohworm-writes]

I just realized I didn't follow you...I see you all over my page AND I love your writing...how could I be so stupid... /lh Anyhoo I had a quick req (if they're open) for anything Loki related (Loki the series got me crying rn). Maybe Loki's reaction to the reader coming out as genderfluid or ace? I'd literally be happy with anything you write though LMAO. Thank you so much :))

Actor ( Tom Hiddleston ): Loki Laufeyson Coming Out Headcanons

actor / actress masterlist

‼ coming out to Loki as Genderfluid and Asexual ‼

Featuring: Loki Laufeyson

Warnings: coming out ( if that counts )

a/n - it’s all good, don’t worry about it dear! ( /p ) and i’m flattered! i love the series so much, so you and me both are crying. seeing as i can relate more to these prompts, i hope i do it justice enough. since Loki is genderfluid, i fluctuated between pronouns a lot, so i hope it’s not too confusing! otherwise, enjoy!​ 

( sorry if they are OOC at all, this is my first time writing for Loki )

content below the cut!

genderfluid

seeing as Loki is genderfluid themself, i feel like coming out on those terms would be a lot easier

he can tell pretty quickly that you have something on your mind, but doesn’t want to push you

take your time! she’ll wait as long as you need!

when you do end up telling them about your gender identity, their response is more or less lackluster

i feel like he wouldn’t really react all that wildly about it

it’s more of “that’s fine by me, i love you regardless” type of thing with Loki

nothing is going to make her love you any less

however, they’ll do whatever they can to make you more comfortable

whether that’s helping you get a new haircut, buying you new clothes, or whatever else you may need, he’s there for you

she’ll also be adamant about checking in with you about pronouns

you want to use a specific set one day but not the next? all good with them!

he makes it a point to show you their varying appearances depending on gender identity

one day you’ll see a more feminine-looking Loki, the next you’ll see a more androgynous-looking one

all in all, they don’t care about what you identify as

all he cares about is making you comfortable because he loves you no matter what

asexual

i feel like this topic you’d need to explain more to them

yes, he’s heard of it before, but has never experienced it firsthand

so when you tell him that, hey! you’re asexual! it’s met with a more confused response

“… what does that entail?”

expect lots of questions from her about it

even if some of them come off as rude, that’s not their intention!

they honestly just want to get to know more about it as to not be malformed

she actually reads up a lot on it! looking over book after book about said sexuality

as before, this isn’t a make-or-break type of thing in a relationship

he loves you no matter what, and making you comfortable is his top priority

she makes sure to ask you about your boundaries with things

what jokes you’re comfortable with, where you draw the line with things, what makes you uncomfortable

all of it!

he intends to show you just how much he cares as a partner

[knchins]

Come Back to Me - Junpei Y.

Summary: When you saw his world falling apart, you did your best to try and save him.

Pairing: Yoshino Junpei x GN!Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Major character death, Angst w/o a happy ending, Bullying

Notes: This is admittedly not my best work. I kept wanted to scrap it and start over (I did actually...but only once) because I was having a hard time articulating reader’s feelings. My first JJK piece, I plan on tackling the manga sooner rather than later. When requests open back up JJK will be one of the available fandoms you can choose from! Anyway I pulled a lot of inspo from recalling my teenage years and having heartbreaking crushes on unobtainable people lmfao.

 Why did you do it? His words echoed in your mind as the two of you sat, bloodied, bruised, and burned against the chain link fence behind the high school you both attended. Why didn’t you run?    

 The words flowed from your lips so effortlessly, so easily, so without any care in the world, “Because you are my friend, Junpei. That is what friends do.”

 Junpei had a simple view on life. People were evil. They were heartless. They were cruel. They hated anything that was out of the ordinary. That was different. They hated him. So when he was being beaten yet again by Ito Shouta and his cronies, he was utterly surprised when you picked up a rock that had been nearby and hurled it at the ring leader’s direction to get him to stop.

 The broken off ball of concrete hit the center of Shouta’s back, causing a surprised yelp before making him see red. He turned seeing you standing there, fists clenched by your sides and eyes alight with fury. You had ordered them to leave him alone, to buzz off, to do anything but whatever it was that they were doing to your friend.

 They did not spare you. No, instead they threw you down next to Junpei and used you as a second punching bag. You were outnumbered. Overpowered. Defeated. But the one thing you absolutely weren’t was regretful. Sure Junpei was a bit different and sometimes a little odd but he didn’t deserve to be abused for being abnormal. No one did. Shouta was just some douchebag rich kid that had nothing better to do than torment classmates he felt were beneath him.

 “Never do that again.” Junpei said firmly, in a voice that caught you totally off guard. “Promise me, next time you’ll just run.” You couldn’t understand why he was upset with you for helping. Why he didn’t want your help. You couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your chest, the spark of rejection.

 But seeing you hurt, hearing you cry out in pain, watching your beauty being marred by burns that would more than likely turn to scars…it was too much. His heart just couldn’t take it. It was better for him, for both of you, if you just stayed out of it. Junpei, who felt like the most hated person on all of planet Earth, couldn’t let you hate him too. And surely after being beaten up a couple times for him, you would start to.

 His hands grasped your upper arms tightly, in a grip that was bound to bruise. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was even this upset. He’s never wanted to protect anyone other than himself ever in the entirety of his young life. He was shaking, pleading, begging you to please please never do something like this ever again. If you cared about him at all you wouldn’t.

 And despite your confusion, despite your urgent need to help him, to wipe his tears away, to clean up his cuts, to treat his burns, despite your heart swelling with pain at the thought of just walking away as he cried out for help, you agreed. You told him you would get an adult next time. You wouldn’t take matters into your own hands. If that was truly what he wanted, then you would just stay away.

 He hands loosened enough for you to move your arms again and you couldn’t stop yourself from pulling him in for a hug. If you couldn’t stop it, if you couldn’t save him from the worst of them, then at least you’d be there for the aftermath. For the tears and the anger and despair. You could pick up the pieces of him left scattered on the ground by the bullies that had nothing better to do in their spare time than to tear others down. Because Junpei wasn’t just your friend, he was your first crush. Your only crush. The one that made your heart flutter whenever he noticed you or had a smile tugging at your lips when he spoke to you in the hallway. Junpei who was so sweet, so quiet, so gentle. Junpei who had absolutely no idea how you felt about him in any way whatsoever.

 Over the following few weeks you had noticed him missing more and more school. You had volunteered to take his schoolwork to him after class so that he wouldn’t fall behind. This was more of an excuse to see him and make sure he was okay than to actually help him keep his grades up. That evening, you left him your notes and worksheets, and he seemed incredibly distant as he spoke with you. You knew in your heart that something was wrong. Something just wasn’t sitting right. Perhaps Shouta had gone too far, perhaps he just had no will to come back to class. Whatever it was, there was a sick feeling deep in your chest at the possibility that you wouldn’t get to see him every day ever again.

 You left him your phone number, urged him to please stay in contact because you wanted to know that he was alright. That things were okay. That he’d come back to you someday. It was just a crush but being without him just hurt so much. School wasn’t easy for you either, you had your own bullies to handle. The thought of weathering their verbal abuse alone just had tears springing to your eyes as you laid in bed at night waiting for a text, an email, a call, anything.  

 Junpei did none of the above. He did not text you. He did not email you. And her most certainly did not call you. Had you read him wrong all this time? Were his feelings simply not the same? Did he detest you as much as he did all the others?

 A few nights later you finally did receive a message from him. It was a simple five word phrase via text message. A warning that made your stomach churn with nauseating anxiety. Don’t come to school tomorrow.  

 What was he planning? Should you tell someone? The principal? The police? Your parents? Junpei wasn’t capable of something terrible like that, was he? There was no way he could hurt anyone, right? Was this why he had been absent? He was planning something terrible? On top of that, should you heed his warning and miss school?

 You urgently messaged him back, asking why. Begging for him to come clean to you. However, there was no response. No other messages came. You attempted to call him but his phone had been turned off. Did you go to his apartment? Run there despite the setting sun to find out what was going through his head? Why wouldn’t he just talk to you? Let you help him?!

 All night you tossed and turned, mind reeling with every possible scenario you could think of. Nothing made sense anymore. You couldn’t think of a single way to stop him besides to be there in person. Even if it puts you in danger. Even if you got hurt. It was worth it to save him, even if it was from himself. You’d go and you’d find him and you’d stop him.

 When you arrived at school, sleep deprived and exhausted, you kept a sharp eye out for your friend. You sat down towards the back of the auditorium as the morning assembly began. It seemed as if Shouta was getting some sort of award today, some acknowledgment for an achievement that he likely paid for. You struggled to stay awake, the feeling only getting worse when you finally did see Junpei enter the back of the room. You attempted to call out for him, but something was wrong. You couldn’t move, your body slipping into unconsciousness.

 When you awoke, the first thing you noticed was everyone around you sleeping and what sounded like a fight happening outside in the hallway. You stood, ignoring the shouts of Sotomura-sensei for you to stay down, and ran to try and figure out what was happening.

 Once outside, you raced down the hall, skidding to a halt when you saw Junpei along with two men standing beside the stairwell. The odd looking one had an arm around Junpei, the other freakishly stretched to pin the other teenager to the wall. You couldn’t make out what they were saying. Whatever Junpei had done to make you fall asleep was affecting your senses. In fact you weren’t even sure that what you were seeing was real.

 Junpei had morphed into some kind of monster, “Junpei!” You screamed for him as the other two started fighting, running to gather his misshapen body into your arms. “Junpei?” But he was gone.

 Someone was telling you to run, but you couldn’t move. Your legs would not listen to your brain as you sobbed into the mop of black hair on top of the malformed Junpei’s head. Your grip on him would have no doubt been painful if he were still alive to feel any. You begged, begged, anyone who was listening to bring him back. You’d do anything, absolutely anything, just bring Junpei back! Just bring him back to you, safe and sound! Let you take care of him again like old times! Please! Please? Please…

 No one answered your cries. Of course they didn’t. Why would they? In a world so cold and cruel, why would they bring your love back to you? You could feel your soul withering, shuddering with grief as your heart shrank more and more into your chest until you felt nothing. Nothing at all. Just complete and total numbness. He was gone. He was gone and he was never coming back. .

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