#and the fragility yet hardness of his visage

[pencilofawesomeness]

So, uh...

I got really into Twisted Wonderland recently......

I made an edit after I completed each chapter because psychoanalyzing characters is a lot of fun for me, and the idea got stuck in my head after Book 2.

(Character artwork isn’t mine, but the edits are, yadda yadda.)

[cambion-companion]

A Marriage Contract

Eyo...I had an idea LOL what a world!

The scenario of Raphael x reader (gn) being forced into some sort of marriage agreement has been bugging me ALL day! Hopefully some of you lovely folks are as depraved as I am and enjoy this!

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”  

You were sitting opposite Raphael, the firelight flickering orange across his scarlet visage. You watched with bemused interest as, with a black quill, he scratched ink across a sheaf of yellowed parchment.

The cambion took little heed to your agitated words. His posture was relaxed, one long leg stretched out between your own, his tail tapping idly against your thigh where it rested.

“Raphael.”  You leaned forward, catching a glimpse of the words he now wrote in that elegant script of his. “…Hey, I did not agree to doing that every day with you.”

A peeved hiss escaped Raphael’s sharp teeth as he removed quill from paper and sat back, his yellow eyes finally moving to your tense face. “This arrangement is at the behest of one I cannot yet deny.” His long fingers drummed a pattern against the cherrywood table. “Don’t complain too much, pet.  I may begin to think you’re getting cold feet.”

“Not in this sweltering house.”  You quipped back.  Then you pointed again to the sentence he’d scrawled detailing what lurid acts he expected from you. “I will not be doing that.”

“Might I remind you, this is a contract of marriage.”  

“Believe me, I am well aware.”

“You would receive such pleasures in kind.”

This gave you pause, your brow arched in disbelief. “From you?”

Raphael chuckled dryly. “Yes, from me.  Master of the House, your doting husband.”

Your skin prickled. “There’d better be a clause in there for an annulment once all this is over.”

“It’s possible for such a loophole to be penned in.”  Raphael tilted his horned head diplomatically, though his eyes remained hard. “For you to take advantage of should the fires burn too hot.  However, you will always be mine.”

“How romantic.”  You deadpanned.

“I certainly try.”  Raphael rolled his broad shoulders and stretched his neck side to side.  “Now, shall I rescind these latest conditions or are you now more amenable?”

You hesitated, scooting your chair closer so you could better read the script without getting a crick in your neck. “Hmm…yes, alright. You can get rid of the ‘submits to my will in all infernal matters’ bit.”

With a smooth motion Raphael struck a line through the offending words. “Would ‘heeds my counsel in all the doings of my domain’ better suit your tender palate?”

“Rewording the same sentiment isn’t going to get passed me, love.”  You kissed his cheek, teasing.

Sharp claws pierced the flesh of your jaw as, quick as a viper, Raphael grabbed your face with one hand and held you very still.  His face turned and your noses brushed. You felt his warm breath and his hot skin.

The air between the two of you grew tense, riddled with the frustration at your situation and the desire you’d had for one another since meeting. The lust to dominate and own from him and your need to be wanted and no longer alone.

“This marriage contract is forever binding, little mouse. Much more so than those fragile slips of paper from your insipid mortal world. There is not a clause in your wildest imaginings that will free you from me once you sign yourself over.”

You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks, his strong hand still holding your head firmly. “We have little choice.”

Raphael’s grip tightened and he brought his lips against yours, just enough to leave you craving more. “What a quaint notion, to believe I have no power to deny or evade.”

He did not elaborate, but his message was clear.  Raphael wanted this. The thought didn’t leave you feeling warm and fuzzy.

There was an evident dynamic here that you didn’t have the capacity to fully understand.  It gave you a sense of dread yet sent a thrill through your body.

You gave Raphael a smile bordering on playful. “Your signature mysterious and vaguely threatening answers won’t exactly breed a relationship of trust.”

“You and I have very different concepts of what a marriage should look like.”  Raphael released your jaw and took both your hands, pulling you with one strong movement onto his lap.  His tail wrapped around your waist, securing you against him. “Speaking of ‘breeding’, I have an excellent idea.”

Your retort was silenced as a long tongue and sharp teeth claimed your mouth and drank down your following noises.

[mystra-midnight]

Dark Paradise

summary: geralt was all-consuming, invading every one of your senses; somehow, he'd snaked his way beneath your skin and between your ribs before burrowing into your heart. he lived there now, and you couldn't breathe without him.

warnings: 18+ only. breeding kink. overstimulation. mentions of multiple orgasm. name calling; slut. dom!geralt.

words: 1k.

notes: no one will ever convince me that geralt is a soft man. he is all strength, and arrogance, and hard muscles. and he will dominate his woman. admittedly this is shorter then i wanted it to be, and maybe not my best work, but i do hope you enjoy.

If ever there was something to be grateful for, it was this: being able to fuck his woman raw without the fear of an unwanted pregnancy. Having you naked beneath him was everything Geralt wanted—to watch your velvet walls stretch around his cock's girth, to feel your body tremble as he rocked his hips against your ass, to watch your cum mixed with his be forced from your tight hole with each brutal thrust.

You knew, completely and irrevocably, that there was no chance of falling pregnant with Geralt of Rivia. The trials had made him sterile, though you boiled fennel and drank it regularly to be certain. Your mother taught you from the eve of your first bleed to protect yourself against others, to trust no one but yourself, and that having a child with the wrong man could lead your life to ruin.

But tonight he had come to your cottage on the outskirts of the village in a foul and angry mood, with snarling tongue and gnashing fangs. He refused to tell you what had happened as he forced you down to your knees. All he'd wanted was your naked body beneath him.

"Geralt." Your voice quivered and rose to a crescendo when he speared through the satin clutch of your cunt and hit the sweet spot that sent your eyes spinning. Geralt of Rivia was not a small man—not in any sense of the word. He was tall and impossibly strong. His eyes were intense, and his hair was the colour of starlight. With broad shoulders and a myriad of scars along his body, he was every woman's fantasy.

And he refused to treat you with fragility. To him, you were not a damsel in distress. So he fucked like he fought, with teeth and tongue, and in every position. "I-I can't. S'too much."

Your thighs trembled under the lingering force of the three orgasms Geralt had pulled from the depths of your soul—on his fingers, tongue, and cock. Another one would surely kill you; you would float away from your body and away from him, never to return. But the idea of him filling you again was heavenly and impossible to deny—not when he dominated you so beautifully.

"You can," he grunted, his voice a rough growl. Geralt followed a bead of sweat that dripped down your spine with the tip of his tongue, leaving your sweat-slick skin goosepimpled. His hand followed the same path until he gripped the nape of your neck and pressed you into the mattress, keeping you cemented in place as he filled into you again. “You can, because I’m not stopping.”

Geralt knew that you wouldn't reply—at least not verbally. The impact of his hips against your ass was brutal, forcing the air from your mouth in pretty moans. The clutch of your cunt was more than enough of an answer. He smeared his lips along your shoulder as he shadowed over you like a terrible, haunting visage. The angle made it seem as though he was in your guts, rearranging your organs.

"That's a good girl," he cooed against your skin, his tone positively mocking. "Now, you stay right there while I fuck a baby into you. That's what my slut wants, isn't it? To be swollen with my child?"

He turned feral and ferocious in a flash, ruthlessly rutting into you. He drove you to the brink of yet another orgasm as you clawed at the sheets. Between whoreish moans, your walls tightened around him, leaving you gasping for air. A familiar warmth moved through your aching limbs and raced through your blood while a thunderstorm roared behind your ears.

"Geralt. Geralt, please, I can't. I can't—oh, fuck. There, r-right there." You babbled mindlessly. You felt lost in the sensation of his hands grabbing here, there, and everywhere. You felt lost in the sting of his teeth and tongue and how he tasted your skin. You felt lost in the pressure of his fingers and how he left bruise-shaped prints everywhere he touched.

"Right here?" He demanded. His fingers dug into the curve of your hips as he pulled you back to meet his pelvis, the sound of wet skin connecting echoing loudly in the small cottage. You squirmed and keened when he hit that sweet spot. "Is this what my slut needed—to feel me this deep?"

You didn’t hear him over the thunderstorm, which had grown into a deafening roar that blocked out the world. And as your vision went white, the pressure snapped, and a bolt of lightning sparked a wildfire in your blood. You felt like you were burning alive; the air in your lungs was superheated, and nothing could cool it. You came hard, screaming his name as he held you in place.

Geralt held you tightly, fingerprint bruises decorating your skin while galaxies burst to life inside your veins. The warmth of your cunt was divine, a heavenly caress as he rutted into you, chasing his own release as he threw his head back. "There you go," he grunted. He slapped your ass just hard enough to get your attention. "You're such a good slut. Does it feel good cumming for me while I breed you?"

You still couldn't answer him; each thrust knocked the air from your lungs, leaving your mouth open as you gasped, squealed, and wriggled in his grasp. Geralt didn't seem to mind. With a final thrust, he buried himself. His hand in your hair held you in place and tinged your scalp with a pleasurable sort of pain as the last of your orgasm ebbed away, leaving your clit throbbing in time with your heartbeats.

It was a welcomed feeling when his release painted your walls—a feeling that made your brain foggy. And despite the haze clouding your thoughts, you knew in that moment you would give yourself to this man. Not only your heart, but your body as well. You knew that if there was a way, you would give him what he wanted, and you would let him breed you.

[sunoosets]

NGL, baby fever has me bad these days....

Imagining hard!Dom Jake sharing you, his pregnant wife, with soft!Dom Heeseung. They're both so gentle with your little bump while being soooo damn naughty with you. Taking turns filling you up with cum because you begged them for it.

🫨🥵🤬🤯😈

this one took a while, but i think i'm happy w the result😋 i hope u guys like it<3

His fingers slid, excruciatingly slow, across the supple lines of your jaw. Clenched tightly, you hummed between his touch. “Y/n…” The man left the pads of his fingers to rest. Set gently on your dampened cheek. A thumb swiped left, and caught a tear headed south. Jake smirked, as you assumed, pressing you further between his legs. Holding you against his thick thighs, and stabilising your shaking, pleasure-filled figure. “Do you like this?” He questioned lowly. Two fingers curled, softly, around the obscuring strands of your hair. He pushed them back and lowered his lips to your ear. “You’re going to be such a pretty mommy..”

“Jake.” You went to whine, but the annoyance was cut short by an intruding moan. A sigh of pleasure, as his best friend fucked his wife. Heeseung groaned, pressing his pretty lips into a line. Focus adorned his blurred, corrupted gaze. His brows cramped further as he took your hips between his fingers. Rough, large hands greeting your soft, warm skin. You admired him, as a friend. Though couldn’t deny the way your body betrayed your dear husband and gave in to Heeseung’s thick cock. It was dirty. You shivered when his tip pressed against your sensitive entrance, and nearly came when you felt the pulse of his entire length, rubbing along your insides. Between fleshy, encasing walls, which tightened. Clenched around him. Urging him deeper.

Your legs shook. The covers teased beneath the three of you. Messy, the air was. Tainted with pleasure, and arousal. Jake sighed, fingers slipping. He took your shoulders and pulled you near to his beating chest. Warmth radiated but wasn’t enough to distract you from his aching boner. A taunting bulge, pressed softly along your mid-back. If you lifted your chin, rolled your eyes back. You could have caught sight of him. Your husband, with his pleasured face. His sweat-ridden hair, and his lowered jaw. Those plump, wet lips you needed, desperately, between your legs, or at least, sucking along your pulsing throat. You whined, needily. Raising your hips as Heeseung thrust into you. You rolled over his length, arching your back in hopes to feel his dick fit into every space. Slide over that very crevice Jake could hit with each rut. He was so perfect. Filling you so easily, as if you were made to be wrapped around him. To be filled to the brim by him, to be claimed, fucked until swollen. You were made to take in his cum.

You believed he had similar, or equal beliefs, and so letting his friend fill you with his, undeniably gorgeous wet cock, was a surprise.

“Fuck, she feels too good.” Hee sighed, grunting when he pushed in, yet again. The sounds were crude, and the gasps were cruder. Jake smiled, grin stretching. “Doesn’t she?” He chuckled beneath his breath, cock twitching within his pants.

You dropped your head to the side, lashes fluttering to hide your eyes. Flusterment, in the form of a brightened blush crept along your cheeks. They were rosy, and heated when Jake’s palms gripped them. Either side of your face. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and pulled your fragile face upward. “Darling, don’t be rude.” He smiled, teasingly. “Look at Heeseung.” He ordered, and you obeyed. Darkened eyes lingering over, and then falling on Heeseung’s shining visage. The sweat glistened beneath these lights, and his hair was strung over his eyes, sticking to his furrowed brows. His lips were parted, letting slip heavy sighs, and soft grunts. “Good girl.” He spoke softly. Fingers switching from a clutch on your hips, to rubbing gentle, smooth circles along your sides, and then across the small bump which held yours and Jake’s baby. “You’re taking me so well.”

You whimpered in return. All syllables you wanted to say, trapped in the draught of your narrow throat. Jake still had his hold on your jaw. When Heeseung’s hips began snapping, jutting forward sloppily. When his cock twitched, and he threw back his head. Allowing a guttural moan to grace his throat. Jake’s fingers touched your lower chin and raised you backward. Your eyes averted, timidity overwhelming you. You were so near. Clenching hard as your stomach flipped and the knot within you was threatening to snap. “Look at me, baby.” He smiled, but his eyes were dark. You swallowed. “Can I see you cum?” He questioned, though there was a fine line between the words being rhetorical, as his lips curved into a smirk. “I thought you wanted my eyes on Hee.” You spoke back, between inhales of air and suppressed moans. Jake smirked harsher. “I want your eyes on me now. It’s my turn next.” He reminded, tongue leaving his mouth to swipe his lips before his teeth dug into them.

You moaned, head resting back, nestling between his legs as you obeyed your husband. Eyes set on his, while your lips were split by moan, after moan. He watched you reach your high, and then cum on his friend’s cock. Who, in return, filled you with his own salty pleasure. Heeseung grunted. Palm settled on your raised stomach. “Fuck, yes.” He sighed.

Your eyes rolled, and Jake let his tongue travel the length of his inner cheek. Poking it while his cock poked you. Becoming harder when your face dropped into one of immense pleasure. “Shit, Y/n.” He cursed, feeling himself twitch.

Your chest was heaving. Heeseung let his hand glide above the rising bump. “You were so good for me.” He praised, and sent you a warm, enticing smile. Small, but enough to light your stomach, which released an array of butterflies. Jake pressed his lips into your hair. Kissing you softly. “Are you ready?” He whispered, smirking against your teased locks. You were catching your breath, practically chasing after it. Swallowing dryly and inhaling sharply. Jake and Heeseung switched positions. With Heeseung handling you so softly. Light fingers edging down your sides and shuffling you backward. You felt yourself press against his ribs. His chest, still rising, and falling. He was warm, and instead of clutching you with authoritative palms, he held you. His hands were loose, and arms were wrapped around you, crossed over your chest. “Did you like that?” He whispered. Hot breath hitting your cheek. You lowered your head. Nodding at his question. You loved it, but admitting so would feel odd when your husband was now rested between your legs. Palms firmly placed either side, on each thigh. Holding them spread, so his free cock could find its place inside of you. Heeseung appeared to like the scene before him. His breath returned to your cheek as he spoke once more. A certain tone within his words. “Should I ask Jake if we could do this again some time?”

“I’d like that.” You returned. Your voice, finally stable. Heeseung smiled, pride surfacing as it stretched, and he pulled back. Arms tightening around you. “Me too.”

You were close to a second reply. However, you were cut off by an abrupt moan, which belonged to none other than yourself. It was high-pitched, strong. Not to mention loud. Jake laughed, perfect teeth appearing as his tongue resumed poking his inner cheek. His eyes were trained on your form, and then dipped toward his hard, leaking cock. Stained with a pre-cum he then spread along your folds. Slipping between them. Teasing your overwhelmed clit. You moaned harshly. Throat somewhat sore. “Mm, I bet you liked being filled by Heeseung, huh?” Jake grunted, still smiling in pleasure when his tip was swallowed into your warmth. He rubbed you. Gentle rocks, and then, before you could even inhale, he pushed his throbbing length inside. Letting it squeeze between your convulsing walls and brush the deepest parts of you. He groaned, brows furrowing. “Shit, you were made for my cock.” He breathed deeply. Fingers digging harshly against the flesh of your waist. “You look so good.” His eyes fluttered, and he set his upper teeth into his lower lip. “Especially with my baby inside of you.”

“They’re gonna be lucky to have such a pretty mom.” Jake pushed on. Thrusts picking up the pace as he slammed his cock into you. One palm slipped from your waist and trailed along the bump. He was soft. A contrast to how rough he was going with his cock. Fucking you desperately, as if he were never going to feel you wrapped around him again. Sucking him into you. Letting him drag his length in, and then out. Deep strokes through your insides. Fast and needy, with each moan you let slip in return to his compliments.

Your pussy had been fucked so hard, it wasn’t long before the knot returned. Begging to burst. In desperation, you moaned out. Raising to meet his cock. “Jake, Jake.” You chanted. “Mm, want your cum..”

Your words were slurred, as your head fell back. Heeseung’s palms gently took to massaging your shoulders. Every muscle was relaxing, apart from the tense feeling amidst your stomach. “So needy for my cum.” Jake smiled. “You’re already pregnant.”

It was teasing, but then his smile faded, and his teeth returned. Settling into his lip. “I would get you pregnant over, and over again.” He panted, thrusts fast and sloppy. Shaking both your figure and the bedframe. His cock slid, slamming into you as his own high chased him. “I love giving you my cum.” He sighed shakily. Before snapping his hips forward, pressing his cock between your walls. His face fell into one of pleasure. Thick lips parted, jaw lowered. Eyes, dazed. The contortion made it clear he was close to cumming, as well as the twitch you felt within you. You wrapped harder. Clenching until Jake was grunting, struggling, almost, to push deeper.

"Jake, please cum." You spoke, breath heavy. Jake, as if on queue, squeezed your thighs, and then buried his cock deep inside of you to fill you with his warm load. A guttural groan and he was shooting his mess inside of you. Spreading his cum between your thick walls.

You cried at the sensation. The knot snapping as you came around his pretty cock. Creating an even more crude sound when he tried to drag his cock through the mixture of your arousal.

Jake sighed. Shoulders lifting, and then falling. Relaxing, along with the abrupt end to his high. You were a mess. Panting. Lips wet, hair tousled. Heeseung pulled at the loose strands, gently folding them behind your ears. "Round two?" Your husband smirked. His lip curving upward while his chest still rose. An out of breath expression lining his features. "We could take turns filling you with our cum all night, if that's what you want, princess?"

How could you say no?🤭

[pokidot]

MANDELA — eight

wc: 1,724

It's been a day that the presentation came around, and you had no thought in your head about the consequences anymore. You hadn't even seen the circumference of news breaking out, and you checked The Cyptid Dailies a lot.

Even when you know you should be finding some peace before your trip, you didn't find interest in kicking a brick wall with your shoe in hopes that it would be fragile enough to break.

You began collecting the fragments of information you had, and with your close precision, started piecing them together on the huge corkboard you left empty until now.

Photographs and sketches you either found from Google images or drew out of pure memory adorned the board. You'd like to think they were capturing haunting visages and elusive forms, but you knew that artistic vision included more than 10 minutes of drawing scribbles up until it looks kind of like something unordinary.

While drawing your hands away, your lips curved into a smile. The effervescent delight said probably too much stimulus until you blinked and looked over at the small sound of a hissing whisper reverberating into your thoughts, and to the rest of the room.

You watched as mist almost flew dangerously close to your face, thank to the fan blowing in the room.

"Protip: if you're in a sticky situation and you don't have mace?" Venti lifted a can of setting spray high above his head, firm and unwavering. "Use this right here. It's practically mustard gas. I don't know what Shining Idol Barbara was cooking when she made this—she put Chemical X in it!"

Xiao placed the cards in his hands down, previously entertaining a game of 'Go-fish' with Aether. "And you know this because...?"

"You CANNOT inhale this if you want to be sent to the pearly gates." Venti shook it for emphasis. "It is expensive for a reason, it is NOT just setting spray. It is hair spray, bug killer, and floor cleaner. It's a 4-in-one, and she knew what she was doing when she did it too."

"Talk about sugar, spice, and everything nice." Kazuha sighed.

You didn't know if it was the sense of relief knowing that you partially succeeded, but you kind of forgot that you were now being accompanied by...the entirety of Teyvat University's chess club.

You were a little confused at the sudden notions; they all seemed to have their own motives as to why they're there. You weren't complaining at all. “Wait, really? She makes product now?” You blinked, your expression mildly impressed as you took the can from his hands, reading the label. “Huh…thought she was on hiatus.”

“If I was as rich as her, I’d forget I was in the shackles of being a juggling clown for people's entertainment too.” Only silence followed with the rest of Heizou's words, and he looked at the rest of them. "What?"

“You bite your words. Being a juggling clown is hard work.” Aether chimed in with defense, before his shoulders slacked. “Not…saying she is a juggling clown, of course, but even if she was...it would be a very high paying ca—(Y/N) what are you working on?”

“Right. I need to make a list before this actually starts," You rose your voice happily, suddenly bathed in an area of instant intrigue, "Not everything needs to be entirely perfect...but all the information we need is for when we actually tell this thing to fuck off, or I will instantly kill myself."

Venti whistled lowly. "Self destructive too," He smiled. "Just my type...just my type."

"Get help. Now." Xiao murmured in response to him, gritting his teeth. "There's no use making two trips if we're going to be there to investigate. We don't even have a lead on what it is yet."

"Au contraire, mon frère!"

"Don't...call me that." Xiao watched with furrowed eyebrows as you shuffled to your bag to take it out, the sounds of flurrying, crumpling loose pages in your bag as you dug deeper.

"God, they're like a real Benoit Blanc." Venti's practically had heart eyes.

He looked at the rest of the group there, staring keenly at you to add to your discovery and sighed through his nostrils. "This was more fun than going to a chess tournament?"

"I'm sorry, did you want us to say no? I'm tired of being demolished by the Kamisatos. I'm convinced they go to those just to one day see us dissolve into cinder and ashes." Aether asked in this suspended moment, Xiao letting out a small grunt at him.

"That's because you get your tricks off Tiktok." Kazuha chuckled.

"Feast your eyes!" You grasped the newspaper in your hands firmly, lifting it aloft as if hoisting a sacred artifact.

The five of them hovered over it to read, "PROJECT MORI IN DEVELOPMENT COMING 2017! MORI GROVE RD CONNECTING TO FREEWAY ON TEYVAT."

"Mori Grove is less than thirty minutes away from us if we use the path that connects the freeway. But! To bring so much equipment with us would mean that it'll take us longer to setup. And...who knows if the alleged 'clone' will show up? It's either we take longer when they're already gone, or we wait with a bunch of cameras for nothing."

"The only thing that I can think of that actually 'shapeshifts' into what you're talking about is a nematode." Xiao said. "I promise you the world's mysteries don't extend that far."

"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. That's why you've gotta open your miiiind." You said, scrunching your hands up near your head to make exploding sounds while making the motions (to which Venti playfully followed along).

"Stop that." Xiao interrupted abruptly.

You put your hands down to continue, "And—!" As you were about to go on, your voice trailed off. All eyes turned towards the newcomer who entered the clubroom.

You turned your head towards Kuni, your smile instantly became radiant. "You're here! Come, sit, sit!" You rushed towards one of the free chairs, motioning to it's wooden fashion.

Though it wasn't reciprocated, he looked at your blossoming joy expressed through the curvature of your lips. His dull eyes remained devoid to mask his unease, looking away to the rest of his friends.

"What are these idiots doing here?" He seemed at a general discontent that this club was even a thing, but he was nothing but punctual to a meeting.

"It's so nice to see you too, Zu." Heizou pulled his lips together. "So nice."

"You thought we were joking about going?" Kazuha was so delighted you could possibly see chrysanthemums and blossoms around him. "I haven't had this much fun ever since we went fishing."

"Don't even remind me," The teetering stability of Kuni's voice turned from a smooth neutral to a tension. "I'm still pissed Xiao knocked the biggest fish I caught out of my hands before I could take a picture with it."

"You were trying to slap me in the face with it's tail. Don't be mad at me that your ego got in the way of your picture."

"I don't care if my ego was crushing your larynx the way I want to do to you right now. Ya' neva' go against the family, kid. Neva'." Kuni pointed in the direction of him, a small Italian accent laced in his tone.

"...Why are you talking like that?" Venti snickered.

Kuni shook his head to himself, mentally regretting his actions before looking at you, turning his body. "Don't get too gung-ho about your trip. I think you should reconsider it."

"Ohh, here we go again." You crossed your arms against your chest. "What excuse are you going to come up with now?"

"Not so much of an excuse this time, (Y/N)." Kuni held his phone up to your face. "The pathway to Mori Grove is closed, and the town is considering blocking off access to leave at all."

Your face dropped, eyes scanning the article as your face turned slightly grim. "What."

"Oh no...do you have a backup plan, (Y/N)?" Kazuha asked you, but you didn't know how to even process a response to anybody at the moment.

"...No...I don't have a backup plan." Your eyes glazed with a mixture of disbelief and bewilderment, but though you were previously vibrant and bustling, there may as well have been fire in your eyes. "Because this isn't going to happen. Oh HELL no!"

Kuni couldn't help but scoff. "You're going to go against the national guard? I don't think you're going to get far-"

"There could be a nuclear bomb up my ASS RIGHT NOW, I'M CATCHING THIS SHAPESHIFTER IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO!" You pointed at your best friend to interrupt him, looking at him with unwavering refusal as you grabbed your bag and your laptop. "Meeting over! Get the cars ready at 6AM."

"H-Hey, isn't that a little bit too early for a hunt..?" Aether called out towards you, but before you made a stormy exit, you quickly turned around towards the blond with a squint.

"Six. A. M." And with that, you disappeared from view, and all the six could hear was the faint and tiny footsteps get tinier.

"...Okay, cool. Another sleep paralysis demon to look forward to," Aether thought mildly.

The vacuum left by your absence served as a reminder, the air was so still Heizou broke the silence first, "How does having a nuclear bomb up your ass even correlate to catching..."

"Keep it moving. Don't listen to anything they say." Kuni shook his head, checking the watch on his arm. "It is getting late."

"You heard them! 6AM!" Venti clapped his hands loudly, "They obviously have something they're planning, and we got through a 2 hour dissertation of them hurling out cryptid safety procedures. Bedtime."

Kuni raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry? Who made you co-leader?"

"I did, and if you were as smart as you think you were, you'd be fighting me right now." Venti stuck his tongue out. "No? Thought not."

And naturally, Kuni did want to argue with him, but he kept his mouth shut. He took a sharp breath in, eyes fixated on him until he looked back at the door to see something he swore was peeking from the corner of it. It was now gone.

There was nothing there, and the idea of him being delusional made him slightly annoyed. "Okay. We're leaving, now. Turn the lights off."

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NOTES || filler. don't ask me how long the forum page took me...anyway i'm excited for next chapter ROOOADDD TRIIIIPPPP

TAGLIST: @wisteriarain @akagism2 @murderisokayforme @aeongiies @d4y-dr3am3r @truck-kuns-gf @3lysiaa @ayoitsmarie33 @crucnhice @natsuscrustyscarf @dreamsofminnie @astreaa-express @goj0h @cicibao @xirthia @kylexzz @dollpoetwriting @dreamingkace @strawbxrrytiger

[scotianostra]

Happy Birthday James “Midge” Ure born October 10th 1953 in Cambuslang.

Born to a working class family Ure attended Cambuslang Primary School and Rutherglen Academy in Glasgow until he was 15 years old. For the first 10 years of his life he lived in a one-bedroom tenement flat. After leaving school Ure attended Motherwell Technical College and then began to work as an engineer, training at the National Engineering Laboratory (NEL), in nearby East Kilbride.

Midge started playing music in a Glasgow band called Stumble in 1969, before joining Salvation, a Glasgow-based group that became the bubblegum band Slik in 1974. Upset in the change of direction, Ure left the band to join the Rich Kids, a punk-pop group led by former Sex Pistol bassist Glen Matlock. The Rich Kids only released one album, 1978’s Ghosts of Princes in Towers, before breaking up later that year. Ure spent a brief time with the Misfits (not the American band) before forming Visage with drummer Rusty Egan and vocalist Steve Strange; he left the group to replace Gary Moore in Thin Lizzy, who had left in the middle of an American tour. After the tour was finished, Ure fulfilled an agreement to join Ultravox as the replacement for John Foxx.

Once he joined the band in 1980, Ure helped make Ultravox a mainstream success; during this time he also worked as a producer, making records with Steve Harley and Modern Man. In 1982, Ure released a solo single, a cover of the Walker Brothers’ hit “No Regrets”; it climbed into the U.K. Top Ten. Ure and Bob Geldof formed Band Aid, a special project to aid famine relief efforts in Ethiopia, in 1984. The two wrote the song “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” and assembled an all-star band of musicians to record the single; it sold millions of copies over the 1984 holiday season.

In 1985, Ultravox was put on hiatus and Ure began to pursue a full-time solo career. Recorded entirely by Ure, his 1985 solo debut, The Gift, launched the number one single “If I Was,” as well as the minor hits “That Certain Smile” and “Call of the Wild.” The following year, he recorded the final Ultravox album; in 1987, the band broke up and he began recording his second solo album. The resulting record, 1988’s Answers to Nothing, was less successful than The Gift in the U.K., yet it charted in the U.S., which is something Ure’s previous album failed to do. Three years later, Ure released his third album, Pure; while it didn’t do any business in America, the album featured the Top 20 British hit “Cold, Cold Heart.” He attempted a comeback in 1996 with Breathe, which went ignored by both the American and British markets. Four years later, his score for the Jon Cryer drama-comedy Went to Coney Island was issued by the Evenmore label.

Ure’s recording activity during the 2000s began with Move Me, which featured some surprisingly hard rocking material. A few years later, he published an autobiography, If I Was, and then, with Geldof, arranged the Live 8 concerts.

Following the release of the covers-oriented 10 IN 2008, Ure participated in an Ultravox reunion and continued to record as a solo artist. Fragile was issued in 2014, and featured the Moby collaboration “Dark, Dark Night.” In 2017, he collaborated with composer Ty Unwin on the album Orchestrated, which featured orchestral reworkings of Ultravox songs, as well as songs from his solo career.

In 2020 Midge released an album Soundtrack 1978-2019, he was one of the lucky artists to have completed his tour promoting this in February that year.

Midge has recently revealed why he turned down an offer to join the Sex Pistols, telling The Telegraph that he considered that taking up the invitation from the band's manager Malcolm McLaren would have been like "joining a slightly edgier Bay City ­Rollers". He received the offer to join the fledgling punk band back in 1975, while on a visit to McCormack’s instrument hire shop in Glasgow.

In an interview published in the Telegraph he said;

"I was stopped in the street by the Clash’s manager, Bernie Rhodes, who then introduced me to Malcolm McLaren, I didn’t know who either of them was, but they literally asked me to join the Sex Pistols without even asking what I did. To me it would have been like joining a slightly edgier Bay City Rollers, so I turned them down.

On 4th October he celebrated seven decades of music with a concert at the Royal Albert Hall. He is married with four daughters and lives in Somerset.

[seraphiism]

❀ ﾟ. ༄ ┊ 𝐈 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 ( 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢 ) ;

( LATELY, I'VE BEEN THINKING THAT BEING STRONG IS LONELY & PAINFUL SO I CLING TO THE JOY OF IT. )

characters : kaeya / childe / xiao fandom : genshin impact quote cr : queen bee - inuhime a/n : siren au!!

↬ kaeya ࿐ ࿔

in the sea, you seek redemption in the search of the blurred lines between deception and truth. your fingers tremble, trace the surface of calm waters ; it ripples, spreads, causes a disturbance in the push and pull. fragile is the nature of being, and how delicate it is to be ruined by your touch.

kaeya watches you, gaze burning into your skin. your breath catches in your throat, visage timid and mesmerized one in the same as you exhale deeply, swallow hard as if to dissipate a growing anxiety that brews in your lungs. you said there would be no return, no next time, found logic and reason that this was all made of falsehoods and romanticism. yet you still came back to him, time after time, finding yourself kneeling on the docks once more in the missing of the devil.

"careful," he tells you, amusement resonate in taunting tones, "you'll fall if you get any closer, you know."

you freeze, come to your senses and think to pull away, but he grabs your wrist, gentle, before his hand slides down to meet yours. palm against palm, the intricate lacing of fingers. your mouth runs dry, heart aching against your chest in means of escape and yearning to differentiate what is real and what is not.

you do not think you love kaeya, not truly. surely this is all his doing, his words a song of lies and deceit. that is your hope, your excuse. you fight the inability to acknowledge that perhaps you are responsible for your own doom. it's easier to place the blame on another, find fault in his actions instead of yours. because this is foolish, and every fiber of your being reminds you of this.

you are devastated.

"isn't that what you want? for me to fall?"

kaeya searches your eyes, notices how you refuse to meet his in avoidance of seeing your desperate reflection. his lips curve into something indecipherable, almost genuine in contentment.

"you can fall if you want." comes the reassurance, followed with a subtle tug that brings you even closer to him and the sea. "who would i be, after all, if i couldn't catch you?"

↬ childe ࿐ ࿔

in the sea, you sense a maddening malice and corruption that muddles an iridescent blue. the sunlight is harsh on your skin, its brightness reflected on the waters. childe looks up at you, tilts his head in childlike curiosity and a smile that rivals the brilliance of the waves. there is an innocence lost that drowns in the red hues of his lips, a quiet mischief he thrives upon.

his heart is made of impurities and ataxia ; a sickness that ingrains itself in the need to be wanted and loved. for a siren, such things are easily obtainable-- and it is too easy to humor oneself, too superficial, childe thinks. but there is something different about you-- something that fascinates him to the degree that this game of temptation has turned into one of genuine intrigue. droplets fall from his fingertips, rush down your cheek as he cups your face. his eyes wander, follow the water as it trails down your neck.

you force yourself to remain in place, nodding numbly as childe laughs gently at your flustered expression. don't think about it too hard, is what he tells you, dismissing your concern at his presence on land. he frightens you so, something sinister yet delightfully beautiful in blue eyes. it doesn't make sense, any of it-- the joy on his visage when he talks to you, his playful tones-- because you feel that they are real, that it is not an act, but there is a madness somewhere between it all, and maybe you want him all the more for it.

"don't you hear that?" he leans close, humming ever so thoughtfully as he closes the gap between your lips. "listen carefully to the sea."

something excruciating burns in your chest when he kisses you : a longing for something you cannot name, a tightness that binds you, crushes you in a slow suffocation.

"i--" you pull away, choke on air, "i can't hear it. i don't--"

his thumb grazes over your cheek, voice soft as he shushes you. he smiles, wondrous, tells you it's okay, and you believe him.

you believe him. you think you shouldn't.

"trust me," childe murmurs, pulls you closer for a deeper kiss, "you'll hear it soon."

↬ xiao ࿐ ࿔

in the sea, you witness the drowning of someone who belongs to the tides. how cursed this siren is : to lure the wanting into the depths of hell and to lack the ability to stop it. xiao succumbs to this damnation, swallows it whole. fate has always been frightening and powerful ; he knows that he is not meant to fight it.

if he is deserving of punishment, then so be it -- but how cruel fate is to punish others for his austerity.

so he hides in solitude, tries to push people away, protect them from downfall. but it's not enough, not when he is made of holiness and greater things ( it's a facade, all of it. xiao is decrepit & foul, a monster made to warp desires ).

this road will lead to ruin. he has warned you.

"keep away." he ignores the yearning in your eyes, pretends that it is meant for someone else. "you should not be here with me."

you sit at the edge of the docks, wonder what it would feel like if you submerged yourself into the water. xiao remains on standby, ready to run, yet ready to catch you should you dare to jump in.

"you never leave me, xiao." you put on a brave face, act like the pain is not present in either of your souls. "you could leave and never come back. the sea will carry you wherever you want to go, won't it?"

the words break him. his tongue feels numb, harsh demands lodged in his throat.

"you could have left if you wanted to." you whisper. the wind almost drowns out your words, spoken with a sacredness. "if it's too difficult for you, then tell me. tell me one last time and it'll be over."

over. he could end this, save you from misery. but there is a cowardice and selfishness that go hand in hand, reminds him of what he truly wants. he wants you; he wants you to leave, but he wants you to stay.

this will be the last time he sees you, he promises himself this. so he will cherish these last moments with you, wish you a goodbye, and that will be it.

it'll all be over after that. it has to be.

[inkyorbs]

The Spawn of Monsters

Deafening was the silence which enveloped her, so much so, that she found herself wrought in desperation, wanting only someone to speak, to hear another’s voice to fill her world with fragile company. It was a desire that was foreign to her, one which she had rarely had throughout her life. Fulvia had always basked in the silence that lingered within the darkness, blending herself into the world that was forgotten only to avoid the light which her family had tried so hard to shine upon her. She did not wish for the attention, the frills, or the notoriety. She wished only to be herself, to be left to her own devices and to decide her own fate - though this was a luxury not often afforded to those residing in Panem, she had found. 

Her apartment offered her no comfort, the dim lights blinking against the inky blackness that seemed to be sewn to her heels lingering among her possessions. Her hands moved towards the remote, pressing buttons that felt stiff beneath her fingers to turn on the small television in her home. The display flickered for a moment, vacillating between blackness and images, her eyes moving from the set to guide her toward her kitchen. She needed something warm to fill her weary frame, to will herself to go on. 

The noise the television produced was welcomed, the sound drowning out the anxieties she had gained only that morning. She moved to add oats to an ornate bowl, slowly following them with hot water, staring at the oats as they soaked the liquid in and grew before her. 

Yet, something interrupted her process, a sound she did not expect to come from her living room. There was a loud crash and something which sounded of a mix of fire and screaming. Her chin snapped upwards, eyes wide as they took in what was broadcast. Fulvia’s breath hitched in her throat, the skin there tightening until it felt impossible to breathe. The world began to spin, her apartment suddenly feeling as though it was closing in on her. Her feet dragged across the tile, moving her from beyond the counter, her knees growing weak, shaking as she went.

“No.” She muttered weakly as a wave of familiarity coursed through her. 

A stately man, tall and regal, stood at attention in District 12, his fingers commanding the strikes which would end hundreds of lives. Her father, his eyes reflecting her own, leading a charge against civilians without a flinch. 

Bile rose within her, her feet attempting to carry her closer to the television so that she might see something different - so that her desperate hope that she had been wrong would be confirmed. Father could not have done this, not this act so heinous. She told herself, in some feeble attempt to convince herself of it. No, he isn’t so cruel, he wouldn’t. 

Yet there he was, among the others who were draping the district in flame, and she fell towards her couch. Her fingers dug into the fabric until they turned white, her body warning her that it would fail should she continue to consume what was before her. But how could she tear her eyes from the screen? From the carnage her father was orchestrating? This could not be the same man who had tucked her into her bed at night with a tender kiss on her head. It could not be the man who had brought her back books filled with preserved flora from his assignments. This could not be the man who had called her just a week before to wish her good luck on her exams. No, this was not her father, this had to be someone else wearing his visage. Lucius Stone could not be this cruel. Not her father, whose smile lit up a room, who carried such joy and life within his dark eyes. No, no, no…. 

These thoughts continued as the president’s face flashed across the screen to address the public, but the words that escaped her mouth did not enter Fulvia’s ears. She was deaf to the world, her fingers gripping so tightly on the fabric now that pain shot up through her arms - the only thing that grounded her in that moment. 

When it was over, her television flickered to blackness for a brief moment, and she was left there to stare into her own eyes - that which stared back at her darker than it ever had been. She moved quickly towards the washroom, stumbling on the way, the walls the only thing keeping her upright. She fell hard against the tile in front of her toilet, emptying her stomach into it before leaning against the nearby wall. 

She pulled her knees into her chest, her fingers running over her face again and again as tears made tracks on her cheeks. Fulvia realized then, she had not been born of a hardworking family of kind individuals, but rather, she was merely the spawn of monsters. 

[galatially]

❝𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲❞

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 / 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐰

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐬!𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 x 𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐞!𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — she was my sun, my moon, the flesh i never shed; studious nymphs, brooding demigods, oh my

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 1.4K

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝟏𝟖+, a lil' bit of filler lol, fluff

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — hello, again! thank y'all so much for coming back and reading this little fic of mine! i hope you enjoy it!

“Y/N.”

Pietro tested the name on his tongue, savored how rich and heady the vowels and consonants were. He’d composed many a ballad and nothing he’d penned prior could compare to the symphony of your name. 

“What are you doing?”

His gaze lifted and he saw Wanda above him, a brow raised and her hands on her hips. “What?”

“I asked what you were doing. I’ve been calling your name for some time now.”

“I’ve met someone.”

Wanda scoffed. “So I’ve heard. You accosted my friend from temple?”

Pietro’s lips pulled into a bright smile despite the rib. “Y/N.”

“Yes, my friend,” she repeated, her tone flat.

He stood to his feet and took hold of her hands. “I know you’re upset, but, Wanda, she’s the most beautiful maiden I’ve ever had the pleasure of gazing upon! She’s smart — ”

“She’s studying to become a scholar for Agatha’s temple,” she interjected. “Not to mention that I will not have you ruin another friendship of mine with your misplaced ‘musings’. You remember what happened with Cressida and Peta, do you not?”

Pietro gave her a flat look. “It’s not like that, Wanda. I can’t explain it but there’s something about your friend that’s different somehow.”

Wanda crossed her arms against her chest, a smirk playing at her lips.  “Because she doesn’t fall to your feet like all of the other maids of Thrace?”

A smile broke across Pietro’s face. Perhaps it was. He could admit that it was rare for someone not to be transfixed by a glance or smile from him. He was attractive and he knew it. He’d never worked hard for someone’s affections, never yearned after another. Yet, here he laid in the tall grass in the middle of the afternoon, chanting your name to commit every vowel, every consonant, to memory as if the most sacred of prayers. A woman he’d said so few words to. 

“I’m serious, Pietro.” His sister’s voice stopped his daydream. “Y/N isn’t some flighty maid without care. She’s studious and determined— ”

“I like studious, determined maids.”

Wanda frowned, her brows creased into a deep V. “She’s a person with feelings and goals, Pietro. She does not need a rake like you distracting her.”

“I’m not planning to bed her and never see her again, Wanda,” he argued. “If anything, I think she’d break my heart before I would.”

“She isn’t like that. We’ve not been friends long but I know that she’s fragile beneath her bravado. She won’t speak of it, but she carries something with her. Something that affects her even now.”

Pietro frowned. “You haven’t skried her thoughts, have you?”

His twin sucked her teeth. “Of course not! But it’s in her visage, colors her words. She’s not someone to treat lightly, Pietro.” Wanda put a hand to his shoulder. “You’ve just come back from war. Surely you understand that jumping into a dalliance with someone while you’re still so fragile —”

“I’m not a child,” Pietro cut in. “I’m…not quite sure what it is about your friend that I’m enamored with but I like it. Perhaps it’s lust, perhaps it’s not. Don’t I owe it to myself to see where it leads?”

Her gaze softened. “Of course.”

The corners of his mouth lifted. “I understand your reticence, Wanda, I do. I’ve not been as delicate with others’ hearts in the past. But I’m not the same as I once was. To be frank, I can’t find the man that I used to be in my reflection anymore.” He put a hand overtop hers on his shoulder. “Perhaps your friend is a part of that journey to understanding the man I am now.”

You were sat beside a stream, the cool water laving your hand as you ran it up and down its course. 

Your sisters, Daphne and Alma, had gone deeper into the woods with the other nymphs, leaving you with time to yourself to walk to your favorite stream. A small part of you had hoped you’d see Pietro again. It’d been a fortnight since you’d first happened upon him and you were reluctant to ask Wanda about him. She’d have told you, you knew that, but since learning that they were siblings, you’d felt awkward about bringing him up to her.

“Hello again,” a voice said. 

You jumped in surprise, a shrill yelp leaving your throat. You turned, Pietro doubled over in laughter behind you. “Do you always sneak up unsuspecting nymphs or am I just special?”

“So, you’re a nymph training to be a scholar.”

You pushed yourself to your feet, your brows creased. “Is that a problem?”

Pietro put his palms up, alarm in his eyes. “No, no! I’m just impressed, is all. I don’t know many nymphs that would want to do things like that.”

“And just how many nymphs do you know, Pietro of Thrace?” 

He went rigid at that, making a small giggle bubble up to your lips. He playfully groaned. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“I’ve been told that a time or two.” You nod towards him, shifting your weight from one to the other. “So, what brings you out here?”

Pietro opened his satchel, a golden lyre in hand. “I like to come out here to write songs.”

“Do you need me to go?” 

“No.” He took hold of your wrist. “I’d like you to stay, actually. I don’t normally have an audience out here and it does get lonely sometimes.”

You nodded, the ends of your mouth curling ever so slightly. 

“I’d love to.”

Pietro nodded and led you to the tallest oak tree in the field and sat down, patting the space beside him with one of his hands. As he tuned his instrument, he asked why you were out in the field that afternoon. 

“My sisters and I like to come and visit with the other nymphs here sometimes.” You drew circles in a patch of dirt beside you. “They don’t understand why I’m training at the temple.”

“Do they not approve?”

“They don’t disapprove. They just…” You huffed. “Nymphs are designated to caring for their domains and not much more. I want to do more than just live and care for the forest. I want to be more than that.” 

“You sound like Wanda,” he said, plucking the strings of his lyre lightly. “I remember when she first showed signs of possessing magic. She wanted so badly to  prove that she was just as special as I was.” His playing seemed to accentuate his words. “I tell her all the time that she’s more special than I could ever hope to be and never has to doubt that.”

“She told me who you were the morning we met.” You turned to lock eyes with Pietro. “She tried to warn me away from you. Said that you were a horrid flirt that couldn’t be trusted.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve left many a maid in your wake, bard.” You gave him a teasing smirk. “The kind of beautiful man that pains the heart.”

Pietro hummed. “When I was younger, perhaps. But I haven’t — not since before the war.”

His song had changed as suddenly as his mood: a bittersweet, almost taunting melody came from his instrument. The wind picked up some, not quite warm, not quite cool. You cocked your head to the side, your ears picking up the faintest wail in the air. 

It took you seven more seconds to realize that it was Pietro. 

“Do you always play such sad songs?”

His blue eyes met yours. “I try not to. But lately this is all I feel.”

“Because of the war?” You put your hands up when his eyes widened in alarm. “I’m sorry! Just...Wanda told me once that you rarely told her the truth in your letters. She wouldn’t say about what, but it did upset her.”

“Can I trust you?”

Your brows dipped. “What do you mean?”

Pietro set his lyre down and took hold of your hands. “If I ask you to meet me tonight, can you promise that you’ll speak of it with no one? Not even my sister?”

Before you could stop them, the words leapt from your tongue, husky and sure.

“Yes.”

His lips fell into an easy smile, the kind that made warmth pool at the bottom of your stomach. 

“Thank you, Y/N.”

You nodded slowly. 

“Y/N! Where are you!”

You cleared your throat. “That’s Alma. I should go find them.” You pushed yourself to your feet and turned back to face Pietro. “Tonight, then?”

“Meet me back here at twilight.”

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — while i was finishing this, i realized that this was the first time that a part three for tma will have been posted so that's exciting! also also, this may have taken me a week longer than i intended because of the holiday and furniture being delivered so my bad lol

[butchcraftwrites]

For the 50 prompts, 1 or 20 Fluff, or 2 or 11 angst, please? Love your writing!

Dearest anon,

I am so sorry it took me so long to respond to your prompt. Apparently, my perfectionist ass can't write a drabble to save its life. So instead, I offer you this 1.5K one shot. Thank you for your ask and kind message; I hope you enjoy!

Prompt: Angst #2 "When will you come back?"

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

The shallow rhythm of breath was ghostly among the absence of sound.

Byleth dared not move, lest she cause some creak or groan from the wooden chair she rigidly sat in, and she dared not alert the sleeping figure of her presence. All that she chanced to move were her eyes, drifting from the slight rise and fall of cotton sheets back over to the haunted, unconscious face of a woman who she, admittedly, had begun to lose hope that she would ever find. She didn't know which sight of the woman's body pained her less, and whenever she shifted her gaze to search for some semblance of the calm and comfort the sleeping figure had once emanated, upon finding none she found instead that she was more and more uncertain.

She'd begged Seteth to allow her to see her; oh, she pleaded. She pleaded for days and days until finally, after nights of neither of them getting any sleep, she'd worn him down, the shadows under their eyes only pale imitations to the caverns trenched below the sleeping woman's. She wasn't to make a sound, he'd told her as much, but Byleth couldn't imagine allowing herself to, even without the threat of his command following after her into the room. Rhea looked so fragile, so weak. The bones of her shoulders protruding from her skin, her once luscious hair now thin and wiry. It seemed unnatural, so unjustifiably unnatural, and Byleth wasn't certain why.

Had she been awake during it? During whatever degradation the Empire had inflicted upon her. Starvation, surely; but after bearing witness to the mighty behemoth the Archbishop could become, Byleth doubted that starvation alone would be enough to quell the majesty of her prowess. Had it been dark magic then, or torture? Had it been both? Was Rhea praying upon her knees in the bowels of the pit, for five year's time for her rescue, and if so, did she ever wonder why it had taken Byleth so long to save her?

Was there some part of her that spited her?

Rise and fall; even with the unnerving wheeze of her breath, Byleth had to watch to be sure. The healers had stimulated her systems and cured as much as they could, but with a barely contained helplessness in their eyes, they'd confessed that the rest of the Archbishop's recovery was within her own hands. Even before the war, Byleth had never seen so many believers praying within the chapel walls. She knew she had to believe, had to have faith that this miraculous woman before her would pull through. And yet... and yet her eyes remained glued to the frail figure, so worried that each release of breath could be her last. And the long moments that stretched between each exhale and gasp braided her stomach into ropes.

At some point, she wasn't certain how long, as her gaze trailed from the slow movement of her chest upwards to yet again take in the macabre scene of her hollow visage, she found two dark green eyes gazing back at her. In a state of shock, Byleth almost called out her name, but found herself halted by a sudden panic that perhaps Rhea was still sleeping, perhaps after the untold horrors of her ordeal she'd found reason to sleep with her eyes agape.

“Professor...” she raspily breathed, and the voice she emitted was so small, so vulnerable. “Byleth...”

Byleth almost threw herself to her knees then, as though in prayer, herself, the thin carpet beside the bed doing little to cushion her from the hard wood of the floor. “I'm here,” she said, her hands tentatively resting against the mattress.

Even turning her head seemed to sap her of what little energy she had, and Rhea, on her back, strained to behold a better glimpse of the girl – no, the woman – who'd rescued her just a week before. As though what little she could possibly see verified her hopes, slowly a weakened smile found its way across her face and as gracefully as she could, she strained to push herself against the mattress so she could rest against the headboard.

Byleth's hands were upon her struggling frame not a second too soon, the healers' words echoing through her mind. “You shouldn't,” she protested, concern plain upon her voice.

But Rhea just peered up at her, adoration lingering in her eyes. “How long have you been here?” She strained to ask, surrendering to Byleth's tender touch, and allowing the worried woman to guide her to roll upon her side. “I had worried... maybe you wouldn't come,” she sheepishly admitted, when her head rested against the cool waiting pillow, assumedly positioned by Byleth when she guided her down.

Byleth pursed her lips and timidly left a hand upon the other woman's. They were so cold. “I didn't want to disturb you,” she lied, and even in her weakened state Rhea released a weakened tut.

“Seteth kept you away, did he?” She asked, her tone perhaps not void of minor amusement. Noticing the worry burning behind Byleth's eyes, she continued. “Worry for me not, dear Professor. I am not dead yet.” Encircling her fingers around the other woman's, she brought the smaller hand up to her face and sighed as she rested the her cheek against the palm of her hand.

Absentmindedly, Byleth found herself timidly caressing the small section Rhea's face with her thumb and then finding more courage, she dared to brush a few wayward strands of silken hair out of her eyes and behind her ear, the shape of which she had only come to learn was a feature of whatever it is she was. Again, Rhea sighed and Byleth took that as permission to continue lovingly and gently caressing her hair. It was strange... outside of sparring, Byleth did not remember a time where she had ever really touched the other woman before. And now, in the privacy of her own chambers, at a time when she was more vulnerable than perhaps she had ever been in the entirety of her life, Byleth found herself filled with an utterly consuming need to touch her, now more than ever, through the uncertainty and fear of whatever unknown agony she had endured. And Rhea, in the state she was in, seemed to crave it all the same, asking her for the touch, not only permitting.

And how was Byleth to know, besides, that in the five years of a starving woman's dreams, she sometimes felt just as real then as she did in the flesh. A dream as corporeal as any other, a respite, if only that, preferable to the rot and rime in the darkness of a centuries' forgotten dungeon. That whether she were of the waking world or slumber, the starved woman before her would bind herself, spirit and body, to the fingers trailing her scalp to never again exist in a world apart from them. Salvation, whether found or imagined, proved true if one only chose to believe. And Rhea, humming against her pillow, chose to believe.

'Are you sleeping?' Byleth wanted to ask, but found that the question would be self defeating, should the answer be so, and thus she continued to warm the chilled skin of her companion, and run her fingers against her scalp until her breathing once again began to slow. As carefully as she could, she made the painstaking decision to withdraw her hand and quietly rose from her knees to make her way for the door.

And yet, she halted in her tracks as a hoarse voice called from behind her. “When will I see you again?” She heard, and turned to see Rhea gazing upon her, half asleep and barely able to contain the fear and sorrow which took residence upon the delicacy of her features. Byleth knelt back down, then, and cupped Rhea's sunken cheeks as a few stray tears navigated within hollows of her face. “Ah, forgive me. For you to have to see me in such a state...”

But Byleth was already brushing the droplets from her, then, and giving into instinct, she pressed a gentle, lingering kiss in place of one of them, and then in place of another. Kissing her forehead, Byleth brushed away any further remaining tears that began to spring from the corners of her now closed eyes. “I will visit you every day,” she promised, “every day until you heal.”

Rhea sighed and savored the nostalgic scent of the woman who saved her, again and again, in the most unexpected of ways. A woman she first viewed as a puzzle to be solved and now accepted as an individual brimming with solutions of her own right. Bringing the hands upon her cheeks to her lips, Rhea kissed Byleth's knuckles and trembled with the mere effort of simply raising her own arms. “My dear Byleth... Thank you.”

Byleth brushed her cheek once more and then reached down to pull the cotton sheets up and over the woman's shoulder to keep her warm in the brisk embrace of the evening.

'Promise me you will get better,' Byleth wished, but the guilt of asking the frail woman now curled up at her hands for anything kept her from vocalizing her thoughts. And yet the need for such was strong, and as Rhea so tenderly smiled up at her with the residual trails of dried tears staining her face, Byleth found herself drawn down to the other woman, thumb caressing the bottom of the lips that had only just graced the fingers beside it.

With far less hesitation that she would have expected of herself, Byleth's lips found another method of beseeching their request, and Rhea inhaled sharply in delight as their lips pressed against one another, Byleth cupping her face tenderly and supporting the delicate woman through their affections.

When she pulled back, Rhea's face was flushed and brimming, and Byleth found herself smiling back at the exhausted woman she so dearly cherished, as well. Drinking in the sanctity of their shared silence, the two women felt their spirits blooming beneath each other's gaze. And when Rhea could support her body no longer, Byleth again kissed the corners of her eyes and helped her to gently settle down onto the bedding. She was weak; sleep was threatening yet again to overtake her, and Byleth caressed her hair and face, lulling her into slumber's hypnotic embrace. As her eyes fell shut, her demeanor held grace, a small smile painted delicately like watercolors upon her face.

Certain from her companion's rhythmic breathing that she had finally returned to the realm of sleep, Byleth kissed her forehead once more. “Have sweet dreams, Rhea,” she breathed. And for the first night in five year's time, she thought maybe, just maybe, she indeed might.

[jacks-obsessions]

Recovery: Prologue

Griffith lay there in the wagon's bed, left only to listen to the people he once led talking about him as if he were broken. Was he broken? Was he broken beyond repair? Griffith looked over at one of his bone-thin arms. He was lucky to have both of them still, and he sighed. Maybe he was broken beyond repair. He wished to lick his dry lips, but his tongue was gone. Was his dignity gone too? Nothing was the same. He wished he could speak or at least cry, but his tears had dried up years ago, even before the torture. The sound of someone climbing into the wagon got his attention. It was Nyla. She looked haggard, but she smiled when she looked at him. “Hey.” That was all she said, but there wasn’t pity, no, there was hope. This got his attention, well, that and the fact he hadn’t seen her since Guts left. He opened his mouth, trying to call out to her, but only a failed noise came out. He couldn’t form the words for her name without his tongue, but she seemed to recognize what he was trying to say. “Yeah, it’s good to see you, too.” She said smiling, why was she acting like he was how he used to be? She knelt beside him and gently took his hand in hers. “I have a lot of things I’d like to say, but I’ll cut to the chase. Your tendons can be sewn back together and your muscles can be rebuilt, not to mention you’ll be able to talk again with a lot of work.” She said softly while holding his gaze.

Was she serious? Griffith searched her face looking for any deceit, yet he saw none, she was serious. Nyla sat next to him, absentmindedly stroking his hand with her thumb, they sat in silence for a bit before she looked at him and asked if he was hungry. Griffith nodded and she left to get him some soup, when she was back she helped him eat, he felt ashamed that he couldn’t even hold a spoon. Nyla frowned somehow knowing what he was thinking, “I know you’re frustrated right now, but you need to regain your strength before I do anything near surgery on you.” Her words were firm, that’s the woman he fell in love with, she had her own path, one that he ruined. “Open your mouth.” And there was her bluntness, even now it was a comfort to him. Griffith followed her order and owned his mouth, allowing her to feed him the soup, the meat and broth were good though it was hard to chew without his tongue to keep the food in place he managed. After he finished he admittedly felt better, maybe it was the food, or maybe it was the fact the person he loved with all his heart was back by his side. “Tomorrow we can start on regaining your control over your hands.” She said smiling at him, her smile made his stomach flip and he felt fuzzy, smiling back at her he put his hand on her knee. He wanted to be close to her. She didn’t move his hand she just hummed and put the bowl down, Griffith could hardly ever touch her before, even though she trusted him she didn’t want to be touched.

“Nyla, did he eat?” It was Guts, he poked his head in the wagon and looked at the two. Griffith had mixed feelings about Guts, on one hand, he blamed Guts for what happened but on the other hand Guts had gone off to find a dream of his own, he did know he didn’t want people to see him like this so he began making a motion for Guts to go away, but Guts stayed and listened to Nyla as she told him something about Griffith’s condition. After a bit Guts left leaving the two alone, Nyla sighed and leaned back against a box. “This is all a bit too much for me, so much to do and so little time.” She chuckled at this and shrugged. “A medic’s work is never done.” She then took on a more serious visage and looked at him, placing her hand on his chest. “I know the others are acting like you’re a fragile and broken man, but I know that you can still become great, as long as your heart still beats I know you can carry on. You aren’t broken beyond repair, are you still willing to work for your dream?” Griffith’s eyes widened, of course she still had faith in him, even when he was reduced to a living corpse. His hand shook as he placed it over hers, Nyla grinned at him and spoke. “That’s it, there’s the Griffith I know.” And for the first time in years she shed a tear but her smile didn’t falter. “It’s good to have you back.”

[ahalliance]

I want to know about c(l)ock duo for the WIP ask game :D

Hihi azham :D

Okay my c(l)ockduo wip is a bdubs and impulse double life fic ive had in my backpocket for . So many months now LOL since July I think . i have this third life series that explores the post-game trauma of the hermit players (that I . Also haven’t updated since July my bad lmao) and I started writing this particular wip as a continuation of that from an impulse pov bc impulse and bdubs life series brainrot <3 always been absolutely fascinated by them and I wanted to touch on their double life dynamic bc holy shit . You forcibly soul bonded two people who have this Giant Elephant in the room together (bdubs’ permakill on impy back on third life) that one is still feeling fucked up over (impy) and the other is trying to ignore and move on from (bdubs) . how do they confront that . How do they NOT confront that . The potential is CRAZY . Also the wip is called c(l)ockduo because the fact that clock is one letter off from cock is humorous to me . also they were self-admittedly (gay) married that season . Don’t come for me

EXTRACT !!

“They plant flowers in the soil beds outside their home. 

The house, Midcentury-modern, as Bdubs insists on categorising it, is practically finished; at least its exterior is. Impulse can’t quite face going inside yet, can't bear to pass through elegant doors to see nothing but emptiness. The same emptiness he feels rising within him whenever he’s left alone to his thoughts for too long; whenever he catches Bdubs’ frowning visage out of the corner of his eye, and feels the yawning gap that still lingers between them. 

It isn’t all vacant, he knows. A thread of longing still beats, alive, to some invisible rhythm he cannot place. It sits there next to his heart, next to the soulmate bond imposed upon them.

There is still love, like invisible ink, revealed through blood and sweat; there is love like a tender wound, both a curse and boon against his fragile body. Impulse can feel it all thrumming there, in his chest, a faint double heartbeat that reminds him that not all is quite lost yet. That emptiness does not define them; that emptiness can be dusted out like sheets, if only they’d address it. 

But for now, they plant flowers instead.”

this is nearer to the beginning of the fic where theyre already paired and have started construction on their house and impulse is trying to figure out how to Talk to bdubs past empty platitudes . and he’s finding it hard and confusing !! they’re both struggling with it a lot in their own ways . but the way the fic goes they Do end up talking about stuff in some capacity and it’s at least mildly healing for them (more than they talked in canon at least . but hey you write the things u wanna see LOL)

hope my ramblings were comprehensible hehe

WIP Game

[fanfic-collection]

Banished: Loki x Reader

I AM ALIVE! a bit

I finally had inspiration to write some and hopefully maybe I can continue doing so! But I have written!

-

The wind roared around you. Snow rising and falling as your torn shoes for evening wear kicked it up. They were meant for evening wear, and now, after trudging through the snow for so long, tripping on sharp rocks and rough terrain… the shoes were distant memory of the warmth of home. Asgard.

Your silk cloak flapped around you, whipping about in the wind as you kept your numb fingers wrapped around your arms. All you could hope was to maintain some sense of warmth before the All Father had mercy upon you for questioning the treatment of the Jotuns.

On you trudged, ears burning as the wind seemed to dig its way into your skull. You squinted your eyes up into the howling wind, fierce and buffeting, and saw dark shadows moving around in the distance. The shadows loomed, their forms not seeming to be quite solid, and they constantly moved. It seemed the shadows were working to encircle you.

You swallowed hard, eyes shutting as the ice continued to pelt you. If you were to be killed by the creatures of this land, perhaps it would be more merciful than the weather itself.

A rock twisted under your ankle and you stumbled, falling into the snow. It felt as warm as the air around you, and yet soft somehow. You had never been strong, nothing of the true Asgardians, always fair and quick to fatigue. So much of your life had been spent seated in libraries, seated in the garden trying to take in the air, curing whatever ailed you and made you so weak.

It didn’t matter now though. Even if you had only gone a kilometer, maybe half, your existence would be quickly forgotten. No one would ever know of what became of the fragile young woman who was so quick to tire.

You closed your eyes, curling in on yourself as you waited for the warmth that would lull you to sleep.

Moments passed, hours passed, it couldn’t be days, but it felt like an eternity as the cold crept into your bones. Your heart fluttered, each beat slow and desperate, anything to keep you alive.

Heavy bootsteps approached in the snow. Thick, crunching, large. You could vaguely hear the rattle of chains as the creature approached you.

You forced your eyes open, too weak to move. Your eyes rolled around until you caught sight of the heavily armored man looming over you. He was tall, so tall from your vantage on the ground. Heavy black armor sweeping off into vicious points, so that if anyone came too close in a battle, even if he could not defend himself, the armor might.

Your lips split as you smiled up at him.

“Gentle one, what are you doing in the cold?” The armored man asked beneath a tall black helm. He twisted his neck to the side and you heard a number of others approaching.

The man removed his thick green cloak, accented with black and white furs, and lay it over you. The heat of it was immeasurable. Immediately the wind around your body stopped and you became aware of the coldness of the snow you lay on.

You shivered.

The man lifted his helmet and knelt down beside you, gazing at you curiously through concerned green eyes.

“My King… why do you wear such a visage?” One of the beings around you asked, uncertain, perhaps annoyed.

The one in black armor carefully tucked the cloak around you, engulfing you and protecting you from the cold snowy ground.

For the first time in your miserable existence on this realm, you felt… not completely frozen. It was still cold, but… your body started to burn, everything felt too warm.

The man kneeling over you, his face filled quickly with concern. He carefully lifted you into his arms and turned towards the others. Keeping your face pressed into his chest, you could hear him talking but not see the others.

“Sire…” One of the men sounded annoyed.

“I know this one.” The man holding you said.

“King Loki,” so that was his name, “please. This creature is too frail. It will die in this land.”

Loki looked down at you. He smoothed a black glove along your cheek, brushing back your hair. “She is a thorn in the All Father’s side. I have seen her before.”

“A thorn… how do you mean?”

“She is of Asgard’s nobility, I am aware of her adamant and outspoken disdain for their treatment of the other realms. Different envoys have been sent to me on her behalf, though I don’t suppose she recognizes me as such.” Loki gazed down at you softly.

“She has fought to end our oppression?”

Loki nodded. “Yes, I recognize her anywhere. I suppose Odin has grown bored of her dissidence though.”

There was murmured discussion, followed by, “Very well. If you wish to help her, we should hurry. Asgardians cannot survive in such elements for long.”

Another spoke, “do you wish for me to carry her, sire?”

Loki shook his head, holding you tighter as he carried you to a deep grunting beast. “You’re safe now.” He whispered.

-

You woke up in a bed of furs. Someone had changed your tattered clothes to something more suitable to the environment: furs and thick hides. Your feet were bandaged beneath soft foot coverings, they reminded you of lamb skin.

Looking around, you saw that you were in a decadent room. Ornate gold and green objects adorned the room, even the bed you lay in had a green canopy.

Standing up, you limped towards one of the windows. The window was high in the sky, the drop probably taking several moments should you fall. You quietly thanked the Norns for providing some sort of glassy surface. Perhaps ice that one could see through?

There was the crackle of fire and you looked over, finally noticing a large fireplace. Instead of wood, white bones – now charred – cracked and darkened under the fire’s heat. The floor you stood on seemed to be some sort of frozen rock.

You knelt down and touched it, feeling the cool permeate into your palm.

As always, you found yourself growing tired, standing for too long. You made your way back to the bed and sat, gazing around the spacious room.

Your eyes fell on twin stone doors and as you were considering where they led, they opened.

The man in black armor returned, dual blades at his waist and a spear of some sort strapped to his back, visible just over his shoulder.

Loki. This was Loki. King of the Jotuns. Realization dawned on you and you swallowed hard, pulling your legs to your chest.

Loki approached you, pulling off his helmet and freeing long black locks. He held it against his waist, gazing at you intently.

“Do you know who I am?” He asked at the same time you spoke.

“King Loki, of Jotunheim.” You moved to stand, attempting a bow, but you stumbled.

Loki rushed over and caught you, helping you stay upright. His helmet fell to the ground with a clang, completely forgotten as he eased you back onto the bed.

“I am.” He replied, looking you over. When he saw there was no immediate danger, he pulled back. “Tell me, gentle flower, what’s…” Loki trailed off, not certain how to phrase his question.

“Why am I so weak?” You smiled sadly.

Loki nodded. Continuing to watch you, he carefully sat on the bed a polite distance away from you.

You looked up at the ceiling, admiring jagged stony stalagmites, stalactites? You could never remember which was which. The sharp jutting rocks that hung from the arching and spacious ceiling. Slowly you turned to look back at Loki. “I have always been this way.” You shrugged. “My family said I was ill when I was a babe, never sleeping well, not eating properly, that sort of thing. I have never been able to be the warrior that Asgardians want their people to be. Even the lightest of blades quickly grow too heavy for me.”

Loki nodded slowly. “I see.”

You examined the armor he wore. Though it was largely thick black metal and hides, some of the black was in fact a dark green. The green shimmering in the light and transforming from black to green to black again.

“What brings you to Jotunheim?”

“Banishment.” You mumbled. “If I care so much about those wretched beasts, I should live amongst them.” Glancing at Loki and his pale skin, accented sharply against his jet-black hair, you snapped your mouth shut. “I do not believe Jotuns to be beasts, but those were the words I was…” You trailed off.

Loki smiled and nodded. “Yes, the All Father, always such a way with words.”

“In fact, it is mostly because I do not believe Jotuns to be beasts that has ended me here.”

“Then you have a home among us.”

You tilted your head quizzically.

“You wonder why I look as such?” Loki smiled, eyes sparkling.

You nodded.

“I am, not in fact fully Jotun. But with the unfortunate timing of my father’s death, I rose to the throne.” Loki paused. “Odin had hoped that I would be willing to accept his cruelty, that I would be a weak ruler given that even when I appear as my people, I am not the most intimidating in stature.”

You smirked. “Yes, your skirmishes with my… well the Asgardian people have not gone unnoticed.”

“Jotuns are a proud race, I will not have them be bullied by arrogant fools who liken themselves to gods.” Loki stood up. “Tell me, would you like to see the rest of the palace?”

You nodded, struggling to your feet. Part of the problem was your general weakness, but also the injury on your foot.

Loki seemed to sense this, looping his arm around yours that you might lean on him. “I hope you don’t mind that they placed you in my room. You have been alone except for the maid.”

You felt your cheeks heat up before nodding quickly. “Right of course.”

“Though the cold doesn’t bother me, I enjoy the creature comforts of fire. And the view. Not many other places here have such amenities. Though we can arrange for them.”

Loki guided you easily to the door. Though you were loathe to hang on him, he all but lifted you with his free arm, ensuring that you never put weight on your injured foot.

“While my people do not like fire, they do enjoy the comfort of hot springs.” Loki smiled, explaining as the two of you wound your way down a spiral staircase. “Jotunheim would be inhospitable without its molten core. The vegetation would not grow without some modicum of warmth. And without vegetation…” He trailed off and smiled at you.

“I see. We do not learn much about the nature of the other realms in any important ways, back… in Asgard.” You wanted to say home, but it was no longer. Part of you found, arm in arm with this interesting man, that you did not mind.

Loki placed his gloved hand over yours. “A home you will have here.”

[kiame-sama]

Could you do a Yandere Silva where the reader is getting hit on by a butler with a death wish and Silva freaks and it ends with rough sex where reader won’t be able to walk👀🍵

Warnings; lemon, rough behavior, yandere relationship, yandere behavior, mentioned non-con, reader gets threatened, reader has female parts, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), 69, peak into the yandere mind of an assassin,

~~~~~~~~

You sat quietly in your room, relaxing back on the large couch and idly listening to whatever was currently on the TV. It had been a fairly quiet day, but most days were quiet (other than when Silva decides he needs attention). You were rather bored, slightly considered taking a nap or even calling for Silva just for some kind of entertainment.

Just as you were in the middle of deciding what to do, the door slowly began to open. This immediately put you on guard since the only ones who would enter your room tended to fling it open despite how unbelievably heavy the door actually was. You were quick to retrieve your panic button, a distress alert Silva had given you just in precaution for someone getting to your room. It only happened once that some fool decided to kidnap you without anyone knowing until you were already gone, but he made certain it would never happen again.

You fiddled with the small device nervously, watching the door with great anticipation for whoever it was on the other side. You were surprised to see a man you had never met before. He wore a suit identical to that of the butlers that worked in the manor, but all of the butlers should know better than to even come within twenty feet of your room.

"So you're the famous Zoldyck treasure. I can certainly see why."

He looked you up and down, making you feel far more exposed than you actually were. The man was blond and had bright blue eyes that seemed to glimmer in the light of your cell. He was fairly tall, though not as tall as Silva, and he had sun-kissed tan skin. The way he looked at you like a piece of meat made your skin start to crawl, so you subtly pressed the button and hoped that this man wouldn't have the time to do anything to you.

"You're quite the big mystery. Most here don't know what's in this room, and It's even one of the most enforced rules; don't go near this room. I can see why you're considered a treasure, a lovely thing like you would attract a lot of attention. But, I don't see why you're kept away from everyone like this. Can you tell me?" "..." "It's okay, I don't bite, unless you want me to. You must be such a fragile little thing, being locked up like this for your safety." "I'm not locked up for my own benefit." "Oh?" "I'm here because my husband doesn't like sharing."

This, instead of making the man back off like you thought it would, the man only seemed to become more interested in you due to your words. He began a slow approach towards you, making you retreat until your back was pressed against the wall and he was mere inches away from you. You tried to turn your head away from him, keeping as much distance as possible between the two of you, knowing just how Silva will react.

"He doesn't have to know... Isn't it exciting, though? Sneaking around like this." "No." "Oh come on, live a little, sweetheart." "Leave me alone." "Nah, I don't think I will. In fact, no one even knows I'm here, so no one will come check on you. I could do so many things to your tight little body with the time I have... And no one would even hear you cry for help." "Stop- Stop it." "So scared. Good. I like 'em scared. You're gonna be so much f-"

He was suddenly cut off by the door slamming open with enough force to make the walls shake, him turning on his heel to confront whoever just arrived. You were quick to slide past the stunned man as he turned away from you, hurriedly making it to Silva's side and hiding behind him. The man had a look of pure terror on his face, clearly not expecting the terrifying assassin to appear.

You gripped tightly to the back of Silva's shirt, pressing your forehead against his broad back as you hid from the intruder that had threatened you so gleefully. The small glimpse you got of Silva's expression was enough to tell you everything you needed to know. He wasn't just mad, he was furious. Luckily, none of that fury was directed towards you.

Not only were his burning blue eyes filled with pure hate, they seemed to glow in the light of the room with a predatorial glint. He never really seemed to smile anyway, but his expression wasn't his usual scowl, it was akin to the stone-cold expression of a wild animal ready to kill. There was a palpable hate in the air that made it quite clear Silva had no intention to let the man live.

"Did he do anything to you?" "He threatened me."

A low hum that sounded more like a growl rumbled from his chest, clearly displeased. The man had yet to move from his original spot, frozen in terror at the intimidating visage of your furious husband. Had the situation been different, and had the man not threatened you, you would have felt pity for him, but you felt no pity now.

"Explain." "Wha-What?" "Explain just what you are doing in my wife's room."

The man had already been terror stricken, but now all of the color disappeared from his face as he realized just how stupid his decision had been. He had assumed you were just another family member, maybe a sister or daughter. He only began to now realize just how fucked he was. Even though he was a relatively new butler, he knew of Silva's infamous temper and he also knew to never talk about Silva's wife, lest he wish for the most painful death possible.

He had seen Kikyo around, and since Kalluto was always trailing behind, he had assumed that she was Silva's wife and did his damndest to stay away from her and stay out of her path. He had heard stories about what would happen to anyone who took any level of interest in Silva's wife, but he had just figured it was meant as a basic warning about the woman herself. Yet here he was, staring at the most terrifying man he had ever encountered after just having threatened and attempted to force himself onto the very woman he was warned to never speak of.

"Well?" "I- I didn't- I hadn't- but-" "You've already exceeded my patience, filth." "I'm- I'm sorry! I didn't know who she was! I wouldn't have said those things to her if-" "Said what 'things'?" "..."

You pulled away to look up at your towering husband, seeing him glance over his shoulder at you, his eyes far more gentle and loving. The glance was a clear prompt to speak, and you'd rather not push Silva's buttons at that moment, given his unyielding rage about to overflow.

"He threatened to rape me and said no one would hear me scream."

There was a sudden change in the entire room the moment you finished your sentence. It was a crushingly heavy pressure that seeped into every corner like a rolling miasma, consuming everything. The pressure quickly lifted from you, allowing you to breathe though it was clear the intruder did not receive the same kindness as he choked and dropped to his knees.

If you thought Silva was mad before, he was as tame as a kitten in comparison to the rage that now consumed him. You were well aware of Silva's knowledge in ways to kill a man, but it seemed more like he was interested in a slow drawn out slaughter. He never once looked away from the terrified man, even as he spoke in a gentle tone to you.

"(Y/n), go wait in our room. Don't come out until I tell you to." "Alright..."

Quickly scrambling to the room you two shared, you caught a glimpse at Silva's expression and felt your heart drop into your stomach. Even though you knew he was not angry with you at all, that look alone sent fear running down your spine and into your very being. You closed the door and sat on your bed, hearing a sudden shrill voice begin screaming.

It wasn't hard for you to guess the kind of mood Silva would be in once he was done dealing with the man. There was no doubt in your mind he was going to be rough as well, knowing how he got when jealous. You also knew he would be jealous as all hell due to the man being in your room. It may not have been your fault and the man may be dead, but with Silva, jealousy didn't fade away.

There were few things you could do at that point to soften Silva's mood, and honestly him being rough wasn't that bad (so long as he doesn't break your bones). Given how terrifying just a glance at him was, you figured you'd do something that should brighten his mood and help soothe his jealousy a bit. You dug through your clothes picking out your white and blue lingerie- Silva's favorite for obvious reasons- and waited on the bed.

The screams had yet to stop, though they certainly took on a more gurgling tone the longer it went. You shivered slightly, wondering just what Silva was doing to the man, since he was an expert at torturing people. Though he has hurt you in the past- most being accidental- you know just how strong he is and just how deeply his few emotions impact him. Looking from the outside, he feels nothing, but with you he is extremely expressive in everything he does.

You lay back on the bed, thinking about how much you truly impacted him and how much your wellness meant to him. Hell, the man would move heaven itself if you wanted him to. He was the dominant partner, but he was also a slave to your every emotion.

While you let yourself get lost in thought, you slowly slipped off to sleep with Silva's pillow cuddled in your arms.

Movement on the bed drew you out of your peaceful slumber, letting out an upset whine at being woken. You were slightly disoriented from your sudden awakening and blearily blinked the sleep out of your eyes. As your brain began to fully wake as well, you realized that Silva was right above you, his large hands on either side of your head.

There was a faint feeling of surprise as you noticed not a speck of blood on the giant man. You figured he would have been soaked in the blood of that idiot butler, but not a single fleck of red marred his flawless skin.

"Trying to cheer me up?"

There was the slightest of smiles pulling at his lips as his eyes slowly dragged over your barely covered figure, letting out a low hum of pleasure and licking his lips slowly. He seemed almost too calm at that moment, but you knew the beast that dwells within would easily come forth once he began.

"It certainly does help..." "I thought it would be nice to surprise you... but I guess I fell asleep before you came back." "You are a wonderful creature, (y/n), did you know that?" "Well, there has to be some reason you keep me around." "Sassy thing."

His tone was teasing, but you knew he wouldn't be teasing you for very long, not with the way his sharp blue eyes roamed your body. He sat up, now letting his hands roam your soft body and squeezing every few seconds. No matter what mark may be on you- be it a scar, a birthmark, a mole, didn't matter- he adored you and held such reverence for you. Even when you gain or lose weight, you are a Goddess in his eyes, and he made sure to treat his Goddess well.

"Mmm, you do know how to rile me up." "Lots of practice."

You reached up to run your fingers through his hair, watching his eyes narrow in bliss from your gentle touch. When you suddenly tightened your grip and tugged on his long hair, that calm expression changed in an instant. He was now less of a man than he was a beast, moving you suddenly so your legs rest on his shoulders, your back against the pillows.

He didn't say a single word as he gripped the lacy panties you wore between his teeth, pulling back in one smooth motion and ripping the delicate fabric with ease. You were about to whine at the destruction of his favorite set but you didn't even manage to get a single word out before he buried his head between your thighs, tongue easily sliding through your soft folds. He didn't bother with being slow in working you up, he just slid his tongue as deeply into you as he could to slurp up your juices.

The noises coming from him were obscene as he sucked on your soft pussy, low moans vibrating against you as he gripped your legs tighter, pulling you closer to his mouth. You ran your fingers through his hair, gripping tightly and tilting your head back with breathy moans. He held your hips still, making it so you were unable to do anything other than writhe in the pleasure he gave you.

It was clear that him holding you still was more of a dominance thing to reassure himself and soothe his burning jealousy more than it was to show his dominance over you. He was using your presence and your sweet moans as his own validation of being your one and only. Reminding himself- and in some ways, you- that you were still his and he had no intention of sharing you in any way.

You truly have only had honest social interaction with three people on a consistent basis and your five children on the odd occasion for more than twenty years. If that didn't give you a good visualization of how deep his jealousy runs, then it would be the contempt he has for his own children. As far as he was concerned, you only truly needed him in your life and no one else would have the chance or ability to get between the two of you.

He was much like a religious zealot with how fiercely he coveted you and everything about you. His tongue was as deep in you as possible while his large thumb rubbed your clit, blue eyes closed in bliss as if he truly received deep pleasure from taking care of you and pleasuring you like a wild animal did its mate. You were his everything, and he wanted your everything desperately enough he had you kidnapped only days after meeting you, already in deep obsession and fanatical adoration for you.

Continuing with endless stamina, he brought you up to mindless pleasure and kept you there, every whining cry you made only served to fuel his desire and increase blood-flow to his achingly hard cock. In typical Silva fashion, he completely ignored his own needs to not only ensure your pleasure, but to test himself to see how long he could listen to you moan before snapping and giving in to the starving beast within him. He was quite the dominant masochist when it came down to it, always adoring every scratch and mark you make on his fair skin but also making sure he was the one on top and in control.

With a loud sucking sound, he pulled away from your soaked pussy, licking his lips with hazy bliss filled eyes never leaving your shaking form. He was completely lost in his desire to possess all of you, and he gently trailed his warm hands up your soft front until he lightly gripped your chin, holding your mouth open. You were faintly worried about what he planned on doing while in such a blissed out state, yelping when he moved you down the bed with both hands before moving so his muscular legs were on either side of your head.

He slid his large cock slowly into your mouth, your jaw stretching a bit further to accommodate the rock-hard length. A deep moan rose up from his chest as he thrusted his hips a few times before returning to digging his tongue into your slick heat. He did the majority of the work to pleasure you both, ensuring to keep himself from making you deep throat him just yet. You reached up to rest your hands on his hips for your own sake should he unintentionally begin to choke you, but to Silva the contact of your gentle hands on his pale skin was overwhelmingly intense.

He was extremely touch starved when it came to you due to his distant and cold upbringing despite how much physical contact he actually had with you on a regular basis. Just another reason for him to be obsessed with the touch of your skin and the feel of your body against his. Each small brush of your hand anywhere on his body sent intense sensations running through his very being. To feel not a hint of affection during the critical developmental beginning years of his life left him distant and made him believe all outside touch would bring only pain.

Of course, when he met you, his entire world changed drastically. Your touch was gentle and brought no pain with it, only the sweet sensation of honest care and empathy. He had to have you, and only you. Only your touch brought him such calming pleasure and consuming affection. Even as he bucked his hips into your warm mouth, he was past cloud 9 in absolute bliss, sinking his tongue into your extremely wet pussy and almost desperately trying to bring you the same level of pleasure that he felt even when simply in your presence.

That's what he always tried to do.

He felt so much from and for you that he couldn't help but attempt to reciprocate that pleasure any chance he got. His addiction to your touch was likely why you two were still so sexually active even after decades together, that and Silva used that intimate connection to soothe his own mind consuming anxiety. It was why he became so irritable whenever he is away from your side for more than 24 hours. His mind drowns him in anxiety with every outcome of you being attacked while he is away.

It would destroy him to know something hurt you or you were unwell in some way while he was gone. He would feel like he failed you as your husband and that he failed you as your protector. He refused to fail. The cost would be too great.

You, on the other hand, happened to be lost in the feelings of pleasure running through your veins, to the point you didn't honestly notice much other than the warm cock in your mouth and the hot tongue on your pussy. Every moan you made only made that large length twitch and throb, feeling the slide of your tongue against his flesh as you let your fingers slide over his hips. It was clear he enjoyed it as he let out deep moans and growls of pleasure, holding himself back as long as possible.

Just when you felt the pulse of his heartbeat flutter, he pulled away from you, leaving you confused and slightly dazed. He was watching you try to collect your thoughts, proud he made you so delirious with pleasure that you needed time to return to awareness. His movements were slow and methodical as he positioned himself between your legs, raising your hips up so he could slide through your soft folds.

"Look at me, (y/n)."

His deep voice drew your scattered attention, staring up into his intense blue eyes in an almost questioning way. There was a moment of silence as he stared at you in adoration, not looking away from you as he slowly slid his firm length into you, watching the way you gasped and writhed on the bed. He gave you only a moment to adjust to his size once more before he began to thrust into your welcoming body, drowning in the tight embrace of your warm insides.

You moved up and down on the bed with each rough thrust, clawing at the sheets beneath you. Silva pound into you with such intensity you could barely draw in a breath before it was being forced back out with another rough thrust. He leaned over your writhing and mewling form to start pressing open mouthed kissed against your neck, biting down a few times to hear you yelp and whine. You wrapped your arms around him and let your nails bite down on his fair skin, shivering from his rumbling moan directly against you ear.

As you felt your orgasm creeping up with alarming speed, you reached up to his hair and gripped on the long locks, tugging hard enough to remove his lips from your neck. You had to stop tugging on his hair and just cling to him as his thrusts became rougher, pressing one of his hands against your soft stomach and feeling the way he moved inside of you. The increased sensation of his large cock rubbing against your tight walls practically made you scream in delight, your pleasure overwhelming and consuming you as your orgasm flooded your body.

"So tight..! You are mine. You will always be mine. I'll never let you go. I'll never let you forget."

You barely registered his crooning words due to your overstimulated nerves sizzling in your brain. He adored the hazy look in your eyes as you were consumed by the pleasure he provided you. That sweet expression on your lovely face was enough to push him over the edge, his hot cum painting your soft insides with every intense pulse.

When he finally pulled out of you, you were still trying to catch your breath and clung to his body with all of the remaining energy you had. The low humming chuckle that came from him was a soft and soothing rumble that was quite like the purr of some feral beast. You curled close to his warm body, snuggling down into his grasp as he pulled the blanket over the both of you, kissing your forehead gently.

"Mine."

[scotianostra]

Happy Birthday James “Midge” Ure born October 10th 1953 in Cambuslang.

Born to a working class family Ure attended Cambuslang Primary School and Rutherglen Academy in Glasgow until he was 15 years old. For the first 10 years of his life he lived in a one-bedroom tenement flat. After leaving school Ure attended Motherwell Technical College and then began to work as an engineer, training at the National Engineering Laboratory (NEL), in nearby East Kilbride.

Midge started playing music in a Glasgow band called Stumble in 1969, before joining Salvation, a Glasgow-based group that became the bubblegum band Slik in 1974. Upset in the change of direction, Ure left the band to join the Rich Kids, a punk-pop group led by former Sex Pistol bassist Glen Matlock. The Rich Kids only released one album, 1978’s Ghosts of Princes in Towers, before breaking up later that year. Ure spent a brief time with the Misfits (not the American band) before forming Visage with drummer Rusty Egan and vocalist Steve Strange; he left the group to replace Gary Moore in Thin Lizzy, who had left in the middle of an American tour. After the tour was finished, Ure fulfilled an agreement to join Ultravox as the replacement for John Foxx.

Once he joined the band in 1980, Ure helped make Ultravox a mainstream success; during this time he also worked as a producer, making records with Steve Harley and Modern Man. In 1982, Ure released a solo single, a cover of the Walker Brothers’ hit “No Regrets”; it climbed into the U.K. Top Ten. Ure and Bob Geldof formed Band Aid, a special project to aid famine relief efforts in Ethiopia, in 1984. The two wrote the song “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” and assembled an all-star band of musicians to record the single; it sold millions of copies over the 1984 holiday season.

In 1985, Ultravox was put on hiatus and Ure began to pursue a full-time solo career. Recorded entirely by Ure, his 1985 solo debut, The Gift, launched the number one single “If I Was,” as well as the minor hits “That Certain Smile” and “Call of the Wild.” The following year, he recorded the final Ultravox album; in 1987, the band broke up and he began recording his second solo album. The resulting record, 1988’s Answers to Nothing, was less successful than The Gift in the U.K., yet it charted in the U.S., which is something Ure’s previous album failed to do. Three years later, Ure released his third album, Pure; while it didn’t do any business in America, the album featured the Top 20 British hit “Cold, Cold Heart.” He attempted a comeback in 1996 with Breathe, which went ignored by both the American and British markets. Four years later, his score for the Jon Cryer drama-comedy Went to Coney Island was issued by the Evenmore label.

Ure’s recording activity during the 2000s began with Move Me, which featured some surprisingly hard rocking material. A few years later, he published an autobiography, If I Was, and then, with Geldof, arranged the Live 8 concerts.

Following the release of the covers-oriented 10 IN 2008, Ure participated in an Ultravox reunion and continued to record as a solo artist. Fragile was issued in 2014, and featured the Moby collaboration “Dark, Dark Night.” In 2017, he collaborated with composer Ty Unwin on the album Orchestrated, which featured orchestral reworkings of Ultravox songs, as well as songs from his solo career.

In 2020  Midge released an album Soundtrack 1978-2019, he was one of the lucky artists to have completed his tour promoting this in February that year. 

Midge is currently in the middle of doing his  Voice & Visions tour and is currently in Germany, he has a night off for his birthday but is playing Berlin and Leipzig tomorrow and Wednesday before hitting  Sweden, Benelux, italy, Austria and Poland.  Gigs next year include nights in England and Wales as well as The Usher Hall, Edinburgh, Glasgow Barrowlands and Aberdeens Music Hall in May.

[artpharos]

Pokemon Sword and Shield | Bede x Hop | G rated

Fic summary: Juggling being a gym leader, theater actor, and now Hop's boyfriend had been a lot for Bede to handle, so he had decided to learn the lines for his upcoming play while cooking their half-anniversary dinner. He did not count on Hop deciding to help by reading the lines of his romantic counterpart.

______

“Forsooth,” he murmured to himself now, scrunching his eyes as his mind tried to reach for the lines, “that whence the sun dawns upon your face once again, I will crest over that hill yonder, and bring fair tidings with me.”

Bede winced. Maybe it was the fact that he was not on stage, and instead standing in the small kitchen of his apartment. Maybe it was because he’d been stirring the Sweet Apple Stew bubbling merrily next to him instead of gesturing in the costume of a noble hero. But regardless, the words sounded too strained to his ears, too out of place and hard to imagine.

If he even got them right to begin with.

He glanced at the script in his hand and his grimace grew.

“That whence the rays of the morning alights upon your gentle visage.”

Bede groaned and shook his head. Truthfully, the rays of the morning were probably going to spell his doom.

He leaned against a nearby cupboard, taking a moment to center himself. Drawing in a deep breath, Bede tried to envisage the grand castle, the balcony, and the fields that most certainly did not smell of Sweet Apple Stew. The play was about an ensorcelled princess, trapped in a tower, and he was cast in the role of the valiant knight who was about to embark on a treacherous quest to break the curse.

“Clasp not your fear to your bosom,” he intoned, “for I will dispel it by morning’s light. And upon my steed shall I carry back the hope that you have long yearned for.”

He could almost see the castle, almost feel the wind on his curls. Could picture the fair maiden in the story, peering at him with trembling eyes-

“Ah, but sir knight, you ask too much of my fragile faith! What promises you give, yet I cannot trust them to be fulfilled!”

Bede startled, almost knocking into the pot of stew. The voice was certainly not one he imagined, rough and falsely pitched rather than a dainty maiden’s. He clambered to regain his balance, only to hear bright laughter bubbling all around him.

He scowled. Shot a glare at the source.

And leaning at the threshold of the kitchen, Hop flashed him a wide, wry grin.