#by a guy fleeing from a beast man

[peachypenmanship]

"You're Beautiful."

Reader × True Demon Forms Saja Boys

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Depictions Of Body Horror

So guess who fucking caved AHDKAHSKHA

If no one's gonna feed me, Ig I'll do it myself!!!

Mind the 'graphic depictions of body horror warning'- these men are freaks! genuine monsters!!! I hope they unnerve u somehow cause if they did that means I got my Vision across!!!

Now go kiss your guys they really need the reassurance actually

WC: ~2K

Abby didn't mean to transform. The two of you were walking home from a late-night date hand-in-hand, and then a robber suddenly jumped out from the shadows, armed with a knife. They knicked your arm with the tip of their blade, and Abby was so caught off guard and enraged at the sight of you being hurt that it just… happened.

Abby's true form was a monstrous giant. The transformation left his clothes in tatters, a hulking beast marred with angry red skin and leathery flesh taking the place of the man you loved.

Thick horns curled out the top of his head. Large, weighty tusks left no room in his mouth, leaving drool to drip and pour down onto the mangled corpse of the fool stupid enough to try to attack you as he hovered over it. His breaths sounded so wet and raggedy, as if his ribcage strained to lift the pounds of muscle it was trapped beneath.

He didn't want to turn around to see you. To see the look on your face.

But he was glad when he did.

Abby expected to see disgust or horror in your eyes- he was prepared for it- but instead all that appeared was you looking awe-filled as you slowly approached him. You put a hand on his arm, caressing the thick, leathery flesh as if it were cherubic. Something to be loved and cherished, not feared.

“...You're beautiful.”

The man took a few moments to respond, his voice coming out in a wobbly, garbled mess of low tones. It sounded like his vocal chords were cannibalizing each other.

“You don't have to do that. Don't lie. I know what I look like.”

You moved even closer, wiggling until you got past his thick arms and stood directly in front of him, getting up on your tiptoes to gently hold his disfigured face between your hands. You gazed up at him reverently.

“I'm not.”

Abby's sunken-in eyes looked down at you, and he wondered how he ever ended up so lucky to have met you in his afterlife. He didn't deserve you, and he doesn't think he ever will.

“...I love you.”

You closed your eyes, putting your forehead against the chest of the beast in front of you, having complete faith that he would never turn his claws, or teeth, or strength against you.

And you are right. He never would.

Abby's thick, burly hand curled around your waist, the size of it completely enveloping your lower back. You were unphased.

“I love you, too.”

Discovering Mystery's true form wasn't an accident. You asked to see it. It was an act of trust.

Of course, he was hesitant. Despite Mystery's aloof facade, he was terrified to lose the things he held dear. He was confident that you would flee once you saw the monster hidden behind the curtain. You were ready to see him, but he wasn't ready to see you.

But, after countless assurances and promises that nothing would change, he finally decided to show you. 

Mystery's true form was lanky- skinny to an unhealthy degree. A pale, sickly purple was the shade of his skin. He had limbs so thin it appeared that his body was composed of sticks and sinew melted together, tied up in knots by loose flesh. He had tusks that hung from thin lips- pointy and dangerous. His fingers were so spindly and sharp they were more akin to tiny knives attached to his bones than actual phalanges.

He hunched over, ashamed of his appearance. He kept his signature hair over his eyes, still too afraid to let you see just how all his emotions could be told through them.

Mystery only looked at you whenever you softly called his name. You took slow, slow steps- taking one of his long, lengthy hands into your own. Just one finger was practically the length of your forearm. He could snatch you up in an instant and tear you in half even faster.

But you didn't even think that to be a possibility.

Instead, you simply held one of his fingers, your hands being child-like compared to his own.

“You look reverent."

Mystery was already the silent type, but he was truly shocked silent at that moment. His sharp jaw trembled, the cryptid pulling you closer until you were up against the wiry, boney space that was his stomach. He held you there, body once more hunched in an attempt to bury his head against your hair.

There were so many things he wanted to say, but he couldn't formulate them. Not yet. He didn't know how to say just how much you loved you.

So, he simply stayed. He let you take in every inch of him, letting go of his fear and submitting to being an open book, never once feeling unloved when you drank him in.

He loved you. Deeply, religiously, unconditionally.

One day, he'll figure out how to articulate just how much this moment meant to him as much as it meant to you.

One day.

Romance only turned to his true form because he thought he was alone.

Curled up on the floor of your shared bedroom, he looked a mess. His flesh was pale, almost translucent. His clothes seemed to melt into his  body- a once elegant form devolving into something akin to a disgusting paint splatter. Black fluid poured all over the ground, the inky substance oozing from every orifice. His nose, his mouth, his ears… even his eyes.

Romance opened his hollow sockets to see you standing in the doorway. Instantly, he thought it was all over. Over for him, over for what the two of you were together.

Or maybe, you were about to start screaming in horror instead, not being able to tell who the mangled monster in front of you even was.

But that's not what occurred. None of it.

The man felt his heart flutter as you slowly approached him, kneeling down. You didn't grab him- you simply held out your hand, inviting him to take it he wanted to.

“Rommy? Are you okay? You look like you're crying…”

Romance was almost too stunned to say anything. His voice came out a warble- reminiscent of the reverberation a thunder-sheet makes when shaken. But instead of something silly, the sound was much more unnerving. The cry of wind battering against old windowsills.

“...You aren't disgusted with this? With me?”

The monster felt his heart soar as you simply moved closer. Your hand cupped his cheek, uncaring as the black, syrupy liquid ran down your fingers and dripped down your wrist, staining the fabric of your sleeve.

“No? Why would I be? I love you.”

Much to your chagrin, the black streaks simply multiplied, now being encouraged to fall as Romance began sobbing in earnest, his head coming to rest against your shoulder. Your clothes were stained an inky-black as he shook, clutching onto you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

And really, who's to say you weren't?

Of course Romance loves… well, loving things. Anyone he can get his hands on, he held onto them for as long as he could, tighter and tighter until they eventually slipped from his grasp.

But he didn't want to hold on to you like that- like you were something to be owned. You were an angel. You were his angel. You needed to be cradled and worshipped in his hands, to be cherished. You were a beautiful bird willingly cupped between his deadly claws that is free to take flight whenever it wishes.

But for as long as it stay in his unworthy hands, Romance will worship it and care for his dove as gently as he can.

Baby doesn't understand how to handle his emotions. Especially not the emotions he feels towards you.

He doesn't understand how you make him feel so… safe. So vulnerable- he hasn't felt that way around anybody for so long. Centuries long.

It terrified him.

Eventually, the instability led to him lashing out, and it broke into a fight. A push-and-pull of Baby desperately trying to push you away, and your resolve to stand your ground only driving him wilder.

Something you said finally broke the camels back, sending him over the edge as he transformed into his true self.

To say Baby regretted it would be the understatement of the century. The momentary shudder of fear in your eyes had him launching away from you, stepping back like you were the one who scared him. He fell on his ass, clutching his sharp yet stubby hands to his chest.

Baby especially hated himself like this. Shorter, stubbier- shrunk down to the size of a foul imp. His skin was an ugly burnt orange; small, chubby horns that weighed enough to drag his head down sprouted from the top of his skull, trapping his chin to his chest. His feet were cloven hooves. He felt like a goddamn pig.

He wanted to yell at you to go away, to just leave him alone.

No words came out.

You dropped to your knees, gentle hands reaching out to press against his temples. Baby squeezed his eyes shut, praying that this would finally be enough. For you to go away, to leave him behind. To find someone different. Someone better.

But of course it wasn't.

You reached down, placing one hand on his knee, voice soft. Far softer than he deserved.

“You don't have to do this, Baby. I'm not going anywhere. I promise.”

Baby's whole body trembled. The frightened animal fought back the urge to wail and cry and scream as you did the worst thing possible. You simply stayed, thumbing at his cheeks and rubbing his knee.

What is wrong with you. Why would you stay. Why would you stay for him of all people?!

Not knowing what else to do in the moment, Baby hesitantly relaxed, leaning into your touch much like a scared stray experiencing its first ever kind hand would do.

The future can be figured out whenever it's gotten to. Right now, Baby has to apologize and make up for what he's done. He called out, the sound of his voice tinny and rubbery. It hurt to hear.

“...I'm sorry.”

You only smiled, a sight that made Baby's heart squeeze in pain.

“I forgive you.”

Jinu was… a unique case.

Instead of a hulking physique, spindly frame, or impish form, what took over his being was almost mannequin-esc. His face was a blank, emotionless mask. It somewhat reminded you of a Geisha. A lost spirit, donned in white, wandering… searching through eternity for a life now long-gone.

By the time you found Jinu, any form of feeling had emptied from his stiff body. He looked like half a person, ghostly white spanning over his thin flesh. His eyes were dark black sockets, endless voids that held nothing within.

You likely wouldn't have recognized him if his head did not move to see you- to acknowledge your existence. Jinu didn't say anything- you don't know if he could, like this- but his hand twitched almost imperceptibly at his side. Maybe it was begging you to come closer? Or perhaps, a plea to at least hide your eyes? Shield yourself from the sight before you so you didn't have to see him like this?

Regardless, you didn't hesitate to walk up to him, immediately wrapping your arms around his chest and squeezing him into a bone-crushing hug. No words were said. Nothing needed to be said.

Besides, there wasn't much you could say in the moment to comfort him. You know his story. All you could do was cling onto him and hope.

Pain panged through Jinu's whole body. Him appearing emotionless was probably as much of a blessing as it was a curse in that moment. He didn't want you to see him break down, and this circumstance prevented just that.

You stayed for as long as it took, holding Jinu tight until his body slowly returned to normal. A strong, trembling pair of pale arms wrapped around your waist in return. The two of you rocked together, holding each other close until you both sank to the floor, quietly crying as you murmured words of love, devotion, and promises into each other's ears.

Jinu especially meant every word he said. He loves you. He will never leave you. He will never leave someone he loves as strongly as this.

Never again.

[maritoke]

I finally finished them, oh lord. Swap Ancients (and Elder Faerie (he's here along for the ride, poor guy)) for my swap au. They were the ones who had the original souljams firsts, now they're beasts

Some info on Swap Ancients (might change--):

Divine Vanilla Cookie: once a traveling healer blessed by the virtue of knowledge. Through out his travels, he had seen how plagued the world was by evil and cruelty. How many cookies had died young, how many good man had turned bad due to too many woes and problems, how time spared none. But it could be reversed could it not? There were the spells that allowed one to control time. World was cruel yet it was beautiful nontheless. Why not let everyone expierience it? Why not create a paradise on earth where the is no illness nor any woes? Why not erase the very death itself? He was granted immortality, was he not? Is he not benevolent for wanting to share it with others?

Lovebug Lilies Cookie: Once two cookies with separate minds and bodies. Now two souls sharing one vessel. White Lily would always search for the truth. Cookie kind deserved to know why were they created. Despite being granted the virtue of solidarity, her purpose was uncertain to her. Why she? Why not anyone else? In her search she had found Faerie Kingdom, where she befriended their king. But when she was about to leave, Elder Faerie joined her. Not wanting her to possibly face cruel truth alone. When she fell into the raw dough after witnessing the cruelty of their creators Elder Faerie tried to get her out. Sadly he was pushed into it along with her. Now, rebaked as one, they share the idea to keep the truth a secret forever. To sever the connection between the entirety of humankind and cookies. Cookies deserved to not be burdened with such pitiful legacy.

Berserk Cacao Cookie: How one responds in the most critical moments can say a lot about a person. Fear is one of the most basic emotions, and true warrior keeps going despite dreading the outcome of the battle. The stronger the enemy the more fear he strikes into his opponent. Dark Cacao was once known as the strongest warrior and king. The stories of him inspired both awe and striked fear. Though, as the climate got harsher and harsher, the cratures got more and more vile, until finally two dragons became a threat. And Dark Cacao would protect his people regardless of what they thought of him. After all no one would dare to attack the dragon slayer. In face of fear, one fights, freezes or flees. And he would always fight. For outsiders shall dread the king who won't back down. Who won't stop until the threat is gone.

Claretberry Cookie: The ever joyous queen, chershied each and every moment she spend with her friends and family. However as time went on she saw many of her friends and family grow old. Time and time again. Outliving them repeatedly. The joy soon started to fade away leaving only an empty space. So she slowly gave in to pleasure. Be it from drinking juice, throwing a thousandth party, or fighting for fun. It did bring her pleasure. It wasn't the same as real happiness, but it was good. It numbed the mind and filled it with forced dopamine. And her people? Well, Hollyberry Kingdom was always well known for being full of various sorts of entertainment. The decadency started to grow on others almost seemlessly.

Radiant Cheese Cookie: Ever as greedy, she cared for her kingdom the most. She brought good change to everyone but saved the best for her own. However not all change is good, and sooner or later even the strongest of empires need to fall. Be it because of a foe from the outside... or because of the fault within. She refused to let her kingdom fall, and so she started to plunder nearby cities for their goods and resources. After all she needed them more. Her people needed them more. With time, the need turned into want. For she'd rather take from others than see her kingdom change, see it rust. It is pure gold to her. And everyone knows pure gold cannot possibly rust or tarnish.

[wickedwitchofthegalaxy]

☞︎𝑅𝓊𝓁𝑒𝓈☜︎

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: 𝑮𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒕𝑿𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: NSFW, Angst, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Enemies to Lovers, Gore, Size Difference, Trust Issues, Power Imbalance

𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 6K

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: The woods are no place for a dancer, but when you’re forced to flee a life that isn’t your own, the only option is to follow the whispers of a bard and the promise of a Witcher’s protection.

𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: I’m so excited to share this with yall, as it might be one of my last fanfics for a while because I want to shift towards OC’s and fleshing out a few ideas for potential books. Anywho, hope you guys like it. Banners by @cafekitsune !

𝐸𝓃𝒿𝑜𝓎 🖤

There’s something about the silence in the woods that’s wrong, like it’s holding its breath, waiting for you to slip. The woods are thick with mist, the air damp and heavy, clinging to your skin like a warning.

You should have stayed at the inn; you should’ve kept your head down. But you didn’t. Not this time. And now you’re in a place you don’t belong, looking for a man who’s more myth than man.

Geralt of Rivia, the Witcher.

You don’t know what you’re expecting to find when you locate him. In the stories, he stands out in every room; he shouldn’t be hard to find, which were your exact thoughts when you left the inn and headed into the forest that Jaskier said the Witcher would be riding in from. It was only a 20-minute walk, and you had been waiting on this supposed White Wolf since the break of dawn. Every step forward is a gamble and the moment you step into a clearing, you realize you’ve lost the bet.

The clearing is not empty. It’s filled with the noise of metal on bone, of vicious growls and heavy breathing. You freeze. A figure cloaked in battle-worn leather is in full swing against… what is that thing?

He’s fighting—fighting something—someone. It’s not the first time you’ve walked into danger without meaning to, but this time, it’s different. This isn’t the same as a drunken noble’s leering hands or a back-alley brawl. No, this is life or death.

You should leave. You know you should. But you don’t.

You step forward, not thinking, not planning.

“Geralt!” You call out, way too loudly.

He doesn’t even flinch in your direction.

The sword in his hand moves with terrifying ease, slicing through the air. It’s the creature, that thing, some twisted shape of beast and man, that’s the focus of his ire. You’re invisible to him.

The creature, too quick, too feral, lashes out. Its clawed hand strikes, barely missing Geralt but connects with a nearby tree, shredding the side of it.

The world seems to stop as Geralt’s focus shifts. His eyes snap to you, and a single syllable leaves his lips.

“Run.”

You don’t.

Instead, you take a step forward, propelled by some stupid instinct to survive, or it’s something else. Maybe it’s the gnawing knowledge that waiting any longer will leave you trapped in a life that isn’t yours. And right now, even this forest, this creature, this man, feels safer than the suffocating pull of the noose tightening back home.

“Geralt, I—”

The words choke in your throat as the creature turns its attention to you. It’s fast, rabid, and it’s snapping at anything in its reach. Geralt curses under his breath, his shoulders tensing as his blow slices into the leg of the creature. The monster’s blood splatters across his face, and he doesn’t flinch. He never flinches. But when he steps toward you, when his movements are a blur of motion, you feel the urgency, the danger.

There’s a flash of light, the sickening crack of bone, and the creature drops. Silence.

The thing lies crumpled at Geralt’s feet, its twisted form unnervingly still. The quiet that follows is asphyxiating, pressing in on your ears as though the forest itself has collapsed inward. Your fists tremble, but you keep them closed at your hips, forcing yourself to hold steady. The fear claws at the edges of your resolve, but you push it down, shove it deep where it can’t stop you. You’ve survived worse, or at least you tell yourself that you have.

Geralt straightens, his blade dripping with something too dark to be blood. His gaze is on the corpse, but you know, you can feel, that he’s aware of every breath you take. He wipes the blood from his blade with a cloth you don’t remember him pulling out, his movements methodical and swift. The weight of his attention shifts to you slowly, like a hunter debating whether the effort of pursuit is worth it.

“What,” he begins, his voice low, “are you doing here?”

It’s not a question. It’s an accusation, one that cuts deeper than you thought it would. His eyes, yellow, and cold as winter’s wrath, meet yours, and it’s as if the forest stops breathing again.

You can’t find your voice immediately. The scene, what’s left of the creature, the way the Witcher’s chest heaves, the still-damp blood streaked across his face, pins you in place. Your words stumble out before you’ve fully caught them.

“I—Jaskier—he said—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s lips press into a thin, humorless line. He steps closer, his boots crunching against the blood-soaked earth. He towers over you now, his expression carved from stone.

“Do you have a death wish?”

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t give you room to breathe, the question hanging there like a snare waiting to snap shut. His lips tighten, and for a moment, he looks as though he might simply turn and leave you standing there. But he doesn’t. Instead, his hand lingers near his sword, his jaw clenched tight.

“You shouldn’t be here, much less yelling my name in the middle of the forest. Jaskier told me to meet a woman by the name of—“

He takes a deep breath and exhales dramatically, making his distaste for his next words. “The Court Swan, at the inn. I’m assuming that’s you?” His words are laced with disbelief, as if Jaskier has played one of his infamous jokes on him about your nickname.

You hesitate before nodding. “Yes. That’s me.” You take a step forward, ignoring the shake in your knees. It’s a dance, you tell yourself. Every movement calculated, every breath measured.

Geralt studies you with a scrutiny that feels more invasive than any gaze should, like he’s peeling back every layer of pretense with those sharp, wolfish eyes. You’ve felt the prestige of a royal audience before, the way their eyes skim over your form with detached judgment, but this is something else. This is dangerous. He’s dangerous.

“You’re a dancer.” It’s not a question, but you hear the skepticism in his tone. He casts a wary glance around the forest as he continues. “Why is a dancer running errands for a poet?”

“I’m not—” Bile rises into your throat, and you swallow hard. You shift your weight, your boots sinking into the damp mud as your hands clench at your sides.

“I’m not running errands. I’m here because… because I saved his life.”

Geralt’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers behind his eyes, and a dry smirk etches across his lips. “And that turned into my problem how?” His voice remains flat, cutting.

The weight of his gaze, his questions, presses down on you, and suddenly you’re spilling the truth before you can stop yourself.

“The royals I dance for—danced for—found out. They didn’t like that I helped him.” You pause, swallowing hard. Geralt’s gaze doesn’t waver. If anything, it sharpens. You can feel the sting of it, like a blade poised just above your skin.

“So they decided to punish me for it.”

He wipes his blade again, the motion deliberate, and sheathes it with a muted click. The admission hangs in the clearing, and for a moment, Geralt says nothing; neither of you moves, the world around you held at bay.

“I saved his life,” you repeat, your voice stronger now, gaining resolve. “Jaskier has these friends; they—” You pause, searching your pockets for the letter Jaskier sent with you to give Geralt. Finding the small envelope, you hold it up to him. “They’re victims of… one of the royals… habits.”

Geralt shifts slightly, his shoulders still tense, his eyes narrowing. “And what do you expect from me, exactly?” He grabs the envelope, it growing smaller the instant it leaves your hands and enters his. The forest presses in around you, the trees whispering secrets in the breeze, as if the woods themselves are listening and waiting for you to shatter under all this pressure while he opens the letter and reads it.

“Help,” you say, almost pleading. “I don’t know where to go or what to do. Jaskier said you might—that you know things I don’t.”

Geralt exhales sharply through his nose, the sound closer to a growl than a sigh. “Of course he did,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his damp, blood-matted hair. “And what exactly does he think I’m supposed to do? Take you in? Fight off your enemies? Play bodyguard for a dancer who thought it was a good idea to get involved in politics?”

“I didn’t ‘get involved,’” you bite back, heat rising in your cheeks. “I—” The words catch in your throat, shame and anger tangling together. “I didn’t have a choice. What do you know about me? What did Jaskier tell you?”

His eyes narrow further, the yellow of his irises growing colder, more assessing as he studies you. His staring is almost rude; you would have called him on it in any other situation. But you guess this is a situation where you too would be cautious of the strange girl coming to you for help. Especially in the middle of the woods. “Jaskier wasn’t being entirely honest when he mentioned my ‘help’,” he says finally, his voice low and deliberate. “Damien—Damien…?”

“Damien Clyde.” You clarify quickly, before the monster’s name can burn your tongue.

“Clyde,” Geralt repeats, testing the name as his eyes unfocus slightly. He shifts again, his gaze returning to the shadows of the trees around you. “I know Damien Clyde well—well enough to know that he’s ruthless.”

Geralt’s gaze returns to you, sharp and penetrating. “He’s got a lot of enemies,” he continues, his voice lower, almost a whisper. “But he also has a lot of loyal followers—people who will do anything to protect him. Even if that means hunting down a pretty little dancer.”

“Which is why I need your help,” you say, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. “I’m not asking for much. Just a place to hide, a way to keep ahead of his hunters—”

“You’re asking for a miracle,” Geralt cuts in, his voice sharper now, a low exclamation that seems more a reaction than an accusation. “And that’s not something I can provide.”

You feel the strike of his words like they were physical, your heart sinking. “I don’t know what else to do,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need something—someone—who knows the way Damien thinks, knows how he operates.”

Geralt looks at you then, really looks, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find some hidden truth there. “And what makes you think I can help with that?” he ventures, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “What do you think I know about Damien Clyde that you don’t?”

You hesitate for a moment, considering his question. “You’ve faced monsters like him before,” you finally say, your voice firm, though the anxiety still ripples through you. “You know what makes them tick. Damien is a monster in his own right, just… different. I think you’ve seen enough to understand,” you insist, your voice holding onto that firmness despite the doubt that claws at you. “More than most.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch out between you while he contemplates your words. When he does reply, it’s with a shake of his head and a heavy sigh.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he admits, his voice low and laced with frustration as he crumbles the letter in his hand. “But I can’t leave you to fend for yourself either.”

“Then what can you do?” You countered, desperation edging into your tone. You take a quick step, closing in on his personal space. His whole body tenses, and if you thought he was scary before, getting closer only tripled his effect. Regardless of his enhanced presence, you keep his gaze, your head tilting up as you add, “If it’s not a miracle, what’s left?”

Geralt takes a deep breath, his jaw flexing as he peers down at you. “I can give you a head start,” he states, his arms crossing while he rolls his shoulders. “I know some places, some people… ways to get you out of sight for a while, to keep you safe. But Damien’s going to keep coming after you.”

You shake your head, your eyebrows furrowing before you speak up, your voice rising slightly. “No, I’m not leaving your side. You know how to evade him; you know everything I need to know in order for me to live. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Geralt’s eyes slim, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. He hesitates for a moment, as if weighing his options, before letting out a slow breath. “Dammit,” he mutters under his breath, as if cursing the situation more than you.

“You’re asking for more than I can give,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “But for now… I guess it’s enough.”

“Then let’s go,” you cut in, determination in your voice as you turn and start walking deeper into the woods. Geralt doesn’t move immediately, watching you with a mix of frustration and something darker; resignation, perhaps. Finally, he sighs and shouts, “Where do you think you’re going?”

You stop, confused, and turn back to him. “What? I thought—”

“Wrong way,” Geralt interrupts, his tone sharper than you expected. He glares at you, and his eyes flick around the woods as if he’s checking for threats.

“Rule one: always follow me.”

You blink at him, taken aback by the sudden correction. “I didn’t—”

“You didn’t think,” he cuts in, his voice tinged with frustration. “Keep close and do as I say. No more running off, no more going your own way. No more thinking, just listen.”

You swallow, nodding quickly as you step back to where he stands, his judging eyes never leaving you. “Got it,” you say, trying to keep your voice from wavering. “Lead on.”

Geralt grunts, but there’s a hint of reluctant approval in his eyes as he turns and starts walking again, this time in the right direction.

“Let’s move,” he mutters, not looking back to see if you’re following. “And keep your head down.”

 

 

One Month Later…

 

The forest and a small, tucked-away hut have become a sanctuary for the two of you, away from prying eyes and the ever-watchful hunters sent by Damien. The rules that Geralt laid down, the ones you initially dismissed with an eye roll or two, are now second nature. Rule one: always follow him. Rule two: don’t ask questions unless he allows it. Rule three: never assume you’re safe. They’re becoming etched into your memory as much as the steps you now take in combat.

You haven’t felt this alive in years. Every day is a test, a dance of a sort. Although you did miss just dancing. It’s grueling, Geralt’s training regime, but it’s given you purpose.

Today, the clearing outside the tiny hut is quiet, the only sound being the rustle of leaves in the breeze. Geralt is off to the side, sharpening his sword with deliberate strokes. You approach him, your own blade feeling unfamiliar in your hands. It’s a strange sensation, not just the weight of the sword but the unfamiliarity with its use.

“Come on,” Geralt says without looking up, his voice rough from disuse. “You’re better than this. Focus.”

You take a deep breath, gripping the hilt tightly. He watches you from beneath his tousled white hair, his eyes sharp as always. It feels as if he can see right through you, to the fear and doubt lurking beneath your surface.

“Show me,” he instructs, his eyes never leaving yours and his tone even. “What you’ve learned.”

You move forward slowly, cautious. The blade feels like a stranger’s hand in yours, and you thrust forward with a hesitant jab. It’s clumsy and weak, nothing like the smooth, deadly movements you’ve seen him perform. Geralt barely reacts, just steps back and shakes his head.

“Again,” he orders, his voice low. “But faster this time. You’re thinking too much.”

You nod, trying to ignore the way his gaze follows your every move. There’s an intensity to his focus that makes you want to prove yourself, to show him that you’re not just a dancer who stumbled into his world by accident. You gather your courage and lunge again, more confidently this time.

Geralt blocks the strike effortlessly, his own blade moving in a blur as he counters with a series of rapid jabs. You dodge, your heart pounding in your chest as you scramble to keep up. Each strike feels like it could be the last, and the sweat on your skin isn’t just from exertion, it’s fear.

“You need to relax,” he says, lowering his sword and stepping closer. “Focus on your breathing. You’re too tense.”

You try to listen, but the pressure of the situation—of Damien, of everything you’ve left behind—makes it hard. “It’s not that easy,” you admit, your voice shaky with toil as you lower your own blade. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. Why did you agree to this?”

Geralt’s cheek twitches slightly as he looks at you, his eyes keeping yours for a moment too long. “You’re not the only one who needs to survive,” he says, his voice low. “I took on your burdens the moment you screamed my name in those woods. Your end will be mine; that’s assured.”

You swallow hard, feeling something tighten in your chest. “So this is just about survival?”

He hesitates, then steps closer, his fingers brushing lightly against the blade in your hand. “Maybe,” he admits quietly. “But it’s more than that. You’re not just some dancer to me anymore, are you?”

“What does that mean?” you ask, your voice on the edge of silence.

Geralt hesitates again, then steps back, his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Later,” he says, his tone clipped. “Let’s just finish for today.”

Disappointment floods through you, and you don’t bother to hide it. Your hand gripping the hilt of your blade harder. “Fine,” you mutter, squaring up to him. “Later.”

Geralt watches you for a long moment before raising his blade, stretching it out between you two, his hand steady and practiced.

“Rule one,” he says, his gaze locked in on your eyes, “always follow me.”

You fight with a ferocity you didn’t know you had, pushing yourself to keep up with his quick movements. Every thrust and parry brings you closer to frustration. Your arms ache, the weapon in your hands feeling heavier with each swing. It’s a cruel reminder of your mortality, how little separates you from failure.

Geralt’s moves are sharp as he counteracts each of yours with ease. “Focus,” he snaps after one particularly errant swing. Another parry, another twist of his wrist, and your strike falters… Again.

“You’re letting your emotions get in the way.”

Of course I am, you bastard. I’m not a machine.

“I don’t have time for this!” You bark, your anger bubbling over. Your vision blurs; whether from sweat or tears, you can’t tell. “I don’t have time for you and your rules, Geralt! I need to find a way out!”

His face darkens, the pale skin stretched tight over a grimace as he steps back, and you hate the way your stomach twists at the sight.

Why does his silence feel like a punishment? Like I failed some mysterious test?

“Then leave,” he says, his voice calm and flat, dangerous in its restraint. “Go somewhere else. I’m not stopping you.”

You freeze; your sword dips, the blade scraping the dirt. “You know I can’t,” you mutter, teeth clenched against the truth as you abandon your blade. Your eyes are barely able to lift from the ground to meet his as you continue, ”he’ll find me. And if I go alone—“

“Then you’ll end up dead,” he growls, finishing for you, his eyes hardening. “And Damien will still win.”

I know that. I know that, but do you think I want to hear it? Do you think I haven’t imagined my own corpse lying in his shadow?

The thoughts press down on you, but your voice cuts through them, bloody and breaking. “Then help me!” you yell, your voice cracking. “Don’t just stand there, judging me and shit! Fight for me!”

An unmistakable glow overtakes his eyes, fire behind the gold. His tone lowers, softer now but somehow more threatening. “Is that what you want?” He’s in front of you in seconds, his long legs carrying him quickly and placing him inches away from you. “You want me to fight for you?” He whispers, his head leaning down.

You take a shuddering breath, your heart pounding as you look up at him, his expression more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen it.

He’s testing me. Always testing.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice breaking as the admission drags itself out of your chest. “Yes, I do.”

Geralt’s gaze softens ever so slightly, though his jaw remains tight. He reaches out and takes your chin gently between his fingers, tilting your face up to meet his. “Then you need to fight for yourself too,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. “I can’t do it alone.”

Haven’t I been doing that?

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as you meet his eyes. “I’m trying,” you plea, your words shaking as they exit your mouth. “I just… I don’t know how.”

“Let me show you,” he states, his voice low and steady. “But you have to listen, and you have to trust me.”

Do I even know how to trust anymore? When was the last time someone asked me to? When was the last time I didn’t regret it?

Tears well up in your eyes as you nod, feeling smaller than you ever have.

How did I let it come to this? When did I become so helpless?

Your voice shakes as it leaves you, and your hand comes up to clutch your stomach. “I want to.”

His bright amber eyes search yours, as if looking for some kind of answer to this mess. “Good,” he finally replies, his tone soft and deep. “Then show me.”

He closes the distance between you, his hands cradling your face as his mouth captures yours in a kiss that’s both angry and gentle.

Angry and gentle. How is that even possible? How is he pulling me closer while it feels like he’s punishing me?

“Show me you can fight,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands tracing the curve of your neck, gliding down to your shoulders, urging you closer. “Show me you’re not afraid.”

Afraid?

You kiss him back, your movements clumsy, desperate, as if to prove something; to him or to yourself, you’re not sure. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt, your fingers trembling as they work to undo them. “I’m not,” you mumble, the words quaking. “I can handle this.” 

A low sound escapes him, somewhere between a growl and a hum, as he shrugs his shirt off the rest of the way.“That’s what I wanted to hear.” He breathes, his voice rough.

His hands move slowly as he peels your shirt from your body, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. The cool air kisses your skin, but it’s his mouth you feel most. You let out a soft gasp as his mouth reconnects with yours, then moves, trailing along your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin as his hands roam down your back. His calloused fingers mix with the cool breeze, leaving goosebumps to emerge along your body.

He lowers his kisses down to your collarbone, hands slipping under your waistband to touch your skin. You gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive curve. His hands are everywhere, on your waist, your back, your face, his lips never leaving your flesh, which causes your words to fly out with little thought. “Show me how to fight; I’ll listen this time.”

Is this what surrender feels like?

“I’ll show you, but first,” he promises as he leans down, hooking his hands under your thighs and lifting you. You cling to him as your heart hammers in your chest. “you have to let go.” He murmurs against your lips, the words less a challenge and more a demand.

Let go? Of all the things Damien has done? Of all those poor women? Or is he meaning let go of my old life, the one I worked so hard to achieve? Maybe he means all of it, and if he does, how am I supposed to just… let that go?

Your hands find his face, cupping his cheeks as you search his expression. His wet lips, his golden gaze, they’re too much, too honest. You press your forehead to his, closing your eyes tightly. “I don’t know how. I—I can’t.” You admit, your voice a fractured whisper.

“Yes, you can,” he says, the conviction in his voice stronger than your doubts. His eyes remain on yours as he carries you toward the hut, taking large steps while keeping a tight hold on you. “You’re stronger than you think.”

He doesn’t bother with closing the door as he maneuvers you inside, the hut’s worn frame groaning under the sudden shift in weight. You barely register the dim interior, your focus consumed entirely by him, his grip, his heat, the way he sets you down on the makeshift straw bed with a care that feels at odds with his rough edges.

His hands find your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks in a way that sends warmth spiraling through you. His lips crash into yours, this kiss deeper, hungrier.

“Just trust me,” he mutters against your mouth again, his breath warm as it mingles with yours. His hands are already at your waistband, his fingers deftly unfastening the fabric. “Trust me.”

How does he make it feel like he’s taking something from me and giving it back at the same time?

The words linger in the air, heavy and unfamiliar, before spilling from your lips. “I trust you.” You whisper as the faint rasp of fabric fills the space, his hands pushing your pants past your ankles.

You let out a soft whimper as his fingers graze your skin. His hands, steady and searching, make their way down your body, his touch a mixture of need and tenderness. His mouth finds your neck again, lingering at the tender spot beneath your ear.

“What’s my third rule?” He questions, his voice a low growl while his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

The words come to you like a reflex.

“Never assume you’re safe.” You reply, your voice barely a breath as his fingers brush against the sensitive skin between your legs. “Good girl,” he praises, the depth in his tone making the two single words vibrate through you.

I’m not safe. Not from Damien. Not from myself. Not from him.

“Don’t assume anything right now.” He commands, his hands starting a slow, deliberate tease against your clit.

“This is about trust,” he murmurs, his voice softening as his fingers find their way inside you, the sensation tame yet overwhelming. “Show me you trust me.”

You can’t hold back the moan that escapes you, your hands tangling in his hair. His thumb finds your clit, brushing it before circling the swollen nub with an infuriatingly slow pace.

“I trust you,” you gasp, clutching at him, desperate to pull him closer. “Please, Geralt.”

Please what? Please stop? Please keep going? Please make me forget everything but this?

His lips return to your neck, trailing a line of heat down to your collarbone, where he pauses, his breath fanning. "You keep saying it," he mumbles against you as two fingers curl inside you, his thumb stopping its circles as he shifts his focus to finding that sweet spot inside of you. "but trust is more than words." His teeth graze your shoulder, each edge marking your flesh with a maddeningly gentle scratch.

A choked gasp leaves you as his fingers find it, and he presses again, firm and deliberate, sending a jolt through you that makes your body arch into him. His lips curve into a smirk against your shoulder, his breath warm as he shifts his angle; his fingers press and release in rapid succession, as though he’s flicking a switch that ignites something molten inside you.

"Trust is letting go."

Letting go. The words land heavily, like a challenge. Your thoughts spin out of control, colliding with the steady rhythm of his touch. His fingers move deeper, his pace increasing ever so slightly, causing the most beautiful, juicy noises to leave your soaking heat.

It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything.

Your control splinters under the sensation, the rest of the world dissolving into nothing but the relentless pace of his touch and the way your body reacts to him. His thumb resumes its place over your clit, pressing firmly, circling, teasing, in perfect counterpoint to the rapid release and maddening pressure of his fingers inside you. It’s as if he’s playing you like an instrument, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you could make.

“Like that?” he murmurs, his voice low and knowing. The meticulous motion of his fingers quickens, not frantic but punishing, each thrust landing with perfect accuracy to help prove his point.

Your answer comes as a broken moan, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails biting into his toned muscles. “Come on beautiful,” he growls, his voice slicing through the haze, grounding you and yet setting you further adrift. “Don’t hold back.”

It’s not a request. It’s a command; an answer.

You can’t even think of resisting, not when his lips find the edge of your jaw, his teeth grazing the delicate curve with just enough pressure to make you shiver. “That’s it,” he growls, his voice a low mix of admiration and darkness. “That’s my good little dancer.”

His hand never falters, fingers thrumming inside you with care, his thumb rubbing your clit with a focus that borders on cruel. You’re unraveling, thread by thread, piece by piece, until you’re nothing but raw nerve endings responding to him.

This is surrender; you’re sure of it now.

“Geralt—” His name is a plea, a prayer you didn’t know you had in you.

“Let it happen, baby,” he murmurs, his golden eyes locking on yours while his free hand grasps the inside of your thigh, spreading it open further. The calluses on his palm feel rough against the tender skin, a downright opposition to the soft, devastating rhythm of his other hand. “Don’t fight it.”

You don’t even know what it is anymore. The trust he keeps demanding? The fear you’ve been holding onto like a lifeline? Or this—a brutal, undeniable pleasure that’s tearing you into eight million different pieces?

Your hips buck against his hand, chasing every stroke, every press, every flick of his fingers as if they’re the only thing keeping you alive. And maybe they are.

He leans in, his lips brushing over yours. Just a breath, a glimpse of contact that steals the air from your lungs. “You’re close,” he says, his voice so deep it almost sends you over. “I can feel it.”

You shake your head, a wordless denial, though you don’t know who it’s meant for.

“You are,” he insists, his fingers quickening, pushing deeper, as if to prove it. In seconds he’s replaced his thumb with his free hand, that thumb taking over and having a better angle to rub your swollen clit with more ferocity as his other fingers continue their assault against your sweet spot. Your body betrays you, the denial caught in your throat unraveling as your thighs quiver against his hands.

Your eyes shoot open, locking with his as his voice rings out, “And you’ll take it,” he says, his voice a low snarl. His eyes bore into yours, molten gold burning through the fog of pleasure clouding your mind. “You’ll take it because I’m giving it to you.”

“Geralt,” you manage to yelp, the name cracking on your lips as your nails dig into him.

“Don’t fight me,” he growls again, but there’s something different now; a hint of frustration, a flash of unapologetic desire. His pace quickens and he adds a third finger, thrusting harder, each motion a declaration of his lesson.

Your head tips back, your lips parting as you let out a sound that’s somewhere between a moan and a sob, the pleasure climbing higher, threatening to crest.

“Yes, yes, baby,” he purrs, his voice softening but no less commanding. He leans in, his lips retaking their place by your ear. “Don’t you dare hold back now.”

You don’t. You can’t. It feels like he’s everywhere, filling every part of you, dragging you down until there’s nothing left but the electric pulse of your own climax.

“There she is,” he grunts, a harsh whisper against the shell of your ear. “Don’t stop now. I want all of it.”

The tension inside you coils tighter, until it pulls taut, stretching to the breaking point, then fractures, an eruption that floods your veins with unbridled energy and a rush of power. Cries tear from your throat, and your body convulses around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, leaving you shaking, gasping, unraveling completely in his hands.

He doesn’t slow. Doesn’t stop. And the sounds spilling from your lips are unrestrained, a language you don’t recognize but can’t suppress.

He watches you like he’s orchestrated the entire thing, some maestro of chaos and submission. “There,” he rasps, his voice dragging across your skin like gravel. “That’s what I wanted.” His lips trail and hover at the edge of your jaw, close enough that you feel every syllable. “No masks. No more dancing. Just you. ”

Your hands tremble against his shoulders, searching for some way to anchor yourself as the tremors pulse through you. He shifts, his movements slowing, fingers easing their pace but never truly stopping.

He’s still there, still consuming, like a river that flows faintly beneath a hidden surface.

“Look at me,” he breathes, and there’s no question in his tone. It makes your eyes flutter up to his, barely able to keep them focused on his face.

“Did you feel it?” he asks, his voice lowered, yet holding the same harsh charge. His fingers remain inside you, his other hand stills on your sensitive clit while his fingers inside rub small circular motions against your bulging g-spot. “That breaking point? That moment when you let it all go?”

You can only nod, your throat too raw for words.

“Good,” he says, his lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth, not a kiss, but enough to make your heart skip. “Remember it. Because that’s trust.”

[merakiui]

wait wait wait wait gimme a sec……big bad wolf Jade and Red Riding Hood reader 😳 going to visit your granny but ending up banged and stuffed by this big wolf guy (maybe even +hunter Floyd)

AAAAAAA OTL OTL down tremendously bad for wolf Jade,,,, so scummy…… such a silver-tongued wolf, trying to tempt and stray you from your path to grandmother’s house. >_< he’s so hungry, you see. :< won’t you find some kindness in your heart to stop and lend him something sweet from your basket? That jar of homemade strawberry marmalade looks particularly delicious. :) but you rip it away from his clawed hands and insist that you must be on your way, for your grandmother is expecting you. He smiles like he understands and he doesn’t follow you, but you can’t stop looking over your shoulder the rest of the way.

Can you truly blame a ravenous wolf for making a meal out of your grandmother? You make it to her small cottage to find a smattering of blood soaking the walls of her bedroom, staining the wallpaper, the linen sheets, everything in sight. And who should be waiting for you, licking that same blood from his fingers, but that terrible wolf!!!! It truly is a shame, he tells you, for if you had just shown him an ounce of pity he’d have left perfectly satisfied. Alas, he’s still craving something sweet and you smell very appetizing, even more so when you try to flee. <3

Maybe you’re a virgin,,, the village sweetheart praised for being so pure and kindhearted. You don’t quite look like one anymore, though, with your tear-streaked expression and the way your lips have been bitten and bruised from so many hungry kisses. orz he could be merciful and kill you here, but then he wouldn’t have the chance to savor this sweet treat.

Thick wolf cock bullying its way into your tight pussy….. claws scraping at the pudgy flesh of your hips and inner thighs, drawing pinpricks of blood that make you wince and cry out. His thumb grinding harshly against your clit,, a slobbering, bloodstained mouth at your throat, whether to taste your pulse or rip out your jugular with those sharp teeth of his. And such big, calloused hands—big enough to grab you and slam you back down on his knot when you try to escape, pinning you there so you can take all of him inside.

It’s just too much for your little womb to handle, but it satisfies the wolf and his big, bad appetite for fragile things like you. You’re lucky enough to escape with your life, but you can’t say the same for the rest of you. :( you’re only given the opportunity to escape because he allows it—and there’s some lesson to be learned about being kind and generous to those less fortunate, or whatever he’s pretending to be—because he expects to cross paths with you again, and surely then he’ll take what he believes to be his.

And hunter Floyd….. maybe he’s also a wolf, but he likes living amongst humans in this quaint village, so he’s taken to disguising himself. Hiding his ears under a hat or hooded cloak. Stuffing his bushy tail away so no one sees it. Taking care not to show off his teeth so much, or else overly suspicious townsfolk might start crying wolf. Hunting the other beasts in the forest is no problem for him, and the villagers absolutely adore him and his silly, boyish charms.

But Floyd only has eyes for Little Red, and ever since you returned to the village a right mess, tattered, crimson cloak barely covering anything, and looking like you’ve just tussled (and lost) with quite the formidable monster it’s given him an opening to cozy up to you. He’ll hunt the beast who slaughtered your grandmother! You needn’t fear.

Unfortunately, Floyd isn’t the strongest man wolf, and it’s getting harder to do everything the human way when the wolf way is so much easier, if not particularly brutal. But he’ll endure and he’ll be patient because when he takes down that beast you’ll appreciate his efforts and sheer loyalty, and maybe then you’ll stop scoffing every time he tries to strike up flirty conversation with you. Maybe you’ll finally take him seriously and see him as a man wolf worthy of your love.

[anonymouse9172]

He notices them following him around. Part 1. (Yandere! Poly! Twisted Wonderland x Male Reader)

Malleus and Leona: It was one day later in the cafeteria that M/n saw them again. They were together and they kept glancing at M/n and then whispering to each other. It made M/n uncomfortable and wonder if he did something wrong. After 5 minutes of this he decided to take his lunch and leave the cafeteria to go eat with his brother in solitude.

A couple hours later he saw them again starring at him. He was on a walk in the gardens and they definitely following him around. He'd made 5 turns in less then three minutes and they still were behind him. He did not know what to do with the lion beast man and the dragon far following him around.

He decided to go back to Scarabia where they could not follow him finally. While back Scarabia he managed to convince himself he was just going crazy and they were not actually following him. He was disillusioned from that when he left Scarabia for classes though. They were waiting outside his homeroom and then later all of his other classes.

He tried talking to his teachers and brother about it. However they only rolled their eyes and told him it was just Malleus Draconia and Leona Kingscholar, two of the 7 dorm wardens at NRC, and they probably just wanted to talk to him about something due to being new and he should probably just talk to them. M/n felt in his bones though that they were wrong about that and he should not approach either of them ever again.

In the end though he was not given a choice though as he found Leona and Malleus waiting outside the bathroom for him after lunch. No one else was around and M/n immediately felt the urge to flee from them. He pushed the idea away though. "May I help you both?", he says.

The Lion beast man, Leona, snorts. "Sure, herbivore. You can help us by doing what we want.", says Leona. M/n felt his chest tighten in fear.

"What do you want?", says M/n. Leona smirks and Malleus, the dragon fae, smiles. "We want you to go on a date with us.", says Malleus. Terror seizes M/n. He doesn't see any route to escape so he nods. "Perfect. We will pick up from Scarabia Friday at 6 pm, child of man.", says Malleus. Finally the Lion and Dragon walk away from the human.

Kalim and Jamil: It took M/n nearly an entire month to realize he was being followed by Kalim and Jamil. They be waiting outside his room when he woke up and walk him back to his room at night too. His classes were all the same as theirs too. They hardly ever were far from him. Even if he went to bathroom it seemed that one of them followed him.

At first he brushed all of this off as coincidence. It wasn't until one brave soul, a student from Scarabia, actually spoke to him and told him it was kind of creepy how they followed him. Jamil and Kalim quickly scared off the other student from but the seed was already planted in M/n's mind and he suddenly couldn't have unnoticed their weird behavior even if he wanted to do so.

M/n started going out of his way to try and avoid them as much as possible but nothing worked. Kalim and Jamil were stuck to him like glue and scaring off anyone who dared talk to him, even teachers. M/n tried writing home to his parents to ask for help but letters mysteriously disappeared while texts and emails refused to send.

M/n was utterly terrified to leave his room after a week. Then he woke up to them both in his room standing above him. He tensed but managed to squeak out, "He-hey, guys. Can I help you with something?"

Kalim grinned broadly while Jamil narrowed his eyes at M/n. "Hey, man. We just wanted to ask you to go on a date with us.", says Kalim cheerfully but M/n could tell it was a demand rather then an ask. He nodded out of fear of the consequences.

Jamil smiled. "Perfect. We'll be here Friday at 6 pm.", he says. Then Jamil and Kalim left while Kalim chatted away about what they should do with M/n Friday.

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine DND night with the beast pirates

During one session

Queen: Alright, you idiots somehow managed to kidnap the ambassador. You have him tied up in the dank, dark, dilapidated dungeon of the old capital ruins.

King: We need to interrogate him for answers, it's clear that he's working for the necromancer, he might know where he is. I roll for intimidation, *rolls* sixteen.

Queen: *mutters,* of course that is where you go with it, pervert. *Speaks loudly,* Your intimidation is only slightly successful. The ambassador knows his life is in danger and needs to flee. However, he refuses to answer your questions. He proclaims, "I will never tell you anything, I shall be loyal to my master till my last breath!"

Kaido: *really in the character of his half-orc barbarian* that can be arranged, little man.

Queen: *rolls for him* The ambassador stutters, his voice quivering, "I just received messages from him and carried out his bidding, I don't know where he is really."

Yamato: Perception check, I'd like to see if he is lying.

Queen: you'll need a nineteen or higher, Are you sure you want to do that?

Yamato: *rolls* nat 20.

Queen: you can tell he's lying big time, you can practically smell the nervous flop sweat on this guy from across the room.

You: I can make him talk, I cast heat metal on his bones.

Queen: heat metal only works on metal, it's literally in the name of the spell. It doesn't work on bones, since they're made of calcium.

You: and calcium is a soft metal.

Queen: what's your source.

You: *came prepared to dispute this because you've been looking for an excuse to use this knowledge for evil. You pulled out an advanced chemistry textbook with the page bookmarked and the section highlighted, and handed it to him.* Read it and weep.

Queen: *puts on his reading glasses to read it* ... Dear god, okay, you cast heat metal, roll a d10 for me.

You: *rolls* 8

Queen: and with a plus three modifiers... you heat his bones until he's screaming. The ambassador lasts only thirty seconds before he reveals that the wizard necromancer, Typhus the Terrible, lives in the glittering palace deep in the inky caverns of Roptian, which is guarded by the onyx dragon.

Sasaki: yer kind of scary sometimes.

You: thank you.

At another session

Queen: okay, you enter the throne room, and the evil wizard is lounging on the glittering throne, Typhus the Terrible.

King: I roll for initiative *rolls dice*

Queen: critical fail, your fighter is dead.

Kaido: *rolls for attack* critical fail.. Hmm, I hate this game.

Queen: you are also dead, (y/n), you are the only one left with any spell slots or turns left. What are you gonna do?

You: ... I would like to cast summon water

King: there goes that campaign.

Queen: that spell lets you fill a space with water, are you sure that's what you want to do.

You: yes

Queen: the room fills with water

You: I didn't cast it in the room.

Queen: where then did you cast it?

You: inside the wizard's skull.

The whole room: *horrified*

Queen: you can't do that

You: the spell specifies that it fills a space, and a skull cavity is a space. And you let me fill the chest down the hall with water, why not this dude's head?

Queen: ugh, hang on a minute, I need to figure out the damage.... You killed the boss... You flooded his brain with so much water, that his skull exploded.

King: that's the most messed up thing I've ever heard.

Kaido: *mutters* we've done worse.

You: you should be very glad I don't have a devil fruit

King: I'm starting to see that now, thank you.

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[fanaticsnail]

Oh shit the Yandere Doflamingo and that scene from Beauty & the Beast "If she doesn't eat with me, she doesn't eat at all." is so Doffy 🫠

Extra points if he calls her "princesa" which is Spanish (in OP world it would be Dressrosan I guess?) for princess. It has this very nice sound in Spanish.

Extra extra points if he never called any previous royalty by their title bcs why should a Celestial Dragon call anyone royalty? He's the only real royalty! (in his head) But then he calls reader princess (not putting the Reader's name after the title bcs it's still Doffy) It acts as an endearment mostly, but the servants & his crew are like "are we dreaming, did he actually call a princess princess, wtf is happening?"

Would be even better if he sometimes called her "mi princesa" (my princess) he'd be so comforting and such a KIND KING with her.

We need a scene where he gets on a bent knee and takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. Maybe when he saves her from an assassin from the enemy that ruined her country, assuring her nobody will hurt her in Dressrosa? He could cover her eyes with his hand so she doesn't see him decapitate the man after he gets all the information out of him.

Doffy can 100% pretend to be a nice guy the thing is how much patience does he have to endure it ie the time period, cus I think the mask falls of quick if he isn't careful. Though, he was called a charming devil... But yeah, he'll need to tone everything else down around Reader. It'd be so funny.

Not that he'll let his princess escape the gilded cage of strings he spent his time weaving around her even after she sees the reality of the King of Dressrosa...

Maybe she sees him decapitate one of the dukes that got on his nerves? Maybe she hears how he snaps at Violet when she suggests Reader is a "spoiled princess" in an attempt to save her and Doflamingo grabs her by the throat and squeezes her neck and nearly breaks it from absolute rage.

"Yes, but that's how princesses are supposed to be. They can be like that because they have a strong king to protect them. Weak kings can't protect anything."

And then his guards catch his princess trying to flee the next night. How can she be so ungrateful and try to leave? He gave her everything! He wasn't even cruel! He was good with her!

Well, he knows the solution to that little escape attempt...

After all, kings can marry princesses, can't they...

And Dressrosa needs a queen. If she wants to keep his cruelty in check in court, perhaps she should just marry him... having her sit on his lap on his throne as he listens to the rabble of the dukes and whatnot would probably stay his fingers from twitching... His fingers would be too busy cradling her to do anything cruel.

Ugh, and maybe he always brings her pink roses or things she likes just as he always scoured for food for his mom... 😭😭😭 What if he always bends his knees and slouches his spine or sometimes when she is sitting in an armchair he squats to talk to her? What if he gets to finally talk about all the books he reads because Reader is such a great listener and the excitement on her face as she listens to him talk about the recent book he read makes him talk about it more just so he can have her smile all to himself... And then she reads a book she likes to him and he nearly falls asleep on her lap. His mother always read him books in Mariejois while little Doflamingo sat on her lap.

He'd be so protective of her, he wouldn't let her out of the palace unless he is with her or one of his executives. Beause when his mother left Mariejois, she got sick beause his father could not take care of her. His princess and his mother are both flowers that can only survive in the best garden, where they are tended to and spoiled by all the luxuries the world can provide. It's where they bloom the brightest.

Only in the garden of a god can flowers like his mother and Reader be safe and live life.

"Silly little thing... You won't last a day out there in that cruel, ruthless world. Stay here with your king."

Excuse me while I squeal and clutch at my heart. Prior yandere Doffy ask here.

Any time I hear "My princess," in any given context, all I see is this absolutely beautiful scene from The Mummy:

It just needs to be a fic, doesn't it? At the rate I'm falling for Doflamingo, it needs to be its own fic. Your prompt is spectacular, thank you so much for adding to the great simpening for the King of Dressrosa. The head in the lap, the reading to him as he slowly falls asleep: my heart can simply not take such sweetness and softness from the king.

This is so incredibly romantic, thank you for steering me in a direction I need to go in for it. There's so many things I want to write for this lanky man: the marine doctor in impel down, yandere Doffy, his Sapsorrow spinoff with Rosinante, kissing booth kisses, I love him. Send help.

[idkfitememate]

So we have tiger creator and deer creator

So a present

Sumpter beast creator

This thing

Like we have a killer cat in the city

But imagine this giant in the city

Just chilling

Dori Encounter

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! Sumpter Beast Reader x Dori

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 538

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Fluff, Dori gets protective

The Palace of Alcazarzaray had a new resident. A resident that no one would have ever thought Lord Sangemah Bay would even allow.

That resident, you ask?

You! A Sumpter Beast.

People of The Palace had not been expecting to see their Lord riding atop your shaggy form. You had a large hawdaj on your back that could accommodate three people of Dori’s size - which meant only one full grown person could fit. And by full grown, you mean a shorter full grown person.

Golden hoops shined on your ears and your fur was shined and brushed throughly. You looked better taken care of than the majority of the people of Sumeru.

You quietly walked into the pavilion and sat down, allowing the girl to climb down. Taking about few packs and bags off your back and began setting up shop.

People walking past watched in wonder as you helped unroll rugs and place merchandise. You were exceptionally gentle with everything.

And when everything was set up, you settled down on a rug. Dori was quick to follow, sitting in front of you and laying her head on your side.

She even slipped some greens your way which you happily munched on.

“Um.. Lord Sangemah Bay?” A passing merchant who had witnessed all of this hesitantly took a step towards the girl, making her look up.

“Yeah?” She asked, flicking a single mora between her fingers. Feeing her attention wasn’t fully on him, he sighed before steeling his nerves.

“… Why would you keep a most likely flee ridden beast such as-“ He couldn’t even finish his sentence before the most offended gasp he had ever heard left the small girl before him.

His words were apparently so egregious that she had dropped the more she had been playing with.

That was not a good sign.

She stood up in a huff, Electro swirling around her. You didn’t even bother looking up, choosing to continue munching on your plants.

She stalked over to the now shivering merchant, before stoping in front of him. The amount of Electro swirling off her provided a blinding purple light the engulfed to surrounding area.

“The only “flee ridden beast” I see around here is you. Now SCRAM! YOU’RE BANNED FROM TRADING WITH ME EVER. AGAIN!” She slammed her foot on the ground, causing a strike of Electro energy to zap right next to the man, causing him to squeal like a pig before running out. She made sure to actually zap him on the ass as he left, making him scream like a little girl.

She grunted before turning to the others who were watching in fear.

“Anyone ELSE got a PROBLEM with my new partner?” She asked. And was immediately met with echos of ‘no’ and ‘absolutely not’.

“Good.” She mused before walking back over to you, calming her Electro so as to not shock you. Sitting back down she leaned into your form and was met with a low rumble from your form.

She ran a hand through your fur and sighed, calming down.

“What would I do without you, صانع المال أول’ الكبير.” She sighed into your side before sitting up straight, ready to make her daily quota.

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : Just a bid ole’ guy who wants to live peacefully. And with Dori’s help, they can! Imagine all the nice soft stuff she can buy… or the self care products… hehe getting pampered by Dori sounds so nice right now…

* my big ole’ money maker - Dori to You

[missingmayuri]

KurotsuchiWeek2025 Day 6: Favourite Moments

This submission is going to be more of a gush and appreciation post then a written story. I want the last submission to be truly special.

I will be as spoiler free as possible.

I love Bleach A LOT and over the series Mayuri has had many wonderful moments.

From Szayel to Pernida he has never failed to be intriguing but I want to talk about not a specific moment but something bigger.

I feel like everyone is gonna talk about one of his well know fights so please your honor, today I shall be different!

I want to talk about the Kageroza arc.

Yes it's a filler, yes it's non cannon ( For now. Who knows since one of the movies came out as cannon)

The Kageroza filler arc has to be my favourite season of the show, in terms of the fillers anyway.

While on the subject on the filler arcs isn't it kinda funny how Mayuri has a huge presence in 90% of them.

In the Bount arc Mayuri was forced to give Uryu temporary power, a whole scene dedicated to his panic finding out he had been had by the Bounts themselves.

( Let's be honest his fight with Swatari was absolutely beautiful)

In the Sword Beasts arc he played a key role in finding out why Zanpokuto went rogue as well as finding out their inner workings and how to better manage them, with one whole episode dedicated to the destruction of his lab.

( RIP to Omeda's Zanpokuto spirit btw. If you know you know)

Lastly, the Kageroza arc was LITERALLY his arc. One of his workers planning to take over the soul society, a worker who admits that he has deep appreciation for his Captain but yet deems himself smarter then he is. A worker who tricked THE ENTIRE Soul Society by using Mayuri as fodder for people to believe Ichigo did away with him with Mayuri eventually going toe to toe with him in one of his classic fights.

( Blessed be the scene of Mayuri on the table)

The Kageroza arc provided me with so many memorable and favourite moments that it's hard to just choose one.

So allow me to make

A DEFENCE OF THE KAGEROZA ARC

Since it seems to be forgotten a lot 😂

I want to gloss over some of the smaller parts and talk about the fight between Mayuri and Kageroza.

Mayuri and Zaraki go to the Dangai

This here, the meeting scene and the dangai scene themselves are both peak KenMayu. The way they both fight, the lower camera that looks up from between them. THE SEXUAL TENSION. This was the first scene I think I ever really noticed how couple coded these two were, like that old bickering couple down the street that have been married 60 years and love and hate each other at the same time.

Guys please calm yourselves your in the presence of others. Save it for private time 😉

Mayuri suddenly reappears from being lost in the dangai

One thing this particular season was amazing for was the animation, I swear a lot of the most detailed faces of Mayuri ( Pre TYBW) came from this season alone.

I have mentioned it a long time ago but the old animation was truly at its best in this arc and the way he suddenly just appears after being praised so much by Kageroza is a stroke of genius writing, having Kageroza soon flee from a man he claims to be smarter than.

Mayuri graces a table with his glorious presence

Just this. We have all seen how cute he looks sat on that desk with his legs dangling. I need say no more 😂

-----

Kageroza VS Mayuri

So first off, this fight is absolutely a true scientist vs a true scientist.

We recently found out Szayel used to be an alchemist, which Mayuri himself ( In RBOS) says would become scammers. It's probably very clear that Mayuri from the get go never saw Szayel as a real scientist despite his claims.

Mayuri seems to have a certain respect for Kageroza despite him being an enemy and it is interesting to see him fight someone on a similar level to him. Kageroza wasn't quite there but Mayuri saw potential and even admits to the techniques used piquing his interest.

Another thing I particularly enjoyed was a small call back to the perfection speech. Kageroza makes a point of how his technique's aren't perfect but get the job done, probably knowing deep down that pleasing Mayuri may get him spared. We aren't sure how long Kageroza worked under him prior to this arc but it gives off the vibe he's been waiting quite a while and using the time to study his superior.

The fight between them seems almost civil, like old friends having a scuffle. All be it a dangerous one. This is also a fight with no particular winner which is interesting for Mayuri and I believe shows a great semblance of growth.

Back in SS arc he knew when to retreat but pushed Uryu as far as he could go. Here he knew when to back off immediately and not press, showing a sense of growth and learning on his part.

It almost feels like they were trying to potentially make Szayel 2.0, even having a cameo of the same vial Mayuri had used on him despite the drug itself being fundamentally different.

This season made very good use of characters being off screen for extended amounts of time, the beginning of the fight where Mayuri explains his absence honestly so very believable for him and is a clever use for how he reveals himself.

This series has some of my favourite moments through the entire series for our favourite scientist and while most fans skip filler entirely I would highly recommend if your a fan of Mayuri specifically.

[onesentencemusings]

Return of Jafar - Rewrite (Pt 13)

Art by @rosadraws

(Part 1)

The loud panic of the bazaar crowd was dotted with terrified gasps and screams. A mother climbed onto a stand, knocking a good amount of pots off the table as she desperately tried to get her child off the ground. The cobra looked up at the two humans and gave them a hiss. The tiny child started crying and buried their face into their mother’s dress.

That was them controlled. Mitr scanned the last bits of the human pack not yet scattered. On the far side of the road, a younger male human was grabbing a plank. Danger. But he was trained for this. He stood tall and still as the man ran up. Wait for the human.

The younger male human froze as the cobra met his eyes. It gave a long deep hiss. Its coffin-shaped head opened to sport two sharp curved fangs. The beast had no fear. In fact, the man’s slight hesitation emboldened it.

The man swung the board down hard. The serpent threw itself backwards just away from the blow before launching at the man’s sleeves. The very slight snag of the snake grabbing his robe made the man drop his weapon and flee to the alleys. Mirt stood tall, proud. Mother taught him well. He would always do well by Mother.

--

Jafar found himself watching the woman sprint up and down the abandoned marketplace, stuffing this and that into her bag. The amount of times his long scraggly beard was woven in and out of his fingers as he thought only strengthened its greasy twisted stylings. She had most of the bazaar to herself. People could see her but with a cobra on a mission to one side and a ‘mad’ bactrian camel to the other, no one dared even try to get close to her. Assuming both creatures held the line, she’d get away cleanly.

The nomad wasn’t just irritating; she was smart. Cunning even. Meaning she would be just as annoying to her enemies as she was to him. Jafar already knew what he wanted out of her, and he would have it, but still… a faint hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Jafar’s lips. If he was a less ambitious man…

“Gweh! Guh!”

Jafar glanced to the side and sighed. 

Iago was flying out of a vendor’s abandoned stall, exceptionally slowly, with a coin bag almost as big as himself weighing him down. “Hey, big guy!” The bird said, straining to stay in the air. “Help me out here! I got a bad back! Give me a hand!” With a smirk, Jafar turned to the bird and started tapping the back of one hand with the other, in a quiet polite applause. “Oh, you’re a riot, ya know that!” Iago snapped. “You oughta just quit this genie gig and go into stand-up, you’re so funny!”

Jafar’s smile sunk away but he held out his hand. The bird dropped the weighty sack of money in the hand with an exhausted gasp before pathetically flapping to his partner’s shoulder. “In due time, my friend.” Jafar said. “In due time. We must have patience.” 

Iago dropped down on Jafar’s shoulder, panting. “Yeah, yeah, I caught that nice-guy routine in the alley. That means you have a plan.” He gave one final big groan before slowly getting to his feet. “But what plan could ya possibly have? ‘Cause unless I misheard something, your master is the mother of the guy we want to kill!”

“Yesss.” Jafar hissed, grinning. “I assure you, Iago. We will have our revenge, one even sweeter than if the… constraints of my current predicament weren’t so unfortunate.” He looked at the woman again. She stood in the middle of the road, turning in place, looking around rather frantically. After a moment of searching, the woman dashed off again.

Jafar idly caressed the large bag of money. The cruelty of fate turning even a pleasant windfall like free money into a meaningless gesture. He could make far more gold than there was on the entire planet. He could make everything he desired a reality. Yet even the thought of doing so caused the gold cuffs to tighten in warning. 

“All we need do is see the pieces walk into place and then I, I shall take my rightful place as Ruler of AAAH!”

Jafar was nearly thrown off balance as Nomad spun the man around to face her. “Hey, have you seen any meat stands around? I’m trying to get pork for my curry.” She looked around Jafar to the crowd held back by Balavaan’s mad camel act.

“Pork?” Jafar said with disgust. “It’s filthy meat from a filthy animal; why would you want that?”

Nomad looked at him in confusion before her eyes widened and she hit her forehead with a hand. “Gah, I forgot Muslims don’t eat pig!” She looked up and down the roads again for a moment before she snapped her fingers. ”I saw some goat, I can use that instead!” In a hurry, she grabbed Jafar’s wrist and started dragging him up the road. “Come help me.”

“I! Refuse!” Jafar managed to yank his arm out of his master’s grab. He saw the woman roll her eyes before continuing walking away at a hurried pace. “I may owe you… certain obligations,” Jafar stated as he followed. “But I don’t owe you any free labor. If you want my help stealing things, use a wish.”

Nomad scoffed. “Then don’t steal for me.” As she hurried by a fruit stand, she picked up an apple from a basket and held it up. “Steal because you can.” She half turned to Jafar, walking sideways as she spoke. “Come on, genie. Haven’t you ever wondered what it feels like to be able to break the rules?” She gently tossed the apple and hit it with her elbow, sending it flying straight into Jafar’s free hand. She bumped Jafar with her hip before sprinting off into a nearby building.

Jafar levitated the bag of money in the air with hardly a thought before holding the apple with both hands. She was right; he did miss breaking rules. Bribing the guards to do his dirty work, blackmailing others in the Sultan’s council when they started looking too hard into his out-of-palace activities. It was necessary, true, but it was a specific precious thrill to the matter, to hold that power over others.

There was no bargaining or bribing with this curse. His obedience was mandatory, through and through. Even mild missteps brought sudden unpleasant reactions out of his shackles. The mere thought of refusal got punished. 

The question was why did she care? He was her slave. She made him call her master. Surely, she’d want him subservient, quiet, miserable. Was it a trick? A test? What answer was she looking for?

Was she looking for an answer?

After a moment’s pause, Jafar took a bite of the apple and turned back to go grab another.

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

Aladdin grabbed a stall’s awning support and half-stood on the counter. The uneasy crowd seemed to be slowly shuffling away as the two-humped camel thrashed about in the narrow road. The camel stood still long enough to rear up and kick forward with a hoof. Its reins were old worn ropes dyed a pale purple.

It was her!

Aladdin grinned before gently picking Abu off his shoulder and setting him on Jasmine’s back. “Watch her back for me, buddy.”

Abu chirped as he gave a tiny salute. He swiftly moved to Jasmine’s shoulder and started striking kung fu poses, with enthusiastic squeaks and squawks.

Jasmine giggled. “My hero.” She scratched under the monkey’s chin.

Aladdin climbed on top of the awning and started jumping from one stall roof to the next. He jumped down next to the camel, giving the beast a fright. After backing up a bit, the camel made another gurgling bellow before rearing up again.

Aladdin put his hands up and backed up a little “Whoa whoa whoa, Balavaan. It’s me!” The young man said, calmly. The camel stood down, but kept one leg up still ready to kick. It shook its wild poof of long fur off of its eyes and stared Aladdin down. “You know me, buddy. Remember?” Aladdin gave a quick whistle, a low note rising up to a high one.

The camel’s ears perked up instantly and it marched forward blindly. Aladdin laughed as the camel pinned him between a fish stand and the beast’s own fluffy neck. “Yeah, you’re absolutely Balavaan.” Aladdin just barely managed to squeeze out from the camel and grabbed the reins laying on the saddle. Two clicks of the young man’s tongue made Balavaan lay down, legs tucked under its massive body.

The crowd that had stayed to watch ‘‘ooh’ed and ‘aww’ed, with a few people starting an applause. Aladdin bashfully looked away and put a hand on the back of his neck. “Hey, it’s fine. Not a big deal. Just a camel that… got spooked or something.”

Balavaan looked up at the young man with one eye. There was a red thing on the human’s head.

“Look, the important thing is no one got hurt.”

Balavaan wanted the red thing.

“Now did anyone see someone with this camel before it went nuts?”

Balavaan stretched his neck up and started sniffing Aladdin’s hair.

Aladdin pushed the camel’s head away and centered his undersized fez back onto his head. “A woman maybe? Wearing a lot of blue and green?” 

Balavaan took a mouthful of black hair and pulled down.

“Looks about-- AAAAHHHHHHH!”

---

Only the light peeking through the shuttered windows and a single clay oil lamp lit up the butcher’s shop. A lot more flies in here than most would care for but Nomad didn’t have time to be a snob. 

She took a whiff of one of the hanging chunks of meat and made an ugly face. That was rotting. She quickly moved to a much drier looking chunk of meat. That was aging. She quickly pulled a kunai from her satchel and started slicing off a generous portion of the cut.

Halfway done, a loud male scream came from down the main road. It was to her right. That was Balavaan’s side. She rolled her eyes. “There’s the idiot trying to be a hero.” She muttered. She quickly lopped off a good bit of meat and wrapped it in her cleanest rag before shoving it in her bag.

---

Mango. Banana. Pear. Jafar reached for an orange and willed away the peel before taking a bite and tossing the rest onto the counter. Iago hopped out of the way just in time to not get hit. The parrot pulled the half orange closer and took another bite of an already half-eaten mango. Somehow, Jafar made even free food feel demeaning. Taking everything just to make the bird eat his scraps. 

The pair both jumped slightly as a pained yell rang out in the distance. “Yeesh, someone get stabbed?” Iago asked. He took off high in the sky and flapped down the road towards the yell. 

The crowd by the camel was much smaller now, and people were even filtering through side streets and alleys to get back into the marketplace. “Uh-oh. Guess Mama’s gotta get a move on.” The parrot muttered to himself. A young man pushed the camel’s head away and turned to a very sympathetic woman. “Ok, it’s some kid with a purple vest and a tiny red fez.” Iago moved in a little closer. The young man brushed the side of the woman’s headscarf away and gave a quick but loving kiss on her cheek. “And some broad way outta his league?” A tiny monkey hopped on the woman’s shoulder and gave the man a few gentle pats on the hair where the camel bit him. “Hang on, purple vest, fez, hot lady, and a monkey dressed exactly like him?!” Iago had a long gasp of realization and raced away.

Jafar looked up from the fruit displays just in time for Iago to crash into his chest. “No murder, I assume?” The man peeled the ruffled macaw off his tunic. Iago squirmed in Jafar’s grip, squawking, screeching and thrashing about like… well, like an animal. Jafar tightened his grip. “I taught you Arabic for a reason. Use your words.”

Iago choked a bit before yanking a wing out of Jafar’s fist and pointing to the far side of the marketplace. “Aladdin!”

Jafar’s hand clenched even tighter as the man gasped. “Aladdin? Here?!” Jafar’s form vanished into a red mist that quickly wormed through the stall. Iago gave a short yell before he saved himself from a drop. The bird growled and followed the mist towards the edge of the market.

Jafar reformed by a stall and ducked slightly behind a pile of cheap fabric. Through the small trickle of people getting back to the market, one stood out; the young well-built urchin that caused all of Jafar’s suffering. “Aladdin…” Jafar growled lowly.

“Ya know, if you’re gonna keep doing this hocus pocus stuff so much,” Iago flapped over to his partner, “ya gotta start letting me know when you’re gonna stop being solid.”

“Hush.” Jafar snapped under his breath.

“I’m just saying; a nod, a wink, anything! ‘Cause--” 

“YOU!” A gravelly voice shouted over the crowd, making Iago flinch. A large man in a guard’s uniform pushed aggressively through the crowd. Without another word, the guard grabbed Aladdin by the shirt and practically heaved the smaller man off the ground. 

“Hey, Razoul.” Iago chuckled. “Maybe we don’t need to do anything after all.” 

“Plop, plop, plop, plop, plop!” Nomad ran past Jafar, throwing something in his face as she raced by. “Here, hold this! Plop, plop. Plop, plop, plop!”

Jafar could barely blink before the cobra now in his hand flared out its hood with a mighty hiss. Jafar frowned. “I’m afraid not.” He said rather boredly before dropping the snake on the table top. Mitr coiled up and spat at Iago standing on the genie’s shoulder.

“Oh come on. This again?” Iago whimpered as he backed away. “We’re both animal sidekicks here! Can’t we have an understanding?” The cobra lashed forward. Iago jumped back with a yelp and dug under Jafar’s neck scarf for cover.

Nomad pulled her green hood further down over her face as she ran up to the guard. “Nobel sir, thank you so much for stopping my camel.” She pulled one of the guard’s hands off Aladdin and started shaking it. “I swear, I don’t have a clue how Bubbie got outta control,” Razoul slowly lowered Aladdin to the ground, his focus solely on the lady. ”But thankfully, a big strong handsome man like you was able to help me.”

 “It was a cobra!” An elderly woman dressed in dark brown robes yelled, whacking Razoul on the back with her cane. “Some fat guy knocked me down screaming and crying about it!”

“Cobra?” Aladdin glanced into the green hood. The woman inside was a darker, slightly older woman with a large stone medallion pinning her cape together around her neck. “Mama?” He whispered.

“This city needs more people li--” The woman paused to glance at Aladdin. “Like you?” Aladdin smiled and tipped his tiny faded red fez. The hooded woman gasped under her breath. “Monkey?” Her eyes grew wide as she looked back to the guard.

Oh right, she’d still think Aladdin was a streetrat. Aladdin gave her a kind smile and gently took her hand. “No, no, mom, it’s gonna be ok.” He put his other hand on her’s and gave a comforting squeeze. “We’ll be fine.”

Nomad quickly patted her camel on the shoulder, bidding Balavaan to stand. “Well, I won’t insult you with my presence any further.” She said quickly, flashing a smile at the guard. “I’ll just be on my way. Allah smile upon you!”

“You’re just gonna let her get away, ya knucklehead?” The elderly lady bonked Razoul on the head with her walking stick. “That one in the hood was running all over the empty market! Highly suspicious!”

----

The camera slowly zooms in on a small brick hut nestled against the shore of an oasis cradled among the dunes. “The cost of blue dyes these days is just getting out of hand honestly.” The young woman shook her head, taking a seat on a wicker couch.

The rocking chair creaked as Genie leaned back nodding. He took another sip of mint tea before adding, “Well, not to brag but,” He patted his wide but huggably soft blue chest. “I never had a problem with not having enough blue in my life…” He leaned onto the chair’s arm with a cheeky fake pout. “Honestly, it’s brass I coulda done with less of.”

The woman smiled as she reached over to touch her husband’s knee. “Of all the people you’ve brought home for jumping in your cart, this one’s my favorite.”

The cart driver chuckled. “And you said bringing home strangers was a bad idea.”

Genie shrugged a bit bashful. “What can I say? I’m just a social guy.” Genie looks away, a bit bashfully, before noticing you. “What. Oh, I get it. Someone said ‘suspicious’ so you’re here for an Among Us joke.” Genie leans in a bit closer. “You think I’d do that? Well, let me tell you what, buddy; I got class! I got standards! And more importantly--!” Genie leaned back in his chair with a shrug “I’m gonna do it later, so there.” He took another swig of his tea with a smile. “The Author’s also hoping to squeeze in an ‘I’ve come to make an announcement’ bit eventually too so stay tuned for that.”

--

Nomad pushed Balavaan to subtly block half the marketplace road with his broad body before starting to step away. Aladdin held her hand tighter and gently pulled her back. “Mom, I promise,” He looked into her eyes. “We. Will. Be. Fine.”

“Kid, we gotta go now!” Nomad whispered frantically. 

“Yeah, I saw her too!” Another man pushed past Jasmine to speak. “She was running all over, grabbing things!”

“If this is that cobra routine of yours again, just give back what you took.” Aladdin said.

“You know that never works!” Nomad growled through gritted teeth.

“Oh, did she!” Razoul tore Aladdin away from Nomad and grabbed the woman’s chin in his big meaty hand. He wouldn’t dare undress a woman’s head but his furious experienced eyes could still make out details in the shadow of her hood; a squarish face, wild dark hair… and a discolored slant running across her cheek to the bridge of her nose. His tongue instantly went to his missing upper right molar. “Yoooooou.”

“Meeee.” Nomad nervously grinned, hand slinking into the bag hidden under her cape. Her hands found a triangular glass bottle. Perfect! 

“Ohh-ho-ho-ho.” Razoul growled with a wide wicked grin. ”I’m going to enjoy making you suffer, vermin!” The guard put two fingers in his mouth and gave a loud ear-piercing whistle.

Aladdin grabbed part of Razoul’s shirt. “Hey, let her go, she’s with--!”

Nomad held the red glass vial high before smashing it on the ground. The area flashed like a bolt of lightning as a thick dark red cloud rushed out like a tide bursting through a broken dam. She yanked her camel’s reins forwards to cut off the rest of the road. Nomad grabbed her staff out of her pack and grabbed Aladdin’s arm. “Let’s go!”

Iago gulped as Nomad and Aladdin took off into an alley. “Hey, what’s gonna happen to you if your master ends up in jail?”

Jafar paused. ‘A genie without a Master goes back in their lamp’. Yes, Iago was still an option but the woman! She was too perfect for his plan. Nothing he could do alone, even if he was freed, would compare. He growled. Yet again, she was making things hard for him. “After her.” Jafar’s form vanished into its usual blood-red mist.

“Wait!” Iago launched out of Jafar’s cloud and clung desperately to the heavy sack on the stall table. “The money!”

Somehow the faceless red cloud managed a scowl before it quickly twirled around the coin bag. The bag vanished in a poof and reappeared, tied securely to Balavaan’s saddle. “Happy?” The cloud growled

“Perfectly so.” Iago grinned, waving back at the inmaterial Jafar with a bow. “After you, good sir.”

Razoul choked on some of the red clouds as he beat back the smoke. “I KNEW IT!” He saw Jasmine and quickly jabbed a finger at the thieves running away. “ONCE A THIEF ALWAYS A THIEF! You can deny my blade no longer!” With his bellows, he ripped his sword out of its scabbard and waved at the other approaching guards. “Today we kill that streetrat!”

“What?!” Jasmine gasped.

“Ah-wah-den!” Abu squawked, grabbing his head in a panic.

“Don’t you dare- HEY!” Jasmine grunted as other guards pushed her further and further back into the crowd. The large hairy camel groaned when the group of men started trying to shove him aside before whacking his large neck into them. Jasmine hid a quiet laugh behind her hand as the guards tumbled over each other. Razoul barked out some crass words Jasmine had no interest in repeating before the gang of guards started squeezing around the bull camel.

Something moved over head. Jasmine looked up and saw a red bird of some kind with a bellow of smoke trailing behind. The strange bird quickly crossed the market and took off down the alley where Aladdin was dragged. Odd.

-

“This way!” Nomad nearly slipped on the dirt before sprinting around a hard turn. 

Aladdin took the turn much better and caught up to the woman quickly. “You know, I’m glad you’re back, Mama,” He gasped as he ran, “But I had that under control back there.”

“You kidding, kid?!” Nomad looked behind them. The mob of guards crashed into the wall before scrambling to chase after them. “Remember what I told you? Never talk to guards! You--”

There was a wicked laugh from the end of the alley. Razoul jogged into view, blocking the running pair. Nomad’s medallion glowed slightly and the woman yanked her staff to the side. The sand under the guard’s feet slid from under him, dragging his legs suddenly and forcefully apart. 

The large man’s eyes filled with tears as the strain on a very sensitive part near his hips ripped through him. He bent over to put his hands on the aching area, just in time for Nomad to step on his shoulder and launch over him. 

“Always stay, one jump ahead of the guard-dogs.”

Aladdin ran up the wall to hop around Razoul with a smile. “Right, just grab, and then we run!”

“Don’t work, cause stealing’s much more fun.” Nomad took a blind turn down the shady narrow alleys between buildings. 

“Yeah, I remember.” Aladdin laughed. “One jump, to get to your freedom.”

“One leap to flee with style!” Nomad blinked and barely skidded to a stop in time to avoid running into a brick wall. She peeked behind her. Aladdin jogged up and held his hands out for an answer. Nomad gave a nervous laugh, patting the wall. “Admittedly, it’s… heh, been a bit of a while.”

“Ya think?” Aladdin laughed. A rough bellowing voice got both Nomad and Aladdin’s attention. Some guards helped the captain up from his painful split, while others hopped around in pursuit. 

Nomad double checked the height of the wall. Not that high. “Time for uppies, kid.” She bent down a bit and put her hands together on her knee.

With a nod, Aladdin dashed back down the alley towards the guards before sprinting fast back towards Nomad. With full speed, he launched upward with Nomad’s boost and caught the edge of the building. The young man hauled himself to the roof and watched. 

Nomad quickly tied her cape around herself and grabbed her staff in her mouth before taking a similar run, just barely a couple feet from the chasing guards. She ran up the wall a few feet and grabbed Aladdin’s outheld arm. Aladdin quickly put everything he had into pulling the woman upward and got her onto the roof just as the guard’s reached the dead end.

Razoul shoved his way to the front of the gang of guards and growled. “You won’t get away with this so easy, streetrat!” He shook his fist at the pair.

Nomad shuffled to the edge of the roof and took a seat. “Aw, your mother’s hummus is runny, ya drooling mongrel.”

“Gah!? No one makes fun of my mother’s hummus and lives!” Razoul thrust his sword towards them before turning and shoving his men away. “Find a way up there! NOW!”

Nomad watched the crowd of guards file away into the main road. “And they say people are supposed to calm down with age.” Nomad kicked her feet.

“Who could say that after meeting you?” Aladdin laughed. “Never met anyone that can get under people’s skin like you.”

Nomad clicked her tongue, smiling at the young man. “How are you such a sweet-talker and still don’t have a girl?”

Aladdin chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… actually…”

“THERE!” 

Both turned around with a jump as Razoul’s voice came somewhere behind. The sound of feet beating on stone steps got closer. The ridiculously tall turbans of the guard’s peaked over the roof as the wearer’s stormed in closer. 

Aladdin jogged around Nomad and pointed to the next roof in the city’s sea of buildings. “One more jump?”

Nomad hopped to her feet, grinning. “Always, kid.”

---------

Author's Note: Tomorrow, I'm heading off to my BF's for a few weeks and while this scene isn't 'done' done, it felt complete enough to post. I feel bad I'm not updating as fast as I used to but the chapters are longer so hopefully what I put out is worth the wait.

--

(Part 12)

(Part 14)

(AO3) <---- For more long-form, polished reading experience

[jessij1997]

MASTERLIST 📜

Loving a soldier

Ian joins the army and Mickey stays behind until two soldiers knock on his door.

Loving a civilian

Ian is called to his next overseas mission and has to leave Mickey behind again until he almost saves another soldier's life.

Kinktober 2024

15 fics of kinky Gallavich 🤭

A Haven Beyond the Horizon

London, 1789 - hidden from society’s gaze, a forbidden love blooms in the shadow. Every stolen moment could be their last, every secret kiss could mean the end. As the pressure becomes unbearable, Ian and Mickey flee, hoping to find a haven beyond the horizon. But along the way, betrayal and sacrifice await them, and the question of whether a love that defies the world rules is strong enough to survive.

Hooked - What's worth fighting for

Mickey, a lone underground fighter drowning in debts and rage, survives each fight by sheer grit and raw instinct. When Ian Gallagher, a composed and skilled ex-boxer turned trainer, sees potential beneath Mickey’s rough edges, he offers him a way out. But leaving the dirty world of street fights and his ties to a dangerous dealer like Tony isn’t easy. As Mickey struggles between survival and a chance for something more, the tension between him and Ian grows, blurring the lines between mentor, rival, and something deeper.This is a story about fighting for freedom, self-worth, and discovering what’s worth staying in the ring for.

The Way We Are

Of course, they never really talked about all the shit that had happened over the years but they somehow had managed to be happy. A delayed honeymoon in a mysterious house throws them both off track and they are painfully reminded of their past. Will they be able to let go of fear and guilt and painful memories? Will they be the same afterwards? And the much more important question: Will Mickey manage to save Ian and himself?

The Apocalypse (Galladrabbles series)

Mickey has always been a lone fighter, especially since the apocalypse. But when a redhead stumbled through his door, his broken world was turned upside down.

A Touch of Ice and Fire

In the icy darkness of Winterfell, Mickey and Ian fight side by side – discovering a bond that connects them more strongly than the looming cold of the North.

Whumptober 2024

November Drabble Challenge

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |

15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 |

26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30

The Night you Stayed

Around Christmas, it's hell at the Milkoviches. So Mickey runs away. Good thing Gallagher has a van in the backyard.

The stranger

Ian meets a black-haired stranger on the bus. The rest is maybe just smut.

The Beauty and the Beast

Some of you know the story from your childhood: The Beauty meets the Beast, and with a kiss, everything is fine. But what if it isn't as easy as the fairy tales promise? Because real life isn't a fairy, right?

Art, Love and other Crimes

A mysterious artist, a journalist digging for the truth, and a mess of lies, betrayal, and danger. When Ian starts looking into Mikhailo Moroz, he has no clue how much this guy’s gonna turn his life upside down—or how hard it’ll be to resist the pull of his deepest desires. But it’s not long before Ian has to make a choice: spill the truth or protect the man he’s falling for.

Beautiful Things

He can't go. It would be easier if he could—if he could just get up, open the door, and move on like nothing happened. But Ian can’t. Because Mickey is everywhere. In the memories that keeps him up at night. In the rooms that feel empty, even when they’re full of people. In his heart which beats alone and lonely and in his mind, which refuses to let him go. "You have to," Mickey says, his voice rough, his grip firm. "Alley needs you."

This is a story about love, loss, parenting and the impossible task of moving forward when your heart is still stuck in the past.

Bossy

5 times Mickey is a bossy power bottom and one time Ian is.

Of Delinquents and Detectives

The London newspapers had given them the name "Phantom Killers." Sherlock Holmes called them "Shadows of the City." Among the public, they went by many names. But to each other, they were simply Ian and Mickey. Yet, from a flight through London, something emerged that was more dangerous than knives and revolvers. It was the feelings for each other that they had suppressed for so long.

Chasing Dreams [GGE2025]

They don’t know when it started, how it works, or if they’re the only ones who can do it—but since they're kids, whenever Mickey and Ian start to dream, they see each other.

Of Ravens Flying Free

When Mickey volunteered, he just wanted to escape. He didn't want to be a hero—he simply wanted to flee this life, because even if he lost in the Games and died, it would still be better than living the life he had. Ian had never seen himself as someone anyone could look up to, but the 79th Hunger Games—and the unusual circumstances surrounding them—changed everything.

Healing

Dr. Ian Gallagher is an Alpha. Successful. A respected physician at a prestigious clinic. Everything in his life is perfect. Except for one thing: he longs for connection. For a mate. But how is that possible when his gene is "defective"? Because Ian isn’t attracted to women. Not to the delicate, sweet-smelling female Omegas that all the other Alphas desire. He desires men. Quietly. Secretly. In a world where attraction between men exists, at best, among Betas, he is utterly alone. He has almost made peace with this life, until a new patient stumbles into his clinic. Neglected. Silent. Scars covering his skin.

And only Ian know: He's an Omega.

A male Omega. A myth, an anomaly that shouldn’t exist—mustn’t exist. A man who shatters the carefully constructed facade of Ian’s life.

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Gren x GN!Reader NSFW Headcanons

Your comments are delicious >:)

I may have made Grenny boy a little too ooc, my bad

🌙 He's the type to act like a sleeze but he's a pretty caring guy. He doesn't show his emotions on his sleeve at all, and you might not even think he's flirting with you at first, but he is. Gren grew up with tough love in an even tougher environment, but he tries his best. He does have a heart, after all mama's boy, Beowulf didn't extinguish that shit centuries ago.

🌙 However, when he's had a few drinks, he's very forward about what he wants. He's a big fan of leaning against the bar and openly flirting with you like that. He tries to be a gentleman sometimes if he's feeling like it, offering to buy you a few drinks here and there while he butchers pick-up lines like crazy.

🌙 He's the type to be a sloppy kisser. It doesn't matter if he's sober or drunk, things get a little messy. He's a man starved for attention, and you're the kind soul that's gonna give it to him. He's very physical with his kisses, almost always turning it into a makeout session where his hands travel all across your body, eventually leading him right to your sex where he loves to tease.

🌙 He loves making out in the elevator on your way to either of your apartments. Just the build-up alone is enough to get this man rock hard. He's very eager to let you know that is, too, grinding against your backside while his hands trace down your torso as you try to unlock the door.

🌙 He has such a filthy mouth. I hope you like degration and dirty talk, because this man is dishing it out. He says it all in this deep and gravelly voice that sends little electrical pulses right into your sex that it makes your head spin. He even tops some it off with a sickly sweet little pet name to hook you in.

🌙 Loves rough sex. If the headboard ain't knocking, he's not going fast enough. He may be one thin as fuck guy, but under that glamour is a big hulking beast with a firey sex drive.

🌙 He's done it with numerous other fables, even before having to flee the Homelands. He's seen it all, though trolls tend to rank higher on his list. He loves the idea of both of you dropping your glamours for the night and fucking like wild animals, but the fragility of the bed, as well as the rest of the apartment, often stops you both.

🌙 Please be careful of his bad arm. The scar is very much still there and there are often times where it gives out under the weight he puts on it to fuck you senseless. He loves nothing more than for you to massage it afterwards and leave tender little kisses on it. Try not to dig your nails in too much on that one side.

🌙 One of his favorite things to do is to partially drop his glamour enough for that tongue to come out. He loves lapping and licking at your sex with that big, long, wet tongue of his. He makes eye contact the entire time, and if you even think about looking away, he barely grazes his teeth over your sensitive skin to really get your attention.

🌙 He's very much a dom. He doesn't dislike the idea of being submissive with you, he just doesn't feel comfortable yet. The last time someone dominated him, it ended with him dead in some Danish swamp, so...

🌙 He loves deepthroating you. He loves nothing more than to knot his fingers in your hair and face-fuck you until he cums right down your throat. Just the noises alone are enough to get him in the mood. He loves to drag you up by your hair and shoulders and then kiss you, loving how he tastes in your mouth.

🌙 He's not ashamed to lose control, just a little ashamed of the mess that comes with it. He loves the power, but feels guilty about the dents he leaves in the walls from making the headboard bang against it so much. It's lead him to come up with some interesting ideas on how and where to fuck you.

🌙 One of those thoughts being in a crowded bar. He wants nothing more than to take you in some secluded little corner and make it look like you're just sitting in his lap or something when really he's just slipping his dick in you and you both have to play it cool.

🌙 Or fucking in the back of the Trip Trap when Holly is busy up front. The stock room is dark and tight and he loves the feeling of being so close and cramped with you that he has to pin you to the wall and all. Being so close leaves so little to the imagination when it's pressed right up against you.

🌙 He loves to sext, especially when you're at work and he's not. He always turns up the heat to the point he sends you a picture of what he's doing, but it's very obvious what the out-of-focus thing is at the bottom of the picture.

🌙 But if you sext him while he's out? Prepare that ass because you're not gonna get any sleep all night long. Teasing him while he's out is a very dangerous game, and Gren subscribes to the term of: Play stupid game win stupid prizes, and you're definitely gonna get fucked stupid.

🌙 He takes all of the complaints from neighbors with a stupid and very cocky grin on his face. Even when you're ducking your head down to hide your embarrassment, he's proud as hell. He's teasing you about it later.

🌙 Definitely the type to smoke a cigarette after sex. He always offers you one, too. If you're not a smoker and you're not too keen on cigarette smoke staining your walls and smelling up your sheets, he takes it outside. Whether it's a small patio you have, the fire escape or just fully opening a window, he's smoking a cigarette. And he will walk out fully nude with his dick out and all, he has no shame.

[theanonymouscosmos]

so many years ago (circa 2020)... I was writing five different fics and my drawing ability just wasn't where it is now. So, in order to create my OCs... I would take screen shots and draw on top of them. Not awesome but it kind of scratched the brain itch.

Fast forward five years later, and I revisited an old fic... 'It Will Bloom All the Same', with OC Edun (pronounced ee-doon). it's both my most boring and also the most dramatic/soap opera-y of all my fics, and will remain retired, but it sent me on a wee spiral. I had to scour my google photos to find her again... and once I found these awful screenshots I had to draw a proper portrait of her.

Please enjoy this little cutie. She sure was fun to write. and today she looks like an actual person. Much more alignment with how I saw her in my head, anyway.

-

It was worse than that. Much worse. She stood there stupidly, watching as the raider streaked past her. A creature that could best be described as a demon from the pits of hell clambered out of the grate. The hide was an oily, slick looking forest green - craggy and scaled, like a reptile’s. Two enormous horns crowned the hideous head, and the thing walked on it’s hind legs - using it’s long tail to balance. It trumpeted another roar, and swept a long, clawed arm out - snagging another raider trying to flee. She watched in horror as the beast brought the man up and tore into him. The raider jerked like a puppet on drunken strings, and Edun was damn near positive the beast stared right at her while it tore out his throat.

Correction. Step 4 was no longer Make Noise With Loud Pew Pew and Scare Away The Bad Guys. Step 4 was now Make Poopy in Pants and Run Away.

[writerofweird]

Rap Battle Reupload: The Grinch vs Jack W. Tweeg

GRINCH: You all know me, Mr. Grinch, known for being green, For being nauseating and mean, and starring on the silver screen, Now in my latest story, watch as I destroy, This ghastly little gremlin who was meant to sell a toy, You're looking at the guy who stole from myriad homes, I rob and I plunder while you just sit alone, Laughed at and ridiculed by the entire land of Grundo, For you're the worst alchemist I've seen since Claude Frollo, And if I catch you in Whoville, you better beware, For all the Whos know and fear me, I'm pretty famous there, I've got a special wagon that'll give a scare, To the little lizard who can't even defeat a teddy bear, You're del-who-sunial if you think I'll fall for your tricks, The lights are on, there's nobody home and that can't be fixed, I'll soon hear you go "Boo-hoo", for you've already been beat, My shoes may be too tight, but you've just met de-feet!

TWEEG: I expected better rhymes since you were created by Dr. Suess, Though you carved the roast beast, I'll be cooking your goose, If you steal Christmas, through me it will be saved, And the Mayor was right, you really do need a shave, I battle two adventurers, and a scientist too, You were turned to goo by a Who no more than two, You're as repugnant an inventor as Frankenstein, So you were played by him and his monster two times, And the less said about Jim Carrey the better, You dress up like Santa, but no-one gives you any letters, I've watched all your movies, and man, they're so dreary, Aren't festive films supposed to be cheery? I thought what Illumination did to the Lorax was bad, But what they did to you was just plain sad! So if I were you, I'd give up and leave this place, Unless you want a cannonball fired at your face!

GRINCH: My movies fill others with the Christmas spirit, Like the Who's singing, it's a joy to hear it, Not like that horrible voice of yours, And while I found Christmas doesn't come from a store, You waste your time on your get-rich schemes, Making Teddy's tales more nightmares than dreams, And that toy ruined more holidays than I ever could, Villainy's not your forte, why don't you just be good?

TWEEG: Because badness burns in my blood, I'm the true king, Of sinful sots and spoiling everything, I bring more misery than your musical, and that is that, At least I don't get defeated by the Cat in the Hat! Tweeg is gonna get you and I'll get you well, Soon you'll celebrate Christmas in Hell, You're the worst thing about the holidays, Boy, it's no wonder your dog ran away!

GRINCH: You're the one who should fah-who vamoose! I don't need the Hoober-Bloob Highway to see that you'll lose, Go back to your tower, you better flee, I mean, don't you get dissed enough by LB?

TWEEG: Are you frightened, 'cause you know my evil spreads far? I'm like a Sneetch's belly, because I'm a star, Now I'm tired of this battle and I'm tired of you, So I'm finishing this, I won't hear a Who!

[violetlunette]

The final result of this.

--

Lilia completely froze.

This guy was insane.

Did he really think Lilia was going to play his sick game and sacrifice one of the people he cared for most?

‘The hell with that!’ Lilia’s gaze narrowed, grinding his teeth as he resumed his struggles. Before him, the madman was growing impatient, clicking his tongue like a minute hand.

“I’m waiting, old man,” he drawled.

“Fuck you!” Lilia tried to free his arms. If he could just get one loose, then he may be able to use a fire chain spell and then--

Lilia was distracted by a sound.

He turned his head towards a light cough and to Silver, who was gray as death. His aurora eyes were blurry as he looked towards Lilia, his colorless lips trembling.

“Fa...ther…” Lilia didn’t know if the boy was trying to call out for help or to tell Lilia to sacrifice him. Knowing Silver, it was most likely the latter. Either way, the word wrenched at Lilia’s heart, clawing it in two like a frantic beast.

“Silver...” he muttered, the name of his son escaping his lips. Lilia had to save him. He had to rescue ALL of them. But how--

The Villain tilted his head forward, a wicked curl upon his lips, as his eyes flicked like fire.

“Oh? So you’ll give up your son for Prince?” he mused. “Very well.”

Lilia’s heart stopped, then jumped like a frightened rabbit at these words.

“What?! No! I never said—stop!”

The vines began to slither over Silver like snakes, cutting his flesh in places so that blood flowed from places. The actions woke Silver, who tried to fight but was weaker than a newborn babe. The petals of the flowers grew and wrapped themselves around Silver, covering his skin.

“Ngh!” Silver let out a weak, pitiful cry as they covered his face, and his air was cut off. His lungs burned, and his skin felt his shards of glass piercing every piece of flesh. His heart beat faster against his chest, causing his blood to race as if trying to flee a foe. Then he felt his blood becoming thicker like syrup before hardening into ice.

The human whimpered.

‘Father--!!’

That was when everything stopped for Silver.

His form went limp like a doll within the cocoon of flowers, all sound vanishing from his being along with all life that was left.

Lilia stared in horror, his desperate struggles halting as dread settled within his chest, draining color not just from his skin but the world around him. The silence that filled the area was heavier than anything Lilia felt before.

No. No, it couldn’t be. He couldn’t! Silver--

“Silver...” Lilia's form trembled, his voice haggard, throat feeling raw. “Silver!”

The lotus petals slowly peeled themselves away to reveal Silver, however, he was different.

Silver was glowing like a polished diamond in the red light, his body appearing to have been carved by the precious stone with striking detail. The blood that dribbled down his skin had turned to glimmering rubies, a stark contrast against the diamond. Despite the crystallization, Silver’s jeweled hair swayed around him in an invisible wind, like silk curtains. They danced across his face, whose expression was half asleep, his aurora eyes staring lifelessly at them.

Lilia’s eyes were wide as his jaw dropped, despair creeping over him. He made several attempts to form words as his entire being became as stiff and cold as ice.

“S-Silver…” the fae mumbled, his son’s name heavy on his lips.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” The Villain muttered, running his fingers along the teen's diamond cheek. “A perfect treasure to add to my collection.” The voice lit a fire within Lilia as his heart shattered like a glass bomb.

An inhuman cry filled the area as Lilia broke his bonds and lunged, bloodshot eyes glowing as tears streamed down his cheeks. He extended his claws, ready to tear the feind apart with his bare hands, when all his limbs were snagged mid-air. Lilia growled, snarled, and screeched like a rabid animal, saliva and tears flying from his face as he thrashed his head from side to side.

‘I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you…’ he thought over and over, fury that no other being could stand seeping into his brain. ‘I’ll kill you, I--’

The Villain's wicked grin grew as he raised a wand, waving his finger with a wink.

“Tut, tut! Don’t you worry. I didn’t forget our deal.” The foe snapped his fingers. The vines holding Malleus loosened before the unconscious Prince was tossed at Lilia, who—despite being blinded by his fury—caught his ward in his arms as the other crashed into his chest.

The two were thrown back and slid towards Sebek, whose breathing was shallow, his skin pale and thin as paper. Lilia slashed his blood as he sat himself up, his fist curling in Sebek’s coat as he drew Mallues closer. He glared at the Villain as the red lotuses wove a cage around them, keeping Lilia from pouncing again. The Villain smirked.

“Well! All of this has been fun now—but sadly, I must take my leave.” He pulled Silver to him like a lover, bodies pressed close. “I want to enjoy my new piece of art, after all.” Vile and disgust bubbled inside of Lilia, boiled by his rage. A low growl seeped from his throat as he pulled his lips back to reveal his fangs.

“I’ll kill you…!” he swore, his body shaking with rage. “No matter what I have to do, or how many lifetimes it takes, I will find you! And I will kill you, you bastard!” The Villain laughed like Lilia told a joke.

“No, you won’t,” he hummed. “But if it gives you purpose, by all means try. It’ll be entertaining to see if nothing else.” With that, all the red lotuses swirled around the Villain and Silver like a whirlwind.

The sight of his son—or what was left of him—vanishing turned all the anger inside Lilia to frantic desperation.

He released the other two to throw himself against the cage as his heart raced. He stretched his arm between the flowers, even as they bit and burned his flesh. 

Lilia began to plead with the other, wailing like a child as he did so, his pride tossed aside as hopelessness filled his frame.

“No! Don’t! Please, don’t!" he sobbed. "Please! I—I’ll give anything! Do anything! Just don’t--Don’t--!!” ‘Don’t take my son!’

Tears rained down his face, his cry filling the cavern as Lilia reached toward the fading image of his beloved.

“DON’T TAKE HIM!!”

But it was too late.

The light flared, and Silver—his darling moonlight in a sea of darkness, his son--was gone.

And he was left behind.

What a cruel fate for a father.

--

Well, that's it then! Thanks to everyone who voted! Many of you made a marvelous attempt to save both, but in the end people voted for Silver's sacrifice more. Thanks for playing the game!

[libellule-ao3]

The Snake's Duality

🔞 | One-Shot | 2 049 words

Also on AO3

Summary: Sebastian has just been released from Azkaban after more than three years in prison. 1 223 days to be exact.

His first instinct is to find Ominis, whose weekly letters rekinkled in extremis his desire to live, drained by the dementors, and he realise that a shadow reeking of malevolence is following him like a shadow.

Relationships: Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow => Friendship/love

⚠️ This story is rated 🔞. It contains graphic descriptions of violence & torture (Cruciatus curse, torture method inspired by lingchi, also known as "death by a thousand cuts", etc.), dark themes that may be disturbing to some readers.

Dark!Sebastian deserves his own warning: ⚠️

tags: ambiguous relationships, dark drama, sebinis, gauntlow, Sebastian is so protective he's dark, if that makes sense, POV Sebastian, Ominis Gaunt's father mentioned

Masterlist

Sebastian's wand whips through the air and an orange flash of magic strikes this bastard full force, his legs collapsing as if made of jelly. Then ropes spring from the end of his wand and bind him tightly. Sebastian glances furtively towards the entrance to this dark cul-de-sac that leads into Knockturn Alley, barely lit by the yellowish streetlamps that turn onlookers into shadowy silhouettes. None of them notice them. Proof of the effectiveness of his magical protection. Then, with unhealthy glee, the wizard watches the agony and contained rage wring his prisoner's bruised face.

This guy should have known better than to bother Ominis Gaunt.

An unbearable image of his oldest friend being followed down Diagon Alley by that dark wizard flashes through his agitated mind. He saw Ominis' haunted eyes again, tense with the anguish of feeling spied on, stalked like a beast. Unable to bear the situation any longer, the blind wizard probed his immediate surroundings with his echolocation magic and flushed out this invisible predator. For a moment, hope lit up his face as he muttered the name "Sebastian", before fading away as he realized that the man following him was not the one he had hoped for. The stunning spell he cast missed its target but offered him the opportunity to flee into a dark vortex of transport magic without being followed.

Sebastian clenches his fist around his aspen wand as it whips through the air again, letting the anger of this image perforate every nerve ending nestled in his target's tender flesh, like a thousand incandescent needles. Screams more excruciating than those of a prisoner tasting a dementor's kiss tear through the night and pierce the hermetic bubble of magic surrounding them.

"What did you intend to do? Why were you following him?" growls Sebastian for the third time.

Part of him doesn't give a damn about his motives, which he guesses effortlessly, but another, far more fearsome part yearns for them. Sebastian needs to hear the aims of this nuisance, so that they fuel his hatred even more. So that they give this destructive feeling a solid reason to exist!

"I don't know what you're talking about," replies his prisoner, denying any involvement in malicious schemes.

Sebastian's freckled face cracks into that boyish grin that makes some people want to kiss him, and others want to uppercut him. The anticipated pleasure of breaking through that resistance spreads like an oil slick through every cell of his being.

"Don't take me for a moron. Did you think you were being discreet? You've been following him around for at least a week. At work, on walks, at the opera... everywhere!"

Sebastian knows all about it. On his release from Azkaban, his first instinct was to find Ominis, whose weekly letters rekindled, in extremis, his desire to live, dried up by the dementors, and he realised that a shadow reeking of malevolence was following him like a shadow.

First flaw. The man turns deathly pale as he realizes the implications of his words..

“What do you want with him? Who sent you?" insists Sebastian.

The prisoner's stubborn silence is broken by a succession of cracking bones, then by the inhuman-sounding howls that emerge from his throat. This guy doesn't know that the sharp pain of fractures is nothing compared to the pain of their healing - the paradox of a pain as sharp as it is stabbing brought to a climax. That's why the bone-healing potion is always accompanied by powerful analgesics, of which this bastard will of course be deprived.

The nobility of his cause legitimizes all the dark, unhealthy tendencies of a sorcerer overtaxed by years of imprisonment in Azkaban and who has only managed to preserve a few remnants of benevolence from the dementors.

Sebastian grabs hold of his captive's hair, pulls his head back and shoves the vile contents of a vial of Skel-gro into his mouth. He then rubs his throat to force the swallowing reflex, keeping his mouth closed as he would with a small, recalcitrant animal.

Then he waits patiently for the potion to work on his broken skeleton. Beneath the skin, the bones realign, then re-solder. Inconvenienced by the unpleasant noise, Sebastian winces, without looking away.

The man is tough. Despite the excruciating pain, he still finds the courage to spit in his face.

"How could you know I was spying on him if you weren't spying on me? Me, I'm acting on the orders of a powerful person, but you... Look at yourself, boy! You're just another maniac on the streets of London..."

A punch shatters the man's jaw.

"It was Charon* Gaunt who commissioned you, wasn't it? Why? What does he want with Ominis?"

The man spews unintelligible insults and spits out a molar amid bloody mucus. Right on Sebastian's shoes!

The Gaunt name sends shivers down everyone's spine. It's a name synonymous with mysterious disappearances, Dark Arts and atrocities beyond imagination. The head of this family, Charon Gaunt, is a cold, ruthless man. The king of pure-blooded wizards and the dark arts. The one no one dares defy. Except his own son, Ominis, whom Charon wants at his command... And by extension, Sebastian Sallow.

"What did the dead man on probation say?" asks Sebastian, lifting his prisoner's chin with the luminescent end of his wand.

If Sebastian wasn't there, this guy would have hurt Ominis. Too bad for this guy, now that the gates of Azkaban have opened on his freedom, the wizard will always be there. And like all those who tried to hinder the well-being of his loved ones, this man will die under his wand.

But this one is a privileged one who will receive special treatment.

An invisible fire devours the prisoner's clothes with a crackle of sparks, then a severing charm sharper than a scalpel incises his naked body. Then another... The cuts are clean, precise. Superficial. His hand doesn't tremble, the fruit of inflexible determination. The blood beads, then trickles, creating a crimson lace against the pale skin.

At first, the man threatens, curses, promises a thousand abuses in retaliation for standing in the Gaunts' glorious way. But nothing works. As the incisions follow one another, relentless, his pride disintegrates and fear seeps through his bloody wounds.

The wizard doesn't stop as this henchman pisses piteously on himself, mingling the acrid smell of his urine with that of hemoglobin. His bloody agony feeds the relentless monster that consumes every cell of Sebastian Sallow.

Impotence now overwhelms the bastard, smothering his last glimmer of hope. He begins to beg for mercy through his tears, his nose full of snot. This predictable change of attitude stretches Sebastian's lips into a sinister smile. Let him take it out on himself and face the consequences of his actions with dignity, as Sebastian has done by facing each day for three long years. It was his punishment for killing Uncle Salomon, driven by rage against an intransigent authority figure who had dashed all his hopes of curing his sick sister. A man devoid of any understanding when it came to his rebellious nephew.

When he's finished, the guy is unrecognizable, bloodless, lying on the cobblestones draped in his own blood. Inert. Death has reaped him. Or rather, it has ripped his life from him, shred by shred, without anesthetic.

Sebastian turns away from his abominable creation, cleans his soiled shoes with a spell and brings the tip of his wand up to his own temple. Then he gently pulls it apart to extract a luminescent trickle of the last few hours' memories, which the sorcerer deposits in a vial destined for the Gaunt household. A warning that Charon Gaunt could fully appreciate in the Hogwarts pensine, providing him with a pretext to invite himself between the asses of the Headmaster, Phineas Black, unbeknownst to their respective wives.

Most people would probably feel guilt or disgust after torturing this man the way he just did, but Sebastian feels nothing. Or rather, he simplifies things by choosing to feel nothing.

Nothing except relief.

The wizard sighs, his chest lighter with the disappearance of this threat. Ominis is much safer now that Sebastian has annihilated him. And that's all that matters.

Although a reunion is impossible due to a soul too dark, intoxicated by the blackness of Azkaban, the wizard makes sure no one harms the only lingering light in his dull, dreary world. Not even him!

This scum deserves no burial, so Sebastian makes the body disappear into nothingness and leaves the scene.

He reappears on the outskirts of a modest residence, in the heart of a large clearing, surrounded by tall trees. Powerful protective spells surround the building, but they have never hindered Sebastian's incursions as he wraps this cocoon in his own magical shields. From the edge of the adjoining wood, he watches the room glow with a warm light and Ominis' silhouette, against the light, stops in front of the window, his face pressed against the glass and his blind gaze fixed on him.

It's as if he knows...

The thought fills him with emotion and his throat knots.

How long can Sebastian watch him live before desire consumes him? Every day, the wizard must fight against the intense need to find him again, which eats away at his every rational thought.

Forcing these impulses to recede before they take root, he looks up at the stars hanging from the velvet of the night, lingering on the gibbous moon slowly gliding across the sky. Then he turns his attention back to the house, where all the lights are now out.

Taking a few steps towards the building, he almost gives in to the urge to sneak inside, but as always, he clenches his fists to prevent himself from joining in and contaminating him with this gnawing darkness. It takes a Herculean effort!

Ominis is pure and vibrant, even though his family has long since stripped him of his innocence. Sebastian's darkness could dull his light, suffocate him... and that reminder alone keeps him away, but never too far. He remains in the shadow of Ominis Gaunt.

It's the only place where the sorcerer can be himself without harming him.

With a flick of his wand, he wraps himself in a veil of magic to conceal his presence and approaches his bedroom window, plunged in half-light. Moonlight caresses his sleeping figure. His gaze wanders over his pale face, where long black eyelashes spread like crescent moons over his prominent cheekbones. His lips, pink and dry from nervous nibbling, are parted in sleep. Looking at him like that, you'd think he was an angel. Sebastian doesn't know how much longer he stays watching Ominis Gaunt, looking at his forehead wrinkle in thought. He turns onto his other side, his back to Sebastian. The position reminds him of the time long ago when they slept together, curled up in the same bed at Uncle Solomon's, nestled innocently together like two spoons.

Every cell, every atom, in Sebastian is drawn towards his latest friend, and when he can't bear the tension any longer, when the pain in his chest becomes too overwhelming, he gently places his hand on the cold glass and steps aside. Even when everything inside him is screaming to satisfy his instincts.

It's a torture he submits himself to almost every night.

Ever since his dear sister died without having forgiven him for killing their uncle, his affection for Ominis Gaunt is the last good thing left in his life. So Sebastian will never again cause him the slightest grief by involving him in his criminal sins. Because if he ever did, he would lose Ominis forever - in the same way as if he let his sinister family target him. Then there would be no light left in Sebastian and darkness would engulf his whole soul.

Without a sound, the wizard leaves. Each step heavier than the last.

His best friend deserves a peaceful life, the carefree existence he's always been deprived of.

For that, someone has to protect him from the malevolent family he can't see. Wizards who won't bow to reason, let alone morality. Only to an implacable power that outclasses them.

And who better than Sebastian to fight evil with evil?

A/N: Charon was the ferryman of the Underworld in Greek mythology, so he's linked to the passage from one state to another. Considering that in my HC, the birth of Ominis' father marks the decline of the Gaunt family, this name is almost metaphorical, hence my choice of naming him so.

Thank you for reading!