#it's true did like the force awakens

[harompe]

tumblr correctly identities me as the Merry Chuckler (and also as someone who likes fucking star wars for some fucking reason)

[glader13]

Me and the Devil

A/N: this is true form/ Heian period Sukuna x Heian period reader

“Was this your plan all along?” You asked, “To make me have your son?”

He couldn’t hide his smirk and neither could you as you rested your body on top of his, staring into his fiery eyes, hands getting lost in his pink hair. Instead of answering, he trapped you with his arms, pressing your warm bodies even closer together. You kissed his neck, moving to his jawline, before finally landing on his lips. The kiss was lazy and sweet as his tongue softly caused your mouth to open, much different from bruising kisses just moments earlier.

“Kissing isn’t an answer,” you said, finally pulling away from him, “But I’m assuming it’s yes.”

“One of them,” he murmurs, caressing your back, as you lay down on top of him, “But you had most of the plans already thought out.”

You smiled softly, your fingers lazily tracing the markings on his skin. You didn’t fail to notice how he relaxed under the touch of your fingers, as if he was holding his breath before then. You stopped tracing his markings, and held his hand, staring into the garden, wondering if this is something, or if you are a glorified servant. He treats you like something special, he acts like you are, but are you truly worth his time? Or did he use you to help expand his reign of terror? The gifts, the jewels, the intimate moments together when he calls you his or mine, have some truth to it, right?

You have never dared to say those three words, but you thought about it, each time when he fucked you delirious, the words were always on your tongue, ready to spill over. But the binding curse, he wouldn’t do that to anyone, you hoped that he did it with the intention to keep you close, forever by his side. You hoped that it was a silent act of love, of his devotion. Your back seemed to tickle from the remembrance of the light strokes of the curse being imprinted, questioning him about how it works. You remember his kisses on your shoulders and back as you sat in between his legs, a pair of arms holding you against him as the other pair drew the curse. He explained something about if he gets sealed and awakened again, you will too, no matter how far in the future, he’ll have you. You remember feeling his dark eyes on you, waiting to see how you would react as you sat in the candlelight, feeling so close to him. As if the two of you shared one breath, feeling as if your hearts were beating as one.

“To be by your side would be an honor,” you told him then, lacing your hands together, despite wanting to say something else. Now, you felt the same three words again burning into your mind and tongue, you needed to say them so you could hear them fall from his lips. You were only aware of him and how his heart was beating steadily against your body, reverberating throughout your being. You were aware of how you yearned for him, aching for a confirmation of his love.

“Do you fear anything?” You asked, those words still on the tip of your tongue, though you were still unable to tell him.

“No,” you felt his voice rumble from his chest to your body, “Why should I have to fear anything?”

You pressed further, “To lose anything, do you fear that? That something you hold onto so closely will be taken away. You don’t fear that at all?”

You didn’t notice, but his eyes did finally lower to your face, then to your hand, which was hidden by his larger one. You felt his arms shift around you as if he was trying to hold you closer, as you relaxed in his arms, waiting for his answer, “Do you?” He asked.

“With all that’s been happening,” you sighed, “Sometimes I believe that being strong isn’t enough.”

“Well,” he says, gently holding the bottom of your face, forcing you to look into his dark eyes, “It’s irrational, so stop. You don’t need to let fear control you, not when someone as strong as me controls the earth that you walk on.”

“Understood, King of Curses,” you smiled, at which he rolled his eyes.

You slowly drifted into sleep, lulled by a mixture of his heart and the constant strokes of his fingers, he thought of how he got here, with you on him. Abused by everyone because of what you could do and see, you stumbled upon his palace. He could feel the untamed power radiating from you, and it intrigued him, along with your attitude towards him. But with some time, you convinced him to help you with your anger, and he watched you kill those who wronged you. In the blood, and the chaos of your smile, your eyes bled with something that he craved, and he was taken aback. Noticing more than just your power, it was beauty in the chaos.

He thought of these moments and watched you fall asleep all with a tightened jaw. He could never tell you about the moments when irrational fear would come over him when it comes to you and your safety, to your mortality. The attacks from those who are against him, who want to kill him, have been getting stronger, and more coordinated. Involving you when they can’t get to him. These sorcerers have focused their attention on stopping his reign and any attempts of it in the future, they don’t know if the two of you could have a child, hell, the two of you don’t even know. But with your curse technique mixed with Sukuna’s, they don’t want to take that chance. Outside of spreading his bloodline, you’re no saint, the blood of your village and countless others on your hands. They have a reason to kill you.

Your techniques, what makes you so valuable and formidable, is what makes you a target, causing him to feel irrational. It causes rage to course through him when he sees you with your injuries as you would sweetly tell him to not worry. It’s why he has kept you here as he would leave for his tasks, with Uraume to watch you. He does fear losing you, and in moments like this when you’re lying so peacefully on him, is when he feels it the most. Is this what humans call love, this feeling of wanting to protect you? Is this fear love? He lightly caressed your face, knowing that he would raze the world if your heart were to ever stop prematurely, nothing would be safe from him.

He quietly chuckles to himself, assuming that this is love.

A/N: This could be a part of a larger story, so please let me know what you think ☺️✌🏾

[kaizokuou-ni-naru]

The "Luffy's fruit is a Zoan" reveal/retcon was extremely controversial when 1044 was first released; do you think Oda did a good job foreshadowing it?

yes!! it addresses a lot of idle questions i had about luffy's powers for quite some time (while also raising a ton more, of course, but that's the nature of one piece).

(all of my thoughts here and on gear 5 in general owe some credit to @grainjew, who has been my main discussion partner on this topic)

luffy's fruit has always been, from what we've seen, kind of weird for a paramecia? obviously since the categorization of 'paramecia' is sort of a grab bag and a lot less well-defined than logias or zoans, that's kind of a hard claim to make, but generally speaking, most of the paramecia users we see throughout the series do not have their powers always on. (the strongest counter-example i could think of to this trend is brook, and even that is one i think you can argue.) luffy's power is way more passive, in the sense that he doesn't have to activate it- it's just there, always. even seastone and seawater do not make luffy not rubber, they just sap his energy and stop him from stretching himself, as we see as early as arlong park.

that is weird! what we see of most other paramecias is that they have to use their powers intentionally, even when those powers do involve transforming their body in some way, like with mr. 1 or alvida. there's a whole plot in dressrosa about knocking a specific paramecia user unconscious so she'll lose her grip on her power and it'll disappear. luffy will stretch when he is asleep, when he is underwater, and without knowing he's doing it. he's always rubber.

so luffy is weird for a paramecia, though not completely unprecedented. his power has always seemed to me to be... almost logia adjacent, in the sense that he's made from a specific material and all his powers are based on being that material, but that doesn't quite track either. aside from the fact that the thing he's composed of is tangible and, again, he can't turn it off, he clearly has access to a greater level of complexity in his transformations than logias do (whose devil fruit powers seem to be basically a binary system).

which actually leads me to compare him to chopper, who is the zoan we know the best, and who, conveniently, also ate a version of the hito hito no mi.

i think the way luffy and chopper interact with their powers is actually very similar. much like luffy, chopper was fundamentally altered by his consumption of a devil fruit in a way he cannot return from. he can still look like a normal reindeer, but he can never actually be one, because the most important trait his devil fruit gave him was human sentience. and he would still have that if you put him in seastone, he just wouldn't be able to transform. similarly, luffy had his body fundamentally altered by his fruit in a manner he does not seem to be capable of even temporarily reversing. he can't make himself not rubber any more than chopper can return himself to being a normal reindeer.

like chopper, luffy's power progression has been based around finding new ways to transform his body and force it into new and more powerful forms. his gears are roughly comparable to chopper's points. that is zoan stuff! chopper is the main other person we see interact with his fruit in that specific way. so, yeah, i actually do think it does make sense for luffy's power to have actually always been a zoan. at the very least, it makes more sense than him being a paramecia, to me.

however, having said that, i also don't think it's as straightforward as luffy just being a zoan instead of a paramecia. we see that the awakening of his fruit definitely has both paramecia and zoan qualities, since he's transforming both himself and the environment around him, as well as other people. (the wiki puts this down to him being a mythical zoan but i just don't think that's true. kaidou is also a mythical zoan and he is completely baffled by what he's seeing.)

i made a bunch of jokes in discord about luffy being devil fruit nonbinary while i was reading this chapter- there's three genders and you have to pick one, and you can't just go switching it up, etc- and i do think that what luffy's fruit indicates is that the sorting system of devil fruits itself is imperfect. outliers do exist that don't fit cleanly between the lines- which we already knew! just look at katakuri.

[morgana-ren]

Astarion going a little batshit and embracing his yandere side is all I've ever wanted. Especially if youre his spawn because you are truely fucked. I think the first time he makes you do something, he does feel a little guilt, but it's gone quick enough.

The first time it happens, it isn't even intentional. It happens automatically— like some dormant power suddenly awakened in his blood. There is no magic, cursing, or even intention behind it. Only an effortless aura of command that your body bends to, yielding to him as second nature.

There's an argument. Over what, it doesn't quite matter-- something senseless and a long time coming. It ends with you storming off, trying to walk away before things escalate and things turn ugly between you. Abandoning the conversation before he's managed to say his piece.

Needless to say, he does not abide this.

He demands you to return, and you do not. You keep stalking off towards the entryway, utterly ignoring his protestation. Back turned, marching off, indignant and furious, clearly indifferent to his words—

And you do not ignore your Lord.

"Stop right there!"

Your limbs stiffen as if your flesh has suddenly hardened into stone, and fear spurs icy tendrils through your brain as you realize you are locked in place.

You cannot move. Even as you bid your bones, they do not heed your command. Your muscles are rusted iron, and your will cannot bend them. Your body is not your own any longer. It belongs to him, awaiting orders with bated breath.

He realizes what he's done as he senses your fury. You cannot move, even desperately try. You are wholly under his thrall, body and soul. He recalls the horror of his first time losing his autonomy to Cazador with staggering detail. The misery. The betrayal. The terror of it all, a prisoner trapped within your own mind, utterly helpless against the dark, primal magics stirring within you that highjack control of your form.

You have brought it on yourself. Had you just been as obedient as you are pretty—

"Now come back," snaps his fingers, blinking slowly with an unreadable expression and watching with interest as your legs move of their own volition towards the spot he now points at directly before him.

He can see you fighting it. See you strain and thrash against your very mind, wailing to be set free from this ancient trick of nature he's wielding against you. He remembers miserable nights of it-- centuries of it-- begging for freedom or a miracle from the forsaken Gods or even the sweet, saccharine release of death. He imagines your expression looks exactly as his did when he first discovered the intangible chains: a portrait of true, unbridled horror.

Something within him stirs and there's a small crook ticking his lips upward. Only slightly, but still visible.

You approach him once more, and he can feel your rage. Oh, how you long to strike him down.

As if you could.

"There's a good girl," The taunting lilt to his voice is unmistakable, cruel in his mockery. "See? Was that so hard?"

Your lip curls, so ready to spit venom right back at him.

"Ah, ah! Hush now, darling. Wouldn't want to say something we'd regret, now would we?"

Your words stopper in your throat, forcibly swallowed back into the flaming pit of rage that burns in your gut. You can taste the vitriol on your tongue, but you can do nothing other than choke on it.

"You don't want to fight, little love. Do you? Of course not. We can let bygones be bygones--"

A sharp glint in his scarlet eyes that sets your teeth on edge. You've seen it before, but he hasn't turned it on you before-- not until now.

"--If you beg my forgiveness."

If you were expecting him to return your autonomy, you are sorely mistaken. Anything that forms behind your teeth is immediately forced down. He has not relinquished control, and it's now that you realize he doesn't intend to. Not until he's satisfied. This is a punishment-- an object lesson to remind you of your place and the power he wields over you, even as he claims to love you.

The only words allowed to pass your lips are those he wants to hear, and you can feel them crawling up against your will, a spidery reflex he has total control of.

And yet, even as you go to speak, he stops you once more.

"I'll need to know you're truly sorry, of course. Go ahead and kneel, darling. A little show of supplication."

You drop to your knees so suddenly that marble bruises bone, drawn down as if weighed by a thousand stones. In his magnanimous glory, you are still allowed to look up at him, bleary vision clouded with freshly forming tears at this heinous betrayal.

"I'm so sorry, Master. I'll obey. It's not my place to question you. I'll never walk away from you again."

The words are not your own, and yet, you cannot bite them back. They slip the confines of your lips, spoken into truth by his will. That is what he wants to hear, so that is what your voice speaks even as you scratch and tear at the walls of your brain to rend them apart in your fruitless battle with primal servitude.

"I forgive you, dear one."

Your head lolls against his thigh, and he reaches a clawed hand down to card through your hair, petting your head softly like you are a dog begging attention from its master. Your neck strains to pull away, but you are drawn to him as a magnet.

"Silly, foolish girl. It's as if you forget your place is here," He tips your chin upward with a long, slender finger, looking down on you from above. "But that's alright. I have as long as I need to remind you."

Roiling hate flows from your body in waves, indignant and painful in its power. And yet, it is hapless against his tide of control. Eclipsed entirely under by his shadow.

"Now tell me you love me."

You fight with all your considerable strength, but again, the sentiment is choked out between ragged exhales and a soft sob.

"I love you. I'll never leave you."

He smiles down at you, all fang and ferocity, fingers weaving into your hair and tugging just hard enough to elicit a gasp from you.

"You're right. You won't."

He laughs derisively, grin growing wider as he pats your hair.

"I love you so, darling girl, even as you test me. Now, how about we put all of this nasty business behind us and move along to making it up to me, hmm?"

[nexusnyx]

omg congrats on 10.5k, thats frickin amazing!! ♡ if you feel like writing it,

🖋 + joel miller

"you couldn't love me if you tried. You couldn't love anything"

"that's not true"

hi Rhi! first, thank you so much. i stared at your prompt 'till the scene came to me, and i hope you like it. — main masterlist | 🏷️: established 'situationship', post-outbreak, insecure!Reader, angst, hurt/comfort, insecure!Joel, mentions of smut, adult themes so minors DNI, feelings confession. [WC: 2.1k]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ˗ˏˋ꒰ you call it madness ꒱

Joel had the power to awaken the most potent, brand-new things to your surface. Since he had arrived in Jackson with the bright kid trailing after him and his mountains of pent-up trauma, Joel lived under your skin.

At first, it was because of his cold, indifferent distance.

Then, when the first couple of months passed by and working side by side forced proximity on you two leading you to the realization that a lot of the gruffness and silence was just a facade, the issue became his nonchalant air of detached.

Everything you wanted was to have in him the same effect he had on you.

That tingle. That burn on your nape when the person enters the room. The hype-awareness of their every move. You wanted Joel attached to you, glued to your skin, and when you got it, he made you swallow all your need and desire down with the bitter pill of what having you Joel meant.

Having Joel came with the taste of cheap alcohol, the scent of burnt things, and that quivering darkness that seemed to follow him unless Ellie was around.

It came with his ghosts hanging off his back, and his mind stuck in a limbo that cemented in him the idea that his ghosts weighted more than they did.

It took him months to allow you into his life. Months of you trying to figure out why he pissed you off so much and why even though his monosyllabic bullshit made your skin itch, you still found a way to interact with him at every given opportunity.

When he started laughing at your jokes—no, when Joel started snickering under his breath whenever you made a sharp comment to a fellow worker, it became your addiction. The fact that you were not other people.

Not for him.

Wearing him down was supposed to be about getting him off of your mind, removing him from under your skin.

It ended up being your ticket into his home, his life, his bed.

Joel had this power of making you do things you had no clue you even knew how.

Things that the you from before — a someone who’d been deceased long ago — would gasp out loud at.

But fuck all of that. Fuck anything that strayed away from being the reason for Joel Miller laughing, or god forbid, making him and Ellie happy. 

You’d take it all to pay the price for that.

You’d accept his days of silence and his days of trying to make jokes, or teach you and Ellie how to play the guitar eve if you sucked at it and the girl had what seemed like a natural talent.

So what if Joel sometimes bled his darkness all over you?

You begged for it.

So what if he whispered the filthiest things in your ear as he took you wherever he wanted, however he wanted, claiming you over and over with fingerprints imprinted on your skin, beard burns leaving red trails from your face and neck all the way down to places other people would never get a chance to look at again, according to Joel himself?

Considering how welcoming you were to all of it, one would think you’d know your place. Or at least know better than to expect out of Joel Miller something he stopped believing he can give to anyone a long time ago.

Despite your best judgment, you did hope. You wished, and dreamt of it, and cried about it in silent tears on his damn pillow when he turned away from you to sleep sometimes.

It goes on until he catches up to all of it. 

Joel always catches up to things. Especially if that thing is related to you.

On a winter night, a whole year after he and Ellie have settled and officially made a home, you two are discussing things after dinner in his kitchen.

Ellie went to a friend’s house, leaving the both of you to your shitty pizzas and even shittier booze. Joel, propped against the sink with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hair a messy mop of curls, looks pissed off at your comment that, “she gotta at least put the Miller stare away. Time it properly, if she wants to make more friends.”

It was supposed to be a joke. Something only you two would understand. Instead, Joel turns around with that pinch between his eyes.

“What’s that’s supposed to mean?”

You put the mug down, thrown back by his tone, making a noncommittal sound. He repeats his question, confirming you did hear what you thought, and it makes you snicker. “Joel. Would you like a goddamn mirror right now, handsome?”

The nickname does nothing to phase his look. “You sayin’ I’m a bad influence on her? That I’m the reason she ain’t got no other friends?’

“Woah, woah—take it many, many steps back, cowboy—”

“I ain’t laughin’. I don’t know why you are.”

“Because it’s ridiculous!” All your ironic humor is gone. Evaporated like water under the scolding sun. “D’you hear yourself? I said time it properly, Joel. I know exactly just how useful the grouchy look is, trust me.”

“I don’t tell her to do that shit. She’s always been like that.” He turns back around with that stiffness in his shoulders.

“I know.” You try calming yourself, your voice, your tone. Joel can be prickly, as can you. “It’s… her little way. It makes Ellie Ellie, and honestly, it’s what makes her stand out. Her personality’s one of a kind, that’s for sure, and I wouldn’t trade an inch of it for anything else, but she’s—impulsive. And while I love, all I’m sayin is—”

“Other people don’t,” he completes.

“Exactly.”

There was the noise of the final dishes being placed to dry, and Joel cleaning up his work.

“You love how impulsive she is?” Although Joel’s finished, he keeps his back to you. His tone is back to an amused one, for some reason.

“Sure I do.” You loved her since you two were out of town and got stuck in a blizzard together, and Ellie told you about her friend Riley. Loved, with every fiber in you. “It’s not useful, but it just means her fire’s alive. I like that. It’s better than the alternative. You know what happens when people’s fires die.”

At that, Joel finally turns around, drying his hands in his own clothes, fixing his dark eyes on you. “Yeah. I’ve got a mirror.”

God, you think. There he goes again.

You sigh, annoyed and angry, just like that. In a split second. Because of four little words. “If you’re gonna start talking shit about yourself—”

Joel cuts you with his laugh. “Sorry. ‘m sorry.” He steps closer to you, pulling the chair he was using during dinner closer until it’s glued on yours, and he sits. “Dunno why you hate it so much, but I’ve leared better. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Better than the alternative, you guessed. You hummed, not that over your sudden wave of anger.

The way he saw himself contrasted who he was so much that it pissed you off more than any Clicker ever could.

“Hey.” Joel brings up one hand to cup your cheek, and it soothes his cold hand over your jaw, landing on your nape. “‘s fine. I won’t be talkin’ about broken old me, ‘kay?”

Fire raged in your veins and his hand on your neck was the only anchor keeping your from storming off his house.

“It’s like you wanna piss me off sometimes.”

Joel has the audacity to laugh at you. “I just said I ain’t gonna say anythin’, woman.”

“You’re not broken,” you argue, serious and angry enough to get that insanely stupidly gorgeous and self-depracating smile out of his face.

“We’ll just agree to disagree here—”

“No, we fucking won’t. You’re not a thing, you can’t broken if you’re not a thing.”

“That’s funny, ‘cause I feel a lot of fuckin’ pieces missing.” Joel rarely speaks with that roughness directed towards you, but that’s better. Realer than the sardonic smile. He sighs deeply, his face relaxing a second after. Tired, he squeezes your neck. “Look—I made a stupid joke. I know you don’t like me talkin’ shit about myself for lord knows what reason, so I won’t—”

“‘Cause they’re not true.”

It surprises you both, you think. The crack in your voice. The shimmery wetness in your vision blurring the sight of a stunned Joel certainly surprises you. 

You swallow the knot in your throat, but it’s stuck there. You speak around it anyway. “It’s the same way you feel when they talk about ‘er, ok?” You sniffle, looking away from him to blink down the tears. “I fucking hate it.”

It’s how you feel when they shittalk Ellie.

The words hang in the air for a heavy second until you realize what you’ve laid on the table.

Joel loves Ellie. That much is known.

You love Ellie. That much was known, too.

When he speaks again, Joel is the one who sounds choked. "You couldn't love me if you tried. You couldn't love anything." It pulls your gaze back to him. “Not about me. Ain’t nothing about me worth lovin’.” He shakes his head, and his hand is gone from your neck, leaving only the cold ghost of it in the process. 

You couldn’t love me. 

It’s your turn to laugh.

"That's not true." 

He paused, and you saw his Addam's apple bobbing before he shakes his head, still in disbelief.

“You know what I did. More than anyone I’ve met before. You know there’s nothing here to love.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“It’s the fuckin’ truth,” Joel’s starting to sound on the verge of tears, and your eyes glue to his face.

“Joel, I don’t know what was misunderstood in my little nod and silence when you shared all those things about your past that night, but let me make something clear to you—I know the difference.” Joel’s frown between hsi brown deepens, but his eyes remain on yours. “You think I don’t? Don’t you ever condescend me to the point of thinking I don’t know the different between what’s rotten and what’s not in this world.”

Not saying ‘between what’s good and bad’ is a deliberate choice, and it keeps Joel’s attention hooked.

Somehow, you know this is your only chance, so you forego all thinking and just allow all your feelings for him to pour out of your pores and slip through your lips. 

“I heard all you told me and I don’t give a fuck about what you did when dissassociating out of your mind. What you did to survive, or what you did ‘cause you saw all the real rotten all around. When you say shit like ‘ain’t nothin’ about me worth living’ you put yourself in the same sack as people like that fucker David or other people who really are rotten. Who did and are horrible outta pleasure. Outta desire for it. And that is not you.”

If you could reach to him, this was when.

You lean forward, making the distance between you both smaller. 

This time, you cup his neck.

“And let me make this crystal clear ‘cause apparently it wasn’t. That last thing you did? To save her?” You breathe deeply. “If it was me in your place, I would’ve done the exact fucking same. A room full of wannabe scientists and a bunch of equipment from god knows when, swearing that killing the only person who’s apparently immue is gonna solve something?” You scoff. “Joel, I would’ve burned that building to the ground with everyone in it.”

"You…"

The words never come to him.

Instead, what comes forward is Joel.

Something in your speech breaks the dem that you had no idea existed, and Joel floods towards you.

Crashing his lips against yours, he devours.

His kiss demands a surrender because it delivers things he never gave you before. Joel holds onto your face like a lifeline, groaning against your mouth and lifting both of your bodies to press you closer to him, suddenly desperate. Suddenly devout, and it spills from his eyes.

When Joel pulls back to look at you, there’s a fright and a hope in them that makes you realize why he turned around. Why he kept his distance.

Joel thought you could never get him. Not truly, and not personally.

“You…” he whispers, lips still touching yours. His eyes are saying so much that words evaded him. “I…” Joel swallows so thickly that you hear it this time, and it draws a whimper from you.

“I know, Joel,” you whine, pulling him in for another kiss.I know you could. That maybe now you’ll allow yourself to, all your kisses say. I already do. I already do.

🏷 @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeiaaa — @levylovegood — @simply-sams-things — @lavenderhhze — @gracie7209 — @waywardwolfbonklight — @shadytalething — @yesimwriting — @celestialstar111 — @averysblog — @pedrostories — @fleursirvart — @sirtommyholland — @capbrie — @hawsx3 — @superflymaterial — @ashleyforeverareject — @girlofchaos — @queerponcho — @am-3-thyst — @nyotamalfoy — @my-tearsricochet — @ponyboys-sunsets — @peqchsoup

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ* . join my Fireplace celebration. *

[ystrike1]

I'm the One Who Died, but the Hero Went Crazy - By Chiwa (8/10)

Dragons and magic with a splash of sincerity. This time the crazed Duke is a loving man, who was mistreated horribly after his true love died. She sacrificed herself. He took revenge for her sake. Then, he faced endless pressure to marry and forget her noble final act. When she returns he is too broken to recognize her new form.

Aryn is your average hardworking and special sorceress. She won contracts with the four greatest elemental spirits. She did it all so she could accompany and protect her only friend. The chosen hero, Elkinas. Elkinas was her best friend. A good friend. A kind boy and man. Someone she could not abandon. When the nation forced destiny upon him she followed him to war, and he was eternally grateful. He made sure she knew how much he valued her....friendship...

She dies before Elkinas can propose to her.

The worst part is she dies happy. In her short life she accomplished so much. She was a girl from nowhere. Elkinas became her friend by sheer coincidence, before he was miraculously found by his noble parents. He was an orphan. Her regular friend. She loved watching him grow, and she loved growing too.

Sacrificing herself for him, when the time to kill the great dragon came, wasn't even a question. She didn't think before she did it, and she doesn't regret it.

She begs for Elkinas. She wants to see him one last time before she dies.

She does not see him. He doesn't go to her. He's busy. You see, he knows she's gone. There's no way to save her, and there's no time to waste. He will bring her back. No matter what. In the chaos he quickly steals the cursed dragons egg. He plans to cultivate the monster inside, so he can use it to turn back time.

To get Aryn back.

He did it all for her.

He became a perfect Duke for her. He endured his hellish family to become an ideal husband, and she never knew. She was too focused on helping him to notice his feelings. He was ok with that. He wanted her to figure it out when he was irresistible, wealthy and charming. His orphan self had to be gone from her mind.

He was so close.

His cherished dream shatters, and he becomes a villain to get it back.

He tries for 60 years. He is immortal. The gods granted him that, because he killed the cursed dragon. He used that heavy blessing to conduct experiments. His other friends tried to reason with him. They failed.

When Aryn awakens 80 years later she can't believe it. Her sweet childhood friend??? A villain???

She also doesn't know he loves her, which is annoying but ok. He was hiding it from her so she gets a pass.

Aryn is more beautiful now. Her new body was born inside the World Tree. Technically, her father is Zephyr. A Dragon Lord. He stole her soul to resurrect her with the help of the World Tree. Elkinas and Aryn are both very special people, who have been granted immortality. Elkinas doesn't know this because he is currently too dangerous to interact with Aryn.

When she arrives at the castle she finds the child he created alone. He is feared by the servants and seen as a cursed child.

At first it's disappointing. You think the Duke is a stereotypical cold man, but he doesn't know "Adelle" is actually Aryn. He hires her to protect and care for his son.

He's a little crazy, because people having stopped harassing him since Aryn died. Women who enchanted themselves to look like Aryn have appeared on his doorstep...claiming to be her. His madness is kind of understandable, but at the same time he is a beautiful demi-god. Of course plenty of evil women are willing to do anything to marry him.

Aryn begins to see his good side when she becomes his employee. They become friends and allies quickly, because "Adelle" sincerely wants to help him and his child.

No...she doesn't know the kid is made of her ashes.

The Duke becomes happier. Elkinas calms down when Aryn/Adelle helps him protect his son. Turns out the boy is cursed, but he wasn't born cursed. One of the Duke's enemies did it. Elkinas couldn't figure it out, because he's not all powerful. He needed help from an Elemental Sorcerer, and those are really rare. "Adelle" is a real blessing that helps him in many ways. He becomes friendly, but not romantic. He can't really date at the moment.

He's too busy grieving.

His son is all that is left of Aryn.

He gave up on resurrecting her 20 years ago. He cremated her and made the boy in a surge of grief. He never wanted to destroy the world. The dragons egg never hatched for him. It was never going to. He was delusional. In denial all along. His friends were absolutely right. Beating them up and chasing them out didn't change that.

He tries to focus on the happiness he has, with the child he created.

Maybe this is where the story should have ended.

"Adelle" was planning on raising the boy...and leaving afterwards. We could have had a bittersweet story, where the Duke does eventually get over Aryn. One where he focuses on raising his son made of ash and blood.....but there's an evil princess.

"Adelle" ALMOST gets away with it. Elkinas ALMOST lets her go. He ALMOST doesn't notice that Aryn is right in front of him, living and breathing.

The prophetic princess changes that. This prophet told him Aryn would return......to get his attention. He kept her around for a while. Unable to let go at the time. She used his trauma to get into his good graces, and she's been trying to seduce him ever since.

After "Adelle" purifies the curse on his son he warns her. He no longer needs her comforting lies. He will not marry her, and her life is forfeit if she continues to preen in front of him.

She doesn't stop.

She meets "Adelle" and she immediately assumes the nanny is his lover.

"Adelle" realizes that Elkinas is the same man. He doesn't attack unless provoked. His days of madness are winding down. She's about to accomplish her goal. Her best friend will be happy. She promises to raise his son (her son) well, and they start to eat family meals together. The servants stop fearing the boy. His existence is officially announced...and the princess moves.

Her jealousy explodes. She tried to seduce the Duke for years.

She won't give up.

When the Duke introduces his son to the people a battle breaks out.

Elkinas is actually great. He prioritizes his son's safety above all else. He treats "Adelle" like a trustworthy bodyguard. "Adelle" pretends to be hypnotized by the princess, in order to get information from her. The situation keeps getting more dangerous though. Duke Elkinas isn't just a Duke. He's the legendary hero. His children will be immortal. He is the most powerful fighter ever and human diseases can't touch him. The royal princess will not stop until she has the power of God in her hands. In her family line. For her people. For love. She's madly in love with him, and her entire family supports her.

The princess is why "Adelle" fails, and Aryn is eventually exposed.

The series seems to be going for a more comedic tone.....but I'm not sure what will happen. Aryn lied to Elkinas, over and over. He's been broken because of her death for 80 years, and she's actively hiding from him. I think the truth will hurt him, at least a little.

Zephyr, "Adelle's" father, desperately tries to cover her true identity...but Elkinas keeps digging. The conflict with the princess exposes "Adelle". "Adelle" is loved by all four spirits...like Aryn. They also talk the same and act the same.

I sense an explosion.

[turrondeluxe]

I've always been a true believer of medic mikey and I've been thinking a lot of 2012 medic mikey today

so here's a bunch of thoughts about it from my twt if it feels weirdly paced and chopped it's because i just copy and pasted from different posts

Mikey probably started with the want of learning more about medicine after leo ends up in a coma.

Kind of like a brutal awakening that his older brothers are not invincible

until that point he probably helped both donnie and leo with basic first aid, since in 2012, the brothers all seem to know some sort of basic medical knowledge to a certain point (raph carries a first aid with him in half shell heroes meaning they all probably have their own).

Mikey probably sees leo burdened with his father's shadow and the weight of being the leader and letting everyone down, raph so worried about them at all times and so angry at himself for not being able to protect his family better, donnie mostly always stressed out. with no sleep. always having to FIX something and all this probably make mikey realize that putting being a medic on top of any of his brothers would just be for the worst so he decides to take it into himself to specialize in that part.

Mikey would ask help for getting more information to study about medicine and turtle health veterinary from both donnie and april (april would love to help +she can get more physical aid like books from libraries and such while donnie is the one brother who doesn't actually mind what mikey asks him and also actually answers his questions with facts). While studying he most probably would forget a lot about the scientific or actual names for different things so he would just make up his own designations because that way it makes sense to him (his brothers would all learn later on about mikey's own system perhaps because it's just them and it's not like mikey is going to go work at a hospital so it doesn't really affect them much).

Being the group medic just would fit him so well because hes very smart and not squeamish about A LOT of things in comparison to his brothers (throwback to when donnie did said he was actually squeamish in the show) so donnie probably would also encourage him in his studies and even try to help him to retain info with different methods that actually work with Mikey (because of adhd brain) like making references to his favorite show or comics while learning medical info to make it easier for him to focus.

The fact that mikey is the most perceptive of his brothers and also the one to keep a cool head when all of the other ones are losing it, would be factors that help him while being the medic as well.

Mikey being the smallest one and fastest of his brothers so hes probably the only one who could make it to any of them in record time if needed be.

I feel like, since 2012 mikey is the one brother who uses his skateboard the most, he probably would start bringing his skate strapped to his shell everywhere because he can use it as an emergency medical stretcher to move his brothers around in the case he was not able to carry them around physically

maybe even begging leo for a longboard later on because they are bigger which, again, could help him in emergency situations.

Thinking also on how leo probably didn't really talk much about the healing hands technique with his brothers so mikey probably unlocked the healing hands in his own way and in a really high stress situation where the sheer willing force was just wanting to help his family.

Mikey would definitely sing staying alive while giving cpr: muttering the lyrics along in a frenetic way while punching his brother's chest, because of their plastrons, and trying to get him to breath again all while listening his other brothers yells be deafened by the sound of lasers pass by over their heads.

And after being home and safe, he'd give everyone those lollipops right after quickly making sure none of them are dealing with a concussion (he is but hes fine, he promises).

Extra: some replies in twt that i also wanted to share here

[its-a-show-stoppin-number]

Random Ted Lasso headcanons because…why not:

Roy is an absolutely PHENOMENAL cook

On the other hand, Isaac can’t cook for shit like my guy burns water EXCEPT for breakfast foods. Isaac makes the best pancakes, waffles, French toast, etc.

Ted and Higgins both go to pride every year and wear a “Free Dad Hugs” shirt

When Frozen came out, Phoebe forced Roy to watch it so many times that he could’ve probably quoted it word for word (he took her to see Frozen 2 and ended up running into Trent and his daughter)

Whenever Trent’s daughter plays pretend with him and hands him an imaginary phone, he always comes up with the WILDEST scenarios for their game

One time at team karaoke (which became a pretty regular thing after the Everton F.C. match), Jamie and Colin sang Agony from Into the Woods and Jamie did the choreography (he definitely didn’t learn it because he rewatched the musical so. many. times. because he had a crush on Chris Pine *wink* *wink*)

Ted made the mistake of showing Me Before You at a team movie night one time and the entire team was sobbing by the end

Bumbercatch is the jumpiest mf ever but LOVES horror movies

One of Jamie’s favorite movies is Dead Poets Society and his favorite character was Neil (he was inconsolable when he watched it the first time and Neil died)

Beard knew about Trent’s crush on Ted and teased him about it every time he got flustered around Ted

The only times Roy isn’t the princess when he plays Princess and Dragon with Phoebe is when Jamie plays with her (Roy has SO MANY pictures of Jamie dressed as the princess on his phone and one is his wallpaper)

We all know that Jamie’s bi awakening was Roy and Keeley but Will’s was Harrison Ford and Carrie Fisher in the Star Wars movies

Will was raised by a single mom who he loves more than anything (I saw someone else hc this and it makes so much sense)

Bumbercatch LOVES Buzzfeed Unsolved True Crime/BU Supernatural and low key religiously listens to a true crime podcast

[ddejavvu]

can i request telling aaron you are not the type of person to get married or have kids because of some childhood stuff. maybe him trying to convince you it doesnt matter but you fighting him and saying that its all he’s wanted. sorry for the specificity, just going through an awakening.

You've always had this sinking feeling that you and Aaron aren't right for each other in the long run. It's bliss now, cuddled up on the couch for a movie night or bent over the kitchen counter when you've got the house to yourselves, but when your mind starts moving beyond date nights and sex-capades, you panic.

You're not the marriage type. A long relationship doesn't bother you, but the label, the spectacle, the permanence of it all unnerves you. It's an issue that's stemmed from your young years, and it hasn't gone away yet. Kids are even worse to think about; at least, having your own. Aaron's son is a sweetheart, and you have no problem making him lunches or tucking him in with a story at night, but the thought of having one of your own makes you want to flee.

Unfortunately, you think that's exactly what Aaron wants with you.

The conversation starts with an innocent, but inappropriate question from Jack, "Daddy, when are you and Y/N getting married?". And you foresee it ending in a breakup, which is why your chest is tight and your breathing is shallow while Aaron rubs your back. You're sitting on the bed, faced away from him, outwardly closed-off, but he's still comforting you.

"Sweetheart," His deep voice hums, "He didn't mean anything by it. He doesn't understand how the world works, he thinks anyone who's dating has to be married. He asked JJ's niece when she's getting married to her boyfriend, they're sixteen."

"It's not his fault," You mutter, "It's mine."

"Well that's not true," Aaron wants to scold you, but he refrains, "It's not your fault you don't want to be married."

"But it's not your fault you do, either."

"I'd love to marry you," Aaron answers honestly, "But not if you don't want to. I'd also love to date you, to live with you, to love you regardless of our marital status. Marriage isn't the dream, you are."

"I don't want kids, either." You remind him, your back still turned. "Jack is sweet. But I don't want to have one myself."

"That's alright," Aaron agrees without hesitation, "I don't need another one."

"Dammit, Aaron," You snap, moving away from his touch, "Why are you doing this? Why are you sacrificing your wants like this?"

"I'm not sacrificing anything," He frowns, watching as you retreat towards the bay window in your shared bedroom, "If this wasn't worth it for me, I wouldn't be here. But you are worth it."

"You want to be married," You inform him, pinching the bridge of your nose between two fingers, "You want kids. Hello, that's exactly what you did with Haley!"

"Haley is exactly why I don't care if we're married with kids," He huffs, "Our marriage certificate didn't stop that bullet. Jack wasn't enough to convince Foyet to spare her. People die, and terrible things happen, and if you don't love people while they're here, you may never get to again. Sweetheart, I don't love you because I want to get married to you. I don't love you because I want to have kids with you. I love you because you're you, and I want to love you forever. I don't care if we get married. I don't care if we have kids. I just care that I get to love you while I still can."

You speak through the tears that have blossomed on your water line, "But don't you still want that stuff? Even if you don't need it?"

"Honey," He says, like he's exasperated with you, "I don't care. I have Jack already, I don't need you to force yourself to have a kid with me if you don't want one. And marriage isn't a requirement for love. Marriage is- it's a piece of paper, sweetheart. A legal title. I don't need one of those, I don't need another kid, all I need is you. All I want is you."

"What if you change your mind?" You sniffle, and as your shoulders deflate, his arms wrap around your waist.

"I don't think I will," His chest presses to your back, and his lips brush against the shell of your ear. He’d kiss it if if was a less sensual place, but he doesn’t want you to think he’s making any moves. Not now, not when you’re just barely starting to lean into his embrace.

“But if I do, we’ll discuss it, and you’ll know. Okay? I won’t keep it a secret.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” He nods, nestling his cheek flush to yours, “You’re what I want, sweetheart.”

[konigsblog]

he truts through the pathway, his boots thumping against hard concrete, sunshine radiating onto his figire, a smile hidden beneath his mask. the corners of his mouth crinkle, the idea of surprising you after deployment - bringing you close to body, bundled and wrapped in his arms, muttering in your ear about how much he adores and loves you, the family he wants to give you one day.

but as he steps closer, he notices something off. the house is eerily silent, the sounds of the wind whirling behind him can be heard, awakening a gut feeling im him, wretchful and terrorizing.

simon's hand remained on the door handle, the broad and genuine smile replaced with fear and agony, his hand trembling and shaking as he turned the door. he should've expected it; silence was nothing like you, usually there would be loud music echoing from inside the house, the melody of your lovely voice singing along, the kitchen's window open.

but there you sat, a pool of your own blood, crimson liquid drowning and staining you body. he could feel as his heart broke - coldness rushing over it, the warmth you'd created now gone. motionless, limp, lifeless. his dog tags were wrapped around your neck, dropping his bags onto the floor and huddling by your side, tears already falling from his honey brown eyes.

he held you, like he'd planned. yet, his words were not about the future, they were apologies. the guilt of bringing you into his life bloomed like the flowers in the garden that you loved so dearly, he'd brought you into his life, and despite your protests and denying of anything horrid happening, an attempt to wash away his fears, they were right, they always were.

could he ever have a family? did he deserve one? an unanswered question lingers in his mind. his clothed arms covered in your blood, a liquid he was too familiar with, the man that put bullets through people's skulls and left them cold. was this revenge? karma? the light in your adoring eyes was gone, yet his love for you remained.

“oh, love..” he wailed, drowning in his sorrows as tears fell onto your cheek. the house was a mess, stuff scattered everywhere and an obvious sign of forced entry, he could tell you tried to fight, but you were just too weak, and that man was just too much bigger.

simon cradled you in his arms, holding your face close to his chest. please, baby, please.. it was useless, his heart thumping harder and harder against his chest, desperate for any signs of life in you, but it was clear you'd been deceased for a while. did you know this was gonna happen, why did you hide his worries?

his questions were answered in the letter folded in your pocket, a scribbled attempt to tell him your last words despite being miles away from eachother. “i love you, simon, i always have. i never wished for you to see such a sight, i never wanted to confirm your deadly nightmares, all i wanted was to help you, remove the growing stress from you so you could sleep, baby,

it was a matter of time, bound to happen, but im glad i was able to share my last days with the my true love, i'm sorry, simon. i love you, always and forever.”

his face ran cold one last time, you knew it would happen, yet you risked and sacrificed it all just from him. he could've bare to watch any longer, his skull mask had been soaked with his pity, your comfort now gone. just like; the arms wrapped around his figure was missing, the adoring eyes he'd gaze into, the future he'd planned -

your heartbeat, the heart that warmed up to him and welcomed him into your life, that pumped for him, that genuinely wanted him, it was gone.

(sorry this is absolute shite, probably deleting later)

[yaut-jaknowit]

Challenge Day

Pairing: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 4039

Summary: After a night of rest, We'ar-ow drags you around her quarters. From a bath to rid yourself of that male's smell to getting food in your stomach, she ensures you taken care of. Rough in treatment, you are confused on what to feel. It doesn't matter. We'ar-ow takes you to the last place you want to be.

Author Note: Little warning, tiny bit of graphic content. Just bone breaking. I'm so glad everyone is loving on her. I'm planning of writing more for her and have a small plan drawn up already.

Ao3

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

A yawn broke your neutral expression. It was hard. To keep a façade up and hold back your anger for the situation. This was humiliating! This… why did everything have to change? Why so sudden? If you release your anger, said one wrong thing to We’ar-ow, you would think yourself dead. Said Yautja had rudely awaken you. It felt like you gained no sleep after waking up.

Coarse fingers wrapped around your wrist and pulled you from the room. At this point, you realized… We’ar-ow was speaking. Her deep, throaty voice was hard to understand in the first place. When your brain has barely had time to comprehend all that has happened just this morning, there was no room to understand what the Monarch was saying.

With a free hand, you rubbed at the crust in your eyes. Huh, must have cried in your sleep or something. Now, you were finally able to fully see where she was dragging you. Across the strange living room and towards a door you just realize existed. The metal door slides to the side to reveal a massive room.

No time was given to you. She had you by the arm and forced you into the bathroom attached to the bedroom. Almost similar to your ex-mate’s bathroom, the only true difference was color and size. The tub could easily hold four female Yautjas without discomfort. This is when you realized the tub was full and steaming water.

Worst than before, you were giving absolutely not time to reaction as the clothes you wore were shredded. Your mind didn’t have time to even produce a yelp as We’ar-ow shoved you into the in ground tub. Your arms batted the water in a frenzied panic at first. You surged through the surface to gasp for air.

Almost instantly, you whipped your head to glare daggers at her before the logical side of your mind stepped up. Shit. You became submissive, ready for her to punish you. But nothing, no words or hits came. You peeked your head up to find an amused expression painting her face. It took a lot not to scoff. Instead, you simmered down into the water to hide everything below your neck. You didn’t want her to see more than you could control.

This earned a chuff. We’ar-ow shook her head. “Oomans,” was muttered underneath her breath. She kept guard though, eyes not leaving your form. The gaze caused your skin to crawl. You stayed slightly crouched down, eyes focused on the water, while not moving.

A crackly scoffed broke the silence. “Wash.” Your brows crunched the skin between them. What? How? You turned your head this and that way. Just water. Nothing to wash yourself with. What did she expect to use?

“Did the buffoon teach you nothing? I will take great pleasure besting him today. Maybe I will take his head as well, hang it in your new room, pet.” We’ar-ow took the necessary steps forward till her toes hung over the edge of the in ground tub. Her knees bent to a crouch. The salmon pink Yautja used a hand to scoop water and poured it over your head.

Almost… intimate. An action your ex-mate could do in the privacy of the community showers when time allowed it. “The water will cleanse your skin, wash away that Paya-awful male’s scent from you. Wash,” she commanded once more. Now, you understood truly what she expected from you.

You mirrored her actions from before and let water run down my head. Then, your eyes flicked up to hers. Was that good enough? “More.” Nope. You sighed before gaining a great idea. You dunked yourself fully under the surface then waited a few seconds. Once you felt it was enough, you broke the surface again, albeit this time calmer, and glanced up. She nodded.

Good. As you about to move to slip out of the tub, you realized something. There wasn’t anything to cover up with. She had already embarrassed you enough by ripping off your clothing then throwing you in here! Anger simmered in your boiling blood. All of this far too overwhelming to deal with and no given time to comprehend the situation.

All of this was just humiliating to say in the least. You swallowed what leftover pride you could hold onto and peered up at her. “I need a-a towel,” you requested, eyes flickering around her form and looking everything besides her.

The Yautja was still crouched down, nowhere near your level, but close by. Without any pretense, a pink hand grasped at your bicep and hauled you out of the water. You yelped and struggled against her hold, legs and arms flailing wildly. We’ar-ow pinned your back swiftly to her chest, loose hand coming to firm encase your neck.

Untamed attempts to break free from her were thwarted the moment her hand held your life. One squeeze could end it all. She felt the way your throated bobbed with a heavy swallow. She was back to her full height now. The Yautja slightly bent forward to further press herself into your backside. “Good pet.” She took full pleasure in your reaction. Fuck.

From the tops of your vision, you see her pink, split tongue skirt over her lower jaw. “Better,” is all she says before she removes herself from your backside. That’s when you realized you’ve been holding your breath the entire time. It rushed out of you in one big breath.

A hand fixated itself on your bicep before tugging you along. All you could do was listen… like a good pet. She brought you over to a spot in the bathroom before releasing her hold then pushing a button on the wall. Warm gushes of air dried the water from your skin, pleasantly warm. All drops of water officially removed from your previously damp skin.

Surprises morphs over your face. Your ex-mate didn’t have this but being the Monarch of the ship gave you special privileges, you guessed. The shock was allowed to simmer. We’ar-ow held onto your bicep once more and practically dragged you over to her bedroom of sorts. Clothes were pulled onto your body without another word. She shoved you out.

Out the room you had been in, into a massive living room, and towards a kitchen. Scents of food, good food wafted up into your nose. Not only were you starving, you were dying for water. Your throat ached, scratchy and dry. It left you with a headache that pushed at the back of your eyes.

The Monarch was none-the-gentler as she pushed into the bar stool too big for you. You catch yourself on the counter’s edge with not a second to waste. “Consume,” the voice you’re coming to learn barked. Then, she was off, marching towards a room towards the opposite of the front door. The same room we just came from.

On the verge of glaring at her, you grunted lowly and plopped your behind down on the stool. That’s when you realized why she had said ‘consume’ earlier, and where that delicious smell was coming from.

Before you sat a plate of steaming food, food that you didn’t begin to understand what it was made from. Instantly, your stomach growled painfully. A heady reminder. You glanced over to the door We’ar-ow left through. It was closed. You couldn’t hear anything from this far away. But she was gone, out of sight.

You were finally able to take your first full breath without any anxiety to squeeze the air out of your lungs. Yet, in the back of your mind, you knew your guard couldn’t be put down. Not now, not ever. Then, you focused on the food. Nothing smelled off about it, nothing gave you any bad vibes about it. And, We’ar-ow hasn’t given you a reason not to trust her. But, this is the Monarch we are talking about. Someone you don’t know. You scowled but your stomach snarled with a hungry roar. Pain cramped through your abdomen. You’ve never been this hungry before. Your ex-mate never let you go without a meal once a day.

By God’s grace, you were starting to become dizzy from dehydration. You smacked your lips together. A clear glass of see-through liquid was just sitting there. Once more nothing seemingly wrong with it. How could you know though? You weren’t like these guys. You had no great senses that allowed you to smell things miles away or hearing that alerted you in the same fashion. A sigh sounded from your lips.

Fuck it. You grabbed the glass and gulped down the entire thing within seconds. A bunch of air sucked in as well which caused you to burp… quiet loudly as well whoops. Your head whipped over to the door mentioned before. No movement or sounds. Good.

Back to the plate. With a finger, you nudged the things that looked like meat. It was warm. Cooked. Your eyebrows jumped with surprise. What. Something in your chest warmed with a familiar heat. You were swift at stomping it out before it had a chance to grow. Fine. That was… nice of her to do that. You picked up the slab of cooked meat and tore a chunk from it. It was still quite warm in your hands, almost unbearable. You held up the smaller chunk to your nose and sniffed it.

To be honest, it smelled glorious. So well, flavored and thoroughly cooked. You couldn’t helped the tiniest of smiles to grace your clean face. Finally, you placed it into your mouth and chewed. From the lack of food for a day, you hummed with delight. Delicious.

Before long, you had the entire plate cleared of food. You couldn’t know when your next meal would be. You didn’t know how the Monarch will… take care of you. Everything had been flipped on its head and you didn’t know what’s going to happen. You slumped in your chair, doing everything in your body not to just sob again. Defeated.

Warm fingers pinched your chin harshly and pulled your body up, almost lifting you off of the chair. Your hands went to wrap around a pink wrist, eyes darting up to find We’ar-ow. A gasp tore at your throat. Fear flooded your body, eyes clenched shut, ready for her to just snap your neck… but that never happens.

“Head up, spine straight. Don’t coward like prey. You are my pet. My pet won’t be prey,” she ordered and kept your head up, level, like the way she told you before. You cracked open an eye. We’ar-ow is still looking at you with her orange piercing gaze. She leaned in closer than she’s ever before, spilt tongue tasting the air. The Monarch dipped her head in approval. “Better, but I will get rid of that male’s smell later. I have an important meeting to attend. Do you know what it is?”

Curses flew around your mind. Why did she have to talk with you or ask you questions that made you have to answer? You lowered your gaze then shook your head softly. She pinched your chin harder. “When I address you, answer, my pet.”

A pregnant pause filled the air before you took in a deep breath. “No,” your voice quiet in the kitchen, eyes anywhere besides her body. We’ar-ow lumbered closer, a mandible lifting.

“That male who dishonored you, my new pet. He’ll face me in a challenge. He will lose. He will. You are mine. And I will keep you.” You couldn’t help but shiver at her tone. It was like she was a hundred percent certain your ex-mate will not win against her. In all honesty, a large part of your mind said she was correct. Her confidence bled over to you, contagious like a cold.

You wanted nothing more to blurt out the same question as before: ‘why?’ But you believed she would answer the same way. Instead, you held your tongue.

“You’re coming with me. First though-“ We’ar-ow stepped back to put space between the two of you, hand slipping from your chin. “You need to look like my pet. Come.” We’ar-ow turned her body in the direction of the original room she left through. Yet, you froze, stuck in place, not daring to follow her.

She notices this but doesn’t stop. Only a hand came to wave you along. “Don’t make me tell you twice.” Despite the voice being low and grumbly, it wasn’t harsh, just a general commanding her battalion. A tone you listened to, fearing what would happen if you didn’t. Your head bowed as you hopped off of the chair. But the plate… It would be rude and disrespectful to leave it behind.

“Leave it.” Okay, that answers that. You jumped at her sudden voice then scrambled after her. All the while, you kept a heady space behind her.

The door opened up to her presence. It was on the verge of closing until you got closer. You stopped at the entrance to stare into the room.

Holy. Shit. You couldn’t believe how big it was in here. Gracious, highly decorated, skulls, furs, and bones. A hunter, through and through.

Some of the skulls, five to be exact, were… human. You shuttered. Your ex-mate was kind enough to hide away the ones he collected when you reacted, well, horribly. It was a reasonable way to act when you see your own kind’s skull mounted on someone you loved’s wall. You shuttered, body tensing, ready to bolt in pure panic.

We’ar-ow turned around to face you, a bored look on her face. “You done?” It was like she was expecting you to react this way. Something inside of you curled into a ball at the knowledge. “Follow.” We’ar-ow motions you to follow deeper into this… this hell hole, this nightmare filled room. A place that bones of your species decorated the walls. You rapidly shook your head side to side, feet taking a step back to bolt.

The Monarch wasn’t letting you go. A hand wrapped around your throat and lifted you enough to be on your toes. Your bare feet scrapped for hope to stand on something. But she keeps you like this and brings you close. “My pet does not run! My pet stands to face the fear and danger. I will have to train you, unlike that measly male. He did nothing, didn’t he?”

Through the blood rushing violently in your ears, you desperately nodded your head. Any way to convince her to drop you. All you could think about is her snapping your neck. She’s the Monarch. She didn’t have to give a reason on why. Plus, you were her pet.

“Words.”

“Yes! Yes, he-he did nothing.” An alien smirk graced her face again. Her hold on you released. You landed unsteadily on your feet and snapped your head up at the Monarch. She stared down at you, looking over her upper mandibles.

Before a chance to think was given, We’ar-ow turned around and gracefully crossed the room over to the open concept bathroom. Almost similar to your ex-mate’s room, the only true difference was color and size. The tub could easily hold four female Yautjas without discomfort. Her hand swiped at something from the sink and she marched back towards you.

The Yautja towered, truly you meant that, over you but she doesn’t kneel down to get a better view. Instead, We’ar-ow sat down on her haunches. It helped a ton. Yet, she was still a good head taller than you. Without missing a beat, whatever in her hands was transferred to your head. Warm metal skirted around your head, beads falling down to tap against your cheeks. It tickled at first but you stayed still as the female fussed.

After a solid minute, she dipped her head and stood abruptly. “It will have to do,” she stated and continued to peer down at you over her mandibles. For a moment, your mind supplied she was wanting something from you. Words.

“T-thank you,” you offered your appreciation. Honestly, you did value the fact on your second day here, the Monarch has gifted something to you. A deeper part of yourself felt horribly guilty. From your limited knowledge of their culture, females don’t gift things. That’s the job of the male, to woo over any mates for the season.

That appreciation was thrown back in your face. We’ar-ow scoffed then huffed. You flinched, hands and shoulders drawn. A hand engulfed your neck once more. This time, much gentler. Her thumb and claw stroked up the side of your throat… right over an artery. One move, meant or not, could end your life swiftly.

Her mandibles clicked in thought, but nothing the translator picked up. Then, the warmth was gone and her massive form glided around you. She headed towards the door with purpose. Like a lost puppy, you scrambled after her.

This would be a good step forward. Maybe it be in the right direction or not, you don’t know. We’ar-ow didn’t look back once as she guided you through the door of her room, down the elevator, or through the halls. Every step this hunk of muscle took was prideful but not in an egotistical way. Here you were, a meek human doing everything in your power to keep up without looking like a fool. At least your ex-mate slowed partially down for you. She did not care.

With the pace she led, the pair had made it to the designation in her mind quickly. You realized where this was. The sparring room. Many males were already on the mats, proving their worth in a fight. That’s when you smelled the heavy scent of pheromones. Overwhelming and shoved straight into your face. Your mind couldn’t decide if the feeling it caused was good or bad.

When the Monarch entered the room, all those who were in her presence stopped. Males who were fighting tooth and nail ripped away from each other to bow respectfully. Green blood making the mats slick for them. You trotted up to We’ar-ow to stand a couple of feet behind her.

Before you had a chance to get a step closer, a blur of orange raced across your vision. Pink entered the very next second. Your brain stuttered to comprehend all you just witnessed. To your right, the Monarch held a near bone breaking grip on an orange male’s wrist. Now, it caught up to you. The male was going to grab you.

Despite seeing the tension in We’ar-ow’s body, her face was neutral as she stared down at the meek, young male. No words were needed as she calmly snapped his forearm. You slapped a hand over your mouth before any noises could escape. Even though in the past, you’ve seen the brutality that made up the Yautjas at their core. To see it happen less than a foot away from you… to hear how his bones just splintered by this female. Your stomach felt queasy at the sight.

Like it never happened, We’ar-ow faced the majority of the crowd, eyes scanning carefully through the crowd. All eyes on the Monarch. Even other females watched her with rapture, as if waiting for We’ar-ow to do something.

That’s when you felt a burning gaze so familiar. Your shoulder scrunched up to hide away, as if that was possible. You didn’t even dare to look in that general direction. Your heart pounded like a hammer. Creeping, crawling feelings snaked up your spine to settled in the middle of your chest. Echoes of his words rang back like a broken record.

“Dwainet,” the Monarch’s voice rung out like a church bell. The room seemed to still at the call of him. No one dared to speak, let alone whisper their rumors. You slowly picked up your head now, to find his eyes looking at We’ar-ow. Fear. Fear in those eyes you used to peer into.

You don’t know why but the tiniest of a proudful grins raced over your face. To see the alien that broke your heart then smashed on it right in front of you almost wet himself made you almost grin. This must not be usual for the Monarch to call out a male. Or the look on her face was deadly. You couldn’t see what she looked like from behind her. You didn’t dare peek either.

We’ar-ow raised a hand. With a single finger, she called the Yautja to step up. From your spot, it looked like it took all of Dwainet’s will to take a step forward. Let alone the rest to stop a respectful distance from her. His eyes were no longer on her anymore, but they hadn’t settled on you either. The fright in his system the only thing driving him.

The Monarch began to circle around the small male, looking him over. Each step was strategical, purposefully placed. Dwainet stood there, stiller than a statue as the female looked him over. Despite this being mating season, the look in his eye told you he knew that’s not what this was about.

When she was behind him, Dwainet sent a deadly glare down at your pathetic form. Your chest tightened. Shit. Your whole body froze as he silently glowered. Nothing in your body would listen. All of your muscles tensed, ready to spring but not moving.

Nothing left We’ar-ow’s vision. She noticed the way you tensed once behind Dwainet. If it wasn’t for your gaze stuck on him, she would’ve believed it was due to her about to best the male. Instead, We’ar-ow snatched a handful of tresses and yanked him back. All of his attention returned to her. She watched as his face morphed from the intense pain of his tresses being roughly handled.

“I challenge you, Dwainet. When I win, your pet will be mine,” We’ar-ow laid out her plans in front of the male. You watched as his eyes widened, the way his spine tensed.

Harsh whispers rolled over the large group in the sparring room. The translator that sat behind your ear did nothing, unable to pick up a single word. All you could do was glance around the room to read people’s faces the best you could. If only you could hide away when many eyes were on you. You were the center of attention now, no longer ignored as a meek pet.

Dwainet made a noise similar to choking on air. “You can have it!” he gave in so easily. Your stiff posture immediately deflated like a balloon. ‘It.’ He called you an it. The fractured pieces that still held on officially fell away to the darkness.

In a fit of unchanneled rage, you marched over to the restrained male and used a hand to yank on his only lower mandible. We’ar-ow allowed him to be moved by you, still holding onto him firmly. She couldn’t help the sliver of a smirk gracing her mandibles at the sight.

“You will fight her. You will lose. You will be left to wallow in your failure, alone!” you spat, voice gaining volume with each word till your voice echoed in the sparring room. Blood rushing through your ears and heart pounding are all you hear for a few long moments.

All you’ve done came rushing back. Before having a chance to fret over the situation, We’ar-ow hauled the male away from you to the nearest mat. The two males that occupied it were swift in their retreat and stood at the sidelines now.

Some Yautjas held smirks on their face as they watched. Others couldn’t look away from you. The rest just watched in rapture at the sight before. Something they’ve never seen before. The Monarch fighting for claim on a pet. While said pet, yourself, just stood at the edge of the mat. Yautjas crowded you from behind, not too close though. Their bodies creating a wall of muscles and bone, not letting you take a single step away. Shit. You were trapped to watch the brutality of a female that wants you. The Monarch wants you.

But your heart was far too guarded now.

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

[aemonds-sapphire]

Weakness

Summary: Aemond can’t afford to care about you. Life has long taught him that he’s underserving of such feelings. It’s safer this way. Right?

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort. Mentions of blood and neglect/abuse. Aemond’s POV.

A/N: I’ve been wanting to explore Aemond’s mind for a while now. From his POV. This feels very personal and even though it’s somewhat different from what I usually write, I hope you can still connect to Aemond somehow and that this feels true to his character.

Word count: 1k

Aemond knew the pits of rejection far too well. It had become second nature to him. It consumed him whole and it had morphed into something way darker as he grew older.

He was certain that if there was driving force behind his thirst for revenge then that the fear of abandonment was the root of it all.

Feelings were doorways to suffering. However, Aemond had learnt long ago that some doors are better left shut. Allowing himself to care for someone was a weakness he simply could not afford.

It was a nuisance.

A dangerous one.

Slowly, he lifted one hand and brought the pads of his fingers to trace the rough edges of the scar that ran across his face.

A painful reminder.

No. Just a reminder.

Pain had forsaken his thoughts. He had made sure it stayed that way.

His body was now a reminder of what happens when one allows feelings to overcome reason.

He was a vessel of hatred and revenge, fully committed to having thise who had wronged him pay for it.

Even his beloved mother had forsaken the idea of changing his mind, devoting herself to praying for him in the hopes that some invisible force might rein him in.

He had several cuts across his face from the practice he shared with Criston Cole earlier that day. Aemond made him swear he would not hold back and he complied, unleashing all the swordsmanship knowledge he possessed.

Flesh heals and these were evident wounds that he was still not as skilled as he had hoped.

In truth, he could always ask you to aid him, but the mere thought of having you so close made his stomach turn.

No matter how strong someone was. How well trained they were. How disciplined their mind was. There came a time when something — or rather someone — slippped through the cracks and managed to become a weakness.

Much like the sun insisted on shining through the curtains of his bedchamber. Or much like the drops of blood that eventually found their way down his face and were as tears.

You were a weakness he couldn’t afford.

Deep down, in the depths of his heart, Aemond feared that he was not enough.

That he was broken beyond repair and no one wanted to be left with having to fix both his body and his mind. He utterly feared that if you turned him down it would awaken something darker inside him. That he would feel as small and insignificant as he did when he was younger.

When they all laughed.

When he lost his eye.

When his father demanded no justice for his loss and was willing to have him questioned for the depravities of others.

Aemond Targaryen was ten years of age when he realised he was but an afterthought on his father’s mind. Someone who was supposed to love and care for him unconditionally, saw him as an insignificance.

He could feel another bloody droplet streaming down his face, prickling the skin along the way.

Unconsciously, he brushed it clean before examining the red stain tainting the pad of his thumb.

It was the closest thing he had to tears these days.

He no longer cried. There were days the flames of hatred raged deeply within him, but it was never enough to bring him to tears as before.

Aemond had far better control of his mind now that he was older and wiser.

Truth be told, he didn’t mind that at all.

And he’d rather have it this way.

Suddenly, there was a faint knock on the the door.

It was you.

“Aemond… can I come in?”

He wanted to say no. He needed to say no.

His body had become so numb to physical pain that he only realised he was gripping his knees too tightly when he saw his knuckles turn white.

Another knock. “Aemond…”

“Leave,” he firmly said.

“Do not push me away.”

He had to.

“Please,” your voice was but a whisper, but it was enough to cause his heart rate to quicken. “Your... wounds… I can help.”

He scoffed. You really had no idea that his fixing was beyond skin-deep. That was why he couldn’t stand being near you anymore. You triggered so many feelings within him.

Feelings were weaknesses.

You were a weakness.

He couldn’t afford having one.

He had promised himself that he would be a good son to his mother, a good brother to his sister Helaena and brother Daeron, and that he would tolerate Aegon. But that was as far as his courtesy would extend.

Aemond cared not for others.

Or so he tried to convince himself.

You.

He cursed you for haunting his thoughts. He cursed you for being you and for being so... 

“I do not need your help. Leave.”

His words betrayed his heart, but he was used to it.

The doorknob rattled briefly. “I’m not scared of you.”

You should be. He could easily burn you to the ground if you kept on pushing him.

With one swift motion, the door swung open.

There you were.

The newfound source of his turmoil, standing quietly and determined to defy him.

Aemond briefly considered demanding you to leave at once, displaying the unpleasant side him that he had honed over the years.

However, surely enough, the moment you started pacing towards him and knelt at his feet with that loving face of yours resting on his thighs, he knew he had no will left in him to push you away.

“Good morning, dragon,” you taunted him in a low voice, offering him the sweetest smile.

A smile he most certainly did not deserve.

“Hmm,” he mumbled as he allowed his hand reach your cheek.

You immediately closed your eyes, welcoming his touch.

“Let me help you,” you said after a moment, brushing your lips across the palm of his hand. “Please…”

Help? Did you even know what that proposition entailed?

Before he could measure his words, Aemond spoke, “Help with what?”

You opened your eyes and kept them locked with his.

“Fixing you.”

[drunkwhenimadethis]

I was confessing my absurd fears to my bf with things along the lines of being betrayed or him finding other women sexually attractive and asked if he had any similar fears. He said he did, and it was that I was only with him for his money. Essentially: I am a gold digger. I have always refused monetary gifts and him paying for things. However I’ve been staying with him for three months after he got me kicked out of my last rooming house because Im in college and couldn’t find a place quick enough, and was extremely adamant about it but he insisted. We’ve been together for almost a year. He said that the thought of me using him for money is recurring, but he’s unemployed and his parents pay for everything besides his groceries. What do I make of this? It’s really offput me that he thinks of me this way

Disclaimer I love to remember that the English “advice” comes from the Latin “videre” to see so if I give you this advice it is not a prescription, it is only my way of looking at things in this moment

I think one thing I would like to point out is that you wrote: “It was that I was only with him for his money. Essentially: I am a gold digger.” There are a million ways of interpreting a single statement made by someone that we care about, and since so much of life creation begins with storytelling in the mind, you want to be quite meticulous about the interpretations that you align with and carry forward. I don’t think that “Essentially: I am a gold digger” makes the most sense logically nor in terms of experiencing what you want, which I assume is love, commitment, trust, and closeness

Why essentially are you a gold digger? Did he say that or did he say that he has an absurd fear that you might be with him for reasons other than who he himself is? “Money” —the word—and its associations make us react emotionally and indignantly “How dare you!!!!” but he said the same thing that you said, he shared the fear he has that maybe he alone is not enough for you

When you shared that you’re fearful of him being attracted to other women, did he say that essentially you are calling him a dishonest whore with no dick discipline? Would that make sense to you if he reacted that way or would you feel like hmm, this man is really making my fears about himself?

Your fears are yours and yours alone

I am guilty of wanting the perfect words or actions to assuage me but it never works out that way. You need to go into yourself and pour love on your fears and kill them

He can tell you everything you want to hear and then what happens when he’s out of sight?

What happens if he has to leave the country? What happens if you can’t have eyes on him?

Are we doomed to constantly revert back to fear?

See yourself as the only one 

Don’t entertain competition in your mind

Don’t dwell on these fears. Your subconscious can’t reason with you

Remove the negative imaginary conversations—not only are they a waste of time, they are by nature of reality active forces 

Be happy for him that his family takes care of him, not everyone gets that and it’s good

Imagine he will take care of you like his family taught him to. Imagine sturdiness and dependability. Imagine better than what you know

Wish him the best on his job search, remove safety-seeking in the form of judgment

You are deserving and you’re allowed to accept gifts from your boyfriend. Work on this asap, I think there's something in you that just doesn't feel worth it and you can't outrun that and nobody can appease that for long

And don't tell yourself that he got you kicked out of your last rooming house, even if it seems true. If you can choose any belief and create life with it, since you’re creating even when you’re not consciously aware that you’re doing so, why don’t you choose something that serves you both more? Why not tell yourself that the universe is conspiring to bring you closer to each other?

Loving and fearless! Avanti!

“The beautiful idea you awaken in yourself shall not fail to arouse its affinity in others.”

[winterlynightlystories]

My nocturnal serenade

Tw; Sukuna being Sukuna I guess. Angst!

Do not copy or steal my work please

Sukuna/Sorcerer!Male!Reader

Note; I had this story in mind for a long time. Probably will make a part two! I just wanted some angst with our favourite curse.

Summary; Facing your tomb, Sukuna still remembers you a thousand years later. Yet, you still find a way to surprise him.

~~~~~~

Standing there, on the doorstep of your tomb, stuck in a kid's body, Sukuna felt strangely numb. Of course, he knew you could not still be alive after a thousand years. After all, you were nothing but a mortal.

His mortal.

His sworn enemy.

His greatest and dearest lover.

Your smell and the sound of your heartbeat haunted every second of his awakening, leaving a hole in his existence. Freedom had, somehow, lost its taste. Because what was freedom if you weren't here to fight him? To taunt him and force him to surpass his own limits?

Sukuna almost grunted, feeling Yuji poke at his cheek where his eyes normally opened. The kid was a pain in his ass. Somehow the damn kid had provoked him enough that Sukuna had, accidentally, mentioned you.

And of course, the brat had run to Gojo Satoru before Sukuna could force him to silence.

And now here they were. Forcing themselves inside your last resting place. It felt so wrong. A feeling Sukuna wasn't used to and hated.

- “My, my! Look at that door!” exclaimed Gojo, a big smile plastered on his face.

- “Senseï, what door?” asked Nobara, pointing at the rock slab against the ground. “That's just a big rock.”

Sukuna felt anger rise inside him. How dare she, a worm, judge it? He could remember you whining about your family's luxurious tomb and how you hated it. You just wanted a humble grave. Nothing fancier than a commoner would get. He didn't understand at first, because you deserved so much more than a hole in the ground.

‘At last, no one shall find and disturb me.’ you had told him.

And it was true until now. Could he really let those rats desecrate your tomb?

- “ Yeah, doesn't look like it. The guy was apparently humble enough to refuse to be buried with the rest of his family.” replied Gojo, cracking his fingers. “I call bullshit. Pretty sure by opening it, we will find one or more of Sukuna's fingers.”

- “Why?” the question came from Megumi who stared at the tomb.

- “Why? But because he was a traitor of course!” exclaimed Gojo, chuckling.

For a second, Sukuna only saw red.

The next, his fist hit Gojo Satoru right on the jaw, sending the sorcerer flying back a couple of yards. By his side, both of Yuji's friends screamed the name of their senseï. And as fast as he got it, Sukuna lost control of his vessel's body.

- “Oh my God, Senseï! I'm so sorry!” Yuji's voice was disgustingly guilty.

Again, Sukuna didn't care. He just couldn't let that piece of shit talk badly about you. Not after everything you did for those fuckers you called friends or family.

Not when he could remember your last conversation together.

Your last request.

His faces rested against your naked chest, ear pressed hard to listen to your heartbeat. He wanted, no, needed to hear it one last time and memorize it. For this was the last time you two would be together. The next time, you would fight until one died.

The silence was heavy, and Sukuna savoured the feeling of your fingers playing with his hair and the heat of your body against his. Then, you had to talk.

- “Sukuna, I want you to kill me.”

- “What?”

- “You heard me right.” you chuckled, pulling his hair playfully. “Only one of us shall stand, the next time we met. And I do not want it to be me. I made my part, now I want to rest. I'm tired of fighting.” You slapped his shoulder before adding; “Imagine how much fear they will all have? They won't call you ‘King’ anymore, but God. Wouldn't you like it? It sounds so nice.”

It did sound nice. But only on paper, because the only thought of your lifeless body laying on the cold ground made him upset. Sukuna couldn't bare the thought.

-” Oi, are you listening to me?”

-”Yes.” he replied, his arms closing tighter around you.

Your hand stopped playing with his hair and came resting against the nape of his neck. He heard you sigh.

-”You do not like my idea, do you?”

-”I would rather have you by my side forever than lose you to the cold embrace of Death.” he said, lips moving against your skin. He felt you slap his shoulder again.

-”If I was a curse, I’ll make those legs my necklace!” you said, kicking his legs.

-”And if you were a curse, I’ll let you!” he chuckled, feeling you laugh.

-”As if!”

-”Oi! Are you calling me a liar?” he asked, falsely offended.

-” Well, I’m not calling you a truth-teller.”

At that, Sukuna smiled.

-”But, I am serious. I wish to die by your hand. Life without you will be boring. You are the only good fighting partner I have.”

-”Let’s make a deal. I’ll accept at one condition; if I’m vanquished first, eat my heart so I can be by your side until your last breath.”

-”And you eat mine if I die first.” you replied and Sukuna could swore he heard your smirk in your voice.

-”You got yourself a deal.”

-”You know... The sound of your legs as a necklace sound pretty tempting.”

-”Shut up!”

And again, you laughed. At the moment, it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

Gojo walked back to the group, his blindfold gone and blood dripping from his split lips. Yuki wouldn't shut up and kept saying he was sorry and asking his teacher if he was fine. The cruel and cold smile on the sorcerer's only told Sukuna that Gojo had all anticipated.

- “Ah! Don't worry Yuji. It only proves my point.” The blue eyes stared at the one Sukuna had opened. “So he really was your whore, huh?”

- “He was less a whore than you. Own many prostitutes did you whore yourself to? I'll bet more than you have hair on your head.” Sukuna barked, voice growling. If only he was truly in control!

- “Sorry!” said Yuji, slapping the demonic mouth.

After that, the group returned to the tomb. Again, Sukuna hated it. You just wanted to rest, be left alone. Now, he had to stand there, powerless, and let them do as they pleased.

A part of him also refused to see your remains.

His last memory of you was of your bloody body. Of the plead in your eyes as your lips mouthed ‘please’ and he mouthed back ‘I can’t. He had seen the chock, then the understanding in those beautiful eyes of yours.

Powerless, Sukuna could only watch them take the rock slab away. With one look to the inside, pure joy filled him and Sukuna burst laughing.

-”Senseï, what does it mean? Where’s the body?” asked Yuji as he jumped in the hole, grabbing the only thing the tomb held. “What is that?”

The kid showed the object; one big monstrous heart carved in black stone and fused to it, another heart, but human.

- “Troubles. A lot of it.” said Gojo, grave, his eyes on Sukuna's mouth and eye.

[yanderedbdimagines]

Hi dear, i have a special request. What about yandere Entity with a reade who find a way to escape. The Entity obvious don´t whant them to leave. <3

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

Creative ask! Underneath normal circumstances, I believe that it’s basically impossible to escape the Entity, so I had to get creative xD I hope that the method of escape I picked is lore-friendly enough! And I hope you like it as result!

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

The Entity

The Entity is a mysterious force that lures unsuspecting souls into its realm. Souls that have often been tainted- touched by death’s essence.

To the outside worlds- past, present and future, alternate reality or not, it is but a myth. A whisper in the dark. But to most of those who find themselves trapped within its grasp, it is a nightmare made into reality.

You stumbled into this otherworldly domain after the death of a loved one, drawn in by an eerie curiosity just outside of the crematorium center that soon swayed you into the unknown through a trick of the eye.

Little did you know, your mere presence instantly awakened the Entity’s interest, and eventually its possessive nature, after you started traversing though the fog- eventually trying to find a way out. 

At first, the Entity appeared as a benevolent guide, offering solace and shelter in its strange realm from dangers you could sense, but never see. Yet, behind the veiled kindness laid a sinister desire to keep you captive, to possess your every thought, whim and every little part of your being. Your soul especially.

You quickly realized the Entity’s infatuation, its twisted affection made further prevalent after you accidentally stumbled upon a haunting replica of your own past. A memory made physical, but never real. The people you cared about weren’t there, and the animals you did see just didn’t look alive. As if they lacked heart. 

As the night stretched ever endlessly, you came to yearn for freedom- for a way out of this suffocating imprisonment. With every attempt to escape, the Entity's affection morphed into perceivable fury from the surrounding environment, its once soothing whispers turning into menacing warnings. You knew the risks, the danger of crossing such a mighty being, but the desire for freedom burned brighter than any fear. Even though you were still unaware of the realm's true purpose, its minions, and the actual victims trapped within.

Through sheer determination and cunning, you eventually pieced together forgotten fragments of lore and ancient whispers, not only revealing to you the realm’s true nature, but also uncovering a hidden passage that promised escape after a long time of searching. With a pounding heart and trembling hands, you set your plan into motion, long since haven found a way to evade the Entity's watchful gaze by using a strange yellow flower that oozed with a fluorescent yellow substance.

In the distance, near a tunnel made up mostly of stone bricks and various human body parts in different states of decay, you eventually found this potential way out. And it was made further evident as the yellow ooze’s potency sharply reduced after you jumped through the black mists that originally blocked up its entrance.

The escape was fraught with peril, every step echoing with the Entity's enraged cries and your nose tormented by the constant scent of decay. Shadows and mist alike twisted and writhed, attempting to ensnare you, but you pressed on, fueled by the flickering hope of freedom as you warded it with the unusual flower’s nectar. As you neared the exit, the Entity's desperation peaked, unleashing its full wrath upon you, a whirlwind of dark energy and desperate pleas. Even the unspoken threat of using the killers against you as you heard the rearing of chainsaws and the bone chilling screams of monsters echo from all around you.

With a final surge of willpower, you broke through the threshold, a familiar world outside welcoming you with open arms. Gasping for much needed air and a heart pounding wildly, you glanced back at the realm- a large hole in the surrounding morning mist that seemed to collapse in on itself. The Entity's form flickered beyond it in the distance, a mix of fury and heartbroken anguish etched upon its fading shadows- writhing in on itself.

You had escaped the clutches of the Entity, but its haunting presence always lingers in your memories. The chilling whispers and phantom touches serve as a constant reminder of the harrowing ordeal. Yet, with each passing day, you have found some solace in the newfound freedom, vowing to never forget the haunting dance with the possessive being that may almost have claimed your very soul, and to make sure that you’d never fall into its shadows ever again.

After all, despite your escape, the Entity persistently seeks ways to reclaim its hold, attempting to ensnare you from afar—a chilling reminder to remain ever vigilant against its unseen clutches.

[ennvisin]

Blood in the Cut ║ Ferid Bathory x Reader Cross posted on Archives of Our Own

Rating: Mature; SFW no smut Warnings: Blood and injury, blood drinking, undertones of dubious consent, aphrodisiac use in the form of vampire venom

Summary: Poor clumsy little human pet… A slip of the hand while cutting vegetables leaves you with a bad gash on your palm. Thankfully your loving Vampiric owner Ferid Bathory knows just what to do in order to take care of your poor injured hand. Don't worry little lamb… everything will be okay. (AKA Ferid "cleans" your wound with his tongue and you get high and aroused from his venom.)

“Now now my dearest little lamb, what have you gone and done to yourself this time?” An unmistakably sweet voice singsongs from behind you. The sudden heavy presence causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end.

  Ferid Bathory.

 “Poor thing… did you hurt yourself? Don’t be shy let me see.” The vampire croons gently against the shell of your ear, now suddenly much too close for comfort. Before even getting the chance to turn and face him, the progenitor crossed into the kitchen and now looms over you like a ghost. You can feel the cool brush of his breath as he talks down to you. Subconscious alarm bells sound off in the back of your mind as primal instincts awaken and tell you to run.

 You whirl around in fear to face the vampire with kitchen knife in hand ready to strike. This seems to amuse Ferid as he chuckles down at your startled expression, your pupils blown wide as adrenaline courses through your veins. He traps you between his tall slender body and the countertop, lithe arms caging you in on either side. Slow and careful as though approaching a feral animal the vampiric noble reaches out to slide the knife from your hand. Calculating irises examine the blade, the cool steel stained with a tiny fleck of your own blood. In that moment you swear you can see his catlike pupils constrict with interest.

 “It seems I was correct in my assumption.” Lord Ferid chuckles darkly in the back of his throat. Slowly he sets the knife down on the countertop beside you. “Humans are so fragile. Such a shame when they are so clumsy. Posing a threat to even themselves.” He hums with that sickening saccharine smile. You clench your jaw and tense when he reaches to trail his fingers down the arm that you keep firmly clutched behind your back.

 “Hiding your injury is a fruitless effort. I could smell it from across the manor.” Ferid reaches an elegant hand to stroke his knuckles against your cheek. He pauses to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind your ear, before guiding your gaze up to meet his own with two fingers poised beneath your chin. He touches you as though you are made of porcelain causing a sweet rosy flush to rise to your cheeks. When he strokes his thumb across your lower lip butterflies burst in the pit of your stomach. Your pulse races.

 “I was cutting vegetables for a soup, but my hand slipped…” You try and explain in a small voice. It is so hard to keep eye contact with the progenitor so your gaze flicks down to observe the ruffled lace of his cravat. The gash on your hand throbs as you feel blood steadily trickling out from the wound. It was almost certainly dripping down onto the cutting board of diced carrots and celery ruining your hard work. You didn’t know how Ferid kept his self-control. If he could smell your blood from across the house, the kitchen must be inundated with your scent. Any other vampire would have been driven into a frenzy. Yet here the progenitor stands gently caressing your face in an attempt to coax you out of your anxiety around him.

 “Just relax darling.” Ferid soothes sweetly. “I just need to take a look at the injury. I wouldn’t want my favorite pet bleeding out on me now would I?” The nobleman asks rhetorically. His hand leaves your face and reaches to grip the wrist hidden behind your back. Ferid’s touch borders on forceful hinting at his true vampiric strength hidden behind his carefully crafted mask. Despite my better judgement I try and pull my arm away.  “It’s only a small cut Lord Ferid.” You mutter in an unsure voice. The vampire chuckles as his smirk widens showing off the pointed edges of his fangs. He saw through you as clearly as a windowpane. “I will run it under some water and patch it up. Promise.”

“Ah, ah. There is no getting out of this.” Ferid coos as he pulls at your wrist with his iron strength. It hurt to resist. “You may either submit willingly… or I can bend you to my will. The choice is yours little lamb.”

But of course… the truth was you really had no say in the matter. You could either show him the bleeding gash on your hand, or have your wrist broken as he wrenched it out from behind you. Within the walls of the Bathory mansion there was no such thing as choice or free will. Only the promise and illusion of it to make you feel as though Ferid didn’t completely own you.

 You close your eyes and allow the vampire to pull your arm from behind your back. He hums in quiet approval of your choice as his fingertips tuck between your own and pull your bloody fist apart. You let out a soft whimper as your injured palm is exposed to the air and the progenitor’s awaiting eyes. Fear begins to creep back into your mind and you start to shake in his grasp. Was he going to drain you right then and there? Is this where you were going to die?

 “Shh…” Comes Ferid’s voice as he inspects the cut. Gently he prods at the tender flesh cooing softly at you each time you flinch and whimper. His serpent smile indicates how much he is enjoying himself at your expense.  

 “You poor little thing.” He condescendingly hums before running his fingertip up the expanse of the gash, smearing the pooled blood in his wake. You flinch and cry out softly, trying to pull away from the sting of his touch. “It’s quite deep… you must be in terrible pain.” The vampire’s ruby eyes glint sadistically in the light clearly entertained by your suffering. Suddenly Ferid grips you firmly by the wrist before taking a step forward. He forces you back against the granite countertop and presses his body against yours. His hips pin you in place as his head lowers to the opening on your palm. Your heart jumps into your throat as his lips part revealing rapidly elongating fangs.  “Don’t! Please!” You gasp out in a panic, and much to your surprise… Ferid pauses. His slit pupils flick up to meet your gaze before he chuckles gentle as ever. In a careful fluid motion he brings his lips to caress your pulse point on your wrist. Your mind spins in confusion at the sudden tenderness of the kiss.

 “Easy now little lamb.” He whispers and meets your gaze with eyes half lidded. Silvery white lashes flutter as he presses his lips along your pulse once more. The faintest stain of your blood paints his lips from where he’d laid his kisses. “Relax for me now, I am not going to hurt you. It’s all going to be okay.” Ferid whispers in a melodic tone much like a siren luring it’s prey. He speaks to you low and intimate; sweet reassurances only for you to hear. You can’t help the way you react to his gentle words, tension in your shoulders beginning to melt away as your breathing slows. He is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, smiling so tenderly at you as your apprehension fades from your subconscious. For a moment as you stare mindlessly into vibrant eyes the color of the lycoris flowers, you could almost forget that he was a vampire. The backlighting from the lanterns on the walls set him in an ethereal glow making him appear almost angelic. Almost.

The illusion is soon broken when Ferid dips low to swipe his tongue along the length of the gash on your hand. Your gasp of shock breaks the still silence in the air. The pain of the motion is so intense you can’t help but try and wrench your arm out of his grasp.

Tears prick in your eyes as he drags his tongue up the wound for a second swipe, but to your surprise it doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as the first lap.  “Hush my love… don’t fight it. This will help ease the pain.” Ferid purrs against your palm before continuing to lick at the cut. He is gentler this time when he delves back in, moving slow and sure as the tip of his tongue prods at the deepest points of the wound. You bite back a whimper at the strange feeling, something warm starting to boil in the pit of your stomach. Goosebumps prickle up your neck, and your entire hand tingles with a familiar pleasurable warmth. The pain all but a distant memory now, it finally dawns on you the purpose of this exchange.

His venom… in his saliva… that was his play.

 Ferid smiles against your palm as your body goes slack against his. In a matter of minutes his venom takes it’s hold, weakening your muscles and filling your head with clouds. There is no more pain only warmth rapidly spreading to every part of your body. Your breathing is labored and hot as you lay defenseless against the progenitor. Butterflies of pleasure erupt in your stomach each time he draws blood from the open wound. It feels so good. It always does when he feeds from you. You could die happily in this euphoria, no longer caring if he were to drink you dry. Vampires were truly the apex predator. Their venom delivering such a quick and potent high, their victims easily giving in and becoming addicted to their bite.

 It is over all too soon as Ferid finally pulls away. Your blood coats his lips and drips from the side of his mouth but really you don’t much care. You blink up at him with your head completely empty, still riding the high from the dose of his venom.

 “There we go. Such a good pet.” Ferid praises as he reaches behind you to grab a cloth off the countertop. Quickly he wraps your wounded hand before lifting you up into his arms as though you weighed nothing. “Your blood is always so sweet. Not a single drop should ever go to waste.” The vampire muses as he smirks down at your blissful expression. Your eyes feel so heavy as you stare up at him in a daze. He coos at you in mock pity before leaning down to kiss your forehead.

 “Let’s go get your injury properly cleaned and bandaged.” The vampire says in a cheery tone mostly to himself. He begins to carry you out of the kitchen and up to one of the many lavish bedrooms within his manor. “When we are done, I hope we can follow up on that little snack you gave me.” From your vantage point in his arms you can clearly see the glint of his fangs as he tells you his plans. “It seems I find myself hungry for more.”