#word count: 1777

[veilkeeper]

The Sacrifice of Souls, Part 2

alt title: why im putting corentin in the torment nexus

this is the second instalment of a 2-part essay series. the first part focused on the events of emmrich's quests, as well as my analysis and critique of his quest line overall. this part will focus specifically on the effects these choices have on the romance, as well as my thoughts on how i'm handling the events for my emmrichmancing rook, corentin.

spoilers ahead! beware that both essays are going to assume you have completed The Sacrifice of Souls and at least one of the follow up quests, Heir to the Dead or Will and Testament. if you have not, i suggest returning to this later and playing it out yourself.

so let's start with the most important question of the day:

what happens to the romance after the sacrifice of souls?

good news! no matter what you pick, the romance can continue on unabated. there's just some long-term details and tone changes that need to be considered.

if you choose to save manfred, be prepared for parenthood. previously, the game had poked at the idea of manfred being emmrich's kid, but now that manfred is talking and progressing at a rapid pace, he is in full "magic-flinging skeleton son" territory, and a romanced rook is going on that journey with emmrich. there is also now a near certainty that rook is going to outlive him—regardless of your personal headcanons, the game assumes that rook is younger than emmrich, and now that he's locked into a mortal lifespan that's something that needs to be considered. especially since, as discussed in part one, emmrich's fears of his own mortality haven't really been addressed at all.

but if you're into co-parenting a rambunctious skeleton with an older, gentlemanly necromancer (which, let's be real, is what most people signed up for when they hit those first flirt options anyway), then this path is probably exactly what you were looking for.

that said, let's talk about the lich romance angle. i was worried when i went down this path that the romance would just immediately end, but it actually doesn't! emmrich certainly wonders if it will—before he undergoes his rites, he has a conversation with rook about how they'll navigate a relationship once he's undead. he says that his senses will change, the way he feels (not about rook, but literally the way he feels) will change, and his body will be different. but they agree they can make it work, so hell yeah.

and if you like the whole "immortal lover" trope, there's some stuff here to like. the lich lords, when you arrive to bear witness to the rites, refer to rook as "challenger of the gods, volkarin's beloved", and emmrich waxes poetic about how even after rook passes, the way he feels about them will be immortalized alongside him. there's also a very sweet kiss before he goes into the rite, and rook has the opportunity to tell him they love him, just in case he doesn't come back out. and afterwards, they have a powerful, immortal skeleton boyfriend, so for the monsterfuckers in the audience.... nice.

so what's the catch?

if you're looking for a fairly unambiguously "happy ending", and if you like the idea of your rook parenting for the foreseeable future, saving manfred is your easy option. on this path, rook and emmrich will have many good years together before he dies. there's absolutely still room for angst here because of emmrich's unresolved issues, but there's definitely a more... domestic, low-key quality to this path.

the lich romance has some pretty glaring obstacles, and that's probably a big part of why a lot of people doing the romance might not pick this. first of all, he wasn't joking, he's literally a skeleton. he can put on a glamour for polite company, but he is a skeleton. realistically, intimacy is going to be complicated by that. on top of that, as a lich for the mourn watch, he's going to have certain duties that he can't get away from. myrna herself asks if they're going to be seeing less of emmrich now that he's a lich, and his answer is basically not yet. at some point, some time in the future, he is going to have to go into the necropolis to begin his lich duties and he won't really be coming back out after. so in a very real way, there is an invisible timer on the relationship where it'll basically be dead in the water unless rook makes some serious lifestyle changes* to accommodate that (assuming they're allowed to). so there's some built in angst with the lich romance that may or may not be your preferred flavour, because his job might end their relationship long before rook's mortal lifespan even becomes a consideration.

*theoretically a mourn watcher rook is going to have an easier time with that particular adjustment, but i'm speaking from my perspective as a LoF rook

decisions, decisions

this is the part where i start talking about my rook, but do us both a favour and keep reading, because believe it or not there is still some emmrich analysis in this part, and it might inspire you to do your own dissection for your rook, too.

so my rook is corentin laidir, and from the moment emmrich said the word "lich" he's been quietly freaking out about it. largely because of the whole "you're going to leave me to be a lich in the necropolis" thing.

i had hoped that resolving emmrich's quest line would give me a very clean solution to the lich freak out issue, and it does! ....if i liked the ending where we save manfred. which i don't. controversial opinion, but i don't actually care about manfred enough for corentin to be his second dad, and from a roleplay perspective i don't think corentin would advocate for bringing manfred back.

but on the other hand, the lich!emmrich option is quite literally corentin's nightmare. what corentin wants, at his core, is for emmrich to accept both manfred's death and his own, whenever it may come. he wants emmrich to understand that running from his own fear of death like that is beneath him. is it honouring death to defy it like that, even (supposedly) in the name of service? corentin would argue no, if he could bring himself to argue with emmrich about anything.

selfishly, corentin is also afraid of what eternity means. sure, emmrich says now that he'll always remember corentin and what they have, but what about a thousand years from now? he's afraid of being replaced, and of becoming insignificant to someone who is so, so important to him right now. in this life.

so the question becomes: do i choose an imperfect, happier ending that maintains emmrich's mortality, or do i throw corentin into an emotional blender?

why i'm putting corentin in the torment nexus

one of the problems of being a creatively-minded person while playing decision-based games is that there comes a time when you have to make a choice:

do i work with the options available to me, or do i pull out my scalpel and gut this thing?

and in moments like this, where neither option is quite right, i have no choice but to get surgical. pick what's interesting, and frankenstein that thing into something that works well enough to carry me to the end.

and the fact of the matter is, the lich path is just more interesting to me in this case because it's an angst machine, and because it makes sense for him to get stuck in it. if i dig into corentin's character, in that exact moment when a decision is made, there's no world where he's going to tell emmrich to give up on his life's work just to bring manfred back and stay mortal. but there is a world where he'd recognize that telling emmrich to give up on his life's work for a guy who loves him who he met five minutes ago is a dick move, and then he'd get completely caught off guard when emmrich says he's going to start preparing for his rites now.

so where does this leave corentin?

here's how i'm handling the situation for the time being, unless something comes along that completely revolutionizes how i feel about all this.

every time emmrich has talked about becoming a lich, it's always been a vague future thing with no real timeline attached. in hindsight, it's pretty clear that the only thing delaying the process was himself—emmrich was uncertain if he was willing to risk the danger of the rites. this uncertainty, however, has left corentin with the impression that even if he was 100% sure and raring to go forward, there would be tests and preparation that needed to happen first, and there would be time before the rites could happen.

so when the question of whether or not to save manfred comes up, corentin does what any good boyfriend would and he tells emmrich that he's dedicated his life to potentially becoming a lich, and he needs to be really certain before throwing that away.

corentin is allergic to being a bummer; even when he's really struggling with something, he feels like he can't talk about it if it'll upset someone else. emmrich is desperately afraid of death, and corentin is desperately afraid of being alone, so he's gotten very good at keeping himself... palatable. so when emmrich responds to his encouragement by saying that he'll start preparing for the rites immediately? well, corentin feels locked into the supportive boyfriend schtick. he feels like he has to be unerringly supportive and not question emmrich's decision, even though it is definitely something that effects him, too.

the whole time emmrich's preparing to become a lich, corentin is thumbs up "you got this babe!"-ing his way through it, all while frantically trying to squash down the feeling of impending doom. because he is 100% completely convinced the other shoe is going to drop at any moment and emmrich is going to go to the Lich Corner Store for cigarettes and never come home.

though it should be noted, the skeleton part of "skeleton boyfriend" is really the least of his concerns. it's just everything around that.

and where does this leave emmrich?

he doesn't know it, but it leaves him with a pretty miserable boyfriend. they're going to have to reckon with corentin's issues at some point.

just like they're going to have to deal with emmrich's. becoming a lich is maybe not 100% a good thing, at least not right this second. he says that he "thought he knew its price," and in keeping with that banter i linked in the first part, he seems unprepared for the reality of losing people. it feels a little like he's rushing into it headfirst before the grief can hit him full force and he can get cold feet.

i'm really curious how he's going to feel if something happens to corentin (or almost happens), and it gives him a reality check on his boyfriend's mortality. losing manfred is already unimaginably hard... is he prepared for what it's going to be like when he loses corentin?

because i don't think he's realized that he isn't, yet.

[writingforstraykids]

I requested the breeding kink for Channie and Jeongin. Could you add Minho?🤤💌

How often?

Pairing: Chanin | Jeongchan | Minchan | Minjeong (?)

Word Count: 1777

Warnings/Tags: smut, whiny!sub!chan, switch!innie, soft!dom!min, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, begging, threesome

A/N: I do hope you enjoy the mess down there👀🖤

Part of the 💌 event. More here

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Jeongin glanced up curiously as his hyung strolled over. They were currently the only ones home, and he hoped Chan would make some time for him, using the opportunity of their solitude. He chuckled, surprised as the older dropped onto the sofa between his legs and rested his head on his stomach. “You're okay, Channie hyung?” he asked, running his hand through his hair.

“Mhm, I'm okay,” he nodded and gently pushed the hem of his shirt further up, exposing his stomach. Chan practically buried his face in his stomach, inhaling deeply. 

Jeongin frowned softly and scratched his scalp lovingly. “You're sure?” 

“Yes,” Chan nodded quickly and closed his eyes comfortably. He felt overwhelmed by his lover's natural scent, the feeling of his warm skin against his cheek, and his long fingers threading through his hair. “Just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” he asked curiously, and his eyes widened a little as Chan glanced up at him through his lashes. His pupils grew darker, and he visibly pressed down his hips on the sofa. Oh. 

“It's embarrassing,” he shook his head, nuzzling his nose into his firm tummy.

“I don't mind, it's okay,” he encouraged him, getting curious. 

“I just…remember last time? When you told me to keep your cum in?” he asked, blushing softly at the memory of him writhing beneath his lover in an effort to do as he was told. 

“Yeah,” he breathed out, ears burning up at that memory. Chan had looked heavenly. “Can't stop thinking about that,” he admitted. “You looked so pretty.”

“I…I want you to stuff me with your cum until I'm so full I can't hold it anymore. Make me so full. Give me all your babies and…,” he trailed off as Jeongin picked up on his train of thought. 

“Shit, Channie, didn't expect you to have a breeding kink,” he said, and Chan buried his face in his stomach with a soft groan. “Fuck, okay, yes,” he nodded quickly. 

“Yeah?” he asked softly. “We don't have to.”

“No, I really want to,” he said, biting his lower lip. “Wanna make my hyungie feel good, yeah?”

Chan smiled at him, sweet as ever, dimples showing. “Love you so much, my pretty baby.”

“Mhm, love you too. Now get undressed,” he said and reached down to pull his pants off. 

“Wait, right now?” he asked stunned. 

“You can't promise me all that dirty shit and then expect me to just wait for another time,” he argued and raised his eyebrows at him. 

“Mhm, yeah, okay,” he nodded eagerly and scrambled to his feet. “Upstairs?”

“No, right here,” he shook his head. 

“We-we'll make a mess, Innie,” he tried. 

“Don't care,” he shrugged and shuffled down his pants. 

Chan swallowed at the sight of his dick resting against his stomach, already leaking precum. “I-uh, they'll be back soon.”

“And what's so bad about that, huh? You love being everyone's baby, and I love them watching me ruin you,” he smirked, and Chan blushed heavily before nodding. 

“Okay,” he chuckled shyly and took his shirt off. 

Jeongin smirked and sat up, pulling him into his lap. He kissed him firmly and cupped him through his pants, making Chan mewl and press up against his hand eagerly. Pulling away from the kiss, he met Chan's wide, blown eyes and couldn't stop himself from smiling at the blissed-out look on his face. “So excited already, pretty boy?”

Chan bit back a groan as he pressed his hand down on his aching dick and nodded quickly. “Yes, baby.”

“I'll go grab some lube, yeah? You just get undressed and comfortable,” he told him, and Chan did as he said, getting comfortable on the sofa. Jeongin took his time preparing him, sharing sweet and lazy kisses as he did. He loved how sweet Chan got like this, trusting him fully and handing over all control, letting him do whatever he wanted to. Chan soon got whinier beneath him, writhing and begging for more. How could he deny him?

-

Chan would notice that touch no matter when or where. There was something so controlled but soft and loving about it that it could only be him. “Hyung,” he whimpered, nuzzling his face into his hand. His eyes fluttered open, and he smiled, realizing he had been right. 

“What is my kitten doing, hm?” Minho's soft voice sent a shiver down his body, and he couldn't hold back the needy moan leaving his lips. Minho's voice just had that effect on him. “Letting our maknae take care of you?” Minho reached out for Jeongin and gently brushed back his hair. “Such a good boy, taking care of our Channie.”

“Mhm, yes, hyung,” Jeongin moaned softly. “Couldn't stop myself.”

Minho glanced down at Chan writhing on the sofa, continuous weak whimpers leaving him, looking completely blissed out. “How often?” he asked, soothingly running his hand through Chan's sweaty curls. 

“Dunno,” Chan moaned in response. He had lost count of how often Jeongin had made him cum already. 

“Three times,” he answered for him. “But pretty intense, hyungie,” he said and growled as Chan clenched around him with a whimper. “Won't stop begging for more.”

“Wanna be full with your babies,” Chan babbled, no filter anymore. “Please, Innie, don't stop,” he groaned and shuddered with a silent cry as the younger hit his prostate again. 

Minho exchanged a look with Jeongin, and the younger could tell that new discovery took him by surprise. He watched them both for another brief moment before locking eyes with Jeongin. “Slow down, baby.” 

“B-But-,” he whined; he was so close already. 

“Slow down, I don't want you to hurt him,” he said and eyed Chan suspiciously, whose eyes were filling with tears with every hard thrust Jeongin delivered. 

“Okay, hyung,” he gave in and slowed down, looking at him with wide eyes as Chan cried out at the loss of intensity. 

“No, please,” he whimpered. 

Minho gently lifted his head and sat down, letting him rest in his lap. “Channie, my love, you're okay. Doing so well taking Innie like that.”

“I'm a good boy?” he asked timidly, face contorting with pleasure as Jeongin dragged his dick along his prostate. 

“Such a good boy,” Minho nodded fondly and caressed his hair, brushing it off his face. “Feeling good, baby?” he asked their youngest. 

“Yes, hyungie,” he nodded and gently lifted his legs onto his shoulders, changing the angle and thrusting deeper. He leaned down to kiss him, and Chan whimpered deliciously against his lips. 

Minho watched him closely and smirked at the signs of his nearing release. Jeongin was getting more vocal, hips stuttering and thighs trembling. He buried his hand in his hair and pulled him up, chuckling as he made his head heavier to increase the pull. “Look at you,” he said fondly, and Jeongin moaned in response. “Such a good baby, taking care of our Channie boy.”

“Yes, hyung, I took good care of him,” he smiled happily, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure as Chan tensed up, clenching him hard and covering their chests once again. “Fuck,” he moaned out and couldn't control himself, thrusting into Chan hard and desperate for a few times before spilling into him all over again. He dropped down onto him shakily, spent from his own three prior orgasms, and tried to push himself up again as Chan whimpered his name. 

“Shh, baby,” Minho soothingly fondled his hair. “You did so well; let your hyung handle this now.” Minho slipped from beneath Chan and gently lifted Jeongin off him, ensuring he was comfortable beside him. He brushed back his hair and gave him a soft kiss. “If you prepare yourself while I take care of Channie I'll reward you after, yeah?”

“Yes, hyungie, please,” he whispered eagerly, a heavy blush settling on his cheeks. Minho giggled and planted another tiny kiss on his nose and forehead. 

“Minho hyung,” Channie whined and reached out for him. “Need you.”

Minho moved between his thighs and gently fondled them. “Mhm, hyung’s going to take care of you, pretty boy. You're so full already you're making a mess of the sofa. I'll give you one more, and then that's enough for today, yeah?”

“O-Okay,” he nodded, trying to keep it all in until Minho was ready. 

“Alright, pretty boy, relax, yeah?” he asked, and Chan did, wincing softly as some of Jeongin’s cum dribbled down his cheeks. Minho didn't waste much time, easing his dick inside and biting back an obscene moan at the feeling. Chan felt warm and still so tight, walls fluttering as he pushed deeper. “Fuck, you're such a mess,” he groaned at the feeling of pushing Jeongin’s cum deeper into his wet heat. 

Chan beneath him whined deliciously at that comment. Jeongin reached out for him and intertwined their hands as he started preparing himself for Minho later. “Feels so good, hyung,” Chan moaned in pure bliss, and Minho started moving. 

Minho stuck to deep, slow thrusts, not wanting to hurt Chan, who didn’t seem to notice much anymore. His stomach flipped, watching his lover's blissed-out expression and hearing the sweet little sounds leaving his lips. “You two can’t behave for once when I’m gone,” he laughed, and Jeongin snorted in response. 

“Not my fault, I swear,” he told him, moaning softly as his fingers pushed deeper. “Only gave him what he wanted so badly.”

“Min,” Chan whined sweetly beneath him, head falling back. “So close,” he whimpered, and Minho soothingly rubbed his thigh. 

“That’s alright, kitten, you’re doing so well,” he assured him and soothingly kissed him. “Just let go for me, yeah?” he whispered, and Chan whimpered in response before shuddering around him, covering Minho’s shirt. Minho picked up pace and pushed as deep as he could as he came not to waste a single drop. Chan moaned obscenely at the feeling, and if he hadn’t been so tired already, Minho would’ve gone again. He pulled out with a soft grunt and spread Chan’s legs, humming softly at the desperate whimper leaving his hyung’s lips. “Innie baby?” he asked, and the younger hummed softly.

“Wanna help your hyung clean up while I take care of you?” he asked, and Chan’s eyes widened with excitement. 

“Fucks sake, you two are insane,” he breathed out but got settled between Chan’s legs, shoving a pillow beneath him. He smirked at Chan before spreading his cheeks and licking up between them with a sweet moan, collecting Minho’s and his cum. The groan that left his lips as Minho pushed inside him shot vibrations up Chan’s body, making Minho grin. Yeah, that would do it to grant them all some fun. 

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

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[1v6]

In The Blink of an Eye [G/T]

[Word count 1777]

Your typical borrower story... or is it really a borrower story at all?

Long, slender hands slammed the book on its cover, its owner too lazy to read any further. Glancing at his phone, the clock read: “12:05 A.M.”

There was no way he had been studying for only five minutes. Surely he had been studying for longer than that? If it was five minutes, why did it feel like an eternity to him?

It was not something he cared enough to think about any further either way. Five minutes or five hours, he felt equally burnt out from studying. 

At least he was five minutes more productive than yesterday.

He reached for his cup for some water, only to find it with as much water as a desert. In other words, he forgot he drank all the water.

On the bright side, it was an excuse for a break from all that studying, and he left his room for the kitchen. Obviously, to get some more water to drink, so he could then have an excuse to use the toilet, which would be another study break, assuming he would continue studying after refilling his water.

Or maybe he would sleep. It is late, even if he usually sleeps later than this. Way later than this.

Yeah, maybe he would after some water.

Somewhat clumsily reaching the water, he also somewhat clumsily refilled his cup for the night, miraculously without spilling anything in the dark, as he never bothered to turn on the kitchen lights. He couldn’t see well without his glasses anyway, what’s the difference between not seeing shit and not seeing shit?

And so, just as he turned away to leave, something flashed in the corner of his eye. He whipped his head to the left instinctively, trying to see what it was.

Nothing out of the ordinary— how is it possible?

Could it have been a cockroach? Perhaps not. They tend to have a weird, lingering odour when they do infest the house. A gecko could’ve been more reasonable given the speed, if what he saw was real, and not a trick of the eye as a cause of forgetting his glasses upstairs. But just in case, he should check it first, if not for the sake of hygiene, then for the sake of being able to sleep soundly tonight.

He hated pests, and the lack of glasses is not going to stop him from trying to eradicate them. Eyes never leaving the spot he believed the bug was, his hand slowly reached the can of insecticide sitting in the corner just for situations like this. If it was a bug, he’s going to kill it without hesitation - just strike at them by drowning them in half of the bottle of that shit— an easy solution to an easy problem, right?

Shaking the can of insecticide, making clink, clink, clink sounds, an alarm to anything that could be targeted by the poison sitting inside, he approached the kitchen counter with small steps, slow and cautious, as if the kitchen counter itself is the enemy.

A small step, followed by another small step…then a Big Sudden Leap - only to detect zero lifeforms in said area.

Huh?

He looked behind the nearest thing there was - the toaster - and saw nothing. Just to be sure, he looked around the toaster - there was still nothing.

He was confused, as he was quite sure that he had seen something. Or was he? There was a small bubble of doubt, now thrown into the mixture of his current emotions. He would stay longer to confirm his suspicions, but it was late, and at this point, there was definitely no more reason to continue with this futile attempt of searching for proof of his figments of his imagination. His fear slightly convinced by the visual proof of nothing, he set the insecticide back down in the corner.

Cup of water in hand a minute later, he prepared to head back to his bedroom upstairs.

There was something again!

This time, there wasn’t something he saw, but something he heard. A very faint scutter that came from below the kitchen counter this time, no longer at the previous area he was looking at just now. His fear of insects reignited again, begging him to deal with this pest once and for all.

Keeping his eyes on the area, he spotted a small dark blob moving towards the gap between the counter and the wall, too small for him to get them if it made it there. The cockroach! There was no time for the bug spray if he wanted to catch it now. He poured the water into the sink, now holding an empty cup.

The deed was done. The war has ended, peace returns to shine proudly on his home! At least, for the time being.

He is currently in a game of catch, with him as the determined lion, and the cockroach the panicking deer. The cup now a repurposed emergency cage, he bent down to get closer towards the ground, and lunged forward with the cup in hand, slamming it down onto the cockroach. 

He will have to deal with the cockroach soon. The cup can not stay on the ground forever— He had to lift it up at one point, which is a terrifying idea: He did not know if this cockroach could fly. What if it were to immediately fly into his face the moment he tipped the cup?!

The second option was more sympathetic to his fear: Leave it closed until it dies. The only two problems that come with this solution, though, are equally a nuisance. For one, the cup was opaque— he would not be able to know when it would be safe to open the cup as he is unable to see when it would be dead. Secondly, the fact that he knew cockroaches are very good at staying alive! He definitely does not want to leave that cup on the ground for, say, three months straight.

Though he has another side that has a conflict with his fear of bugs. People, when grown up, tend to lose their natural childlike wonder towards mundane things, causing life to lose its colour the older one gets. He, though appearing as an uninteresting nobody to anyone passing by, has not yet lost that sense of curiosity. His fear of bugs and his curiosity - towards bugs - in this case, clashed against each other.

A simple solution to making peace with both sides is to separate them using a glass wall. The same way the bug will not make physical contact with him, the fear will not leave the confines of its prison.

And that is what he plans to do.

He will not kill it.

He will simply change its prison walls.

Taking a glass this time, he held it next to the quiet, opaque cup.

The kitchen was silent, and even more so now that he completely forgot to breathe. His sweaty hand had started to fog up the glass a little. He paused, mentally preparing himself for the cup swap.

It’s just a cockroach, he reasoned with himself. There was nothing to be afraid of, and it is most likely more scared of you than you are of it.

A deep breath.

A pause.

The next thing he knew, the cups were swapped.

But what he saw was not a cockroach.

It was a…borrower?

Should she start doubting her own existence? Nay, she is very much real and tangible, despite whatever rusty thoughts are pouring into his mind as of this moment. She pinched herself on the shoulder.

“You’re real?!”

Just to confirm her reality.

She simply stared at him as the human squinted his eyes at her.

Is he trying to show that she is that insignificant compared to him? Sure, he is large in size, but there was no need to rub it in her face. She can assess her situation quite well, very unlike her captor, thank you very much.

Has he never seen someone like her before? What is a “borrower”? This is starting to feel more and more like an insult to her dignity. Stripped of her name, then her dignity, what’s next? It was already bad enough that she was captured like an animal, but to be captured by such a dimwit just seems precisely what the Court would consider an entertaining joke.

“Are you a borrower?”

Fortunately, being captured by an idiot has its advantages. An easy escapade can be done in no time, especially for someone as capable as her— as long as she can find a chance to do so, and humans rarely have any room for that, given their physical superiority. She could make the glass brittle enough to break and make a run for it, but—

“Maybe you’re not talking or something because whatever rules you have stop you from doing so, but I want to talk, not to harm you…?”

He sounded like he is not even confident with his own statement. He could try to lie better, perhaps. A decent attempt, however not one that can fool her into talking. She owes humans nothing. There is no favour to return, perhaps except trapping him in a glass, if she could.

She knocked on the glass to examine her prison walls better.

Clink, clink!

She looked at him again. Eyes droopy, he opened his mouth to let out a small yawn, scaring her just a little before she reigned in her fear.

Humans have no proper etiquette.

What felt like an eternity continued with nothing but a staring contest. And she will wait for however long she has to in order to escape. He said he was tired.

She still refused to talk?! OK, he thought, makes sense if they don’t trust humans or whatever.

Then she will wait until he sleeps.

But still, this is real. A borrower in front of him.

He knows the right thing to do would be to let her go and respect her right to liberty, but also, he knew that he would definitely never see her again if he did that.

So he brought her, covered glass and all, to his bedroom, trapped. After all, what’s the harm in doing that if she is in no danger? Not that he plans to harm her anyway. It is just keeping her in one place where he can keep an eye on her.

Yet, the pair of eyes supposed to keep an eye on her are closing. He blinked harder, trying to keep himself awake.

No— I can’t sleep yet— This is a once in a lifetime thing...

A minute later, soft snoring left the confines of warm blankets.

[leeofthevoid]

Cold-Blooded Beings- Part 1

Farleigh Start x Reader

a/n: Hey guys this is a multi-chapter thing, a little series I suppose and I'm excited to map it out. Hello! Had a few comments that wanted it changed to Y/N and I got you! Please let me know if I missed a few but I tend to not use the assigned name I did before. Just tell me if you guys also want some name specific Fic for you so I can make one shots! Big thanks to the people who pointed good stuff out!

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol, Strong language

Word Count: 1777

|| Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

Money Makes The World Go Wild

Oxford was a dream come true. It was so difficult to actually get into the school without the help of your family’s wealth and earn your place, it was rewarding to finally get into it. 

It wasn’t until dinner time when you felt big arms wrap itself around your shoulders while you ate. “Look who we have here. N/N L/N.” What the hell? This voice was unrecognizable. What does this guy want with you? “I’m sorry um…Did I do something wrong?” The man looked confused and chuckled. “Y/N , it’s me Felix? Felix Catton? Cry Baby Fee?” 

You jolted back in surprise and your face turned from a slight scowl to surprise. You didn’t hesitate to jump and wrap your arms around him. “Fee! Holy shit you’re so big now! I barely recognized you!” You both laugh heartily as you pour out your happiness in the embrace. “How I miss you, I miss you so.” You pulled back to pepper his face with kisses and finally sat back down on your seat, huge smiles still plastered on your faces. “You’re so big now Fee! I can’t believe you’re the same little boy I had to carry when you scraped your knees.” Felix cringed slightly at the story but still smiled his heart out. “Well yeah, I’m not the little boy Catton you used to know. It’s so nice to see you N/N. Venetia would be so happy know you go here.” You pause and look around the dining hall looking around for the other Catton sibling. “Speaking of, where is she?” Felix leaned on the table and sighed, “Went to Cambridge in fear that I would ‘ruin’ her university experience.” It was so like Venetia to say that and you admired how they seemed to barely change. 

You ended up talking through dinner time about how you got into Oxford the way your family always went in. Felix teasing you about your strict family. How you both grew through the years and realized how you missed each other’s presence ever since your father threw you to Switzerland to attend boarding school after your last summer in Saltburn. You both exchanged numbers and a promise to Felix that you will for sure hangout with him and his friends. With a goodbye embrace that was too long for other people, you parted ways. 

It was hard being a Teacher’s assistant. When you settled after a few months into your summer term, your professor offered for you to help him tutor his students which you gladly agreed to for extra credit. You were now stuck in the room with Mr. Ware, this shy scholar kid named Oliver Quick, and another empty seat that the other student seemed to miss every session. It’s their fifth absence now. Oliver was in the middle of reading his essay out loud when you decided to take a quick bathroom break, waking up your professor in the process to at least pay attention to the poor guy. After a few minutes out, you’re met with a new person chatting with the tutor and Oliver sits back quietly. You got a better view of the new presence and saw a nice head of curly hair, fashionable clothes, and…No way. “Farleigh?” 

Oliver and Farleigh look up at you from the door and his eyes widen. “ Oh my god N/N!” He stood up and scooped you in a tight hug. Man, these Cattons sure love their hugs. “I thought Felix was fooling us when he mentioned a special childhood friend in Oxford.” He gently puts you down and backs away to sit next to Oliver again. 

“My, my. A L/N and a Catton? Oliver, you have quite the company.” Your Professor stated. You saw Oliver slowly back up in his chair more, feeling a tinge of pity for the guy. “Let’s start over, Sir. I believe we all have limited time.” You chime in. You all sat down and proceeded to listen to the essays Oliver was abruptly cut off. His work was too robotic and a little…Boring? You can’t help but try to wake the other two people up from time to time to at least alleviate the embarrassment Oliver had. When Oliver finally finished, you cleared your throat, signaling for Farleigh and Mr. Ware to at least look alive. Mr. Ware shared his thoughts and you did too, “I believe there was a lack of something in it, Oliver. I’m sure you’ll be able to revise it better so don’t worry too much.” Farleigh snorted at your kindness and blatantly told him the truth. It was a tensioned back and forth that you’d much rather not be apart of but what can you do? Farleigh was right but so was Oliver, you looked at Mr. Ware and he simply shook his head. “So! We had quite the session today, lads. Oliver, please take note of the changes Ms. L/N will send you, and Farleigh please write your essay too. Um…Send anonymous regards to your mum too please?” Farleigh winks at him and gives you a kiss on the cheek before he leaves the room. Oliver soon made a beeline out of the room and you followed after getting a few tasks from Mr. Ware.

After a few days, you came across Oliver walking alone through the courtyard. “Hey, Oliver!” He quickly looked around for the source and saw you waving at him. “Oliver! Fancy meeting you around and not in the office.” You smiled at him as you put out your hands out to shake. He took it and gave you a shy smile, “Ollie is alright. Y/N right?” You nodded. “So sorry about Farleigh, he always had a sharp tongue ever since we were kids, can I buy you a few drinks to apologize?” 

“No, no, c’mon now Y/N it’s not your fault. Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want to. I don’t need a reason to treat a friend out?” You smiled at him as he fiddled with his jacket deep in thought. “I suppose you it wouldn’t be bad…” You smiled again “See you later at the pub then. You know where right? Bring your friends Ollie!” Oliver hurriedly walked away with a small bounce of excitement as you slowly backed away bumping into something…Or someone. “Running a charity case, love?” Farleigh chuckled. You look up at him and roll your eyes with a slight smile. “Don’t be mean Far, I just thought he was a decent person to befriend.” 

“And where is Farleigh’s invite then?” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder as you both walked. “Since when did you grow so mean? I remember you jumping up and down whenever I complimented you more than Felix.” Farleigh groaned at the memory as you laughed. “You know, being the oldest out of all of us had its perks, such as carrying both you and Fee when you were both so tiny! I felt so big next to you! Now look at you towering over me.”

“N/N, you sound like an old lady reminiscing about her children’s lives, I don’t miss that at all. If you’re coming to the pub with that bore of a person, come by at our table yeah? I’d hate for you to be lonely.” You chuckled as he kissed your cheek to walk off into who knows what. 

The pub had a really good atmosphere for a place swarmed with people in their early twenties dying to have some semblance of relief from school. You would even argue that The King of Arms was a decent place to have a date, even dressed nicely to appease the people you’ll hangout with. One problem is that you never anticipated the fact that Oliver could probably have no friends. Well, he had one, Michael, but the thing about Michael is he seemed to be so absorbed in his genius that he never did care to let you or Oliver talk. As much as you appreciate the boys not ogling at you with the usual stares you get from wearing provocative clothing, it was kind of pathetic that they didn’t at least compliment you perhaps? 

You excused yourself to get another round of drinks, on you of course. It kind of put you in a bit of a damper mood when Michael didn’t even acknowledge it, at least Oliver did but it still sucked. You approached the Barkeeper to bring you three pints of Pale Ale which he kindly nodded to. “What’s a pretty lady like you doing with losers like them?” You chuckled and looked up at the figure slowly sliding their hand on your waist. “Farleigh.” You lightly warned with a smile, “Cut them some slack. It’s probably their first time going out with people. I was like that when I started my summer term.” Farleigh simply rolled his eyes at your kindness thinking it was stupid. You notice how he seemed to still tower over you and that was something since you weren’t exactly short, five foot ten to be exact. You even had heels on for goodness sake! When did this small tiny boy grow so tall? 

You snap out of your trance when the door dings. You turned and saw Michael’s retreating figure, turned and checked the table you were occupying and found no signs of Oliver. Great, you just got ditched. “So…About my offer?” Farleigh’s tone was teasing and you can’t help but give in. With a sigh and a defeated huff you give in. “Fine Far, you win. What about the stuff I ordered?” 

He scoffs, “Thank you for buying me some, you’re a doll.” Farleigh says in a sarcastic manner, picks up the tray and brings it to the table while dragging you with him. You notice Oliver’s shy figure sitting beside Felix as Farleigh pulls a chair out for you. Paying no mind to the boy who just walked out of your table, you greeted everyone with a cheery expression even earning some wolf whistles from the guys sitting with you. “Y/N will apparently buy two rounds of drinks for us.” Farleigh teases. Everyone cheered making you roll your eyes at him. At least you get to use that allowance your dad finally said you earned.

After some time on the table, it still pissed you off that Oliver ditched you, he even avoided eye contact with you while talking to Felix. It’s alright, everything will be okay and you should just let this instance slide, you say to yourself. It was just an apology drink from Farleigh’s mean outburst and the subject of the event was right next to you making out with a girl on his other side. Don’t you just love university?

Next

[theramblergal]

My own submission for day 1 of @pandavapanchaliweek! This was one I struggled with for a long time, and I still have so much to say about these two but I'll shut up for now. Word count: 1777 Characters/Relationship: Yudhishthira x Draupadi

Cheluva’s quill tapped a rhythm on the desk as he considered the various parchments spread across it. His gaze fell on one particular parchment, the parchment which held the main draft for his very first chapter.

Indraprastha glimmers.

At least, that was the only word that he could come up with. Without falling short. Even then, it fell short.

Sunlight bounces off the golden pillars that are the foundation of the courtroom, and reflects off the marbled floors that are cool to the touch. It illuminates the surprisingly simplistic figures of stories of yore that are scattered about the towering room, carved into the walls or adorning the hall as statues. It brightens the explosion of colours that enlivens the room: bright silks draped over thrones and cushions, gemstones set into metals that glistened like stars in the morning sky.

It is not just the sunlight.

There is a residue of light in places where it shouldn’t be; not quite the absence of it, but the suggestion of: someone not fully human was here. The gods walk the pathways of this city and the halls of the palaces, mingle with the common people and watch everything play out like spectators instead of judges. They have personal stakes in every situation, every confrontation, not like the distant but warm deities we worship in the south.

Cheluva hummed to himself alongside the rhythmic tapping of his quill as his eyes glided over the well-worn words he had read perhaps a thousand times by now. It was a nervous habit of his; every time he lost track of his thoughts, he would start at the beginning of the chapter to track his threads again.

But he was a writer. And a writer’s mind is most prone to distractions.

He thought about the king and queen.

To continue in the vein that his description of Indraprastha went, Yudhishthira and Krishnaa (“Emphasis on the a—no, it’s a warmer sound, the way we say anna—remember there are multiple Krishnas up north. Yes, including the son of Vasudeva; you’re lucky you get to meet him.”) were very much the crown jewels of Suryadeva’s diadem.

They in the south reached for the sun, proclaiming their devotion to the gods with intricacy and passion: look here; we are where you ought to direct your attention. In the north, everything was more muted. Still. As though the architecture was a mere afterthought; the divinity that filled and illuminated the halls seemed more than enough. They did not need to reach for the sun; they already had it. In their halls.

…wait, why was he thinking in prosaic terms? 

And.

That was perfect for a comparison between the north and the south, especially considering the light metaphor he had already been using. He quickly grabbed another piece of parchment, which had all of his first-drafty sentences, and jotted it down before he lost any of the words swirling around in his mind.

Then, he set his quill down and rubbed his wrist, thinking back over the past few days.

The first day he had been here, the sheer grandeur of the place had nearly overwhelmed him. The austere ostentation of the north was befuddling to him. But he was here for a reason—to observe the royal family and determine if they really were worthy of paying tribute to, and Cheluva was not called the Observer of his royal court for nothing.

Another paragraph, a few lines down, caught his attention.

The throne the Samrajni sits on is the highest throne in the room, save the balcony meant for the Rajamata. Four other thrones flanks the Chakravarti’s, a step below: the ones meant for the four other Pandavas and their wives. Yuvaraja Bhima and Yuvarani Valandharaa typically sit to the right, and the Senapati—when he is present in court, that is (which is rare, so tells me the craft minister)—sits to the left with Yadavakanya Subhadra. The younger twins are seated respectively to their right and left; when the men are not present, it is quite common for their wives to stand-in if their presence is necessary. Perhaps that is an understatement. The royal women are no mere beauty accessories here; they are rulers in their own right. 

Cheluva considered his thoughts: he felt nothing but admiration for the Samrajni. He had heard the songs, everyone had. But the strength and patience she must have had, to manage such a complicated life in the antahpura, deal with matters of the state, serve the guests humbly and find time for her family, all the while looking as though she was untouched by any care in the world: that strength was not easily found in any person, mortal or not. 

He rubbed his wrist again, absentmindedly, and decided to continue his chapter later. For now, he looked at his notes on the dynamics of the Kuru royals, at least the ones he had managed to observe. 

Yudhishthira and Krishnaa were the ones who confused and intrigued him the most.

He still remembered the first time the Samrat had entered the room a little later than usual, on his first day here, and the Samrajni was already engaged in conversation with a minister.

The golden king looks to his dark queen, and all the world is caught in their gaze. They stand on opposite sides of the court, and yet it seems like there is no distance between them at all. Yudhishthira is a king; nothing must escape his sight. That is the way he looks at the court, taking every detail in and fitting them into the bigger picture, but when he looks at Krishnaa, there is the subtle reframing of his entire focus: she becomes the main subject of the art in his eyes. Everything is still present; the background accentuates the subject, but he still gazes at her in a way that is still inexplicable in words. (I am so told that the other Pandavas look at her in a similar way.)

If I may borrow a metaphor from one of my other works, she is the light that living beings find themselves drawn to. That makes Yudhishthira the shadow, for where there is light, there must be shadow

When they are seated side by side, the contrast is enough to have one’s eyes riveted to the front of the room. Dark and gold: their voices are equally quiet but echo with the kinds of power that has only been seen in the heavens. I have heard parallels being drawn between them and Vaasudeva with Rukmini, but as I have not yet had the good fortune to meet the latter, I may offer no comment on it.

They work together like a particularly well-oiled machine. The king anticipates the word of his queen before she even speaks; she, in turn, knows the exact manner in which to evoke the response she desires from him. Krishnaa is fire’s daughter indeed, as the bards have told us, and Yudhishthira is the mountains’ son. The constant push-and-pull between them that is somehow never significantly frictional is what makes their rule so in tandem, so harmonious. Yudhishthira is contemplative, sometimes too forgiving. Krishnaa is more assertive, more adaptive. 

Alone, either may falter: the king might be too forgiving, the queen too relentless. But together, they create a balance, their differences sharpening each other like flint against steel.

Cheluva exhaled sharply, pressing his lips together. His eyes burned from reading in the low firelight, and he rose from his seat, walking over to the balcony. 

As he leaned out over the parapet, eyes distantly tracing the rise and slope of the buildings in the vast expanse across him. For such a new kingdom-state, it was very well constructed. 

If he were to take the analogy of light and shadow he had used in his works, he pondered, what would he assign to the king and queen?

It was not an easy analogy.

It was simple to say Yudhishthira was the light—steady, unwavering, illuminating the path of dharma with his gentle glow. He was the sun at dawn, rising quietly to guide the day, promising warmth and peace. To say Krishnaa was a shadow would not be incorrect: she moved with the silence of one, always watching, always in motion, shifting and shaping herself to meet the moment. She was the shade that gave relief when the light was too bright, but also the darkness that demanded action when complacency threatened to stagnate them. Without her, the world Yudhishthira sought to illuminate would lack depth and definition.

But then, she was fire’s daughter too. Blazing, gentle, but impossible to ignore. In her quiet voice that carried power, she blazed a trail. A path that others could follow. Her light pierced, it exposed, it demanded action. Yudhishthira too, could be shadow, tempering her light with his immeasurable restraint. He absorbed the chaos of the world around him, holding it in stillness, waiting for the right moment to act. But in his silence, he could linger too long, risking stagnation, letting the shadow grow when the world needed light to break through.

No matter them being either-or. They were both. 

They were, together, the balance of the universe: the light that revealed the way and the shadow that forced the world to confront its truths. Where one faltered, the other rose, and in their harmony, they created a world not of perfection but of meaning.

For what is light without shadow but emptiness? And what is shadow without light but oblivion? They were both, and because of this, they endured.

“I hear the Samrajni and Samrat had another disagreement,” giggled a woman’s voice from below Cheluva’s balcony. Perhaps one of the maids. A younger one, at that. 

“I don’t think so. You should know by now that Panchalakumari and Dharmaraja don’t actually disagree; they might differ in their opinions of how to handle matters, but they always, always reason it out with each other. No matter how impassioned the queen is, or how firm the king is, they balance each other out, and that’s why our kingdom is so stable.”

Cheluva nodded to the stern voice of an older woman, and then he sighed, deciding to go to sleep.

The next morning, as he watched the aarti plate circling the idol of Mahalakshmi, held by Yudhishthira and Krishnaa as their voices, one deep and one high, sang in harmony, Cheluva watched the firelight bounce off the walls and illuminating their faces. The interplay of light and shadow highlighted their features and Cheluva smiled quietly to himself.

What an overextension of a metaphor.

But an apt one, nonetheless.

[voraciousvore]

The Tiny (Chapter 11)

Chapter 1 | Previous (10) | Next (12)

Content Warning: Soft unwilling nonfatal vore, vomiting, violence/ blood

Word Count: 1777

------ Chapter 11: Rescue and Remorse ------

I wake up in a puddle of my own blood. My head is pounding, as if my skull is an anvil for a blacksmith. I groan and try to sit up, only to plop back down with a billow of dizziness. Nausea claws up my throat and I nearly vomit, but I force the stinging acid back down. My limbs are as limp as a ragdoll, unresponsive to my efforts to move them again. 

I try to recall why I’m laying here, or what I was doing, but my thoughts and memories are too nebulous and disconnected to string together. I focus just on staying conscious, breathing and laboring under the incessant beating of that hammer into my head. After a few minutes, I can twitch my fingers, and some vigor returns to my arms enough to where I’m able to move them. My digits fumble with my jacket, climbing up my torso to my front pocket. 

“J-Jaclyn?” I call weakly. I grimace at the rasp in my raw throat. I poke and prod clumsily at the pouch, searching for my precious girl. I can’t find her, and she doesn’t answer. Where is she? 

“Jaclyn?” I repeat, louder this time. I grope in my pocket with rising urgency. “Jaclyn, are you there?” No response. She’s gone. 

I sit up in a panic, squeezing my eyes shut as the world spins around me. I take several deep breaths and open my eyes again. The scenery careens to a stop, lurching my stomach, but stabilizes. I scour the ground around me for any sign of Jackie, but all I see is blood and a big rock, out of place on the expanse of asphalt.  

I pick up the rock and turn it over in my hands. It’s speckled with flecks of scarlet. As the cogs in my head sluggishly click into place, I detect that same musky, masculine body odor that I sensed right before I passed out. My entrails clench. 

Jackie isn’t stupid. She wouldn’t try to run away from me, when encompassed by innumerable hazards. She was taken, after I was violently assaulted. I spring to my feet, overcoming my grogginess. I stagger forward blindly, halting with a muddled sway as I realize I don’t know where to go. I can’t smell her. The cologne is hard to trace, when it’s coating my body all over in a thickened haze. 

I can smell the giant who stole her from me. Hot embers flare up in my belly as I seize the blood-spattered rock and begin the hunt. I’m fueled by a desperate rage that pushes me through my pain and wooziness. I want to destroy this man, to annihilate him into dust. He’d better not hurt her, or eat her, lest he face my full wrath. I need to save Jackie before it’s too late. Fear spurs me on faster. 

My nose leads me to a dingy hovel off the side of the road, not too far from the main square, the sort of place inhabited by squatters or drug addicts as it gradually collapses into ruin. Despite the foreboding warning in my gut that tells me to stay away, I know the situation is dire. I don’t slow my pace at all as I storm up to the door and wrench it open, to be greeted by musty shadow. 

I step inside, keeping the rock in my hand close to my side and out of sight. The threatening atmosphere makes my hackles rise and I pause and stiffen, in spite of my inner turmoil. My eyes are drawn to the only light in the dim space, a solitary, dusty bulb that barely functions hanging from the ceiling. 

Something large and alive shifts in the corner, capturing my attention. It’s a giant male, partially illuminated by the flickering yellow light. He’s tall and menacing, with icy blue eyes, long blond hair tied back in a ponytail, and huge teeth that glint with feral bloodlust. He’s thin and gaunt, with high cheekbones and a sallow face, yet he moves with a wiry strength that suggest his muscles are like cords of iron. He’s wearing a long black coat with brass buttons and chunky black boots that come up to his knees, perfect for curb stomping his foes. 

As intimidated as I am, I don’t back down. Anxiety gnaws at my nerves as my eyes sweep the dark room, but I see no sign of Jackie. “W-where is she?” I stutter. My attempt to sound assertive falls flat as I trip over my tongue. My tone betrays my consternation. 

The man stands up, underscoring just how tall he is. His lips stretch back into a repulsive leer. One of his canines sticks out as a pronounced fang, accentuating his unsettling appearance. He starts to laugh, a terrifying reverberation that crawls under my skin like a thousand parasitic worms. “You’re too late,” he proclaims, patting his gut in an exaggerated demonstration to answer my question. 

“No!” I protest. “You FIEND!!” I don’t care if I’m a hypocrite for doing the same thing; I never wanted to harm Jackie, but this murderous man clearly revels in her suffering. I crank back my arm and hurl the stone in my hand with all my power straight at him. He’s caught by surprise, not expecting a projectile: It slams into his abdomen and knocks him back, catapulting him over his chair in a chaotic tumble. He collides with a solid thud into the wall and falls forward onto his knees, retching and gripping his gut. I race towards him, fists raised and ready to pummel him into a pulp. 

He expels his stomach contents with a strained groan. I behold a tiny person floundering in the puddle of puke, gasping for air. I don’t hesitate, kicking the giant out of the way and snatching the live human into the safety of my hands. I’m relieved when I confirm it’s Jackie, and she’s still alive. 

“Jaclyn!” I exclaim, “Oh, my little Jaclyn! Are you alright?” I clutch her protectively to my chest. 

“Chester! Thank God!” her small voice cries. She embraces my chest and bursts into tears. My heart drops like a stone as I get a closer look at her. She’s been stripped naked, and her frail body is marred with cuts, bruises, and possibly chemical burns. I can’t tell with how furiously red and inflamed her skin is, after marinating in gastric acid. 

“Oh, Jackie... I’m so sorry,” I choke, as my eyes well up with tears. Guilt tears through me. This is all my fault. I hasten over to the nearest sink and wash the damaging fluids off her body with cool water and soap. She whimpers as the soap stings her cuts; my heart is ripped open again. She needs medical care and clean bandages, but I won’t be able to bring her to a giant hospital without jeopardizing her safety.  

“I should never have taken you out,” I confess, festering in regret. “It was my job to protect you and I failed.” 

She blinks up at me with those beautiful soft eyes of hers that so expertly tug at my heartstrings. “It wasn’t your fault, Chester,” she says, full of gentle understanding. “I agreed to take on the risk and go with you, so I share some of the responsibility. It doesn’t matter; everything is okay now. You saved me.” 

From anyone else, those words would ring hollow: false assurances to spare my feelings that don’t actually mean anything, and hide the bitterness lurking underneath. From Jackie, though, with her generous and forgiving soul, I believe her to be genuine. Her words are a healing balm to my tortured spirit. She’s too good and pure for this grim and perilous world, the Land of Giants. She hugs my thumb, as much as she can with those scrawny arms of hers, and I melt with tenderness.  

I don’t deserve her. 

“Let’s get out of here before that monster gets up and attacks us again,” I deflect, not wishing to contradict her prior statements. As much as I’d love to slaughter that odious beast of a giant and paint the floor with his blood, I don’t want to traumatize poor Jackie any more. She needs to get out of here, right away. I whisk her outside, serving up a vengeful kick to that execrable man on the way out. It’s the least I could do. 

I take a winding route home, so we can’t be easily followed. Once we’re in the comforting privacy of my humble cottage, tucked away from the rest of giant society, I give Jackie a proper bath and treat her wounds to the best of my ability. I apply disinfectant to her cuts and cut gauze into narrow strips to wrap around her injuries. It’s challenging work, when she’s so fragile and small, but she’s worth it. 

I glimpse my reflection in the mirror as I care for Jackie, and I’m shocked. I look terrible, with ashen skin and dark circles under my eyes. My hair is matted with blood and tangled into knots. I’m streaked with dirt all over. I should probably get checked out by a doctor, after receiving a head injury severe enough to knock me out, but I refuse to leave Jackie alone, with how shaken she is. 

Once I’m done bandaging Jackie, I tuck her into bed, and only then do I clean myself up. I shower, washing the blood out of my hair, and dress up my aching, pounding head. By the time I return to the bedroom, she’s already passed out. 

I carefully scoop her into my hands, so as not to wake her. She winces and rolls over in my palm, mumbling incoherently in her sleep. My chest tightens with agonizing sadness. I don’t want to imagine what that degenerate freak did with her, how he toyed with her before ultimately devouring her. My mind shirks away from the horrific imagery, but the guilt remains, digging into me with hooked claws and refusing to let go. I lay on the bed and hug Jackie to my chest as if I can ward off all her demons.  

This is all my fault. I couldn’t protect her. I should be ashamed of myself. 

I’m disgusted with myself for my failure, my weakness. I’m terrified of losing her—not just physically, but in every sense of the word, emotionally and spiritually. I don’t want to be alone again. I’d be lost without her. 

She’ll probably hate me now. 

“I love you, Jackie,” I whisper to her, before I join her in slumber. 

Chapter 12

[lpsotd]

Hello I am in a horse fixation are there any unicorns? And can you show like maybe all the horses there are?? Idk why im asking when I can look this up on my own but, idk I find it fun to ask you hehe :)

i answered a similar ask here !! however there are A Lot more horses than the ones i shared in that post. so i'd be glad to share some with you !!

#1081 - #1331 - #1605 #1616 - #770 - #1717 #1777 - #1820 - #2247 ------------------------- #1879 - #1881 - #1880 #1964 - #2431 - #2087 #2302 - #2666 - #2417 vv info about each pet below vv

#1081 is one of the generation 3 'tubes' pets, coming in a halloween themed tube alongside monkey #1080 :o)

#1331 is apart of the generation 3 'barnyard' pets 3-pack - alongside them are chick #1329 and collie #1330 :o)

#1605 is a generation 3 'pet pairs' pet - they are buddied up with rabbit #1606 :o)

#1616 is a generation 3 pet and one of the 'blythe loves littlest pet shop' pets - their playset is called 'playfully plaid' and they are paired with blythe #B4

#770 is a generation 3 'portable pet' and they are one of the fanciest pet types - this series of portables in particular is titled 'gift set'. alongside this horsie is their friend parakeet #771, wearing their fancy shades

#1717 is a generation 3 pet, they come in a carry case that was exclusively sold in kohl's stores - their buddies are rabbit #1714, butterfly #1715, cockerspaniel #1716, cat #1718, peacock #1719, and squirrel #1720 :o)

#1777 is a generation 3 pet that comes in this multi-pack of 20 pets - including shorthair cat #1764, bulldog #1765, rabbit #1766, corgi #1767, dragonfly #1768, duck #1769, rabbit #1770, persian #1771, fish #1772, guinea pig #1773, hamster #1774, hermit crab #1775, horse #1776, iguana #1778, kitten #1779, mouse #1780, pig #1781, scottie #1782, and toucan #1783

#1820 is a generation 3 pet included in the 'prized pets' line up of paired pets - alongside them is deer #1819. not technically a unicorn but they are wearing a unicorn horn headpiece .. so i guess that counts ?? sadly to my knowledge there are no unicorn lps (there really should be though,) so this is as close as we're gonna get

#2247 is a generation 3 'blythe loves littlest pet shop' pet featured in the 'fashion shoot' playset that was sold exclusively in target stores. alongside them is penguin #2244, corgi #2245, husky #2246, ladybug #2248, shorthair cat #2249, and blythe #B31

#1879, #1880, and #1881 are the generation 3 'petriplets' set of horsies. siblings, do not separate !

#1964 is one of the two special generation 3 pets that came with a copy of the 'biggest stars' nintendo ds game that was sold at toys r us. they are paired with poodle #1965

#2431 is one of the generation 3 fifth wave of blind bag pets. and is also one of the pets that has real hair :o)

tumblr will only let me post 30 images per post, so sadly i cannot show the pictures for the last 4 horsies. i hope this post was worth reading - sorry i didn't really go in depth about each pet (words are hard for some reason and i couldn't find a lot to say). there are more horses, so if you want to shoot another ask about them i'd be glad to share them all with you :o)

[mozartbachtoven]

WHY BEETHOVEN SNUBBED PRINCES AND PUT HIS MUSIC FIRST

Photo : At a soiree in the residence of Prince Lichnowsky: a painting by Julius Schmid

"Prince, what you are, you are through chance and birth; what I am, I am through my own labor. There are many princes and there will continue to be thousands more, but there is only one Beethoven."

" Those are the words of a man truly not lacking in self-confidence. With them, Ludwig van Beethoven once put Prince Karl von Lichnowsky in his place. In the year 1800, the composer's noble patron had guaranteed him a yearly stipend of 600 guilders. Beethoven had just arrived in Vienna, and the funds were to bridge the gap until the composer earned a regular income.

That was never to happen. During his entire time in Vienna from 1792 until his death in 1827, Beethoven remained a freelance musician. Unlike most of his predecessors, he never had an official position at a court or in the service of the church.

Lichnowsky, Waldstein, Razumovsky and Archduke Rudolph are all names that Beethoven fans recognize: the personages behind them are the dedicatees of the composer's most famous works. It was a time in which music was increasingly being created for a middle-class clientele - and Beethoven was at the forefront of this development. Yet most of his compositions were commissioned by the rich, the famous and the noble - contacts that it was essential for him to maintain.

Self-confidently paying respects

In his 2012 biography "Beethoven. Der einsame Revolutionär" ( Beethoven. The Lonely Revolutionary), Jan Caeyers showed how even a Ludwig van Beethoven was forced to bow to reality - and to the influential people of his time. Sometimes the confident and even arrogant musician had to make "obsequious compliments" to get into their good graces.

Like many in his generation, Beethoven had been inflamed by the ideals of the French Revolution. But liberty, equality and fraternity didn't prevent him from pretending that the "van" in the name "Ludwig van Beethoven" pointed to noble heritage, like the German "von." Such was not the case, however; the name was simply an indication of his Flemish forefathers.

Beethoven moved in noble circles purely due to the strength of his art - and many were willing to excuse his lack of courtly manners.

The German man of letters Johann Wolfgang von Goethe wrote, "His talent astonished me, but unfortunately his personality is completely unrestrained." The basic attitude of that "unrestrained personality" was constant however, as expressed in a letter Beethoven wrote to his former teacher Christian Gottlob Neefe: "If I am a great man one day, you will have made a contribution to that."

Multiple sources of support

In his first years in Vienna, a number of noblemen contributed to the young musician's success. Some remained loyal benefactors for decades, including Prince Franz Joseph Maximilian von Lobkowitz (1772-1816), the Russian ambassador Count André Razumovsky (1752-1836) and Count Moritz Fries (1777-1826).

His most important early patron, however, was Prince Karl Lichnowsky (1761-1814), who would become a source of income for a dozen years. Lichnowsky's residence was the meeting place of musicians and composers and saw the premieres of a number of Beethoven's early works.

The composer was even invited to live with the Lichnowskys as a "member of the family," and it was on his recommendation that several other noblemen offered commissions and various forms of financial support to Beethoven.

In gratitude, Beethoven dedicated several works to Lichnowsky, including his Second Symphony and the "Pathétique" Sonata. That gratitude was not endless, however. Around the year 1806, Beethoven was to perform for the prince's guests: French officers. His refusal to do so resulted in a scandal, and the princely payments were discontinued. Returning to Vienna, the furious composer smashed a bust of the prince.

Business savvy and a royal friendship

Beethoven was also something of an entrepreneur. He had most of his works printed and constantly negotiated with publishing houses, so that he would no longer be financially dependent on Lichnowsky.

For the remainder of his life, he did have another royal patron: Archduke Rudolph of Austria-Hungary (1788-1831), the youngest son of Emperor Franz. Himself a proficient pianist and composer, Rudolph was Beethoven's sole student of composition.

It was to him that Beethoven dedicated the greatest number of works, including the Fourth and Fifth Piano Concertos, the piano sonatas subtitled "Hammerklavier" and "Les Adieux," the "Great Fugue" and the Missa solemnis. The latter was to have been performed in 1820 on the occasion of Rudolph's coronation as Archbishop of Olmütz. But the mass, which Beethoven once described as his greatest work, wasn't finished until three years later - just one more indication that for Beethoven, everything - and everyone - took second place to his art .

A close relationship to Archduke Rudolph

In 2003, the American musicologist Lewis Lockwood wrote, "As much as Beethoven scorned other aristocrats, he was deferential to the Archduke, and he took pride in this high social connection." Rudolf treated him "like a friend, not a servant," the composer wrote in 1819.

Predictably, however, Beethoven grumbled intermittently about his teaching obligations, frequently cancelling the lessons that were supposed to take place twice or three times a week, feigning illness. When his royal patron objected, Beethoven set the record straight: He was not the Archduke's "servant."

Letters from Beethoven to Rudolph nonetheless contain generous praise of his student's talent and inspiration - but still, he wasn't afraid to point out mistakes or to admonish him to strive for improvement. Here, too Beethoven managed to have the last word - thoroughly unusual for a musician of that time. "

by Deutsche Welle, 12/2016

[rreskk]

The moment I saw you and some other amazing tumblr accounts writing about gothssssss OMGMMGMGMG. Okay okay okay, I'm sorry but this request is kind of weird. Fem reader who's a goth with Trevor. Blood kink? pls? and like the reader is lowkey dom but still sub?? The reader has like a vampire kink basically or whatv. IDK HOW TO DESCRIBE IT BUT I FEEL LIKE YOULL DO GREAT. THANK YOU SM

And all the goth lovers have RISEN FROM THE DEAD! Welcome to the land of living corpses my loves ;)

Summary: Trevor loves himself a girl with dark senses.

TW: -Smut

Pairings: Goth Fem!reader/ Trevor Philips

Word count: 1777 (I should of made if 1666 for the vibe lol)

It wasn’t really a thought during the time. While his finger would constantly cry to rip your fishnets, freeing whatever surprise you had under this extravagant exterior, he wouldn’t mind either outcomes. This was just some random guy you had been seduced by when clubbing. His dirty tongue and provocative lips; how could you refuse? He was a human meat chamber for your hunger. Nonetheless, he was absolutely handsome. There was this unnatural aura to this man who claimed to be some-sort of sinner. By the way he’d beg for your pussy, maybe he was a sinner. A strong sinner.

He was called Trevor.

Trevor Philips

A likely hot-heated freak you’ve wrapped around your finger after a night of exploring Satan’s backrooms. Remembering the way he moaned your name as your hands pulled onto his godforsaken hair – well… What was left of his hair. Even if he was such an awful person, that doesn’t stop you from seeing him every now and then. Besides, he loves himself a gothic woman such as you. He’s never explored a lady with such darkness to her, that he’s simply addicted.

-

Tonight was like no-other night. You’ve found yourself pressing your heavy boots upon his thigh, watching the way he crawled his hands up and down your fishnets and black skirt. His eyes were begging. He was like a puppy losing his mother.

“C’mon…” He whispered lowly, occasionally tugging on your tights, making one of the holes bigger by moment.

You trailed your sharp nails across his thinning hair and smiled. Trevor was relieved at your affection and fell into your palm until the nail pierced his scalp.

“Ah! – “ But his hiss was paused when you pressed kisses upon the now seeping blood. It oozed down to his scarred eyebrow, the sensation tickling his facial hairs. Trevor shivered. He wasn’t fazed at all, instead, he was extremely aroused. That bulge within his jeans had twitched; you saw it twitch crazily. It was like a rabid animal trying to free itself from his clothes.

You kissed away the trails of blood until smudges remained. His hands around your thighs squeezed tighter as he was getting very impatient. The poor man was on his knees, practically clinging to your legs. You’d find that he would try and take a sneak peak from under your skirt but of course, you kneed him away, earning a rather husky groan.

“[y/n]! You can’t be teasing me anymore,” Trevor grumbled at your sadistic behaviour, “Let me fuck you, yeah? A good fuck… Baby?”

“I’m enjoying myself. Are you not?” You uttered with his blood staining your lips.

“I am enjoying myself, sweets… But I’d be happier if you gave into me. C’mon, I know you just wanna have that thing ripped off you, yeah?”

You glanced down at your corset and airy shirt that he was referring to. While covered up, your bra was visible through the black, long-sleeved shirt. He had his sights fixated on it since the moment you had him kneeing. From his current height, the size of your breasts were huge. He’d have to lean back just to see your face, but that’s a problem he LOVEDhaving.

“I wanna see you.” He’d protest again, continuously.

“You want so much.”

“You offer so much.”

His snarky comment made you roll your eyes back. There wasn’t a fault in his words but the audacity was grudge-worthy. Still, he looked at you with innocence. That “please, honey?” expression never fails to make your legs a tiny bit weak. Who wouldn’t? Them brown eyes are not for the soft-minded. He uses them with the intent to shatter and dismantle the chosen prey; you.

“Fine…” You breathed, studying the way he slowly stood to his feet. Trevor painfully waited until he was hovering over you, due to his height. He smirked down and allowed his hands to reach the back of your corset.

You’d gasp. He ripped it open. Trevor’s scowl twitched as he used his arm strength to rip the ribbons, releasing the pressure it had on your outfit and stomach. It was thrown aside with a massive thump and he didn’t stop there, no way. He eagerly held the shirt over your head and removed that as well. You were shirtless before him.

“Mmm…” His teeth were gritting at the view of your bra and breasts. Your crucifix was buried between them. He pulled it out before sniffing the scent. He sniffed loudly, moaning at the smell.

“Trevor – “ Words were taken as he smashed his mouth against yours. The necklace dangled around your chest, his hands moving from your hips to your ass. He deepened the kiss until you were pressed against the nearby wall. That constant clutter and swaying of the picture frames, etc… It wasn’t a bother to him. As long as you were pressed against him, there wasn’t a worry in the world.

The make-out session had left you panting for air. Trevor threw off your bra and crucifix necklace, diving his face between your tits and licking the hell out of them. He’d murmur words of affirmation as you’d bite your tongue. His tongue was so nasty against your sensitive nipple, it was almost too good to be true.

“Oh, yes…” And the growing heat inside your lower tummy was growing feral. You needed him now. Your grinded your hips against his beasty boner that had managed to rest against the hem of his jeans.

Trevor cursed, “Fuck…” When you had grinded hard into him. The extra heat was menacing.

Your back was rubbing the wall since there was no obvious hints that a bed was going to be used. Instead, he lifted one of your legs up and torn the fishnets apart around your crotch area. He was panting at the desperation. Your skirt was lifted up and soon enough, your pussy was out in the open. And it was wetter than the ocean.

“Just how I fuckin’ like it, babe.” He smiled and shuffled his jeans down to his ankles. With your help, his erection came bursting from his pants. Your fingers gently massaged the tip as he foamed at the mouth with hot saliva. He stared into your eyes with pure desire that a few drools went unnoticed.

“C’mon, Trevor.”

“I’m coming… I’m comin’, babe.” His words dragged like he was barely sober. Suddenly the usage of alcohol and meth would kick in the second he was in contact with raging hormones.

Trevor lined up his penis, slapping your hand away with urgency. You smirked at his snappiness. He frowned when slapping your hand. That frown was oddly petty but disgustingly attractive. You couldn’t help yourself as you’d lean forward, sinking your teeth into his pulsing neck and making him thrumble relentlessly. Trevor tried to keep his composure, rubbing his penis against your sex but that stinging pain of your canines made him squawk.

“Shit! [y/n]!”

That didn’t stop you from sinking deeper. You waited and waited and waited until that iron taste of his blood (once again). He was left clinging to your chest and whimpering. Your teeth were too harsh on his fragile neck – that was now painted with crimson liquid. You refurnished yourself and stared forward.

“Sorry, baby… I couldn’t help myself.” You offered an apology like there wasn’t red colour around your lips and teeth.

Trevor looked bitter as fuck. He glared at your bravery. He wiped his neck and noticed the running blood dribbling down from the permanent bite mark.

“Fuck…” He murmured to himself, “That’s so fuckin’ hot…”

You were baffled when he licked your lips, tasting his own blood. He gave his tongue a click and grinned, he was satisfied.  

“Heh…” A nervous breath left your departed mouth before he kissed you again. During this kiss, he had thrusted his hips into yours, therefore, penetrating you – finally – with his own cock. The amount of times you moaned into his mouth as the pace was already unbearably fast. By all means, you were constantly slammed against the wall with his every thrust and recoil.

“TREVOR! – “

But he refused to stop kissing. It was an excruciating pleasure. Your make-up, that was already ruined from his kisses beforehand, had ended up caking him as well. Your red and black lipstick smudged all over his jaw and neck, your foundation leaving powdering splodges against his cheek and nose. When he did pull away, the make-up was mutual on both faces. It was almost like he was wearing more than you.

“That’s right… Oh, yeah! Fuck me!” Trevor proudly yelled when wrapping one of your legs around his waist to deepen the access to your pussy. You’d cry and squirm and moan and groan and fidget and sweat and pant and shriek.

“Harder!”

“Oh… That’s my fuckin’ girl!”

Until your hips were reddened, the thrusts were passionate still. There had to be rashes from his skin rubbing against yours constantly. You felt tingling and some burning, but it was blankly ignored since his dick was giving you the joy of a lifetime and more.

“Trevor! Trevor! Christ!” You hurried as the butterflies in your stomach grew intense. The beginning of your climax was happening and apparently he was experiencing the same. He was twitching non-stop, his eyes and his cock. You stroked a hand through his sweaty hair, tugging on a bundle before his body shook.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna! – “ Trevor kissed the corner of your mouth as he continued fucking you.

Momentarily, it came. You came, he came, the feeling came. It rushed. He hunched forward and pinned you against the poor wall as his cock squirted all on your skirt and tummy. You too had cum rushing out of your pussy, drizzling down your thighs and legs. In some parts, it stuck your fishnets to your skin (well, what’s remaining of them anyway).

“Fuckin’…” He struggled to breathe.

You bite your lip and rubbed the soreness of his neck, feeling his tension from looking down at your body. A small grumble responded to your affections and he simply carried you to the sofa. Your boots were torn off, so was your cum-stained skirt. Being left naked, he just climbed on top of you and sighed. His face found home between your breasts and it was clear, non-verbally, that was needed a good old-fashioned cuddle. Naked edition.

“There we go.” You softly kissed his forehead and allowed your body to finally rest.

“My neck hurts…” That muffle responded from between your boobs.

“I know, baby, I know…”

“Bite me more sometimes.”

You couldn’t help but grin, “Alright… As you wish.”

[thatfragilecapricorn30]

Fic Friday (21)

Title: Mean Girls

Author: incidental

Word Count: 1777

AO3 Description: Scully overhears two women in the bathroom talking, and it's high school all over again

My thoughts: First off - who could be mean to Scully?? So rude! Don't worry though, Mulder is there to make her feel better. This is such a sweet h/c fic!

Enjoy! Tagging @today-in-fic

[blackwood4stucky]

something in the way | aspen blackwood

series: the call of darkness

james "bucky" barnes x steve rogers | mcu

🆃 | word count: 1777 | complete

tags: alternate universe, bucky barnes centric, creature, blood

synopsis: Bucky realizes that something is amiss.

bingo fills + event prompts

@anyfandomangstbingo | psychotic behavior

@anyfandomdarkbingo | eating disorder 

a year in review by tainted souls server

danse macabre: the dance of death | creature feature

@buckybarnesevents: connect 4 - into an alternate june-iverse [c4013] | c2: vampire

@fandom-free-bingo: flight edition | free use

@killacharacterbingo | revenge

@multifandom-flash: round 1 [1088] | free space

@stuckybingo [5080] | deja vu all over again [feb adoptable]

snippet: "They say that idle minds are the devil’s playground. That idle hands are his workshop and idle lips, his mouthpiece. Whoever coined such a saying was correct. Bucky’s mind is the devil’s playground, for all he hears are whispers about his true self. Bucky’s hands are his workshop, for all they do is kill and kill and kill. Bucky’s lips are his mouthpiece, for all they crave is the feeling of human flesh against them. A mouthpiece that holds a tongue that desires the taste of human blood, the strongest muscle in the body that leads to a throat that thirsts for the life essence of so many. But why? Why is he like this?"

read: ao3 | ffn | sqwa

mini playlist

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

The Boy Who Broke His Own Heart [Part One]

Fandom: Harry Potter [Marauders Era]

Pairing: Sirius Black x Original Female Character

Characters: Sirius Black, Original Female Character, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Jasmine Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Marlene McKinnon, Lily Evans, Mary MacDonald, Euphemia Potter, Filius Flitwick, Fleamont Potter,

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1777

Summary: Sirius would rather break his own heart than hers.

Tags/Warnings: James Potter has a sister, Self Loathing, Commitment Issues, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Smut, Angst, Fluff, Smoking, Accidents, Harm, Marauders Era, The War is Not Happening in this,

Notes: This is gonna be a short lil series planned eight shortish chapters <3

LINK TO ALL PARTS

Sirius didn’t know how it had happened. How he’d ended up here, sitting on the window ledge of his new bedroom, fag in hand - something that would drive his newly acquired family batty if they knew. That’s why he did it now, in the dark of night where they couldn’t see. It’s where he did a lot of things they couldn’t see. Crying over his newly orphaned status had been the first, tears he couldn’t help but spill though he was thankful to get out of that godforsaken house. Anger was the next though he suspected they knew about that, or at least the house elves did, given that the mirror he’d punched to smithereens until his hand was bloodied and bruised had restored itself by the following morning though he’d not bothered to clean it up. But the smoking they didn’t know about. And this, this little thing he and Jasmine had going. They definitely didn’t know about that.

He hadn’t intended to start anything with her. Of course they were friends, it was hard not to be given he was best friends with her twin James and living in her family's house, but it had never gone past that. Even though she was her brother’s polar opposite, the only traits they shared being looks [the same dark hair, of which hers was more well tamed, and the same stunning hazel eyes] he’d still seen her as an extension of him. And though there had never been an explicit restriction on their friendship going any further there was an unspoken honour code that allowed him to know she was off limits. A code which he had followed right until he couldn’t. 

The first time he kissed her he hadn’t been thinking properly. He was tired, fed up, hurt and angry and she was there. Whilst Euphemia fussed over him and James tried relentlessly to cheer him up she did nothing but let him think. She let him talk, if he wanted to, she even let him smoke in front of her though he respected her enough to do it by a window or in the garden.

They’d been outside in the garden when it happened. Admittedly he’d been hiding out around the back of the shed where James couldn’t find him when she’d come strolling around the corner, looking completely unsurprised to find him there. Obviously she wasn’t fazed, after all, these hidey holes had been bequeathed to him by her. A lifetime of being James Potter’s twin could drive a girl to that. 

She’d asked him if he was okay and when he lied and muttered ‘yeah’ she’d pretended to believe him instead of rephrasing it and needling him for more. They’d fallen quiet but instead of looking out at the vast lawns of the Potter’s mansion, admiring the neatly manicured hedges and ornate fountains that made up the décor he’d watched her. He’d known she was pretty, like all the Potters she had that air of wealth and attractiveness that would make you hate them if they weren’t so nice, but staring at her in that nook in the garden he’d seen how beautiful she was. How her creamy skin had turned a soft golden colour due the unusually hot summer they were having. How her dark locks had red undertones that made her hazel eyes seem warmer. How her lips plumped when she was thinking, providing extra security as they kept in whatever thought was on her mind before she was ready to say it.

By then her lips were all he could think of and before he could stop himself he leaned in and kissed her finding to his surprise she didn’t stop him, in fact she’d kissed him back. She’d kissed him back every time he’d needed a distraction until eventually she’d ended up in his bed, like she was now. Only now it wasn’t a distraction. Now he could think of nothing but her. Nothing but the next moment alone or how long they could manage without being pulled apart. And it wasn’t even the physical anymore. It was how she made him feel, how his day got better just being around her, how his heart hurt a little less these days, thudding in his chest at the sight of her.

It was hammering now as he watched her laid in her bed, sleeping peacefully. He didn’t know how long he’d been staring at her but as the ash from his cigarette finally broke away dusting the dark wood of the windowsill in grey speckles he realised it had been a while. He brushed it off, flicking the end of the cigarette through the open window before he closed it apparently too loudly as Jasmine disturbed, her eyes fluttering open.

‘Sorry,’ Sirius mumbled as he turned around and noticed he’d woken her.

‘It’s alright,’ she said, pushing herself up until she was sitting. Sirius moved towards his side of the bed but she reached out and grabbed him, pulling him down until he was sitting in front of her. He was sure he smelt of cigarettes but she didn’t care, leaning in to kiss him gently, causing his heart to thump harder.

‘Couldn’t sleep?’ she asked, taking his hands in hers as she fiddled with his fingers, missing the rings that were usually there for her to play with.

‘Yeah,’ he said. She often did this, whenever there was something on his mind she’d hang back allowing him to disclose it or ignore whatever it was until he was ready. Where James would push or try and get his mind off of it she’d let him navigate it himself with her by his side if he needed her. Only this she couldn’t help with. What had gotten him up in the middle of the night he couldn’t talk out with her or ask her opinion. Because it was her he was thinking of and not in a good way. It was less than two days until they went back to school for their final year. Two days until they were forced into the petri dish and under the microscope that was Hogwarts. Two days until every inch of this, whatever this was, was scrutinised. Until James found out and hated him. Until his friends' sympathies evaporated because out of all the girls in Hogwarts he couldn’t just leave her alone. It was a disaster waiting to happen and he cared about her too much to do that.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, after a moment of staring at her slender fingers tracing lines along his knuckles.

‘About what?’ she said, still watching his hands until he said, ‘this…us.’’

‘What about it?’ she said, trying to keep her voice as even as possible though as she looked up and found stormy grey eyes watching her she knew whatever it was wasn’t good.

‘Well, I was just thinking…about going back to school,’ Sirius said, clearing his throat awkwardly, ‘and how it might be better if we knock this thing on the head.’

‘Oh,’ she said, her stomach dropping at the use of the word ‘thing’. Sirius didn’t allow time for her to recover from the blow and continued.

‘I mean it might get complicated once we’re back at school what with James and-’

‘James hasn’t noticed us two feet under his nose,’ Jasmine reasoned, trying to keep her voice steady. She knew there was no point in getting upset, that fussing and emotions only made him uncomfortable. It was why she never pressed him to speak about his family. In a way she supposed that she had no reason to be surprised given that this wouldn’t be the first time he’d run away from a feeling, she just hadn't seen herself as something bad enough he needed to run away. She hadn't felt as though this, whatever this was, was something you could just ‘knock on the head’.

‘Yeah but he might do, or someone else. And we said that was the last thing we wanted, remember? For everything to be awkward,’ Sirius reasoned.

‘Yeah at the start. I’m sure he’d get over it,’ she said. Of course they had agreed that but only at the beginning before everything felt real. The only problem was that this felt real too, the way her heart squoze in her chest making it hard to breathe. The way he refused to look her way, his gaze on her stalled fingers, no longer trailing against his soft pale skin, felt too real. Real enough to drop her voice to an uncertain, ‘unless you don’t want to.’

‘I just don’t think it’s a good idea Jas,’ Sirius mumbled, ‘I mean it’s not like I’m the relationship type is it. James knows that, you do too.’

‘Right,’ she said, though it felt a little like a child trying to convince their parents they hadn't eaten all the cake with crumbs around their mouth. How could he possibly feel he couldn’t be the ‘relationship type’ when everything they'd shared over the last two months had felt like the best, realest relationship she’d ever had. How could he not see the way he held her, the way he made her smile, the care he paid her and not think about a relationship.

‘It was fun though,’ Sirius said, his words awkward in his mouth though they rolled off his tongue in the most blasé manner.

‘Yeah, it was fun,’ Jasmine said, watching him closely until he finally looked up and met her gaze.

He could see the hurt in her face. The tears behind her eyes that she was no doubt not letting herself cry in an effort to stay strong on his behalf. Like she always was. She was everything he needed and yet he couldn’t make himself what she wanted. He was a coward, through and through, and so if he couldn't tell her the truth he’d have to give her a sliver of it at least.

‘You’re a good friend Jas. I don’t want to lose that,’ he said sadly. Jasmine didn't say anything for a moment, those plump lips no doubt sealing in whatever it was she wanted to say in order to protect him. He knew she should probably let him have it, whatever abuse she could hurl was justified. And yet she didn't, which only proved his point. She deserved someone who could love her the way she loved. Not the broken, messed up kid he was. And so he was surprised at just how truthful her words sounded considering they were about someone like him.

‘I don’t want to lose you either.’ 

Sirius Tags

@caitlin1996 @imthebadguyyy

[vincess-princess]

as we were falling

formerly untitled

ch. 3

a/n: do you like the title? idk if this idea is going anywhere but i felt bad leaving it nameless

warnings: take a wild guess (violence, piss mention)

word count: 1777

“It’s full,” Tommy said, plopping down onto Nikki’s mattress. “Heaping, even.”

“Damn it.” Nikki squeezed his knees tighter, agony on his face. “When are they gonna empty it? I’m dying here, man.”

“They usually do it after breakfast.”

“Breakfast was hours ago. Any chance they’re gonna do it today?”

“Eh…”

“So no.”

“Yeah,” Tommy sighed. One bucket for twenty captives definitely wasn’t enough, even when emptied regularly, and when it wasn’t… things got stinky. Nikki, still chained to the wall (Tommy couldn’t look at the red stripe of irritated skin underneath the ring of the handcuff without shuddering), couldn’t even make trips there, so the bucket instead made trips to him – with Tommy’s help.

Now, though, he couldn’t risk lifting it without splashing the contents all across the floor. The room already smelled worse than an underground bar toilet, and Tommy thought nothing could beat that. The first assumption his new life proved wrong, he thought grimly.

“We’re already drowning in shit, and now they decide to make it literal,” Nikki grumbled. “God, I’d love to splash it on their faces. Shower them in shit. Unite them with their kind, so to say.”

For a second Tommy indulged himself on imagining the guards’ faces if it happened. Or, rather, their shrieking and yelling – they couldn’t see their faces behind the helmets, after all. It was no great loss – helped somewhat, even. It made it easier to believe that those were some aliens, evil minions, androids, whatever – not real, regular people like them and Nikki for whom what they were doing was a job just as much as cleaning tables in a café was for Tommy. They did it for a living, probably had families they came home to. Did they ever tell them stories from work? “So this one captive today threw up on the boots of my buddy Jackson and we electrocuted her for fifteen seconds for that”?

“Hey?” he heard Nikki’s voice. Then he snapped his fingers in front of Tommy’s face. “Ground control to major Tom. Can you hear me?”

Tommy slapped his hand away. “Don’t interrupt me. I am speaking that into existence.”

Nikki huffed. “Oh, I’m sorry, master wizard. Of course, keep on weaving your spells. I’ll be here, peeing my pants quietly.”

“Well, what else can I do?” Tommy threw his hands up. “I’m already running back and forth with this bucket for Your Majesty to shit in three times a day. You could show a little gratitude.”

“I’m very grateful,” Nikki said seriously, but the force with which he pressed his hand to his chest gave out a taunt. “It doesn’t help my problem, though.”

“I’m not giving you my cup.”

“I wasn’t even thinking of that, but now that you mentioned it…” Nikki began eyeing Tommy’s cup hungrily. Tommy moved it farther back so that Nikki couldn’t reach it.

“You have no soul.” Nikki crossed his arms on his chest, but didn’t really pull off the offended face, only prompting Tommy to laugh. “You cruel, cruel bastard. What am I to do? Piss on the floor? Or hold it in and explode from too much pee?”

“You know,” Tommy looked at the floor with renewed interest, “it’s already dirty… wouldn’t hurt much.”

Nikki threw his head back and laughed. “We really getting desperate here, aren’t we? By the way,” he suddenly changed the topic, “when’s dinner?”

“Not sure,” Tommy said, confused. “It’s hard to track time here, you know. But… I’d say, in about half an hour.”

“Great. It won’t dry off by then.” Nikki said, whipped out his dick and peed right into the passage between the two rows of mattresses. “They always pass through here,” he grinned, shoved his dick back into his pants and returned to his place. Tommy and a dozen other captives watched the urine lazily flowing along the passage.

Tommy turned to Nikki and was met with a beaming smile.

“You really have no limits, man,” he said.

“The sky is the limit,” Nikki declared pompously. “And also it was the only place I could reach. But, as they say, two birds with one stone! They’ll have to walk along the passage, there’s not enough space between mattresses for the trolley. And my bladder isn’t tearing apart. I say, we’ve got a good deal.”

Thousands of objections began running through Tommy’s head until they became background noise. Yes, it will get their asses kicked, but it’s not like it hadn’t happened before. Besides, he wanted to hear the guards’ screams when they realized what they were walking on. Maybe it will get them to empty the bucket in time, too.

“Yeah,” Tommy grinned back. “Maybe it will teach them a lesson.”

Over the next half an hour three captives tried to demand they wipe the piss down, but to no avail. Nikki smiled at them with his brand smile – all sharp teeth and a crazy gleam in his eyes – and Tommy offered them to do it themselves if they disliked it so much, which none of them rushed to do. The urine persisted until the guards arrived with a trolley full of nutrient paste.

As expected, they didn’t look down. As expected, they heard the splash when it was already too late.

“Who the hell spilled water here?” one of the guards looked around the room. Everybody averted their gazes. “One of us could slip on that! If that happens again we’ll remove the washbowl and ration your water too!”

“Guys,” another said, “is it just me or does it smell like piss in here?”

Tommy and Nikki exchanged looks. It was increasingly hard not to laugh.

“Of course it does. The bucket’s heaping.” And they all laughed, the sound muffled by their helmets but nonetheless disgusting.

They began throwing packages with the paste at the captives, not really bothering to aim, but even when a package hit someone’s head, no one dared to say a word. Seeing people so beaten into humiliation and obedience was revolting, but also Tommy knew what they would get were they to act up, and he understood them. After all, when it’s a choice between dignity and survival, every normal person would choose the latter.

Nikki, by these standards, was straight-up bonkers, because he never once lowered his gaze even when black helmets turned right towards him. His sheer recklessness infected Tommy, because every time the piss splashed under the guards’ boots he couldn’t hold back a smile.

Eventually it attracted attention.

“What’s so funny, you pipsqueak?” One of the guards poked him in the shoulder with a bat.

“Nothing,” Tommy said quickly, staring at the guard’s wet boot traces on the floor.

“Bullshit!” The bat poked him harder. “You find something here funny? Tell us, we want to laugh too.”

Other guards began turning around and looking themselves over suspiciously. Tommy waited with bated breath for them to discover they were standing in piss.

“You see,” he began, “sometimes things are not what they seem. Not all that’s liquid is gold, but sometimes… it is.”

“What the hell does that mean? What liquid?” The guard looked down and Tommy could almost see his face falling. “Is this- is this-“

“That’s fucking piss! I said it smells like piss! I said it!” another one screamed, trying to wipe the soles of his boots on the floor. Tommy could only hope Nikki’s piss was acidic enough to leave those boots smelly for at least a little while after. “He peed in the fucking aisle!”

“You bastard!” the guard growled, grabbing Tommy by the scruff of his robe and single-handedly pulling him onto his feet. “You son of a bitch!” He pushed Tommy in the middle of the room towards the other guards. Tommy could bet their faces were creased with anger, and a chill went down his spine.

“Look at ‘im! He did it on purpose!” The one who smelled the piss jumped forward and raised the bat over his head. Then it collided with Tommy’s shoulder, and he almost dropped onto his knees, his vision for a second going white.

“Hey! Hey! He didn’t do it!” he heard from behind his back. Dammit, Nikki. “I did it! Leave him alone! I did it!”

The second blow never got there. All the guards turned towards Nikki.

“You?” one of them said.

“Me.” Nikki grinned back. “You should’ve sent someone to empty the bucket.”

Tommy watched the guards unchain him, but only to drag him to the middle of the room, push him onto his knees and zap him with two shockers at once, one in the chest and one in the hip. About twelve seconds into this Nikki must have blacked out, because he stopped screaming. The guards dragged him back to his mattress and dropped his lifeless body there, the knees of his robe soaked with urine.

“You knew he pissed there,” a guard said then to Tommy. “You knew and didn’t tell us.”

He got zapped too – later he figured out that he got an easier deal with just one shocker, though at the moment it was hard to tell with electricity seemingly disintegrating his body tissues. He was dropped on the floor right where he stood.

“You all knew,” he heard a guard say to the captives through ringing in his ears. “You all knew and said nothing, you spineless sacks of shit. You ain’t getting any dinner today. Give that back!”

It took Tommy some time to come around, and when he crawled back to his mattress, Nikki had only just awakened, his eyes still foggy and unfocused, a thread of saliva hanging from his half-open mouth.

“Man, you look like shit,” Tommy croaked.

Nikki only made an unintelligible groan in response, but Tommy knew he said something along the lines of “you ain’t no better”. Which, fair.

He laid down on his mattress, trying to combat the nausea that always came with electric shock. When one wanted to puke his guts out so badly, getting deprived of dinner didn’t seem half as bad. The captives probably didn’t agree, but none of them dared to express their discontent verbally – for now, at least.

Soon Nikki tried to raise his head and sit up. The guards forgot to chain him back, so he could finally use both his arms. Well, at least something good came out of this whole mess.

“Man,” he heard Nikki’s hoarse voice, “that was hella fun.”

And, despite his body hurting all over and his pants soaked in piss, Tommy could hardly disagree with him. At least now the guards knew they could get back at them – in their own way.

[nordleuchten]

Am I able to tell you, dear heart, that I am leaving for France on a particular day? I can at least assure you that I shall leave here as soon as possible. I shall be here only as long as I believe I am being kept here by the requirements of my honor. I wish so much to see you again that I believe, God forgive me, that if I could I would be in Paris tomorrow, and then return to America if I thought myself obliged to do so. But no, I shall go soon, I hope-if soon is a word by which my impatience may be eased when I count the time in months-and it will be for good.

The Marquis de La Fayette to his wife Adrienne, October 1, 1777

Idzerda Stanley J. et al., editors, Lafayette in the Age of the American Revolution: Selected Letters and Papers, 1776–1790, Volume 1, December 7, 1776–March 30, 1778, Cornell University Press, 1977, p. 118.

[irlnikeiyomiuri]

NaNo 2023 Daily word counts <3 (because i like having this info on hand but can't log in to my acc on my phone)

Nov1 - 2365 total, 2365 daily Nov2 - 5343 total, 2978 daily Nov3 - 7077 total, 1734 daily Nov4 - 8769 total, 1692 daily Nov5 - 10710 total, 1941 daily Nov6 - 12588 total, 1878 daily Nov7 - 15185 total, 2597 daily Nov8 - 17394 total, 2209 daily Nov9 - 19354 total, 1960 daily Nov10 - 21817 total, 2463 daily Nov11 - 24397 total, 2580 daily Nov 12 - 27723 total, 3326 daily Nov 13 - 31785 total, 4062 daily Nov 14 - 33535 total, 1750 daily Nov 15 - 35250 total, 1715 daily Nov 16 - 37267 total, 2017 daily Nov 17 - 39704 total, 2437 daily Nov 18 - 41971 total, 2267 daily Nov 19 - 44127 total, 2156 daily Nov 20 - 46110 total, 1983 daily Nov 21 - 48579 total, 2469 daily Nov 22 - 50791 total, 2212 daily Nov 23 - 52568 total, 1777 daily Nov 24 - 54332 total, 1764 daily Nov 25 - 56063 total, 1731 daily Nov 26 - 58151 total, 2088 daily Nov 27 - 6027 total, 2120 daily Nov 28 - 62051 total, 1780 daily Nov 29 - 64409 total, 2358 daily Nov 30 - 70084 total, 5675 daily

[thelreads]

Day 13- Wait did I fucking posted different updates named Day 11 twice?

Oh my god I did.

God fucking dammit.

sigh.

whateves. I'm don't care. See me don't caring? This is a person not caring about it all.

You know what I care about? Whatever the fuck this last chapter of my wip turned into.

Jesus things are complicated right now.

A lot of shit to handle in a short amount of time, this girl could barely process a brick being thrown at her before another one came hurling towards her.

And I intend to hurt her even more.

Oh do I have big plans for this character... That I have... But I probably should be preparing the groundwork already, I feel like I haven't introduced some pieces of information which are gonna be necessary for... my plans... (:

Also Lucifer is going along, having a grand 'ol time doing fuck all.

Anyway, the daily word count was 1777 words, jackpot. And the total word vomit- I mean, count is at 25984 words.

Ohhhhh- We're halfway there...

OOOHH OH! The nightmare has only begun!