#look at me giving you free will I'm such a benevolent god

[neverendingford]

.

[eldritch-spouse]

[Part 6 of Gifted. Fem reader.]

Previous poll winner: Try to lure the gargoyle (65.3%)

TW: Mild exhibitionism; Soft cum inflation.

New choice! [VOTE]

You can't help but think that pompous-looking blabbermouth isn't going to be of much help, especially not in the sour disposition he sports.

That leaves only one option- Paper bags McGee. Here goes nothing.

" Psst-! " You start, glancing hurriedly between his shadowed figure and the other two.

The gargoyle definitely hears you, pinprick eyes laser focused on you. Both heads look this way and that, even if the other one has no discernable hole to see through. It occurs to you it's a nervous tic, because he's trying to decide which direction to flee in. No, you can't let him leave! He's your only hope right now.

" Pspspspsps... " You don't know how to convince him, there's nothing on your person you can bribe him with. Even if you wanted to use your body as a lure, you can't convey that to him bound as you currently are.

The gargoyle starts to turn around hurriedly.

" No no hey-! " You strain upwards, as if that would help him hear your desperate whisper-screaming better. " Please- Get me out of here, please!

The head with that pinprick red pupil turns to glance at you again. You have no idea what to tell him, you're begging the monster, in total despair and hopelessness, there is nothing more you can do aside from helplessly and silently pleading with him.

Apparently, the monster can read the terror written all over you features, brought to stillness by the urgency you exhibit. It strikes him, for some reason. Spotting this, you try to exaggerate your expression, feeling like the bat you rode to climax only some time ago.

" ... Please... I'm scared. "

It takes a couple of seconds, during which you can feel sweat condensating on your forehead. Just buy it already, you oversized pussy of brute. Slowly, he turns back around on the roof and disappears into the darkness.

Did... Did he actually leave? Seriously?! After you got so close-

THUMP

You almost scream.

Heart skipping several beats -God, that can't be healthy- You get the urge to weep from joy once you spot that pinprick red glow emanating from the shadows. He landed! He's on the floor.

" Yes! " You murmur to yourself, watching the blue monster cautiously approach. He could be coming to tear you in two, for all your really know, but you'll take your chances at this point.

" Quickly! "

Casting one fearful glance at the caped demon, the gargoyle springs to action when he turns to apparently confiscate something off the small imp beside him.

He puts his palms on your legs very tentatively, as if afraid you'll bark at him. Curious. When he tugs, your body can only follow so far, as the strange construct keeping you tied to the bench protests. He puts two and two together fast, edging hard hands upwards before giving a harsh yank that you know is going to bruise later. But it does work, something snaps behind you with a wet noise, and you feel the binds around your upper body loosen to a degree.

For someone who was moving so slowly before, you're dragged off the bench and lumped onto his stony shoulder -Oof!- Faster than anticipated. God damn, he's more solid than you guessed! It's hard to think that something so heavy and dense can move exactly like flesh. You wish your hands were free so you could better gouge the texture of this peculiar skin.

As is, all you can do is try not to scream and trust the monster to have a good grip of you as he prepares to take flight. Now that you think about it, his wings should be a little bigger for his size, shouldn't they? They look... Underdeveloped. Well, you doubt any sort of benevolent god will listen, but you're just about ready to start praying for the best. Because, if he drops you from a decent height, without arms to brace important areas, you'll surely die.

Biting your lip is what grants you enough dignity to not make a scene, muffling the scream that would otherwise startle him into dropping you. The monster's grip on your waist is secure however.

His flight is clumsy and terrifying, as you can very clearly sense him dangerously losing balance at several points, tense like a spring and sweating up a storm while the monster visibly struggles, his little wings trying their best to carry not just him -Already quite the burden- But also you. At some point, you merely close your eyes. Whatever happens happens. Perhaps that's why he was hesitant to come down, he knew he'd have trouble getting back up.

Now more than ever, the chill in the air gets to you, skin covered in goosebumps while he scrabbles to find purchase and lands with less grace than a newborn gazelle. Unlatched from the monster's hold, you're gently deposited on mildly soft, foreign material. Confusion has you finally cracking an eye open.

You must be on the roof, the darkened tiles around confirm it, not to mention how the fog seems thicker from this height. A curious glance down reveals you've been sat on what you think is meant to be nest. Sticks, foreign fur, feathers and several cloths bundled together make up a rather large "bedding", nestled on a corner of a flat part of the roof which then elevates into another gable roof. If you were a gargoyle, you'd probably pick this spot too.

Speaking of, your rescuer, it seems, is apparently stuck staring at you like a deer in headlights.

You can just about see the gears turning in those heads. He got you up here, but he didn't think ahead too much. Obviously, it's imperative you don't let him linger in this contemplative state. He might get funny ideas and dump you back onto the ground, or decide to kill you.

In this proximity, you can finally gouge what the reddish things around his necks is supposed to be. A collar. Does... Is he someone's pet? But he's no animal! He's so much smarter than one, if this monster were no more than a beast, then surely none of this would have transpired, you'd be a bloody stain on the bench by now. Weird. Squinting, you strain to read what's written on the shiny metal tag.

" Pebble. " You start.

Pebble. Pebble? Are you fucking serious? What a name, a snort almost makes it past your lips. Yeah right, he's totally the size of one. The winged monster tenses at the mention of his name.

" Can you please help me out of these? " You flex your arms for emphasis, displaying the strange growths that are reluctant to free you even after being torn moments ago.

Pebble examines the weirdly-colored masses with as much puzzlement as you, exchanging a couple of anxious looks with you before raising one large stoned arm and swiping it down. The speed of it has you wincing and reclining your neck, thankfully not harmed, though the biological constructs around your upper body squirm and... Squeak? Before flopping apart. The opportunity is seized to roll your joints and expand your ribcage, instead of questioning what the Hell those things are.

Seemingly subscribing to your logic, Pebble doesn't give the pinkish things much thought either, grabbing them by the edges as they bleed something unknown onto the roof and flicking them away. One of the longer pieces is launched at another stray gargoyle who wandered a touch too close for Pebble's liking, being met with hissing and guttural snarling from the monster who you have only seen cowering up until now. Huh.

The other gargoyle snorts at the hit and scurries off. How odd, it was smaller than Pebble. Less shapely too, more grayish. You suppose there must be a wild variety of gargoyles out there, just as there are slimes of every shape and color. Seeing your alleged rescuer from the back reveals that, along with two heads, he sports two thin spade-tipped tails.

Well, you're free of binds now, but not exactly free to leave. After all, there's no way you can jump down from this height without breaking something. And even if you did manage to land without immediate skeletal damage, the chances of there being grubby hands out to catch you are high. Just the mental image of being snatched and tugged at by all ends as monsters fight over who gets to keep you is horrid enough to make sure you stay seated firmly in Pebble's wide nest. It's not like you trust yourself to scale the roof either. You're stuck. Back to square one.

God damn it.

Your sigh alerts the other one, who instantly turns to keep you fully in his gaze. Once more, he's nervously appraising you. What is he- Scared you'll bite him? Who hurt this monster so bad that he'll tremble before a little human like you?

Still determined to not let him think over the situation for too long, you extend a hand and sedately reach for one of his. The movement is slow enough that Pebble can reject it at any moment, yet he merely appears to tense, anticipation and dread visibly warring within him.

Soft fingers prod over what feels like solid stone but moves like real skin. You tickle at his palm absent-mindedly, marveling at the way creases of what would be skin still form when he twitches his fingers. Amazing. Apparently, the contact soothes the gargoyle, or maybe incites his own brand of curiosity, because he's closing the distance.

Sniffing rings out when the monster gets close, heads hovering over your own, leaning this way and that as the monster clearly tries to profile you via scent. You can only imagine you reek of Grimbly, sweat and sex. But who knows, maybe he's picking up on something else. Your hair fans out while he takes his time, chest expanding. Not the most pleasant of breaths, but it could be worse. Mostly, you have no issues staying still while the gargoyle familiarizes himself, going as far as to giggle when he starts to prod at your face and neck, paper bags crumpling.

You won't lie, a bit of a thrill starts taking hold of you when his increasingly eager exploration leads the gargoyle to loom over your front, body casting a great shadow upon you, wings spreading, as he shoves his heads onto your chest and abdomen. You can feel hard structures poking your skin where there's contact. Perhaps it's his teeth, or nose. You have no idea what his faces look like, and you're far from brave enough to dare lift those bags. It doesn't seem like a good idea to test your luck in a place that's so very eager to sink its claws into your neck.

Your giggling appears to please the monster, though it soon tapers off into a gasp as something slimy flattens over your dress. From beneath the bag with no holes on the front hangs a surprisingly long tongue, dribbling like a faulty faucet while he tastes the fabric of your clothes. You can't imagine it's particularly pleasant... The muscle trails a path up and dips into your cleavage for a second, causing you to squirm and heat up again. Fast. Your reactions are always too fast and you're not very keen on this jarring loss of control. It's as if every time someone comes along and brushes over you, you can't help but light up, set aflame instantly.

" P- Pebble... "

You don't really know what you're asking him for. Nor do you care to linger on that muddled thought.

The gargoyle, having become nothing short of enthusiastic in the brief time he took to smell you, dips to your nethers, clumsily prodding at your legs until you uncross them on his nest. You know you're starting to get wet, there's no use denying it, you're not yourself today and your body merely reflects it. Both heads seem to war for which one gets to stuff itself against your shielded cunt, his tails dance and twine with each other in the air. Well, if he's content to just fondle you through your clothes, it's far from the worst thing that's happened today. So there's that.

Of course, after all that has transpired, you'd be a fool to place any sort of merit to that statement. Because, predictably, when Pebble straightens up, you spot a fat length between his legs. In great contrast to the gargoyle's pretty azure tint, his cock is a bright red hue that stands out like a sore thumb. Knubs adorn it, along with what you can only assume is a worryingly-sized knot sitting comfortably on the root of that throbbing thing. It's... Well, like most of the monsters who have taken a liking to you today, nothing to sneeze at. Nevertheless, in that moment, you know this stone giant won't rest until he gets more.

The gargoyle seems to be thinking, though less nervously so for once. You're not too sure what's going through his head, considering the monster hasn't spoken a word to you thus far -Maybe it can't- But he nods to himself on both ends after a while. You're only privy to the meaning of such when Pebble grabs the hem of your dress and, instead of tearing it off as you expected, drapes it over his upper half.

Oh-kay...

Crawling forward, the bulky monster makes himself at home right between your legs, face to face with your uncovered pussy, you imagine. Another weird snort sniff noise and, a blue hand crawls upwards too, and you finally realize why he's doing things like this. When the sound of paper rustling is heard, you know he has edged those bags out of the way. Well then, that's one way to deal with timidity. Is what lies beneath those rudimentary coverings truly so horrible? You'd best not wonder.

Or rather, you're not given time to wonder.

The same tongue that sampled you once before now returns with a fervor, edging up your right thigh before slapping onto your cunt. It circles around your entrance, perhaps afraid of something for a brief moment, then flirts with the wetness you've been trying to ignore. Pebble makes a loud rumble, which tapers off into a gleeful moan. Thankfully, he's gentle when he slides a good chunk of his tongue up your used pussy. It's strange- Although he comes off as inexperienced, his demeanor isn't brutish, which is something you can appreciate after today's events.

As life has it lately, your inner monolog jinxes you.

Because Pebble finds a particular taste inside your walls. Something that definitely belongs to the pretty boy you railed on a certain bench. His immediate chuff is ambiguous, your legs are pushed further apart and the gargoyle starts eating you out ravenously. Thighs twitching and arms trembling, you have nothing to hold onto but the protrusions of his horns, grasping them for balance through the thin dress fabric while you moan quietly.

Perhaps eating you out isn't the best description, it feels more as if he's cleaning you out. Removing the mark of the male that claimed you prior. The drool he ends up slathering you in during such efforts is cold, coating your nethers and staining his nest as you squirm. Between his eager panting, your whining and the wet claps of flesh of flesh, you can only hope the bystanders below are oblivious to what's happening.

Not that you honestly care too much at this point. It's just an afterthought for your own safety.

Needily bucking your hips onto the monster's tongue is met with a distorted purr as both heads nuzzle against you, odd shapes poking at soft skin. Misaligned teeth perhaps? If so, he's being very gentle not to nick you on them. Something else joins the commotion beneath your pink dress. Ah, his other tongue? Right, he does have two heads, that makes sense.

The appendage, just as slimy as its twin, trails a path up the opposite leg and slobbers the side of your now quivering pussy, denied entrance by its twin as of now. Perhaps for the best, you don't know if you can take two of those fat tongues at once. Instead, it samples everything around itself, from outer lips to wedging itself between your cheeks and circling the rim of your ass, then snaking a sloppy path back up to slurp above. When it nudges your clit, somehow not exhausted after all this time, you jerk up and gasp, an incoherent noise leaving you as you tug one of the heads closer by its horns.

He misinterprets it as pain, whining out in what you assume is meant to be an apology and beginning to retract said tongue.

" Wait- Wait no, that's good! K-Keep going. "

Fortunately, he does, rather clumsily experimenting with different patterns around your button while the other muscle resumes its cleaning, a surprising level of coordination between the two movements.

The rest of the world melts off your mind in the midst of this mildly gross, but relentless attention to your womanhood. Your soft noises of approval are eaten up by the large gargoyle, whose tails swat and thump at the roof. At some point, you catch sight of his hips moving, and realize the poor thing is so excited he's basically humping the air, panting and shuddering against your pussy, the humidity and warmth accumulating beneath your dress making you sweat. You don't think Pebble gets a lot of attention from others here, he's acting like it at least. Those aimless pumps get you to giggle in between whining.

His tongue retracts from your now clenching hole and the other takes its place, only to slip out a while later. You realize, with a bit of amusement, that he's using both to eat you out, the greedy mutt. Where one darts in, the other waits for its turn, creating a rhythm you didn't think could feel as amazing as it does. God fuck, you're going to come. It's no surprise you're getting worked up so fast either, after the tryst with the waiter that left you high and dry.

One of your hands hurriedly darts to reach under your dress, searching frantically for the monster's own stony one, intending to teach him to flick your clitoris while he works. When it accidentally brushes the side of one of his paper bags however, Pebble chokes and snarls gutturally. You know the sound was aggressive, but your cunt clenched hard, the vibrations rocking your entire body and dragging a jarring orgasm out of you.

The howl you release to the wind is shameful, loud enough that some of the murmuring coming from below pauses entirely, people presumably left confused, or maybe wondering where the show is taking place... You couldn't give less of crap about what's happening below, too busy arching in the gargoyle's mess of a nest and bucking your hips into his faces while he slurps at everything you have to give him. Pebble rumbles in excitement, though slips off your entrance far too quick for your liking, leaving you to pulse through some ripples of pleasure all empty.

The groan of displeasure you make at having a high cut short is interrupted by the monster's intense purring rumble as he uses both heads to nudge you onto your back on his now soaked nest, headbutting you insistently when you merely sway.

" Alright alright okay- " You acquiesce, hormone-drunk, without even thinking too hard about what he wants.

The moment your head rests on that mess of cloths and feathers, you yawn and stretch, laughing quietly when all the gargoyle does for a moment is observe your lying figure, tails wagging and cock throbbing. It's oddly adorable, as if he's wondering how he got a catch like you on his nest.

In a blink however, the male finally decides what to do, grabbing you by the thighs and dragging you closer. Alarm bells start ringing when he pushes your legs up, raising your ass off the nest and pushing them towards your upper body in a position that you worry might strain your back. " H-Hey now? " You call, offering the monster a gaze that implores his caution.

You realize the type of position he's going for when he squats above you, veiled faces peering down at your small frame above the stone hills that are his tits -He's massive and this view really accentuates it- A swollen red cock parked on your outer lips. You're not sure how much you trust this gargoyle not to harm you in this vulnerable position.

" L- Look at me. " You start, balling your dress up at your waist and keeping yourself as well balanced on the edge of his nest as you can. The monster tilts both heads, listening. " Be gentle, o-okay? Slow. Play nice. "

Slightly fearful hues dart between his glowing crimson eye and the length pulsing on your core. You don't think this stone being has the sadism necessary to pull a stunt like Morell, but you have to gouge him anyway. After a couple of tense seconds, Pebble chuffs and nods, wings flapping sporadically as he readjusts.

You get to see the muscles of thoses powerful legs tense when he lines the tip of his cock up and starts pushing, trembling as your pussy welcomes him with few stings of pain at the stretch, having already been thoroughly worked out for the day. Nonetheless, he's still quite girthy, each ridge bumping inside you with each quick little hump he makes to bury his whole cock inside your warmth. Well, most of it, that bulb at the root remains untouched. You can't help but think it'd be easier to take if it wasn't so swollen already.

Pebble makes garbled low cries from both heads at the sensation of being enveloped, squeezing at your legs to ground himself for a heaving moment. He glances down for a second, making sure you're okay it seems, gratified by your teary-eyed, needy expression. Each sweetly torturous drag of his length on your walls is experimental, but the male quickly finds his rhythm the wetter you get, having no issue holding his own weight as he begins to piston down.

Each thrust is deep. Pebble seems reluctant to remove most of his dick from the tight hole he's found, more intent on grinding and rutting desperately than going for deeper, more languid motions. And you can't blame the guy, he seems beyond excited to have anyone in his nest, probably too giddy to drag things out too.

Your earlier doubts considering the safety of this position fade away to nothing but bliss as you realize he's hitting a lot deeper than what's expected, his tip kissing wonderful spots that have your toes curling and brows furrowing, head tossed to let out clipped appreciation noises. Sure, it's a little harder to breathe, but fuck if it isn't worth it. Maybe the gargoyle knows exactly what he's doing, maybe he just enjoys the view. When droplets of his drool fall onto your cheek and neck, you presume it's a bit of both.

The monster's ragged panting turns to strained growls as he picks up the pace, now truly pistoning with the great power behind those taught legs, claws scraping the tiles of the roof for better purchase.

" O- Ohh fff- Ah! Deep! " Is the stellar commentary you have to offer, the gentle nudges of before becoming a relentless hammering of several bundles of nerves that have you twitching and blinking stupidly, lost in a barrage of sensation.

Between his occasional mewled groan, slapping and flapping wings, you can hear the repeated jingling of the dog tag on his collar, bouncing with each rut. It brings you out of the experience for a brief second, giving way for a faint level of awareness in which your sixth sense blares warning sirens. It takes a bit, but your skin breaks out in goosebumps when instincts tell you something's looming, watching.

Frantic eyes dart around, vision somewhat impaired by the blur of your form being jostled by Pebble's enthusiastic fucking, but there, on the wall that escalates into the top roof, is a tall window. From behind it stands a silent figure, witness to the debauchery happening far too close. Your already overheated body sets ablaze the second you recognize who it is. The cloaked guy from before, the one who found you alongside Grimbly. God damn it, he just has to be everywhere, doesn't he?

His head tilts, and you can tell he's somehow returning your eye contact intensely.

It's hard to imagine what must be going through his head, seeing you get tossed around between his coworkers like a free use toy -Which, let's face it, in the current state of things that is essentially what you've become- Only to end up sprawled out on the roof, being bred silly by a bizarre gargoyle. What does he think of you? It seemed like he wanted to take you away for himself earlier, maybe he's upset. Or maybe he's just really into the view. When Pebble bucks especially hard, you moan and flutter around him, making the monster speed his thrusts even more, bending over you slightly. A drawn-out sort of hum has strands of drool hanging dangerously close to your face again.

When you have the composure to search for the window again, still finding the voyeur there, the bump in his robes definitely doesn't go unnoticed. You hate that it only excites you further, that the pleasant shock of his presumed size is written all over your face. As if some part of your lower brain expects him to climb out the fucking window and shove himself in your mouth. You're depraved.

Sharp as he appears to be, the hooded figure knows exactly where you're looking with those glazed eyes, ash-colored fingers flirting with his own covered length before you. It's a promise. It's a filthy little lure- And if Pebble wasn't plowing you so good, you'd probably have crawled the roofs on your own for him.

Speaking of, he's getting a little too rough. Or maybe you're just sore and finally beginning to feel it all, it's hard to tell.

" Hahn- Slow down- Slow boy- Nnh fuck! "

He's not listening, even when you drag a hand up the gargoyle's hard abdomen, trying to ground the softly growling thing, all he does is lean into the touch and strain to fuck you deeper, probably taking the contact as encouragement. And, honestly, when the waves of a rapidly building orgasm start rocking you again, it's hard to care. Groping at the monster while he stretches you out is more gratifying. You're licking your lips in anticipation when the glow coming from his paper bag veil brightens and he seems to steam hot puffs of breath out, fanning the edges of the thin tissue.

Pebble isn't asking you for permission, but you nod at him anyway. He makes a strangled bray that quickly becomes a howl, and fucks down with a force that leaves you winded. There's a pause, and for a couple of vapid seconds, you don't quite grasp why he stopped moving, and why he isn't filling you yet. Then the pressure starts.

Your eyes bulge, and only now do you recall the shape stationed at his base, the thing he's now trying to push into you. Naturally, hormones and slight dread have you squirming under the monster, wondering if that's safe at all to take, but the gargoyle has an iron grip of your legs, giving out warning chuffs.

" Wait! Wait wait wait- PEBBLE! "

You scream to the skies as soon as soon as he forces the entire thing in with one devastating blow, popping that fat knot into your cunt mercilessly. The stimulation is so fast and so intense that your second orgasm hits you like a punch to the gut, rendering you a squealing, mewling mess around the other. Pebble makes his own desperate noises of approval, his entire girth seeming to pulse and throb inside you -Knot included- As what you can only describe as a torrent of cum washes your insides. He grinds himself aimlessly in the midst of both your highs, slowly, so as to not overstimulate himself.

As you lay there, legs twitching and heaving for breath, the gargoyle reaches a shaky arm out to pet you on the head soothingly. He looks aware that this is hard to handle for a human, wanting to reward you in some way or another. The fact that he seemingly keeps cumming should worry you, yet the arousal lingering within you welcomes everything he has to offer.

Predictably, when the frenzy of lust starts dying down and you both have recovered a fair amount, you look at your visibly swollen womb and pale a couple shades. Holy shit that's all him, that's way too much... He's not in heat, is he? You can feel it all pooling inside your body, a foreign weighted warmth. Comforting in an obscene way.

The exhaustion of being in this position for a prolonged amount of time starts getting to you in a couple of minutes, at which you tap Pebble's leg. He appears to get the message, but instead of pulling out, he whines and readjusts, letting you rest more of your body on the nest while he blankets your body. Much to your increasing surprise, Pebble extends his small wings and uses them to shield you from the world, resting his upper body onto you.

Is he... Is he just not going to pull out?

Given his massive weight, even if the monster's taking care not to crush his little nest mate, he's in no position to be dislodged. When his breathing slows, you grow alarmed. If the gargoyle decides to settle down and sleep now, how are you supposed to find your way back down, without severely injuring yourself that is?

" Hey. Hey now, Pebble. " He doesn't give much of a response beyond chuffing. " Pull out, please. " When there's no reaction, you assume he's blatantly ignoring you.

Annoyed, you actively start trying to squirm from beneath the gargoyle, though immediately, he makes a sharp cry of pain, the noise turning into a vicious snarl while he yanks you back into place, claws making it extremely clear you are not to move a single fucking millimeter. Alright, okay, message received.

Right. The knot... It's even more swollen inside of you now, plugging everything, there's no way you'll slip off it any time soon.

" Alright, o-okay okay! " Palms up seems to do the trick, placating him.

The gargoyle hums, veering his body slighlty to the side so as to not crush your ribcage when he settles down to rest. You groan, resigned to being trapped.

Time passes. As always, you can't be sure how much. It could be minutes, it could be hours. You can't sleep, not after falling unconscious several times. Instead, you stare at the sky, watching it get darker and darker, until the stars become visible behind the warp of the fog that seems to shroud this foreign establishment. Moving is a terrible idea. Even if your legs are going numb and you're the furthest thing from comfortable, the smallest shift might trigger another fit from him.

It's not your immediate safety that has you concerned about the events. After all, he's shielding you somewhat, and Pebble is significantly bigger than the other gargoyle you saw, so chances are you're much safer on this roof than you would be on the ground, where people have gathered. Of course, you're not exactly thrilled by the notion that your goal of making it out of here is getting delayed further, slipping out of your fingers the more you stall, like grains of sand.

Pebble sleeps, both heads snoring softly beside you, tails twitching, hips occasionally rutting. In a moment of blind hope, your head snaps up to search for the tall window from before, praying the hooded figure is still there. It's completely abandoned. Figures, that would be too easy.

Having nothing to do and no means to pass the time, you fantasize about what you would rather be doing, what you need to do as soon as you make it out of this blasted place -If you ever do, a small voice pipes up. What kind of therapy can help you get over this? Have you been changed forever? Would people believe you?

Is this real?

The sound of sudden loud flapping has you wide alert. Brought out of focus, you can't tell where or who it's coming from, so you cling to Pebble's back in fear. Perhaps it's another gargoyle, having come to pick at the scraps. Your scared whimper causes the male to stir awake as well, making disgruntled sounds when something lands not too far away.

A pallid white figure dressed in black.

It's only after a pause of vapid squinting that your brain registers who that is. The angel. Or, at least, that's the only thing you can think to compare him to. He's a mystery to you, only recalling vague instances of his demeanor, when the day was still young and you had been spit out onto the floor by a startled mimic.

He stands straight, a firm grip on his staff, three eyes scrutinizing the sight before him silently. Not that there's much complexity to it, you're being held captive in the nest of the gargoyle that happily bred you stupid. Now that you're getting a second look at the guy, the feathers on his wings are as white as the ones on Pebble's nest. They know each other? Well, if the two-headed monster isn't freaking out, you'll assume so.

He is tense however, it's hard not to sense that when he's glued to your front.

" For goodness' sake- " A lightly furred hand drags down his peculiarly shaped face. " This is where I find you, of all places? "

The fucking nerve of this dude.

It was either the gargoyle or the spiky-haired demon that looked more likely to use you as a human carpet than be remotely helpful. He's looking at you as if you decided to come here of your own volition, to get roped into a bunch of sexual escapades for funsies- Like it's a hobby of yours.

" ... Would you rather find me dead in your cook's kitchen? Torn to pieces in this garden? " Hiding the snark in your tone proves itself to be harder than expected.

He glares at you, a decidedly intense look that inspires a primal wave fear in your body. " Quiet. " The angel's attention shifts to your nest-partner. " Pebble. Release the woman. "

Pebble's only reaction is to stare at the other monster and clutch you closer to a sturdy body. Something about the red dot that comprises his eye reads as a warning.

The angel scoffs. " Don't be ridiculous, come now. We don't have time for this. "

When he steps forward, he's instantly greeted with a nasty, vicious rattle of a snarl that has you freezing for a long moment. Jesus fuck, so that's what he sounds like when he's actually angry.

The angel reels back, lavender eyes widened in shock and mild hurt, though humorously, his chest appears to puff in an instinctual response to the aggressive call. " Pebble?! What is the meaning of this! "

The gargoyle seems to cower for a second, but it can't escape the situation, and the squeezing you feel makes it clear he doesn't want to let go either.

" Release her. Now. " The staff is slammed onto the tiles, ringing. You can feel the atmosphere get really tense and you're not sure how much danger you're currently in either. Might as well try to de-escalate it.

" I- We... We're stuck. " You murmur. He's slightly deflated, giving your pussy a bit of relief, but not enough for his exit to be painless.

The other blinks, his posture slouches slightly, exasperation making him tug at a growth on the back of his head. " Krulu give me strength. "

Who?

" Pebble. I know you like the girl, she's a very pretty lesser, yes. " He starts, gentler in his approach. " But the girl is special, you know? We need her. U-Untangle yourself from her. "

Did... Did he just stutter when telling the gargoyle to pull out? Okay then.

Despite his efforts, the other male doesn't seem quite convinced, snort-growling intensely.

" You've forced my hand. "

The pale monster sighs, his wings rise high and open swiftly, a challenging display if you've ever seen one before. His eyes start glowing, the brightness causing your head to pound, an ear-splitting ringing forcing you to look away and instinctively shield your head. Pebble seems afflicted as well, peeling back from you as far as he can, still connected to you by the pelvis.

By the time you recover from whatever the fuck that horrifying thing was, you find yourself being held above the now lying gargoyle by a chalk-white arm coiled around your abdomen, another holding the sharpened edge of an axe down to Pebble's throats. The gargoyle's furious noises turn to quiet whimpers, he looks mortally frightened.

" Our lord is very disappointed in you. " The angel tuts. " Do not move. "

Next, he addresses you. " Brace as hard as you need to, but I must... Dislodge you two. "

Again with the hesitation. This monster's surrounded by sex and depravity, and yet he his language is so flowery. Regardless, you take his advice to heart, wondering who this "lord" is, while you inhale and wait.

The yank upwards has both you and Pebble keening in pain, the angel stuttering something incoherent and awkward behind you two before he tugs again, harder, and that red cock pops out of you with a miserable sting.

" Mother of FUCK- "

" Language, you depraved thing! " He squawks.

Said misery is followed by an incredible wave of relief as accumulated cum seeps out of you like an obscene cascade, coating the gargoyle's still hard length, making a mess of both of your thighs. Each oozing glob has you panting and shuddering in alleviation. Finally, the bump in your lower abdomen recedes, thank god.

It's clear the angel doesn't really know what to do with you in this state. In fact, when you glance at him, those three eyes are all laser focused on your gushing cunt, frozen there. Pebble breaks the awkward moment by batting the staff away and scrambling out from beneath you, soaked in his own cum, clumsily darting to the shadows. You can hear him take off to the ground while the remaining monster helps you stand straighter.

A terrible idea, as even more globs of cum drip down your legs. It's a shameful sensation, you can only clench to try and helplessly stop the flow.

" U- Unbelievable. Cover yourself, what a disgrace. " The angel fusses, sharply averting his gaze. You note, interestingly, that his fur seems to be fluffing further and further as this goes on. Flustered perhaps?

The moment your crumpled dress is rearranged, now but a mockery of what it once was, the angel slides his staff behind his back and holds you bridal style, the eyes on his head decidedly still looking away from your debauched state even as he takes flight and lands, a lot more smoothly than the gargoyle thakfully.

You'd ask how he did that without looking forward, but then recall the third eye on his chest, the one that is now staring back at you. You can't help but think it's beautiful, in a very inhuman, striking way.

As soon as you're on the ground, the small crowd of mostly demons starts heckling the angel, which, in hindsight, shouldn't really be a surprise. Raunchy comments about him wanting sloppy seconds and being just as pervy as the rest of them are swiftly ignored, anyone who gets too close is quickly swatted away by powerful wings.

A frown takes over your face when he carries you back inside that rotten shithole, though you had yet to see the entrance of the place. This breed between a lounge and a game room, several pool tables and whatnot spread around the large place. Though, sitting squarely in the middle is what must be the main attraction, a fancy, stylish looking bar with all manner of drinks advertised, many of which you don't recognize. But you do recognize the loosely shaped yellow figure operating it, the yellow slime. As if thinking about him is enough to summon his attention, a piercing red eye finds you with eerie precision, pinkish green widening as he waves.

Creepy fucker.

" Let- Let me down, please. " You try, not liking that you're being carried around to who knows where.

" No. You have trotted around enough today. It is time to put an end to this. " You don't like the sound of that, even less so when he gets into the elevator.

" But where are you taking me? "

He pushes a button and stands firmly, the two of you try to ignore the sound of cum droplets hitting the ground. You're sure you've been making a little trail this whole time.

" To a spare room. "

Again?! How many times will you land on one of those? What for? Is that supposed to be your waiting room before another sickfuck comes to fetch the human for their own entertainment? Or is he just going to lock you in a random room for the rest of the night?

Sure enough, when the elevator doors part, you recognize the long hall of doors as the same one the incubus lead you to. He opens one of the nearest doors in a rush, fast enough that you couldn't catch the number, and deposits you carelessly on the bed.

It's a much less lavish room than Santi's. Barren almost. All dark minimalist tones you don't care for. You hold onto the purple sheets and pull yourself up, ready to try to plead with the winged monster when he makes a b-line for the door again.

" Wait! Don't just- "

He interrupts you, sharply turning around. " You are to stay here and behave until lady Admin comes to collect you, am I understood? "

Although his tone is serious, and you recall hearing the name "Admin" somewhere already since the start of this mess, your stare drops to the outline of his hardness and you can't take him seriously anymore. Given how tight to the skin his outfit is, not a lot is left to the imagination, giving away a flat-headed shape and decent proportions. Is he even aware of his own state? As a matter of fact, his fur is still fluffed. Seeing the results of you getting busy with Pebble was enough to put him in that state?

" ... You're hard. "

The angel blinks several times, glancing down at himself, meeting his own neglected dick. You nearly cackle at the dumbfounded look he offers it, as if questioning why it exists. At the smallest hint of your quiet snickering, large wings fan themselves to cover his front. He recovers quickly, you'll give him that.

" Nonsense lesser, don't be disgusting. Stay absolutely still, I will come back. "

He intended to look irritated, but the way he struggles with the door knob and scurries out the room betrays great shame. The door shuts and there's a distinct click. You curse out loud.

Bastard locked it.

Fuck... What do you do now?

Well, you can't just stay still like a sitting duck, waiting to possibly die. You only have a few cards left to play here, which means the stakes are higher this time. Either you bet on trying to find a way out of this room, or you have to disorient the angel somehow.

On the one hand, this entire location is bizarre. It definitely doesn't obey the logic and laws of reality as you know it, if the garden's structure is any indication. So chances are that, maybe, you can find something here that'll help you break out of the room, somehow. A loophole.

On the other, that angel... He's already flustered and feeling awkward, maybe if you push the right buttons, you can get him to lead you somewhere else, can trick him. Maybe he's your ticket out.

[lol-jackles]

As someone who hates Destiel and the shippers with a passion. It annoys me to admit it felt like Castiel and Dean got alot of moments in S15. Nearly up there with Sam and Dean moment. Also Sam and Castiel didn't even get a goodbye scene. Did they even have a big scene together?

While I do think the original intent of season 15 was to make it Dean and Cas focused because Jared was supposed to leave SPN after season 14, I also think you had a yellow-car confirmation bias.  Attention is naturally very selective.  You might not find a yellow car (because yellow cars are not common), but you might look out for cars in the hopes of spotting a yellow one.  That ~confession scene was given way too much credit and attention by superfans in an otherwise decent episode. But Cas's speech wasn’t for you and the superfans, it was for general audience and casual fans to remind them that Dean is still a hero because they only seen Sam acting heroically trying to protect people from the Snap.  Dean going after Billie looked more like revenge and it was at the cost of Cas’s life.  So this lesson to Dean is that it isn’t all about him.  That’s right, a speech that seems to be all about Dean is actually saying it’s not all about him. 

Cas to Dean: Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love. You raised your little brother for love. You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are”.  

Audience:  Well, duh.  Also, thanks for the reminder but why?

*Dean dies two episodes later*

Audiene: Oh that’s why.  

So from my perspective, season 15 did not have much Cas and Dean moments other than Cas having a hissy huff in purgatory and Dean's awkward anxiety attack three minutes later, and the meme-making scene that is now tumblr's breaking news template because how indifferent Dean was. I'm sure those two did have more scenes together than the ones I mentioned but they're unmemorable and so apparently unimportant to the plot.

In contrast I remember what Sam and Dean were doing in season 15: the free will vs determinism question and how to escape determinism. Sam represented the former and Dean represented the latter.  Dean believes in determinism so his idea of getting free will (killing Chuck by using Jack as a bomb) was wrong. During their push and pull, Dean has to seek and give forgiveness before he ascends to heaven because (in my interpretation of Christianity), one has to learn to forgive in order to enter heaven because the Savior has died for your sins and forgiven your sins.

Lucifer returns because the devils' purpose on the show is to show God how undeserving humans are by leading them astray. Sam is constantly proving the devil wrong about humanity and lead people in the right direction, in season 15 it's stopping and talking down Dean from his kill-Chuck plan and finding another way to save the world. Sam's fatherly relationship with Jack ascends him into a benevolent God of free will, and from there Sam (and Dean) could write their own stories and complete his Hero Journey arc.

[etherfabric]

Tarot Story for @fishnapple

@fishnapple Thank you so much for joining me in this new experiment 🙏 I'm excited and curious what will come out, and how you will receive it :)

I plan to pull 3 cards from my 3 main decks, Thoth, Hermetic and RWS, and then just do some semi-automatic writing, with the intention of a short story to emerge. Let's go!

*shuffling*

(I put which cards I pulled at the end)

Having two mothers can be a blessing, and a curse. The princess was dragging her rusty sword behind her after a long day of fighting practice, and tried not to think too hard about the upcoming conversation at the dinner table. Despite her efforts to expel any energy that could manifest into a filial tantrum (the wooden figures on the training ground, hacked into rough splinters, bore witness to that) she still felt like a dry fuse next to a bonfire.

She was convinced that a father present would understand instinctively why she can't give in any longer. Why she was thankful for her rage, for it was giving her the necessary force to break what suffocated her. She was more than willing to accept any collateral damage on either side. Her vision was clear, her path free, her capabilities on par, so why hold back? Her grip around the sword tightened, her breath fanning the ember closer to the fuse.

She knew that her lack of effort to close the door silently behind her would haunt her not too far into the future, but she had passed the moment of lucidity to choose her actions according to peace. Now all there was left was the reality of her anger. The reality of the Queens, with their relentless prayers about forgiveness. And the infuriating pull she felt on her heartstrings anytime she had provoked them to recite it. It was slowing her down, robbing her of her vigor, and she hated them for it. A hate that was disturbing home life for quite some time now.

"Didn't the rain bother you?" The elegant timbre of the Moon Queen carried effortlessly across the hallway. Somehow, it was always hard to tell from which room her voice came from. This time was no different. The princess threw her sword in a corner, hearing only taunting in the question. Anything seemed to be an attack on her abilities and judgement these days. Even silence. She felt trapped, constantly. Today, she would break free for good. Today, she won't be swayed again. Enough is enough.

The lack of reply didn't register tangibly with the Moon Queen, but she rarely showed reactivity to open affronts like these. With slow steps, straining with the attempt to gain some calmness, the princess inched closer to the dining room. She whispered to herself: "It is yours. They can't take it. This is yours…" As soon as she stood in the doorframe, two heads, one framed with silver hair, the other full of golden curls, turned towards her, meeting her with the same loving gaze that used to be everything she had to know when she had been cooing in the cradle, looking up to the benevolent Gods of her world. What used to be a source of safety, now felt like a prison, where the only escape was to become the villain she strived to defeat as long as she was able to set a conscious intention.

"We're having duck today", the Solar Queen sang as her only daughter pulled back a chair. "Your favorite!" The princess stared at one of her empty glasses.

"You should've taken a coat with you", the Moon Queen said as she studied the hue of her child's face. "You need warmth for good circulation."

Nobody had seen an arm move, but the shattering at the wall was proof enough that the empty glass had been thrown. The fuse was lit ablaze. Nothing other than a scream was possible.

"IF YOU BELIEVE IN PEACE SO MUCH, THEN WHY DO I HAVE TO FIGHT YOU EVERY DAY?"

Her panting was the only sound for a while after that. The silence in the kitchen next door was telling. Everything had frozen, except the Queens' faces. They looked at each other with a mixture of sorrowful recognition and subtle determination, like they had to tell a lamb about wolfs. The Solar Queen was fidgeting with a corner of her napkin, lost in thought it seemed, but after feeling the Moon Queen's hand on top of hers, she exuded nothing but clear focus and called for one of the servants, her voice like golden bells. The princess furrowed her brows in confusion; the usual rhythm of their evenings so far had been tantrum, pacification, counter-tantrum, philosophical discussion about right and wrong, final tantrum to leave the table. What had changed?

With a swift stride, a heavy wooden chest was placed next to her dish. It was longer than her arm, and her bepuzzlement left enough room for her to feel sorry watching the man trying his best to seem unbothered by the acidic athmosphere. He retracted backwards, which would have seemed silly in any other circumstances, but he managed to make it look appropriate. She looked back at her mothers. Another nonverbal encouragement was exchanged between them, and this time, the Moon Queen spoke.

"The swordsmith finished it this morning, about an hour after you had left. It should serve you well."

Watching the clouds of suspicion break into a dawn of delight on her daughter's face was like a soothing balm on a nasty burn right on her heart. The tears started to well up in all of their faces, for different reasons, but also the very same ones. It was finally over.

"What made you change your mind?", the princess sniffled as she finally dared to lay hands on her treasure chest, tracing the hinges with her thumbs.

The Queens smiled at each other, not without a hint of humor. They may or may not had practiced saying it in unison.

"Peace and forgiveness."

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

The cards were truly magical, I pulled one of each deck, face down, and revealed them slowly. The Empress, The Princess of Swords, and... The Empress again! The sheer mathematical probability is astounding to me. First I thought there would be abstract themes showing up I had to somehow craft into the rhythm or maybe even moral of the story, but this spread read like "These are your protagonists, go!" Intimidating at first, but it was a great exercise to see what a positive mindset can accomplish.

I am very curious about your feedback, please don't hold back and let me know. I'm super nervous but also feel revitalized in an ancient part of me. Thank you again for making this experience possible for me, it means more than I can say! 🙏🦋

[fenicenera83]

- De Romanus Coven Event- Saturnalia event day 6. -Prompt:Fur -Marius/Armand - Era of Venice

That was one of the nights when I could not sleep. It was not because of my memories chasing me like demons and dark shadows, somehow, I knew those were just flashes of my past and silent pain of my heart finding no rest. Until I had found Him, or perhaps it was He who found me, the memory of that day blurs, sometimes, I cannot see clearly beyond His beauty and the name whispered gently from the Master's lips, which I now wear with pride, Amadeo. I cannot say whether it was I who called Him or He who found me, perhaps both, I am so presumptuous as to want to think that we found each other in the middle, that I can be an extension of His being, of His love, as the Master is an extension of this wounded boy who could paint with God's eyes. In my Master I had found that rest and salvation that I had not found even in my prayers, those prayers that as I had been taught should have accurd me and set me free. I wandered around the palace alone, barefoot, my feet cold and my hands just as cold, my hair tousled, desperate and on the verge of a pain to which I could give no meaning but a name, remoteness, lack, absence ...where are You Master? My bare feet against the gleaming marble of the floor made no sound, the white robe of a soft, warm cloth, caressing my thighs and arms up to my elbow.

The sound of the wind from the icy, ever-shining Venice, whispered distant stories, among the wonderful chandeliers where the candle fires wavered, and the sound of the waters of the canals below caressed the stone of that palace, I knew it was cold, I could feel it, but the cold inside me was more stinging and wearing than that of Venice. I knew it had been hours since the palace was shrouded in sleep, everyone was warm, protected and loved, happy, probably dreaming of their shining victories as young boys full of life. Under the benevolence of the Master everything in their eyes seemed possible and within reach. I cannot be like my brothers, they do not doubt, they are not afraid, they with unwavering confidence wait for the Master to return. I am afraid. I am afraid because the Master is not here, and I don't know where He is or when He will return. And my heart falters and my tears are an indelible testament on my skin to my cowardice, why can't I have the trust of my brothers? I am afraid, that You will never come back.

I'm afraid I can't see You anymore, why do You disappear? why do You never tell me anything? and why do You leave me? Standing still in front of this staircase, eyes closed and afraid, devoured by fear, I hate these tears and hate these moments that keep us apart. Yet I don't know how to fight them, except by walking and looking for my beloved Master, all over the palace, even though I know very well that He is not here…. You are not here. I resume walking with more eagerness, as if that might magically bring me before the Master. I imagine I look like one of those little fauns, running through the forest, heedless of what's around them, just running, as if that's the only way they can live. And so will I, and finally all that silence that reigned around me is torn away by my quick, heavy steps on the worked marbles. Only when I realize that I cannot continue that furious run have I stopped.

And something inside me stopped, as if something I had been waiting for had finally arrived. The labored breathing and closed eyes do not change my awareness of Him. I know before I hear His footsteps behind me, and I know I can only hear them because He wants to, but already I had smelled His scent, already I had heard my heartbeat change.

When I turn around I would like to shout at Him.I wish to accuse Him, I wish He felt guilty because He deprived me of His presence. That desire grows in me, and vanishes with a smile from Him. I look at him and know that He knows, the Master always knows everything. " Amadeo." That's all Master needs to say, and every motion of rebellion is defeated in me. " Master… Where have you been? Why have you been away for so long? What place are you going to that is so secret that you cannot take me with you?" and I know I come across as almost disrespectful, but I know my tone is sweet despite the accusation.

The concern on his face left a bitter taste in my mouth, but when the Master removed from his shoulders the thick dark fur he wore over his sumptuous red and gold velvet robes, I understood why he was so upset. The Master leaned over me and wrapped me in the fur, and with gentle and harmonious gestures but full of delicate passion, he fixed my hair, which had curled on my neck and clung to my mottled forehead. "Amadeo, why aren't you asleep?" His cold hands caressed my cheeks, which were as cold as He was, He seemed deeply troubled by this, so much so that His cobalt blue eyes darkened and His handsome face was run through with a motion akin to dismay. " Master…. I was looking for you…but I could not find you.You were not here, and you were never gone so long. I was afraid … that you would never come back." my words must have sounded to Him like those of a madman, I thought, but how could I explain to Him the bewilderment of my soul when He was not there with me? How could I speak of the love I felt for Him? The Master's face softened, and I realized that as always somehow He knew. He lowered himself, after kissing my forehead, and inspected my feet, shook His head, and only then did I realize that they were bruised. The Master looked at me seriously in a way that made me feel small and foolish. He caressed my hands and laid them together on his chest on the soft red velvet of his bodice. Then in a moment, He lifted me up as if I were but a small boy, when instead I was a firm and full young man, and He clasped me in His fur, the fur in which He had wrapped me just before. I felt His hands settle it around me, and in His arms, with my head on his chest, I felt at last at peace.

The fur enveloped me completely, even my feet were covered, with care and patience the Master arranged it around me. I clung to Him, my arms around His neck and my face in His hair, I heard him sigh, but it was because with that gesture I had again exposed my hands and arms to the cold. A laugh escaped me, and He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I didn't mind, but I clung more resolutely to Him, and covered His blond hair with kisses. It was then that He rested his forehead on mine with a smile. And when He kissed me there, His kiss was warm and full of love, the same warmth that flowed through my body now that He was there with me, the same love that beat in my heart now that Master held me close.

END

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Asbod!! (This is my name for you when i refer to you in my discord servers lol) can you talk about Brothers? I love it!! I want any thoughts you have abt it! All of the thoughts you have about it!

first of all i love the name Asbod please feel free to call me that (that goes for everyone)

SECOND oh my god Brothers was such a fun thing to write especially considering there's a strange thing that happens with the twins where Roman gets comforted by Remus a lot (I'm guilty of this I know shush) but Remus doesn't really have a whole lot of people he can actually go to for things

(under the cut because wow)

one of the things i associate the most with remus is my tenuous relationship with reality. this might be tmi but I have these...episodes? hallucinations? delusions? somethings where it's really hard for me to stay in my body where i am at the point in time that i should be, and most often how this manifests (or how i realize it's happening to me and i would like it to No Longer Happen) is I get really fucking cold. Now, normally, I'm a goddamn space heater so that's an unfamiliar sensation. so i wanted to give remus that same kind of panic where it's cold, who knows why, and then you slowly have that feeling that something is Wrong. Not in that there's something outright coming to get you, or that you can see how things are going to spiral out of control, but that feeling of being in a sterile, bland, completely emotionless room and hearing the buzzing of the fluorescent lights just a little too loudly. and of course because it's remus, we take it to the extreme

the wolf...look, i blame puss in boots the last wish and dimension 20's neverafter for reigniting my love for wolf death deities, especially benevolent ones. (yeah yeah Death from puss in boots isn't really benevolent until the very end but you get what i mean, he's reasonable, he's not just mindlessly evil or malicious.) The wolf for me is such a symbol of the end of a story, or at the very least an irrevocable turning point. within the context of the twins specifically, the wolf serves as an interesting bridge between the two; the wolf as a fairytale figure fits very nicely into Roman's more traditional 'storied' Imagination, whereas the fear and uncertainly the figure of the wolf connotes slots very well into Remus's side. there's something incredibly soothing for me, a very brain-spicy person, about having a being who is kind for no other reason than it chooses to be. I dunno if you caught remus referencing Emily Dickinson's work as he was carried.

and then for roman! we all know i'm a full time station master for the roman angst train, but it works both ways. roman is deeply connected to the imagination, to creativity, to his brother, and as much as remus and he butt heads about things, there's an element of roman's creativity that remus finds safe. i think roman perhaps out of all the sides is truly the embodiment of the hurt/comfort genre, the desire to see something fall so far, yes, but land on something soft. that's the sort of thing his brother makes, and so the imagination/remus/the wolf takes him to roman because that's the soft landing he needs. and then with the hypothermia specifically--look, okay, i'm not an exception to the lure of that trope, even if i never take it the sexy route. bringing someone out of that state requires patience, gentle and constant attention, because you have to warm them up slowly and carefully. how could i not want to portray that? especially for these two, who are such obvious mirrors yet at the same time are exactly the same.

[anistarrose]

Tumblr came in absolutely clutch with recipe recs for me lately, so in the spirit of paying it forward, I return offering a recipe for:

The Best Sweet Potato Casserole You Will Ever Have in Your Life

[plaint text: "The Best Sweet Potato Casserole You Will Ever Have in Your Life."]

courtesy of — if I'm tracing my recipe genealogy correctly — either my great-grandmother's church friend, or some kind of benevolent patron god of brown sugar and root vegetables. With a couple of eggs, it achieves almost a soufflé texture, and it's deliciously sweet but not in the overkill way that keeps me away from some other sweet casseroles.

Are you looking to upstage everyone who's bringing a pie to the family gathering? Do you have a sweet tooth, but not enough of a sweet tooth for those other sweet potato recipes that douse them in an equal mass of heavy syrup or marshmallows? Then this is the casserole for you.

Vegetarian, and easily made gluten-free with substitutions.

Ingredients:

[plain text: "Ingredients".]

3 cups pre-cooked sweet potatoes, slightly mashed

1/4 cup butter

2 eggs, room temperature

1 tsp vanilla extract

3/4 cup brown sugar

Streusel topping:

[Plain text: "Streusel topping".]

3/4 cup brown sugar

1/3 cup butter

1/3 cup flour (any kind will do)

1 cup of a crunchy, salty snack*

*Pecans are listed on the original recipe, but if you're allergic to nuts, try crushed pretzels (small but not totally pulverized pieces). If you can't have wheat either (hi friend!), I used crushed rice chex with a half-teaspoon of kosher salt sprinkled on this year, and it was still S-tier. Truly, I don't think you could go wrong with any plain rice cereal plus extra salt to taste. We love a flexible recipe!

Equipment:

[Plain text: "Equipment".]

9x9 or roughly equivalent baking dish (if dish is bigger, just bake for a slightly shorter time)

At least 1 mixing bowl

Spatula

Fork (for prepping streusel)

Instructions:

[Plain text: "Instructions".]

If you haven't done so already, cook the sweet potatoes until they reach a texture suitable for mashing. This can be done in the microwave in about 10 minutes, give or take depending on settings, but be sure to poke some holes in the skin with a fork before microwaving, so the steam can escape.

Once cooked, remove skins then mash them. Let them return a little closer to room temperature before stirring in the eggs (so the eggs don't immediately cook). Add the butter (1/4 cup, melted), brown sugar (3/4 cup), and vanilla, and stir thoroughly before spreading out evenly in baking dish.

For the streusel, mix brown sugar (3/4 cup) and flour. Cut the butter (1/3 cup) into this mixture; this works best if the butter is slightly cooler than room temperature, but not straight out of the fridge. Use the tines of a fork and the side of a bowl to break the butter apart and mix, until a crumbly texture is reached. Mix in topping of choice, then sprinkle on top of potatoes.

Bake at 300° Fareinheit for 30-45 minutes, uncovered. The streusel should be lightly browned. Best served warm.

Other notes:

[Plain text: "Other notes".]

Cinnamon and its friends (allspice, nutmeg, etc) can be delicious additions to the potatoes and/or the streusel. This dish is sweet enough to function as a dessert, but it's also great as a side to something savory. In terms of prep, the sweet potatoes can be pre-cooked and mashed ahead of time; simply refrigerate until ready.

And that's all! Enjoy!

[sandinmybed]

Please tell me about prophecy and the seventh sign and any other movies/media that explores the dynamics you're talking about I wanna hear!!

WALL OF TEXT!

For anyone reading this who doesn't know what this is about, I am recommending movies with religious themes that are not like... NICE religious. These are more along the lines of "Angels do not have free will and exist to do God's bidding - God's will frequently involves horrible, horrible things. Source: the Bible." My mother, who was raised to be devoutly Protestant and is now a devout atheist with religious trauma, loves movies like this. She calls them "nasty angel movies" but in general she likes things with religious themes that aren't preachy - and in fact might be the opposite. She likes media with the premise that God (of abrahamic faiths, particularly christianity) is real, but not benevolent. i'm struggling to define this genre because it's late lol

so, The Prophecy (1995)! fucking great movie. it's told mostly from the perspective of a detective who was previously training to be a catholic priest but lost his faith because of horrible visions. Christopher Walken portrays the angel Gabriel who has come to claim an extremely evil soul as a weapon for a second war in heaven. he is NOT a nice angel. i THINK the angels are upset that God has focused all His energy on humanity? but i may be misremembering. anyway this evilest soul ever has been placed temporarily in the body of a little native american girl who immediately becomes ill and is looked after by her teacher mostly, and Gabriel is looking for it and he's the villain of the movie, basically. it does have potentially uh,, slightly 90s ideas of Native American spirituality? possibly problematic/stereotyping? but i'm british and know almost nothing about native americans so i can't tell you if it's egregiously bad, or if its just a bit cringe. but the movie itself is really really good imo. also, Viggo Mortensen as Lucifer. Can't really go into that too much without spoilers, but he's INCREDIBLE. He makes the entire film.

I personally loved it because Gabriel is the angel who told Mary she would be giving birth to the son of God, right? most children raised in Western Christian nations are familiar with the Nativity and angel Gabriel above all others. But he's not a nice guy here - he's a servant of God, and he's mad about it. He uses humans as tools, kills, he's horrible lol. Interestingly, wikipedia seems to suggest that most people thought it was bad but it's gone on to become a cult film? idk i think its great.

Seventh Sign (1988) I didn't enjoy as much (personal opinion, my mum loves it) but the concept is really good. Basically, signs of the biblical apocalypse are happening and mostly being explained away, but they're happening. Leans a little bit into Hebrew theology too. A woman (demi moore) is pregnant with a baby, but there were a limited amount of souls in heaven, and now the first baby without a soul is soon to be born, and it's hers.

My mother also recommends Devil's Advocate (1997) which I've not seen myself but the main actors are Keanu Reeves and Al Pacino so I reckon it must be good lol. From the wikipedia it seems to be more of a horror, so if you have triggers I'd search on "does the dog die" (i've heard it's good for spoiler free trigger warnings) but according to wikipedia: "Based on Andrew Neiderman's 1990 novel of the same name, it is about a gifted young Florida lawyer invited to work for a major New York City law firm. As his wife becomes haunted by frightening visions, the lawyer slowly realizes the firm's owner, John Milton, is in fact, the Devil."

She also likes Constantine and Legion but i've not seen either nor talked to her about them so can't say anything about those lol

also this is a series and not a movie but I NEED you to watch Midnight Mass. it's by the same director who did The Fall of the House of Usher and the Haunting of Hill House and it's just absolutely incredible. It's a single series and it's about a village of like, a hundred or so people that's dying because small village. it's quite a religious town, the centre of the community is the catholic church, and the aging and senile priest has gone on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. He doesn't return, and instead, a younger, unknown priest returns with new enigmatic sermons and then he performs actual miracles - he heals a girl in a wheelchair, for example. I don't want to spoil this but weird shit starts happening and it's a horror series again. My mum particularly liked (hated) a character called Bev Keane, she said she reminded her of her mother. The most miserable, awful, religious zealot, who never actually says anything cruel - she hides her awfulness behind scripture and religious quotes and is impossible to argue with or accuse of anything because she serves god! she's awful in such a hard to define way. Honestly the whole series is fantastic, and it's so well done. its one of those series where its impossible to make a sequel because its done perfectly. can you tell i liked this one

Also i think everyone on tumblr knows this one, but Good Omens. Obviously not a horror show like the others, and the "bad angels who are meant to only do god's will" thing is taken much more lightly here, but still worthy of inclusion imo. The book and the series are different, but not hugely. Humorous take on the apocalypse, and a demon and an angel who've been watching over earth for 6000 years and have decided actually, they like earth, and they dont want it to explode because heaven and hell are actually full of pricks and they dont want to deal with them, theyre too busy enjoying earth. so they decide to stop the apocalypse. they're not very good and it all goes a bit wrong a few times.

Final "religious themes" rec is Small Gods by Terry Pratchett, who also cowrote good omens and it's not actually about christian religion or angels but I think it's worth a mention because it's about a young monk called Brutha who is training in the city of Omnia, a religious city state on the Discworld that is devoted solely to the worship of the Great God Om. The church of Om run the entire city and everyone is a believer, the church is ultimately powerful, and everyone lives in fear of upsetting the church. And then the Great God Om is dropped from the sky from the talons of an eagle, and lands in a garden in the main church citadel - because he's a tortoise. He's been stuck in the form of a tortoise for years because he has no power anymore, because in Pratchett's discworld, there are many many gods and they only have power if someone believes in them. Om has just one believer - Brutha. Brutha is the only person in the ENTIRE CITY who actually believes in the god they claim to worship - the rest just believe in the system, in the religion and in oppression, because that's very real. Brutha knows more about Omnian religion than Om does, because to say Om was an absentee god is putting it mildly. it was the first discworld book i read and it's what got me into the series, it's absolutely great. Also really, really funny as well as reorients your worldview a bit. Pratchett is good at that

okay i need to stop, I have work in the morning, but hopefully this enormous wall of text wasn't too much for you!

[pandoradoesotherstuff]

Regrets: Past and Present

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

A/N: Gods help me, the Baldur's Gate 3 brain rot is real. 😅😅 this is my first time writing anything for Astarion and it's kinda angsty. Tav "accidentally" snoops through a stack of papers and finds out more about the vampire spawn than they bargained for.

**VERY MILD SPOILERS FOR ASTARION'S BACKSTORY**

Enjoy! 🖤

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

Tav hadn't meant to snoop, not really, but when a particularly strong wind blew a stack of ageing parchment papers out from Astarion's tent...what were they meant to do? The vampire spawn had very recently left in search of some kind of furry prey, Tav preferred not to know exactly what, so they knew they had plenty of time to gather them up and replace them before he returned. And, if their eyes happened to glance over some of the words, then so be it. It truly was an "accident" after all.

Tav gathered up the papers as silently as they could, not wanting to awaken any of the others currently at camp. Scratch raised his head for a brief second, but upon seeing that it was his friend, gave a yawn and happily laid back down. Head full of pleasant thoughts of chasing after his ball.

They light a candle in Astarion's tent to give a little more illumination than the dying fire was currently providing. Quietly sitting down on an ornate stool, they begin to look through the sheets and sheets of ageing parchment. Some were older than others, some torn, some crumbled and then smoothed out again, some even had dark stains at the corners. (Tav could take a good guess at what that was). But each and every one was a letter, written in the same extravagant looping script and addressed to the same unknown person.

~~~~~~~~~~

VL,

How long has it been since I saw you last? Far too long, as always, is the answer. I can't begin to explain how much my life has changed, my dear, since then. I fear you wouldn't recognise me now. But I must beg of you, my sweet, DO NOT COME LOOKING FOR ME. Cazador is not someone to be underestimated!

My "brother" Petras says that this is pointless, that there is no way this will ever make it into your hands. He's right of course, not that I'll ever tell him that. That's all the fool needs. Still, if I'm to "survive" this new life (if you can even call it that)...Gods, what am I doing??

AA.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tav gazed over the words, a million questions running through their mind. Who was this VL, and just how did they know Astarion? Were they still alive or were they long gone like so many others before them? They pick up the next letter, careful not to tear the already fragile parchment, noting that this one seemed to be from later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

VL,

Once again I brought someone back for my "benevolent master". I've been doing it so long now it ceased to mean anything. The right word at the right time with the right touch and...well...it's all so boring and repetitive.

I know you would not wish to know about that. I wouldn't wish for you to know either.

I wish you to never know what's become of me

AA

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Letter after letter of heartbreak follows, each one filled with rage and hatred at his fate, remorse for all he'd lost and vows for revenge. Tav knew part of Astarion's "origin story", so to speak but the letters, although filled with details, raised more questions than answers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

VL,

At last I am free. By illithid parasite no less and yet...I am still not truly free. Cazador will do anything to get me back but the part that vexes me most is...I no longer remember who you are. I cannot remember your name nor your voice, I cannot remember my eye colour or yours. Were we lovers, siblings, long lost acquaintances? I no longer know. It's just another thing that's been robbed of me.

Maybe it's time to stop writing at last...

AA

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just as Tav reads the last words the hair on the back of their neck stands up, they're being watched. There's no one immediately noticeable but just along the tree line at the edge of camp Tav notices the bright ruby eyes of a vampire spawn staring back.

Shit.

They quickly sit the stack down and blow out the candle. There was no way Astarion didn't know what Tav had been doing. They think about hastily going over and apologising but the tadpole squirms behind their eye almost like a warning. No words are spoken between them only the feeling that this was not a over but instead a conversation for a more appropriate, private, time.

"Fuck".

[flowers-of-io]

The server is sharing so many good thoughts and I'm fighting off sleep at 4 am & not emotionally ready to unravel all that, but it made me look at the Traveler's actions from an angle I've realised I wasn't giving it the grace of, and yet (or maybe because) that is very intimately known to me. (Putting aside whether it has responsibility for the species it had chosen or not, and would it have been better if it had never arrived, etc--it's a whole 'nother post I shall make on some different sleepless night.)

I think we often don't give it the grace of being a person--frankly what this season has been all about--with all the complexity that comes along with it. Its choices are often framed as determined by pure calculation (again--Rasputin talked about that wrt himself!!!), and they're interpreted and judged only as such. The Traveler left because it didn't care about us, gave Light to the Hive because they're its besties now, went to Savathûn's throne world because it figured she'd do a better job keeping it safe than humanity. All cold necessity and calculation.

And I think it's so much more messy than that! The Gardener, who knocked the universe askew and hurt her only friend because she was bored and wanted to create new things. Her blessing that is given recklessly, with but one requirement of sacrifice, and other than that it's free for all regardless of who they are or used to be or are about to become. That first part of the Speakers' creed that talks about it being an independent, complex entity with its own personhood. A person who feels love, and hope, and protectiveness, and delight, and sorrow, and pain, and fear.

Maybe I was so shattered when I saw it leave because I hate to see characters mirror the parts of me I despise. I want to look at the Traveler as a benevolent god who does no wrong and always has a plan and does stuff for a reason, even if we can't see this reason just yet. I want to see it as unflinching and brave and infallibly good! I want to point to it and shout, look, you shouldn't have doubted, look how it has been right all along. I want to stuff it with all my Christian feelings. This is who it is in Book! A divine providence of sorts; a presence always there; always trustworthy, and infallible, and right in the end.

But Destiny is not a story about gods vs. people, but about different levels of the cosmic power hierarchy turning out to be really all about the same things. The pattern is the same, the pain is the same; be it the gods of the Hive or civilians in the City. Eramis' ire and vengeance for Riis mirroring the Hive's millennia-long chase to punish the Traveler for the syzygy, and Lakshmi's hate towards Eliksni for the razing of London. As @lizzieraindrops said -- in the end, it is a story about the broken relationship between the Gardener and Winnower. What the Witness says to Eramis, "make it know your pain" -- I like to think it is really talking about its own pain here. There are no gods here in the full meaning of the world, and no one is omniscient and perfect. The whole point of Rasputin's arc was his progression from a machine-god to a person!

And accepting this requires of me to accept that the Traveler makes mistakes--not only the cool, narratively pleasing fuck-ups I can make cool song edits about like the ending of TWQ, but also the mistakes that disturb and repulse me. I think about that bit in Constellations again, the Traveler battling with itself because it doesn't want to leave but is also so terrified its instinct is to run and not look back. It's bloodcurdling, because I so desperately want it to be brave! To stay even when the fear is overwhelming! It terrifies and repulses me, what fear can make you do. I don't want it to act on this panic, and I'm disturbed when it does, because I don't want myself to act on my own panic. The "run, run, RUN RUN" bit hits me so hard because it is so deeply, intimately known to me. Fear makes you lose yourself. You're stripped down of everything, reduced only to this blaring alarm in your head that tells you to GET OUT, NOW.

There have been many good thoughts shared on the Traveler possibly choosing to stay because it saw the light and love in us, it looked to us and saw that hope--again, something about there being no gods but only different levels of cosmic power structure--and it's beautiful and reassuring, and I love this. It gives me hope. But it's softening the blow I really need to take, I think.

I think I need to untangle why my instinct was to interpret it as betrayal and abandonment and a moral failure, when I saw the Traveler potentially act on its fear. Why do I hold it up to a standard of bravery, if I'm so often decimated and defeated my my own fears? Why do I expect it to always Be Brave without hesitation, if I am all hesitation, and every step forward comes with half a step back? And I am just a girl with an anxiety disorder, and not like... being in an actively life-threatening situation, where your trauma of near death and immense pain is threatening to repeat itself. I think I was distraught the most because some part of me knows that I would try to run too. If the fear it felt was anything close to what the worst of my anxiety is like? Yeah. I would try to run too.

[professionallydeadinside]

Okay, here. This is straight up a copy paste, so it'll sound unhinged as FUCK.

The og royals? The sisters (plus Discord, their brother in my au)? Eldritch beings in my au. Give me non-pony Celestia, Discord, and Luna who went through hardships to have ponies trust them. Give me angst about them having to trap their brother in stone because he got too powerful and too mad with grief over his lover, Shylove, dying in his arms. Give me the sisters feeling like if they stay as their normal state of being, looking a little too much like Discord, they'll get overthrown and hunted down. Give me them pretending to be ponies, but both their habits and their disguises are just a little off.

Shylove (he/they) used to be the gardener for the royal family, who were benevolent rulers, unlike their cousin to the north, King Sombra. One day, as he's trimming some rose bush wall, they hear from the other side, a voice saying a poem. Without thinking, he answers back with another poem. There's silence, then another poem is thrown back at them, with the voice sounding excited. The two go back and forth for the whole day, and when night fell, the voice asked if he would be back tomorrow. They answered truthfully that he doesn't do the roses every day. So, the voice was quiet for a bit, then asked when the next time will be. The answer was the day after tomorrow. So another meeting by the rose bushes was set. And then another. And another. Soon 5 years had passed, with Shylove falling for the voice. On the 5th anniversary of their meeting, the voice asked if they'd want to meet face to face. Shylove agreed, and was surprised when the Crown Prince poked his head over the rose bush wall.

Fearing this was a joke, Shylove burst into tears, which made the Crown Prince so flustered that he fell into the wall, crushing it. The very first thing the two do together face to face is burst into laughter.

A year later, the two were married.

And two years after, King Sombra himself killed Shylove in a fit of rage due to Shylove rejecting his affection.

Shylove's last words were "Look for the butterflies, Dis. It'll show that I will be there for you."

Not even a year later, the sisters put their brother in stone, right above his lover's grave.

Fast forward centuries.

Discord is free, and starts to create havoc, only to freeze for just a moment when he sees it. Butterflies. On a pony. A pony who looks like a spitting image of Shylove. A pony who freezes and her-his-their? eyes seem to glaze over.

Shylove.

Except, not really? Shylove looks different. More androgynous. Are those batpony ears? Their pattern stayed into this life, though the darker coat is new. Suits them.

Then he sees it. On Shylove's ear, the sign of a rainboom.

A fucking rainboom.

The sign of times of change, good or bad.

And Shylove was too near to one.

God. Fucking. DAMMIT.

The last time he saw a rainboom, King Sombra invaded the land and killed Shylove.

Then he sees it. Another pegasus, having more markings, and the placement of said markings indicate that they are the culprit.

And they're all over Shy.

His Shy.

Discord, God of Order and Chaos, sees red.

And blacks out.

When he finally comes too, he sees Shylove, who's crying, but smiling as they hold his face in their hooves.

"I'm sorry Shy..." he says.

"Who cares!?" Shy says, before they kiss him, the two finally together again.

And Applejack lore!

Okay, so, context, Luna is she/moonself. Anastasius Milo (which got changed to Appleseed Apple when he came to Ponyville when the town couldn'tsay his name) is transmasc going be he/him, was a Greek diplomat.

Their story was literally love at first sight, though not in the way people think.

See, Luna was the one that was welcoming dignitaries and diplomats, and when Anastasius peaked out over the ship, they made eye contact, and they felt something click.

Then Anastasius proceeded to trip over his feet, roll down the gang plank, and land right in front of Luna.

They were married within the year.

They fell hard and fast, and genuinely had very little fights, until Nightmare Moon happened.

During another breakdown, Luna accidentally hit Anastasius in the face with a glass jar, which broke on his face and scarred it in various places. It was by pure chance that his didn't go blind.

Luna was horrified, and proceeded to try and lock Anastasius up in a room so that she wouldn't hurt him again. But as someone who could never sit still, Anastasius was going stir crazy. Then he found it out.

He was pregnant.

He knew what he had to do.

So, after a month of being stuck in a room, where he watched from the windows her beloved deteriorate faster and faster, Anastasius waited until morning, the he climbed out the window and ran.

Only Celestia saw this, and knew there would be nothing to save her sister now.

But it's better than watching Anastasius and her niece and/or nephew wasting away.

She now had to face her sister head on.

Later that very day, word had spread around all of Equestria that Nightmare Moon had been banished to the moon itself.

And the newly named Appleseed Apple gave birth to twins. One boy and one girl.

They had more of his coloring, if not a bit darker, but their hair was long and flowing, like their other parent. Luckily, neither were alicorns, which was a brief fear, though he would not have minded.

He made sure before he died that the whole Apple family knew that they were respect the moon, who will always smile down at them.The whole Apple family are a bit strange to be honest. A bit too tall, a bit too strong, they could go longer without sleep, but no one in Ponyville or Appaloosa have any problem with them.

The only thing, really is their temper. Some people joke to never get an Apple mad, or else you might have well angered Nightmare Moon herself with how they can be.

Some even say that the newest set of Apple siblings remind older ponies too much of the old royal family. Especially with their stances, morals, and how close they are.

Applebloom has their hair color, Big Mac has their girth and eye color, and Applejack has the coat color and freckles. As well as their height.

OOOOOOOOOO LOVE ALL OF THIS ITS SO MUCH FUN

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Okay so listen. My prompt is literally just continue the last bit. No way licking blood from his palm doesn't lead to, you know, tongues in mouths after a bit. The spriggan being like hey my very nice horny worshipper do you wanna know how good you taste? Something like that? Something something branches and bondage?

Sorry this took a bit, I'm on house sitting duty for my family and that means taking care of thirteen pets. That's... a lot of food.

Anyway, time for horny tree people!

Warning: blood, mild manipulation through praise, branch bondage

On with the fic!

--

Malcolm watched with a thickness to his throat as the Spriggan licked at the wound, letting out a small moan as He did so. He pressed His lips once more to it, sucking on the wound, before pulling away with a loud, wet pop.

His lips were stained red, and Malcolm felt warm.

"You have done so well for me, Prophet Malcolm." Said the Spriggan, His tone saccharine. "I want to show my appreciation, for all your hard work, for all you've done for me."

"What... what did you have in mind?" It was not often that his Lord showed praise for his actions, often He said His thanks and let Malcolm leave without much trouble, or with words to speak to the congregation.

But there were rare occasions, when the Spriggan was generous and sweet like honey, where He showed His thanks instead of said them.

Malcolm hated that he loved when that happened. No one in the village could ever know about what their Lord did for their prophet.

"Your blood is so good to me, Malcolm." The Spriggan said, blood-soaked tongue licking a little at the corner of His mouth, were a stray drop of blood had started to leak. "It makes me feel so good... would you like to feel good too? Like your God?"

"Yes." Malcolm said, his voice tight, his hands trembling at his sides.

"You should taste this power you give me with your sweet, sweet offerings. Let me share with you." Soft, bloody lips were pressed against his own chapped ones, and it took only a moment for an equally-bloody tongue to slip into his mouth.

He could taste himself now, along with the taste of what was the scent of freshly wet dirt. Malcolm would take it to his grave that the smell that followed a storm made him alight with a powerful warmth in his belly that always traveled south.

He moaned as he used his own tongue to taste against his Lord's, grabbing at the Spriggan's arms for more. But the stopped, and pulled back, realizing that he had touched without permission. Before an apology could escape his lips, the Spriggan cupped his chin.

"Why did you stop?"

"I... I went too far, I should have asked to touch-" A bony, wooden finger was pressed to his mouth, and the Spriggan shushed him gently.

"Not when we're alone, you can touch me all you want." This His lips curled. "Or... I could touch you all I want. All you want. You'd like that, wouldn't you? For that to be your prize for all your good work for me? For your benevolent God to touch his most devoted? His special prophet?"

Malcolm could not deny the deep moan that escaped him at the very idea. The Spriggan chuckled. "I figured you'd be into that, my little, holy man."

He stepped back, shifting his hand, and suddenly the roots on the floor shot up, grabbing at Malcolm, before pinning him to a wall, unable to break free.

Not that he wanted to do such a thing. His arms were pulled up over his head, his legs spread just a bit, his back pressed to the wall. He felt small roots and vines gently touching at his neck, the sides of his face, as if this were a sign of comfort for him.

The Spriggan watched, clearly enjoying this, before He walked up to Malcolm. Long, dangerous fingers that could impale a heart from ten paces away popped a button on Malcolm's shirt, then another, another...

He was slowly being exposed before the being he worshiped, and Malcolm felt so good already. There was a danger to this, almost a blasphemy, but how could it be when your idol of worship wanted it to?

He looked at the Spriggan, as terrifying as He was, He was so beautiful, like fire. Dangerous, yet he could not dare look away from how desirable such a thing was.

He wanted to be consumed by this fire that captivated him so.

--

This got weirdly poetic on me.

[stellarred]

Janeway: This is terrible, Mr. Chakotay! The Dominion's Neutrino barrier is draining Voyager's warp core!

Chakotay: We need Engineering to give us all they've got to break free! If only we had the energy to destroy the barrier field!

*Flash!*

Q: What are you doing in my neighborhood?

Janeway: Q, we, uh...we're glad you're here. We need your help!

Q: (smirks) How amusing. You and your motley crew need MY help. What trouble have you stumbled into THIS time, Kathy?

Janeway: We have no time to argue with you, Q! Can you help us defeat this space barrier that's draining Voyager?

Q: Hmph. I could. But, I'm a busy god. SO much to do. So many people to harass. So little time. So sorry.

Janeway (gulps): If you help us in Engineering, uh (she looks helplessly at Chakotay) I'll make it worth your time.

Q: Oh? Pray tell, what could you possibly give me as a reward for me making the Big Bad Space Wall go away?

Janeway (rolls her eyes): A bit more respect.

Q laughs and shakes his head.

Q: Um, ok. Nice try.

Janeway: A note to Starfleet to request they change your file listing from "Hostile" to "Benevolent "?

Q: Puhleeze. Like I care what your buddies at Starfleet think.

Q brushes off his uniform and raises his hand to finger snap his exit.

Q: Sorry, madame. You are going to have to persuade me better than that. I'm leaving.

Janeway: No, wait! I can set you up on a hot date with Jean-Luc Picard.

Q: Which way to Engineering?

[azura19]

Chapter 1.1 ↩

Chapter 1.2:

Oh boy, was life that ironic? Astral remembers countless times when he asked for two loving parents to hold him and pamper him on his hardest and coldest days. Yet...

—My child! —

That it's happening now, gives him the shivers. Isn't this tremendously shocking? All Astral wanted was to hold his lover in his arms, his beloved groom. That would be a comfort to him, but this...

This...

—I'm so glad you're all right. —

It was beyond him.

And even if he was enormously uncomfortable, he considered it rude to push away the man who held him so lovingly.

And yes, Astral remembered him well, if the description was true to what his eyes beheld. The man in front of him was none other than his mother.

A beautiful Doncel who had had the courtesy to give birth to him, with blond and pink hair so long that it only emphasized an unnatural beauty.

This man, who looked like something out of a fairy tale, was the current owner of the title “Don Thousand,” a tribute he earned by defending his home like the Grand Duchess he was meant to be.

The jewelry that naturally stood out as much as the dress worn, along with the pair of heels that made him look taller than he already was. It did nothing but emphasize to the fact that he was inside a novel.

In an unknown world, full of absurd beauties and unimaginable powers. So imagining how it was the right way to act, Astral just let himself go, and whispering, he knew immediately what was wrong.

—Mother... —He said, tantalizingly, and sensing how it was that a mine had exploded, he watched as the major turned away almost instantly to look at him as if he had grown two heads.

Had he done something wrong?

Astral began to panic, but contrary to his thoughts, the man only blinked more before crying harder and then tightening his grip on his son.

—Astral! My child calls me at last as what I am, his mother? Ah, my beautiful boy! Surely it was your fever that has helped you to speak to me like that once again.... —

Did the villain never call his parents by what they were? He cursed internally for that detail, but at the same time secretly roared at it.

“Stupid Villain, you're not even capable of praising your parents! If I had them, I would have done it since I was born!”

That mother stroked her son more before setting him free, giving room for her husband to take action. And whom Astral immediately observed. Heterochromatic gazes inspected each other in detail, and before Astral spoke again, that man quickly embraced him.

He is...

—F-Father... —Astral acknowledged, then listened as the other solemn-looking man wept silently.

—My boy! You have awakened. You have awakened. —The older man repeated, letting the tears flow openly, caring little for his image. Which, in Astral's words was beautiful, worthy of a Grand Duke.

The white hair of bluish tones, the strong posture, as well as the clothes, spoke for themselves. And what to say about the discreet jewelry or the fact that the couple's clothes matched each other? The love could be felt in both men, and even with the flaws that had been the tears, that did not detract from the magnificence or the pride they wore so dignifiedly.

Were these truly benevolent Gods?

Astral knew it for a fact, they were common men. But these simple gestures directed at his person, deceived him in such a sweet way, that he wished to lose himself in the sensation, however, that was impossible, more so now that he was still on a tightrope.

Especially with the sword that hung silently at someone else's waist, and that made him the silent bearer of some of the power in the Dion Empire. (Current setting of the novel “Flowers of Seasons”).

Of course it couldn't all be that simple, could it? And wishing to continue testing the waters, noticing how his parents sat on the edge of the bed around him.

Conversation arose, almost naturally.

And let's emphasize the almost, because Astral was still trembling barely perceptibly.

—Astral, I am so glad you have awakened. —Mentioned Aren, his beloved mother, sipping his last tears of happiness with a handkerchief embroidered with gold threads. —I was worried after you fell into bed because of a sudden fever.... —

—Ah... Yes. I... —

Astral didn't know what to say about it, and was about to rack his brain, but that didn't matter once he knew how to divert attention away from himself, he was an expert at that anyway. So many dull parties because of his job where he was overflowing with craned necks, it had to have done the trick.

—Thank you for coming to see me, father, mother.... Mm, how long ago was that? —

Both Eliphas, which was his father's name, and Aren looked at each other before looking uncomfortable. It was clear that they didn't want to answer that, but with a hurt look Elifas was the one who almost immediately took the floor, with a strange grimace.

—It's already two weeks... —

—What? —

Astral exclaimed, clearly overwhelmed, and feeling like his mind and body wanted to collapse, his parents managed to stop him halfway.

—Don't worry! You haven't missed much. Almost nothing has changed in your absence. —Aren said. Being quickly supported by Eliphas, who nodded awkwardly at what he said.

—I-I-It's true! Your fiancé even came to see you a couple of times.... —

Oh God, somebody help him, Astral wanted to die. And what had his now parents said in an attempt to comfort him? Fiancé? He only had his boyfriend, and even though he had proposed to his not long ago, they had decided to wait a little longer....

Then...

Something in his mind clicked again.

He was no longer in a “real” world, he was inside a novel.

The novel “Flowers of Seasons” and the fact that they had mentioned it, didn't that put him right in the first pages? the beginning of everything? If so, it meant that...

“Wait a minute! Fiancé?”

Astral seemed to react then, and sitting up properly in bed, admiring his parents, the plot of the novel relapsed into his mind.

Didn't that mean he was going to die?!

His face paled enough for a new fainting spell to come accordingly, and alerting both loving parents, who were trying to bring him back to consciousness. Everything flowed differently.

Ah, that could well be categorized as a successful reboot into another life. But Astral was considered to be cursed.

He just wanted to go back home to his beloved and his cat!

How he hated that life! Somebody gives him back his reincarnation ticket!

Damn author!

Damn novel!

It wasn't fair.

***

And even if someone said that time was not relentless, maybe for Astral it was. Especially after his “miraculous” recovery. Adapting to his new body, movements, manners and so on was so tedious that he tired easily.

Why didn't the transmigration novels tell how difficult the adaptation was? It was fortunate that he was still considered to be in recovery, otherwise, maybe everyone would look at him strangely. Holding even a cup of tea with elegance and neatness also had its degree of difficulty.

So, struggling with the habits ingrained in his new body, learning mannerisms and little more than stilted words, he also gained all the information he needed.

Firstly, he could read and write without any difficulty, secondly being the son of a Grand Duke automatically made him a minor Duke, which was no problem because it meant he had money. A lot of money, which left survival on an extremely easy level. His father was the one who handled everything, and he only took care of small tasks so that was also an advantage.

His reputation was on the floor, but simply possessing the Encinereb surname made him someone to be feared, so he didn't have to worry about intimidation. However, the fact that he was openly the main villain of the novel, well, that made him a problem.

That already made him a major problem with no escape.

So, trying to settle in to his new life, he tried to make a list of what was going to happen. If he was going to live there from now on, he needed insurance to survive, so, making a mental note of important points so as not to lose sight of them, he set his new goal.

He had to live and be someone happy! It didn't matter how, but he had to change the course of his own life, he knew the novel perfectly since he had read it a couple of times, so it should be simple.

Of course, though. Between the saying and the doing, there was a big enough gap to quickly set him in motion.

And that is...

The black clothes, even though he tried to adjust them to his own style, still looked impressive and imposing. The long black nails, which were impossible to cut, helped his ‘villain’ profile, and although he tried to change his own manner, either by inertia or by habit of his new body, it prevented him from being the gentle being he was before. So, changing himself became a titanic task.

It was as if something was forcing him to act and look like this, something beyond his comprehension. And although he tried to understand what was happening, in the end after several days he gave up.

What was the point of going against something he didn't understand? It was his excuse before ignoring the letters that arrived with congratulations on his miraculous recovery.

Hmp. weren't the senders their own vassals? Hypocrites! That's what they were. Astral knew that no one in that world appreciated him, so the nice words and flowers were just for appearances. Were they afraid of the repercussions?

They should be, every one of them. And what flooded his heart now was nothing but sadness that he couldn't go home, to his lover, to his kitten. No. He was forced to be there, in an unknown world, full of unknown people. Was it fair?

Astral felt desperate, yet the memory of his beloved brought him to his senses on a full moonlit night, just before he threw himself over the balcony. So, firmly grasping the railing that held him back, he murmured with conviction to himself.

—The novel ‘Flowers of Seasons’ is happening to me in the first person? Of course this is not to be. How did my character end? —

He questions the air before grabbing his neck in a worried gesture.

—I remember the villain ending up murdered at the hands of his own people. Who, having left him half alive, finished him off with the help of a Guillotine. —

A shudder ran through him.

—No, that must not happen! It is different now. I am the villain now. Which changes the balance... What should I do then? —

He seemed to think carefully before sighing.

—Obviously I survived, and even if I didn't, I'll at least try to die in a less cruel way. That's something, isn't it? —

He nodded his head trying to convince himself, before his gaze changed to a melancholy one.

—Yuma would have wanted me to do well... Yuma... —Astral whispered, clutching one of his hands to his chest. —If I had only known I would die, I would never have taken you with me.... Forgive me... —He asked the air. He let out a mute tear before feeling a fervour inside his.

The fire in his eyes returned like a phoenix, naturally glowing in the moonlight.

—No! Yuma would never have wanted to see me sad. I can't let myself fall like this. I'll survive while I can! It's not too late... The engagement with the protagonist is still in force... So, in order to live, I... —

Astral then raised his gaze to the night sky. Nodding with a determined smile on his face.

—Yes. That will be my first step.... I will not let the memory of my love come to an end without a fight. Yuma, this I will do for both of us.... I promise, I will live. I will live so long that even the protagonists will hate me for it.... —He swears, with a strange fire in his heart, feeling renewed and a little happier.

Yes, this is what it was meant to be.

💎

Chapter 1.3

[monikeroboogie]

Once I had a dream I met Allen Ginsberg, he was sitting in front of a yellow wall, I asked him 'do you still hang out with bob Dylan anymore?' and he said 'no, I'm dead' and I woke up and was reading Ginsberg poetry and I read a poem that was like 'last night I dreamt of you Walt Whitman, and the last line was like 'Last night, I dreamt of you, Allen Ginsberg' I had a dream when hunter Thompson died, he was on a football field and barking like a dog in an orange puffy coat. A couple days later his suicide note came out and it was titled 'football season is over'. Once i was walking home from the store and I was thinking about God, does God exist, why do we suffer, is God benevolent and I found ten bucks on the ground, as if God himself was like 'great, here's ten bucks' I had been saying for years I had wanted to see a psychic to see what it's like, looking for one pro-bono and there was a free reading when I was in NYC in Manhattan and I went in and before I walked in the door, I thought to myself 'I am going to go in there and explain I'm homeless and starving and she is going to give me 20$. And that's exactly what happened. I thought it, I did not speak it allowed, I have always wondered how she did that, maybe I am just a smooth talker. Now I believe in mental telepathy and initiatic dreaming and spirit possession, I have done a lot of gross and weird things and really unfortunate times that were as if moved by a will not my own, generally par for the course for a schizophrenic, I believe schizophrenia is demonic possession, not to mention all the coincidence that the world revolves around me that seem to be artificial that are so amazing I think it must be that magic is real. Makes me wonder about Jesus. Once after starving homeless in rags and delirium from mental illness, dangerously underweight I came home from NYC only to be met with the same indifference and neglect from my family I have always believed in politically motived, my colonizer family are xenophobic to radical ideals I cherish, they neglect me in their capitalist sense when I have no job, so i went back to NYC and the first night i was back at the flop house, a young woman overdosed and died, i assume overdose, I was sleeping on the floor wearing my clothes with no pillow or blanket or even backpack full of things at tat point and i woke up to the words 'OMG, she's dead' and it was as if even before I heard those words I woke up elated, happy finally, after a lifetime of childhood depression, bitterly agonizing depression, every little thing a trigger so that every smile of the face of all talking heads was delight for my suffering, every syllable, every slight a heckle from a brutal Satan, and with that death my depression had ended and I am down in the dumps now to be isolated and bullied with no cuddle buddy in poverty, as women are wicked when you are unwanted, but the excruciating nature of that depression no longer plagues me, but then my grandma died, I believe she committed suicide because I had married a junkie whore and said so, and I think my family lurks on my social media, so I went into st pats in Manhattan and took communion and prayed to God to stop killing people, and shortly after that there was a day no one was murdered in NYC, it was in the news. Once I thought to myself 'If you are the one true God, show yourself to me, give me a sign' and as an afterthought I thought 'a solar flare or something' and the next day there was a solar flare, not such a common occurrence. Twitter has for years been able to read my thoughts. So, I believe magic is real, what to do about this, go to church regularly apparently. Wiccans might disagree, I lost my virginity to a wiccan after all, I was an atheist at the time, I did not believe in Jesus, what is the harm in screwing a wiccan. So, I am shopping for a religion. I formally became a Zen Buddhist about 18 years ago now, I still study Buddhism, I'm a lousy Buddhist.

Edit: Calling me a liar is gas lighting and makes me want to sick torture you. I would voluntarily take a lie detector test to prove I am telling the truth.

[theblackphoenixwritings]

-Prompt: Fur -Marius/Armand - Venice Era

That was one of the nights when I could not sleep. It was not because of my memories chasing me like demons and dark shadows, somehow, I knew those were just flashes of my past and silent pain of my heart finding no rest. Until I had found Him, or perhaps it was He who found me, the memory of that day blurs, sometimes, I cannot see clearly beyond His beauty and the name whispered gently from the Master's lips, which I now wear with pride, Amadeo. I cannot say whether it was I who called Him or He who found me, perhaps both, I am so presumptuous as to want to think that we found each other in the middle, that I can be an extension of His being, of His love, as the Master is an extension of this wounded boy who could paint with God's eyes. In my Master I had found that rest and salvation that I had not found even in my prayers, those prayers that as I had been taught should have accurd me and set me free. I wandered around the palace alone, barefoot, my feet cold and my hands just as cold, my hair tousled, desperate and on the verge of a pain to which I could give no meaning but a name, remoteness, lack, absence ...where are You Master? My bare feet against the gleaming marble of the floor made no sound, the white robe of a soft, warm cloth, caressing my thighs and arms up to my elbow.

The sound of the wind from the icy, ever-shining Venice, whispered distant stories, among the wonderful chandeliers where the candle fires wavered, and the sound of the waters of the canals below caressed the stone of that palace, I knew it was cold, I could feel it, but the cold inside me was more stinging and wearing than that of Venice. I knew it had been hours since the palace was shrouded in sleep, everyone was warm, protected and loved, happy, probably dreaming of their shining victories as young boys full of life. Under the benevolence of the Master everything in their eyes seemed possible and within reach. I cannot be like my brothers, they do not doubt, they are not afraid, they with unwavering confidence wait for the Master to return. I am afraid. I am afraid because the Master is not here, and I don't know where He is or when He will return. And my heart falters and my tears are an indelible testament on my skin to my cowardice, why can't I have the trust of my brothers? I am afraid, that You will never come back.

I'm afraid I can't see You anymore, why do You disappear? why do You never tell me anything? and why do You leave me? Standing still in front of this staircase, eyes closed and afraid, devoured by fear, I hate these tears and hate these moments that keep us apart. Yet I don't know how to fight them, except by walking and looking for my beloved Master, all over the palace, even though I know very well that He is not here…. You are not here. I resume walking with more eagerness, as if that might magically bring me before the Master. I imagine I look like one of those little fauns, running through the forest, heedless of what's around them, just running, as if that's the only way they can live. And so will I, and finally all that silence that reigned around me is torn away by my quick, heavy steps on the worked marbles. Only when I realize that I cannot continue that furious run have I stopped.

And something inside me stopped, as if something I had been waiting for had finally arrived. The labored breathing and closed eyes do not change my awareness of Him. I know before I hear His footsteps behind me, and I know I can only hear them because He wants to, but already I had smelled His scent, already I had heard my heartbeat change.

When I turn around I would like to shout at Him.I wish to accuse Him, I wish He felt guilty because He deprived me of His presence. That desire grows in me, and vanishes with a smile from Him. I look at him and know that He knows, the Master always knows everything. " Amadeo." That's all Master needs to say, and every motion of rebellion is defeated in me. " Master… Where have you been? Why have you been away for so long? What place are you going to that is so secret that you cannot take me with you?" and I know I come across as almost disrespectful, but I know my tone is sweet despite the accusation.

The concern on his face left a bitter taste in my mouth, but when the Master removed from his shoulders the thick dark fur he wore over his sumptuous red and gold velvet robes, I understood why he was so upset. The Master leaned over me and wrapped me in the fur, and with gentle and harmonious gestures but full of delicate passion, he fixed my hair, which had curled on my neck and clung to my mottled forehead. "Amadeo, why aren't you asleep?" His cold hands caressed my cheeks, which were as cold as He was, He seemed deeply troubled by this, so much so that His cobalt blue eyes darkened and His handsome face was run through with a motion akin to dismay. " Master…. I was looking for you…but I could not find you.You were not here, and you were never gone so long. I was afraid … that you would never come back." my words must have sounded to Him like those of a madman, I thought, but how could I explain to Him the bewilderment of my soul when He was not there with me? How could I speak of the love I felt for Him? The Master's face softened, and I realized that as always somehow He knew. He lowered himself, after kissing my forehead, and inspected my feet, shook His head, and only then did I realize that they were bruised. The Master looked at me seriously in a way that made me feel small and foolish. He caressed my hands and laid them together on his chest on the soft red velvet of his bodice. Then in a moment, He lifted me up as if I were but a small boy, when instead I was a firm and full young man, and He clasped me in His fur, the fur in which He had wrapped me just before. I felt His hands settle it around me, and in His arms, with my head on his chest, I felt at last at peace.

The fur enveloped me completely, even my feet were covered, with care and patience the Master arranged it around me. I clung to Him, my arms around His neck and my face in His hair, I heard him sigh, but it was because with that gesture I had again exposed my hands and arms to the cold. A laugh escaped me, and He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I didn't mind, but I clung more resolutely to Him, and covered His blond hair with kisses. It was then that He rested his forehead on mine with a smile. And when He kissed me there, His kiss was warm and full of love, the same warmth that flowed through my body now that He was there with me, the same love that beat in my heart now that Master held me close.

END