#independence is crawling ever near

[balladblood-aesthetics]

Tri Thiws ar Ddeg Ynys Prydain | Thirteen Treasures of the Island of Britain Series: 1/13  - Dyrnwyn, the Sword of Rhydderch Hael

The Dyrnwyn ("White-Hilt") is said to be a powerful sword belonging to Rhydderch Hael,[3] one of the Three Generous Men of Britain mentioned in the Welsh Triads. When drawn by a worthy or well-born man, the entire blade would blaze with fire. Rhydderch was never reluctant to hand the weapon to anyone, hence his nickname Hael meaning "the Generous", but the recipients, as soon as they had learned of its peculiar properties, always rejected the sword.

[ofbloodandfaith]

Historically, a sword identified as Excalibur (Caliburn) was supposedly discovered during the purported exhumation of Arthur's grave at Glastonbury Abbey in 1191.[26] On 6 March 1191, after the Treaty of Messina, either this or another claimed Excalibur was given as a gift of goodwill by the English king Richard I of England (Richard the Lionheart) to his ally Tancred, King of Sicily.[27] It was one of a series of Medieval English symbolic Arthurian acts, such as associating the crown won from the slain Welsh prince Llywelyn ap Gruffudd with the crown of King Arthur

Excalibur - Wikipedia

such as associating the crown won from the slain Welsh prince Llywelyn ap Gruffudd with the crown of King Arthur

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ok vampire hunter!König is hot but how about vampire!Engel with vampire!König who seduced and turned her?

König is the meanest vampire there is.

He never lets his angel become an independent, strong creature of the night; instead, he keeps her in his tower and “teaches” her, telling her she must never venture out because the world is a dangerous place and mortals are more cunning than she can even imagine, and Engel, poor fresh young fledgling that she is, just looks up at him wide-eyed and lips drawn into a thin line and believes everything he says.

And so there’s really no one to tell her that König is shunned by all the other vampires: he has a reputation, he’s more feral than any of them and always keeps to himself, never comes to the balls or burdens himself with the need to charm anyone or even dress properly, he’s like a relic from the past when vampires had to scour their meal from wherever they could get it, filthy docks or poor cottages in the hills, bothering lowly peasants whose blood tastes like dung. König lives in a time of war even though there’s peace now, and plenty of good blood to feast on, he has even killed some of his own – Engel really doesn’t know the full depth of the trouble she’s in... She couldn’t have bumped into a more unfit, berserk, depraved sire.

He always picks her meal for her: always fragile, meek women, dragged to the tower screaming and pale and filled with fear and horror: and he doesn’t even let her feed alone because he likes to watch. No one tells her that this isn’t supposed to happen: that a lamia’s meal is a sacred ritual, it's between her and the sacrificial lamb, and it's also a moment when a vampire is at her most vulnerable... But no: König watches her like a mortal would watch pornography or an obscene play, and Engel thinks it’s perfectly normal, she just wants to please her master, as difficult and hard as it is to do so at times.

And sometimes she feels this odd yearning – she was such a cute, well-behaved mortal, she had her whole life ahead of her, she never did anything wrong, and she never asked to be turned... (yes Engel keep telling yourself that) She just wanted to talk to this mysterious highwayman who walked her home when she got lost in the woods, who gave her the most intense hand-kiss she had ever received and after that, left her a blood-red rose on her windowsill every night... And now she finds herself here, in this ungodly tower with a monster – a monster she hopelessly loves and adores.

Sometimes the need to feed grows too strong and she floats down the stairs, helpless and weak, only to be met with König’s imperious form as he opens the heavy oak door and immediately catches on to what’s going on. His heavenly angel was about to disobey him; clearly, she doesn’t yet understand the danger she’s in (in truth König is getting pale even at the thought of her finding some other mentor, were Engel to leave him he would crawl into his coffin and never come out again).

So into the coffin she goes, without breakfast, and has to stay there alone until he's sharpened his knives. Only when dawn is already about to break, only after the sturdy old pine box echoes with her pitiful little whimpers, König finally joins her, gathers Engel in his arms, asks her if she has learned her lesson now, hmm? She must understand that this is for her own good: he’s just ensuring that nothing bad happens to her. After all, she's his responsibility; it was fated that they met. She’s exactly where she belongs; she has nothing to fear.

Then he feeds her himself: another taboo and a perverse act of him, and even sicker than anyone could ever imagine because König pushes them both to their limits, getting lewd pleasure out of Engel drinking from him until he's near the point of going into rigor mortis, groaning that she needs to stop (secretly wishing she wouldn’t… Not just yet…)

And König never tells her that their kind is supposed to sleep in their own coffins for a variety of reasons. He allows her to sleep in his, never even gets her her own, getting sick satisfaction from the way she curls up and clings to him like a pathetic, helpless human.

The only things he gets her are stunning, gorgeously large white dresses: pompous and flowy and frilly and so heavy she can’t possibly even dream of escaping while wearing those. The only time there’s a slightly more benevolent look in those piercing cold blue eyes is when Engel laughs and spins around in them, fresh blood on her lips, eyes outshining all the night stars...

She’s truly the most innocent, beautiful creature he has ever seen. He almost feels… what was it that mortals called it?

Ah, yes. Love.

[kindlingkeen]

Loyalty

A deleted scene from The People We Choose, part 1 my Choices ‘verse, a Jason-centric Lost Days AU. Warnings for references to temporary character death and canon typical violence.

Takes place circa chapter 1. I took this scene out fairly early on while drafting, so the characterization and continuity are a bit off. In other words, don’t take it as canon for TPWC. I may clean it up at some point and post it on ao3, but for now it’s going to live here.

“You’re just a pathetic gutter rat. Loyal to nothing and no one.”

One of the League’s pet assassins spits the words in Jason’s face, and they manage to hit with more than just saliva. Jason is holding the woman at knifepoint, so clearly the assassin is a biased source. But, still. 

Loyal to nothing and no one.

Is he? Is there no one he’s loyal to, nothing he believes in, Jason wonders. But, really, why should he be loyal to anyone in the first place when no one has ever been loyal to him.

It was the story of Jason’s miserable life (ugh, lives) - he’s never mattered enough. Not when it counted, not when it meant something. Willis chose an easy life of crime. Catherine chose the oblivion of drugs. Sheila chose her greed. 

And Bruce, Bruce chose the fucking mission. And he would keep choosing it.

And then there was Alfred. Jason had mattered to Alfred. Jason was sure of it. Alfred had loved him independently of the suit he wore, the criminals he did or did not hit, the person he was or the person he was trying to be.

For that, Jason thinks that he will probably always love Alfred. 

But, for Alfred, Bruce always came first.

Bruce chose to take Robin away. Bruce chose not to avenge Jason. Bruce chose to keep putting kids in the suit that Jason died in. 

And Alfred chose to stand by Bruce and allow it.

So, Jason thinks that he will probably always love Alfred. In a way. But it’s not enough.

Loyal to nothing and no one.

Jason remembers suddenly, something Talia said to him early on in his training at Tadrib Almawt as he lay nearly unconscious, bleeding heavily from a poisoned knife wound.

You made your own magic, Jason.

Jason used to think that being Robin gave him magic. What he could never really put a voice to, could barely admit to himself, was that it was that Bruce wanted him, that he thought Jason was special—that was where the magic came from.

When Robin was beaten and broken in a warehouse and Jason lay alone watching a timer count its way down to zero - he knew, he knew Bruce was coming. He wrapped that knowledge around himself like a fire blanket for his soul and held onto it with all his heart when the moment came - when he knew that no one was going to make it in time.

When Jason woke up in his coffin, he woke up crying out for Batman. When he dug his way out of his grave, he crawled out screaming for Bruce. Alone in a hospital, lost and confused, as his mind splintered apart, he pleaded for his dad. 

But when Jason woke up again, this time for good, drowning in green and pain and rage, he found himself in a world where his murderer was still bathing the city he called home with blood, while a black-haired, blue-eyed boy in Jason’s colors chased after him, a dark shadow following close behind. 

After that, when Jason woke up screaming from nightmares of dying, of choking to death as the world burned around him, he woke up with wordless shouts caught in his throat and cold, hard truth beating in his ears.

He never really had magic at all.

Delirious from blood loss and rambling with fever dreams, he’d blurted out the whole pathetic mess to Talia. He remembers with perfect clarity how she stood silently near the head of his cot watching one of Tadrib Almawt’s medics stitch him up, her face as hard as granite.

At first she’d said nothing at all, lips tight and grim, until the medic finished the bandages and bustled out of the room.

Then she sat abruptly on the side of his cot and looked him in the eye, her firm hand on his chin anchoring his head in place. 

“Jason, it’s unclear to me how exactly this could have escaped your notice,” she said, her tone drier than the desert around them, “but you were dead, and now you are not. You are magic.” 

Her hand reached down and wrapped briefly around his. When she spoke again, the Arabic words came out soft and liquid, like a dream. 

"لقد صنعت سحرك الخاص يا جيسون."

Talia was out the door and gone before he’d even realized she’d moved. Her words echoed around Jason as he shifted restlessly, trying to find sleep. 

You made your own magic, Jason.

Jason focuses again on the assassin dangling limply in his grip, the memory fading away.

I’m loyal to what matters, Jason thinks, his hand reaching out to wrap around the assassin’s sword. 

“I’m loyal to myself,” Jason whispers in the assassin’s ear, as he runs the sword through their gut.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Bruce trying to parent scruffy!verse reader

Bruce watched the half-feral teenage girl stalk out onto the stage in a bar she wasn't old enough to be in and step up to the mic.

From a distance, she looked enough like her mother that no one asked any questions. Not really.

And from the moment she opened her mouth and the godawful lyrics came out- he was transfixed. Not because the music was good- it wasn't. This wasn't something you'd gotten your hands on to make decent. But he could not look away. You had presence. You took up all the empty space in the room. Singing like your life depended on it.

But when the thought hit him that it did. That this was your rent money on the line. That this was a couple more days of hot meals and heat- it made him feel sick. Because this wasn't you. Not really.

The music. The lyrics. The way you stalked the stage and growled and wailed... It was all bravado and bluff.

He waited. Staying near the back and out of sight. He could see the eyes that followed your every move and it made his skin crawl. Still, he waited until the show was over and you were folding a handful of bills and tucking them into your pocket before he slid out, coming to meet you in the alley behind the bar.

Bruce watched you lean against the wall, shivering in the chill as you watched your breath spiral up to the street light. Watched you look up at the sliver of sky you could see. Like you'd find an answer written there. In the dull yellow glow, you look sick. Even more fragile than usual. Dark bruise like shadows under your eyes look bigger and even more doll like.

"Not her best work," he said, coughing slightly to announce that he was there.

"It's better than when she fronted for Pussy Factory" you snort.

"Y/N-"

"I'm fine," you sigh, "I'm just tired-"

"You look-"

"I always look sick, Bruce."

"How long has she been gone this time?" he asked, frowning.

"A week?"

It comes out as a question. Like even you aren't sure what day it is. One day running into the next. The endless grind of school all day and working at night rendering time meaningless.

"Did you eat anything-"

"I had a snickers? And a sandwhich-"

Bruce cringed, "Get in the car, Y/N."

"I don't want-"

"Either you get in the car and let me take you home or I call the cops and report that you're alone."

"Bruce-"

"Your choice," he said folding his arms. You could brush Jason off, he'd back down when you bared your teeth. But Bruce had bigger teeth and a lot more practice. "The manor or emergency shelter."

And when you scowl at him, slinking forward, Bruce doesn't say a word. He simply opens the passenger door and waits. Gently taking your guitar case and sliding it into the back seat and shutting your door behind you.

"You're an asshole sometimes," you tell him, buckling your seat belt.

That made him smile, just a little. But he knew better than to let you see it. You pride could only take so much bruising in one day. Still, he turned up the heat in the car and handed you a travel mug with hot tea in it. The rasp in your voice wasn't all from the show. You either were very sick or about to be. And Jason was worried.

"Alfred made soup," he said simply, making a mental note to call Dr. Tompkins to come to check you out in the morning.

"He didn't have to-"

"You know you can ask for help, right?"

"And what happens when there's no one to ask?" It's asked almost like you're asking if it might rain. Without a hint of teenage irritation or a trace of bitterness. And he watched you out of the corner of his eye. Not for the first time, wondering how many times a kid your age had had to ask for help and not get it to be this fiercely independent. How many times you'd been left alone and scared to be so certain you couldn't rely on anyone.

"It's not the same-"

"Except it is," you murmur. "No one ever sticks around long. It's just easier to do it myself."

Bruce nodded, "Well. I won't tell if you don't. Can't hurt your street cred if no one knows."

"Deal."

[talesfrommedinastation]

Here’s to all of us whose hearts were shattered by that line from ‘Plan 99’.

But here’s how some psychologists recommend dealing with tragic events: putting your own creative spin on them.

I’ve found, for me, is taking words and quotes that hurt or upset me, and rewriting them in my own way. Especially if the meaning can be changed.*

In this case, “When have we ever followed orders?” isn’t uttered by Tech, resigned but heroic.

It’s said by Sjael Drummer near the end of Far Past the Ring. It’s now defiant, independent, and hawking a loogie right in the face of adversity.

It’s a tragic line from Star Wars that’s now a shout of fortitude from The Expanse.

Writing it out made it seem like something Klaes Ashford would say, or Camina Drummer, right before knocking someone out an airlock. 100% ungovernable Beltalowda.

Now? I smile every time I see it. Tenye wah chesh gut!

Hell, Camina Drummer says a version of it in the new Telltale game: "The Inners may control everything, but they cannot control the Belt."

Take something that makes you sad, and make it yours.

And yes, Sjael, like most Belters in the fic, has her new helmet designed to look like Tech’s. He’s become an accidental fashion icon!

Belters have also started painting their helmets like the clones. In Sjael’s case, she has Ojibwe style greenery that hints at her work with organic sweeteners—she has strawberries, blueberries, and vanilla orchids on the vines!

————————

Tagging my Far Past the Ring readers here: @skellymom @eyecandyeoz @sued134 @cdblake1565 @moosethren @ilikemymendarkandfictional @techs-stitches @supremechancellorrex @amalthiaph

* = Example, my trashy ex Nick said “We won’t be together, the end”, via text when he dumped me.

When he crawled back to me a year later begging for a second chance, sending him a message WITH THAT IN IT was amazing!

[plnkdemon]

LOVE NEVER WANTED ME, BUT I TOOK IT ANYWAY I

older brothers x gn!mc in a toxic relationship tw/cw: toxic relationships, gaslighting (Lucifer), controlling behavior (Lucifer), objectification (Mammon), murder (Leviathan), possessiveness (Leviathan). please let me know if anything is missing.

LUCIFER

The worst part about dating the embodiment of pride isn't his arrogance or stubbornness or even the total absence of apologies and acknowledgement of his mistakes.

It's actually how the people closest to him gradually have their pride chipped away, even if he isn't consciously trying to (although he often is trying).

He knows better, and in the morning, if you stop to look at the grey pants instead of the black ones that he laid out for you to wear, he takes it as a personal slight against him. Forget about trying to explain that you were only looking and it truly had nothing to do with him because that will only upset him further. Of course it has to do with him, because he's Lucifer.

At some point, he pigeonholed your freewill by weaseling and gaslighting his way into becoming your primary decision maker.

If you even make a move to order food for yourself or answer a question (no matter if it's directed towards you), then you must not trust him. You're doubting his knowledge and capability as a perfect partner. Even worse, he knows ("knows") that his own response would be better than yours could ever be.

It's bad enough that he can't do all of your schoolwork and feed you himself and think for you. It crawls under his skin to know that you are doing anything less than his best.

Worst of all, when he's stripped you of your pride, identity, and independence, he's disgusted with the product. After all, he fell in love with the curious and admirably imperfect human that you used to be and now you're just a hollowed out shell of what he once committed himself to – not only in a relationship but with a pact. His pact holder could never be so pathetic and reliant.

If you want to feel sympathetic for him, know that this is why Lucifer is always alone. Diavolo will never get close enough to be his true friend and his brothers will never see him as more than a distant but constant threat in the skin of their oldest sibling. His pride is the only thing keeping him standing but he will always and forever stand alone because no one can bear to be near him for too long.

MAMMON

He starts out so thoughtful and appreciative. "Such a doting partner," everyone complimented.

The thing about being Mammon's is that eventually he'll come to the conclusion that you're his. Meaning that he no long has to fight his brothers and the other exchange students for your time and affection. When he comes home, you're already there waiting for him with open arms and a soft smile.

Obviously, Mammon isn't done finding treasure to hoard and he never will be, so he'll start becoming absent due to his sticky fingers that itch to grow the pile of gold and jewels that he's mentally added you to. The real consequence of this being that his lovely grimm doesn't just up and walk away so why would you?

After a while, you start to feel like just another ornament hanging on his wall or another coin jingling in his pocket that he loves to pull out to admire and show off but eventually puts it back in its rightful place in his pocket.

With him being absent so often, you're bound to find new ways to spend your time. Maybe studying with Satan, learning a new responsibility for the Student Council from Lucifer, going to a spa with Asmo, playing a new game with Levi, taking a nap on Beel's back with Belphie to provide more resistance.

No matter how you spend your time, if you aren't waiting where he left you when he gets back, he'll be deeply troubled. He's stolen enough priceless treasures and artifacts to know how protective you need to be to make sure your own are safe. His mind immediately equates you to his literal prizes, and while it's cute at first when he calls you his "gold" and "treasure," it becomes a lot more disheartening when he starts treating you exactly like that.

The sad aspect is that he truly has a struggle differentiating between love and his greed. His emotional intelligence is incredible... until it comes to himself.

LEVIATHAN

The avatar of envy himself is not accommodating in any sense of the word. As silly as his jealousy comes off while you're still friends, when he finally gets to officially date you, it becomes nothing less than all-consuming.

Even standing to grab a glass of water from the kitchen makes him envious. Is his Ruri-chan brand water with quotes from the original version of the anime on the inside of the cap not good enough?

It's even worse when you don't adamantly and immediately shut down anyone who requests your attention. If your time is spent with anyone else, even if it isn't your choice, it means spending at least 12 hours exclusively in his company comforting his nearly nonexistent ego. It's difficult to hold a grudge against him when he seems so lost without you too.

Before you, all he had were his fictional worlds that gave every inch of his mind to in order to avoid the voice in the back of his head that shouted insults and insisted he was nothing more than a waste of space. But the voice that you really need to worry about is the one that none of his brothers would dare to mention.

In the empty void of his chest – the same place where a human soul resides – is a presence that tempts Levi, telling him that everyone else are the unworthy ones. Everything that they have should be his. Your mind should be only his and anyone else who dares to even consider that they're deserving must be taught a lesson.

Even though you're never told of this second voice, you find out what envy really means eventually and it is a horrifying realization. It's when you find yourself perusing an old dusty tome that was hidden away in the House of Lamentation's library that you discover a detailed account of the beginning of Levi's career as the Grand Admiral of Hell's Navy.

It was brutally detailed. Your mouth runs dry at the descriptions of not only what he did, but what he ordered his soldiers to do. The conquering of new lands, smaller kingdoms, and... people. Then, there's photos... You can't stop flipping through the pages and with each flip, there's more and worse and –

Your DDD is vibrating in your pocket, jerking you from the compulsion to reveal more, because you were only halfway through this ridiculously sized book. Shakily, you check the notification, only to find the demon you were just reading about asking where you were and who you were with.

notes: first time posting my own work so please let me know how terrible it is, i'm prepared (lh). anyway it's been stuck in my head for a while how easily dating these characters could turn out to be an ex boyfriend horror story. i'm almost finished with the younger brothers and i think i'd like to do the side characters (plus maybe the new undateables) too. thanks for reading!

[dreamkidddream]

Random Headcanons with Hector (Homegrown Pet)

I’ve been in a writing funk so these are for no reason but for self-indulgent purposes- reader is gender neutral!

Hector will always try to help you in the kitchen, even if you aren’t making sweets- he may not know what he’s doing all of the time, but he wants to stay by your side (and maybe sneak something with his tongue when you aren’t looking)

He’s always expecting your touch- hugs, handholding, cuddling- doesn’t matter. For reasons unknown to him, he has a specific weakness for head pats/rubs, and will pout if he doesn’t get his daily touches from you

He hates when you have to leave without him, and finds that he can’t sit still until you’re back. He’s understanding of you being independent and having your space, but it still makes him uneasy. He won’t realize how much he’s trying to distract himself until he finished all of the house chores and you’ve only been gone for a short time. As soon as he smells you’re near, he’s lighting up and opening the door for you, taking whatever out of your hands into his (but you always make sure to bring home his favorite from the bakery to make up for it)

After forming into his more humanoid shape, Hector found himself reading and watching a lot of TV. Part of the reason was to see how humans act, another was to understand that fluttery feeling inside of him every time he thought of you. He’ll try to impress you with certain acts, so be prepared when he tries to sweep you off your feet- figuratively and literally

Sometimes, Hector will get insecure with his looks. He knows that no matter how much he tries, he’ll never look fully human. Whenever he’s out in his bandages, he never pays the passing looks any mind (sometimes he even growls when they stare too long), but it’s only when he’s at home that it starts to get to him. He wonders if you ever wish that he looks different, or if you’re disgusted by him. It’s hard to hide how dejected he feels, but then he gazes into your eyes and sees how you look at him with a small smile, and those negative feelings start to melt away

He finds it hard to fall asleep without you. You gave him his own space, but despite being an all-powerful Eldritch (?) being, he continues to crawl to your side like he was the small form he started out as. He appreciates that you still leave room for him in your bed, and he always wraps his arm around you before he drifts off into a peaceful slumber

[pinkflipphonez]

crawls in on my hands and knees indchu is so everything to me. it’s so tragic romance, it has so many themes that touch on colonialism, agency, fate, power etc etc. They’re friends to enemies to friends to enemies and back again and one of the things that drives me really insane was how England used India to grow opium to poison China and deployed Indian soldiers to fight for the British against the Chinese in the Opium wars, but simultaneously, that long history of anti colonialism and pan asian collaboration between Indian and Chinese scholars during the 20th century before independence finally, finally came and the promise of a new world order and the Non aligned movement they could enjoy *together*, before 1962 happened and that hope of what they had before, before the europeans and the modern era, crumbled to dust. i’m so normal about then

homie, you managed to fill my heart with joy, sadness, dread, joy again, and agony and I thank you for it. their history is so unmatched by anything I've ever heard of.

oh to picture their closeness before colonialism, when it was just them two.

OH, to think of how they have lived so near one another longer than any other personification could, and to have it all change in such a short amount of time, that beautiful romance now just a husk of what it once was... and everyone walks by them not having a clue... it's only a pain and sadness only they understand, only they experience... I think I need a break

[latinapoetbts]

CHAPTER 2: The First Ones - The Pact: The Healer - KTH / Reader Insert (Latina) * AU- Fantasy: Werewolves, Smut, Violence, Blood,

Summary: Y/N is a 24-year-old woman living alone in the countryside while her brothers fight in a war between two kingdoms and her father is away serving as the lead doctor to the royal family with a sick prince. She is independent and intelligent. She comes across a strange and suspiciously the most attractive man she has ever seen in her life in need of help, wounded and possibly dying. Against her judgment, she takes him in to tend to his wounds. Unaware of the supernatural world she is about to be thrown into and as a key player in saving an entire species from extinction. Tae Hyung needs her more than ever. Labels:

Smut, romance, angst, blood and violence, guns, werewolves, AU- Supernatural World, slow burn, some non-con touching.

Chapter 2: I was frozen, unsure of what to do and what would happen next; I just knew I needed to keep my breath slow and steady. I watched as his eyes swirled and illuminated with golden flecks. I’d never seen such a thing; it was bewitching. Was he a witch, a demon, an angel, or what? He lifted off of me, crouching to my left, still close enough to grab or pounce on me, his eyes never leaving mine. I sat up slowly, careful not to make sudden movements and certain to keep my eyes glued on his. His mouth had softened, but his teeth were still clenched. I put myself in a crouched, squatted position that matched his hope that, by coying, he would see me less as a threat. His watchful eyes were still on me, but this time, they were roaming over me, maybe trying to size me up. I imagined he was attempting to make sense of this situation just as much as I was. A smile spread across my lips; maybe if I show myself to be friendly, he will be less likely to try and kill me, I thought to myself. His eyes darted to my mouth, and then his lips parted, teeth bared what looked like a big toothy grin as if he was examining his teeth in looking glass. A loud belly laugh ripped through me, causing my head to fall back and my shoulders to shake in pure joy. He was attempting to copy my smile. I stopped my laughter and snapped my eyes to his as soon as I heard his growls and snarls. Uh oh, I don’t think he liked my laughter.  I smiled once again, getting down on all fours; he mirrored my motions until I saw him wince. He was bleeding again, I knew he was in pain. It was time to apply my herbal pain ointment of willow bark and replace the bandage. But would he let me, I wondered to myself? 

I pointed at his shoulder as I crawled slowly toward him grabbing the clean cloth in the pocket of my apron. I slowly sat on my knees, took the cloth and gently touched it to his forearm where the blood had dripped down to wipe it upward stopping at his soiled bandage. I bit my lip nervously as I reached for the bandage, my hands trembling slightly. I could feel him watching me as I gently tugged at the bandage.

“I–I–I’m just, I–I want to help you…I—m going to change your bandage and….put ointment that will help with the pain…” I tried to keep my voice steady and calm but it was difficult with my heart beating in my chest. He just sat in silence letting me touch him, wincing now and then as I unwrapped the bandage. What had changed in him? He had become so docile and calm. What was different? He sat on his knees matching me as I pulled the pain ointment out and carefully dabbed ointment on the wound pursing my lips, drawing near to his shoulder, and blowing on the wound softly. He just sat there continuing to watch my every move in silence. I rose to my knees, he mirrored my movement rising to his knees as I tried to wrap a fresh bandage around his shoulder.  Realizing he was much taller than me, I slowly stood attempting to make myself taller so that I could wrap the bandage but he mirrored my actions again standing up only to fall over against me. I held his weight and he grunted his shoulder bumping against mine in the fall. 

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry..let me help you, please. Stay on your knees, please,” I spoke softly as I gently pushed him back to his knees. He seemed to understand and stayed there motionlessly still observing my every move. I continued to speak to him softly, narrating what I was doing before and during my motions. I felt his eyes still observing me closely. I kept my eyes on the task at hand, nervous to make eye contact noting how close I was to his very naked body.

“All done”, I smiled at him before shuffling backward slowly on my knees. Once again he mirrored my smile, it was awkward and enduring as if each attempt at smiling was foreign to him. Wonder and curiosity, what happened to him swirled in my mind. I stood up and he moved with me but wobbled a little. He must still feel weak from his wound, I thought as I reached my hand to him.

“Let me help you”, as I grabbed both his hands, slowly guiding him to the nearby daybed that was also serving as a living room couch. I could not help but wonder what happened to this man. He was injured and did not seem to speak at all, surely someone out there was looking for him but was that someone kind or cruel? The more I thought about what led him to this exact moment the more I started to believe maybe whoever might be looking for him should never be allowed to find him. Perhaps those from his past are cruel.  I sat him on the daybed and reached for the blanket, laying it on his waist as a cover as I explained to him that it was important to keep ourselves covered while gesturing at my dress. He took the hem of my dress in his hand rubbing it with his fingers then bringing his nose to smell the material. He did the same to the bedsheet on his lap. He lifted the cover looking down at himself, carefully examining, touching himself, shuddering slightly. Oh, I suck a breath through my teeth catching a glimpse of his now very thick, very long, and very hard boner. His eyes glanced up to me looking inquisitively then back down at his boner now fully uncovered.  I bite my lip attempting not to giggle as I observed him trying to push his boner back down only for it to spring back up, his face in a bewildered expression. I grabbed the cover from the floor and covered him again, “This needs to be covered, it’s our private parts. Are you hungry? Let me get us something to eat”.

I turned away, standing, trying to put distance between us, my cheeks heating, my face feeling flushed. What the hell is going on here? His behavior is very odd. My mind tried to make sense of his mannerisms and behavior. Had he hit his head at some point so hard that he doesn’t recognize his body and he doesn’t remember how to talk? I had so many questions without answers. As I turned to walk away, I noticed he tried to stand; I gently pushed him down, “Stay. Wait. I’ll bring you food”. I motioned with my mouth, eating. I quickly plated up two bowls of stew from the stove and dragged the bench from the dinner table to us so we could eat comfortably over it. Eating together was another eventful challenge as was every other action leading up to bed. Using a spoon, eating out of a bowl, walking around, sleeping on a bed, and using the piss pot seemed to all be new to him. 

As the night ended I documented in my journal everything that had happened in detail taking careful notes of my observations of this mystery man. He did not know how to use a spoon, eat from a bowl or use a piss pot, hell even walking although he did stabilize rather quickly. I felt like I was watching a grown-ass man as a baby. Where had he been? Was he raised in the woods? Or was he injured so severely he needed to learn how to be human again? Or worse was he abused so badly and mistreated this is what he had become. How could anyone be so cruel? These were the only conclusions I could draw at this time. 

I noted how his behavior transformed from aggression and fear to calm and pliant. Allowing me to touch him, bandage him, and help him eat. What changed for him? It was like night and day. I prepared a spot on my living room floor near him in case he broke into a fever or needed anything. I was wary of his gunshot wound; there was a high risk of infection and I needed to stitch the wound. I spent the next hour watching him as he slept, attempting to sketch every curve of his body. I was time and time again left breathless by how fuck beautiful he is. I swallowed, watching his chest rise and fall, my eyes lingering on his lips. Remembering the way his lips and nose pressed against my throat, the hot, wet feeling of his tongue licking at my neck. I felt my body shudder at the memory. My cheeks were hot and flushed. I was not a virgin but no man had ever scented or licked me the way that he did. At the time, I felt pure fear but now I feel something very different. I reached for my water and decided it was time to turn in for the night. I washed my wash, teeth, feet, and hands after changing into my sleeping gown and turned off the candle light slipping into bed, and slipping a knife underneath my pillow, just in case. I didn’t think I would need it but I couldn't let my guard down just yet.

Chapter 1 | Hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for reading! All the likes are motivating to work on chapter 3 next week! Would love to hear feedback! And, of course, reblogs are such an honor! Thanks!

[necros-writing-stuff]

Can

Can u write more porn with daddy darius-

👉👈

Well i mean uncle but ykno

How bout I let you guys know some of his kinks and preferences? I've sprinkled a few SFW lore pieces in here, too.

Warning for... well Darius' various issues. Internalised homophobia, which can lead forced misgendering when it comes to trans men and enbys. And misogyny.

He adores being ridden. He works long hours, and is often drunk after a few hours home, so he's tired and uncoordinated by the time you crawl into his lap or into bed. He likes when you take care of him like this. Likes seeing your face as you do it. Wants to see your reactions to his demands.

He's not that into tying you up or restricting you in ways that aren't with his own body. Darius likes a well trained spouse that just does as he says. He shouldn't have to tie you up. He says stay, you stay.

Nor is he all into painplay. Some things he loves, such as spanking, slapping and pulling your hair. But he doesn't want to cut you, or pour wax on you.

Mostly, he isn't into these things because they require some extra effort. He likes sex to be convenient for him. He likes when he can get off nice and easy. He doesn't want to spend too much time worrying about your pleasure or pain.

That being said, he does have an oral fixation, and will therefore have you sit on his face (genitals be damned) quite regularly.

Pet play? Hell yeah. He loves collars, he loves having his puppy on their knees panting for his cock.

Do not try to be a cat. This man hates cats. She had a cat.

Lion-o was both of their cat, and Darius views all other cats as cheap replacements. He misses his boy.

Refuses to call his ex wife by name ever. Her name is Molly Daverns.

Darius loves cockwarming. Especially oral cockwarming. He likes when you kneel in front of him and just gently suckle at him while he drinks and watches TV.

Speaking of TV, he still loves crime shows. But when he gets too drunk, he gets mad about losing his job, so change the channel over if you don't want him breaking something.

He actually doesn't view a nibling/uncle relationship as incest. In his brain, only parents, children and siblings count. So he has no issue what so ever with being horny over his favourite nibling.

He purposefully selects his victim spouse by finding someone insecure. Confident people are harder to train.

Loves alt style people. Wants himself a goth housewife, like Morticia Addams, who did a number on him during his childhood.

He doesn't have any piercings or tattoos, but he likes the look of them. He has some scars, like a stab wound near his left hip from an old investigation he did. One on his hand from when Molly threw a lamp at him during an argument. A few other miscellaneous ones from childhood and work.

Works out 4 times a week for about 2 hours each. Wants to stay nice and strong so he can manhandle his wifey however he likes. Loves standing positions during sex, also.

He can't stay in the house for too long. He has to go on trips, mostly camping. He likes the outdoors. Prefers colder climates, and will bring you to a skii resort so you can cuddle (and more) in front of the hearth.

He is the foreman at his construction job. It pays well, the company is well known among richer clients. His coworkers see him as highly respectable, and try to set him up with their wives' sisters a lot. He'd prefer their daughters.

Again, his preference for a younger partner comes again from his want of power over them. A woman his age would be able to be independent. A young 20-something woman would be just getting on her feet. A young 20-something year old man would be more likely to have effeminate features, which he likes and encourages.

Yes, he views women as objects.

Now, he's all for gay and trans rights. When they aren't his partner. When they're his, they're a woman. Great for trans women, not so much for trans men. Iffy no matter what with enbys.

Does not give the slightest shit about ethnicity. He may say some things out of ignorance, but once he's taught he's wrong he'll not do it again. Grew up in a mixed neighbourhood, so he was exposed to a lot of different cultures as a kid. Loves Indian food. Give him all of the spice.

Is also pro-choice. Mostly because he hates kids. Still has a huge breeding kink, and never uses a condom with you. He did use them when he hired escorts.

Insanely jealous. Threesomes? Never. Cucking? Never. You look at another man? You're getting punished. He wouldn't ever consider you looking at a woman, it just wouldn't cross his mind, but if he did realise you'd be just as fucked as the other way around.

Rarely speaks, prefers to just make gestures. Snaps his fingers at you a lot.

During sex, however? Man is loud. Lots of grunting and groaning. Lots of praise. The drunker he is, the louder he gets.

Cum marking his beloved. Wants to finish on your face, ass, tummy, genitals, everywhere.

Likes sex in risky places. You go out shopping together? He's pulling you into an alley or a secluded area of a park. Will finger/get you off during a lunch out together. If people notice, he doesn't care.

Will spit in your mouth.

Loves making AFAB partners squirt.

If you go out to a bar and he notices there's a glory hole in the bathroom, he'll pull you into the stall and make you act like a stranger getting him off.

Pred/prey kink through the roof. After a late night date he'll tell you to walk ahead, act like you don't know him and then do some CNC. You're just so pretty when you cry.

Does not like you masturbating or owning toys. Takes it as a slight against him.

Visits his Momma, but rarely spends time with his old man when he's there. He took after him, but hates the old fuck.

I'll also take the chance to present different ways he'd come across potential partners:

You're his nibling.

You're the pretty young neighbour that just moved in way down the street (his house has a lot of land). Must be lonely. He could help you out there.

You're a cashier he really likes at his favourite coffee shop (this man drinks so much coffee, please stop him).

You're the newest hire at work. You're not cut out for the job in his mind. You'd be much better elsewhere.

You're another person who likes camping the same spots as him, and he comes across you quite regularly.

You work at the kennel he goes to when he has the urge to buy a dog. It would be cruel, he's never home. But if he took you home... well then his future dog wouldn't be so lonely.

[haintxblue]

Earlier this year I sat across from a nurse in the psych ward after going to the ER to avoid walking off a bridge near my house. She was not very good at her job. Maybe she usually worked other departments. She asked me why I had not actually killed myself if I wanted to so badly, which is not something you are supposed to ask people in that situation, but I answered her.

I can't do that to my mom. And I have a special needs cat that no one else can take of, and she is my entire world.

And it is awful to know that you have only two flimsy supports left and to feel them wobbling and to know that one is being kicked out from under you, not quickly and mercifully, but slowly, taunting you with it, letting you really marinate in the idea of what it will be like to only have one thing left to hold you up.

I told a friend recently: my cat is the last good thing in my life. What I meant was: it is not enough that I have loved her nearly half my life and that she is the only affection I ever receive and sometimes the only thing funny enough to make me smile. She is the last piece of a life I will never get back: adopted, small enough to fit into my palm, when I was young and independent, and now crawling through the end of her life with me, while I am old and in debt and unemployed and sick and soon to be homeless and completely without hope of ever getting better. When she is gone the last link I have to stability will go with her and I will have nothing else to prevent me from living in my car, or dying in it.

I found out recently that the autoimmune disease that is taking my eyes (and therefore my art) from me is also taking my teeth, and part of my jawbone. He told me fifteen thousand to try and save some, but still, my sinuses would probably collapse and leave me with breathing problems the rest of my life. And I'd have no teeth. 48 hours before I was searching "cheapest pet cremation near me" and thanking every god that I didn't want to keep her ashes and pay that much more.

My body is falling apart. I am watching hers do the same. She is the last good thing in my life and when she is gone I will wobble and I don't know how I will not fall over this time

[tempest-toss]

Custom !!! ask meme (Three Floras and some Teeth)

Based on polls, it's time to describe five characters voted by you! If you want more things like this (voted content), then don't hesitate to let me know!

tw: mention of death

Dragonfruit

~~~~~~

There were two descriptors that summed up Dragonfruit well: Friendly, and loyal to a fault. When Dragonfruit joined, he honestly believed it was for a good cause. The earth needed protection, so surely a group by the name of the Flora Fighters would be perfect for that. By the time Dragnfruit realized the truth he was already too deep in.

During his time, he acted as one of the trainers, helping the members with their physical training so that they could be fit and perfect for their various missions. It was his one-on-one help with Yam that secured his status as one of his crushes. Yam lucked out, as Dragonfruit took the failure of Prague as a chance to turn himself in to the Foundation, which landed him a spot on the Eco-Friendlies MTF unit. If you ever seen a man with a reddish suit with a speckled tie, you probably have come across him.

Morel

~~~~~~~

One of the older members of the FF, Morel has consistently been conflicted with his involvement with the group. He was all for the early stunts of the group: Exposing violations, stealing gas cans, sabotaging environmental harm, and the like. His feelings soured once things took a more violent turn. After a near death of Madame Chrysanthemum, Morel became the head guard, leading the protection of the critical members, and personally guarding Madame Chrysanthemum and tutoring Uva.

A mission gon wrong landed him in prison, causing him to be used as a rallying point by Madame C to whip up the members into a frenzy. His imprisonment also meant he is one of the few members along with Magnolia and Dogwood to not be present at all for the Battle of Prague.

After being broken out, he resumed his position, as well as his role of being Yam's godfather. His involvement with Yam's life helped Yam recover from his abuse at the hands of Madame Chrysanthemum and helped Yam become stronger and more independent. It was Morel's involvement with Yam's life that helped push Yam into running away from the FF to Site 230.

Mega and Mini Mushroom

~~~~~~~~

Brothers can be a handful, especially if one is a militant jock and the other is a web crawling hacker, and they both love video games. Mega and Mini Mushroom were some of the several sought out and recruited for the Flora Fighters, and one of the few caught between a GOI war, as the Neon Nightsticks also wanted to have them. This all was because of their anomalous abilities, with Mega able to grow in size and strength and Mini able to shrink himself down, allowing him to run on water and up walls. Add the fact they can grow digital-looking mushrooms that can temporarily give this ability to others and you have quite some players.

In the Flora Fighters, they were a soldier and strategist respectively. They were often paired together due to their skillset, and they demonstrated time and time again that they could easily swap positions on a dime (Mega acting as strategist and Mini as a soldier, although they preferred their usual roles). They were initially victims in the Battle of Prague, as Mega was smothered by smoke, and Mini was crushed by rubble.

However, things were not set in stone: They had a roommate named Pixel Matrix, who just so happened to be Agent Pixel of the MTF Unit Omicron-5. Pixel, who would later go by Ten, used the Emerald Blade scp to resurrect the brothers, who agreed to take this opportunity to leave the Flora Fighters and join the Eco-Friendlies. You can still see them today, and often they make trips to catch up with Ten, even if they're not technically supposed too.

Jawbone + W.T., Incisor, Molar, Canine

~~~~~~~

The Children of the Deep Woods love bones. They tend to share names with them too, such as the Femur guards, the Skull scholars, and the children Phalanges, but there's only one teethy person. Known by the name Jawbone, he acts as the fortune teller of the entire group, using his skills in reading teeth to predict everything from harvest to pests to surprise visits from the Great One, with scary accuracy. However, his body and more specifically his mind cannot always handle the intense magic needed, so the Great One blessed him with the ability to split into four individuals, each with their own memory and personalities.

W.T. (short for Wisdom Tooth) handles the prophecies. He is a pacifist, and would rather spend all his time seeking answers and a connection with the Great One than assisting in the labors of the group

Incisor is the fighter and is always looking for another meal to feast upon. With his carpal knuckleblades, he is always up for a challenge, and a taste test if you're offering.

Molar is a farmer at heart and is quite the peach. He is the most outgoing and nicest of the four, and is always ready to lend a hand. Despite his preaching for peace and love, he is quite unmerciful if successfully provoked. Don't cross him

Canine is the most loyal to, well, everyone. This makes him a bit slow to pick up on lies, and misdirections, but what he lacks he makes up for in zealous spirit and physical speed. The amount of heretics he's tracked down and brought back are astronomical!

[wickedsrest-rp]

Name: Lachlan "Kidd" Amos Species: Siren Occupation: Professional Hockey Player Age: 25 Years Old Played By: Lance Face Claim: Toby Regbo

"It’s alright to fail, but the moment you give up means ya got no more chances to succeed."

Lachlan Amos was born into a flock of birds of prey, large intimidating sirens with a knack for hunting and territory expansion. Lachlan Amos was not a bird of prey, he was a songbird. A pretty little thing with oil spill wings and a bright red belly, and while he didn’t fit in with the sharp beaks and large talons, he quickly became the group’s baby. It was never questioned why the matriarch didn’t birth an eagle like her first son, it was highly taboo to do so, but ultimately it didn't matter for he was happy and healthy. As he marched towards adolescence, he bloomed into a sprightly boy who had many stories to tell, and when he eventually ran out of adventures, he had done that day he would craft tales of wonder until his throat ran raw. Any flock member who was unlucky to be caught by the chickadee had found themselves being talked at for hours. Nothing seemed amiss about the little siren as he struggled with being gently nudged out of the nest, all the difficulties he experienced were normal: tripping over his wings, wobbly flight patterns, poor voice control and poor voice control...and poor voice control.

When a puppy got excited they peed, and when Lachlan got excited he lost control of his song. Though it was difficult to tell someone who had a zest and love for life and its adventures that he needed to curb his excitement, but the random enthrallments quickly became a danger to the flock. There safety was threatened by each cooing human and a number of killings had to be done to cover up their existence, but they would rather soon die than throw their chick to the hunters who waited with jaws open wide to rip him to shreds and use his mangled carcass as further proof that supernaturals were bad. So, the quickly growing siren was tucked beneath his mother’s wings and hidden from the light of day spending much of his time around the flock and ONLY around the flock. But a young one’s curiosity knew no bounds and Lachlan became too rambunctious to stay in one place.

Hockey was not only a good outlet but also a good excuse for his ever-growing number of “fans”. He was quite skilled at it too, taking to the ice like an expert and entering into its world by storm. It was the first time he had made friends outside of his family and when he felt the itch of his song crawl up the back of his throat all he had to do was put in a mouthguard and check someone into the nearest wall. All was perfect...for a while. As he grew his skill grew and as he turned eighteen it was only natural that he would advance to the professional sphere but with that came an increasingly larger amount of attention. While the methods for hiding his problem worked...most of the time, the dangers of his inability could no longer be hidden from him. He had watched speechless as fans clawed at each other and lost every ounce of human decency just to be near him, and with that came the revelation that the murders of his flock were blood on his hands.

Adulthood had been difficult and continued to be so, he dealt with the guilt of his lack of control and thought himself as a lesser siren, perhaps not even one at all. He had separated himself from his flock, returning sparsely to check in, so he may find a cure to his predicament. He vowed that no one else would be put into danger because of his shortcomings. But...the cravings came and only grew stronger as he was constantly surrounded by the pounding hearts of human athletes and he continued his spiral into shame and self hatred as he gorged himself on hearts.

Character Facts:

Personality: Charismatic, easygoing, curious, adventurous, transparent, independent, impulsive, naïve, jealous, verbose

Kidd had his first taste of heart at seven. He is not addicted per-say but does on occasion get intense cravings for human flesh, it is usually brought on by a particularly loud beating heart. Though, he prefers to feed on people who are fundamentally not good, they don’t taste any different but spending time surrounded by humans has caused him to grow attached to the good ones.

Even in his “human” form he still makes a lot of bird sounds subconsciously. One of the most common is a closed mouth trill that happens when he’s particularly pleased by something.

He knows sign language, which he uses when he can feel that his song is going to activate when he does not want it to, it is usually used around people he likes and does not want to disrespect by enthralling. While his knowledge isn’t advanced it is enough to hold an understandable conversation.

Please talk to him about mushrooms, it is one of his most- if not the most- liked special interests, but despite his laidback nature he gets particularly nervous about sharing what he knows. The excitement he feels when telling others about it sets off his voice, ultimately throwing off the conversation completely.

He has a thick southern accent that his flock is unsure where it came from. They are under the assumption that when Lachlan was younger he consumed a lot of cowboy media. Whether that’s right or wrong is a mystery. (My biggest secret is that his voice claim is Siri American voice 3.)