#descent to oblivion

[manyworldsofdarkness]

To all fans of World of Darkness, Chronicles of Darkness and anything else by White Wolf and Onyx Path. This here is a fan server for both veterans and people interested in learning WoD lore, a fun inclusive server open to everyone with an interest in any of the games! Come talk about your characters, post fan art, discuss the games you want to play or your favorite editions and make some like minded friends who also happened to be obsessed with psychotic monsters.

We’re hoping to spread info about World of Darkness all over tumblr so more of you self proclaimed monster fuckers can get on in this.

[samwisefamgee]

Hate being on here when life actually sucks cause all those posts like “oh just eat and go for a walk :)” that usually work just make me realize I have actual fucking problems again

[togament]

i am RATTLING the bars of my enclosure thinking about togame im so insane about him its not even funny hebrgkdlcjfslfj

i love his nose shape bc its not one i see very often on characters but like i KNOW he puts it to good use while ur riding on his face I CAN FEEL IT IN MY BONES 😩😩🥵🥵🥵😩😩😩😩😩🥵

STAAAAWP. bc that’s the exact reason why i fell for him holy shit (and the exact same dirty thought SHDJNDDNDN) how are you literally meeee? i legit paused the episode he first showed up at and ran to his wiki. i have a thing for guys with pretty, beautiful, gorgeous noses ok (and the fact that i could kinda rub up against them when i—)

"when togame’s nose fucking distracts you (same) when you’re out in public. you’re needy and he’s more than willing to provide."

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : TOGAME’S NOSE OH MY FUCKING GOOOOODDDDDuh, togame palming himself while he eats, swearing, fem!reader, squirting, SLURPING, togame’s a GIVER, oral (female receiving) ((good for you)), sliiiight breath control play if you hold a little magnifying glass to it, togame straight up jorking "it", and by "it", haha, well. lets just say his peanits, togame.

staring up at your boyfriend, you can’t help but admire his features. how soft his gaze always is, how he pouts slightly every time he’s deep in thought, how he hides his dimples when he laughs but they still show even at the slightest smile.

but what really gets you, what really grinds your gears, is his nose.

“let me sit on your face.”

“hm?”

“…Let. Me. sitonyourface.”

“eaaaasy, baby. what’s got you worked up all of a sudden?” he purrs.

———-

NSFW under the snippy snip. MDNI. nobody below 18 pls mua mua mua.

you’re hovering your sopping wet cunt over your lover’s face now, his hot breath kissing the insides of your thighs with both of his hands cupping your ass, giving them little squeezes to ease your descent. looking down at him, his lustful gaze never leaves your form. Watching you slowly lower yourself onto his face, he blows upwards and onto your glistening folds. you clench over nothing and he lets out a hum.

“lookin’ so pretty fer me, bunny,” he coos, not even trying to mask the absolute desperation in his voice. “all wet just from my voice alone. missed me that bad?” you nod, lowering further, further. his nose brushes against your clit and you gasp. he’s fully aware that you love his nose, how you focus on riding his face only to bump your clit onto it. gets you every single time.

the grip he has on your ass eases up as you fully seat yourself on his face, your cunt directly on his tongue. you let out a soft mewl as you feel his thumb raise the hood of your clit, exposing the more sensitive bud underneath. it’s absolutely engorged and fat now.

he’s torn between savoring the taste of you and just fucking you senselessly. he missed you as much as you missed him, after all.

that could wait, he realizes.

he’s enjoying the view above him.

his rough thumb flicks at your clit while you continue seesawing on his tongue, unbidden curses and moans escape your kiss reddened lips. you swear you could feel his tongue moving, tensing it and laying it flat for you to ride on. but then you move higher, higher.

rubbing your sensitive nub against his tall nose. his thumb holds the hood of your clit back as you help yourself to the pleasure, expertly riding his face like you often do when he gets you alone. if he could, he’d stay like this forever. eating you out, having you cum on his tongue over and over again.

you’re riding faster now, practically humping his face with your fingers tangled in his curly, jet black hair. god. he can’t take it.

he starts palming himself underneath you while you ride his face into oblivion, getting off on the fact you’re getting off on his face. plus the added restriction on his breathing is making him feel dizzy but in the best way possible.

moaning underneath you, it sends vibrations up your core. you let out a salacious moan and that further eggs him on. with one hand, he pulls his gray sweatpants down to finally pump at his cock, moaning louder into your cunt. god. this is the closest to heaven you'll ever be without dying.

your grip on his hair tightens before your breath hitches, growing more and more staggered with every moment that passes. you look down again and you meet his eyes. like he's silently telling you to cum. throwing your head back, you continue riding, and riding, and riding....

just cum.

and you do. fuck, you do. squirting down his lips, the liquid dribbles down his neck and into his hair. but god. he's holding onto your hip hard with one hand when he follows you, cumming just after you did, groaning into your pussy. you whimper, relaxing your muscles that have been taut the entire time you were chasing that high. meeting your boyfriend's eyes once more, he fucking winks at you before he maneuvers you, pinning you underneath him on the couch. he pulls you in for a much deserved cuddle, massaging your shoulders while he coos at you. "was it my nose again?" "...yes."

a/n: ehehehehe togame and his fucking nose, brother. i'm so so SO happy to know we got togame nose fuckers around too. i see you.

a/n 2: togame knows you’ve got a thing for his nose btw :)!!!!! he’s a sweet boyfriend BUT!!!!! he can be a little shit if he wants to be. uses that shit to his advantage.

[dark-and-kawaii]

Worth The Risk

Haarlep x f!Tav/Reader

⋆˙⟡♡ Summary: You knew the risk of carrying Haarlep’s child, knew it could end your life, yet you still pleaded with Haarlep not to intervene. Haarlep, despite your pleas, couldn’t imagine a life without their little dove.

⋆˙⟡♡ Notes: I wrote this a long time ago but decided it was time to finally post it!!!

⋆˙⟡♡ Pregnancy | Angst

As the savage agony of parturition tore through your body, your face twisted in harrowing torment, fingers digging into the flesh of your swollen belly. Beside you, Haarlep loomed, their gaze alight with an unholy blend of enthrallment and uneasiness. They found a perverse solace in witnessing the suffering of others, yet within this cruel spectacle, a sliver of apprehension flickered to life… This was you, not some brat cambion or mortal to pass the time…

You could feel yourself teeter on the brink of collapse, your screams piercing the air as your knees finally buckled. Compelled by a force they scarcely understood, Haarlep's hands reached for you before you crumpled beneath the unbearable onslaught. Their touch, paradoxically tender, cradled your quaking frame, their tail coiling around your leg, steadying you against the imminent descent onto the unforgiving ground.

It was odd. An incubus, a creature of seduction and ruin, serving as a pillar of support for another whom was trying to bear their child.

Chaos reigned, and within it, Haarlep's eyes grew round as they beheld a bloom of red seeping into the fabric of your gown. A torrent of foreign sentiment overwhelmed Haarlep, dragging down their heart, a heart once deemed impervious to the weaknesses of mortals, with a dread they had never known…

The incubus had bound themself to a code of restraint in their fervid trysts with you, vowing never to indulge, to feed, in excess so that they could keep you. Yet now, confronted with the life they had seeded within you… It would seem fate had cruelly conspired to make Haarlep the architect of your ruin.

Within the twisted catacombs of their mind, the incubus clawed through the dark recesses for an answer, a twisted salvation for you who had snared them in the most intoxicating bind. You were their prize, theirs to claim, theirs to torment, a soul ensnared by chains of a ravenous desire Haarlep would not, could not, break... A possession they refused to relinquish.

Damn the offspring, for you were the one that mattered, the beating heart the incubus was hell-bent on keeping tethered to this mortal coil.

The final vision bestowed upon you was a twisted sneer, yet the eyes of Haarlep, your beloved incubus, was filled with so much pain... pain you wished to cease, damns how you yearned to caress their face, to whisper that everything was okay. Alas, the abyss called to you, and your world dissolved into oblivion, your whisper lost in the void…

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Haarlep, an incubus known in realms for their insatiable hunger for the carnal, found themself lost in a moment so tender and new.

There, in the quiet of the room you lay upon the bed, a figure both broken and beatific, your skin a canvas painted with the sheen of exertion. Strands of hair, once perfect, now clung desperately to your damp forehead, framing your face in disarray. Your closed eyes, sunken with fatigue. The air was thick with the iron scent of birth and the unspoken fear of what had come to pass. Your chest rose and fell with labored effort, each breath a testament to the life that sprung forth from you, that had sipped greedily at your soul, leaving it frayed at the edges.

Beside you, lying on a silk pillow wrapped messily in a blanket, a newborn, an improbable result of Haarlep's latest conquest... The child, innocence incarnate, cooed and wriggled, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just transpired.

A war raged within the incubus, an inner turmoil so intense it threatened to tear him asunder. Their nature was to seduce, to corrupt, to feed on the lustful energy of others, not to nurture or to cherish. Yet, the sight of this tiny being, part of them, part of you, ignited an unfamiliar warmth that crept through them like a stray beam of sunlight piercing through a perennially dark forest, gently awakening the dormant life beneath its shadows.

Haarlep’s hand, more accustomed to leading others into sin than to acts of gentle kindness, moved on its own, as if enchanted, and wiggled it before their offspring. The newborn's tiny fingers wrapped around their larger digit, and a sensation that Haarlep could not name surged through them. It was as if the grip of this miniature hand had the power to anchor even the most chaotic of beings.

The incubus’s tail, an appendage that had tormented many, now danced softly, tickling the child, eliciting a gurgling giggle that filled the room with a purity that felt almost unpleasant. This sound, this unadulterated joy, was a melody Haarlep's ears had never known, yet it resonated within the corner of their heart that was solely meant for you.

Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze heavy with the remnants of pain and fatigue. As your eyes adjusted and focused on Haarlep, there was no fear, no judgment, only the hazy recognition of the father to your child. You caught them in this softness, this unguarded moment that was so perilously close to something like love.

With what little strength, you weakly shifted, turning to envelop your newborn in the cradle of your weary arms. Your eyelids, heavy with the weight of your ordeal, fluttered down as a sincere smile blossomed across your features, signaling a quiet triumph. Haarlep's tail came to rest gently across both you and the child, a silent but potent symbol of their unexpected guardianship.

[lola-writes]

One-Eye & the Dreamer

(Aemond's POV)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x O.C Aylana Velaryon

Word Count: 2,2k

Themes & Warnings: slow burn, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers, violence, blood, targcest, sexual themes, tension, drama, angst, fix-it of sorts, eventual smut, sexual inexperience, forbidden love, high valyrian, dance of dragons, POV first person

Summary: Aylana Velaryon foresees Aemond Targaryen's fate and assigns herself to alter it.

Written from Aemond's POV.

More chapters

Gravity had nothing on us, my dear. 

You can’t untie red strings of fate. 

This is how it feels to fall in love with the atmosphere. 

The world surrendered to a symphony of wind.  Turbulence thundered in my ears and whipped my hair untamed as I ascended the skies. Rising higher and higher, the clouds enveloped me in a blinding haze, and the elements of the earth below decreased into a mosaic. I conquered the celestial at such speed that I felt like Aegon reborn. 

Vhagar was an extension of myself, her undulating muscles beneath my straddling body felt as if connected to my own, forcing our masses through the heavens with an effortlessness. I commanded her higher still, and she heeded my command. We defied gravity in a dance of grace and power.

As we approached the stratosphere where air ran thin, I straightened in my saddle, and my mighty Vhagar leveled out, conforming to every delicate change in my movements. The world below became an inverted dreamscape as we sailed the vague interstice that marked the transition between sky and oblivion - the clouds beneath were the unconquered sky, and the indigo above was the ocean, and I was flying upside down. 

Together, Vhagar and I, were limitless.

The memory of when I first claimed her was so potent it eclipsed everything else, real or imagined. It was like walking penniless and finding a mountain of gold at your feet. What was one to do with such power? A power so raw and exhilarating, it consumed. Suddenly, I had no fear. Suddenly, I was not alone…

I leaned into Vhagar’s warmth and she folded her wings against me. We plummeted back down towards the earth, a thrilling drop that sent a jolt of pure ecstasy through my veins. My stomach lurched, and beneath me, Vhagar’s thorax vibrated – a deep, primal roar that resonated through my very bones. In that moment, I mirrored her, a guttural exclaim of pure, unadultered joy escaping my lips.

Never had freedom tasted so sweet.

The force of our descent sliced through the nebulous clouds like a knife through cotton, and as we emerged, the Narrow Sea gaped wide, glittering beneath the noontide sun like a crystal embellished blue silk. I leveled out again and watched Vhagar’s twin loom out of the water. 

In the distance, the seven huge drum-towers, proud sentinels of pale red stone, rose out of the sea on their stony summits, and the tolling bells welcomed me back home. An unfamiliar fleet of ships coasted down Black Water Rush like wooden beads along a blue mesh - an unremarkable observation, as nobles from every corner of the realm had been descending upon King’s Landing for the wedding. They had all come through the gates by horse and carriage, none by sea. 

Traders perhaps? Coming just in time to fortify our stores for the upcoming plunder. 

So many fucking mouths to feed. I had seen them endlessly pour through the castle gates in a river of gold, silver, and polished steel – their banners displaying the sigil of house Lannister, Baratheon, Tully, and I could’ve sworn I saw a direwolf banner among them. Would the Starks truly find a Targaryen wedding of such importance that they would bother dragging themselves out of their frozen pits? It was to be a grand affair, to be sure. A celebration with tourneys, hunts, feasts, and dancing, to last for at least a fortnight.

If I had it my way, I would escape and race the wind on Vhagar. But mother’s orders were a bittersweet curse. We were to be on our best behavior, a euphemism for me babysitting my nuisance of a brother, to ensure he does not imbibe every wine cask in the keep, and to hearten my sweet sister who always grew gauche in social gatherings. 

One could hardly fathom I was the youngest.

But the chief of my worries was Aegon. He already had an inclination of getting unreasonable drunk on a plain day. I shuddered to think of the lengths he might go to in tribute to his own nuptials.

Unease filled my gut.

But it wasn’t the vigil of my siblings that rendered me apprehensive.

As I drew close enough that I could make out the banners, I realized that these were no ordinary trading ships. In fact, these weren’t traders at all. I tugged at the reins and Vhagar gathered air beneath her leather and sprung up high, casting her mighty shadow atop the vessels. 

Memories consumed me like a bad aftertaste. The sigil-emblazoned sails draped across the masts below needed no introduction. The seahorse and the three-headed black dragon caught the wind. 

It could only mean one thing…

The thought got knocked right out of me as a bone-jarring impact to Vhagar’s thorax threw me off my saddle. Her earsplitting roar resounded across the blackwater, as I tumbled down her back. Instinctively, I snagged my wrist through a loop in her saddle ropes, dangling precariously until she steadied herself. I hauled myself back up, heart hammering in my chest, adrenaline pouring into my bloodstream. I scouted the skies for an attacker in a glassy bewilderment, growing acrimoniously aware of my disability. But the firmament was still and empty. 

What in the Seven Hells?

Another blow. It knocked me aslant, and I felt fury consuming me like poison. Gritting my teeth, I gripped the saddle horn and twisted the reins twice ‘round my forearm, and perceived every muscle of Vhagar’s back contracting beneath me, waiting to charge. 

Who would dare challenge me?

A flicker of movement caught my eye. A shape, shrouded beneath Vhagar’s wing membranes, was soaring alongside us. And when I turned to look, my eye met a stranger, masked and cloaked, stalking us on a dragon as black and swift as a raven. But the beast was miniscule in relation, just the age to breathe fire, and yet had nearly forced me to meet the gods. 

Humiliation morphed into a blinding rage that seethed through my veins and marred my vision with a red mist. “Ossēnagon, Vhagar!” Kill. I growled, and steered her toward the trespasser. But the figure crouched down in their saddle, and their dragon dove towards the city. 

Fucking craven.

We went after them. Their descent was swift and inaudible, while mine was slow and thunderous like a moving mountain. The pale orange rooftops of King’s Landing, bleached from the summer’s scorching sun, spread out like a vast rust beneath our darkening shadows. I pursued them to the Hill of Rhaenys, where we landed opposite each other outside the crypts of the dragonpit. 

Dismounting, I started towards them, each step a measured threat. The steel of my dagger sang its lethal warning as I drew it from my scabbard. But the stranger stood their ground, defiance flickering in their shadowed form. My anger, already a simmering cauldron, boiled over. I closed the distance between up, a growl ripping from my throat, raw and primal.

“You!” The word barely a breath before my blade bit their throat. A desperate struggle ensued, but my palm collared the nape of their neck, locking them to the steel. A Kingsguard’s alarming exclaims sounded in the distance, but the words faded underwater. 

“The Stranger requests an audience.” The contiguity drowned my voice into a whisper. I took pleasure in that I towered over them, and felt their hot, humid breath against me, hitching beneath the sharp edge.

“My prince!” Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, came running towards us. His voice, booming like thunder, always sufficed in snapping the whole court to attention. But it wasn’t his timber which stirred me this time. “Let her go!” 

His words carried me out of my raging inferno.

Her?

I blinked through my apprehension and scavenged the stranger’s frame with my eye, as if I’d awoken from a dream and seen them for the first time. A tug, a rustle, and their hood fell back and settled around their shoulders. 

A wave of ice ran down my spine. 

It was like seeing a ghost. The protagonist of all my nightmares coming alive, ready to haunt me. 

Aylana Velaryon.

Her eyes, the color of sunlit amber flicked with gold, held mine with an unsettling intensity. She seemed to see right through me, demanding answers I could not provide. Then, a knowing smile played on her lips.

“Skoros iksos pirta, kepus?” What’s wrong, uncle? A sardonic edge laced her voice. “Gaomagon ao daor gīmigon issa?” Do you not remember me?

The words hit me like a physical blow. I swallowed, stunned by her High Valyrian.

For a moment, I believe I stood petrified, unable to tear my gaze from her, unable to utter a word.

A torrent of questions, accusations, apologies – years of unspoken turmoil – churned within me. But now, with her life literally in my hands, the words deserted me. My tongue, usually an agile weapon, felt like lead. This was the person who had haunted my every waking and sleeping thought for years, and all I could manage was a stunned silence. Perhaps my countenance spoke volumes where my voice failed.

She echoed the girl I remembered, but time had woven its changes. I had to take it all in. Her voice, saccharine and laced with a hint of mockery, was a stark contrast to the playful child I held in memory. Her once youthful features had sharpened, cheekbones higher, lips fuller. Then, my gaze, fell upon the one jarring element – a crimson scar that snaked across her left eyebrow, expressing a raw pink sheen beneath a shell of transparent skin. Years had passed, yet the wound looked fresh.

The accident.

My jaw tightened as venom seethed through my veins.

I could still see her crumpled, lifeless form in the dirt, her skull cracked open, every time I closed my eye.

And I was holding the bloody rock.

Shame coiled in my gut like a suffocating weight. I could not bear to look at her.

“Some things never change,” she said facetiously. “Don’t you agree, uncle?”

Shit.

I was still holding my knife to her throat. I recoiled with such force that the effort pushed her back as well. A bright seam of red welled up at the lip where my blade had kissed her and painted the length of her neck like dark fruit. 

I reviled myself. I had tried to kill her. Again. 

But she just smiled, a dimple flashing in her cheek. As if we were still kids and she had made a humorous jest.

I realized I had been holding my breath when a gasp escaped my lips and air rushed back into my lungs. The silence stretched on, thick and heavy.

“Aylana.” I spoke her name derisively without intending to, as I sheathed the knife at my waist where my gaze lingered a moment, dreading to meet hers. 

My stomach turned. I never used to call her that. It sounded so formal and distant on my tongue, just like ‘uncle’ on hers. But that’s what we were to each other now - our friendship no more than a distant memory. I no longer assumed myself worthy of her alias. I had lost that privilege. Just as I had lost my friend. 

The weight of the past pressed down on me, suffocating.

Agitation infiltrated my mind and my whole disposition must have come off as reticent and hostile. I watched her pull her gloves off finger by finger and release the clasp of her cloak. There was an attitude in her movements and a poise in her posture. Beneath she was dressed in sable flying leathers that clung tightly to her body. 

I averted my gaze. 

Frustration clawed at my chest, and whatever other feeling it was that made my mouth dry and my palms clammy. 

“You look well, nuncle,” she said. 

My eye met hers and I noted them briefly flicker across my eyepatch. Her scrutiny made the leather singe my skin with awareness. Growing diffident, I looked away. 

“Hmmph,” I said, my favorite expression of disdain. 

I knew what she was implying. That if I had only listened to her that night, instead of acting like an arrogant scoundrel, I wouldn’t be looking like a eunuch with one eye at present.

And she was right in mocking me. If her insults were the currency for my betrayal, I would gladly become a spendthrift.

My breathing shallowed as I gazed at the damage I’d caused. I had to get out of there. 

“I hope we did not frighten you earlier,” she said, interrupting my escape. “I only thought I might test the mettle of the largest dragon in the world. She truly is remarkable. A fair exchange, to be sure.” 

I turned to look at her, and I didn’t know what I must’ve looked like, because the playful smile that had been dancing between her lips our entire encounter, vanished. There it is, I thought. The realization. The Aemond you knew is gone. This is the monster you forged.

“Ser Harrold,” I said. “Escort the princess to the Red Keep. And make sure she does not test the mettle of anyone else in the city.”

“Certainly, my prince,” said Ser Harrold, the Lord Commander who was the very first person to see my face after the loss of my eye. This fact made him remarkably significant somehow.

I mounted Vhagar and took to the sky, watching Aylana and Nymax blur into mere specks on a canvas. 

This would be a celebration I was sure to remember…

More chapters

[syoddeye]

cw: butcher!simon, darkfic, dead animals, no butchery depicted, temperature torture, implied limb removal. definitely not for everyone. 490 words.

you find yourself hanging between pig carcasses in cold storage. swaying. chain creaking.

the chill sinks beneath your skin, numbing you in long, creeping waves. your fingers twitch, but grow stiffer by the minute. slowly ceding control to the ice. the threat of unconsciousness stalks the edges of your vision and mind, willing you to close your straining eyes and frosted lashes. find peace in oblivion. but the thought of what happens after keeps you stubborn.

of course, there are consequences for staying awake, too.

fifteen minutes, simon said. lettin' you off easy, he said. an eternity spent sailing the cocytus would be more comforting.

you're on the descent, about to pass orpheus on the stairs, when the door opens. the rush of warm air stings and bites, stirring your reflexes and making you thrash weakly. he chuckles as he takes you off the hooks, casting aside your shackles. he throws you over his shoulder, knocking the air from your lungs in scrapes, and pats your flank.

he lays you out on the table, a wet and sticky puddle smears and squishes beneath your back. he looms, his brutish form blocking out the sterile light above. something thick and heavy falls over you, slightly damp and smelling of iron, but you make no move to shed it. you can't, anyway. it's warm and solid but malleable like worn leather.

simon takes shears to your clothes. cutting them from your body and replacing your cover as he goes. his hand slips to your throat and wrists every few minutes. the thick pads of his fingers wrapped in elastic press down firm, monitoring.

he tuts about the kitchen. the longer you lay there, the more feeling you regain. the clearer your mind becomes. you realize your blanket isn't a blanket at all, but his stained apron. still sopping from a day's work.

he strokes your cheek when he catches you staring, petrified.

"feelin' warmer?"

you barely nod, the muscles and tendons of your neck uncooperative. he cups your chin, dragging it down and up, ignoring your whimper of pain.

"yeah? good. let's 'ave a chat."

simon drags a stool along the linoleum to sit behind your head, forcing you to roll your eyes back as far as they'll go. he pets your temples and forehead, closely examining you.

"tried to run. not smart, pet," he leans close, breath fanning over your face. "makes it the third time. remember what i told ya?"

an object clatters onto the table beside you, heavy enough to rattle a small shockwave through your back. his eyes don't stray from your face, but his head tilts expectantly. swallowing thickly, you crane your neck, nerves screaming in protest.

you see the handle first. then the long, steel body. the teeth. a hand saw longer than your arm, one you've seen him take to the pigs in the freezer.

"it's a shame. liked your legs."

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

15 Beautiful Lover-to-Enemies Dialogue Prompts | Betrayal Prompts

"Do you remember the vows we made under the moon's gentle glow? How quickly they turned to ash, scattered by the winds of deceit."

"Your words were once my solace, but now they cut deeper than any blade forged in malice."

"In the labyrinth of our love, I found myself lost, only to realize you were the minotaur lurking in the shadows."

"Every kiss we shared was a dagger coated in honey, sweet yet deadly."

"The stars witnessed our passion, but they now mock our folly as we stand on opposite sides of a war we ourselves ignited."

"Our hearts beat as one, once upon a time. Now they drum the rhythm of discord and resentment."

"I thought I knew the depths of your soul, only to find abysses of betrayal waiting to devour me whole."

"Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I emerge from the ruins of our love, reborn as your adversary."

"You were the melody to my symphony, but now your discordant notes shatter the harmony we once shared."

"We danced on the edge of oblivion, oblivious to the precipice that awaited our descent into enmity."

"The echoes of our laughter haunt me, mocking the innocence we thought would shield us from the venom of betrayal."

"Our love was a tapestry woven with threads of gold, now unraveling into a tangled web of lies and deception."

"I offered you my heart on a silver platter, only for you to feast upon it with the appetite of a ravenous beast."

"We were poets of passion, crafting verses of devotion with every whispered promise. Now our words are weapons, dripping with venomous intent."

"The sunrise that once painted our love with hues of warmth and hope now heralds the dawn of our animosity, casting long shadows of regret across the battlefield of our hearts."

Short Note From Me!

Many fans of Enemies to Lovers often overlook the possibility of exploring Lover to Enemies. This underrated trope is one of my favorites and I believe it has the potential to make a novel truly stand out. If you have space in your story for this unique twist, I assure you it will result in an amazing read.

I created these dialogue prompts to inspire writers to explore the theme of lovers turning into enemies, showcasing a different form of betrayal.

Happy writing - Rin T.

[daisiesinvienna]

Sharpshooter

Title: Sharpshooter 

Pairing: Billy The Kid (2022) x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Billy can’t always be there to keep you safe, so he teaches you how to protect yourself.

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: Billy if you shot me in the head I would thank you then apologize for wasting a bullet just one chance plz

The sound of Billy’s gun firing rings out once again, the rusty old can he’d placed on a wooden post flying into the air upon impact. Billy points and shoots the can a second time before it can hit the ground, sending it up again. He shoots it once more as it begins its descent, before allowing it to hit the ground with a hollow thunk.

You had been sitting off to the side under a tree, mending a tear in one of Billy’s shirts and watching as he practiced his shooting. You paused your sewing to watch as he shot every target he’d set up on the fence with exact precision. You’d watched him shoot countless times, but not once had you seen him miss.

Billy glanced over at you, smiling fondly at the sight of you under your tree, fixing up his shirt. He walked over to the wooden fence, picking up each bullet-ridden can and placing it back on its respective post.

Billy walks back to where he was shooting, reloading his pistol as he does so. He looks back over at you, catching your eye.

“Why don’t you come ‘ere, honey,” Billy says to you, sliding the last bullet in the chamber. You carefully fold his freshly mended shirt and place it back in your basket before curiously standing up and walking over to stand beside him. To your surprise, he grips his gun by the barrel and holds the handle out to you.

“You want me to shoot?” You ask inquisitively, raising your eyebrows as you carefully take his pistol from him. The heavy piece of metal feels foreign in your hand.

“You should learn. I’m away more than i’d like to be, baby, it’s best you know how to defend yourself,” He muses, gently adjusting your grip on the weapon so that you’re holding it correctly. 

Billy doesn’t ever want for you to be in a situation where you’d need to fire a gun. Just seeing one in your hand feels wrong, he hated the sight of someone so sweet and innocent holding a deadly weapon. But he knows that a woman living alone with no male protection is a danger in itself, and his line of work makes it so he can’t be home all the time to watch over you.

Billy moves you so that you’re standing in front of him. His large hand covers your smaller one as he lifts the gun to point at the target.

“Now, when you’re ready, you put your finger on the trigger and squeeze. Squeeze, don’t pull,” He says quietly in your ear, taking his hand off of the gun and placing it at your hip.

“This is gonna send me flying backwards,” You state, closing one eye and pointing the gun at the tin can in front of you. 

“I’m right here, honey, you’ll be fine,” Billy says reassuringly, watching as you slowly move your finger to the trigger.

You hesitate for a moment, full of nerves, before you gather your courage and squeeze the trigger. 

The sound of the gunshot echoes, but the bullet itself flies over the tin can. You were right, though, the kickback sends you knocking into Billy. He steadies you with his hands at your hips.

“That was good, baby, real good,” He says, grinning as you scoff.

“How can it be? I missed by at least three feet!” You laugh, gesturing at the can which was very much still there.

“For your first time ever shootin’ a gun, it was great,” Billy responds. “Now try it again.”

You sigh, pointing his gun at the can again. You focus on the can, willing it to fly up in the air like it did when Billy shot it. You stare at it for a moment before firing.

This time, you hit the fence post itself, just under the can. You don’t wait before firing again, this time sending the can into oblivion. 

“Atta girl,” Billy says, planting a celebratory kiss on your cheek. “Knew you’d be a natural.”

You argued that missing twice wasn’t exactly a natural, but Billy wouldn’t hear it. He deemed you his little sharp shooter, even though you’d only hit one can.

Billy went on to show you how the safety worked, as well as how to load and unload the weapon. After about twenty minutes of shooting, you had managed to knock all three cans down in a row without missing. 

“Good job, baby,” Billy told you, pecking you on the forehead as you handed him back his gun. “So proud of my girl.”

“Well, I learnt from the fastest draw in the west,” You joke, and Billy rolls his eyes, walking you back up to the house with his arm around your waist.

[lunarbreaksblog]

Hiiii i really like your spark eater reqs so i was wondering if you could write for (tfp) starscream x sparkeater reader? It’s just that reader recognizes starscream as ‘people-to-not-eat’ more than anyone and tries to show their affection, even if starscream is kind of scared ?? feel free to ignore if this one is kinda odd erm 😇🙏 lov ur writing though pookie keep it up‼️

Note: so sorry for the long wait, I just procrastinate into oblivion

TFP! Starscream x Sparkeater!Reader

You've known the seeker before you become a creature of nightmares. However, when you grew so hungry after the war. The line, between who to eat and who not to eat, began to blur. Your hunger pained and taunted you till you finally snapped.

You remember a person's cries as you tore their throat out. Energon gushing into your waiting hungry mouth, you remember feeling like you were on cloud nine when the energon reached your tanks. You felt good.

But then, the second in command come across your good time and screeched in fear. You were the second in commands conjux, even if you two were close, you never told him about your descent into cannibalism.

You wouldn't dream of eating him, he was the only one that made you feel good as well.

So, you try to show the seeker that you mean no harm— you catch him in your talons, your form distorted. Taller and sharper than the seeker, he was easy.

"Don't worry Starscream" you purr and you snuggle your face into his neck cables, mouth still full of metallic flesh.

The seeker in return just shudders at the feeling of energon dripping on his chest

[starrylothcat]

Handful

Crosshair x Fem!Reader One-Shot

Summary: You drive Crosshair wild in your new dress. 2300 words.

Warnings: Smut. Smutty smut smut. NSFW 18+. Minors DNI. Established relationship, consensual PiV sex. Crosshair is an ass man.

Everyone is Happy on Pabu AU. (Yes, Crosshair is rescued and on Pabu. Yes, Tech and Phee host weekly family dinners. Yes, everyone is alive and happy)

Author’s Note: Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. This is pure debauchery. I have no excuse.

I wrote this kind of fast bc I had to get it out of my drafts (aka purify myself of thots) so I apologize for any errors or weirdness. This man is haunting me LOL. This is also in honor of sundress szn starting. (Crosshair is def an ass man, change my mind). I hope you enjoy 🙈😘

It was an exceptionally tropical and humid day on Pabu. The ocean was glass, the air devoid of any breeze to lessen the heavy humidity. The only promise of relief was coming with the setting sun as it began its descent toward the horizon.

Crosshair was sitting at your shared kitchen table, pretending to be absorbed in his datapad, sweating like a Gamorrean on Tatooine. His clothes felt too tight, too constricting. He had been feeling like this all day.

The heat wasn’t the reason he was hot and bothered, though.

It was you.

In that dress.

Crosshair’s trained eyes haven’t left your backside for one moment as you putzed around the kitchen, putting dishes away and humming an unrecognizable tune to yourself, a sheen of sweat visible on your bare shoulders and neck, exposed as your dress only had thin straps holding it up on your body.

It was a new dress, thin and flowing, perfect for a scorching day such as this. Crosshair watched intently as the material hugged and highlighted all your delicious, delicate curves. The dress framed your body perfectly, especially your ass. His desire to take you right then and there growing with every jiggle of your body under the silken fabric.

Tech and Phee had invited you over for a family dinner, a weekly tradition that started not too long after you all settled on Pabu. You had just finished making an appetizer to share and were cleaning up the kitchen, due to be over at their place soon.

You bent over to put a final plate away in a lower cabinet, giving Crosshair the perfect view of your voluptuous behind.

Now this was just unfair.

You were teasing him at this point, you had to be. He was going to wait until after dinner to completely ravage you, but his mind was already made up. Crosshair was not a patient man, not when you looked like this. He plucked his toothpick out from between his lips, silently setting down the datapad.

He advanced soundlessly, quickly maneuvering up behind you like a predator to prey.

You weren’t paying attention, standing up straight now, still absentmindedly humming a tune under your breath.

Crosshair smirked, realizing you were unaware of his presence, making what he was about to do even more satisfying.

He licked his dry lips as he reached down, grabbing fistfuls of your ass through the tantalizingly soft fabric of the dress. You yelped, startled by his sudden gropes as his body trapped yours against the kitchen cabinets.

“Cross…!” Your voice came out breathier than you intended as he kneaded his strong fingers into your supple flesh.

Oh, it was divine how you felt under his palms through the satiny material of the dress, just begging to be bunched at your waist as he fucks you into oblivion.

Crosshair let out a low growl at the thought and began leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses starting at your bare shoulder, up your neck, and to your ear, tasting the salty sweetness of your skin. “You’ve been teasing me all day with this kriffing dress…do you realize how you look?” His breath was labored, his hands now snaking up the front of your abdomen, his hips grinding into your ass.

You whined and instinctually brought a hand back to grab at his head, tugging at his silver locks, now grown back from his buzzed look when he first arrived on Pabu, free from imprisonment.

His teeth nipped at the side of your neck. “C-Cross…I’m glad you like my new dress but…” You couldn’t help but let out a gasp as his fingers began playing with your nipples through the dress. A wave of fresh desire rushed through him as he realized you weren’t wearing a bra, spurring him on further.

“…if you keep this up we are going to be late for dinner…”

“Dessert before dinner never hurt anyone.” Crosshair’s voice was a husky whisper, becoming more desperate to feel your curvaceous ass against his hips as he pounds into you.

You were turning to putty under his touch as your head lolled back against him, his fingers expertly rolling your now-hardened nipples.

“They can wait. Wrecker will be late, anyway.” He grunted, his lithe body grinding harder against you, knowing you were giving in.

Crosshair grasped your waist, stepping back slightly and spinning you around to face him. His expression was intense, his eyes wandering up and down your body.

“I was going to wear this dress to dinner.” You breathed, a coy smile on your lips, your eyes now hooded with want as you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him down closer to you.

Crosshair pinched your hips, a smug expression flashing across his face. “Not anymore.”

He pinned you again against the counter, this time his lips meeting yours in a fiery kiss, his hands once again groping up your ass through the dress. Crosshair groaned into your mouth as he bunched up the material, slipping his hands up under the fabric. His calloused palms squeezing and roaming up and down your backside was igniting you with lustful yearning, your blood boiling and skin impossibly hotter in the already sweltering heat. You needed to feel him, too.

Your hands shot down to his belt, trying to unbuckle it without looking. Crosshair smirked against your now swollen lips, removing his hands from their fervid exploration of your supple behind to help remove his belt.

Once the belt was off, you tugged down his pants and boxers, letting them fall to the ground as he stepped out of them, kicking the discarded clothing to the side. You saw how hard he was, precum beading at the tip of his swollen cock, showing you just how much he wanted you, needed you.

“I’m going to fuck you in this dress.” He muttered, his pupils blown with lust, his voice dangerously deep. “The way your ass looks…fuck, I’m going to make a mess of you, doll.” Crosshair’s hands quickly maneuvered under your dress again, practically ripping your panties off you, tugging them down past your thighs.

Before you could respond, he rubbed his fingers over your now wet and aching core through the dress, sending shockwaves of pleasure up your body. Crosshair’s mouth was hot on yours again, groaning as the fabric dampened under his fingertips. The material provided mouth-watering friction against your sensitive bud as his fingers worked magic over your cunt. You couldn’t help but let out a lewd moan at the sensation.

“That’s right…so wet for me…” He panted, increasing the pressure and movement of his fingers as you writhed against him, relishing in how your pussy felt through the delicate fabric. Your lips crashing together again, his free hand back to feeling up your ass through the dress, lost in everything that was you.

You grasped his hard length with your hand, the other digging into his bicep, giving him a few slow pumps over his velvety flesh as his tongue roamed your mouth. A deep growl left his chest, bucking into your hand.

Crosshair’s fingers continued their ministrations, and you could feel your release approaching, the front of your dress now soaking. “C-cross I’m…”

Your voice was hoarse, Crosshair’s lips devouring yours so ferociously you could barely think, his fingers increasing their pace of rubbing your clit through the dress. Your knees buckled, squeezing his length as you cried out against his lips, your orgasm rushing over you. Crosshair swallowed every mewl and cry that left your throat, feeling you fall apart against him. Your hand left his cock, both hands now gripping his shoulders to keep you from falling. Crosshair pulled away, breaking the kiss, both of you breathless and sticky with sweat.

“I’ll have to wear this dress more often.” You gasped, his mouth now on your neck again, biting and licking every square inch he could, his bare cock pressing up against you. Crosshair chuckled darkly against your neck.

“Yes, you should. But only for me.”

Without warning, he hauled you up, your legs instinctually wrapping around his waist as carried you to the bedroom, dropping you down onto the bed.

Crosshair tossed off his shirt, wild with lust. He was on you in an instant, his hands and mouth everywhere. No part of you was left untouched by him, squeezing, fondling, rubbing. He was rutting against you, spreading his precum on your dress, adding to the already large wet spot on your front. The feeling of the exquisitely soft and thin fabric against his cock was sending him into overdrive, needing himself in you now, to feel your softness without any barrier.

“Hands and knees. I want to feel your ass as I fuck you, watch you take me. Is that okay, doll?” He hissed into your ear, moving up and off of you. You nodded, his words causing pure arousal to burn through your veins. “Y-yes…” You obeyed, offering yourself to him, sticking your ass in the air as you settled on your forearms.

He kneeled behind you, sliding the dress up just enough to show him your perfect ass and pussy. “You’re gorgeous like this, all for me.” He drawled, rubbing the tip of his swollen cock at your entrance, shuddering at your slick folds waiting to be filled by him.

You moaned softly, trying to press back into him. “Crosshair, please…” You begged, needing to feel him inside you. He continued to rub against your entrance, teasing you. “Tell me how badly you want me…” He groaned through gritted teeth, positioning himself at your entrance, not able to hold back any longer.

“Crosshair, I need you, please…please fuck me…” He let out a dark chuckle, hearing the shake in your voice, the want for him. His chuckle turned low sigh as he sank into you, inch by inch, your walls tight around him, almost overwhelming him with the sensation.

“That’s…my girl…” He uttered as he rolled his hips slowly, pulling out almost completely and pushing back in as far as he could go. Crosshair did this a few times, relishing in how you felt, in how you looked. Your dress was messily bunched up around your waist, just as he imagined. His hands roamed up and down your ass and hips, squeezing, massaging, worshipping, savoring in all that was you.

Maker, he needed you, more than you’ll ever know. He craved you and your softness. You were the one to help him pick up the pieces after his imprisonment, showing him kindness and forgiveness he didn’t think he deserved.

Crosshair wasn’t the best with words, but at least he knew he could show you how much he cares, how much he hungers for you, how much he fiercely loves you.

“I told you-“” Crosshair stuttered out as he increased his pace, “-I’d make a mess of you.” He watched as your hands desperately tried to find purchase in the bed sheets, your cheek pressed into the bed, hips being held up by his strong hands, your knees trembling and eyes screwed shut in euphoria.

With every snap of his hips, your body spasmed with white-hot pleasure as he drove deeper and deeper into you. Your back arched as he hit that special spot inside you, your breath hitching with every devastating thrust, ripping moans from your throat.

Crosshair was losing any semblance of control as he watched you completely come undone beneath him. With one hand digging into your hip, he snaked the other underneath your dress, rubbing at your clit with practiced ease, causing you to see stars as you tried to match his thrusts. “I’m - ah so close…” You managed to sputter out, completely succumbing to him and the pleasure he was giving you.

Crosshair could feel your climax approaching, your walls fluttering around his cock as his fingers rolled and rubbed your sensitive clit, his thrusts not slowing down as he felt his own end rushing toward him.

One, two, three more expert circles of his fingers and you were cumming hard, clenching around him, your body shaking as you cried and sobbed out his name over and over.

Crosshair wasn’t far behind, watching the bounce and wiggle of your ass with each thrust, his hands roaming again as he came undone, cursing and grunting your name through his clenched jaw. He pushed in as deep as he could, giving you all that he had. Your body was weak, the shockwaves of your orgasm still pulsating through you as his thrusts slowed.

Crosshair’s chin dropped to his heaving chest, pulling out of you slowly. You lay down on your stomach, catching your own breath, your dress sticking to your sweaty skin, completely spent. Crosshair laid down next to you, pulling you into his arms. He pressed his face into your neck, listening as your ragged breaths slowed, trying to regain control of his heartbeat, basking in the afterglow of your shared passion.

Crosshair lifted his head, gazing at your flushed face. You gently ran your fingers over his tattoo, cradling his head in your hands. He kissed you, gently this time, his lips slow against yours. You melted into his kiss, loving the tender side of him that he only reserved for you.

“Help me out of this dress?” You whispered. Crosshair pulled away, a smug look returning to his face. “Who says I’m done with you in it?” He rolled himself on top of you, kissing you again, more passionately. You traced his back muscles with your hands, feeling him shiver under your touch.

You were definitely going to be late for dinner.

@wanderer-six @mylifeisactuallyamess

[xerith-42]

I think I'll forever be a little bitter that mcd was never able to get the fandom song treatment. Like. Okay say what you will about the DSMP

But imagine if we'd gotten an Oblivion style song about Laurance's descent thanks to the Calling

Some sweet lullaby cover of Levin's music box that's meant to be sung by Zoey or Aphmau

The rock anthem that could be made about Zenix's journey of self discovery that we never saw but forever rot over

Give Zianna a trilogy of songs that are ostensibly about her sons but also an exploration of her journey with Garte as she had each son

Mellow folk songs that are written by/about Vylad or the Ro'Meave family

Katelyn grief anthem when?

Zane gets awesome evil villain songs to talk about why he's an awesome evil villain

Mystical tunes abound for many of our silly little creatures that inspire whimsy

I can see the song called "Brother's Lament" and it's like a duet song between Gene and Garroth about how they've failed their younger brothers in different ways and the ways in which they cope with it, good and poor

CAN YOU IMAGINE THE ANGSTY ASS SONGS ABOUT DANTE WAITING ALL THOSE YEARS FOR APHMAU?? THERE'S AN ENTIRE ALBUM OF SONGS THAT COULD EXIST CALLED "15 Years" AND IT'S JUST ABOUT EVERYONE'S ANGST AROUND IT

[nekomomoz]

“She was desparate to experience the warmth of his presence before his essence dissolved into oblivion, a craving which can only be sated by the tenderness of his flesh.”

Thank you @lokorum for creating this masterpiece for my LDB Mansur and Miraak! This is a perfect depiction of my LDB‘s gradual descent into madness, and I have never seen gore more delicious than this. Additional thanks for the detailed character analysis for Mansur, nothing makes me feel happier than knowing you appreciate my character and their stories ヽ(；▽；)ノ

I will cherish this art with my life! It's already going into all my screensavers :3

“It only takes one ring of Namira to seize him forever.”

[violet-lazer]

First Kisses : Papal Edition - Secondo

Content / Warnings : Secondo/Reader, Mature (Language, Suggestiveness), Gender-Neutral Reader, 1.5k words. Thanks, please enjoy! (AO3)

Your first kiss with Secondo.

With a good amount of trepidation coursing through your veins, you lift your hand to the door of Secondo’s office and give two firm knocks, attempting to ignore the knot in your stomach as you await a response. After a moment or two, his voice rings sharp and clear through the wood-panelled door.

“Enter.”

You gather yourself and push open the door, taking a few short steps into the room. Secondo, seated at his desk, clearly in the middle of some paperwork, lifts his head to meet your gaze. Placing his pen down, he steeples his fingers and leans forward slightly as he addresses you.

“Ah. Welcome. Do you know why I have summoned you?”

“No, Papa,” you lie.

Even underneath his paint, you see him quirk an eyebrow. He hums, reaching into a drawer, retrieving his phone and placing it on the surface of the desk, screen facing you. He beckons you to come closer, and you reluctantly oblige. Reluctantly, because you know you’re facing your own oblivion in bright illuminated text. Since last night you’ve been living in desperate, foolish hope that what is currently happening might not happen. As you lean in close to assess the damage, a small, involuntary groan escapes you. You’re looking, as you knew you would be, at the message thread between you and Secondo on his personal, private number.

This was Terzo’s fault. You’ve been known to blame many of your personal problems on Terzo, but this one was indisputable. 

“Personally,” he’d said, leaning over to purr into your ear as the two of you watched Secondo conduct mass, “I think you should tell him.” 

From your latecomers’ vantage point at the back of the chapel, you’d torn your eyes from the altar, from Secondo, and looked at Terzo incredulously. Oh, here we go. Terzo is doling out romantic advice again. Perfect.

“I don’t want to do that,” you’d said. You don’t. You do. 

Terzo had rolled his eyes at this, and tutted condescendingly.

“Have it your way. I would advise doing something to halt your descent into madness, though. When I am battling my feelings-”

“What feelings?”

“When I am battling my feelings,” he continues, “Here is what I do. I draft a little paragraph on my phone. I go into excruciating detail about my wants and desires. Let it all out, you know. I imagine sending it to them. And then I delete it. It is almost as good as an honest conversation.”

“Right,” you’d said dismissively, fixing your attention on Secondo at the altar once again and ignoring your quickening heartbeat. What a silly idea.

And there you were just a few hours later, lying on your bed, phone aloft in front of your face, typing furiously in the text box below Secondo’s name. The content of the messages between the two of you before tonight had been consummately professional- indeed, he’d only furnished you with his number last week due to the number of errands you’d been volunteering to run for him of late. But what you were writing here was the absolute antithesis of professional. You’d paused to assess your work. Utter filth. A culmination of every idle thought, every active fantasy you’d had about the man in the months since you’d first laid eyes on him. 

You wonder how he’d respond if he could see this, if he only knew. Would it take him completely by surprise? You’ve been so, so well-behaved around him. It’s been nigh impossible for you to figure out how you’d even approach the idea of flirting with Secondo, and the embarrassment of being knocked back may just destroy you. So you’ve simply not bothered to try. But Lucifer, what you’ve thought. 

Satisfied, you’d pressed backspace, holding your finger down and watching your most depraved dreams disappear before your very eyes-

And then you’d dropped your phone on your face before you’d finished, hitting you square on the nose and making your eyes water. Scrambling to pick it up, you’d turned it over to see something that made your heart drop out of your arse. You hadn’t finished deleting. And you’d pressed send. Possibly with your nose, which was impressive.

Immediately, without even registering how much of your message had made it to Secondo, you’d done the only logical thing and turned your phone off in a panic. When in doubt, deny. Perfect strategy. Hey, maybe you’d even get away with it.

As you look at Secondo’s screen, it becomes apparent you haven’t gotten away with it. Until about twenty seconds ago you’d been clinging onto a vague hope that the letter of summoning that had been pushed under your door this morning was concerning…literally anything else. Alas. Your crime is staring you in the face.

More specifically, what is staring you in the face is your own words. You suppose it could have been a lot worse, really. Most of the evidence was gone, and what remained-

Papa, I need to tell you how much I want you to p

“When I gave you my number,” Secondo says, dragging your attention away from the screen and back to his stare, “it was for business, not pleasure.”

“I know, Papa. I’m sorry.” 

Even if you could play it off as the start of a message that wasn’t about what you wanted Secondo to do to you, you absolutely can’t excuse the fact that you’d sent it at half past eleven at night. Absolutely inappropriate for a work-related enquiry.

Secondo barely acknowledges your apology, merely continuing to hold your gaze. You fall into an uncomfortable silence.

You reckon you could make a clean exit if you vaulted out of the window. Enthusiastic sprint, hand on the windowsill, over and out. Secondo’s office is only on the second floor, you’d probably be alright. It would be preferable to this.

After what feels like an eternity, Secondo speaks again.

“Well?”

“...Well?” you repeat slowly, somewhat at a loss.

He leans back slightly in his chair, exuding nothing but sheer, relaxed confidence.

“Well? Does that sentence have an ending?”

It does. It has a very creative ending. Is he…asking to hear it? The thought simultaneously thrills you and terrifies you. There’s not a chance you can repeat what you wrote so unashamedly last night, not to his face. Not when he’s looking at you like that.

You nod. It feels less committal. Secondo tilts his head just a fraction.

“It seemed very important. If you want something, you should be direct about it. Here, I will go first. I want you to tell me the ending to your sentence. And I want you to be honest.”

Ah, fuck. At present, you don’t think you have the capacity to lie. All you can think about is…

“It said,” you begin before you can help it, “I need to tell you how much…I want you to push me against a wall and kiss me.”

You’ve done it now. There’s a wave of adrenaline crashing over you, a mix of nerves and sheer exhilaration, and your hands are trembling. You realise you’re holding your breath. Secondo’s response causes you to exhale sharply. 

“And is that a sentiment you stand by this morning?”

“Yes.” 

“Close the door.”

Without thinking, you obey, turning to retrace your steps. As you approach the door you hear the scrape of Secondo’s chair on the floor; when you push on the heavy wood you count footsteps behind you. The door shuts. You turn. Secondo is right behind you, and still he barely slows his pace as he closes the last remaining distance between you. You let him back you up against the door, and in an instant his mouth is on yours. Secondo kisses you fiercely, tongue pushing into your mouth, his body pressed hard against you. You kiss him just as relentlessly, sinking back against the door, desperate to feel Secondo’s weight pinning you where you stand. Gloved hands find your hips.

Eventually, you part, breathless. Secondo’s eyes are ablaze as he looks down upon you, and it might be the delirium talking but you could swear he has the faintest suggestion of a smile playing across his lips. He leans in, giving you one gentle, final kiss. Then, he shifts, taking a step backwards and releasing his hold on you. You miss the pressure. 

“I would say it is worth being direct, hm?” he says. “Next time I expect you to be more forthright.”

“Next time?” you say, still bracing yourself against the door. There’s a chance your legs might still give out. Secondo hums.

“I will permit you to contact me outside business hours,” he says. “As long as you are confident in your desires. As long as you are…explicit.”

He reaches past you to grasp the doorknob, waiting patiently for you to peel yourself off the door before easing it open. Politely, he gestures to the corridor beyond.

“You are dismissed.”

You nod shakily. The past ten minutes have been something of an adventure. As you cross the threshold of Secondo’s office, you hear his voice, soft, behind you.

“I look forward to your next message.”

So do you. As you make your way back to your room, you pull out your phone and finally turn it back on. You’ll show him just how explicit you can be.

[nerdraging4point0]

Mad Hearts and Temptations // Chapter Three // Wonderland AU

Tropes and Tags: Wonderland romance, instalove, too much sex, destiny, fated lovers.

Content warning: 18+ only minors DNI. dark themes, gore themes, gothic themes, PinV, PinA, oral (f!recieveing, m!recieving), voyeurism, exhibitionism, angst.

A.N.- Although Characters may have face claim to the Bad Omens band as well as Poppy, I have changed their names for the sake of the story. Despite this change I hope everyone still enjoys the story as a whole!

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people's faces but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

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The wind rushes past my ears as I plunge deeper and deeper into the abyss. With each passing second, the light above grows fainter while the darkness below swallows me whole. I’ve lost all sense of direction, unable to discern up from down in this vortex of shadows. My stomach lurches with each flip, tossing and turning without control. Strands of hair whip wildly across my eyes, blinding me further in this endless freefall. I flail my arms, grasping at nothing but air that slips through my fingers.

I feel the need to scream but nothing comes out.

The grey swirling mist around me gives way to dark tree branches as I see the forest come through around me. My heart leaps into my throat as I desperately grasp at passing branches and shrubs, trying to slow my momentum. Just when I think my fall will never end, the sleeve of my cardigan snags on an outstretched tree limb, abruptly halting my descent. I dangle helplessly in the air, my feet kicking below me as I struggle to regain my composure. Adrenaline courses through my veins from the sudden shock of my fall and narrow escape. I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart, clinging tightly to the branch as it sways under my weight. The quiet creaking barely registers before an ominous snap pierces the silence. In an instant, the branch gives way and I plummet the remaining distance to the forest floor. I land flat on my back, all the air forced from my lungs on impact.

My eyes focus on the sight above me. Gloomy grey clouds swirl in whirlwind circles, like the way a hurricane might look - dark, menacing, and ominous. As I take in the dreary sky, the clouds appear to be spinning faster and faster, morphing into a giant whirlpool directly over my head. I can almost feel the power emanating from their rotation like a vacuum trying to suck me up into oblivion. Sitting up slowly, I feel the soreness in my bones, as if I had slept on the hard ground all night long. The aching penetrates deep, making even the slightest movements arduous and painful. I check for broken bones, wiggling my fingers and toes, bending my arms and legs, and nothing is seriously damaged. 

My hands are covered in dirt from the forest floor, if a forest is what you call it, I brush the soil from my hands as I scan the dreary trees around me. The floor is not covered in grass or moss, but a dark and crumbling soil that clings to my skin. It is as if the very life has been sucked from this place, leaving only dust in its wake. The trees that surround me are gnarled and twisted, with branches like boney claws grasping desperately at the oppressive gray sky. They are barren - not a single leaf or bud in sight, just rough bark that seems to slough off in scales. There is an unnatural stillness here, and a damp chill that seeps into my bones. The only movement comes from the fog that swirls eerily between the skeletal trees. It dances just out of reach, sinuous tendrils of mist that seem to have a mind of their own as they curl and twist. The fog circles me like a predator, watching closely but never coming close enough to touch. There is something sinister about this place, as if the very air is heavy with malice.

The world around me is eerily quiet - it's as if someone has hit the mute button on life itself. No birds singing, no rustle of leaves in the breeze, just deafening silence. All I can hear is the rhythmic ticking of a clock, though I see no timepiece nearby. The steady ticks seem unnaturally loud in the void of sound, almost oppressive as they count away each passing second. 

I stand from the floor, whipping my head around slowly to find the source of the ticking sound. When she surprises me, she steps out from behind one of the trees. Her long blonde hair cascades straight down to her waist, and I see her soft caramel eyes go wide as she takes in the sight of my dirt-covered self. I jump back in surprise as she stands still where she is, her nose twitching ever so slightly. I relax a little, recognizing the girl from the coffee shop as she steps around the tree, a lace-covered hand still holding to the black bark as if it will save her should I be dangerous.

I feel the panic set in when I see what she is wearing, even more so what rests on her head. Platform shoes that are taller than her feet are wide support her, white stockings disappear under periwinkle leather shorts, which cling tightly to reveal subtly muscular legs. A navy and white corset pulls her narrow waist in dramatically, leaving her body in a perfect hourglass figure. The long tail of her navy trenchcoat brushes the back of her knees as she walks, the black lace at the hem an elegant and beautiful touch. On the top of her head protruding from the platinum locks are two white bunny ears, they stand straight up twitching as she stares at me intently. She reaches down into her pocket and pulls out a silver pocket watch placing it in the palm of her lace gloved hand. Regarding the time, one of her ears flops over as she tsks softly and looks back up at me, stating simply in a melodic voice, "You're very late." I stare in bewilderment, wondering if I'm hallucinating this strange yet alluring sight before me. The girl tilts her head quizzically, bunny ears perked up once again, as she waits for me to respond.

“I…I…late for what?” my voice cracks a little, I have been sucked into this dream again and it’s starting to get old. 

The young woman smiles trotting over to me before taking my upper arm, pulling me along as she skips merrily down the forest path, her sheen white hair bouncing with each step. "Come now. So very little to do and so much time," she sings, her voice light and melodic. I hurry to keep up, worried she'll twist an ankle in those heels as we push on through the uneven ground littered with sticks and stones. She stops abruptly and I nearly crash into her back. Turning to me, her face grows pensive, her brows knitting together in concentration.

 "So little time, so much to do. Yes, yes, that's it!" she exclaims, having sorted out some internal debate. She resumes her brisk pace, heels clicking on the hard dirt before sinking into the soft soil.

 "You should have come through the door. You would have been closer to Hatter that way," she advises as we walk. "But the mirror will do. They are tricky, tricky, tricky. You could have come through completely upside down!" She elaborates on the precarious magic of portal mirrors - how I might have emerged feet where my head should be, eyes planted squarely on my chin. Such a disturbing image, but she seems utterly unfazed by the prospect of such chaos.

 "Upside down?" I ask, unable to grasp how that would even work. 

"Oh yes!" she readily confirms, no trace of doubt in her voice. Stopping short again, she spins to face me, eyes narrowed.

 "Let me see your hands," she demands. I hold them out obediently as she inspects them for the proper number of digits. Satisfied, her expression clouds again. She leans in close, peering at my face intently, and whispers "Do you have hands on your feet?" Mystified, I shake my head no, and she relaxes, beaming.

 "Good!" she declares cheerily before pirouetting away once more down the path.

"I'm sorry,"  Her brisk pace through the winding forest path leaves me struggling to match her graceful steps. She glides effortlessly over fallen branches and mossy stones while I stumble clumsily behind, longing to pause and catch my breath. The further we go, the more I yearn to turn around, retrace my footsteps and return to the place I began. But the mysterious maiden shows no signs of slowing, so I press on, determined not to lose sight of her flickering white dress between the trees up ahead.

"Who exactly are you?" I ask. She giggles white lace glove covering her soft pink glossy lips. My blunt question elicits a melodic laugh as she conceals her mouth with a dainty hand. I fail to grasp what amusement my inquiry brings her. With an elegant twirl, she stops abruptly and faces me, throwing her arms out wide as if presenting herself to an invisible audience.

"I am all that I am and all that I will be. I am Melina, herald to the late white queen," her face falls a little growing somber as she delivers her final line, "and the great red queen." Her prideful introduction gives way to melancholy, ears falling ever so slightly as she seems to choke on the word ‘great’. 

After sharing a somber beginning to our encounter, her demeanor suddenly shifts as a radiant grin spreads across her face, lighting up her cheeks with a rosy flush. Her long, snowy rabbit ears, which had drooped mournfully just moments before, now perk up with delight. With renewed enthusiasm, she begins merrily spinning and skipping down the forest path, practically bounding with each step. Her movements are graceful and spirited, reflecting her improved mood. I hurry to keep up as she continues on ahead, but struggle to match her graceful, nimble movements.

“Okay,” She effortlessly scurries up the side of the path, climbing over a large fallen tree blocking our way with ease. I attempt to follow her over the obstacle, but cannot mimic her graceful agility. “Next question, where am I? How did I get here? Isn’t this just a dream?”

Stumbling clumsily back onto the path, I watch her continue on, now skipping backwards so she can face me as we talk. Her mood is clearly much improved from when we first met, transformed from melancholy to positively gleeful in mere moments. Yet while her sadness has passed, my confusion remains. I hurry after her down the path, determined to make sense of this strange world I've found myself in.

“That is three questions, shall I answer in order or answer the ones that would make more sense?” she giggles continuously. 

“Nothing makes sense!” I argue looking directly at her soft white bunny ears knowing for certain no person could have ears like that all the time. 

"Well, you will never know that something makes sense unless it is said." Her response is not wrong but it doesn't sound right either, I can feel my head splitting already as I touch my temples. Her cryptic words echo in my mind, their meaning just out of reach.

“Where you are is, Otherland. I already told you how you got here-or how you should have come here.”

“The door,” I nod along as she speaks, acting as if I comprehend, but my confusion only grows. Her guidance feels less like truth and more like riddles. I want to believe her, to latch onto any clarity amidst the haze enveloping my mind. Yet as much as I strain to assemble the fragments, the full picture eludes me.  “But, I can never open it.”

“Well, now you couldn’t, not with red queen guarding it with her life.” Her elusive responses just leave me grasping at ghosts, the truth always dancing out of reach. If only she would just tell me plainly, perhaps then I could make sense of this madness.

"I hear what you’re saying, but none of it is making sense." I try again to comprehend the confusing words and concepts she is conveying, but they continue to elude me, slipping through my grasp like smoke. She lets out a soft sigh, her eyes rolling upward in frustration as if searching the empty void above for divine inspiration.

Realizing the futility of her abstract explanations that seem clear to her but remain a jumble to me, she concedes: "I am horrible with explanations, too many thoughts scampering about in my head. Dax is far better, he should be with the hatter now. We should keep moving." 

At the mention of "the hatter," vivid images from my shadowy dreams flood my mind - a tall, lean figure lurking in the darkness, clad in an impeccable black suit and glossy top hat. Could this be the mysterious man she is referring to? As I recall his chilling words uttered to me in the dead of night - "Ember, set me free" - a shiver runs down my spine. I sense this puzzling dream world and obscure reality are somehow connected, but the link remains just out of reach, as obscure to me as my companion's convoluted elucidations. 

We delve deeper into the sinister forest, the canopy now so dense above us that not even a sliver of the gloomy sky peeks through. All around us come unnerving cries and screeches from unseen creatures lurking in the shadows. I flinch with every sound, imagining the unseen horrors to be stalking us, waiting to strike. Never could I have imagined that venturing farther into the impenetrable darkness would reveal such thriving, albeit twisted, life. A screech erupts frightfully close by and I can't help but let out a yelp of fear.

"What was that?!" I exclaim, my voice quivering.

"Bandersnatches," Melina replies matter-of-factly, not missing a beat in her brisk pace. "They roam wild in these woods but won't bother you if you just keep moving." I scurry to stay right on her heels, her flowing jacket now within arm's reach. If any nefarious creature is out to get me, I want to stay as near as possible to my guide through this nightmare realm.

Without warning, another shriek pierces the stillness, causing Melina to halt abruptly in her tracks. Her tall white ears stand erect, nose twitching as she scans the darkened trees around us. I stop short as well, peering anxiously into the shadows, though I know my human eyes are no match for her heightened animal senses. Through the tense silence, the forlorn howl of a hound echoes.

"And that?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I follow the mysterious girl through the dark forest. She pauses and turns back to me, silver hair glinting as if it is radiating it’s own light.

 "Harlan," she says just as quietly, a hint of urgency in her tone. "The hunt has begun." Her words send a chill down my spine as somewhere in the distance, I hear the baying of hounds. "No, no, no, I'm late," she mutters, checking the silver pocket watch she wears around her neck repeatedly, mumbling "no" to herself as she scrambles up the mossy forest walls on either side of the narrow path.

"Wait!" I cry out desperately, stumbling after her, not wanting to lose my strange guide in this ominous wood. But she halts and holds out a slender hand to stop me as the chilling howl of the hound cries out once more, closer now. She looks frightened, almost torn between staying to lead me through the dark trees and fleeing from some unseen pursuer.

 "No. Stay on the path. Move with haste, but stay on the path," she instructs firmly, her luminous eyes boring into mine, willing me to heed her warning before darting off into the blackness of the woods. I'm left alone on the winding trail, my heart pounding as the baying grows louder, wondering who or what hunts these woods at night and what fate awaits if I stray from the path.

I continue the way we were headed, my feet moving with much greater purpose now. The sounds disappear behind me and I feel my heart rate slowing, the dark forest breaks free and I can see the sky once again. The winding forest path stretches on endlessly before me, narrowing as it snakes between the ancient, towering trees. Their gnarled branches reach out overhead, blotting out the moonlight that had briefly illuminated my way. The ground underfoot grows more treacherous, littered with loose rocks, tangled roots and fallen limbs that threaten to twist my ankles with every hurried step. I've been walking for what feels like hours now, though it's impossible to tell in this timeless dreamscape where minutes blend seamlessly into days.

I look down and I no longer can see the clear path in front of me, I panic just slightly turning to see where I may have lost it and think I can retrace my steps to find it again. But behind me the fog has curled over the path like a cat curling around my legs, obscuring any signs of the trail in a thick, milky haze. All I can see now are mangled branches and other forest debris emerging from the mist. Oh fuck, I'm lost.

 I turn on my heel, ready to run back and find the path again, afraid I may no longer know my directions in this featureless sea of black. What if I am lost among this forest forever, doomed to wander endlessly through the featureless void? I'm stopped only by a soft whisper, turning I can see the fog whispering in curls as if the wind is blowing through it. The whisper is a soft low sound, rhythmic, like snoring...no, purring. 

"I wouldn't if I were you," the disembodied voice purrs, its notes echoing off the trees and curling around me like the fog itself. The voice seems to emanate from the fog itself, surrounding me with its hypnotic susurrus.

"Going back would be cat-astrophic."

[hypothermic-dream]

I

The infinite night yawned before him, an abyss that mocked the very concept of time. He yearned for sleep with a fervor bordering on the maniacal, like a wretch starving for a drop of poison to still his restless mind. But sleep remained an aloof specter, indifferent to his suffering. The drugs that once provided a semblance of peace had long since betrayed him, leaving a bitter nostalgia in their wake, a cruel reminder of when he could feign sanctuary. Now, they ensnared his mind in a suffocating fog, reducing him to a stumbling wraith, his thoughts sluggish and fragmented. Anorexia gnawed at his insides like a relentless parasite, transforming the act of eating into a grotesque ritual he abhorred. His stomach, a void echoing with emptiness, mocked his every attempt at nourishment. He had consumed every sleeping pill, every soporific, every tranquillizer, saturating his bloodstream with a toxic cocktail battling for dominance. Daylight brought no relief; tremors wracked his limbs, turning his hands into instruments of betrayal. His mouth was a parched wasteland, while cold sweat drenched his skin, a deformed reminder of his body's rebellion. His descent into madness blurred the boundaries between the drugs' insidious machinations and the relentless onslaught of insomnia, leaving him adrift in a surreal limbo where reality and nightmare coalesced. His psyche, frayed and tattered, wandered through this spectral existence, ensnared in an ever-deepening abyss of desolation and turmoil. He could no longer discern whether his torment arose from chemical infiltrations or sleepless nights. In this shadowed purgatory, he lingered in perpetual liminality, neither fully awake nor mercifully asleep, a prisoner of his own failing mind, condemned to existential anguish. In the suffocating darkness of his room, he wrestled with the distinction between the void and the oblivion of sleep. Both were vast expanses devoid of meaning, realms where the essence of existence seemed to evaporate. Even in the absence of sleep, his mind wandered through a tumult of thoughts, weaving a tapestry of haunting visions like a fevered nightmare. With eyes wide open, he questioned the divide between waking purgatory and elusive dreams. Was there any true difference between the torment of consciousness and the fleeting solace of unconsciousness?

II

In the desolate embrace of a corroded chamber, where shadows clung like relentless specters, an oppressive dread festered. Within this rusted womb, an unnamed horror lurked—an elusive malevolence that defied comprehension. Its mere presence tainted the very air he breathed. Insomnia ravaged his psyche, devouring the fragile remnants of his sanity. His thoughts stuttered and faltered, choked by the corrosive rust encroaching upon his mind, dragging him inexorably into an abyss of despair. The weight of existence bore down upon him, crushing his spirit under its unbearable burden. The ceiling groaned under the weight of his sorrow, struggling to endure the oppressive force. Each tick of the clock reverberated like a relentless toll, marking the passage of time as a torturous dirge. His body throbbed with weariness, every sinew and bone pulsating with despair. His heart beat within his chest like a frantic drum, echoing his turmoil. The air grew dense and stagnant, suffocating him with its oppressive weight. He felt himself slipping away, his grasp on sanity weakening. The encroaching darkness threatened to engulf him completely. Lost in this abyss of despair, he drifted like a forsaken soul, adrift in a sea of hopelessness, with no prospect of deliverance.

This nightly battle had once been kept at bay by medication, but now he faced his tormentor unshielded. His thoughts, shattered and erratic, spiraled back to his shortcomings and flaws, amplifying his self-loathing until it reverberated through his being. The cruel symphony of his inner demons played on, each discordant note a piercing reminder of his worthlessness. Defeat crept into his consciousness long before the struggle commenced, a silent acceptance of the consuming darkness that enveloped his existence. Even the most wretched souls found solace in sleep, but his existence remained shackled to ceaseless vigilance. What was this agony that held him captive? He envisioned hell as an intensified reflection of his current state, yet how could he fathom such a place when his own suffering eluded comprehension? He had long abandoned the quest for self-repair, surrendered the battle against this insidious demon, and relinquished hope of deciphering its nature. Now he lay there, eyes wide and unblinking, awaiting whatever doom might befall him. Perhaps the bugs would feast upon his flesh, or the ceiling would descend to obliterate him. He conjured grotesque scenarios, each more macabre than the last, and resolved to remain motionless, indifferent to the horror awaiting him. He imagined his skin peeling away, revealing a writhing mass of maggots beneath; faceless wraiths materializing from the shadows to tear him apart; his bones splintering and twisting into unnatural shapes, piercing his flesh from within. These hellish visions, like nightmares painted by Francisco Goya, seemed a merciful release compared to the relentless torment of his waking hours. Tonight, one of these grotesque fates would emerge victorious. He would lie still, a passive witness to his own demise, until sleep, the final tormentor, mercifully claimed him.

[thequeenofthewinter]

Winter’s Fic Recs, pt. 2

Come along with me to Oblivion…

The Illusionist pt. 1

The Illusionist pt. 2

By: @dirty-bosmer

Looking for more: Winter Recs pt. 1 Winter Recs pt. 3

Do you like magic, mischief, and Martin? How about murder? Winter’s next fic recommendation has all that and more. Jump in bestie, we’re going on a descent into madness…

Nimileth is the unlikely heroine of our story…or at least that’s what Martin would call her. If you’re looking for a story which has it all, look no further. Dirty-bosmer’s fic has range which brings flavor and depth to her stunning rendition of an Oblivion fic. There is truly a little bit of everything to satisfy every palette—and it’s all brought together through a cohesive narrative and delightful writing style. I spent half the time I was reading this fic at the edge of my seat with a bucket of popcorn. It’s dark, indulgent, smart, and even at times funny! I can’t tell you how much fun I have been having reading this fic and just waiting…and watching…kind of like another certain someone I know…

The characters pop to life, and I feel each and every one of their personalities, hopes, dreams, and struggles. Let’s just say our author has a way of hooking you from the start and making you invested! You can easily cheer along for the protagonist as much as you can wish her further into the jaws of her fate. (Which she denies is inevitable, but, you know.)

Never played Oblivion? No problem! (Neither have I! …okay well I played a little of it, but I got maybe only 20 hours in.) This fic is easy to read blind and truly delightful.

You won’t be sorry for picking it up, unlike Nimmy and perhaps a certain assassin…