#are you trying to make me wear a ring with curse of binding

[ramshackle-lost-n-found]

if you're single then,

Drops down on one knee

"Ahem" *shows a glowing ring* "will you do the honour of becoming my bride/groom-to-be?"

"Say yes" (definitely not a threat)

a glowing ring..

you look me in the eyes and tell me that ain't a cursed ring 🤨

[dearru]

holiday festivities | ft. hq boys 

pairings: suna rintaro, miya osamu, and hinata shoyo x gn!reader | sfw | cw: cursing, idk how to write for suna or how to snowboard, osamu's part is kinda suggestive (#freakmas), reader implied to be shorter than osamu, shoyo is a sweetheart, not proofread | genre: fluff | wc: 1762 | masterlist

synopsis -> enjoying various holiday festivities with the hq boys!

❀ SNOWBOARDING w/ RINTARO SUNA !  

“I’ll strap you in, okay?” Rintaro says, bending down to adjust the bindings from the snowboard his cousin had loaned you snug to your boot. His hands, large and efficient, work quickly but gently as they clip the equipment into place. The board itself is scratchy and faded from years of wear, evidence of the Suna family’s years-long tradition of snowboarding every Winter. You look down as he adjusts the straps, trying to focus on him instead of the pit of dread forming in your stomach. 

It would be a nice sight, him on his knees for you.

If only you weren’t currently on the verge of a breakdown.

Looking downhill, you realize that you might have bit off more than you could chew when you agreed to accompany him. The height from the top of the hill seems daunting, and you’re not sure why anybody in their right mind would do this for fun. 

“It’s the bunny slope,” Rintaro had told you on the ski lift up, His voice casual and cool, “Babies do it.” 

The babies that do this must be pretty remarkable– because you, at your big age, are currently shaking from fear as you stare at the bottom of the hill. 

“All done.” Your boyfriend's voice rings clear in your ear, snapping you out of your frenzied thoughts. He brushes snow off his gloves, eyes flickering to your figure, “You good?” 

You muster the largest smile you can and nod, not trusting yourself to speak. 

Rintaro hums in reply, moving behind you to reposition your form. His hands settle on your waist, a comforting and familiar touch. It almost quells the anxiety you feel. Your body warms when he leans into you. Softly, he presses his lips against your ear and whispers, “You’re shaking. Nervous?” His tone is resonant and raspy, accompanied with a hint of amusement. 

Your heart drops. Does he think you’re ridiculous for acting this way? 

Jumping slightly from the feeling of his warm breath, you shake your head– but the way you stare down the bunny slope like you're about to march to your death betrays your attempt at nonchalance. Cheeks warming from embarrassment, you look down at the floor and mumble, “‘M not, Rin. Swear.” 

He snorts, dropping his hands from your waist. You shiver and feel a strange emptiness from the ghost of his touch still lingering on you. 

“Want me to hold your hand or somethin’?” He teases, tilting his head.

You groan, shifting your weight from side to side. Your gaze fixes downward. The snow is smooth and powdery and you wish it would swallow you whole. Squeezing your eyes shut, your fingers dig into the palms of your gloves, the rough feeling of the material sobers you, but doesn’t make the anxiety any less prominent. The desire to turn around and run away is as strong as the sting of the cold air on your skin. 

You can’t leave, this is important to him. You’ll have to find a way to bear it. You’ll have to figure it–

Your thoughts come to a halt when a warm, gloved hand envelops your own. Startled, you look over at Rintaro in awe. The weight of his grip grounds you, allowing you to breathe for the first time since you’ve gotten to the slopes. He’s adorning a faint smile now. It’s light-hearted and gentle. He offers you a reassuring nod, squeezing your hand. 

“We’ll go on the count of three.” 

❀ BAKING COOKIES w/ OSAMU MIYA !  

The smell of sugar and molasses wafts through the Miya family kitchen, adding to the already festive ambiance that envelops the home in a cozy glow. Osamu’s mother always had a knack for decoration, her ability put on full display during the holiday season. Room buzzing with warm energy, your eyes dart over to Osamu, who’s humming a tune while balling the malleable mixture with diligent care. He places them delicately on a buttered tray, a content smile on his face. 

Nudging his shoulder, you call his name out softly, “‘Samu.” 

He hums. 

“Let me try some,” You giggle, reaching to dip your finger in the bowl. 

“Ya gotta wait” He chides, snatching the dish away, but you’re too distracted by the dough to listen. The raw mixture’s enticing scent overrides your capacity for logical reason. Tilting your body forward, you try your luck again and swipe your fingers at the dish. 

Chuckling at your desperation, he shifts the bowl out of reach again. “Be patient,” He says, lips turning up into a teasing grin. His eyes taunt you as much as the dough in his hand does. 

“But your cookies are so good,” You whine, “Can’t I have a taste?” 

You feel his palm rest on the top of your head, laughing heartily at your antics, “I’ll give ya the first one after they're baked. Don’t want ya gettin’ sick.” His eyes gleam with a soft affection, but you don’t give in.

The compromise isn’t good enough. Pouting, you fold your arms and look at him with mock indignation, “Please?” 

You see him debating something within himself as his gaze searches for any reprieve to your plea. Sighing, he rolls his shoulders back and scoops one of his fingers into the dough. Waving it in front of you like a white flag, he offers you a taste of the batter. 

Squealing with delight, you take his finger in your mouth, savoring the sweetness as it melts on your tongue. It’s rich and spicy. Humming in satisfaction, you smile triumphantly at your boyfriend, “Tastes good.” 

“Yeah?” He laughs, warm hands wrapping around your waist. He pulls you in and kisses you. Giggling, you lean into his touch, returning his sweet kiss with one of your own. 

Pulling away, he licks his lips and whistles low. He grins softly and says, “Ya taste like cookies.”

You chuckle, feeling a surge of affection at his remark. Letting your head settle in the crook of his neck, you breathe him in. He smells like flour and chocolate chips. His thumb brushes idly against you, hands lingering on the small of your back. 

The moment is gone as quickly as it came when a horrified voice cuts through the air.

“What the hell?!”

Startled, you and Osamu turn to see Atsumu– white-faced and disgusted– standing by the doorway. 

“Yer fuckin’ gross. The both of ya!” He shouts, pointing a finger at the two of you like he’s caught you committing a crime. 

You can’t help but laugh. 

❀ WRAPPING PRESENTS w/ SHOYO HINATA !  

“Teach me how to wrap presents, please!” Shoyo exclaims, holding a cardboard box up for you to see. His eyes plead with you, expression contorted into an adorably desperate look. Your boyfriend, while talented in many respects, wasn’t the most detail-orientated individual. He was rough and often rushed delicate tasks. It makes sense that he’s not inclined towards wrapping gifts. 

Laughing, you smile at him, “You want me to teach you?” 

He nods excitedly, “Yeah, you’re really good!” His voice is breathy and reminiscent of when he was younger. Shoyo has changed in many ways since High School, but in others he’s remained exactly the same. Right now, he has the same eager look plastered on his face as he did back then, hungry for information– for a chance to grow. 

How could you deny his request? 

Taking the box from his hand, you saunter over to the makeshift wrapping station in the two of your’s apartment. Humming thoughtfully, you pick out some ribbon and giftwrap, careful to ensure they match. Shoyo watches your every move intently, drinking in your apparent wisdom. 

“First,” You say, placing the box delicately atop the wrapping paper, “You measure out how much you need.” Eyeing him, your voice drops to a low warning, “Try not to be wasteful, okay?”

He leans slightly into you, holding on to every detail. It makes your heart warm at how much this matters to him. Minutes pass, and you continue to walk him through the steps of giftwrapping. You delicately fold the paper in place, press tape to the box when needed, and tie a cute bow as a finishing touch. 

“Ta-da!” You sing, holding the gift up proudly. 

Shoyo’s eyes glimmer brightly, in awe of the present. He takes it in his hands, observing it closely, like if he looks hard enough, he too will become a master at wrapping presents. 

“Okay,” You chuckle, “Your turn now.” You run to grab another unwrapped box, placing it in front of him. He looks at you with too much determination for this mundane of a task, but it makes you smile regardless.

Getting started instantly, he bites his tongue in concentration. His face scrunches cutely, and he manuevers his body to shield you from his work.

Raising your eyebrows, you snort, “I can’t watch?” 

“It’s a surprise!” He answers, and he looks so sweet that it’s impossible to deny him the pleasure of amazing you with his gift. Relenting, you resign yourself to scrolling on your phone until he finishes the task at hand. You can’t help but steal glances every once in a while, smiling as he fumbles with the paper and grunts in frustration. Dutifully, his rough hands fiddle with the gift and you can tell he’s trying his very best. It’s sweet. 

After a while, he approaches you, eye glimmering with pride. And you can’t help but feel excitement to see what he’s accomplished. 

“Done!” He beams, “How’d I do?”

Looking at the gift, it takes all your willpower not to laugh.

It’s the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen.

The paper is misshapen and wrinkled, like he had to fight to get it to bend to his will. Twine is littered about the gift in a way that feels intentional, but falls short of being aesthetically pleasing. Eyes softening, a smile captures the entirety of your face. 

“It looks great.” 

You can’t tell him the truth. You don’t have the heart to. 

Grinning widely, he starts to ramble about how hard it was to remember all the steps you had given him, and that he’s relieved it all worked out. It’s so endearing that you can’t help but press a kiss to his cheek. 

In response to your display of affection, he tilts his head at you curiously, and you chuckle. 

“It looks great,” You repeat, “But maybe I can wrap the rest while you hand me the tape?” 

He nods dutifully, “Okay!” 

Smiling to yourself, you decide that Shoyo may not be the best giftwrapper, but his undying enthusiasm and desire to please you is the greatest gift you’ll ever have.

a/n: happy holidays to all who celebrate :3 also, i do have a part 2 ready to go so expect that soon LOL. shoutout iris ONCE AGAIN for helping me brainstorm @cherrysurf i would be nothing without u.

[theglamorousferal]

Persephone's Binding Part 1

Hardcover/Anger Management ship Sacrificial Bride au

AO3 Prompt Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Fuck me, that's what I get for not wearing my helmet tonight. Jason came to with numb hands and legs, burning shoulders, a gag tight in his mouth, and a pounding headache. His ears rang and a groan escaped his throat before he could keep quiet. He slowly cracked an eye open and when he wasn't blinded took stock of the situation he was in. He was kneeling, tied to a post behind him and in the middle of what appeared to be a magic circle of some kind. At the edges of the circle there were candles, a bright Lazarus green, and beyond that were robed figures.

Great, cultists. Perfect. The ringing in his ears started to fade as chanting filled the room. After the first repetition of unfamiliar words the flames of each candle one by one turned black, and once it came around, the edges of the circle started to glow bright green. The glow followed the path written in what Jason assumed was blood until the entire thing was glowing bright enough that Jason had to squint to try and make out any of the symbols and commit them to memory, any little thing could be a clue after all.

As the chanting got louder and louder, the glow shone brighter and brighter. He could feel a build up of energy and his hair began to stand on end like lightning was about to strike. The light became blinding and the pressure in the air built up until he felt he couldn't breathe, he could smell ozone in the air and suddenly the light returned to normal, he collapsed forward and his cheek hit carpet.

"Oh my Ancients! Are you alright?" He heard a feminine voice say and let out a pitiful groan. "That's probably a dumb question, one second let me grab something to cut those ropes and I'll help you up."

He heard shuffling and opened his eyes to a purple shag carpet with the magic circled burned into it and registered the ozone scent shifted to a burning smell. He tried moving his arms and yelped in response. He heard a thud and a quiet curse as his apparent savior stopped rifling through their drawers with a quiet "Aha!" He turned his head towards the sound and his mind stuttered to a halt for a moment.

Stood there, with a sword at least as long as the Demon Spawn is tall, was a woman Jason would expect to find in Themyscira. She stood almost seven feet tall with long red hair pulled back into a high ponytail braid, a helm-like crown adorning her head. Muscled shoulders had a black capelet from one and a pauldron on the other. She wore golden bracers like Wonder Woman on her forearms and armor similar in shape, but black with a symbol blazoned across the chest, under the armor she wore a teal toga. He turned his attention to her face and found a sheepish expression in those teal eyes.

"I absolutely forgot I had my sword with me today because of the council meeting. Let me just-" she quickly strode forward and cut first his feet and then his hands free, and after giving up on the knot, carefully cut the gag from his mouth. She knelt down and helped him to sit more comfortably. "Do you think you can make it to the couch? it's very comfy, I use it when I need a break between council meetings."

Jason tried standing and his legs protested feeling like pins and needles and tv static. He shook his head and she nodded thinking to herself. "Okay then, here."

Jason blue-screened as he realized he was suddenly being held in a bridal carry by this woman like it was nothing. He blushed from his neck to the tips of his ears as she carried him to her honest to god fainting couch and placed him upon it like a swooning maiden.

"So, um, hi, my name is Jasmine, please just call me Jazz regardless of whatever you hear anyone else here call me. Do you need some water? I'm gonna order some water, and some painkillers maybe? Honestly, I'm just gonna ask them to send one of the yeti healers to take a look at you and I'll need to ask someone who can read ghost speak to translate whatever brought you here." She rambled and made her way to one of the doors and spoke with someone just outside.

Jason laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling and trying to get himself focused on the situation at hand. So facts so far: he was just used as a sacrifice of some kind, he was teleported somewhere unknown to him at this moment, and whoever he was sacrificed to seems to be some form of royalty and was arguably the most attractive and so far kind woman he's ever met. He nodded to himself and carefully pealed the red domino mask from his face.

"Jason." He said to her as she turned back to him after closing the door. She stopped for a moment, eyes wide. "My name, it's Jason."

She blushed a moment. "Right, yes, nice to meet you Jason, I wish it was under literally any other circumstances." She said walking forward to shake his hand.

"So, uh, where are we?" He asked, gesturing to what Jason assumed was a window, but wasn't certain because the sky was green and purple and had floating doors and islands in it.

She closed her eyes and seemed to take a fortifying breath. "Right. What do you know about the supernatural, besides the obvious that apparently magic circles work?"

Jason thought about what he could say here. Should he bring up his time in the All Caste? Should he bring up the Lazarus pits? I don't know enough about the situation yet. "I know that magic is real, kinda hard not to what with heroes like Zattana and Raven making headlines and the fact the city I live in is hella cursed."

He watched some tension leave her shoulders, but not all the way. "Good, I won't have to go over that particular world-shattering revelation, though I'll probably ask you more about those heroes you were talking about, I haven't heard of them." Jason was stunned for a moment, but she continued. "We are in a sort of, Between. We are in the Infinite Realms, the existence between existences. The Infinite Realms is the space between the dimensions of the multiverse. We are currently in the castle of the ruler of the Infinite Realms, more specifically my office." She hesitated before continuing. " I'm, sort of, the Queen Regent actually." She said embarrassed.

Jason processed that for a moment, and she let him. So, the multiverse is real, and he was apparently just sacrificed to the ruler of the dimension between dimensions. She let him sit with that information, letting him come up with his own questions, when there was a knock at the door.

"Excuse me your majesty, you called for a healer and scholar? I had not left yet from the earlier council meeting and figured I could be of assistance." A tall yeti with ice for one of his arms and frozen horns atop his head appeared in the doorway. What also appeared seemed to be a literal skeleton that pushed a tea cart with a pitcher of water and little finger sandwiches on it into the room and left again.

"Frostbite! Perfect, first, can you take a look at Jason, he was apparently sacrificed and judging from the blood in his hair he at least has a head injury. Then the circle he appeared in burned itself into the carpet, I'm still not great at reading ghost speak, especially in an older dialect, I can't figure out what it says." Jazz spoke in a rush as she walked toward the cart to get some water for Jason.

Frostbite had a kind smile as he turned to Jason and pulled out a first aid kit from seemingly nowhere. "Yes, hello, you must be Jason. How are you feeling? What hurts in particular?" Jason went along with the examination, and gladly accepted the glass of water from Jazz as she handed it to him. "Well it looks to me like you mostly just need to rest and maybe take some painkillers. Here," The yeti carefully handed him a small cup with two over-the-counter pain pills in it. "Alright, now let's take a look at this circle!" He stood to his full height, carefully ducking to avoid knocking his horns on the chandelier. He observed it for a moment, humming to himself from time to time. "Right, so this appears to be a binding ritual, somehow tied to the Solstice celebrations. Typically it entwines the soul of the sacrifice to the being they were sacrificed to. Somewhere in the archives there is likely more information about it, but you'll probably have to spend quite some time searching."

Jazz looked pained for a moment. "Okay, do you think it can be broken?" Her face showed hope, but with an underlay of resignation.

Frostbite thought for a moment. "There are some, though most are permanent. I can send over some of my scholars to help locate the correct ritual, I would suggest asking the Master of Time as he would know for certain, but you know how they can be." He straightened before bowing to both Jazz and Jason. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Queen Regent and Lord Jason, I must make my way back to the Far Frozen to gather those to help your search. Good day." With that, the yeti left the two of them alone.

Jazz sighed heavily and put her face in her hands. She growled, frustrated, before she straightened after having made a decision. "Okay, so you're probably going to be staying her for a little while while we figure all this out. Let me show you to a room so you can rest a bit, and I'll have one of my aides bring you some clothes so yours can get washed too."

She led him through the passageways of the gothic castle, it's black stone bricks and tapestries of silver seeming to glow. They stopped at the third of a row of doors and went inside. The room was large, twenty-foot ceilings and a bay window with a sitting nook framed by two large bookcases stood across the room. A massive bed with an intricate quilt portraying what seemed to be a battle between supernatural entities was braced against one wall with a grand fireplace on the opposite wall.

"The door to the left of the fireplace leads to the bathroom, the first thing I did when I took over was make sure there was hot water and large soaking tubs in all the bedrooms here. There should be bathrobes of varying sizes in the closet that offshoots the bathroom. If you need anything, I'm probably going to be in my office for the next few hours and there is always the bell by the door for stuff like, food or whatever. Um, I guess I'll leave you to it?" She shuffled nervously out the door, leaving him standing there, hand half raised in an awkward wave goodbye.

He chuckled to himself for a moment before striding over to the bed and sitting down to start unstrapping his body armor and boots. Once stripped to his boxers, he made his way to the bathroom and was pleasantly surprised to find not only a large soaking tub, but also a shower with a bench to sit. He quickly showered all the grime from the last few hours from his body, careful to get the matted blood in his hair untangled. Once finished, he started filling the tub before walking towards the closet where he found not only bathrobes, but also bath salts and bath bombs. Deciding to indulge, he grabbed one of each in similar enough scents and dropped both into the bath tub before easing himself into the hot water. He hissed at the temperature before it started easing the aches across all his muscles. He shut off the faucet and then leaned back and allowed himself to think.

So, he thought, I am in an alternate dimension, in the castle of the extremely attractive Queen Regent of said dimension, and my soul is apparently bound to her for the foreseeable future. He thunked his head on the walls of the tub contemplating the facts laid before him. He startled, shooting forward with his back straight.

"Wait a minute!" He said to himself. "Wait a god damned minute!" He smacked his forehead with his hand and ran it through his hair. "I'm in a romance novel plotline! Bound to an entity of unknown power against my will, but the entity is actually a kind and beautiful woman! Holy shit! I can't screw this up!"

Decision made, Jason Peter Todd, closeted romance novel enthusiast, began to plan.

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 21st

Day 21: Gun Play // Monsterfucking // Shower - Bath Sex

Centaur!Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Virginal sacrifices, bondage, vaginal fingering, loss of innocence, monsterfucking, horse cock, curses

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

For the last three months, you have been led to this moment. Guarded and well-fed. Given everything that your heart desires and showered with presents, food, even jewels to wear. Your status in the region has been elevated. The wooden laurel on your head showcasing your purpose and strangers stopped you on the cobblestoned streets to give blessings to the gods for your sacrifice. 

Golden chains bind your hands and feet. Loose enough to allow you to walk, but still keep you from running away. Naked, you are paraded through the streets. Cheering Romans citizens throwing flowers and seeds in the air. Marking the traditional path that you will be guided by the centurions that are tasked with seeing you to your destination safely. Leaving you there to the whims of the beast. 

The last one hundred years has been marked with prosperity. The annual sacrifice made to the guardian of the lands insuring the year’s bounty. A virgin, chained to the altar in the clearing and left to be consumed by the beast. 

Over the years the citizens had learned not to anger the beast, knowing that if the woman provided was not a virgin, the sacrifice would be rejected. The year’s crops are destroyed by giant hooves that trample and destroy everything planted in the dirt. 

Through the city you are led, out past the fields that will be planted and into the edge of the woods that the beast makes its home. The stone altar comes into view and you shuffle to a halt as you stare at it. 

It’s not the typical altar that you would expect. It is a large stone, carved out and worn smooth over the years. The rings driven deep at certain points used to anchor your chains to it and keep you from escaping. 

It’s curved and odd shaped, making you wonder how you will lay on this. “Move.” The guard closest to you yanks on the chains and drags you forward. Making you swallow as the reality of your demise is quickly approaching. 

“Please. I-” You start to say that you need just a moment, but you are cut off.

The guards all tut, yanking you forward and starting to stretch your limbs over the altar and secure them to the rings. You are bent over, spread out and embarrassed by how vulnerable you feel even though you had just been paraded through the streets completely bare as the day you were born. Now you feel exposed, your womanhood on display and you close your eyes tight. 

They never say another word to you. The whistle is sharp and piercing, but the guards disappear from your limited vision, even as you try to twist your head to look behind you. It’s like they vanish into the mist that has started to gather along the edge of the trees. 

You wait, the silence starting to drive you mad. You’ve never been good at waiting, but it is all you can do right now. 

Until you hear the snapping of a twig. Your head pops up from where you had been laying it on the altar. Trying to twist around to see what is coming, but you can’t turn that far. Your arms are stretched out too far, you are bent too far over. “Who- who’s there?” You call out, another snapping twig makes your heart skip a beat. 

Something is coming. You swallow harshly and close your eyes, afraid that your time is up now and the beast is here. 

“Another one.” Your eyes spring open when you hear a voice. A man’s voice, weary. You shiver and tug on the chains. 

“Don’t- don’t release me.” You hadn’t meant to say that, but it is what pops out of your mouth. 

“Why?” There’s a sense of surprise in his voice, as if that was the last thing that he had expected to hear from you. 

“I- t-th-the beast-” you stammer, clenching your fist and swallowing harshly. “It- I am a sacrifice.” 

“A sacrifice.” He hums and you can hear the shuffling of feet behind you, making you tense again. It doesn’t sound like sandals on the hard packed ground around the altar. “For what?” 

“To the beast, so that there will be another year’s harvest.” You explain, unsure of how he doesn’t know this. Everyone knows that there is a sacrifice to the beast every year. 

“You are the first that did not beg to be let go.” The man seems impressed by that. Making you frown as you try to twist around more, to see who is behind you. 

“The first?” You don’t understand, trying to push up against the edge of the altar. To lift your head enough to see. 

“Sacrifice.” 

Your blood runs cold as you feel a hand slide up the left cheek of your ass. “What-” 

“The gods cursed me.” He speaks as if he hadn’t heard you. “Failing to win a battle they wished to be won.” 

You frown again, not understanding why he is telling you this. Or who he is. “I don’t understand.” 

He chuckles slightly and there is another shuffle, a set of hooves start to come into view. Making you frown even harder until your eyes trail up and you see that the hooves and body of a horse are attached to the torso of a man. A centaur. 

“Gods.” You gasp, eyes blowing wide and you gulp. “You- you’re the beast!”

“Guilty.” The man flashes you a startlingly attractive grin. His features are handsome, although he has a strong hook to his nose and his hair has gray in it. “Although I don’t eat the virgins brought to me.” 

“What do you do?” You are breathless as you ask the question. Unsure if you want to know the answer. This is not how you thought this would turn out. 

“Let them go.” He admits, lifting a brow. “None of them would help break the curse.” 

“Break the curse?” You ask, making him smirk as he watches you. He has to be lying. None of the other virgins had returned. None of them had come back to their families. The only ones that had survived had been the ones rejected. The ones who had later confessed that they weren’t virgins. 

“I have to take your purity to regain my human form.” It sounds incredulous, but then again, you are talking to a centaur. A mythical beast that was not supposed to actually exist. Centaurs were stories that mothers told their young to keep them from sneaking out into the woods alone.  

You choke out a laugh, understanding now why you are naked and secured to this stone in such a way. This was to allow it to be easy to mount you. 

“It is not a falsity.” He huffs, looking mortally offended by your laugh. “The catch is that I could mount a hundred virgins, but she must be willing to take me.” It had been crushing to discover the gods were especially cruel to add that little caveat to the entire thing. 

He watches you, you can feel his eyes on you as you think about what he has told you. You are chained to this altar, at his mercy but in reality - he is at your mercy. Without your willingness, he will still be stuck in his current form. 

“I am your sacrifice.” You remind him quietly after a few moments of silence between you. You had been chosen to give your life for the good of everyone. What did your virginity matter? “What you do with me is up to you.’

His nostrils flare, jaw clenching and he stares at you. Waiting for you to change your mind. Waiting for you to steal the hope that is flaring in his chest. He has never had a virgin offer him what you are gifting him with. 

“What is your name?” You ask, waiting for him to say something, do something. You had almost expected him to leap on you after agreeing, but he was still watching you. 

“Marcus.” He replies after a moment. “Marcus Acacius.” 

Your eyes widen, having heard the stories of Marcus Acacius. The general who had defied the emperor’s and had fought in the arenas of the colosseum. Some had said he had died on the sands, others said he had retired and lived out his life as an old man. You now know that he had not. He was standing in front of you, half man half beast. 

You tell him your name and bite your lip. “Will it hurt?” You ask, not sure what to really expect from a beast. 

“Probably at first.” He won’t lie about that, but he hopes that you don’t change your mind. The chance to be human again is being dangled in front of him like an enticing carrot. 

“O-okay.” Your voice trembles and you press your face against the stone to squeeze your eyes shut. “Uh- do- do it.”

He groans, cock under his belly starting to twitch and lengthen, pushing out of the protective sheath. Your cunt is on display and he can see that you will need some moisture to ease his cock’s passage inside you.

“I will get you ready.” It has been years since he has actually fucked a human, letting the sacrifices go and sending them away to live out their lives somewhere else.

This centaur, this monster, is actually considerate. He could have just mounted you and been done with it, there would have been nothing you could do to resist, but you feel his hands between your thighs. Human hands. Fingers probing and pressing, massaging until your mouth opens on a soft moan. 

“That’s it.” Marcus growls softly, approving of how wet you are starting to get. You seem to accept his touch, your folds slick after just a few minutes and he is already aching. Still he doesn’t rush. 

You’ve never been touched like this before. The mist has spread around you when you open your eyes, almost shielding any unwanted eyes from the altar. Isolating you from the outside world, or perhaps even transporting you to another realm. From the way he is touching you, he is taking you to meet the gods. Your moans start to get louder, more demanding. The chains around your wrists and ankles rattling slightly as you try to push your hips back, whimpering for more. 

You are a gift. A treasure. Marcus stamps his hooves impatiently, eager to mount you and feel how tight you are around the non-human cock he possesses right now. 

“I- I think- ooooooh!” You squeal when he presses his fingers just right and feel your core heat up, a rush of pleasure drowning you as you cry out. 

You’re ready. Marcus pulls away and starts to lift his front hooves onto the stone altar. It has been designed for his body, allowing him to hold himself up and position to mount the person strapped to the stone. 

You bite your lip, feeling the air moving as he shifts. This is happening. Your body tenses slightly when you feel something poking, but all you can think is how hot it is. It feels like it’s burning, branding you against your skin and when you feel the smear of liquid, you realize what is poking your ass. 

“I can’t help guide it in.” Marcus admits, his human body braced farther above you because of the angle. “Just relax. I will try to go slow.”

It takes him a few tries and you try not to squirm, reminding yourself that you are a sacrifice. Even if you had thought it meant your life, your virginity doesn’t matter. 

The thick, blunt horse cock of the centaur finally is pressed against your entrance and you take a deep breath. 

Marcus shakes in his need to push into you. Gritting his teeth, sweat beads on his forehead. Trying not to let the animal instinct take over. “Relax.” He cautions and starts to shuffle forward to break you open. 

It’s big. Bigger than you’ve ever even imagined and your cry is instinctual. Making Marcus snarl in response and his cock seems to be pushing up into your stomach but he just keeps going. The stretch of him is too much but it doesn’t even hurt, just overwhelms. 

Your fists clench together and you push back making yourself take him even deeper until his great length is fully buried in your virgin cunt.

“Fuck!” Marcus shouts, rearing up and sinking deeper before he starts to pull back. 

Once he has taken you, all you can do is hold onto the anchor that keeps you tied to the altar. Squealing and keening as he starts to move inside you and steals your breath away. 

Taking the heavy, thick thrusts of his enormous cock that seems to feel like a hammer driving into you. It hurts and feels incredible at the same time, ripping a sob from your throat as you imagine the scene you are making. This centaur, this creature, is driving into you again and again, breeding you. Fucking you. 

Marcus prances in his hind hooves as he fucks you, sinking deeper and deeper as your sweet virgin cunt opens up more, flowering for him and taking the rougher thrusts he is helpless to temper. 

That feeling in your stomach starts to curl again. Building up as he plows into you. The inhuman sounds he is making above you adding to the sensation and the slickness of your cunt grows. 

“Mar-Marcus!” Your gasp of his name is screamed out into the mists, the forest around you ringing with the sound as you start to chant it over and over again. Stars bursting behind your eyes and your entire world going dark with a loud roar and a rush of heat inside you. 

****

“Wake up. Wake up sweetheart.” Your eyes peel open slowly, body aching and you groan quietly. 

You’re on the ground, unchained from the altar and laying on a bed of soft down and leaves. Warm, concerned brown eyes staring at you in wonder as you come too, slightly disoriented and feeling like you have just woken from a dream. 

“You- you did it.” Marcus breathless exclaims. He looks down and your eyes follow his to find the very naked lower body of a man where the horse’s body had once been. “You broke the curse.”

“You- I did?” You frown but it turns into a smile when he beams at you, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. 

“You did.” He repeats. “And now I am yours for eternity.”

[shares-a-vest]

@steddielovemonth Day 10: Love is... Missing each other (Prompt by @lihhelsing)

wc: 723 | Rated: T for suggestive language & flirtacious banter | cw: None

Tags: Phone Calls, Rockstar!Eddie, Homesick, Eddie Misses Steve

Stevie, what are you wearing?

Eddie flips onto his stomach once he finally hears a dial tone. He didn’t think it would take this long, calling the concierge to transfer him to an international call, confirming his credit card and then waiting eons for a connection.

But fuck it, he misses his not-legally-binding husband.

It’s only been a week and the band has been killing it so far but…

Call him selfish, but Eddie misses the hell out of Steve, he is desperately resiting the urge to flee back to the airport and fly home. And he feels like a pathetic sap about it.

Maybe next time he should force the boys, their management and basically everyone around Corroded Coffin to set their touring to fit in with Steve’s school schedule. Yes, that could work – certainly much better than admitting how much he wants to be snuggled up in his comfy bed with Steve, drifting off to sleep together, hopefully without their cats bothering them too much.

The ringing continues and he worries that it is going to run out entirely. He bites at his thumb nail in anticipation – it’s not like he pre-organised this phone call and god knows what time it is in Hawkins.

“Hello?” Steve grumbles on the other end.

He sounds groggy with sleep, his voice a little far away as he likely fumbles for his glasses. Eddie grins and crosses his ankles, giddy like a goddamn schoolgirl calling her crush.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he beams, earning a whine at his equitable lack of volume control.

“S’early,” Steve mumbles, “Miss you.”

“I miss you more,” Eddie coos down the line. 

Steve huffs a laugh and echoes, “Miss you so much…”

There’s a rustling sound that follows and Steve hums.

“What are you doing?” Eddie wonders aloud.

“Getting comfy again,” Steve replies, “Closin’ my eyes and pretending you are next to me.”

“That so?”

Steve hums in the affirmative.

“Stevie…” Eddie purrs as he flips onto his back, “What are you wearing?”

“Sweatpants,” Steve replies, a smile evident in his voice.

“Nothing else...” he wonders.

“Nope!” Steve sounds a little more awake now.

“The barest chest,” Eddie continues, squirming around, feeling a teasing tingle at the thought – 

– Until the phone cord almost cuts off his air supply.

He palms around (though if anyone were to see him, it would probably be better described as a full-bodied flail) and tugs at the cord enough that something topples off the nightstand.

Whatever. As long as he can still hear Steve’s quiet and even breathing on the other end.

“What about you, Elvis?” Steve soon teases.

Eddie grimaces but responds nonetheless.

“I’m in my jeans,” he supplies, trying to remain at least a little coy, “And a t-shirt.”

“So, you aren’t ready for bed?” Steve teases, giggling out a little tee-hee that makes Eddie’s heart flutter – god he loves this silly man.

“Not until after I speak to you, precious,” he deadpans.

There’s another sound – like Steve is moving around amongst the bedsheets again. Eddie wiggles his brows and hastily hooks a finger under his waistband. But he soon scrunches his nose. He probably should have removed his belt and unzipped his fly during the never-ending dial tone.

“Shit,” Steve curses before groaning in a very unfun manner, “Oh no, buddy, c’mon!”

“What is it?” Eddie asks, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Go on, scram!” Steve commands, ignoring the question before whining again – one that sounds like whatever he is doing is an exercise in futility, “The cat won’t get off the bed.”

Eddie sinks back down.

Goddamn it.

“Which menace is bothering you, my darling?” he sighs, scrubbing his free hand over his face.

“Freddy.”

Eddie stifles a whimper as his heart swells. Of course, it’s the most adorable, scruffiest, wide-eyed and mischievous cat that’s annoying the heck out of Steve. A cat Steve himself only barely tolerates. Eddie can only imagine what Freddy must get up to when he touring.

“Fredrick?” he can’t help but beam, “Put him on the phone!”

“Eddie!”

“Please?” he begs, “I want to talk to him.”

“But what about…” Steve says, “Well, y’know?”

Eddie waves Steve’s worry away (even if he can’t see him).

“Keep it in your pants, Big Boy. We’ll get to that. Now put my son on the phone this instant!”

[the-fishh]

I LOVE LOVE THE CRANE WIVES !!!!!!!

IVE LOVED EVERY PIECE OF THEIR MUSIC WHICH I THINK IVE LISTENDED TO ALMOST ALL OF IT.

NEVER HEARD A CRANE WIVES SONG I DISLIKED!!!1

THE FUNKY LITTLE LEADING BASS LINE AND THE HOWLING VOCALS HAVE MY HEART AND SOULLLLL

SOME OF MY FAVORITE CRANE WIVES LYRICS: Album - Safe Ship, Harbored

You won't find me where you left me No, I'm long gone (Long gone)You can't bind me in the state you kept meFor so long (So long)

I give up my sight To see I give up my air To breathe

We're the daughters of sinners, we're the sons of saints

If there's a hole in the silver lining I'll be the one, the one to find itI take it upon myself to make sure I do . I might find nothing when I start lookingBut I turn it over in my hands untilMy fingers wear it through

Where does your faith fall? Where does your faith fall in me?Don't break the bottleDon't waste your blessings on me

My dreams keep diggin' up the bones of memories Discarded remnants of former timesNow every skeleton is slappin' its knees Laughin' at the holes he left behind

I have all the time I need (And when full moon beckons)To repent my wicked deeds(She relives the night that took her life)Plant my guilty seed(To suffer it in her eternal penance) By the moonlight in the cemetery

Album - The Fool in Her Wedding Gown

Spreading out the ashes of a love That only gave and gave

I'm swimming in this dress, a child in her mother's clothes This ring around my finger's like a chain around my throatAre you so sure you've tamed me?

Don't just watch me go, you fool Run with me, keep up, keep up, keep up

That though we're gray, we can stay young, and wild, and free

And if I were someplace else And if I were someone elseAnd if I were not myself, would this be easier?

I'm at a loss for better plans 'Cause this is all I haveSo I'll just close my eyes and try To pretend That it gets easier

All you're doing now is losing me

I gave you everything I had And now I want it back

You built the glacier house in the fadin' SummerYou cursed the earth you settled under

I know that you mean so well But I am not a vessel for your good intent

Though I planted the seeds, gave them everything they needBut the flowers in our window box don't growLittle buds make their graves as the warmth inside us fadesBut I still don't know shit about letting go

Just give me back, give me back to the ground

When my ghost sings my battle cry you'll be too sorry to dance

Am I the only thing that keeps you safe when the light is gone?

But I still hold out hope that maybe someday I'll be worth more than all the silence left in my way

But if in the end I lose my voiceWill you forget about your love for me?

And when you break the surface oh without mePlease don't return me to the dark of all the memories

The heart is just a muscle with a rhythm all its own It doesn't stop when you decide not to move on The heart knows nothing of your love or of your loss

Album - Coyote Stories

No amount of fear will keep you safe

With the risk of fall I never climbed at allEvery day I told myself“I’m not ready”

Their stories reveal Regrets their smiles can’t conceal

I could have been anyone, anyone else Before you made the choice for me

Bore the shadows that you made With no light of my own

I shine only with the light you gave me

All is fair in love and war, but I can’t fight with you anymoreThis will be the death of me

I'm one deep breath away from a breakdown My nerves are wrecked and coming unwound

I rip myself apart at the seams I find one weak spot and start unravelingHoping I can find a better me

I keep my closet free of skeletons 'Cause I'm much better at digging graves

I've seen good men spoiled Chained to their jobs like houndsThey work and sleep and work againIn the darkest nights they howlTheir cries are a warningTo everyone followingNo man should stand to work all of his daysAnd have nothing at the end of them

I got no money but the changeThat jingles in my pocketsReminding me how little I haveAnd as for time I amPowerless to stop itIt keeps rambling on like a mad, wandering man

And my dear papa gave me Lessons in regretHe said all that he'd done would be for nothingIf I followed in his steps

He taught me that the hand that feeds Deserves to be bitten when it beats

And that no man should get More of my time than me, than me

I may never be a rich man But I can, make sure that I am free

That these hands of mine were clumsy, not cleverAnd I tried to do the best that I couldBut try as I might I couldn't bring myself to hold you

There is love that doesn't have a place to rest But it would have buried you if it had settled on your shoulders

For keeping my claws away when they were close enough to hurt you

I want to know that there are lands Not yet touched by human handsI want to be the one to find them

Album - Foxlore

Sure, you can forget about all the things you've done But what about the rest of us?

High-tail it when it gets to be too much What about the rest of us?

Marrow made a wife of Eve But no one gave up a rib for me and mine

Time has changed the metaphor Now, dust is not the origin of boneLittle girl, don't let them sell you any armorAll your ribs are still your own

The time has come for moving on You can't be always trying to dig upWhat you've already buried

Every word I say is kindling But the smoke clears when you're aroundWon't you stay with me, my darlingWhen my walls start burning down, down, down?

You don't have to believe every single thought That tumbles through your headJust 'cause it sounds like you talkingSometimes all you can doIs say goodnight and tuck your demons into bed'Cause they're not worth fighting

What good has ever come of it? What answers will you find?Turn out the lights on your mind

Don't buy me flowers It pains me to watch pretty little things wilt away

Keep the light so dim that you can't see What's out there ahead

If only I could break the chain of disappointments Weighing me downShake off the ghosts that whisper warnings

The crows in the garden are laughing at my expense

Put your ear to my heart or set your teeth against my throatGive me something pretty to wear beneath my blood-stained clothes

Tell the crows they can have their pound of flesh

Get on your knees and dig up the garden Won't you throw down that spade andDig up the garden, darling?Get your hands dirty and rip up the gardenWon't you cut down that apple tree for me?

Album - Here I Am

I thought it would be easier to change How many times can someone start again?How many more times will it take?

Got bombs that are falling on my mind I'm getting used to the noise and light,

I wanna be found I think I'm ready to be hereTie me down, tie me down

This ghost town is making a ghost of me

They shake me off and ask why I bother The answer is simpleMy father, his fatherI come from a long line of people who believeIn the flowers that growIn the cracks in the street

Tender as a bruise Sharper than a razorWraps her tentacles around meLike she'll never let me goFury shakes the rafters, but never in my favorI'm trembling in the eye of the only storm I've ever known

Stop the car, I wanna get outI'm craving open air and solid ground'Cause I've been watching from the backseatWatching the world slipping past me

Like a moth in the night I'm desperate for a minute in the light'Cause everywhere that I goSomething pulls me to the shadows

I'm a fool I've been howling at a hollow moon

Is this a bunker or a shallow grave? Either way I'm leftHolding onto the shovel and ropeDigging in the dirtFinding bones, finding ghosts

Take me in my damaged state Walked a thousand miles to be here againPull apart your useless gamesBut your song sings in my veins, and I'mSinging tooI can't drown you out no matter what I do

I’m just a ten cent copy Of people far more advanced than meEvery thought that I’ve ever hadCould be ripped from a magazineCut me a path, and I will follow itDraw me a line, and I’ll avoid itI’m nothing if not obedientYou have my word

I am not a builder I’m much better at blowing things downI will join the wolfAt my door

I keep tallies I keep scoreI'm a petty thing on a high, high horseYou've got your mouth openI hold my tongueThere's so many things that we can't ignore

Congrats to anyone who made it this far down the post lmao

(Life Series / Trafficblr fans, i see you all and im with you all.)

Europe/Britian/Scotland tour when??? plsplspls i need to see them live on stage!!!

This has been a Crane Wives Appretiation Post , Thank you for Consideration and please listen to their music if you dont already!!!

[angrelysimpping]

Pet Zombie: Collab'oween Day 7

GN!Reader (you/your) x GN!Zombie (they/them)

Warnings: noncon; manipulation; undead; mild overstim; reader is keeping a zombie as a pet so

Words: 838

The scream is guttural, inhuman, and exactly what you wanted to hear as your darling pet thrashes against the bindings you’d secured them in. 

“There’s no use struggling, you know.” 

They don’t answer. You’re not sure they could answer. Once upon a time they’d spoken, mishmashed words. Mostly cursing you, threatening to rip your throat and rend you limb from limb. Not so much anymore. The last few weeks had only been growls and groans.

Until now.

They lunge forward again, bindings creaking as they try in vain to free themselves, to reach the meat you had placed just out of their reach. Another blood curdling screech rips from their throat, and you laugh.

“Becoming a zombie hasn’t much helped your intelligence, huh?”

Their eyes find yours, wild and unfocused. 

“Poor dear,” you coo, mocking clear as day even to the undead. Reaching out, you cup their face, thumb caressing their cheekbone. Carefully, you slip a digit under the strap of leather securing their muzzle in place, flexing your finger to give it a quick test of strength. It’s the only thing they’re really wearing. What use did a zombie have for clothes? “Poor silly fool,” you coo again, smiling as they growl. If they were more docile, you might have slipped the muzzle from their face, tucked your thumb into the gash ripping open their jaw. Of course, they weren’t. 

Their eyes seem to grow clearer and you grin wide. “Oh, are you here? Can you see me again?” 

They jerk towards you, teeth snapping as they try to bite you even muzzled. You move back, laughter bouncing around the small room you designed just for these little play sessions with your pet. 

The snap of breaking cord rings in your ears, the sound not processing for a moment. Long enough for your darling pet to dash forward, slamming against you with their full force. You let out a soft ooph as the wind is knocked out of you, falling back as your pet clambers on top of you while you remain dazed and disoriented.

Panic swells inside you as they thrash, teeth snapping as they try to rip into your flesh. The cold bars of their muzzle presses painfully into your neck, but it does its job. You’re kept safe from the infected teeth. 

Their arms are still pinned back, too. You’re in the clear, it seems. The only thing that had failed you was the cord that allowed them some free movement in the cell. Your main problem was that every time you tried to subdue them, they’d struggle harder, becoming more frantic, thrashing and growling as they attempted to maim you. In their struggles, part of their bindings get caught on your clothes, your trousers, ripping them and exposing more of your skin to the hungry ghoul. 

Your composure breaks, and you start writhing under them, matching them in their feral movements as you try to get them off you. It makes things worse. Their head knocks into your chin, teeth cracking and head bouncing off the floor. Ears ringing, white light skitters across your vision, and you go limp under them. 

Your thoughts are still muddled when your misbehaving pet ends up slotted between your thighs, hips pressed together in their continuous attempt to harm you. Maybe they felt pleasure, some new hunger awakening in them as they ground their bare crotch against yours. Or maybe there was more gray matter in that rotting skull than you thought and this is how they decided to get some semblance of revenge

Either way, they groan above you, the sound different than before. They move again, this time more deliberate in their actions. Unwanted heat rises in you as they rock against you. Reaching out, you try pushing them off. You can’t, head pounding as you try to shove them. 

They growl low, a threat, as they lay over you, resting their full weight against you ast they start rutting against you in earnest. 

“Foul,” you mutter under your breath, words loose in your mouth as your ears continue to ring. It is foul, not just that it was an undead humping you, but it was your pet. Moreover, your body was reacting. It was humiliating. 

You let your eyes shut, resting your aching head back against the floor. Your pet makes a sound you’ve never heard from them before, something like a purr as you resign yourself to letting your body get used like this in the hopes you’d be able to regain the upper hand. It takes more effort than you’d ever admit to crack an eye open, sneering at them. “Don’t get too cocky.”

If they give no indication if they understand you, still rutting against you. 

You’re not sure how long it is before you shudder under them, face hot as you cum. 

Unfortunately, your pet doesn’t seem anywhere near close to their end. You feel too sensitive, nerves raw as they keep grinding, and you’re in for a long night.  

[iviarellereads]

The Great Hunt, Prologue - In the Shadow

(THIS PROJECT IS SPOILER FREE! No spoilers past the chapter you click on. Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Wheel of Time, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Wheel icon) In which someone's being very naughty.

First, the dedication:

And it shall come to pass that what men made shall be shattered, and the Shadow shall lie across the Pattern of the Age, and the Dark One shall once more lay his hand upon the world of man. Women shall weep and men quail as the nations of the earth are rent like rotting cloth. Neither shall anything stand nor abide . . . Yet one shall be born to face the Shadow, born once more as he was born before and shall be born again, time without end. The Dragon shall be Reborn, and there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth at his rebirth. In sackcloth and ashes shall he clothe the people, and he shall break the world again by his coming, tearing apart all ties that bind. Like the unfettered dawn shall he blind us, and burn us, yet shall the Dragon Reborn confront the Shadow at the Last Battle, and his blood shall give us the Light.(1) Let tears flow, O ye people of the world. Weep for your salvation.(2) —from The Karaethon Cycle: The Prophecies of the Dragon, as translated by Ellaine Marise’idin Alshinn, Chief Librarian at the Court of Arafel, in the Year of Grace 231 of the New Era, the Third Age(3)

Thusly, the prologue begins, our perspective that of...

The man who called himself Bors, at least in this place,(4) sneered at the low murmuring that rolled around the vaulted chamber like the soft gabble of geese. His grimace was hidden by the black silk mask that covered his face, though, just like the masks that covered the hundred other faces in the chamber. A hundred black masks, and a hundred pairs of eyes trying to see what lay behind them.

The room looks ornate, but the roaring fires give off no heat, there are no windows, and only two doors. The walls are covered in tapestries, but behind them is bare stone. Bors doesn't like to think of where the room is, but he was summoned, so he came. He's glad the fires are cold, because he's wrapped in a huge amount of black wool to disguise his build and the fact that he's stooping to look shorter. He's not the only one taking this tack.(5) He watches his companions silently, because so often they make a mistake, give themselves away.

Servants, young men and women dressed in white and looking more than similar, circulate with drinks. He wonders if they'll need to be killed, but when he looks into one's eyes, they're as lifeless as a doll's.(6)

Some people don't bother to hide themselves. One woman is dressed in a scarlet red dress cut in a style that practically screams that she's someone wealthy from Illian, standing against a particular tapestry like she knows it will draw attention to her. Another wears a dress of a particular kind of fabric and cut that marks her from Arad Doman, and a bracelet bearing what could only be her house symbol, because "no Domani bloodborn would bend her stiff pride enough to wear the sigils of another House. Worse than foolishness."(7)

There's even a man in Shienaran clothes in sky blue, carrying himself like a soldier.(8) Bors prides himself on being able to read people and to know in an instant who they are. He sees others from Kandor, Cairhien, Ghealdan, even a Tinker, who he thinks disgustedly that they could do without.(9)

The disguised ones are no better. He spots the silver boots of a Tairen lord, lion spurs worn only by high-ranking Andoran Queen's guards, and a man with a tattoo marking him of the Sea Folk.(10) Then he catches two women wearing Aes Sedai rings in a row, both fully cloaked in black, and neither acknowledging the other. He curses them both, they're both less welcome to him than Tinkers.(11)

A chime sounds, and two Trollocs enter the room, followed  by a Myrddraal who commands them to drop and grovel. The whole room drops and chants a devotion to the Dark One, though Bors thinks internally about how the DO is sealed and the Creator is salvation, repeatedly cutting himself off with reminders that he serves “a different master” now. A voice tells them to rise, and Bors turns to look with just one eye. He sees a projection of a man, dressed all in red with a red mask. Would the Dark One appear to them as a masked man? Just one of the Forsaken, perhaps. He muses on how the Forsaken were trapped with the DO, and despairs that the women Aes Sedai were spared when the men were destroyed by sealing them all.(12)

The figure commands them to rise, gesturing with hands black and red, burned and raw. Would even one of the Forsaken appear to them so? The figure names himself Ba'alzamon, and promises that the Day when their master destroys the Wheel of Time and takes control of the world is coming. If he is the DO, he's switching between first and third person a lot.

He shows them three young men, one a mischievous country lad, one a curly-haired muscle guy with yellow eyes and a battle axe, and a reddish haired farmer or villager with blue eyes and a heron-marked sword.(13) He says that someone in the world will be, but isn't yet, the Dragon. He doesn't say why he's showing the boys.

“The Dragon Reborn! We are to kill him, Great Lord?” That from the Shienaran, hand grasping eagerly at his side where his sword would hang. “Perhaps,” Ba’alzamon said simply. “And perhaps not. Perhaps he can be turned to my use. Sooner or later it will be so, in this Age or another.” The man who called himself Bors blinked. In this Age or another? I thought the Day of Return was near. What matter to me what happens in another Age if I grow old and die waiting in this one?(14) But Ba’alzamon was speaking again.

Baa tells them to learn these faces well, and all sound and movement stop. Eventually some of the people around Bors start moving like they're talking to someone, but he sees nobody they're talking to, and he hears no word they speak. He quickly figures out that each is hearing their own instructions for what to do next.

The red-masked man appears before him, and Bors finally gets his instructions, to return to Tarabon and redouble his efforts for the Light,(15) and to watch and have his followers watch for the boys. His third instruction regards "those who have landed at Toman Head, and the Domani." The voice continues but Bors half tunes out, wondering what it means, none of it makes sense. (16) Abruptly the man grabs Bors's head and he's assaulted with visions and pain. An impossible sky with a great wind, a girl in white vanishing, a raven, a soldier in an insectoid helmet, a golden horn, a wolf ripping out his throat, on and on.

When it stops, the red man tells Bors some commands are too important to be known by the one who carries them out, and leaves.(17)

Bors thinks about the boys, naming them the Blacksmith, the Swordsman, and the Trickster in his mind.(18) Who are they? How important are they? Blue eyes could mean Andoran royalty, though not in those clothes, but there are some Borderlanders and Tairens and some from Ghealdan with blue eyes... that's no help at all. The Blacksmith's yellow eyes puzzle him even more.

A blank-eyed servant touches Bors's arm and leads him to the waiting room where he'd been led on his arrival before the meeting. He's told to change back into his own garments, nobody will see him leave here nor arrive at his destination, but it would be best to be already properly clothed.

The man who called himself Bors shivered in spite of himself. Hastily he undid the seals and buckles of his saddlebags and pulled out his usual cloak. In the back of his mind a small voice wondered if the promised power, even the immortality, was worth another meeting like this, but he laughed it down immediately. For that much power, I would praise the Great Lord of the Dark under the Dome of Truth. Remembering the commands given him by Ba’alzamon, he fingered the golden, flaring sun worked on the breast of the white cloak, and the red shepherd’s crook behind the sun, symbol of his office in the world of men,(19) and he almost laughed. There was work, great work, to be done in Tarabon, and on Almoth Plain.

=====

(1) Well, that seems rather definitive on the subject. (2) He will be a terrible force, but he will prevail. Weep, for you will be put through the wringer before this is over, but if you personally survive, so too will the world. (Is that a spoiler when the text is saying it literally here and we understand the context of literary foreshadowing and genre expectation? A 14-book epic is probably not going to end suddenly with a catastrophic loss, right? The fun is in finding out how we earn that success and what's lost along the way to pay for it.) (3) The New Era is the one our heroes are living in the year 998 of as of the last word on the matter. So, this was translated less than a millennium ago. (We don't talk about linguistic drift here, or how 770 years was enough to bring us from literal Old English to modern English.) (4) So, probably not that name in his daily life. (5) The last thing a Darkfriend is going to trust is another Darkfriend, the same way some people never really trust others because they know they're in it for themselves and will backstab the nearest target when that's the most expedient path to their goals, and what's to stop the next person over from being the same way. They project their insecurity and fear onto the motivations of others, and drive each other away. (6) Human puppets. If you still thought this would be a Ringsian tale, hopefully this chapter is setting up the appropriate amount of horror to change your expectations on that matter. (7) But then we get into the mindgames. How many layers deep is this? Would someone, in fact, give up their most ingrained comforts and symbols to ward off identification at a gathering like this? (8) I wonder if this is anyone we know. (9) Recall that even Egwene had some prejudice against them last book. A man like Bors has probably never been asked to reconsider the prejudices with which he was raised. (10) Admittedly, harder to fake than the clothing and accessory disguises. (11) This makes more sense at the end of the chapter, doesn't it? He may be a Darkfriend, but he's with the Whitecloaks for a reason, our Bors. But, look how quickly he judges each person, as if he's correct immediately. How many do you think he got right? How many do you think we'll meet again, or have met before? (12) So many assumptions in this set of Bors's thoughts. Some of this meshes with what we know from book one, but some of it is distinctly dissonant, and some of it is unknowable at this stage. (13) Hey, it's cha boys! Ballsy, what are you up to? (14) A clever observation. (15) It's enough to make you wonder if the Whitecloaks are really doing the Light's work in what they do. I say, as if we didn't have that whole Perrin and Egwene imprisonment sequence last book. (16) Someone's landed at Toman Head, and the Domani are one of the people there, from Arad Doman, which borders Tarabon just about there. It's on the map if you have a print edition, off on the left hand edge of the continent. (17) So, we have some unconscious planted commands. (18) Apt descriptions of their archetypes thus far, even though Perrin hasn't done much smithing on screen. (19) The golden sun, the emblem of the Whitecloaks. The red shepherd's crook, clearly a sign of specific role and/or rank. Shall we keep an eye out for anyone wearing one?

[cocotaetae13]

A Deal's A Deal (Prologue)

Pairing: ot7 x demon! reader

Trope: Be careful what you wish for

Series Summary: Before BTS became BTS in an act of desperation Jungkook makes a deal with you, a demon. After Namjoon finds out you’re the reason behind a significant number of unfortunate events they’ve gone through over the years he decides to take back their future by binding you under their control until they can figure out how to save Jungkook’s soul. Regardless, you’re going to feed off of their insecurities, lust, and souls to return your powers to you so you can make them all pay.

Rating: R

Word Count: 1,959

Warnings: no beta-reader (any takers?), very little proofreading, witchcraft, compelling, cursing, violence, eventual smut, manipulation, me using real-life events to further the plot, hair pulling, choking, timeline of events doesn't make sense, more I haven't thought of yet. Feel free to let me know what I miss!

Hello, hello! Welcome to my first work of fiction like this. To be honest, I've only ever written for close friends but I decided to try and expand my audience. I hope you enjoy! No pressure to comment!

Not sure what sort of update schedule I'll have for this but it is mostly plotted out. Each chapter will be your interaction with a member. I'll give notice when the next part will be up.

I won't be doing any taglists just yet.

Namjoon was furious when the truth came out.  He remembers the boiling rage taking over all of his senses. How dare you? How dare you fuck with them? Their lives, their dreams? The fact that the deal slipped through his fingers entirely irritates him even further. The innocent wish from his member ended up causing so much heartbreak for the whole group. You are to blame. That’s why he had to bind you, make you unable to use your powers against them any more until he could send you back to wherever you came from. It seemed nearly impossible to kill you but he’ll look into that more deeply later. 

Namjoon gives you a sweet, dimpled smile that doesn’t reach his eyes as he turns to you while flipping open the book that is going to give him his revenge. You stand in a circle of salt inside the vacation home they’d rented for a little getaway from work and to get this done. Whatever set up he’d used forced your more demon features to come out: blackened eyes, razor-sharp horns, and a very menacing looking tail. The tail was new to them, it looked more like you would use it for defense. 

He decides to give the barrier a test. Sure enough, when he comes within striking distance your tail whips out to attack him. You click your tongue when it bounces harmlessly off the barrier provided by whatever spell he’s cooked up and the salt ring. Of course you weren’t dumb enough to try and escape but you were hoping just a little you’d be able to maim Namjoon somehow. Then you’d go after the others when they came to his rescue. 

“Very nice of you to give me a chair.” You chuckle bitterly and cross your legs. Your tail ruins the impartial expression you wear as it whips against the floor to show your irritation. You cross your arms as they circle around you with Namjoon’s directions. Your pitch black gaze slides from one member to the other within your line of sight. Namjoon had been careful, but made a small mistake in placing Hoseok and Seokjin behind you. You notice Jungkook’s eyes stay on the floor while the others fix their expressions to nonchalance. You lock gazes with the worst liar of the group. “So what do we have planned for today…Jiminnie?” He immediately blanches, your eyes narrow in suspicion, and Namjoon clears his throat all at the same time. 

“You, demon, are going to be punished for what you’ve done.” Namjoon says firmly. 

“What do you mean? I did what you asked.” You laugh, looking at Jungkook. “You wanted to stay together and you wanted to be successful. Didn’t I give you that?”

“What about the rest of it? Causing havoc on elements of our lives, damaging our mental health, and ruining our relationships were not a part I agreed to.” Jungkook seethes. “I would have been fine if you’d been fucking with me only the entire time but not the others. They haven’t done anything to deserve this.”

“Human makes a deal with a demon thinking this is some sort of genie in a lamp situation then gets upset when the demon is a demon.” You tut and his expression darkens further. “Just because you were like 4 years old when we did this-

“Fun time is over.” Namjoon snaps and squares his shoulders. He finds the correct paragraph where they’re supposed to start and glances at the others to confirm they’re ready. The money it cost to get this precious tome didn’t matter.  He couldn’t wait to finish this ritual and put an end to their torment.

“What is in that book Jimin? Tell me what you are going to do to me.” You demand. Taehyung is quick to grab Jimin’s hand to comfort his friend and stop him from ratting them all out and Jimin won’t meet your eyes.  Namjoon suddenly starts speaking and that makes your skin prickle. You can’t understand a word that’s coming out of his mouth but for the first time in a very long time you feel uncomfortable. “What are you doing?” 

Yoongi lifts a sheet of paper held between pale fingers and joins in chanting with Namjoon. Soon each of their voices fills the quiet and you have to stand up to ease the discomfort you’re feeling.

A shock shivers down your spine like nothing you’ve felt before and it makes you gasp, then glare at Jungkook menacingly. You spin and kick the chair right at his handsome face, clicking your tongue in irritation when it simply shatters against an invisible barrier that deflected your tail earlier. Symbols you can’t read appear all over your skin like they’ve been branded into your flesh and you stumble, trying to think of anything that could work to get them to stop. 

“STOP IT!” you screech, facing Namjoon who is already grinning at you from ear to ear. 

“What’s this? Demon, are you…afraid?” Hoseok laughs. “You’ve never been this vulnerable before, have you?” You turn and glare at him and clench your teeth when he just stares back at you unflinchingly, lips moving with determination around each word. You stumble again and wrap your arms around your middle in an attempt to self-soothe. When your fingertips touch the contrasting textures of the marks vs your normal skin you get an idea and whimper.

“We had a deal, Jungkook!” You move past Hoseok’s jab and roar at Jungkook. His eyebrows give away his inner turmoil. It looks like he’s having second thoughts. Good. You let your voice crack and your eyes shine with unshed tears. You seize the opportunity when his stoic expression breaks just a little. “It hurts so much.”  

“Don’t listen, stay focused just like we practiced!” Hoseok shouts. You glare at him again when you see Jungkook overcome your attempts to get him back under your control and then scream in surprise when you suddenly feel pain. Your eyes widen and mouth drops open as you realize this is real, staggering, unexpected, and pure pain.

“You took advantage of him, of us!” 

“Not…my fucking…problem.” You clench your teeth against the pain searing through your body. A sudden, sharp pain actually makes you gasp. You’re beginning to think you may actually be in trouble. Could they have found something that could kill you?

“It is your problem now.”  Namjoon says darkly. He rejoins the others in the final incantation that sends seven golden strings from the wrist of each member then ties themselves firmly around your neck, forcing you to try and slacken your jaw for some relief. 

You fall to your knees when the strings continue down your body and you can no longer stand. You can feel your strength draining from you as if the blood in your veins was flowing out of your body and onto the floor, not even your fingers are listening to you. You are trapped and it is here you come to realize what they’ve been trying to do this entire time. 

With synchronization usually seen on stage or in dance practice videos each member closes a fist, causing the strings around your neck to sink into your skin and the bindings around your wrists and arms to disappear. It feels as if you’re wearing a collar and your hands instantly go to your neck, fingers searching desperately for something solid against the weight you feel but there isn’t anything there. 

“Who is going to test out the spell?” Yoongi crosses his arms and looks at you like you don’t matter. 

“Cough up the most recent soul you consumed.” Jin says evenly.

You all sit in silence for a moment and you’re still too stunned to try anything other than glare at each one of them as they close in on you. They’re careful to stay on the safe side of the salt circle. Of course they don’t quite trust everything as it should be just yet.When one of the corners of those very plush lips turns up in a smirk up you see red.

“Is that what your little display was?” You snap, a sound akin to a tiger’s growl showing your full displeasure. Unconsciously you swallow against a sudden, light pressure growing in your throat. “You clowns think you can control me?” You laugh suddenly, the air around you crackling with energy as your anger boils over.  Your tail whips behind you, ready to wrap around one of their necks and strangle the life from them or sever their head from their shoulders. Maybe you’ll end this game right now and kill them all except Jungkook. His soul you would love to devour slowly so you could enjoy it. You wanted to let him go on for longer for the full flavor to develop, but fuck it. 

When you move to stand they only have enough time to exchange worried glances before you’re gagging, hands clutching your throat. You can only brace yourself, leaning back on your knees with your head and hands falling back as the soul you’d consumed earlier that day makes its way out of your body. The faint blue-silver glow of the orb that just came out of your throat shimmers wetly and you can only stare in horror as it hovers above your face. 

The others cry out in surprise and glee, some hugging one another in celebration. The binding spell worked! You weren’t going to be able to hurt any of them again. Jin’s slender fingers reach over you to touch the soul but they pass right through. If you were able to move you would have launched yourself forward and ripped his goddamn arm from the socket and beaten him to death with it before laying waste to the rest of them. Fuck the deal.

“Swallow it.” Yoongi says amidst the chaos. He crouches down and uses the piece of paper to break the salt circle. “Swallow the soul and let’s get out of here.”

The soul is down your throat again in the blink of an eye and you’re already lifting your hand to take Namjoon out when a hand wraps firmly around your hair and shoves your face into the ground. You let out a sound of surprise, spitting out bits of dirt that got past your lips.

“Apologize to Namjoonie. Make it sound nice.” Hoseok says firmly and yanks your head back. You’re blinking away the mess of dirt and hair from your eyes when your mouth is already moving.

“I am sorry for trying to kill you.” You say sweetly. What the fuck.

“Let’s have you make your horns and tail disappear as well,” Namjoon puts his hands on his hips. “Can’t have you stabbing Hobi-hyung. Keep them gone unless one of us tells you to bring them back.” Before anyone else says anything you let the black bleed away from the whites of your eyes, relaxing to regard your new masters with your rose-gold irises and no expression.

So I still have some control over my actions. Your horns and tail recede into your body and you want nothing more than to break Hoseok’s wrist and wipe that smile off of Namjoon’s face. It took Namjoon nearly 10 years to figure out how to bind you to them. You’ll kill them all before he finds a way to get rid of you or even nullify your agreement. 

“It doesn’t matter what you do, I’m still taking his soul when everything is said and done.” You say simply.

“Maybe so,” Namjoon rubs the back of his neck. “But until that time comes, you’re going to have a very different existence under our rules.” 

--------------------------------------------------------------

Next: Jimin J-Hope Taehyung

©cocotaetae13 2023. All rights reserved.

[mrsaguapapi]

Ch 1  Ch 2  Ch 3  Ch 4  Ch 5  Ch 6  Ch 7  Ch 8  Ch 9  Ch 10

Chapter 11

Every Stitch

The Vibe:

Donovan - Season of the Witch (Official Audio)

What time is it?

I check my phone and it's 7:55 pm "Fuck" I curse at myself. I decided a couple of hours ago to give up on trying to read my mother's books until I met up with Steven later. Instead, I took some time to relax and watched some Netflix... I may have eaten 2 slices of week-old pizza too

I grab an oversized Vegeta t-shirt and half-tuck it into a pair of jeans. Quickly I scan myself in the mirror putting my braids half up in a bun and wiping away any pizza crust from my face. I slide on a pair of sneakers, grab my sling ring and open a portal to their place. I take the two books in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other, and step through closing the portal behind me.

Steven was in his little kitchen cooking something on the stove, wearing an apron and a pair of dark jeans. That was it no shirt, no shoes; it was quite the sight. His dark curly hair fell nicely on the side of his face, sometimes I forget how fine they are.

I drop the books on his bed and walk up to him, "What's for dinner love?" I ask

"Matzah Ball soup" he smiles," Here, set the table you're just in time." I do as he says and grab a couple of plates and utensils. After setting the table I have a seat while Steven serves our plates and takes the seat next to me. "Eat up," he says

I take a bite and almost cry, "Steven this is amazing."

"Thank you" he blushes," It's not as good as I remember; we used to make this with our Mother and brother. Brings good memories." he smiles, "Alright fill me in, the old fashion way. Your Memory Transference gives us a headache, besides I like hearing your voice."

I can't help but smile, he's incredibly sweet. For the next 20 min, I fill him in on what I can, leaving out all the parts involving Namor and the Talokans. I won't go into too much detail as I'm still processing but I give him all the important bits.

"Are you okay? You seem out of it." Steven placed his hand on mine

I sigh, "I will be you know? Got a lot to process. I left out a few details of the trauma." I laugh "Um I also kind of met someone. It's REALLY complicated and new, nothing's labeled officially I think? I don't know." I laugh nervously, "He's honestly quite sweet, I'd tell you more but I would be breaking a pretty important promise."

"That was extremely vague" He laughs, "But I'm happy for you"

"So tell me about Layla?" I ask

"Not much to tell. Marc called her and asked if she wanted to get dinner with us and talk. She agreed, so hopefully, all goes well. We're nervous"

"Don't be, you'll be fine. Bring her flowers it'll help break the tension."

"I don't know, I don't think she like flowers" he begins

"Let me stop you there young Padawan. Women love flowers. We don't say anything because we don't want to have to ask for them. That's like rule number one"

"Duly Noted" he laughs "thank you, Mills."

"No problem" I smile," Steven I don't think I can focus on anything until you put a shirt on."

He laughs at me and nods his head. I get up and clear the table while Steven grabs a shirt to put on and looks at the books on the bed, "So are these them?"

"Yes," I say walking over to him, "I can only make out certain words, makes no sense to me"

Steven inspects both books, looking at the bind and the pages trying to read the writing, "I'm honestly lost too. It's all gibberish."

"That's because it's written in the elder gods' native tongue," Khonshu says appearing from nowhere scaring both of us.

"A little warning next time bird brain?" Steven responds

"Hello child, made up your mind about my offer," Khonshu asks, I roll my eyes and look at Steven

"Oi bird man, you know she's not here for that." Steven says, "Can you help with the books or not?"

"This is what I get for picking a defected avatar," he whispers to himself. He points his staff at the books, "That's the book of Oshtur, goddess of truth, justice, and cosmic order. The other one looks like the book of Ayesha, the Rain Queen of Balobedu, a former sorceress supreme. These have been lost for centuries, where did you find them?"

"My mother had them in Wakanda."

"Who's your mother girl?"

"Apparently former Queen Ororo of Wakanda"

"The lost Windrider?" he asks shocked, "She's your mother?"

I clear my throat a little uncomfy "Yea seems so. I'm assuming by your reaction you were a fan" I chuckle awkwardly

"Something like that. It's beginning to make sense why she has these books and why you can see me. Your bloodline is closely connected to Oshtur, Steven you may know her as Ma'at" Khonshu says

I have a seat on the bed, "Who is Oshtur, and connected how?"

"Read it yourself," Khonshu says with an attitude

"We can't," I say matching his energy

He shakes his head and holds out his staff, "Grab on" Hesitantly I do as he says and Steven follows. I feel a rush of energy travel through my body giving me a headrush.

We quickly remove our hands from the staff, "What the hell was that?" I ask

"I just gave you the power of, Allspeak now you can communicate and read in all languages of the Nine Realms, Earth's dialects, alien languages, etc. You should have no problem reading those books. Now I shall take my leave." And like that he was gone.

"Allspeak? No way", Steven whispers to himself

"Geez, he was in a mood." I snicker and grab the books, "Grab the wine and sit, we got some reading to do" I take my shoes off and crawl up to the head of the bed.

Steven pours himself a glass and hands me the bottle. In return, I give him a book and we begin to read.

-----------------

For the last few hours, I've been reading about the goddess Oshtur. She is- was?-one of the primordial gods. I am unclear if she is alive or dead.

Can a primordial god die?

Oshtur had a fascination with the realms beyond Earth; so much so that she took to the heavens to travel the stars. During her exploration, Oshtur met a being named Hoggoth, the last survivor of an ancient mystic race.

Okay slay

They learned a great deal from one another, and when Oshtur was ready to move on, Hoggoth offered to go with her. The two eventually traveled back to Earth, where Oshtur cared for the development of mankind.

One day, she observed three children at play, and their joy caused her to shed a single tear. A child of her own emerged from that tear, and Oshtur named him Agamotto.

Agamotto loved to learn, and the two were quite happy together. Agamotto grew into a great teacher and sorcerer, who loved humanity as much as his mother. They eventually joined with Hoggoth to become a mystical trinity known as the Vishanti, and Agamotto encouraged the study of magic in humanity through his writings in the Book of the Vishanti.

Agamotto became the first Sorcerer Supreme of the Earth. He occasionally tried to choose a successor but to no avail. With no luck in his search, he held a battle between all of Earth's mightiest mages to determine the next Sorcerer Supreme. In the end, Ayesha a mighty sorceress from the Kingdom of Balobedu emerged as the champion. She served as Sorcerer Supreme for nearly 4000 years.

Ayesha now the protector of Earth was gifted with the control of Nature and Oshturs Power. Oshturs power is most frequently invoked for spells of strength, providing some power to make an existing spell even more powerful or to strengthen the magician casting it. Ayesha's gifts were passed to her descendants, all women with white hair and powerful magic potential.

I dramatically close the book, "Ayesha is my ancestor."

"I know. At the end of her book, there is a detailed family tree, that I'm assuming your ancestors kept up with. You're the last name here." Steven points at my name and hands me the book, "Outside of that there are all kinds of spells and abilities unlocked by your ancestors: Curative healing, flight, chaos magic, etc. I think your bloodline was blessed with generational bestowment of power. This book is a dummies guide for your potential powers."

"The journal that was bound to my wrist is just like this. Weird, how on some innate part of me I had the urge to document my gifts just like my ancestors."

"You need to add your findings to this book, there are blank pages meant for you"

"Yea, I suppose so." I put the books down and rub my head "So I know my family's origin story and now I have the cheat codes to my power. You'd think I'd be satisfied, but now I find myself grieving for parents I never knew and a past I have forgotten. Somehow it feels all connected."

"I'm sorry love, is there anything I can do?" Steven asks

"No hun, you've done quite enough. Thank you for your help tonight." I check my phone and see it's well past 2 am "I should go" I give Steven a big hug

"I'll see ya soon?" he asks, "Might need you to talk us off the ledge if things go wrong with Layla." he chuckles

I stand up and begin to open a portal "You are so dramatic," I laugh grabbing my books," And yes, of course, call or text me whenever okay?"

"Of course." He waves at me as I step through to my bedroom closing the portal behind me. 

------------------------

I lay in bed thinking about what my next move is. I need to take a trip to Bleeker street tomorrow; with the Darkhold's connection to my mother and now my bloodlines ties to the Sorcerer supremes, it's the right time to loop in Strange & Wong. Maybe they can help with my memory, but considering what happened with peter I have my reservations. Also, 

Who is Agatha? How does she play into this? 

Leaving all of my questions behind, I pull my phone out and begin to scroll through Tik Tok and unwind from the day. Right before I put my phone down to go to sleep, I receive a text from bucky

3:12 am

Hey, Can we talk? I'd really like to see you.

                                                  Read

I turn the sound off, put my phone face down on the nightstand, and lay back, "Nope. That's a future me problem."

[costellos]

a/n: I almost titled this “the things they do exclusively for their partner” but “the ways they say ‘I love you’” has a much sweeter ring to it :’) anyway, this wasn’t a suggestion! just something fun to take my mind off of work for the evening. enjoy!

tw: none.

disclaimer: I’m anime-only, so apologies if my character interpretations aren’t accurate!

❥ ┋ ❝ gojo, nanami, itadori, fushiguro & the ways they say “I love you!”

gojo satoru.

Gojo says “I love you” by always texting you first.

talk to any of the faculty at the school and they’ll tell you that Gojo is awful at responding to texts. even after sending him a calendar invite for meetings a week in advance, he still manages to be 20 minutes late. and it’s not that he doesn’t check his phone — no, quite the contrary. it’s just that in this day and age, with notifications pinging every five minutes, he gets distracted quite easily. Gojo simply likes to focus on whatever’s on his mind at that moment.

which since you started dating, so happens to be you. every day at 3:30 PM, right after the final bell rings, you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket.

sometimes it’s texts asking how your day was. other times it’s little messages about his thinking of you. most of the time it’s stupid memes he stumbled upon that day. ↳ satoru🤍 said: hey hey hey check out this new video that’s been going around.

he always checks in on you when he’s on work trips. he likes sending you pictures of the places he visited that day. opening your Insta DMs is always a gamble, though. there are two types of pictures waiting for you: a snapshot of a pretty sunset, captioned “thinking of you!” or a dumb selfie.

your favorite interaction was from when he travelled to the U.S. for work. your phone rang just minutes after you woke up for the day, with Gojo there to say good morning. it sounds mundane, but what made it special was that he was almost 12 hours behind you. it was easily past his bedtime when you picked up. when you asked what warranted the call, he said (as if it was the simplest answer in the world): ↳ “don’t laugh, but... I wanted you to be the last person I talked to for the night. it makes my day feel complete.”

nanami kento.

Nanami says “I love you” by spending most of his free time with you.

he’s the kind of person who prizes his time above everything else. hell, part of that is embedded in his personal binding vow. he spends so much of his day at work, completing mind-numbing tasks, that being alone is his safe space. it’s where he can escape from Gojo the headaches around him. 

you knew that before entering a relationship with him. anytime you had asked what his plans for the weekend were, joking if he’d go out and party, he’d reply that he would be spending it alone matter-of-factly. 

to be honest, you were a little worried that your relationship would see him prizing his free time above you, but... you were pleasantly surprised to find that wasn’t the case.

in fact, not a lot of your time is spent at home. Nanami enjoys showing you his favorite spots around Tokyo. they’re all places that are so him: neatly-organized yet eclectic bookshops, trendy yet affordable restaurants. he’s not as much of a homebody as you took him for.

and it’s something that he shares with you and only you. Gojo’s tried inviting himself on more than one occasion, to which Nanami quickly shuts down. ↳ “I’m not being callous, [Name]. I’m acknowledging what's fact: there was never a chance he would come with us. this is our time together.”

but not all of your time has to be spent actively. Nanami just enjoys being in your company. you could be in the same room, doing your own thing, and he would be perfectly content with that. ↳ “you’re one of the few people I don’t get exhausted of. everything we do together is time well-spent... I, ah- hope you feel the same.”

itadori yuji.

Itadori says “I love you” by including you in everything he does.

he moves fast and he moves without thinking. outside of his promise to his grandfather, Itadori is someone who runs by his own code. he hates being bound in; after all, rules were meant to be broken. it doesn’t help that his life only lasts as long as the search for Sukuna’s 20 fingers. 

hence, he likes following whatever catches his attention first. typically it’s some new movie out in theaters, where he can sit down and enjoy for two hours, only to read more about it on IMDB. he hyperfixates from one thing to another, his interests ever-changing.

he normally does this by himself. it’s easier this way; he can focus on his interests at his own pace. that is, until he starts dating you.

Itadori includes you in everything. it doesn’t matter if it’s his two-week obsession for convenience store sushi or the Marvel cinematic universe. he wants you to be there for it all. ↳ “did you know Chris Evans had to wear a fake chin for the end-credits scene in the first Avengers? ...hey, do you think I’d look good with a fake chin?”

he can go on and on and on about his interests. and you don’t mind — he knows you don’t. that’s why he shares them so willingly. you don’t judge him or tell him to shut up. you absorb everything he has to say, smile on your lips, with questions at the ready. 

you’re his better half, the person who’s there to weigh in on every bad idea he’s had. which, unfortunately, varies in intensity. “bad idea” can mean his getting a mullet or facing off against a grade 1 cursed spirit without help. ↳ “I never really felt like I had control of anything. but when I’m with you, things feel... easier. does that make sense?”

fushiguro megumi.

Fushiguro says “I love you” by accepting your clinginess.

he’s so hard to read. for the longest time, you assumed that Fushiguro only saved Itadori to avoid complicating paperwork, not out of the goodness of his heart. likewise, you took him for an avid cook after he made you meatballs. you didn’t learn the truth until Panda explained it was actually Itadori’s recipe; that this was Fushiguro's dumb attempt to impress you.

that’s why you’re so cautious at the beginning of your relationship. you don’t want to step on his toes. the last thing you’d want to be is a burden. so you keep your issues and your hands to yourself. ↳ “[Name]. knock it off. I know you’re holding yourself back when you’re with me. just... act like yourself, okay?”

he tells you that two weeks into your relationship. caught red-handed, it seems. it’s almost unfair how well he can read you, and you... just can’t do the same.

but you relent. you start by venting to him about the minutiae in your day-to-day life. and surprisingly, he’s not terrible at comforting you. he listens and offers simple advice. when that doesn’t cut it, you find your favorite dessert on your desk later in the day.

you try testing how far you can go by holding his hand in public. Fushiguro hates it when people touch him without his permission. you’re scared to see how he’ll react and... he glances at you for a moment, shoulders stiff, before turning back ahead of him. his cheeks are pink but he doesn’t stop you. 

in fact, he doesn’t stop you from doing anything. he honestly does want you to rely on him. because between you and me, he’s awful at expressing the more vulnerable parts of himself. doing these little things for you is the best way he can show that he cares. ↳ “what? of course you can stay for another hour. err— actually, do you want to just spend the night? no reason, it’s late and... I don’t want you walking back at this hour.”

like this piece? here are some similar works! 🌑 🌒 🌓

[booksrbetterthanpeople]

Artist Family Values?

Everything is calm. Marinette, Alix, and Rose are playing funeral in the backyard; Felix is helping Juleka write a love note to Rose, confessing her feelings; Nathaniel is arm wrestling That and losing

Marc: Nathaniel, wonderful news. My mother is going to have a baby and she wants us to have it... Right now.

*Several hours of excruciatingly painful labor later*

Little girl: And then mommy kissed daddy, and the angel told the stork. The stork flew down from heaven and left a diamond under a leaf in the cabbage patch, and the diamond turned into a baby.

Marinette: They had sex.

*Later*

Rose: Nathaniel!

Juleka: What news?

Marinette: Nathaniel, what is it?

Nathaniel: It’s an Artist!

The baby’s name is Kiran. He has black eyes and was born with fangs

Marinette and Alix immediately hate the baby and do everything they can to get rid of him. Guillotine, shooting him, dropping him from the roof

Marc: Mari. Alix. Why do you hate the baby?

Alix: We don’t hate him. We just wanna play with him.

Marinette: Especially his head.

To keep Kira out of trouble, Marc and Nathaniel hire a nanny. Lila.

Juleka immediately hates her because of how she’s taken a liking to Rose. Little does she know that she isn’t in love with the blonde. She’s a black widow out for their fortune.

Noticing that Marinette and Alix are onto her, Lila makes it seem like they wanna go to summer camp so they’re not in her way.

Nathaniel: *Disgusted* Fresh air. The scent of pine.

Chloé: Hi. I'm Chloé Bourgeois. Why are you dressed like that?

Marinette: Like what?

Chloé: Like you're going to a funeral. Why are you dressed like somebody died?

Marinette: Wait.

While at camp, Marinette and Alix make enemies of the popular bratty rich kids and allies out of the outcasts (The Akuma class)

Marinette finds herself glaring at a certain boy from America who glares right back at her... It’s Damian.

Back at the Artists’ home, Rose finds herself falling in love with Lila, much to Juleka’s anger but no one seems to notice

Marc and Nathaniel invite them to a gothic bistro

Lila: I just can't tell. Does she like me at all?

Marc: Of course she does. She pulled out her hair at the sight of you.

Marc and Nathaniel perform the badass tango from the movie

Meanwhile at the cemetery, Lila and Rose get engaged surprisingly quickly

Rose: Good news! I’m engaged!

Juleka: What?! *Felix pats her back for comfort*

Lila: *Shows the ring*

Marc: That ring.

Nathaniel: It was my grandmother’s. She was burried with it.

Lila: *Holds up a shovel*

Later that night at the camp, Alix and Marinette attempt to escape with some help from Damian, but are caught by the brat campers and are forced to sing Kumbaya

Damian and Marinette find themselves becoming closer

Damian: You know... I’m pretty good with a knife myself.

Marinette: ... *Holds Damian’s hand*

Escape attempt #2 is a success. When they hear about the wedding, Marinette and Alix have to go and see if it’ll be a train wreck. Of course, Marinette invites Damian as her plus one.

It’s surprisingly pleasant. Everyone’s dressed in black, the flower girl is tossing dead petals on the ground.

“I do.” “Ditto.” Marinette catches the bouquet.

Damian: Now you have to get married.

Marinette: It’s not binding.

On their honemoon, Lila attempts to kill Rose by dropping a toaster in her bath. Unfortunately for her, Rose is immune to death by electrocution

Needing a new plan and for the Artists to stay out of her way, Lila forbids Rose from seeing or speaking to em ever again.

Meanwhile at camp, Alix shoots an endangered bird!

Camp director 1: It’s a white tailed eagle!

Camp director 2: Aren’t they endangered?

Marinette: They are now

Juleka is sulking after receiving a letter from Rose, saying she can’t see them ever again.

Juleka: Have I done something, said something? Why does she despise me?

Nathaniel: Rose adores you.

Juleka: I'd do anything for her. At her request, I would rip out my eyes. At her command, I would crawl on my stomach through hot coals and broken glass.

Marc: ... You’re in love with Rose?

Back at camp, the directors announce that the campers will be performing the poorly written and quite racist play about the first Thanksgiving

Chloé will be playing Sarah Miller, the outcasts will play the Native Americans, and Marinette will be playing Pocahontas.

Marinette passes out at the announcement

Meanwhile, the Artists visit Rose and Lila at their pristine white mansion.

Juleka: So these are the gates of hell.

Lila forced them to leave, and Rose, out of fear, backs her up.

Marc: I see Lila that you have placed Rose under some strange sexual spell. I respect that. But please, may we see her?

Lila: No!

Marc: You have gone too far. You have married Rose. You have destroyed her spirit. You have taken her from us. All that I could forgive. But, Lila...

Lila: What?!

Marc: ... Pastels?

They leave, but not before Juleka curses Lila.

They try to go to the police, but they won’t take them seriously, and Nathaniel makes the following announcement

Nathaniel: I shall not submit! I shall conquer! I shall rise! My name is Nathaniel Artist, and I have seen evil! *Juleka holds up Kiran* I have seen horror! *Felix waves* I have seen the unholy maggots which feast in the dark recesses of the human soul.

Marc: They’re at camp.

Speaking of camp. The main 3 attempt to escape again, but are caught by the other campers and are soon forced into the Harmony Hut where they’re forced to watch Disney Movies.

Hours without food or drinks later, and they come out looking pale and traumatized

Marinette snaps out of it and traumatizes them back by smiling

With the Artists, something horrible has happened to Kiran. He blonde and has blue eyes!

Marc: My brother!

Nathaniel: *Faints*

Juleka: *Reading from spell book* “Infant possessions. These terrifying changes are most often the result of a troubled family life.”

Marc: Rose!

Juleka: If we don’t get Rose back, we’re talking dimples.

Nathaniel: Not in this house!

Juleka: He could stay this way for years. Forever. He could become... A lawyer.

Nathaniel: No!

Juleka: An orthodontist.

Marc: Juleka, please!

Juleka: ... Mayor.

Nathaniel: NOOO! TAKE ME INSTEAD!

It’s the day of the highly offensive show that portrays Native Americans as uncivilized people.

It goes off well until Marinette flips the script.

Marinette: You have taken the land which is rightfully ours. Years from now, my people will be forced to live in mobile homes on reservations. Your people will wear cardigans and drink highballs. We will sell our bracelets by the road sides. You will play golf and enjoy hot hors d’oeurves. My people will have pain and degradation. Your people will drive stick shifts. The gods of my tribe have spoken. They have said, “Do not trust the pilgrims, especially Sarah Miller. And for all these reasons, I have decided to scalp you, and burn your village. To. The. Ground.

The outcasts burn the camp to the ground and attack the brats while the main 3 escape in a canoe.

Meanwhile, Lila tries one last attempt at killing Rose, knowing this won’t fault. A bomb.

When it goes off while she’s out, she’s expecting a blonde corpse. Not Rose holding a tray of cupcakes and a warm smile

Enough is enough.

Lila: *Aims gun* I tried to make it look like an accident! I tried to give you some dignity, but, oh, no, not you!

That shows up to save the day by hitting Lila with his car and helping Rose escape back to the Artists’ Home,

*Now for the best scene*

Marinette: I may never see you again.

Damian: I know.

Marinette: There are forces tearing us apart-- Gary, Lila, tenth grade.

Damian: I'll never forget you.

Marinette: *Touched* You won't?

Damian: You're too weird.

Marinette: We'll always have today and camp

Damian: And this. *He holds up a retainer*

Marinette: What is it?

Damian: Chloé’s retainer. *Drops it to the ground* Meyn ziskeyt.

Marinette: Mi querido.

*The two kiss through the fence before pulling away and wiping their mouths*

Meanwhile, Nathaniel’s lost his mind.

Nathaniel: *Lying in bed* Swing low... Sweet chariot... Coming for to carry me home.

Marc: Oh, my sister is ill and my husband is dying. Juleka, what am I gonna do?

Juleka: Well, you already have a black dress.

Rose returns, apologizes for abandoning them, reconciles with her friends

And at that moment, Marinette and Alix return from camp. They all group hug, and Juleka is about to tell Rose about her feelings for her, until...

Lila: In-laws!

Down in the dungeon, the Artists, Felix, and That are strapped into electric chairs while Lila tells them the story of her life... Through slideshow!

She burned her house down with her parents still in it because they gave her Malibu Barbie instead of Ballerina Barbie

Marc: *Disgusted* Malibu Barbie. The nightmare.

Nathaniel: The nerve.

Her first husband the heart surgeon could never make it on dates, so she committed axe murder.

Juleka: Aw, an axe. That takes me back.

Husband #2 was a Senator who wouldn’t buy Lila that new, expensive car because they had to set an example. She ran him over.

Lila: So I destroyed one innocent life after another. Aren't I a human being? Don't I yearn and... ache and shop? Don't I deserve love... and jewelry?

Marc: *nods* Adios, mi querido.

Nathaniel: Zay gezunt, meyn tayer.

With some encouragement from Felix, Juleka uses her last few moments to confess to Rose

Juleka: Rose, night after night, I have desired you. I would worship every pale, lifeless limb on your body, die and kill for you, love you even after my dying breath. Rose... I love you.

Her confession leaves Rose in tears.

Rose: I love you, too.

Lila: Oh, barf! *Grabs the lever* Goodbye, everyone! Wish me luck!

Artists: Good luck.

Right as she’s about to pull the lever, Kiran, back go normal and by some miracle drops down from the ceiling and switches the wires, making Lila electrocute herself to death

*One year later*

Juleka and Rose got married! Also, it’s Kiran’s birthday! And Damian’s invited!

Rose: And to think I might have missed all this. What was I thinking?

Marinette: Physical pleasure.

While the others are celebrating, Marinette and Damian hang out in the cemetery and talk about marriage. Which Marinette doesn’t want

Damian: But what if you found a man so devoted to you, who worshipped you, that he’d be your eternal love slave?

Marinette: I’d pity him

Damian: *Looks at Lila’s gravestone. ‘Friend, Family, Killer* Damn. Lila was sick.

Marinette: She wasn't sick. She was sloppy.

Damian: What?

Marinette: If I wanted to kill my husband, I'd do it, and I wouldn't get caught.

Damian: How?

Marinette: I'd scare him to death.

Damian: *Scoffs* Sure. *As he goes to lay a flower on Lila’s grave, her hand pops out of the ground and grabs him, making him scream.*

[inkdemonapologist]

Tfw it’s like 6am and your penpal shows up at your hotel room but he’s like partially a demon and also won’t stop smiling????

Hi again Allison we’re all Very Normal

[BatIM Call of Cthulhu Masterpost]

ANYWAY HAVE SOME, OUT-OF-CONTEXT QUOTES for Session 6!!

[Sammy is played by me, Joey is played by Boo (inkyvendingmachine), Henry is played by Maf (inkcryptid), Jack is played by Mochi (whatyouwantedmetosee) and Thren (haunted-hijinxer) is our GM!]

[GM] You said you were there for... inSPECTION?? [Jack] In hindsight, that must've been a HECK of a Fast Talk considering half the group is in pyjamas.

[Henry] It wouldn't be the first time someone tried to sacrifice Henry.

[GM] *about Sammy's sacrifice attempts* He was very polite about it. [Sammy] Yeah, he was! [Henry] He was very polite, he gets points for politeness. [GM] And then he got yelled at, so unfairly! By someone. [Sammy] And then melted! So everyone was on the whole very rude about it. It's your own fault he's like this now.

[GM] We'll say it's ajar, how about that? [Joey] Oh, I thought it was a door.

[Sammy] You can spend Luck!! [Jack] Do I want to use Luck points, though? Here's the problem, I'm the person who finishes the JRPG with twelve thousand healing items, and has used TWO. [Sammy] Here's my counterargument: if your Luck gets really low, you start failing Luck checks, and bad things happen to your character. [Jack] ...that's a perfect counterargument, I'm going to do it.

[GM] You both spot the hat with the press card! Lying on the floor, over by one corner of the sliding doors. [Jack] Oh that's BETTER than taking sanity damage! [Sammy] EMOTIONAL DAMAGE!

[Joey] There's another jug of space juice. [Sammy] I don't want space juice!! I WANT PAINT.

[Henry] *tired* Hey, Sam. [Sammy] What providence, my little sheep! [Henry] ...Good to see you too.

[Sammy] Go into the other room and introduce yourself! [Joey] With two hats on. [Sammy] ASSERT DOMINANCE!

[Jack] Jack is going to take the hat. He's going to have, uh, at least one emotion. [Jack] Maybe more [Jack] Imagine

[Joey] Joey is immediately going to clamp his hand onto Sammy's shoulder, and ask him if he can feel it. [Sammy] UHHH? His... hand...? [Joey] Not-- No, the stone. [Sammy] OH

[Jack] Jack, how are you going to communicate this if one of your hands is taken up by a hat? [Joey] Interpretative dance! [Sammy] Put hat in elbow while writing, you can juggle stuff, [Henry] Put the hat on. Over your other hat.

[Sammy] Sammy will scurry with or without the sheep, but they are his navigation system, so,

[Joey] That is a place we are known to be by the people who tried to... murder us?? Or something. Snake us??????? [Jack] (Snurder.) [Joey] Snurder us.

[Henry] We're just gonna grab our stuff and head out and... let you finish dealing with the sNAKE, I guess!! [Jack] (the snake has already been dealt with!) [Henry] Okay, but the aftermath of the snake! The snaftermath.

[Sammy] In case we get grabbed by an Angel [Sammy] the much less well-liked sequel to Touched by an Angel,

[Sammy] You traitorous sheep, this is not what I asked you for! [Joey] Do you want to die. Is that what you’re interested in?! Just, sacrificing yourself, without doing the proper rituals, not getting anything done--?! [Sammy] What do you know of proper rituals?! [GM] (....quite a lot, actually,) [Joey] Yeah! Much more than you do! And I will make an intimidation roll! [Jack] Boys,... you’re both pretty,... it’s okay....

[Joey] We’re pretty sure there’s Angels.... does she know how to kill them. [Jack] What a first thing to—! No pleasantries, no “please excuse the fact that I’m grinning and have weird eyes and also Sammy has weird eyes and also I have a tail,”

[GM, speaking for Allison] She would like to know what all this is about! [Joey] We’re having problems— [Sammy] He tried to contain something that should not be contained!! [Joey] Shut up, Sammy! We’re having problems!

[Joey] Joey is just going to quickly explain that he.................... [Joey] *mumbling to himself* how do you explain this???

[Joey] Um... I guess he’s going to mentally ping Bendy and ask him how he would describe himself? Like... what was his job, I guess?? Security??? [GM] Bendy says that he’s an eldritch construct that was defending a cult... and now he is something else! That he doesn’t have a word for. [Jack] !! He’s a FRIEND now!!! [GM] He’s friend-shaped! But not at the moment. [Joey] No, right now he’s Joey-shaped.

[Sammy] I mean the whole body is garbage but you apparently want Sammy to wear clothes, so whatever.

[GM] Allison adds that she thinks she might have a connection to get you guys in to the party, if you need that -- [Joey] Wouldn't hurt! [GM] -- so long as you don't mind pretending to be the help! [Joey] ...hm,,,

[Joey] Admittedly, having two angles would be better than one. [GM] Two angels, what? [Sammy] There's an "I can be your angle or yuor devil" joke somewhere in this campaign...

[Sammy] Well, we've learned how to bind an angel, [Jack] Gotta teach the angel proper binding techniques!

[Sammy] Sammy will thank Allison for her help. [Joey] Oh god, there IS something wrong with him!

[Joey] Let's go get Norman tied up in this more! So we can hire him later!!

[Sammy] Jack over there like "I hope it doesn't taste bad" meanwhile Sammy's been grimacing as he swallows paint for the last two hours, [GM] Ink is much better, didn't you know! [Sammy] Ink is better... this tastes wrong... [Joey] I just really love the idea of Sammy longingly looking at Joey's flask like, "aw, you have the good medicine, mine tastes like the terrible cherry crap!"

[GM] So you all have shots with Allison! Space juice shots. [Jack] What a way to start the morning!

[Jack] These boys are gonna heckin' pass out! [GM] They got, what, maybe 3 hours of sleep? [Jack] And all of Jack's sleep last night was sat upright in bed, with his glasses on, surrounded by notes, [Henry] sounds like college [Jack] You're exactly right, Jack's sleep was exactly like college! He was stressed, he didn't sleep for very long, he was surrounded by notes, Pete was there,

[Joey] *saying farewell to Allison* Keep yourself safe; don't go out where we're going. [Joey] Unless we don't return, then pLEASE COME OUT AND FIND US,

[GM] Norman says, "Oh, I see you're back with your friends, Smiley." [Jack] I love the concept of Norman calling Sammy "Smiley," and then Prophet Sammy, in response to this, smiles, and Norman has no idea if this is like, weird? or some kind of strange power move to assert dominance.

[GM, as Norman] When I said I saw things happening on the 2nd, you're the one that went pale! [Joey] How's Prophet Sammy's cONCEPT OF TIME, [Sammy] Not great!!!! [Sammy] I don't think he... knows when the 2nd was.

[Sammy] Forgive my memory. That doesn’t ring a bell! [Joey] He's... a little affected right now. [Norman] ...you don't say...

[Joey] Listen. I have $75 here for you, to take us out to the lake, as soon as possible. [a couple minutes of googling later] [Jack] That's equivalent to $1,464. Joey. [Sammy] CAN YOU IMAGINE?? "We need you to take us to the lake please" "Alright, but explain to me what's going on?" "SORRY, the guy who said that is clearly HIGH OUT OF HIS MIND, here's A THOUSAND DOLLARS, take us to the lake please!" [Jack] its a trip to the lake, what could it cost, $75 [Joey] *laughing* I should've looked up how much money I was saying before I was saying it, [Sammy] No, no, I think this is accurate to JOEY DREW

[Henry] Henry is just watching everything happening... [Sammy] Henry is waiting for the next video game breadcrumb trail to show up. [Henry] YEAH, [Jack] “Oh! Looks like I need to put three gears in this thing!”

[Sammy] I'm so angry on Sammy's behalf that you've made him meet two different people like this.

[Joey] If he does ask for money later, Joey's going to give it to him, because he has no concept of.... money.... [Sammy] No concept of GIVING OUT ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS [Jack] Can Joey Drew meet me, in real life, please? [Joey] I don't know if you want that to happen,, that might be more of a curse,,, [Jack] I'll take a curse! Gimme money! [Sammy] vOICE OF EVERY JDS EMPLOYEE

[GM] And you've got suits, and dress shoes...... [Sammy] We are not dressed for this. [Sammy] ...We are more dressed for it than we were earlier. I promise you, Norman, this is a step up, believe it or not.

[Sammy] Probably making a face because it tastes bad. [Henry] Tastes like paint! [GM] The cab driver might just wonder if that's a new drink this year. [Sammy] If nobody jumped on top of Sammy to stop him from using his mouth, he would probably say something with vibes of "this is beyond your comprehension" [Joey] Joey might try to stop that, and instead just be like, “Yes. It is.” [Henry] He's high. Don't worry about it. [Jack] Driver's just like "oh, I should try some of that when I get off work, seems like a good time!" [Sammy] You should! It'll open your eyes! [Sammy] (I'll stop evangelising the cab driver now.)

[Henry] Henry is: Sims Tense Moodlet.

[Joey] Joey instantly does not like this, and it is apparent on his face, if Sammy can see it in the mist. [Sammy] Probably not! [Jack] You could say he mist it!

[Henry] We need to hurry—! [Sammy] *screaming* THATS WHAT IVE BEEN SAYING!!!!!!

[Sammy] Sammy will be, sort of... whispering reassurance? I don't know how reassuring it actually is, [Henry] I'm sorry Sam, nothing about you is reassuring right now. [Sammy] Just kind of like, hush hush, come my sheep, that sort of thing, [Joey] Prophet ASMR Channel! [Jack] I'm sure Jack would appreciate this actually, it's a shame he's not the one getting this, [Joey] No, he's getting whatever comfort Joey can offer, which, uh, [Sammy] Well, and I will say, he's not like, whispering it in Henry's ear, like-- [Jack] I don't think Sammy in any form is capable of whispering. [Sammy] ...y'know [Sammy] that's fair

[Sammy] Well everyone's doing alright! We're doing great, it's going great! [Jack] Nooooo! No going great! I want more insanities! [Jack] ...I can stop at any time, I swear.

[Sammy] We can hold Norman's hand if you want, like, that's up to you. [Joey] Roll for gay, Norman! [Henry] Take him to dinner first,

[Sammy] This is such a bad idea that we're having.

[Joey] Joey is probably at this point holding onto someone else to guide him, and more in his head than not. [Sammy] Sammy's out of hands at this point, Joey, so you'll just have to figure this out. [Sammy] Got his hands full of sheep.

[Joey] Did Norman drink the juice. [GM] Did he...? Did he...... I think he was convinced enough by “this drink will save your life” that he does take a drink! [Joey] I'll roll intimidation if that helps! [GM] Yeah, you can roll to see how quickly he does it, or if he drinks enough of it. [Joey] *rolls* That's an EXTREME SUCCESS. [GM] Well, there we go; there's a preview, Norman, of your work environment!

[yandere-daydreams]

Kinktober - Day Nine

Prompt: Breathplay + Maid Dress

Pairing: Epel/Reader (Twisted Wonderland)

TW: Dub-Con, AFAB!Reader, Third-Year Epel, Degradation, Choking, Slight Feminization, Disassociation, Unhealthy Relationships, and Rough Sex.

You really should’ve stopped after he put on the dress.

It was pooling around your waist, now, flowing but forgotten, rustling and creasing with every thrust of Epel’s hips, every slap of skin against skin, every harsh glare and stifled curse and vile name directed towards you. It was still beautiful, even if you would’ve preferred to have a better view. It was such a brilliant shade of black, stunning against his pale skin, silken on the inside and velvet on the outside, just like the ribbons running over his heaving chest, binding the loose white fabric underneath into place and fading into the sleeves as they ruffled over his shoulders. You assumed it’d been cute, before he put it on, something innocent and just out of character enough to get both of you off. You assumed it’d be fun, if nothing else, but you were beginning to have second thoughts.

In your defense, Epel never said he was against it. You’d been with him long enough to know about his insecurities, at that point, but he was so vocal when something bothered him, and he’d been so dismissive of this kind of thing in the past, you just thought he’d finally warmed up to the idea when he sighed and asked if it’d get you to stop biting at his heels. Still, that wasn’t an excuse. You’d been distracted, and you hadn’t bothered to notice the way he grit his teeth as you played with the strings of his corset, how his fists clenched at his sides as you tied and retied his apron into place, when you decided you could make a more befitting bow. The stockings had just been a step too far, the thing to push Epel over the edge. You’d managed to nag and tease him into one, cream-colored and skin-tight and lovely, but its twin laid discarded somewhere else, beyond the small portion of his bed you’d been confined to.

You’d never been so thankful Epel was a Dorm Head. You weren’t sure you’d be able to stand it if anyone, much less a roommate, walked in on a scene like this.

“You’re such a bitch.” His voice brought you out of your thoughts and back to reality, but reality was still hazy, all dark colors and mixing hues and the barest hints of moonlight forcing its way through oppressive, heavy curtains, the ones you’d pulled closed upon Epel’s request. The venom in his tone was clear, though, as crystalline and as jagged as the feeling of his nails digging into your wrists where he held them above your head, as the sharp, sudden spikes of pleasure that shot through your system whenever you began to think you might’ve finally, finally passed out. You could only hope you would, eventually. It would’ve been a kindness.

Epel had never been very good at taking the lead, but things tended to get… messy, when he did. It was an uncalculated approach, mismeasured and mishandled to the point of making the act more perverse than it had to be. It was just luck that his pelvis caught your clit whenever he bottomed out, that with your legs wrapped around his waist and the edge of his flared skirt trapped between his teeth, he just so happened to hit the spot inside of you that you’d never be able to ignore. He wasn’t trying to make you feel good, that was obvious. If anything, he was being harsher than he had to be.

You wanted to block it out. You wanted to block him out, but you doubted he’d be merciful enough to let you, tonight.

“Not even smart enough to keep your damn eyes on me,” He growled, the low reverberation hitting you a moment before the sharp crack did, your head snapping to your side as your cheek burnt, threatening to swell and bruise before the sun was up. A pitchy, whiny noise found its way through your parted lips, something between a moan and a sob, but even that was cut off as Epel’s hands found your neck, eager and tight, like he’d been waiting to all day, or, since you raided Pomefiore’s storage closets, at least. Your hands were free, now, but it was all you could do to claw at his forearms, to kick your heels into his back, to struggle so weakly and so uselessly, Epel’s stern frown broke into a smirk, as he went on.

“This is what you wanted, right?” He spat, his pace picking up, his cock driving into you with a renewed vengeance. With sense of spite that only came when he knew it’d be followed by an immediate reward, one in the form of your choked whimpers and pained expression, in this case. “You wanted your cute, timid little boyfriend to sit back and let you play with his dick. You wanted me to roll my eyes and pout and beg for you to turn me into a livin’, breathin’ fuck-doll.”

“I-I didn’t--” You tried to deny it, you wanted to deny it. It wasn’t true. Epel was your boyfriend, your closest companion, the man you trusted more than anyone else in the world. You loved him, and you trusted him, and you wanted to be able to do something new for the sake of doing something new. It wasn’t your fault he was too insecure to see that. It wasn’t your fault he was too fucking paranoid to wear a dress without throwing a temper tantrum. “Please.” You were whispering, you couldn’t do anything else. His grip was too tight, too little air was getting to your lungs. Your windpipe felt like it might cave in on itself, if he put his weight behind his vice-grip. “I thought it would be… It was supposed to be fun--”

“Fun for you, maybe.” The sentiment was punctuated by a sharp piston of his hips, his calloused palms pressing into your neck as he watched you struggled not to cry out. It still felt good. It shouldn’t have, but it did, and he knew that. Epel knew it did, and that was the worst part. To him, it still looked like you wanted this, and you doubted he’d ever be convinced you didn’t. “Such a liar. Goin’ on about your golden intentions, like you're not into this. Like you ain’t ready to cum all over my cock like a fuckin’ pervert.”

You opened your mouth, but you were the one to cut yourself off, this time, the one to wince and curl up and hurt until it was all you could do to fall into the mattress and shut up. You couldn’t stand to look at his face, anymore, your eyes rising to the lacey collar around his neck, a cheap bell failing to ring whenever his body jerked forward and forced yours further into the mattress. Your mind was fuzzy, your consciousness faded to the point of numbness, but you could remember fiddling with the clasp, kissing Epel’s cheek when it finally fell into place. You could remember wanting this. You could remember wanting him, even if this wasn’t how you’d pictured it.

Maybe he was right. Maybe you were a pervert. 

Maybe this was your fault.

You didn’t think you’d really be able to live with yourself, if you accepted it was his.

[words-with-wren]

cause we all have wings but some of us don’t know why

for once i like posting stories on tumblr more than ao3 at least i know how the tags for this fandom work here.

anyway, based roughly off Tubbo and Phil’s streams on the 22/12 (or 23/12 if you’re like me and from the future) when Tubbo visits Phil in house arrest.

word count: 4,455

____

There was a ringing from above and Phil let out a long sigh, glancing up from where he was carving out his basement. For a moment he considered just letting it ring, but there wasn’t anywhere else he could be while under house arrest, and he didn’t really want his door to be broken down. He’d only just fixed the windows. 

With some reluctance, he made his way out of the basement, shaking water from his hair and wings as he leapt free of the water elevator. A glance out the window made him let out another heavy sigh when he saw who was ringing the bell. 

He quickly grabbed the ankle monitor boots from the amour stand he had set them on, adjusting them to make sure they sat correctly and opened the door. 

“Good morning, Mr President,” he said stiffly, hostility clear in his voice. Tubbo, standing on the other side of the door with a pleasant smile, faltered only a moment at the greeting. 

“Hey, Phil,” he said. “Can I come in?” There was an edge to his words, as though he were being almost too nice.

But Phil couldn’t really say no, so he moved aside silently, allowing the President to step into the house. Tubbo paused a moment to take in the room, the villager in one corner, the sheep Phil was babysitting for Ghostbur in another. 

“How have you been?” Tubbo asked, and Phil knew him well enough to know that, at least, was genuine. He wasn’t in the mood to give him any ground. 

“As well as I can be,” he said, the same ice to his voice as his initial greeting. If Tubbo noticed, he didn’t react. 

The younger’s eyes landed on the armour stand, and Phil felt a moment of surprising nervousness -- he should have hidden that in a chest before opening the door. 

“How’s the ankle monitor? Not uncomfortable?” Tubbo asked, and it wasn’t hard to read the real purpose behind those words. Again, Phil wasn’t in the mood to make this easy for Tubbo. 

“It’s fine,” he said, glancing down at the offending items on his feet. 

“Can I have a look?” Tubbo asked, and Phil locked eyes with him for a moment. Finally, he decided it wasn’t a battle worth fighting, and kicked the shoes off, pushing them towards Tubbo. Tubbo picked them up, silently turning them over in his hands. He handed them back, and Phil didn’t put them on. “How about I make you another pair?” Tubbo asked, and Phil narrowed his eyes. 

“These are fine, I think,” he said. Tubbo once again locked eyes with him. 

“It’s no trouble at all,” he said and moved out of the house. Phil let out a low curse, staring at the ankle monitor in his hands. He was willing to bet the new pair would have some kind of enchantment - Tubbo was a smart kid, smart enough to know Phil wasn’t wearing the ankle monitor at all times. 

Sure enough, Tubbo returned a few minutes later, a new set of shoes in one hand. Phil wasn’t at all surprised to see the faint glow of an enchantment clinging to their surface. Tubbo held them out, smiling in a way that would almost seem friendly. 

“Here you go, Phliza Minecraft,” he said. 

“Here you go, Mr Minecraft! I made it for you!” Tubbo beamed, holding out a drawing he had just completed. It was a rough, childish scribble of a bee, hardly recognizable, but Phil couldn’t help but smile as he took it.

“Thanks, mate,” he said, ruffling the boy’s head. Somehow, Tubbo’s smile grew wider and he turned to run back to where Tommy was swinging a stick around. Phil smiled fondly after him. 

“Is this really necessary?” he asked, taking the shoes. Curse of binding, he was pretty sure. Tubbo didn’t break eye contact. 

“You tell me,” he said. 

For a moment, they locked eyes, a silent battle of wits. Eventually, Phil again decided it wasn’t a battle worth fighting - they were only iron, after all, it shouldn’t take too much effort to break them. He probably had some magma in a chest, or he could ask Ghostbur to find a cactus. 

Part of him wanted to know what Tubbo would do if he refused. 

Part of him didn’t want to put the boy in that position. 

So he sighed, reaching down and slipping the shoes into place. They clung uncomfortably, a prickle of magic shooting through his feet. He rolled his ankles, winching slightly at the uncomfortable sensation. It faded almost entirely a moment later, but they still felt odd. Wrong. 

“How about I make you a helmet as well!” Tubbo said, fake cheerfulness dripping off his every word. “You have an anvil, right?” Without waiting for an answer, he moved past Phil to open his enderchest, pausing a moment before turning to the anvil, shooing Friend gently aside. 

Phil laid a hand on the sheep’s head, watching as Tubbo enchanted a helmet with a book. It glowed softly, the same rippling, almost beautiful effect that Phil’s shoes currently bore. 

“I’m not putting that on, Tubbo,” Phil said, trying to leave no room for argument. Tubbo narrowed his eyes, holding out the helmet. 

“I just want to make sure you’re not going to run out on us,” he said. 

“Why do you even want me here?” Phil asked. “I’m not technically a citizen of L’manburg.” 

Tubbo hesitated, as though he hadn’t fully thought that through. Then he scowled, stepping close, helmet still held out. 

“It’s better that we know where you are,” Tubbo said. As though Phil couldn’t break out in a second if he really wanted to. 

He didn’t want to say that he was staying partly for Tubbo - for Fundy, for his family caught in the trap, feeling like they were unable to leave. Sure, he was probably going to be more help to Techno while on the inside, but he also couldn’t quite bring himself to leave the children of L’manburg completely alone. Not while there was some chance they could find a better way. 

The shoes on his feet and the helmet Tubbo was holding made him less and less confident that was even possible. 

 "And the shoes will achieve that well enough,” he said, refusing to back down. Tubbo hesitated a moment longer, but Phil knew the boy had been around him long enough to know he couldn’t make him do anything he didn’t want to. So he dropped his eyes and returned the helmet to his inventory. 

“I guess you’re right.” He shifted uncertainly and glanced back to the door with a reluctance about him, a reluctance to leave. Phil’s suspicion was confirmed when Tubbo turned back to him. “What have you been up to?” 

There was an almost pleading note to his voice, as though he were asking for a truce. As though a moment ago he hadn’t been acting like Phil’s jailer. Phil was too tired to continue the mind games. 

"I’ve been making a basement,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the ladder upstairs. Friend let out a low bleat. 

“Oh, that’s cool!” Tubbo said, and there was genuine excitement in his words. He paused a moment, and Phil could almost see an idea take light in his mind. What, exactly, the idea was he was almost afraid to find out. “Do you want to see my guardian farm? I finally got it working.” 

Phil couldn’t deny the curiosity. Tubbo had been working on the farm for a long time - far longer than he had been in L’manburg. When he had first heard of the project in an excited letter from Tubbo, he’d been very interested to see how it would turn out. 

He had almost forgotten about it in the wake of everything that had happened. Clearly, Tubbo hadn’t. 

“I can’t really go anywhere,” he said finally, gesturing to the ankle monitor. Tubbo frowned. 

“I’m the president, right? If you’re with me I’m sure it doesn’t matter.” 

 The uncertainty of his statement made Phil a little uncomfortable. If even the president didn’t know the rules of L’manburg, who was really calling the shots? 

“Mmm,” he said, unconvinced. 

“Sam and I spent all day yesterday working on the redstone, and we finally got it working!” There was a buzzing excitement about Tubbo that Phil hadn’t seen for a long time, a pride about a complete project, a childish glee at something working the way it should. 

It was that that finally made him sigh and push himself off the wall. Maybe Tubbo wasn’t all the way gone, and spending more time with him might help him to understand what had happened. When Tubbo had changed from an excitable, kind boy to a cold and cruel president. 

Phil had practically raised the boy. Where had he gone wrong? 

“Alright,” he said. “I can’t say I’m not curious to see it finally finished.”

Besides, an extended trip with Tubbo might help him gain some intel for Techno. 

It was a beautiful day outside, the sun reflecting off the lake L'manburg rested upon. Phil paused as they exited, enjoying the rare warmth of the winter sun. It was the kind of day where he wanted to fly, to spread his wings and soar over the whole world, to leave everything behind. 

But he didn't. Couldn't. 

The wooden streets of the city were surprisingly empty as Phil followed Tubbo in the direction of the Nether hub. Only Ranboo was present, casting them a curious smile and wave from where he sat on the edge of one of the platforms, a notebook open on his lap. 

The silence felt uncomfortable. Phil may not have been around for long, but he could still remember seeing L'manburg full of life, people working together to revive the nation. 

He was pretty sure he knew when the silence had begun.

Maybe that was why Tubbo hadn't been around as much. Maybe that was why he had finally finished the project he'd been working on for months. He couldn't bear the silent streets of his home. 

The uncomfortable silence followed them as they moved out of L’manburg borders towards the Nether portal. Phil wasn’t in any mood to try and alleviate the tension, so it sat heavily over them. 

Tubbo kept glancing back at him, opening his mouth as though he wanted to say something and then shutting it again. He was clearly uncomfortable with the silence, and Phil would be lying to say he wasn’t a little satisfied with that result. 

He’d been uncomfortable sitting in his house for the past few days. Watching them drag Techno out of retirement and try to kill him. The president could deal with a little uncomfortable silence. 

His shoulder still stung from where Tubbo had shot him. 

The heat of the Nether took a moment to get used to after the cool winter air of the Overworld. Tubbo paused a step away from the portal, pushing hair out of his eyes and glancing back as Phil stepped through. 

“It’s this way,” he said, the first words that had been spoken between them since they had left. He made his way down the steps, heading towards the tunnel that would take them to the Nether roof. 

But his gaze lingered long on two rickety, unstable cobblestone bridges stretching over the lava. Phil didn’t miss the way his face crumbled slightly at the sight of them, before he hardened his expression and turned to face the way they were going. 

Tubbo began talking as they made their way up the stairs. He wasn’t talking about anything in particular, just filling the silence with stories of his and Sam’s efforts to make the farm work. 

The rest of the trip past much the same, Tubbo filling the silence and Phil giving him an occasional grunt or acknowledgement. The wind was picking up as they exited the cave the portal opened into, the sea spread out before them. 

In barely any time, Phil could make out the glass walls of the guardian farm, and once again he couldn't help but be impressed by the sheer size of it. He’d been here not long ago, helping Tubbo light it up properly, but clearly, more work had been done since then. 

Tubbo drew the boat alongside the glass barrier, and Phil stepped onto it, spreading his wings and enjoying the wind through his damaged and clipped feathers. That was another annoyance of being stuck inside - he couldn’t really spread his wings fully. 

“So what do you think?” Tubbo asked, a hint of pleading to his voice. He needed validation, needed to hear words of affirmation from Phil. Once again, he was reminded that the president was still just a child. 

A child who had almost executed Techno. A child who had thrown Tommy aside. A child who had locked Phil in his own house for no reason but protecting the man he saw as a son. 

But the farm was impressive, Phil couldn’t deny that. He jumped to the ground, instinctively spreading his wings as he fell. The water at the bottom broke his fall and he stepped out as Tubbo landed behind him. 

“We were working on it all yesterday,” Tubbo said. “And the day before - I’ve really wanted to get it finished.” He moved forward, looking back and beckoning Phil to follow. He did, glancing up at the structure in the middle of the huge ring of glass. 

“It’s impressive,” he said finally, and Tubbo lit up, grinning. “Well done mate.” 

“You really think so?” Tubbo asked. A guardian fell to its death, and Phil couldn’t help but smile. 

“‘Course, you’ve done a good job.” 

“Look, look Phil!” Tubbo practically dragged him down the cave, excitement washing off him in waves. 

“He’s been working on the nerd crap all week,” Tommy commented, following a few paces behind. Tubbo stuck out a tongue at him, stopping in front of the simple spider farm. 

“I got it to work,” he said smugly, looking up at Phil and folding his arms. 

“Well done mate,” Phil said, feeling strangely proud of the boy. 

Tubbo seemed more like himself than he had for a long time standing here, the ocean water high above them. He moved quickly to the side of the farm, happily rambling about how he had constructed it and Phil felt some of his anger towards the boy fade, making a mental note to thank Sam for giving Tubbo a place to be himself. Once again, he was reminded that Tubbo was still young, that he had gone through so much and had the fate of an entire nation placed on his shoulders. 

It didn’t excuse what he had done. 

“...and we’ve got lots of slime chunks,” Tubbo said, gesturing to where a cobblestone marker stood across the field. As he spoke, a slime spawned into existence. “See. We’re going to make a slime farm there. Sam wants their balls.” 

“You’ve got a good set up for a lot of farms here,” Phil commented, turning as he spoke. His wings fluttered slightly behind him, and once again he felt the loss of his flight keenly. 

“That’s the plan,” Tubbo said. “We’ve also got a number of zombie villa-” 

He was cut off by the tell-tale hiss of a creeper. Phil spun, sword instantly in his hand, just in time to see the mob explode beside Tubbo. The boy had enough sense to slam on armour, his face white and panicked. 

He was thrown back a pace, landing on his back, gasping for breath. Ignoring the hole the creeper had left, Phil knelt by his side, taking in his wide eyes and shaking hands. 

“You alright, mate?” he asked as Tubbo shakily sat up. It wasn’t just his hands that were shaking, his whole body shuddered and he wrapped his arms around his legs, closing his eyes and breathing quickly. “Tubbo?” 

“Sorry,” Tubbo gasped out shakily. “Sorry - sorry, I-” 

“Just breath,” Phil said, voice steady. “You’re alright, it was just a creeper.” 

Tubbo nodded sharply but didn’t look up. He sat for a long moment, breathing deeply, his shaking slowly diminishing. Finally, he looked up, hair falling into his eyes. The scars on his face stood out painfully on his pale face. 

“I don’t like explosions,” he muttered. 

Phil couldn’t blame him. 

“Let me fix the torch grid at then we should head back,” he said. Tubbo nodded, his face tight, guarded and when Phil stood, a stack of torches in his hand, he was gripping his sword tightly. 

They were silent on the way back. Tubbo still hadn’t taken his armour off, his eyes still darting with nervousness. Once again, Phil found himself torn between anger towards the man in front of him and what he had done and anger towards what the world had done to Tubbo. 

By the time they made it back to the Overworld, Tubbo seemed back to his normal self. He led the way back to L’manburg, taking a brief detour on the way to show Phil the bee apiary he had made. Phil raised an eyebrow at that, stepping into the surprisingly warm dome. 

“It’s not the most efficient,” he said. 

“Yeah, but there’s lots of bees,” Tubbo said, holding out a hand to one of them. He grinned as it buzzed towards him, bumping into his hand a few times before turning and flying away. 

A few spare bottles of honey in their inventories, they finally returned to the wooden platforms of L’manburg city centre. Phil paused a moment to remove his armour as they arrived - he’d continue following that rule for now. 

For as long as those in power decided to keep it. The way things were going, he wouldn't be surprised if the once peaceful nation became a military state. 

It had been born in blood after all. 

“Uh, Phil?” Tubbo called as Phil moved up the steps towards his house. He looked back to see Tubbo standing in the market place, all his armour gone expect his helmet. Which - Phil noted - was shimmering with an enchantment. “I think I put the wrong helmet on.” 

Phil couldn't help but chuckle at that. 

“Sounds like a problem for you to deal with,” he said, no sympathy for the president. Tubbo frowned, stepping lightly up the stairs to join Phil. 

“Yeah but that means I have to be in house arrest as well,” he said. 

Phil paused. He really just wanted to return to his basement, to his project that had been interrupted for long enough. But there was a glint - a hint of desperation to Tubbo’s eyes that suggested maybe he hadn’t done this entirely on accident. 

“Does it?” he asked, his voice neutral. Unimpressed. Tubbo nodded. With a long sigh, Phil opened his door and gestured for the young president to enter. The boy ducked his head to hide a smile and shifted past Phil’s wings to move inside. 

Phil lingered a moment longer, spreading his wings as wide as he could, rolling them to catch the late afternoon sun, feeling the breeze between his feathers one last time before folding them up behind him and moving into the small building. 

Tubbo was petting Friend when Phil shut the door behind him. He looked up as Phil opened a chest, depositing his honey and a few other pieces he’d picked up on the journey. 

“What have you been working on? Can I help?” he asked. Phil glanced over at him and sighed. 

“Suppose so,” he said, digging through the chest to find a spare pickaxe. Tubbo caught it, tested its weight and nodded. Phil led the way, using his wings to guide himself down the water and to balance as he landed on the small ledge at the top of the stairs. 

The basement was already deep, but not as deep as he wanted. He had a number of plans for the space -- mostly to just keep himself busy while stuck in the confined quarters of his two-room house. 

“This is impressive,” Tubbo said, looking around as he landed on the stairs beside Phil. 

“Thanks, mate,” Phil said. “The plan is to go all the way to bedrock.” He didn’t mention anything about breaking through. That probably wasn’t best to bring up around the person who had confined him here. 

“Awesome,” Tubbo said. He kept pace with Phil as they began to move down, pickaxes in hand as they did. “Y’know, me and -” 

He stopped, cutting himself off and shutting his mouth abruptly. Phil glanced sideways at him, seeing the way he shut down, face suddenly hard (hiding intense emotion Phil barely got a glimpse of). 

Phil didn’t comment, knowing exactly what Tubbo was going to say. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tubbo reach to his neck as though clutching at a pendant that wasn’t there. 

Their conversation was limited and about nothing in particular while they worked. Tubbo was more subdued than before, but only slightly. It was enough that Phil could tell he was putting on a front -- he was far more cheerful than he should be. 

Finally, after a long stretch of silence, Tubbo lowered his pickaxe and wiped hair out of his eyes. He looked up at Phil, who was a few blocks above him and let out a small breath, dropping his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. Phil paused in his mining, looking down at where he stood. Once again, he looked very small. Very young. 

He tried to kill Techno. 

“I never meant for anyone to get hurt,” Tubbo continued. “I - I didn’t know what to do. I…” He looked to the side, blinking furiously and Phil mined down a block to be more level with him. “Phil, I don’t know what to do.” 

Finally, he looked up, and there were tears shimmering in his eyes. It was a plea for help, and the part of Phil that had adopted three boys who needed him finally won over the part of him that called for blood.

He sat on the edge of his ledge to be level with the boy, spreading his wings slightly and waiting. Tubbo wasn’t finished yet, and he was good at listening. 

“I - I don’t know if Techno is a threat anymore but Quackity said… And… and Dream is waiting, I know. He’s waiting for me to mess up again and… I didn’t want anyone to get hurt but....” His shoulders were shaking and his knuckles were white around the handle of his pickaxe. “But you’re trapped, and Techno… Techno nearly died and…and...” He cut himself off with a muffled sob, the tears finally flowing and Phil reached forward, laying a hand on his shoulder. 

For a moment, Tubbo stiffened under the touch. Then he flung himself forward, wrapping desperate arms around Phil and Phil pulled him into an embrace, folding his wings close around both of them. 

“I miss him,” Tubbo whispered into Phil’s shirt. “I miss him so, so much. I don’t know what to do, Phil. I don’t… it’s my fault. It’s my fault he’s gone. It’s my fault he…” And he trailed off, the sobbing becoming even more intense, his shoulders shuddering. 

Phil didn’t say anything, just rubbed his back, rocking softly, humming a tuneless song. Or maybe it was a song he’d heard Wilbur sing once, a long time ago. 

He hated this. Hated that he had nightmares about Wilbur’s mad laugh, the blood that he felt still stained his hands. Hated the echo of Wilbur that had been left behind as much as he loved what was left of his son. Hated that his youngest had been exiled and alone, lied to again and again. Hated that Techno had been forced to fight once again, after trying to retire. 

Hated that he was holding the broken and sobbing form of a boy who was as much his son as Wilbur, or Tommy, or even Techno. 

Hated that he hadn’t helped them before it was too late. 

Hated that he could have. 

“I’m sorry,” Tubbo whispered again. He had calmed considerably but was still clinging to Phil as though he couldn’t let go. 

“So am I,” Phil whispered. 

He sat there for a long time, holding Tubbo close, until he realized the boy had calmed completely, his breathing even and slow, his eyes closed. 

With a small, sad smile, Phil lifted him into his arms and stood, carefully making his way out of the basement. Tubbo barely stirred, even though the water elevator, shifting closer to Phil, face screwed up tightly. 

Fundy’s bed was empty - it had been empty for a few days, and Phil didn’t want to think about how that made him feel at the moment. He gently lay Tubbo down, prying off his shoes and pulling the covers over him. 

Phil peered around the edge of the door, checking in on the two boys before he slept. Tommy was sprawled out across his bed, snoring lightly, one hand dangling off the edge. 

Tubbo was tangled in his covers, curled into a tight ball, a slight frown covering his face. 

Phil softly stepped into the rooms, untangling the blankets a little and shifting them so they would be more comfortable. He rested a hand in Tubbo’s hair, watching as he let out a small sigh and relaxed fully. 

Tubbo shifted, muttering something, bunching the blankets tightly in one hand, face screwed into a tight frown. Phil sat beside him, one wing spread protectively over him, humming softly as he rubbed the boy’s back. 

Slowly, Tubbo relaxed, his face settling back into a soft, peaceful expression. He let out a long sigh, releasing the death grip on the cover. 

The scars on the face made him seem older when he was awake, but now they only stood out. He looked so young, so peaceful and quiet that the scars were a painful reminder of everything he had been through. 

When was the last time he'd had a proper night sleep?

Phil rested a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder for a long moment, heart aching and wishing he could fix everything. But the children of L’manburg needed to find their own way. He could guide them, show them a better way, help them to break the pattern of their predecessors.

He stood, casting a long look at the chest of spare items Fundy had left behind. 

But only if they let him. 

With a long, soft sigh, he ran a hand down his face and withdrew his pickaxe again. 

Maybe he could actually finish his basement in peace now. 

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Hjarta (Ivar’s PoV)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Hjarta: heart (Old Norse)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: Ivar’s perspective between the moment before he whispers “Kiss me” in chapter 31 to right before the beginning of chapter 32

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: The usual, sub soft Ivar, I hope you don’t mind

A/N: About the gif choice, no, he doesn’t say that yet, I just love that gif.

So, a lovely anon put the idea in my head of giving you guys Ivar’s perspective on the ending of yesterday’s chapter. Here goes nothin’ :)

Also, a few times I reference something, a line or a feeling, from Ivar’s thoughts during þrá, the first PoV I wrote of him. YOU CAN FIND IT HERE

You end the kiss with a tenderness that keeps him tethered, dangling at the edge of a cliff and willing to lean forward without a second thought if he could just have you kiss him again.

He curses his weakness. He curses himself for not killing who he once was, desperate for love and softness. He…

His eyes open and meet yours. There’s unfamiliar affection in the way your hand still on his face caresses his skin; there’s familiar madness, familiar fire, in the smile you offer him.

And more than ever it all feels like a mirage.

The mirage of red he saw across a battlefield, words of love for a dead man on her lips before the softness was shed in exchange for the war cry of a Valkyrie.

The mirage of red that stood across from him with a bloodied ring on her finger, smiling at him like the world was just this, kissing him like in another life she’d loved him.

And now once again, the vision draped in red that makes a current go through his body at her touch, that robs him of breath and of thought and of control; stands before him.

And Ivar knows if he moves the illusion will fade, the mirage will vanish before his eyes.

He’s frozen, tethered.

“Kiss me.”

And you do, taking his breath and his heart and his sanity, but giving back so much more.

His hands find purchase wherever they can, however they can to keep you here, keep you with him.

After months -a lifetime- of longing, of madness, of desperation; he kisses you hungrily. Ivar is greedy for every touch of your tongue, for every breath you share, for every sound he can earn for himself.

He knows he should slow down, treasure this, put thoughts back in his head and stave off the bubble of panic inside of him that whispers this is a mirage, this will fade, this is nothing. But he can’t, he’s ravished and desperate and right now -a chimera or not- there’s only you and the painful ecstasy of finally having you within reach.

Your voice echoes in his head with a moan of his name, breathy and soft.

His chest hurts, as if his heart, wild and no-longer-his, wants to give in to the lull of your voice.

But your lips are a breath away from his, your weight is soft against his legs but you still hold yourself up, his wife looks at him with what he could fool himself into thinking is love in her eyes but he’s made the promise to let you go.

And he isn’t enough. Enough to have you kiss him again, enough to be able to hold your weight against him, enough to make you stay.

Enough to give you what you want from him, enough to be what you want.

And he is suddenly again a weak and pathetic boy trying to will his prick to work before a woman that looks on in disgust, he’s desperate and angry and wants the Gods to answer why.

You scramble off of him when he pushes you, and he wishes there weren’t a seat at his back because more than anything he wants to move away, further way from you, from this…this want.

He tells you, or tries to. Tries reminding you that the man you married cannot satisfy a woman, that you vowed to be the wife to one cursed by the Gods themselves.

But you don’t listen, of course you don’t. Stubborn, maddening woman.

He can’t look at you when he admits his shame, his failing, but he still feels you step forward again, and you render him helpless with but a touch, forcing his eyes to meet yours, guiding his face up so he can meet your kiss.

Ivar cannot keep himself from sighing against your lips, surrendering to the heady feeling of your mouth softly pressing against his, finding quiet in the moment where your breaths are one, forgetting everything at the soft curve of your smile.

Your eyes meet his, and you quieten his protests, his warnings, his pleas that you let him make sense of the world by accepting this -him- isn’t truly something you can want; with a stubborn shake of your head, as if the answer is simple, as if anything is simple even now that you both stand before something new.

“What I need is you,” You whisper, your hand leaving a burning trail down his chest before your palm presses against his heart. Ivar is certain you can feel it beating wildly under your touch, and his eyes search yours desperately as you press your brow to his. Your voice is low and that familiar blend of soft and fierce when you whisper, “What I want is this.”

____

You’ve moved back from him and settled in bed a few moments ago, but once the daze of being pliant and safe in your embrace vanishes Ivar cannot help but start questioning what just happened, what new enemy his facing, what height the cliff he just jumped off -you pushed him off- of was.

Your words from earlier taunt him, your own thoughts are what drives you mad most of the time; and he knows you’re probably -insufferably- right.

Ivar uses his arms to move himself onto the bed, somewhat unmoored by the revelation of being what you want -need- and the hesitation of admitting you are what he wants -needs-; but still finding comfort in the strange familiarity of this routine where both of you live in each other’s space like it is nothing, like you’re bound by the same thread.

From where you are, already settled on your side of the bed, he notices you playing with the golden snake he gifted you a while ago, the bracelet you wear so often he wonders if he should buy you something else.

It is usually not a good thing when you’re quiet. Your voice seems to be perpetually stuck in his head for a while now, and so Ivar cannot help but notice with jarring discomfort each time you’re unusually quiet.

“What are you thinking about?”

You put the bracelet on the small table by your side of the bed, before you turn to him and shrug.

“You.”

You are sitting up on your knees next to him, and the touch of your hand in his is familiar. Ivar dares think it means the same to you as he watches your gaze lower to your joined hands.

When once again lift your face, he notices your attention travel to his lips for a moment, and it fills him with a strange pride, a thrilling warmth, to know you want him.

It is a barely a moment, a blink of his eyes and it is gone, but he sees in your eyes the same darkness he saw when he tasted your blood on his tongue earlier tonight.

“I want you, Ivar,” You say, and with the way the simple words make his chest hurt, his heart falter, all he can offer is a hum. A sound, that sounds distant and muffled as his heart beats madly in his ears. You lean closer, lips a breath’s width from his, “However I can have you.”

Not even the binds that keep Fenrir in place would have kept him from kissing you then.

He is on his back on the bed, just like then, and his hands are trembling, just like then. But the press of your body against his is as soothing as it is maddening, and you seal promises that this isn’t a mirage, that this is not yet another failure, against his lips.

For all the months he couldn’t, for all the moments you pulled away, for all the years he’s spent without you, Ivar pulls you to him, claims your mouth and with his hands he draws you closer.

The length of your body is pressed against his, one of your hands tentatively reaching under his shirt and making him wish he had the words to tell you how you don’t have to hesitate, how he wishes you to devour him, to undo him and leave nothing but want in its place, to claim the body that is yours to do as you wish as ruthlessly as you’ve claimed his heart.

Nothing has ever felt like this, this maddening whirlwind of feeling nothing but you and your taste and your smell and the feel of you against him, thinking nothing but how to get you to be closer.

And once again, he knows he should slow down, he knows he should treasure this, but you rob him of every thought, of every breath, of every ounce of control.

And he cannot stop himself, he feels untethered and yet bound, and he kisses and licks and bites and sucks and…Gods, he’s wanted this for so long, wanted you for so long. Ivar moans against your skin, and a satisfied laugh that sounds dark and hoarse leaves your lips, leaving a current to run down his spine.

It is without a warning your hand tightens on his hair, a gasp on your lips that is lost in the moan you draw out of Ivar. You move back, using your grip on his hair to move him back too and look at him, and it takes all of his resolve for Ivar to keep his eyes from fluttering shut.

But, of course, you notice regardless.

“You like it when I pull on your hair, don’t you?” You ask, voice hoarse and yet annoyingly smug when you smile down at him.

“How can you-…” How can you just talk, even now? For a moment Ivar feels the sudden apprehension that this doesn’t mean the same to you, that he doesn’t affect you the way you do him, that you don’t want him like he wants you. But your shoulders rise and fall quickly, and the evidence of him is written in the faint marks on your neck, on your lips that still bear the mark of his kiss. Ivar’s mouth curves as he runs his thumb over your bottom lip. “You never shut up, do you?”

“Not even this could shut me up, you should know better than to expect otherwise.” You mumble in response, before your gaze falls from his and you are seemingly distracted, leaning down and starting a maddening and burning trail of kisses down the column of his throat.

Ivar feels like Gleipnir binds him, makes him give in to your will, and he can’t keep his head from tilting back to give you more access to his skin the same way the wolf cannot break free.

“This,” He repeats, and you only hum in response, not giving anything away. Ivar feels the familiar tinge of anger at being put on the spot, forced to voice his thoughts. But he has to know. “Why now? What changed? I-I don’t understand.”

You stop the maddening trail of your lips on his skin, but you don’t move back just yet, torturing Ivar with the caress of your breaths on the skin your attention made feel hot and flushed.

“Everything changed, or nothing did,” You reply after a few moments, repeating words from before. Leaning back and meeting his eyes, you explain, “I told you once that if you had asked, I would have said yes,” Ivar grits his teeth at the reminder, at the memory of the coldness that took hold of him that night, when you kissed him and with bitter words promised him he could have had everything he’d ever wanted if only he had done things differently. You continue, a slight smile on your lips, “It took me…it took me time, and change, but…I realized I didn’t need you to ask, I didn’t need you to demand. I needed only to make my choice to…”

“Cave?” He supplies with a smile, succeeding in making you roll your eyes.

“I don’t cave.” You remind him, but the smile that curves your mouth gives you away, and after a moment you breathe a laugh.

Ivar chuckles quietly at the sight of you, exasperated yet soft as you look at him.

And with that lightness, with that quick beating of the heart that isn’t his anymore, he kisses you again.

____

Ivar loses track of time in the thrill of this, so he wouldn’t be able to say how long it has been, or how far the dawn is. All he knows is that he remains tethered in this dance where you get close enough you burn him from his hollow chest to the tips of his fingers only to then move back and leave him feeling the softness of the dull warmth that soaks into his very bones.

Now he’s enveloped by warmth, your small hand playing with the amulet of Thor that hangs from his neck, your soft breaths and the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.

His fingers trail up and down the skin of your back, because he can, because he wants to, because…how many times did he wish to be able to do just this?

How many times in all the mornings and nights since you started that little ritual where he helps you with your dress has Ivar imagined what it would be like to give in, to have the steadiness to touch you freely, to be allowed to soak up your warmth and your softness?

You sigh, content, and move closer to him. You’re on your side and so is he, and when you move your legs brush against his, and Ivar cannot help the pang of cold, of old anger, of hesitation and pathetic fear.

But he doesn’t move away, he just continues the soft exploration of his hand on your back, and tries dispelling thoughts that remind him of what he is, of what cannot be, of many things he doesn’t want to think about.

Ivar feels the roughened skin that bears the mark of the fire the Christians lit trying to silence you, and yet against all that the sharp-tongued and arrogant Priestess he brought to Kattegat was, you don’t pull back, you remain content and warm in his embrace.

He remembers now with incredulity and more than a bit of anger at himself how he once thought he’d have this once he brought you to Kattegat with him, even if he kept you at his side in chains.

Now, he knows better. And he may have not seen many things clearly when he first brought you to Kattegat, when he first decided to make you his wife, to keep you at his side; but he does know he was right about one thing: one way or another, the Gods Fated this. One way or another, his heart was yours long before he knew it.

____ ____

I had so much fun writing this one, I hope you liked it!

Btw, Gleipnir is the rope with which the Gods bound Fenrir. Stronger than iron, as thin as silk. And yes, it filled me with utterly impure thoughts to think of Ivar and the bindings of Fenrir. C’mon, Ivar tied up with something silky and soft, but not breaking the binds because of something stronger than iron that makes him submit? C’monnnnn (I may or may not be working on a one shot about Ivar and bondage, it may or may not be inspired by the Binding of Fenrir, and that may or may not seep into everything I write atm, sorry lmao)

I hope you liked it, would love to hear your thoughts on this! Thank you so much for reading!! Love ya!

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