#my life should be sleep all day and play and run around and hunt and then sleep some more

[servalsahara]

me waking up in the morning

[margowritesthings]

BITE ME

pairing: Vampire!Arthur Morgan x Human!f!reader word count: 4091 words warnings: 18+ minors DNI, explicit sexual content, explicit language, piv intercourse, fingering (r receiving), biting and blood play, vampire feeding authors note: happy halloween my loves! this is a day late, but time isn't real anyway so we can all just pretend it is yesterday... right?? anyway, this au is now living rent free in my mind. i'm obsessed.

taglist:@cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries@delilah-grimes@mrsarthurmorgan7 @twola@the-marsh-harrier @wildfloweroutlaw @photo1030 @luvliewriting@pine4pple-b0i @sickvictorianangel

beta read by @cowboydisaster, divider by @saradika

The wooden panels nailed to the broken windows of the manor allow for tiny slats of moonlight to invade onto your skin, bathing you in a white glow. Peering through the gaps, you can see the distant campfire those bastard Pinkertons set up down by the swamp, but you know they’re surrounding you, boxing you into Shady Belle like fish in a barrel. 

It’s been three days of a stalemate, the Pinkertons keeping their distance, brave enough to come with guns and firepower but just cowardly enough to not advance towards the monster they’ve heard only legend of, lest he rip their throats out and drain their life away. No, they’d rather wait around until they can drag his starved body out and be hailed heroes.

That “monster” sits mere feet away from you leaning against the wall, pale skin paler still, his chin tilted upwards as he fights the weight of his own skull. It’s killing you, watching your Arthur grow weaker by the hour. Three days of hiding out in Shady Belle, unable to leave for fear of being hunted for sport, but it’s been much longer since he last fed. They have you trapped, completely and truly. If Arthur held even half his usual strength, it would have been so easy to escape. He’d have overpowered them in seconds, no matter their numbers or firepower. But for that, he’d need to feed on the blood of another, which has made things much harder.

You try to relax your worried features when you see him start to wake, rubbing the crease out from between your eyebrows formed by the frown you hold whenever you watch him sleep, too scared to look away in case he stops stirring. 

“Arthur…” You whisper on an exhale, quickly moving to sit beside him on the little bed. As always, his skin feels like marble, cold enough to seep through his shirt and scatter goose pimples over your arms. You’re used to the cold, what you don’t like is the thin layer of sweat coating him. Vampires shouldn’t sweat, but they also shouldn’t go so long without feeding, and the thought of this being a symptom of time running out terrifies you more than any number of monsters out camping in those woods.

“Hey, sweetheart…” Arthur shuffles to make room for you, guiding you to rest your head on his hard chest. There’s normally more muscle here cushioning you from his ribcage, but with Arthur so sick you can feel every bone beneath you.

“You get any sleep?”

There’s always the option to lie so he worries less, but Arthur knows you too well for that, so only the truth will have to do.

You shake your head, “Was keeping watch. They haven’t moved, think they’re still shit-scared of you, actually.” 

Absent-mindedly, Arthur’s hand gravitates to the top of your head, stroking your hair in such a way that sends tingles down your spine. Even now, in the midst of perhaps the most danger you’ve ever been in together, his very touch has the power to calm you instantaneously. 

He huffs a laugh, though you notice the slight wheeze to his breath when he does and another pang of worry hits you, “Course they are. Call themselves goddamn hunters, couldn’t catch a cold in Colter…” A pause, where you fill the silence with that tiny little laugh you’ve barely been mustering lately, then, “You should get some sleep, darlin’.” 

“Not tired.” You protest, almost childishly, burying yourself further into Arthur’s chest. In truth, you’re exhausted, and even though he already knows it, you won’t admit it. You can’t tell him that you’re too scared to fall asleep in case you wake up alone, that there’s no point anyway because nightmares of him withering away to nothing here beside you will drag you back awake soon enough. 

You both know this can’t go on for much longer. Something has to be done, and you know you have to be the one to do it. It’s just the convincing… 

“C’mon, baby…” He starts, but you won’t hear it. You’re not going to sleep. You’re going to fix this.

“You have to feed on me.” You blurt out, glad to be nuzzled into your beloved’s shirt so you don’t have to see whatever expression your statement has pulled from him. 

It’s not spontaneous, no sudden solution that has sprung into your mind this very moment. You’ve suggested it before, albeit never so forcefully, Arthur brushing you off like the idea is unfathomable. Explaining that he would never feed from you, terrified he’d lose control and hurt you. He could never hurt you. If there are such things as absolutes, that is one of them, you know it.

“No.” He’s blunt, clearly hoping his tone had enough force to end it there. But you’re strong, your will to keep fighting for him an everlasting force enough to match his. 

“Arthur-” You unravel from him to sit up and meet his eye, yours pleading, his hardened. 

“Darlin’, I said no. I mean it. I promised you I would never hurt ya’, and shit have I broke a lot of promises in my life… but not that one. N-Never that one. No.” 

“You’re going to die, Arthur. If you don’t do this you’re going to die and you’re gonna leave me all on my own to face those bastards a-and,” Dammit, when did you start crying? “And I can’t do it without ya, Arthur you know I can’t-”

“Yes you can-”

“Well I don’t want to!”  You shout, bursting the bubble of quiet around the Manor, your echo riding the wave of birds flocking out of the trees. Sobs threaten to break your strength, but you have to say this. It’s the very last card you have to play. After a few moments, tension between you growing palpable enough to cut with a knife, Arthur closes his mouth, letting you continue. 

“Arthur, you’re all I have left… You think I’m a sharp enough shooter to get by them? Fine. But say I kill ‘em all, then what? Find somewhere to live and carry on? I ain’t… I can’t lose you, Arthur. But I can save you, if you let me. Please.” 

Time feels as though it stops entirely when you see Arthur actually considering your words. Tears streak your cheeks, but your boots could ignite right on your feet and you might not notice in this moment. He looks so tortured in thought, no doubt imagining the life you would lead if you left him behind. He’s sure you’re strong enough, he knows you can do anything, but his heart breaks thinking of you all alone. 

You reach for Arthur’s hands, feeling his cold skin tremble. 

“I… What if I lose control? What if I hurt you? Sweetheart, you know what I get like when I-”

“But you won’t. You know how much blood I can afford to give you, and I know you, Arthur. You’d never hurt me.” 

You elect not to tell him that any blood that runs through your body belongs to him already, your heart pumping it through your veins only for him. 

You don’t tell him you’d die for him, because you know he’d never let you. 

He’s silent, contemplating. 

Please.

Please.

“...You start feeling faint or anything, you fuckin’ tell me, alright?” His tone holds an attempt at sternness, but it bothers you none. You can hardly hear him for the rush of relief flowing over you. 

“I-I will. I promise.” And you mean it. The two of you are two entwined souls, neither trusting the other to have enough will to keep fighting if anything happened to them. 

Arthur takes a deep breath in, almost like he’s giving himself an extra few seconds to back out of this, before sighing it out. 

“Alright.”

The breath that hitched in your throat an age ago releases and you wipe your tears away hurriedly with the back of your hand. 

“Oh, thank you, Arthur…” You’re so ecstatic, so grateful that he’s letting you save him that all you can do is launch yourself over to him, kissing him with all the passion the universe has offered you to gift him. Your hands fall to either side of his face, caressing his marble skin in a way that emits a tiny groan from him. Over the last few days, you’ve cuddled up to him a lot, but there hasn’t been much contact like this. Needy and wanting, loving and layered with everything from I Love You to Let Me Save You. Arthur is a starved man, but not just for blood. For you, body, blood and soul. 

Arthur snakes one arm around your waist, even with his reduced strength still able to pull you over to straddle his lap. You’d have protested, citing that he’s too sick to be holding your weight like this, but now that this is really happening you’re getting kind of nervous, and the thought of being so close to him, arms wrapped around your frame while he feeds on your blood, comforts you hugely. And there’s no backing out, not from this, so straddle him you will. 

Despite everything, Arthur’s cool touch sets you aflame. He trails his fingertips up and down your spine, his other hand firmly gripping your ass. His tongue teases your bottom lip until you open up to him, tasting him as he does you. He tastes…like Arthur. He might argue that he’s some monster, committing evil acts in the name of survival, but you know better. He’s your Arthur, he always has been. 

The world melts around you, leaving just you and Arthur, loving each other, saving each other. That one long kiss breaks into smaller ones, until Arthur is peppering your lips, cheeks and nose with tiny kisses, glistening red eyes welling with emotion.

“It was always gonna be you, wasn’t it? You were always gonna save me…” He whispers, almost like he doesn’t quite believe it’s real.

“Always. And you’re gonna save me right back, cowboy. But first…” You look down between your two bodies, to the arm you’re holding out to Arthur. 

“Are you ready?” 

“Does it hurt?” You surprise yourself with your answer to his question, though you stand by it. You’re not scared, you could never be scared with Arthur. But nervous?

“A little. But I’m right here with you. And if you need to stop or take a break or you start feeling off, tell me or tap my arm.” You nod slowly, placing your hand into Arthur’s, “I need a yes, sweetheart… I can’t do this to you unless you’re sure.”

“Yes, Arthur. I’m sure. Please.”

There is one final, apprehensive glance in your direction, which you reply to with another tiny nod. He raises your flesh to his mouth, flashes of his white fangs visible now in the moonlight as he parts his lips. 

It’s… strange. A small scratching feeling when his teeth puncture the skin of your wrist that pinches your brows together. There’s a second of nothing, before Arthur starts to feed and steals the breath right out of your lungs. 

It’s like you can feel every vein in your body, all connecting and tugging your lifeforce through to your wrist for Arthur to feast on. You can tell the second the first drop hits his tongue, the shudder that wracks through his shoulders and down his spine. His eyes roll back in… pleasure? You’ve seen him feed before, usually such a violent affair, but this is different. You feel vulnerable to him, and as though you hold every ounce of control all at once. 

When he groans, deep carmine eyes locking onto yours, you feel it all over, your thighs clenching around your suddenly wanting pussy. 

… An unexpected side effect. 

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the blood rushing around your body, or even the downright ravenous way Arthur is looking at you while he feeds on your blood, but you seem to be physically squirming on the bed, desperate for any kind of friction you can get. Fuck, you’ve never seen anybody react to being fed on like this… Then again, you’ve never seen feeding look or feel like this.

From even the smallest drop of you, what little colour that remains after his change has returned to Arthur’s skin and he looks much closer to alive than just minutes before. He looks himself again, right down to the cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It does maddening things to you, not at all helping your growing state of arousal. 

When his teeth sink out of your wrist, you watch crimson beads pool at two tiny punctures. Without breaking eye contact with you, Arthur lifts your hand back up to him, running the very tip of his tongue agonisingly slowly over the skin, pulling an honest to god whimper from your parted lips.

“You did so good, my good girl…” Arthur coos, an undeniably pleased look upon his face. He’s told you before, that with his heightened senses, Arthur knows when you want him. You also know how energised he gets after feeding, and how all of these factors are leading to a tension so intense between you you’re almost scared of the outcome.

There’s a smudge of blood on Arthur’s lip, one that you reach out to rub away with your thumb. Quick as the predator he is, he grabs your wrist before you can pull away, slipping your thumb into his mouth and sucking the blood gently off. Upon release, he drags one sharpened fang across the pad of your thumb and you shudder, craving that feeling of the bite more than you truly understand.

“A-Arthur…” You whimper, shuddering in pure anticipation and need. 

“I know, sweetheart… Christ, I knew you’d taste good, but this? Fuck, you’ve ruined me, baby…”

You can’t wait a second longer, certain you’ll perish unless he is kissing you in the next moment. Entangling your grip into his collar, you find Arthur only too malleable to your touch, all but pouncing on you, locking your lips together. His tongue demands entrance as he easily positions you to be laying under him, Arthur covering the entire length of you and thensome. 

“How do you feel, angel?” He asks between kisses, large hands roaming your body, tugging your clothes out of being tucked into each other to make it easier to take them off, “Y’alright? Don’t feel faint?”

“I’m okay. I just- I-I need you, please.” You’re pleading again, this time for very different reasons, “Did you get enough?” 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you, sweetheart…” He growls, pulling the buttons of your shirt open feverishly. And then his lips are back on your skin, kissing your neck, licking at the skin whilst his hands work your zipper. You moan again, some wanton part of you wishing he would bite down again, marking you all over. 

Arthur is losing control in the best way, growling and grinding his erection against your leg as he tries to pull your jeans down. With a little help, he manages, tugging your undergarments with them so you’re completely bare for him. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful… my perfect little feast. Fuck, I’m tortured by every second I’m not buried deep inside that weeping cunt of yours,” At that, he runs a finger over your slit, drenching the tip of his finger in your slick, “but I think you deserve a treat for being such a good girl for me…” 

There’s no time to consider his offer as he plunges two thick fingers deep inside you, curling them, curling them to hit that sweet spot he knows so well. You scream, absolutely loud enough for any Pinkerton vampire hunters to hear.

“That’s it, huh? That what you needed? That pretty little cunt filling?” He taunts, thumb swirling over your already soaking clit. You can’t speak for crying out, but you manage a nod, feeling yourself stretch around a third finger in a way that has your heart racing even faster.

With your pulse pounding, you can really feel the wounds on your wrist starting to ache and burn. It's a strange sensation, but one that seems to blend into everything else in some twisted bout of pleasure.

Arthur must notice your eyes flickering to it, as he guides your hand back up to his lips with the hand not inside you, pressing the softest kisses over the holes in your skin. 

“Look what you did for me… My saviour, my perfect girl…”

“I’d die for you, Arthur.” you confess, the sweetness of his kisses and the languid circles of his fingers pulling you so close to the edge you can feel tears forming behind your eyes.

“It’d never come to that, beautiful. I’d burn the world down before I let your life ever hang in the balance.”

You believe him, too, and the emotion is suddenly too much. You’re hurtling towards an orgasm and you need him closer and all you can seem to think to do is untangle your wrist from his grasp and slip your thumb into his mouth.

He knows what you’re asking for instantly, and you swear you see his inky pupils blow until his eyes are nothing but a reddened void. 

“Oh, my pretty little feast…” He groans, pricking your thumb with a fang and sucking gently at the blood. It isn’t nearly as intense as your wrist, but you still feel that tugging everywhere and you can’t stop the lewd moans that fall from your lips as you come undone. 

Writing, screaming his name, you feel Arthur suck harder on your thumb, moaning himself at the taste of you. It’s not nearly as much as he was taking before, but enough that your blood blooms over his tongue and fills every one of his senses. He is a man obsessed, and it’s the most beautiful sight as you cum for him. 

The waves of euphoria crash over you, each more intense and wonderful than the last. Arthur orchestrates your orgasm through his own pleasure, drawing perfect patterns on your clit in time to his thrusts. 

When you come down, he’s there, releasing you from his fangs again to free his lips for yours. Your lips lock together, his body crushing yours into the mattress. You love the feel of all his weight on you, especially when you can feel every pulse of his throbbing cock through the denim of his jeans. Jeans that must go, so you snake a hand into what little space you can between your bodies to reach for his buttons. Arthur helps you, and he’s soon naked on top of you. Wrapping nimble fingers around his shaft, you run your thumb over the rosy head of his cock, swiping at the bead of precum already leaking. He’s desperate for you, and it drives you wild. 

You’re already guiding him to your soaked entrance, grinding your hips pathetically, needily. Arthur chuckles softly, taunting you with the smallest of hip movements to slide his tip into you, but stopping there. 

“Arthur.” You whine, eyes pleading, cunt dripping for him. Your hands roam the expanse of his back, feeling each muscle twitch under your touch, scratching at the cool skin like a cat in heat. 

“I know, baby, I know… I’ll make it better.” He purrs, finally sliding the entire length of his cock into your heat. It stretches you in that beautiful way only he can and you moan, deep and visceral. Your nails leave white scratches across Arthur’s back as your hands float up to cup his cheeks, pulling him into a deep kiss as his groin presses hard into yours.

“Oh, my beautiful girl… I’m gonna fuck you so hard they’re gonna hear you up in Saint Denis… them Pinkertons out there are gonna think I’m draining every last drop of that sweet blood out of your precious little body.”

Such a violent image, but somehow… you enjoy the thought. You’d bleed for him till the end of time, gladly… you’d lay down your life on a slab and be Arthur’s for the taking. 

You can’t think of the words to tell him how much you want what he’s telling you, letting the passion guide you to bite down on Arthur’s lower lip. A taste of his own medicine. He has no blood of his own to give, but you’re biting down hard enough to have drawn some if he did, dragging another feral grown from the depths of his throat. 

True to his word, with just a few perfectly timed thrusts, you’re screaming his name, cunt fluttering around his thick cock and squeezing every inch of it. That full feeling is so wonderful, so bone-deep and euphoric you’re on the precipice of another orgasm in seconds. He can tell, slowing down and hanging you right over the edge with a wicked grin on his face. You whine and whimper, clawing at the back of his neck to pull him even closer.

“What do you want, little feast? Use your words.” He pushes, still dragging his cock up against your walls in the most torturous of ways. 

“I want… I-I need… I-I… urgh!” You cry out in frustration, each syllable leaving your lips earning another thrust that dizzies you to the point of cock-drunk stuttering. Fuck words. You’ll show him. 

With a strength you didn’t even know you possessed, you pull Arthur closer, guiding him to the crook of your neck. 

“Angel, I don’t know if I can control myself if I taste you agai-”

“Please…” you whimper, rocking your hips up to meet Arthur’s movements, clit grinding deliciously against his pubic bone. 

Arthur’s eyes meet yours and you’re lost in them, convinced you’ve never been held so close to climax for so long before, but your body knows what it wants, what it needs to get there with Arthur. 

“Fuck, if I could die, you’d be the death of me…” Are the last words he speaks before sinking his teeth into your neck, in perfect time with a deep thrust of his cock. You scream, in pain, in pleasure, all of it, finally falling over that cliff and crashing into the waves below. You drown in your orgasm, dragging Arthur down with you as he sucks the sweet ichor out of your veins. With your blood on his tongue and his name on your lips, you cum together. The vibrations of his carnal moans tickle your neck, layering yet another juxtaposing sensation onto you. 

He releases, only to whisper sweet words of praise into your bleeding skin, “Look at you, giving me this… you’re doing so good for me, ain’t ya? My little angel, my good girl…”

And he’s biting down again, and you’re chanting his name, legs wrapped tight around his hips, tears you don’t remember shedding streaking down your cheeks. It feels like you stay there for an eternity, connected mind, body and soul. You would stay there for an eternity with him, if he’d only let you. But that’s another story…

It stings a little when Arthur unleashes his teeth from you, and you wince. His hand is there instantly, caressing the surely reddened skin as his brows pull together, “You okay? I didn’t go too far, did I? Y’feelin’ alright?” 

You shake your head softly, a blissful smile gracing your lips, “I’m perfect.” 

“Damn straight you are.” He remarks, slowly sliding out of you and lowering his weight onto the bed beside you. 

“What about you? How are you feeling?” You ask, entwining your fingers together and holding them up into the moonlight. There's a streak of your blood crossing over a few of Arthur’s knuckles. It suits him. 

“Never better.” He says honestly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Thank you, darlin’. I’ll never be able to thank ya’ enough for what you did, but I promise you I’ll get us out of here alive. Well… y’know what I mean.” 

You giggle, sure you may never get used to the fact that the love of your life is dead. 

“You don’t need to thank me, Arthur. You’ve given me your life a million times, it’s only fair I get to do the same.”

And you mean it. You would do it a thousand times over, giving your life to Arthur while he gives his afterlife to you, saving each other until the end of time. 

[mandos-mind-trick]

Kinktober Day 31 - Breathplay

Summary: There’s a man that visits you sometimes in your dreams. It’s always strange, feeling more real than it should. Who are you to complain, though, when he takes you to places you’ve never been before? 

Pairing: Hunter x reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, monster AU, incubus!Hunter, dream sex, breathplay, choking, almost strangulation briefly, unprotected sex, kind of dubious consent since reader thinks it’s a dream but she is still a willing participant, fear play (a little bit I mean, reader is getting choked)

A/N: So here we are. 31 days of kinky smut and absolute filth. Did you survive? I barely did. I want to thank everyone who read my depraved filth and especially those of you who kept coming back for more. It's the first time I've made it through all 31 days ever so I'm a little proud if I do say so myself. This has been fun, but I'm definitely taking a little break now because my brain is tired.

This fic was inspired by “Devil by the Window” by TXT. 

MASTERLIST

(GIF found on Google)

It’s happening again. The dreams always feel so real. Your room always looks the same as it does when you’re awake, nothing out of place, nothing strange about it. You know you’re dreaming because your body moves without you even realizing it, without you even thinking about it. 

I met the devil by the window

Traded my life

Temptation touched my tongue

Spread the wings of desire

He's whispering

"Give up, don't you put up a fight"

Said the devil by the window

"Dream on, dream on, good night!"

You can feel it, the pull towards your window, the desire to open it. You’re moving across your room before you even realize, hands reaching for the locks. You’re sliding it open, cool air biting at your skin. Something brushes past you, rusting your curtains and your pajamas. It's cold against your skin, goosebumps forming as an icy chill runs down your spine. Chilled fingers wrap around your bare arms, a solid form pressing against your back. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.” 

You’re splayed out on your back in bed, the window closed. The end of your bed dips and you turn your gaze slowly to find a familiar tattooed face staring at you. It’s the man that visits you often in your dreams. They always feel different, more real when he shows up, like you’re stuck somewhere between being asleep and awake. You’re starting to think that’s what’s happening, since you always feel drained and exhausted when you wake in the morning. Your body always feels heavy and your mind scrambled, almost like you didn’t sleep at all the night before. 

You can’t complain though, not when you know what’s coming. 

The man crawls further up the bed, moving like a predator hunting its prey. You’re very much the prey, unable to even move as he crawls up your body until you’re face to face. He’s a handsome man, long dark hair half pulled back from his face, the left side of which is tattooed like a skull. You know the skeletal pattern continues down the left side of his body, all the way to his toes.

His handsome face pulls into a grin as he stares down at you, that strange buzzing feeling starting to thrum under your skin. You stare into his dark eyes, almost black in the low light from your lamp on your desk across the room. 

“Hello again, sweetheart.” He says, voice low and deep. “I’ve missed you.” 

“You’ve been gone for a while.” The words float from your mouth, your voice light and airy, almost not sounding like your own. 

“I was...taking care of some things.” He says, shifting his weight to lift a hand to your cheek. His touch is warm and real. You can feel the calluses on his fingers, the weight of his touch as he drags his fingers across your skin. “But I’m here now. Did you miss me?” 

“Yes.” You nod, lips brushing his fingers as they ghost over your lips. 

“I knew you would.” He leans down closely, so close you can smell his intoxicating aftershave, and the slight scent of smoke that always seems to linger around him. You always swear you can still smell a hint of it when you wake up. “I’m going to take care of you.” 

His hand grips your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks as he leans down, brushing his lips against yours. You try to push yourself up closer to him but you can’t move, still pinned to the bed under him. His teeth drag across your bottom lip, scraping against the sensitive skin. He tugs on your jaw, forcing your mouth open before he kisses you, slipping his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like smoke and expensive liquor, a fire igniting in your body, traveling straight between your legs. 

Your thighs clench as heat begins to bloom between them, your thin underwear starting to dampen. Whatever force had been keeping you pinned to the bed suddenly releases you, letting you move. You wrap your arms around his body, hands trailing the expensive dress shirt he’s wearing. He’s always dressed well, expensive and well tailored. 

You do love a man in a suit. 

His lips trail down your neck, hand tilting your head for him to give him more room. Your panties continue to dampen as he licks and sucks on all the right spots, knowing exactly how to get the biggest reaction out of you. He’s always known, even the first time he appeared. Though, you suppose a figure made up by your mind in your dreams would know all the right things to do. 

You can feel him, hard and bulging against your thigh as he presses his body into yours. You slip your hands around to his front, fingers fumbling as you begin undoing the buttons of his shirt. You want to feel his skin against yours. He smirks against your neck, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your skin before he sits up, pulling his shirt off. He’s so perfect, wide shoulders tapering down to a slim waist. His thick, strong thighs bulge under the fabric of his pants, almost as much as his cock does. There’s a thin silver chain around his neck, some sort of coin hanging off of it. You’ve never been able to make out what kind of coin it is, that part of your dream always a bit hazy. 

You pull your own shirt off, tossing it over the edge of your bed. You no longer feel shy baring yourself to him. He is just a dream after all. His hands slide up your sides, the rough pads of his fingers dragging against your skin. He cups your breasts, squeezing them gently. You stare up at his face as he focuses on your breasts, thumbs flicking your nipples. Your lips part in a quiet gasp as he rubs the sensitive nubs, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk as your panties continue to dampen with his teasing touches. 

He slides his hands off your breasts, pressing them into the bed on either side of you. You stare up at him as he hovers over you, his necklace dangling between you. You still can’t make out what it is, your dream blurring whatever is printed on it. 

“I thought we’d try something new this time.” He says, drawing your attention to his face. “Something that will be pleasurable for us both.” 

“What is it?” You ask, your heart thumping in your chest. 

He grins, trailing his fingers down your throat. “You’ll see.” 

His fingers trail down your sternum to your stomach, goosebumps forming on your skin as his light touch tickles you. You try not to squirm as he trails his fingers to the waistband of your pajama pants, slipping them under the band. He tugs them down quickly and easily, tossing them off the end of the bed. Your legs part for him automatically, revealing the damp spot on your underwear. He hums in approval, his hand slipping between your legs to cup your sex through your underwear. 

His touch is hot, fingers pressing into your folds as he rubs you, quiet breathy moans slipping from your lips. He tugs your panties to the side, dragging a finger through your slick folds. You moan as his finger flicks across your clit, thighs clenching as pleasure thrums through you. 

“So sensitive.” He remarks, teasingly circling your clit with his finger. 

You whine, toes curling as he continues to tease your clit. You could cum just like this, his touch intoxicating and driving more and more pleasure through your body. It’s almost as if he has some magic power, some ability to ramp your body up with just a single touch. Though you suppose anything is possible in your dreams. 

You yelp as he delivers a sharp slap to your pussy, the sensitive skin throbbing. 

He drags your underwear down your legs with a chuckle. “Always so responsive.” He says, tossing your underwear onto the floor. “That’s why you’re my favorite.” 

You don’t think much about his words as he undoes the button on his pants, standing off your bed to tug them down his thighs. You watch as his cock is revealed, hard and leaking. Your thighs clench together at the thought of taking him, always a perfect fit, always able to reach spots inside you, you can only dream of. 

He truly is your dream man. 

He crawls back onto the bed, grinning at you as he parts your thighs, slipping between them. You stare up at him, getting lost in his eyes as the buzzing feeling starts pulsing under your skin once more. You feel dizzy and drunk with lust as he drags his cock through your folds, desperate and needy to get him inside you. 

“Please.” You whimper, trying to shift your hips for him. “Please, I need you inside me.” 

He grins wickedly. “Your wish is my command.” 

The broad head of his cock presses into you, burning a bit as he stretches you open. The pain quickly morphs into pleasure as he sinks into you, your body opening for him like it was made for him. Or, perhaps he was made for you. 

His hands slide down your thighs as he seats himself inside you, hips pressed against yours. You feel so full, your entire body burning as you stare up at him. His hands close around your hips, using your body as leverage as he begins to move. He withdraws his cock from you, almost to the tip before he sinks back in until his hips are flush with yours again. 

He begins to pick up the pace, his thrusts becoming shallower as he builds up speed. He leans his body over you, hands pressing into the bed on either side of your head. His thumb presses against your lower lip as your lips part in a moan. His hand drags down your face to your throat, his fingers closing around your neck. Fear and excitement thrum through you as he begins to squeeze, your breath hitching at the sudden pressure. 

Your heart is thrumming in your chest as you stare up at him, his thrusts shaking the bed as he drives his hips into yours. You gasp for breath as he tightens his hold on your throat, air still filling your lungs, but you can feel the constriction in your breaths. Fear continues to thrum below the surface of the pleasure. There’s nothing malicious in his eyes, his gaze pointed and focused. You can’t really die, though, can you? 

After all, this is just a dream. 

He keeps his hand where it is, keeping your breathing restricted as he continues to fuck you. The pleasure continues to build despite the lightheadedness settling in, the fear almost driving the pleasure even further. Weak, squeaky moans slip around around his hand as he relaxes his fingers just slightly, your eyes fluttering as more oxygen floods your brain. Your pussy clenches around him, the feeling almost beyond pleasurable. 

He tightens his grip on your neck once more, cutting off more air. You’re gasping around his hand, the sudden shock of fear slicing through your nervous system as he chokes you. Your hands wrap around his wrist, trying to get him to ease up but he doesn’t move. You writhe under him, your blood pumping in your ears as you suddenly find you can’t breathe at all. 

You flail as he continues to fuck you, eyes pulsing and ears thrumming as pressure fills your head, your airway cut off completely by his hand. You’ve begun to panic, instinct setting in as your body tries to find a way to get any precious oxygen. Your ears are ringing, eyes feeling like they may pop right out of your skull as you fight for breath against the hand constricting your throat. Black spots begin to dance in your vision, the pressure almost too much as you feel unconsciousness beginning to seep in. 

And for just a moment, hardly more than a second you see it. Not a man atop you, but some horrible nightmare with black skin and red eyes and horns. There’s a chain around its neck, like ones you’ve seen people use on large dogs. Gone is the handsome man you’ve come to know and instead some creature has taken his place. Its skin feels rough and leathery as you try to pull his hand away, blunt claws digging into your skin at the back of your neck. Something whips in the air behind it as you struggle, a long tail with a pointed end. 

Suddenly air fills your lungs, your back arching as oxygen floods your brain. Pleasure washes through you as your vision goes dark, your entire body shaking with your release, and the sudden rush of precious air into your lungs and your brain. 

He’s hovering over you, not the creature but the handsome man once again. His hand is stroking your cheek as you pant and cough, chest brushing his from how close he is to you. Your throat feels raw and sore, and you can’t help but wonder if you’re bruised. 

“There she is.” He grins at you, brushing a hand over your sweaty forehead. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Always so good for me. Always so sweet” His tongue darts out, licking the sweat from your top lip. “I’ll see you again soon, sweetheart.” 

You’re dizzy and lightheaded, pussy still fluttering as your eyes slip closed, exhaustion settling in as the room around you fades into nothing once more. 

High, I feel my body drifting into the sky

I won't come down, come down, come down

I'll fly

Weightless, without a worry into the night

He said, "Dream on, dream on, dream on"

Ragu list:

@kaminocasey @rosechi @mxkyrie @bobaprint @star-trekker-0013 @padawancat97 @bamfahsoka @rain-on-kamino @thrawnspetgoose @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @wolffegirlsunite @dukeoftheblackstar @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @freesia-writes @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @dystopicjumpsuit @littlemissmanga @madameminor @eris-k

@clio3kantarella @moonlightwarriorqueen @sleepingsun501 @originalcollectionartistry @maddiedrmr @idontgetanysleep @sinfulsalutations @clonemedickix @523rdrebel @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @multi-fan-dom-madness @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sunshinesdaydream @mooncommlink @lickylickylicky @sweetheartsnips @commanderblood @crosshairlovebot @ghostperson69 @jediknightjana @jedi-hawkins @dalu-grantkylo @hellhound5925

[mollymauk-teafleak]

can I go where you go?

I wanted to write something short, sweet and featuring old married navy pilots. Huge thanks to @hangsters who is my favourite person on the planet.

Please reblog and go comment over on Ao3!

------

Maverick knows theres a lot he isn't very good at. He's not good at following orders. He's not good at playing by the rules. He's not good at listening.

But one thing he was always good at was flying planes. And now, he's not a naval aviator anymore. He's a retired naval aviator.

So what the hell is he supposed to do now?

------

He was never Maverick in his dreams. 

In there, he was always still Pete Mitchell, even now, even after forty years. In fact, they were one of only two places where he still was. 

It was like real life but viewed on a screen that was blowing in the wind, things trembled and swelled and shifted in front of him. He reached for the throttle but missed it the first few times, groping blindly as the sky outside of the windshields shimmered in nonexistent heat. But Pete didn’t need to see anything to know the danger was out there, the black shapes hunting him down, faster and meaner than he could ever be. Pete was running out of time, he knew that with the cold, chilling certainty of a dream. When he was awake, he always saw that way out, even if it was one he had to make himself, but there was no winning against his own mind. They had minutes, maybe seconds. 

But those seconds didn’t just belong to Pete Mitchell. He had Bradley in the seat behind him, at least mostly Bradley. Sometimes things would shift and it would be Goose behind him, laughing and grinning, unaware of death standing just at his shoulder. But even when it was Bradley, he spoke with the voice of his younger self, a voice that sounded like it should be coming from somewhere around Pete’s hip, clinging to his leg, begging him for help. It’s not working! And it wouldn’t work, there was no ejecting from this. 

I’m sorry. Alarms were blaring, the wind was rushing. The blues of sky and sea condensed into smoke, a fire they were flying right into and couldn’t avoid. I’m sorry. Pete was talking to Goose, to Carole, to Ice, to Bradley and it wasn’t enough for any of them. I’m sorry. 

The moment the fire engulfed them, his eyes snapped open, same as every other time he had this dream, leaving him lying on his back in a tangle of sweat damp blankets. There were worse nightmares, that was for sure, he could at least instantly wake up and tell himself you did it, you pulled it off, you got the kid home safe. 

But the weight on his chest didn’t lift, even as their bedroom came into focus around him, as the sound of soft breathing beside him replaced the sound of the screaming alarms and whistling air that would run out too soon. The dream had let him go but the anxiety was still hissing in his nerves and churning his stomach. 

He was never Maverick in his dreams. But at least he always got to wake up and know he was Maverick, that he owned that name completely and earned it every day in the air. 

This morning, he wasn’t so sure. 

Maverik had opened his eyes to a perfect Saturday morning. He didn’t know what time it was, it was an hour late enough to honey the room with warm sunlight. Not quite the fierce San Diego heat, just the promise of it, not too much that he couldn’t turn and burrow back under the blankets. Not something Mav had ever actually done before. Navy pilots didn’t tend to sleep in on Saturdays. 

But he wasn’t a navy pilot anymore. And he had no idea what retired Navy pilots were supposed to do. 

He’d known it was coming for a while, disentangling from the bureaucratic monster that was the United States military took a hell of a long time, even when you were sleeping with the guy who was meant to be in charge of it all. There had been months between him and Ice kissing on the carrier after the Dagger mission, that moment where he’d realized he was done, that he wasn’t strong enough to live any more moments thinking he’d never see his family again, and right now. The morning after his last official day of service.

He was probably supposed to have spent those months processing everything, coming to terms with his decision. Ice had tried to coax him into conversations a few times over the last months. Not outright, they’d been together long enough for him to know better than that. But there had been strong hands on the small of his back in quiet moments out on the deck, a shoulder for him to lean on for a few minutes of silence after he’d finished his request letter but hadn’t had the courage to put it in the envelope yet. Spaces where Mav could have taken the lid off a little, shook things out at Ice’s feet and let him hold him in one piece if things went bad. 

And lying here now, no longer a Naval aviator, wearing a set of dog tags around his neck that were just a symbol now, Maverick really wished he’d taken those chances, stepped into those spaces. Maybe he’d know what to do right now if he had. Because all Mav had as far as plans went was to try and not throw up.

“I can feel you vibrating, Mitchell…” 

Mav started guiltily, only now realizing that he was tapping his fingers on the mattress and bouncing his heel, “Shit…”

Ice’s chuckle was rough with sleep, his eyes slightly clouded when he rolled over to smile at Maverick, though the creases around his eyes hadn’t changed since ‘86. He hadn’t wanted to wake him, finding the sun up before his husband must have happened only a handful of times. But he couldn’t lie and say the moment Ice wrapped his arms around him, he didn’t breathe a little easier. 

“It’s okay. Wanted to be up with you anyway,” Ice’s voice didn’t lose its rough edge, he always sounded like he’d just woken up lately and that was on a good day. But it was a strong vibration against Maverick’s ear as he burrowed into his bare chest, “You had a nightmare?”

It wasn’t a question really. Ice knew him too well, enough that he’d also know it wasn’t the nightmare that was upsetting Mav.

“Yeah…” Maverick’s fingers found the chain around Ice’s neck, the one that matched his own, letting the familiar coolness of it make him brave, “Ice…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

He felt lips against his forehead, pressing softly, “Sweetheart…”

Maverick sighed, “You can tell me I’m an idiot. I know I should have figured this shit out about three months ago.”

Ice snorted, shifting onto his back and bringing Maverick with him, letting his husband sprawl, cat like, on his chest. Roughened fingers trailed down his spine and softened the knowing smirk on Ice’s face. 

“Sweetheart, you wouldn’t have got this figured out in three years and we both know it. This was always going to hurt a little, even if you had listened to me.”

“Well, good thing I didn’t bother doing that then,” Mav muttered against Ice’s skin, still warm from the sheets, still smelling faintly of soap from his shower before bed. 

He could feel Ice smiling as he traced his spine up and down, “Well, we’re here now and there’s no time like the present. So what’s bothering you, sweetheart?”

Maverick tried to marshal the thoughts that were forming the small storm in his stomach. He felt the urge to clam up, lock down, to preserve some of the easy confidence that shielded him along with the sunglasses and leather jacket. But he had none of that right now. He didn’t need it, not with Ice, he never had. 

“I…I guess I’m not sure how to…not be a pilot?” he wound his fingers more securely in the chain of his husband’s tags, “I don’t remember liking myself a lot before I was one.”

Ice’s lazy grip on him tightened a fraction, “That wasn’t you. It was where you were and what was happening to you. You’re so far from that, sweetheart, and you’re sure as hell not going back.”

Maverick nodded, finding it so much easier to believe things when Ice said them, like there was some magic in his calm, authoritative voice that made things real, “I know that. I do. I mean, fuck, if you’d told that kid that one day he’d be wearing a set of dog tags that said Captain ‘Maverick’ Mitchell…”

“Not to mention the Admiral’s wedding ring,” Ice teased, hand slipping down to lightly squeeze his hip where he was ticklish. 

“That too…” Mav jerked, grinning crookedly, shifting so that hand could slip a little further, “But you know what I mean. That I’d have my wings, that strangers in the store would call me ‘sir’ without even thinking twice. That I’d be someone’s dad.”

“The best dad she could ask for,” Ice added, “But you know none of that goes away just because you’ve retired, sweetheart.”

“Yeah…” Maverick murmured, though it sounded like he wanted to put a question mark at the end. 

Ice made a gentle noise, rolling them so Maverick was pressed down into the bed, so he could find that anxious gaze and hold it. 

“Mav. All of those things you love about yourself, the Navy didn’t give them to you. You earned them. You worked hard for them and whether you’re a Captain or not, no one’s going to take them from you.”

Maverick exhaled softly, leaning into Ice’s hand, pressing a kiss to his palm, “But…what do I do now? Without the Navy telling me what to do?”

“As if you ever listened in the first place,” Ice flashed him a smile, holding Maverick’s face between his hands like he was something precious, “Well…if you need to be told what to do, then here. We’re going to get out of bed, we’re going to shower. I’m gonna go first because you say I take forever and you’ll sneak in with me and let me wash your hair for you…and then you’ll steal my shirt for when we go get breakfast together. We’ll go to the same place we always go, where the waitress flirts with you but she flirts with me more. And I’ll have to order an extra hash brown because for some unknown reason, you always steal mine rather than just order your own. And then we’ll walk along the beach, you’ll kick water at me because you always do…and then we’ll come home and watch the game, you can tell me all your incorrect opinions about the 49ers. And you’ll fall asleep on my shoulder and…and I’ll remember that I’m the luckiest man on the goddamn planet.” 

Maverick swallowed, feeling heat prickling behind his eyelids when he blinked, “Yeah? That sounds nice.”

Ice brought his forehead down to gently rest on his husband’s, “And after that…well, we’ll figure it out. Together.” 

Maverick put his hands over Ice’s, tangling their fingers together, feeling something unbreakable in that, “If every day looks like that one? Count me in, sweetheart.”

Ice’s lips were warm on his, sure, certain. From that one point of contact, Maverick could feel color flooding in, the sketched out, empty version of his body he’d woken up in suddenly becoming real, becoming completely his own again. He let go of Ice’s hands, wrapping his arms around his husband’s broad shoulders, following the chain of his dog tags again. He kissed him back, fingers tracing old scars on Ice’s skin that Maverick could map even better than his own, ghosting over freckles he knew like the constellations, until the breath in his lungs was more Ice’s than his. 

“Do have one…one small note…” he panted against Ice’s lips, “Any room in that schedule for you to rock my world, sweetheart?”

Ice flashed the smile that had been making Mav’s knees weak since the eighties and probably would still when they were in their eighties, “I’ll make time to do it twice...”

Maverick’s head fell back against the pillows, his grin crooked and wholly his own, “God, I love you…”

“I love you too, Pete Mitchell…” Ice left him with a kiss on the cheek before moving down his body.

The world became the warmth of the morning sun on his bare skin, the comforting weight of Ice against him, the brush of his lips trailing from his neck to his chest to his stomach to the inside of his thighs. A world he could feel comfortable in, one made with a space for him, one that Ice had given him and he’d earned himself. 

There were two places where he was still Pete Mitchell. One was his nightmares, where it was a way to cut him down, to send him spinning in free fall without his wings and shatter on the ground

The other place was in Tom Kazansky’s arms. And there it was only because Ice loved every single part of him, he would put him back together and not change a single thing. He could be Pete Mitchell, he could wear the name he’d been given before he knew he was a man. He could be Lieutenant, he could be Captain, he could be wearing whatever name and Ice would see the same person and love him the same. 

Pete Mitchell took a breath and started looking forward. 

[wrenwinchester]

For @holyfreaks

This one isn’t as canon compliant as originally intended, but you go where the story takes you. I don’t like how the last part turned out, but I’m exhausted, so it’s all I’ve got. There was supposed to be more, but my uterus is trying to kill me, so have at it.

Devotion and First and Last Times

Dean

Dean watched as his mom and dad carefully brought little Sammy into the house.

“Can I hold him, Mommy?” He asked, his eyes big and pleading.

Mary of course relented, “Of course, Dean, but you have to sit down, okay. Can you go sit on the couch for me?” She asked and Dean ran to get settled in.

“You sure ‘bout this, Mary?” John asked. “Dean can be rambunctious, and Sammy is just a few days old.”

Mary just looked at John with a scoff. “We’ll be right next to them, they’ll be fine.”

Dean was beyond excited to have a little brother to play with. He was practically vibrating with excitement at the idea of holding his little brother, and showing him the ropes.

Mary gently laid Sammy in Dean’s arms, “make sure you support his head.” She said, and stood above watching as her four-year-old gazed lovingly at his little brother.

“You’re gonna have to watch out for him, Dean. Help keep him safe, okay?” John said, and Dean just nodded.

“I’ll take care of you, Sammy. No matter what.” His parents smiled at the words, but Dean only had eyes for Sam.

****************************************************

Dean watched closely, Sam’s relieved sag has he heard his brother’s voice calling for him. The way Sam was cradling his arm, definitely injured, but Dean wasn’t sure if it was broken or dislocated, or something else entirely.

He knew Sam was exhausted, Dean could see it in the way he stumbled forward. Barely catching himself before he fell with each step.

Movement behind Sam caught his eye. “Sam, look out!” Dean yelled as he started running. Sam tried to turn around but it was too late, the knife had gone into his back and was gone again. Dean sped up, as if he could run any faster, his heart had stopped. He felt it drop in his chest as he rushed to catch Sam before he hit the ground.

Dean vaguely registered Bobby chasing after the guy, but he only had eyes for Sam. Sam, who was going to be fine. He had to be. Sam whose blood was leaking out all over the ground and Dean’s hands. Sam who believed Dean when he said he would be okay. Sam, Dean’s baby brother, baby. Dean’s everything.

Sam’s belief in Dean is why he allowed himself to drift off in the first place. Dean would take care of him, he always did.

When Bobby came back, Sam was long dead, and Dean had already carried the Sam-not-Sam thing into one of the houses, and was sitting by the bed where he’d laid him.

“Dean, do you want me to build the pyre?” He asked, and the thought shook him to his core. Sam was supposed to be the one to get out of the hunting life, he was supposed to have the apple pie life, he did, until Dean helped take it from him. Sam was supposed to bury Dean. Not the other way around. Dean was supposed to die young, not his baby brother. Not his Sammy.

Dean couldn’t say anything at first so he just shook his head. Watching Sam just lay on the bed, Dean could almost pretend he was just sleeping, that he hadn’t bled out. For once, Sam looked peaceful, even if he didn’t look like Sam.

“Dean…” Bobby said, trying to help the boy see the truth.

“I said no Bobby!” Dean snapped, he hadn’t meant to, and his emotions were crawling their way up his throat. “Not yet,” he said, softer this time, barely audible, and broken.

Dean Winchester was broken.

****************************************************

The idea had started forming the morning after Sam had died, Dean wasn’t supposed to be here. He should have died after that Rugaru hunt, but Sam found a way to save him. And then he should have died after the accident, but instead, John, no his dad, traded his soul for Dean. And suddenly, Dean was the only Winchester left. It wasn’t right.

Sam and John had both saved Dean, just for Dean to be left alone, it wasn’t fair. That’s when the idea struck.

I could make a deal. Dean thought. And so he started planning, he’d have to chase Bobby off, but that wouldn’t be to hard, truthfully, Dean didn’t care about the world if Sammy wasn’t in it.

So that’s what he did. The next day, when Bobby came back from his run for food, and tried once again to convince Dean to leave Sam, Dean blew up at him, it got more emotional than he had meant it to, but that just sold his point. And with that, Bobby walked back out the door, and Dean was well and truly alone.

He sat and talked to Sam for hours, well, the not-Sam thing that looked like him. He looked pale, and Dean just talked. He talked until his voice was hoarse, and finally, at nightfall, he decided to act on his plan.

He drove, he was definitely white knuckling it’s he could almost hear Sam chiding him for his speed, but he had to do this before he could back out.

He arrived at the cross roads. “IM HERE TO MAKE A DEAL!” He shouted after following the ritual. His heart pounded. What if they didn’t show. What if they didn’t care.

And then she did, and suddenly, he could almost feel the weight of the world lift just a little as he felt, from miles away, that Sam was breathing again.

He didn’t believe it until he saw him though. Dean held his breath the entire drive back to Cold Oak, and more as he walked into the house where he had left Sam’s body.

But when he walked in, and saw Sam, standing, examining his back in the mirror, it’s Dean’s turn to sag in relief. His baby brother was alive.

“Sammy? Thank God.” Dean said as he all but ran to hold his baby brother.

Now he just had to keep this secret from him.

**************************************************

Sam

That first Tuesday was the worst, if only because it felt the most real. Dean could die on the job at any point, even the nonsupernatural. It felt so real. All those Tuesdays and the six months that followed. Living without Dean. It was the worst thing that could have happened to him. And Sam knew it. Dean had only had to go through three days of him being gone, and he got to be near him the whole time. Sam wasn’t so lucky.

When that time was up, Sam still had to go through the pain of actually losing his brother to hell, but that’s not this story.

The first two months after all the Tuesdays, Sam spent trying to deal Dean back to life, to give anything, his soul, his “right” to the throne of hell, whatever he could try to pass off, he did. But no one was buying. So Sam did what he could, he sought revenge. He was going to find that damned trickster if it was the last thing he did. And, if Sam had it his way, it would be.

Getting Dean back, making it through that Wednesday, and avoiding the trickster made the most sense. But god, after everything Sam was still angry. He wanted revenge, but at the same time, he hadn’t lost any time with his brother. It still felt wrong.

Months later, Dean’s deal was cashed in, and Lilith was there to watch. Sam was angry, no. He was pissed. Once again, there was nothing he could do, no one was dealing, none of the demons wanted anything to do with Sam, so Sam did the only thing he could think to do, and he through himself into finding a way to get revenge for his brother. To kill Lilith, and maybe, just maybe, he’d get lucky and take himself out in the process.

When Dean came back, Sam was of course overjoyed. He had his brother back, but there was so much more. Guilt, pain, the need for revenge, and the secret of what he’d been doing with Ruby.

He lost himself for Dean, and Dean still had no idea.

[sky-fire-forever]

For Anders/Hawke, how about ❛  i miss the way you always made me smile.  ❜ Happy writing!

Thank you so much for the prompt! I feel like this is very similar to other stuff I've written, but I still like it.

My Hawke for this one is Mal, who uses he/him pronouns.

Mal watches Anders from across their makeshift camp. The mage gathers kindling and wood for a fire in preparation for when the sun goes down while Mal sets up their tents — two of them now instead of one to share. 

It's been almost half a year since the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry and this is the routine they fall into nowadays: with Anders gathering firewood and Mal setting up camp. Often, Mal will hunt while Anders gathers anything edible from whatever forest they've tucked themselves away in. Anders claims to know how to identify the safe from the toxic and Mal's inclined to believe him, even if he trusts him with little else. He’s kept them alive so far. 

They hardly interact anymore. They don't play card games or offer each other shared smiles or even talk, really. They just do their duties while acknowledging each other as little as possible. 

It's only fair, really. After what Anders did — his betrayal — Mal can't be expected to want to just kiss and make up. He can never see Anders the way he once did. He'll never be able to forget the smell of smoke in the air or the horror of the people around them or the red tinge to the sky. It's all seared into his brain like it happened just yesterday rather than months ago. 

Still, Mal misses Anders. 

He misses the way the mage would seek out his warmth even in sleep, always the tactile one even before they officially discussed what they were to each other. He misses the jokes, the heated conversations, the ferocity in Anders’ heart. 

He misses the way Anders always made him smile. How just one joke from him could break through Mal's outer shell like nothing else. 

There's not a lot of smiling anymore. No laughter at all. There's just a lot of silence, a lot of mumbled questions and responses, nothing joyful and boisterous like their days spent in the Hanged Man what feels like a lifetime ago now. 

As the fire roars to life with a flick of Anders’ wrist, Mal realizes that he's gotten so caught up in his own head that he's stopped what he's doing to watch. He quickly turns his head, but not fast enough. 

“Hawke?” There's a glimmer of hope in Anders’ voice and it makes Mal want to run to him and wrap his arms around him, to hold him close and never let go. 

Instead, Mal keeps his head down as he hammers stakes into the dirt. 

Anders sighs. “I miss you,” he says, longing in his voice. “Can we… I don't know. Talk?”

“What is there to say, Anders?” Mal looks up. 

“Something. Anything.” Anders stares into his eyes like if he so much as blinks, Mal will go back to ignoring him. “Yell at me for what I did. Tell me you should have killed me. Anything.”

“Don't,” Mal snaps. “Don't say– just don't.”

He doesn't wish he'd killed Anders when he'd had the chance. He doesn't think he'd have been able to live with himself if he'd slipped that knife between Anders’ ribs and he doesn't like thinking about if he'd done it. It's better to push it all out if his head and move on, it's not like he can change what his choice was anyway. 

“Why didn't you do it?” Anders asks. “Why am I still breathing?”

“I said don't!” Mal growls, rising to his feet and standing over Anders. 

Anders flinches and Mal immediately regrets his aggression. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face, trying to put his words in order.

“I could never kill you, Anders,” he says. “No matter what you've done, I can't– I still–” He groans in frustration at his inability to voice his thoughts. 

Anders peers up at him and the firelight catches his amber eyes and fuck, he's beautiful. He's a monster and a terrorist and he's beautiful. 

“Do you still love me, Hawke?” Anders asks in a quiet voice. 

Mal freezes. “What kind of a question is that?”

“One I'd like to know the answer to. So, please.”

Mal doesn't know how to begin answering such a loaded question. “Yes,” the words tumble from his lips before he can think too hard about how true it is. “Yes, I still love you, but I wish I didn't.”

As soon as the words are out, he knows they're true. He does love Anders; desperately loves him more than he can possibly put into words. But he wishes he didn't. He wishes he could be strong enough to put Anders behind him, to push him away instead of traveling with him and hiding him along the way. He wishes he didn't still feel such a need to be close to him. 

Anders slowly rises to his feet and reaches out. Mal doesn't stop him like he has so many times in the past few months. When Anders’ hand finds his cheek, Mal nuzzles into it like a dog starved of affection and care, like a child yearning for the attention of someone safe. He closes his eyes when he realizes that there are tears threatening to spill over. 

“I'm sorry,” Anders says, his words choked. “I'm so sorry.”

Mal shuts him up by wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into a crushing hug. He grips him tighter than he ever has before, burying his face in his neck and breathing him in. 

“I love you,” Mal chokes out. “I love you.”

Anders clings back to him just as fiercely and they stay like that for a long, long time.

[dmagedgoods]

👾? (one for each, or whoever volunteers 💕)

Each ... the main 3, I assume? 😁 Salvadore: Then I'm going to pick his "theme song" this time: Natural by Imagine Dragons. "Nothing ever comes without a consequence or cost, tell me Will the stars align? Will heaven step in? Will it save us from our sin, will it? 'Cause this house of mine stands strong" Struggling with mistakes he made and still staying true to what he believes in. "That's the price you pay Leave behind your heart and cast away Just another product of today Rather be the hunter than the prey" Eneas teachings, and, Salvadore definitely is a hunter, hunting his goals, hunting power, and sometimes people if they are worth it. "'Cause you're a natural A beating heart of stone You gotta be so cold To make it in this world Yeah, you're a natural [...] Took an oath by the blood on my hand, won't break it I can taste it, the end is upon us, I swear Gonna make it I'm gonna make it" Not accepting any fate but changing the world. ~ Eneas:

If I burn by Emilie Autumn It perfectly fits Eneas' teenage years, when the abused, tortured, powerless boy swore revenge while still not being able to free himself from his situation yet. "I could beg a thousand times I could explain I could use rhymes And rhythms meant to catch your eye But I know you won't see I could cry a thousand tears I could appease your secret fears But the louder that I scream The harder your machines close over me [...] I could bargain but I'd lose You'll sell the parts that you don't use Yes, I could beg you to be merciful and set me free I could threaten you with Hell Or I could promise not to tell But the softer I become The harder your machines close over me But I don't care Maybe I'm afraid, but still I swear You could take my life with conscience clear But you should still hear That if I burn You will see the fire in your mind when you sleep And if I rise up in smoke around your eyes you'll know it's me And the rain won't wash away the ashes underneath your nails today Doesn't matter where you go or what you do Cause if I burn, so will you" ~ Rowley: Guns for Hire by Woodkid Especially fitting in my original universe but I don't want to say too much. "Resting on a knife, you heavy souls With all this weight buckling down on you now Don't you drown and float away Not a good time to lose control Right as your marionettes cut their strings and run away You're out of time, make your move Live or die while the fuse is lit and there's no turning back Kiss your perfect day goodbye Because the world is on fire Tuck your innocence goodnight You sold your friends like guns for hire Go play with your blocks And now you'll pay when these walls come tumbling down Oh, they're tumbling down" But it strongly fits his views in any case, his cynicism and bitterness after he lost his brother and how he makes those pay who are responsible and sets their world on fire.

[morgana-ren]

Have you done like a kink list for what your AU are into? I'm very interested in their depravity!

For the public? Not quite. But back in the beginning when we first started setting it up, we did a sort of kink list for them to help get a handle on them when we wrote them. A lot of their kinks developed naturally as we wrote, but we needed a baseline to work with first.

Since half of the characters are ocs, and the other half are preexisting but warped to the point they might as well be new characters, it was a helpful way of getting a grasp on them.

It's important to note that these aren't necessarily our personal kinks, but more of a natural way of letting the character grow and develop on their own. Keep in mind, this is years and years running, so these are just the ones that come to mind off the top of my head. It's a deeply intricate au with a lot going on, but this should give you a good idea.

Astarion's are much the same as HERE. He's the same Astarion with a vastly different way of being saved from Cazador, a different way of ascending, and three new idiot brothers who he loves more than the world. Therefore, he's sort of a different person in the end, but also... very much the same. He loves his knife, he loves brats and loves a struggle. He's the least likely to hurt you if you spit in his face, but not for any reason regarding kindness. It's because he's going to deliberately antagonize you to make you angrier and more likely to fight back just so he can subdue you. There's a playful edge to his cruelty. He has been elaborated on already, so I'll skip the lecture.

Nightmare is a prince, and you'd know it from the uppity way he acts. He pretends that sex is vulgar and a waste of time. But he's also a pirate and a private hedonist. Nightmare is the most likely to hurt you for no reason, if only to see you cry. He has the worst case of dacryphilia you've ever seen. Allergies and you're sniffling with watery eyes? Run. Death in the family and you're wailing? Run. He backhands you and your eyes begin to tear up? Run. Or, you know what? Don't. He enjoys a nice hunt, and there's no way you're getting away. He gets off on fear.

He likes clever, soft girls. He's going to stalk them, and that's a nice way of putting it. He's going to ruin your fucking life and leave you with nothing. And then he's going to swoop in, the golden knight in shining armor. He has a hero complex. He's going to personally orchestrate the most miserable days of your life so that he can 'save' you from it.

He is an absolute sucker for domesticity. Nothing gets him hotter than watching the object of his affection with an apron on, baking just for him, cleaning his house, basically acting the part of a pretty little housewife. Except nuns. He is not allowed around nuns. He goes absolutely feral for any kind of religious girl (he's a devil, what do you want from him? It's not quite a corruption kink and more the act of defiling.)

He likes gaslighting and confusing his girls. He will use magic to literally construct you an alternate reality only to slam you back into your present one to make you feel insane. He will create a whole isolated pocket in the feywild to kidnap and keep you. He is a Baneite, and thus, he has a huge thing for power (if he can best you, he has earned what he wants from you, and if you cannot stop him, then it's your fault) and needs to be the one in control, and more importantly, you need to know it. If you're truly his, he will enchant a collar and put it on your neck permanently and it will shock you if you try to remove it. If he feels like it, you get the leash too, just to remind you of your place. He's a little too into the less fun aspects of pet play, like forcing you to sleep on the floor because 'no pets on the furniture' and making you lick cum off the floor. Disobey him? You get the lightning whip. He loves flogging and pain and-- just all of it. He will tie you up on his bed in the most uncomfortable position imaginable and just.. leave you there to think about how you've behaved.

Nightmare is cruelty for cruelty's sake. He's going to hurt you. Badly. Both mentally and physically until you worship him, like he deserves-- and he is a master at it. He's perfectly capable of seducing but gets more glee out of forcing himself on you. The more you cry, the more you cry out, the more rabid he gets. He wants you to trust him with your life, and then to betray that trust and watch your face as you realize it. He's in it for the long game, and will spend months orchestrating the perfect way to break you, working his way in to become your best friend or whatever else have you to get you to depend on him and need him, and then completely betray you. He's the least likely to have a fling or a one-night stand. If he has his eye set on you, it's the long haul. He adores punishment and even if you do everything perfectly, he's going to find a reason to hurt you.

It's not an incest kink, and he'll call you vulgar if you accuse him of it, but oh-so secretly, he does like being called 'daddy' or 'big brother.' He'll tell you he prefers 'master', and he's only lying about the preference. It's an abuse of power thing. You must get him 'foaming at the mouth' feral for him to finally admit it.

He'll invade your dreams and violate you night after night until you think you've gone actually crazy. He has no problem abusing magic in his sexual conquests. He is very good at what he does and is the most likely to get very into it. He enjoys a good roleplay and will even dress up himself!-- and then take his role WAY too fucking seriously. Oh, you're a student and he's a headmaster? He will give you an actual written test. Yes. He will.

He's beautiful and knows it. He is all about decorum and propriety. He's prim and proper until you get him in the shadows. You'll never know he wants you until he's got a hand on your neck and is pushing inside. He will insult you and berate you and degrade you and make you bleed with his claws until you scream. Secretly, all he wants is a family and children of his own and a housewife that adores and worships him and pampers him-- and a kingdom at his feet. He usually gets it. His atrocious backstory does not make up for his behavior, but it's certainly understandable.

Reaver is the most openly depraved. He's the least likely to hurt you physically if you do as he asks but the most likely to ask you to do something that you'd rather die than do. He has a strange pseudo-incest kink where he likes to be referred to as 'Uncle' even in bed, so.. that's great. He's massive and has a huge size kink as well. He likes little things that are much smaller than him and easier to manhandle (and if you're a six-foot-tall girl, don't worry, you're still much smaller than he is, and you still fucking count.) He likes sex in general, but loves 'non-traditional' sex the most, eg anal (this is horrible because he is massive.) If you squirm or fight too much, he will put your little ass in a cage he keeps in his room or dungeon and just watch you with an eerie smile.

He's also into stereotypical guy shit, like lap-dances and general degradation. He has a massive closet full of various outfits and appendages for roleplay and cosplay. He's extravagant and loves showing off, and will spend absurd amounts of money on you, buy you a ridiculously priced dress, and throw a whole ball to celebrate. He loves the finer things, and will buy out the nicest restaurant, buy you the most expensive dinner, and then want to have sex on the table while the staff are still cleaning up. He likes public sex to a degree but is usually not allowed to indulge because Nightmare calls it crass. He also likes tattooing and piercing his girls, and often wants his symbol on their body somewhere, but again, is shot down by Nightmare (which funny enough, I got his symbol tattooed on me willingly.)

He's easily the most openly licentious, and when he doesn't have someone in particular to lavish affection on, he's partial to orgies and anonymous sex. He loves abuse of authority and can be seen harassing maids and staff that he wants to fuck. He gets off on having sex (be it willing or no, usually not) with people on the opposite end of the political spectrum, and I'll let you use your imagination to figure out what side he's on (hint, it's his own side.) He will hold incentives over your head to get you to comply (Think: I'll pay fair wages for a year if you blow me right now,) and to his credit, he will uphold his word.

Basically, he throws money at everything and has become a soulless libertine that gets off on the most depraved shit imaginable. He likes shock. He's going to make you sit on his lap and call you his niece in public because he loves the looks of disgust, but more than that, he loves the fact that no one would dare do anything about it because he's so powerful. He is genuinely disgusting to cover up his tragic backstory and any vulnerability he might have.

Ilya was also a prince, but a very different kind of prince. He's spoiled and bratty and arrogant, but deeply intelligent and ambitious and has been around for hundreds of years, just like the other three. He was a bit of a whore (he had concubines and harems galore,) and he is capable of having regular one-night stands, but when he finds someone(s) that he wants, he becomes... terrifying.

He will use his beauty to enrapture you. You'll see him as the kind, gentle, intelligent, and beautiful but lonely man who lives alone in a manor that's far too large for just him, and some part of you will ache to help him-- and he knows. He will ensnare you with artifacts from ancient Mongolia and the East and Russia and whatever else interests you and by the Gods, he plays his part well. In truth? He's almost worse than Reaver.

He will take advantage of your kindness, set circumstances up just right, and then strike. He's so good at it that when he does make his move, you will gaslight yourself into thinking you're imagining it. His hand will literally be moving up your skirt and your brain will go 'No, it's an accident--'

...And then he will crank it up a notch because he wants the panic and the fear. He wants you to beg him to stop only to smile condescendingly and say "No. And what are you going to do about it?" You'll be in such a whiplash from the two personalities that it'll make your head spin.

A true libertine and hedonist. He believes the point of life is pleasure, and that you must take it where you will. He is also obsessed with power, but is a sight-bit more playful about it than Nightmare. He will still chain you to his bed, but unlike Nightmare, he will use your own pleasure against you. You will hate him, seethe and sputter curses at him, and then he will make you see the face of God. He will leave you in a puddle, dumbfounded and horrified on his bed, hating yourself.

He's the one that encourages and coaxes the basest desires of the other three. The devil on the devil's shoulder. He and Nightmare will drive the other two nuts by speaking Russian and they get along quite well. If Nightmare hasn't made up his mind about wanting a girl, it is Ilya that inevitably puts the final nail in the coffin.

Ilya has all the kinks of the previous three combined. He lived a very indulgent lifestyle before he died, and is used to getting whatever he wants. He's gorgeous and educated, just like Nightmare, and when the two get together, it's a huge problem.

Ilya is the most recent addition to the group, and he's mine. I won't go more into detail unless someone asks cause it's usually the original three that people like.

[coolx2-nodoubt]

❧ HUG ME ❧

╰┈➤Pairing: Llewyn Davis x GN!Reader

Warning: Angst/cussing & fluff at the end💜

Prompt: Can I hug you?

A/n: This is my first prompt ever. I'm pretty happy with this, hope you like it aswell. English is my second language so please go easy on me and let me know if there is any type of mistake.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

You just finished taking a warm bubbly bath. Today you decided to use a new cinnamon scented shampoo for your hair. When you got out and went to your bedroom to pick out your pyjama from your closet, you heard the doorbell ring. You turned around and wonderd who could be coming here at this late hour. But then it hit you, there could only be one person...

So you swiftly wore your clothes. Checked in the mirror if you looked 'presentable'. And made your way to the front door. You held down the buzzer to speak.

"Hello? Who is this"

"Hey I'ts me, Llewyn. Can I plea-"

You quickly opened the door before he could finish, happy to see him at your apartment after a long time not hearing from him. But he wasn't, he looked sad, dirty, with his guitar over his shoulder, very little amount of clothes for this cold weather, shivering a bit even.

"Llewyn, hey come in. How've you been?"

You step aside to let him in, with a worried look.

"Hey, thx. Yeah I've been better. I actually needed a place to crash for the night. Can I ?"

"Yeah absolutely, please"

He walked inside looked around your place to see all the Halloween decoration you have placed. He can tell you took your time with it. He dropped his guitar on the ground near the sofa. And turned around to face you, he looked so tired.

"What happened Llewyn? Why do you seem so..upset?"

He slouched down with a groan, looking at the floor.

"My record deal, they cancelled it. Didn't even fucking bother to let me know before hand. Only found out when I got there"

He looked tired, sad, almost look like he is about cry. You just wanted to hold him close. But you accidentely blurted it out.

"Can I hug you?"

As soon as it left your lips you regretted. Did it seem too much? Was he gonna be wierded out? Will your friendship be ruined? I mean there is this tension between you two. There was this time where the both of you nearly kissed outside the bar, but he backed out for some reason,maybe the feelings were one-sided only?

But he looked up at you, and slightly nodded looking down again. It took you by surprise, you hesistantly lifted your arms and wrapped around his torso tightly placing your chin on his shoulder. He did the same.

As soon as he placed his forehead on your shoulder. Tears welled up in his eyes. A single tear rolled down his cheek. He felt his throat closing up. He couldn't do this anymore. He is too exhausted.

"Let it out. Let it ALL out"

Stroking his back up and down slowly. Soothing him with comforting words, letting him know that it's gonna be alright. That it's just another bad day.

He was still trying to speak while whimpering.

"I just wished- I just wished that my life wasn't this fucking bad. Waking up on a bench, hunting down for food everyday with the little amount of money I have. Always relying on the money I earn from the bar. Running out of money constantly. Asking people that I can crash at their place so I don't go to sleep freezing, it's all to embarrassing. I'm just so fucking tired of this. There's no reason for me to live.."

"Hey hey hey, listen"

You picked up his face with your hands, forcing him to look at you.

"Don't say that ok. Look it's not the end of the world, alright. Yes you've hit a couple of unlucky speed bumps. But it does not mean you should give up on your dream. You have a beautiful singing voice and you play the guitar beautifully, better than anyone else I've heard. They are just too stupid to realise it.

And besides your wrong, there's a reason, well someone...

You looked deeply in his eyes, taking a breath, before confessing.

"Me .. I really like you Llewyn, i've liked you for a very long time"

He looked at you momentarily, contemplating if he heard you right. Then he pulled you in by your waist for a kiss. Holding his hands up to cup your cheeks. His lips felt so warm and soft on yours, molded perfectly with yours, as if you were made for eachother. You grabbed his neck to deepen the kiss. His beard tickling your chin but you didn't care. To focused on kissing him.

When he parted away from you, you tried to catch up to his lips. He chuckled at you. Both of you staring at eachother in adoration. You couldn't believe he kissed you. HE KISSED YOU. To dazed to even realise he was trying to say something..

"I'm sorry for not kissing you that night, I chickened out. I just felt like I wasn't good enough for you. I thought you deserve someone better..better than me."

With your head slightly tilted, you stroke his cheek with your thumbs.

"You are perfect Llewyn, we are made for eachother. You caught my eye ever since I heard you sing at that bar I couldn't stop myself from staring at you, listening at your voice."

Both of you smiling at eachother like idiots. You give him a quick peck on his lips before asking him.

"Why don't you go take a bath and get dressed I'll bring you some clothes and I'll make us some food. And this time you will sleep in my bed, alright?"

He smiled at you nodding. Giving you quick peck on your lips before leaving you to go to the bathroom.

You placed some clothes for him on the bed while you made your way to the kitchen to make some warm soup and some snacks on the side. To busy with the soup you didn't even noticed that Llewyn got out of the bathroom. He slowly came up behind you, snaking his arms around your waist placing a gentle kiss on your shoulder. You were startled, but you easily eased into the hug and turned around in his arms and placed your hands on his chest.

"Your hair smells amazing by the way"

"Now you noticed it?"

He chuckles to himself

"Yours too, Llew"

After placing both of the bowls and the glasses on the table. You sit together facing eachother. You pulled your hand out for him to take, which he gladly did. You took a sip from your glass of water before asking him.

"So are we official...are we really doing this?"

"Was it not obvious enough?!"

THE END

Thx for reading , comments & reblogs are appreciated <3

[scrimblyscrorblo]

Sure thing !

After a nice meal (it's weird to be eating human food after centuries of eating only human flesh... The differents tastes and texture were both amazing and horrible) and a good night sleep (not being nocturnal anymore and actually needing sleep is very... Perturbing.)

Luckily, their weirdness can be explained by surviving a very traumatic event... (The story was a lie but they still live some quite traumatic).

The next morning, some slayers comes to the butterfly mansion talking to each other with confusion. Douma, Gyokko and Enmu, whom were a three together running around and playing happily, stop to listen to the new comers...

"That was so weird...!" "I know right ?!" "Last night, no demons. And we weren't the only one with no demons to hunt ! Should we be worried ?" "I have no idea... But we have to tell Kochou-sama !" "Yes yes...!"

The three boy stay quiet, looking at each other, blinking stupidly... HUUUUHHH ?! No demon !? How's that po... Ssible. Muzan's... Is a human now. He was changed into a human. Or more like... His body, and so his cells, reverted back in time ! Oh. My. God !

They rush to their assigned room to deliver the message. Everyone was shocked to say the least... But in the end, it made sense. But now, what were they supposed to do ? And what would the slayer do to ?

For now, they decided to stay together (without Hakuji choice), to continue the lie. They do need to grow up after all, well... For the ones who needs to.

Nakime want to become a geisha, but she will wait for everyone to settle before do so.

Hantengu just want to live peacefully with his children and watch them grow up into fine men.

Hakuji will open a dojo and help any unfortunate persons he finds, he swears it on his life. He can maybe create an orphanage and also help woman in distress... Yeah, that sound nice.

Gyokko is going to become an artist, obliviously. And he's going to start now ! He's missing making beautiful art.

Enmu wanna become a train conductor... And now he actually can ! He's really happy to not be forced to do something he didn't wanted to do. He can also collect little knick-knacks like he always wanted to to ! Oh yes ! Specially tea sets, those are his favourites !

Daki likes the idea of becoming a geisha too. She doesn't wanna become a prostitute again... She never liked it anyway.

Gyutaro doesn't know, but he knows he want his sister happy, and she likes pretty things (him too but shush), so he will make many pretty things for her to wear !

Douma is confused... He doesn't have his cult anymore. Should he create it again ?... For now, he will wait.

Koku will train to become stronger. But some how... That goal seems... Wrong. But he doesn't know what else to do so...

Mukago want to take care of slik moth and make nice clothes ! She absolutely adores moths, they're her favourite animal of all time, plus, she be able to do the same job as he nii-san, tou-san and ka-san...

Wakuraba like the idea to heal people, so maybe he could find a medicine that could heal Muzan ! He's going to ask Kochou-san to teach him later. But he isn't going to ask Enmu any help, he's a really bad doctor...

Rokuro just wanna do pottery, he always loved to play with mud and create stuff with it, so he's going to do just that.

Kamanue honestly didn't know what he should do... Wood cutting seems nice, he could even make nice little things with the wood he will cut. Mh...

Then, Muzan and Rui...

They just wanna live...

(They seem to bound over their sick that will one day takes their live very soon.)

A few days later... And it is confirmed. There's no more demons. To the confusion of all the slayers.

But Kagaya wonder...

While the confusion and panic of slayer continue, the former kizuki are actually enjoying their new life ! Even Muzan and Rui are starting to get a tiny slightly bit better, but they are overjoyed about it.

But they wouldn't dare hope.

Then suddenly, they are asked in a hashira meeting by the master ?! Everyone stressed, but Kochou reassure them. They are going to be fine, they aren't so sure but don't say anything.

(i promise you, next one, there will be more Giyu action ! ;-;)

Omg this has me reeling avtually I’m so super intrigued like

My poor Daki and gyutaro they’re my favourite demons (clearly) and they should not have been restricted to the reds lights district MUZAN

Omg her getting to meet Shinobu and Mitsuri, and all the girls at the butterfly mansion LET HER HAVE FRIENDS the two can learn to not be codependent

(They mean a lot to me lmao)

[julien5-malfunction]

13022023 Thoughts about inprisonment, the end of the world and a game called Pathologic.

I think the main reason I sort of miss being locked up in the mental ward are the boredom and the lack of things.

Being so bored, I would start to do things that I normally wouln't, just to entertain myself. Inventing shit out of whatever little resources I could find. I didn't feel bad for wasting so much time on such 'non-productive things' after all, with no knowlige of my release date, I had nothing to do but to kill time. I read books and solve puzzles, hunt down the newspaper of the day and try to solve a crossword or a sudoku. Draw the landscape I could see from the windows of my captivity. Keep track of things in my diary. The most fun was stealing pens and other small items, like a loose playing card, maybe some beads or other craft supplies if I had access to such. Collecting empty pill cups. Dead bugs. Evaluate and mock the painting in the hall. Snatch tea bags and sugar cubes from the caffeteria...

Normal life is so 'pretend to be busy' all the time. Fuck this multitasking bs, it's killing my attention span and focus. I used to be so much better than this... I'm a disappointment to myself, in the way I've lost all that capacity I had. I had endless ideas and a parrion to create, even when I had no materials, no resources, no money as a kid/as a teenager. I stole stuff from school, things that they had an aboundage of but I had way more use for than they would ever have. Collecting scraps and things I found on the streets... I miss that.

I just watched a video about this game called Pathologic. The video was over 2 hours long, no ads, I was planning on multitasking but I'm glad I didn't. I sat trough it fairly calmly, I didn't worry about 'running out of time, I should be sleeping'. I feel more calm than usual... The game also makes a great deal about resource scarecity and -management. The athmosphere feels, to me at least, cut off from the rest of the world. There is this inpending doom, this illness spreading. There is just something about that, that scrathes an itch. The game is really long too, and most of the time you're stuck with your thoughts while walking around to take care of tasks. One of the main characters is able to brew medicine out of herbs and you can find and trade around shit like needles and bottles, ammo, food and flowers or whatever... There is just something about that...

Like why...am I making this so complicated to myself? Can I just keep life simple like that? I have a lot of things I most likely do not need. I know I have an issue of getting too sentimental over all sorts of misc items. Can they just be items. Things I can 'trade', for money. Not things with feelings attached. I'm not sure why it's so hard to let go of things, material or mental.

I get some kind of kicks out of the thought of being doomed. Like, I feel fine now but something is coming for me and it's bad. I know I'm not strong or smart in a way that is too useful in today's society, but resourceful is something I would like to be. Independent, as in 'know how to fix your own car if it breaks'. (car as an example. I don't own a car)

Like it's so fascinating, to think of a life as a survival game... Where you can collect things and craft other thing from those things. Living alone is resource management. Money can be used to purchase things from stores. I wish I knew more ways to make money, my comissions are kind of an underground thing but reciving a few hard earned euros feels about as good if not better than the next big hit of dopamine from doom scrolling. Really makes you think carefully about how you're gonna spend those few euros. I even keep seperate the money I've actually earned and the benefits I live off of. Since I don't actually have any other income. I wish I knew how to earn some more underground credit...

I was thinking that, since I 'owe myself a loan' and I'm really struggling to scrape any extra savings to pay it off, maybe I should have like a super low budget for anything else than food and necessities and bills. Like a rediculously low amount. 10€ a week? I didn't even have weekly allowance as a kid, that sounds like a lot in a way but yeah... but how do I define nessecities?... are, for example, plastic bags a nessecity or not? Or clothes?

Probably better idea to stick to the goal of ~60€ a week for food and necessities, add the 10€ to that but the 10€ can be spent on treats and other, not-absolutely-necessary, most likely seacond hand shop stuff and art supplies, even tho I have enough and more than I have use for currently....

I'll need to think about it in action.

[bunniesovercats]

Where the witches hide.

There is a tall, very old, farmhouse. It sits in the middle of a long abandoned feild, and it is where I call home. In the Spring it's bursting with plants and wildlife, the summer is hot but beautifully lush and green, when autumn rolls around our garden is abundant with hearty foods. 

But winter, is always the most fun.

A fireplace that never goes out, frosted windows, and nobody comes to bother us when we play our games. Our strong door keeps us safe and warm.

My family is made of only two people.

Eudella and Peony, a mother and daughter who I will love and cherish till the day I die. They are all I have in this world, as I am for them. A bond so strong built on care and survival. All three of us are after all, seen as rats to the greater world around us. We supposedly spread our disease of magic and wonder, and those in power do not like that. Witches, we are witches. 

Our laughter creates sparks of life, our tears make the waters rise, and our anger brings fire and heat worse than the sun's rays. 

So those above us, who deem themselves better and honorable, hunt us like vermin. 

We mind our business, hiding from the world that despises us despite never viewing it with the same distain. Eudella does not mind, if anything she prefers to be left alone to care for Peony. She says it's safer that way, less people will hurt her beloved daughter. But I just want the world to let us live without fear. I want Peony to grow up in a world that accepts her and loves her the same way we love her. 

So when military bases began to pop up, I saw an opportunity. Perhaps I could befriend someone, and hope to spark change with my laughter and words. 

Eudella says it's wishful thinking, but I know she's just scared. 

I can tell when we sleep in our bed, side by side as she lays with her eyes open. I can tell when she places spell upon spell on Peony's room and the hall leading to it. Deadly traps that would keep her daughter safe should someone try to reach her. I can tell when she's so tired from keeping watch, that she doesn't realize she's worn my gowns instead of her own. 

Eudella is kind, and sweeter than anything else in this world. When we met, she was a new mother on the run from people hunting her down for simply existing. She found me near death, at the hands of a hunter far bigger than the two of us. The hunter did not die, but he was blinded. I did not die, but she helped me hobble off towards a life of solitude with her. While I recovered in our new home, she took care of both her child and myself, and when I was well enough I helped take care of her daughter just the same. 

Mornings were filled with foods we slowly got better at cooking, days filled with chores and shared paines. Our nights were long and exhausting at first but slowly became comfortable. We shared jokes and hobbies, spells and knowledge passed from those who came before us. We were as we had always been, sharing our traditions and culture together. 

Our once empty abandoned home became filled with everything we needed. With happy memories.

Peony grew before our eyes from an infant into a lovely girl, just six years old. She shared her mother's ginger locks, but her Blue eyes came from a father she would likely never know. Raised with love from the both of us, she's turned into a curious and bubbly girl. One who loves animals and mixing things in her mother's cauldron. The type of child who asks a million questions and makes up answers when she can't have them. She is a wonderful child and we love her more than clouds love the sky.

It started with a chance meeting in the market, a friendly conversation about the produce being sold. He was kind, and cared deeply for the civilians of this place. An idealist who hoped to find a compromise, an outcome where fear and cruelty were absent. Our meetings became frequent over time, and filled with all manners of conversation. From food to weather, small town gossip and world wide news that had reached us. Our conversations were filled with theoretical solutions to things, and slowly delved into more personal territory. A confession that he had once loved a witch, his sister. How terribly his loss of her joy and spirited nature killed him. 

I too, eventually confessed.

Eudella was spilling with rage when she found out, treating me as if I was a traitor. As if I wanted her dead. But slowly, over time, she too came to lament with him. 

His name was Wren, and soon he became a thread of hope.

Suddenly I was able to see new parts of Eudella, ones I never knew had been there. I got to see her speak with rage over the cruelty of our hunters. The vile feelings she had towards those who had killed the father of her beloved daughter. How terribly she wanted vengeance, at first. Wren felt the same, and they bonded over that. They bonded even more so over a future that the three of us could see, a bright future. 

Wren was not a bad person.

Wren is a kind man who understands our struggles and knows the pain of what is done onto us. 

Eudella is a woman far sweeter than anything in this world. Who cares deeply for those close to her.

Peony is a bright and bubbly girl with a long happy life ahead of her.

And I am a part of their lives who makes them happy. 

There is a feild in which the witches hide, where our only visitor finds comfort in those like his sister. The spring is bursting with life and joy, the summer is lush with green grass and cool breezes, the fall is filled with hearty meals we share together, and Winter is the most miserable time. 

Wren had disappeared for a while and it worried us.

So I went to search for him, braving the base he was stationed at. His friends knew me, and some understood what I was. They understood me, they understood Wren. They hoped to bring understanding and peace just like us. 

His friends gave me a hidden warning through carefully chosen phrases. A warning that storms brewed overhead, and that danger lurked very close. To hurry and flee whilst we could.

But it is hard to move in the snow, one can not move quickly with a long damaged leg. A six year old curse, forcing a slow pace despite the strain and effort. 

There is a tall, very old farmhouse that was once very warm and vibrant. With windows that never frosted and a fireplace that never went out. That was now without such windows, or even it's strong door. There are no longer lights, no longer happy laughter that would make the sky sparkle brilliantly. 

There is only the sight of a man on the front steps, tied and beaten without his uniform. There is only the sight of a woman who's ginger hair is stained a red brighter than any rose petal, sprawled in the snow. 

There is no child to be found, no matter how loudly I scream throughout the ruined home for her. No matter how much I search for her, our lovely sweet child is absent from the land. 

I can only collapse into the snow onto my knees. My eyes burn, and my body heaves violently as I wail into the frigid air. The echoes of my screams and sobs make the birds fly off from the trees, and the snow even colder. Those birds will carry my cries for years to come, spreading my misery. The water does not rise, it only falls from my freezing face like hail from the sky. 

My sweet Eudella is gone.

My hopeful Wren is gone.

My dear Peony is gone.

And I am alone, surrounded by only the cold.

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

I wrote this in-between downtime at work yesterday ;; it's not really all that great but it's based off a dream I had the other night that woke me up from straight up greif.

Also sorry about the formatting for anyone who actually read this, I really hate using a phone to write OTL...

[petsdogworld]

Dogs are social creatures and they enjoy the company of human beings. However, if your life is hectic and couldn’t carry your dog with you the whole day then you should select a breed of dog that is not afraid of being alone. Here, in this article, I have reviewed top dog breeds that can be left alone for 8 hours. There is a huge variety of dogs with variations in their behavior. Some dogs can’t tolerate being left alone while others don’t mind if they are left with some toys, running TV, or music. They can stay alone for longer than 8 hours. To find what kind of dog is suitable for independent living which one is not, stay with us you will get handy information about all top breeds of dogs that are popular for its independent nature. 1:Husky First in my “list of dog breeds that can be left alone for 8 hours” is Husky. They are medium-sized breed dogs that can stay alone for more than 8 hours. They are beautiful, attractive, and very active dogs that are very friendly and obedient. They play around with kids and other pets. Although the husky breed is widely accepted as a “family pet” however it requires a lot of training first. Once trained well, they are obedient and protective of their owner. Also, a daily walk and exercise are must-haves for husky dogs. Also Read : Best bark collar for long haired dogs 2: English Foxhound Another best breed of dogs that tolerate being left alone is English Foxhound. They are very active, strong, obedient, and very graceful dogs. Although English Foxhound can stay alone in your apartment for more than 8 hours. However, they are a perfect companion for horse riding, running, and jogging. They require daily exercise and a long walk. Originally English Foxhound is a hunting dog breed but widely adopted as a family pet because they are obedient, highly energetic, and friendly. 3: Basset hound Basset hound dogs are also highly approvable dogs that don’t mind when left alone. They sleep for almost 13 to 18 hours a day and can stay alone for more than 8 hours. They are suitable for full time workers as they can stay alone for long hours. They are medium-sized dogs that are suitable for living in apartments. After you get some free time from work, take him for a walk and do change the route occasionally as these dogs like to sniff new smells. Further, Basset hound doesn’t have many mood swings. They are stable and free of anxiety. So it is the perfect choice to have as a family pet. Also Read : How To Test Dog Blood Sugar At Home 4: Chow Chow Chow Chow is another breed of dogs that are used to live alone. Although living alone does not mean that they are unfriendly. They are affectionate and loving in a different way. They display their love with a sense of independence. Chow is a highly sophisticated dog that can be left alone for more than 8 hours. They have a high sense of dignity and at the same time, they want to be cuddled if you have free time for them. These are the dogs with low separation anxiety. 5: Shiba Inu Shiba Inu is a Japanese breed that was used as hunter dogs in ancient times. They are well-muscled, good-natured dogs that are adopted as pets nowadays. They are loyal, devoted, sociable, and well-behaved dogs that play with kids in a jolly manner. Shiba Inu is an exceptionally intelligent and strong breed of dogs that can stay alone in your apartment for more than 8 hours. Although these dogs don’t require a conventional process of training, they have the capacity for learning new commands. These are spirited, witted, and independent dogs that can tolerate living alone for long hours of the day. However, they need their master to have time for them for some hours in a day. 6: French Bulldog French Bulldog is another breed of dog that is popular for its tolerance to living alone. Like every other dog, they are loving and affectionate. They can live alone for more than 8 hours in your house or apartment when you left for your work.

After you return home, they expect a reward from their masters like a cuddle or a small walk. They are not resistant to intense exercise or extreme heat however they want a little bit of attention and relaxation with their owner. 7: Maltese Bichon Maltese Bichon is a calm and obedient breed of dogs that can stay alone for long hours. They are the most beautiful dogs that can adjust to your small apartment. They are very sociable dogs. You can easily train them to live alone if you left for work. Maltese Bichon loves the company of other dogs, kids, and other pets. If you left him with some toys and a puppy, it will easier for you to leave this breed alone in your apartment. Also Read : Best Dog Clippers for Maltese 8: Shar-pei Shar-pei is popular as watchdogs as they watch your house in presence and absence. They are very loyal to their owner. They are used to intense walk and exercise. So when adopting this dog as a pet you need to bring it to morning or evening walks daily. However they are sociable, they are also prone to living alone. When you leave for work, you can keep them in your apartment as these dogs don’t mind living alone for more than 8 hours. However these dogs are friendly with kids and children, they are not comfortable with other dogs. So keep in mind that you can’t carry any other dog in presence of Shar-pei. 9: Whippet When it comes to the calmness of dogs, Whippet is the first to name. They are calm, obedient, and good nature dogs that can live in a small area all alone. They sleep for more than 18 hours a day. Thus it is not an issue for these dogs to be left alone in the home for more than 8 hours. They are small to medium size dogs that can adjust in your small apartment. Although they are lazy and sleepy the whole day, to bring some energy to them you need to take them for a walk and a little bit of exercise. Also Read : Best Dog Nail Clippers with Light Conclusion If you have a busy schedule of work and need to stay out of the house for long hours of the day, you need to choose a breed that is comfortable for being alone at home. You can train every dog to stay alone however it will be good if you bring a naturally independent dog so that to not invest in training. Also, to train a dog who is not tolerable to living alone might be a kind of cruelty on a dog. Therefore, I will suggest you opt for a breed of dog that is naturally loving, affectionate, and doesn’t mind being left alone for more than 8 hours. https://petsdogworld.com/dog-breeds-that-can-be-left-alone-for-8-hours/?feed_id=858&_unique_id=6525a9ee0cc40 #bestdogtobeleftaloneathome #dogbreedsthatdon039tmindbeingleftalone #dogbreedswithlowseparationanxiety

[withou-t-me]

I think about him sometimes and miss him so much. Especially at night. I don't sleep very well. Too hot in summer, too cold in winter. It's never exactly right. There are animals that don't sleep either. But then they go out hunting, and I don't even get up to pee at night. I don't even go to the fridge at night. I once told him I was afraid of cockroaches. After that, all summer, every time we made love, he'd pick me up on his back and drop me off in the bathroom or the lavatory; I would hug him tightly behind his back and go anywhere I wanted, like a taxi. Mom says that's why he left me. Because I'm so apathetic, I go through life like I don't care that all his smiles, everything he's done for me - and I never once said that I loved him and that it was a punishment for not being human. My mother says that since I was a child, I never said "thank you" once. And Zahawa says that since she doesn't work at City Hall, she just hangs around the house all day, talking nonsense and bothering us out of boredom. But mom is right. I never really told him I loved him, even though we had such a good time together, and maybe I'm only saying it now that he's gone, but it really doesn't matter now because there's no one else. Apparently you can't have everything at once. It is what it is. Like bats. If you can fly, you're born blind, and if you can see, you're just a rat in a dirty basement. That's why I wanted a high-floor apartment so much. Because I'm really afraid of them, a hundred times more than cockroaches. Also that they will bite me, but mostly their squeals in the dark. In the army, where I met him, we sometimes stayed on night shifts. I was lying on a camp bed then and I heard the mouse whimpering. I saw shadows moving on the walls and ceiling. The whole time I had the impression that it was the mice running around on the ceiling that made them whimper so much in fear, and that someone would soon notice that it was illogical and not as it should be, and put the world in order, and the mice will fall on me from above, straight to bed. And I was glad that he came and climbed into my bed. I was really glad. It was nice when he hugged me and I felt the warm air he exhaled on my arm and the whimpering stopped and I didn't say anything either. Now I should certainly think about what I dream at night, but as I said - I'm not really dreaming because I don't sleep much either. And Zahava says again that I should pull myself together, and if I don't come to the cemetery on the anniversary, his parents will be very offended, but I don't care about his parents that much, a whole year has passed and even and Mom says it's a godsend for not respecting anything, and Zahava yells at her to shut up. These graves here are terribly small, as if cats or dwarfs were buried in them, and all the flowers around, sand and marble give the impression that they are not graves but flower pots. His grave is the smallest in the whole cemetery, maybe in the whole world. And the prettiest of all the guests is a friend of his, a captain I didn't know before, who came in an air force uniform, although Jotam died about two years after his discharge and after the celebration is over, this friend drives me home and comes in for coffee too. It's almost dark and I play with the unit badge on his shoulder. Drawing of a bat on a blue background. And he touches my neck quite gently and says, "I think about him all the time." And I keep thinking if it will do me good and I can keep silent, if I won't feel anything and say that I love. And I think about bats all the time.

71/365

[anoms-world]

tho i tried and pretented from optimistic angles (likely tirered from kissing athors asses oh and am not a kid anymore its absurd they want me back to be goofy a child like to order and control me by their mood they already do this partly controling my movement what i clean when i sleep and why oh and even being goofy sometimes for the old even so nothing please them they dont like anything you try ,should i hide or keep fighting i should considarate more to be save tho i forget alot and that a problem that looks as if i dont care tho i care why why its ok for them to forget ignore and dont considerate its bc they are in higher position have friend and they attack alot i hope they dont over do it tho they alraedy do hmmm i should and better to hide tho i cant ignore the feel of anger so i would just complain guess what they hunt you down attack you in goup to shut you down completly (this is upseting maybe more upsetting (i miss talking to them like humans not monster prepared to attack without listening thinkng considaret they dont understand what are you doing unfornetly hard to believe hard to take for the argue and the need to motivate and inspire each other but i forget its their thing sometimes its just annoying pure boredem as confution not for attechin to be attacked as they see it) not what i hoped) and they will keep talk about it for a week to drive you insane without any practical helpful solution to lend flash back funny they think i will be the one to attack that say alot about them relaship and life its about who is stonger to them without thinking or consirate flashback agresive eye to kill the moment and eat you attack you without looking at what you say oh and they lough it of in your face as if i was joking sure clown to you cause afraid,, i love wolfs yet they looked like grouped wolfs in a bad way to hunt with way much pleasure and shared laughs in your face well i dont feel like laughing at the moment this drive me mad the ego the confidant if only have some) seems i was betrayed by negativily (thoughts and plays to win the filthy game for higher level of fun and food) and faster chances taker to attack not to explain like i do tho i shouldnt justive my means for who wont appriate and rather ignore and never try (my devil left me alone XD) i cant even be negative at worst events XD (and they called me i am the devil it self) this is unbelievable disapointing this is hell my hell my unchoosed pain a pain self choosen nothing fun at all about this am just trying to feel better about my fear and confutions and somewhat mad this really one of the seven wonders so agresive unhuman atitued toward the dumb empty head me so i hold what i got at the moment (becoming aggresive defensing myself just liek them tho they do it alot with ego not becoing our self) weird i had carry flashback and my dumb ass was thinkng its was fairy tale story

no im not ok im keep reading this again and again if i miss something i would like it simple but life isnt simple and sometime want someone to talk to not to attack bc of confused word you throwed around bc simply and again confused want help and not the other way around someone to ask the right question say the right fair things maybe friend to feel better (imagine friend attack you too XD lol i had enough of this shit yet i cant resist to fix my confusetion so i would surprice someone without warning XD a real problem i dont even know how to start and if they start i would listen maybe for days XD hopless no there is chance if they let me be and figure out that we almost the same without faking of course it would way much better not to mention trust issue XD not only the things they say but the whole charector if its feels ok to run for the play with it even if temporary XD another problem what i am the hell for XD a chaostic demon lol its weird i know im doing my best maybe to not be demonitic and no one appreate that its probaly leak soemtime (bc sometime or often as they claim as rare as trying my best evryday that why see they it as huge matter) without me noticing so i would look for myself daily hopefully not distractied BY THEM) dumb empty head foggy mind confused screaming (complaining) for help remeber that it sound like echos and it feel awful when someone talk or order you around almost like alzehaimer (imagine not sleeping too to not eating well too)

yawn** thank for listening my imagenery friend XD i can believe that and i feel better now for complaining without having terror behind in the background of my emotional mind yea thx XD

[bluepenguinstories]

Duck, Duck, Goose Issue #1

In the woods of rural Alaska, a cabin covered in snow sits. Inside the cabin stood two people next to a fireplace. One, a large and imposing man with a gentle, yet scarred face. He had short, red hair, as well as a thick red mustache with gray hairs and a short, but thick red beard. He wore over himself a coat made from the hide of a moose he had hunted. Next to him stood a woman, wreathed in shadow, with most of her features obscured.

“She’s so full of energy. I think she takes up after you,” the woman said.

“Ha! Maybe she’ll make a mighty fine hunter,” the man said with a smile, while stroking his chin.

“If that’s what she wants.”

“Yes,” he bowed his head, “if that’s what she wants.”

In the middle of the living room, over a rug, sat a young girl. She too had red hair which went down to her shoulder. On the floor next to her was a toy castle, with a doll of a princess in the castle. Right next to the castle was a toy dragon.

“Save me!” Voiced the princess in a muffled, high-pitched voice.

“I’ll save you!” Announced with a deep voice a knight clad in silver armor, holding up a sword. The knight knocked into the dragon and made the dragon fall.

“Oh, thank you, brave knight! Would you like a kiss?” The princess asked.

“No. Because I just wanted to fight a dragon,” the prince declared, then hopped away.

The man who watched over the young girl laughed a hearty laugh.

“Okay. Better wash up for supper,” her told the child. As the young girl ran off to the washroom, the man turned back to the enigmatic woman.

“There was someone here for me earlier. I had to bury them. It’s only a matter of time before the organization increases their efforts,” he said to her.

“Yes. You should go into hiding. Change your identity if you have to. You may be tough, but you are mortal,” she advised.

“If they found me once, they’ll find me again. At least I know they’re only here for me. If you were to be found out, they would hunt you as well,” he argued, then suggested, “you should go. I’ll try to soften the blow as much as I can.”

“Are you sure?”

“I know you’ll be able to find her again.”

She stared down, contemplative.

“Very well. When she’s asleep, I’ll go,” the shadowy woman decided, then turned to the man, “I wish I could give my life to you.”

“I know. And it has been a pleasure to have known you.”

The child spent her supper with her two parents, each of them having a bowl of porridge. After her meal, she got ready for bed, then went to sleep in her room. She was fast asleep when her mother, who had to duck under the doorframe to enter the room, stood by her bed. The young girl held onto a stuffed animal of a goose and had a smile on her face. The mother bent down and kissed her daughter on the forehead, then left the room.

The next day, the young girl ran out of her room, full of energy. Her father sat in a rocking chair and read from a thick book with a pipe in his mouth. The young girl didn’t want to bother him, so she went off to find her mom. Except all throughout the house, there was no sign of her. In the end, she came running to him anyway.

“Where’s mom?” She asked.

Her father looked up from the book.

“She must be running errands. I’m sure she’ll be home later,” he told her, without the slightest hint that he was lying.

So she waited. She played with toys, she ate her meals, and later in the day, her mother...never showed up.

For the next couple of years, she only had her father, and the two made do with hunting together, cooking meals, cleaning around the house, and playing with toys. He would read her bedtime stories, they would spar in front of the house, and some nights they would sit out and watch the stars.

Then, one day, while they were having elk stew for lunch, her father stepped up from the table and went toward the door. The young girl hadn’t heard anything, so she followed. But before he walked out, he assured her:

“Looks like I’ve got some business to take care of. I’ll be back in a little bit,” he gave her a little pat on the head, then walked out. She smiled.

However, after a few minutes had passed, and without him returning, she grew restless. He said he wouldn’t be long, but she didn’t know how long that meant. A few minutes, a few hours?

She stepped outside and waited by the door. Snow landed on her red hair as she did so. A tall shadow emerged between the trees that overlooked the forest that surrounded their cabin. However, the tall shadow didn’t belong to her father, but rather a woman with short, blue hair, and who shivered about with her arms crossed.

“Are you the person my father has business with?” The young girl asked the blue haired woman. In response, the woman’s expression changed to one of a silent gasp, until her face relaxed and she nodded.

“Where is he now?” The young girl asked again.

“Gone,” the woman replied with.

The young girl didn’t understand what the woman meant by that. She looked down, confused and frustrated, but couldn’t figure out what else to say, so took to staring at the woman in hopes of receiving more answers.

The woman pulled out a cell phone and held it up to her ear.

“Hello. This little girl’s father just died. Can you come pick her up?” The woman requested. The young girl’s eyes widened upon hearing the the news.

“Who is this?” The operator asked. “Can I get a name?”

“Misty Eyes,” the woman said. “I’m just a stranger who happened to be in the area.”

After that, the woman fled. Soon, cars arrived. One of them picked up the young girl as she was hauled away to an orphanage. Once there, she sat in a chair as she waited for someone to explain to her what had happened. Confused and with a scowl on her face, she rocked her legs back and forth. Then, someone had broke the news to her: her father, whose name they did not know, was found dead. Buried in the forest, his body uncovered. They were able to deduce that he was murdered, but weren’t able to figure out who had done so.

That they couldn’t identify him confused her; she always knew him as Erebus Rhamnous. As for her mother’s name...that much was a blur in her memories, as if a shadow had blocked out the words.

Of course, she already knew that her father had died: that woman said as much.

Her stint at the orphanage she stayed at only lasted a few days at most, and soon a woman named Nicole Clemens showed up. She was tall and slender black woman with long, braided hair.

“You’re going to live with us now,” Nicole told the young girl. The girl looked up and scowled.

Who did this woman think she is? Just announcing such a thing so sudden? The young girl thought. Still, she took Nicole’s hand and followed her out to her car with little argument or opposition.

During the car ride, she remained silent and kept that scowl on her face. Nicole, meanwhile, tried to ease her newly adopted daughter in.

“I’m sure this must be a lot for you go through all at once. And at such a young age, too,” she told the young girl.

“Don’t assume things about me,” the young girl said back.

“You’re right,” Nicole said with a slight smile, then added, “I have only heard about your situation. I don’t know you yet, so I hope you can be patient with me, and I will do my best to be patient with you as well. Does that sound good?”

“Ugh. I guess…” the young girl groaned and clenched her fists.

“Good! By the way, I have a daughter named Eleos. She’s about a year older than you. I’m sure she’ll love to meet you!”

The young girl didn’t know what to think. She never had a sibling before, but even as the prospect of having someone new to live with excited her, it also left a foul feeling in her stomach. As if sensing it, Nicole turned to the young girl.

“I want you to know, dear, that I’m not trying to replace your mother or father. I’m sorry about what happened to them. I just want you to have a good home.”

Those words didn’t help, as the young girl thought to herself: what was wrong with the home I already had?

Goose Hollow, a neighborhood in Back Bay City, British Columbia, Canada. It was there where the car ride ended and the young girl was awakened to find herself at her new home: a duplex situated near a shopping district. The city itself was huge, and the young girl’s head spun as her eyes traced the passing cars.

“Here, let’s go inside,” Nicole ushered her in.

When the young girl entered the house, she was bombarded by a girl with big, curly black hair in an orange shirt who ran up and hugged her right away.

“Get off of me…” the young girl growled. The other girl obeyed and released her arms.

“Sorry,” the other girl said.

“It’s okay. I forgive you.”

The other girl gasped.

“You forgive me? Already? Even though we just met? Then I forgive you too!” The girl with the bouncy hair bounced about with a big smile on her face. “I’m Eleos, by the way.”

“Nemesis,” the young girl replied with her own name, then looked up at Nicole while pointing to Eleos. “What does she mean? She ‘forgives me too’?”

“Oh. That’s just how she says she loves you,” Nicole chuckled.

“What?! Ew! I don’t forgive you, then!” Nemesis reeled back and squirmed.

“Aw. Even if you don’t forgive me after all, I still forgive you,” Eleos frowned.

Nemesis brought her suitcase upstairs, as well as a couple of boxes. As it turned out, she didn’t have much from the cabin that was hers to begin with. Her room was the first door to the right upon reaching upstairs, and was right across from Eleos’ room.

Her room was bare, with just a twin sized bed and a wooden desk and chair in the corner. Across from the bed was a small dresser. Overlooking her room was a large window, which she could peek down from to see the backyard, as well as her neighbor’s backyard (if she so chose). Later in the day, she would be given her first meal at her new home. For the moment, however, she chose to plop down on her new bed and spread herself across the thin blanket with little duck print patterns. Despite all that had gone on, she hadn’t managed to cry once.

Thus, Nemesis Rhamnous became Nemesis Clemens. Seven years old, and full of rage.

Her time during elementary and middle school was fraught with her picking fights. Whenever someone annoyed her, she was ready to pounce and hold her fist up to someone’s face. It brought with her a reputation as a ‘problem child’ and ‘bully’. Neither label she liked, and both she was aware of having. She hated bullies, and she didn’t want any problems. It’s just that others would give her problems, and she just couldn’t let it slide when kids called her names like ‘tomato face’ and so on. It especially riled her up when it seemed like the teachers and other faculty did nothing to stop the other kids from picking on her, yet would intervene whenever it seemed like a fight was about to break out.

There were multiple calls made to her adopted mother, and Nemesis would get suspended. Meanwhile, Nicole would sit down with Nemesis and try to talk her out of solving problems through fights. It didn’t quite stick, and her sense of wanting to correct other people’s wrongdoings made her a stubborn one.

That stubbornness didn’t stop at herself, either, as her sister would be picked on and teased. Even though her sister was a grade ahead of her, she would notice things in the halls, like Eleos getting shoved, and people mocking her for her use of the word ‘forgive’ in such a strange manner.

She tried telling teachers, and they would just shrug their shoulders and tell her that they weren’t beating Eleos up, and a little bit of namecalling wasn’t hurting anyone. Not to mention, the teachers would point out, that Eleos always seemed ready to ‘forgive’ the other students.

While she may not have wanted to start a fight, she just couldn’t let her sister be treated so badly. Especially when it seemed like Eleos was keen to just let those things happen to her without doing anything about it. Nemesis may not have been close with her sister, and she never offered to play or spend time around her, but that didn’t mean she was about to ignore such wrongdoing. Her sister was kind, but also fragile, which meant that more than anything, Nemesis had to protect her at any costs.

Into middle school, despite her sister attending classes halfway across the school from her, she was still vigilant in making sure her sister was safe. She would probe her sister with questions any chance she got, and she made sure to check in on her.

Despite that, she didn’t know much about her sister in terms of hobbies or interests, things she liked or disliked. Out of all she asked, she never once asked anything like that.

When she caught wind of kids bullying others, she would follow those kids after school, wear a mask made out of stitched together washcloths from home with little eye holes cut out, and would pin them down and make them promise not to hurt anyone anymore.

Even though she was sure no one knew she was the one doing such things, other students still ended up being afraid of her. She didn’t understand why, but as long as no one was bullying others, she was fine with it.

At home, she did many push ups and sit ups, was gifted a weight set for one of her birthdays, and used it to strengthen herself. She started eating more, and along with it, built more muscle as she grew older.

Toward the end of seventh grade, she received news from her sister that shattered her world: she would be attending a private high school.

“Good news!” Eleos showed the acceptance letter to Nemesis after school one day. “I’ve been accepted into Lilypad Academy, the prestigious all queer school!”

Nemesis knew the day would come sooner or later that her sister would attend high school while she was still in middle school, being that Eleos was a year older. Still, she never knew she would attend a private school, nor did she know that her sister was queer. Did Eleos like any girls in particular, or was it just something she knew about herself from a young age?

While Nemesis could have contemplated all of that and more, but that didn’t matter so much to her as it did the fact that for a full year, she wouldn’t be around to protect Eleos. Not only that, but if she wanted to continue to do so after a year, she would have to attend the same high school as Eleos. With one hand on Eleos’ shoulder, Nemesis made her sister vow something:

“Promise me you’ll let me know if anyone tries to do anything mean to you.”

“If nothing bad does happen, or if I don’t end up telling you, would you still forgive me?” Eleos asked with a smile. As little interaction as she had with her sister, such a smile was precious to see.

“Yes. Of course. I will still forgive you,” Nemesis promised as well.

So eight grade came, and with it, a new resolve: get into the same high school as her sister. There were just two issues: she needed to get her grades up (not impossible) and two, she would need to write an essay requesting entry, and if they approved of her essay, then and only then could she be accepted in.

That essay, by the way, was one where she would have to speak about her queer identity. Something which she didn’t know if she could do. After all, while she was aware of various queer identities, she didn’t know or understand much about any of them, so the idea of faking one sounded impossible.

Near the end of her eighth grade year, she spent a night trying to brainstorm what to write for her essay to the prestigious school. Careless, her door was left open just a crack, and Eleos peeked in.

“Busy with homework?” Eleos asked.

“No, actually,” Nemesis looked over and smiled. “I’m applying to the same school you are.”

Eleos gasped and a huge grin emerged on her face.

“Whoa! I didn’t know you were queer! Are you a lesbian? Bi? Asexual?” Eleos began probing her dear sister with questions. Nemesis just tilted her head, mouth agape, drool fell out, and she was unsure what to reply with.

“I’m...faking? I just want to go to the same high school as you. Oh, but I’ll probably pick lesbian. Probably makes things easier, right?” Nemesis explained.

Eleos scowled.

“Lying is not good,” she scolded Nemesis.

“Yes. I know. But the cause is good, is it not? It’s to see you,” Nemesis tried to persuade her sister.

“Even though I disapprove, if this is what you want, at least be honest when it comes to talking about yourself. I forgive you for you, and I’m sure others will too,” Eleos concluded, then walked away. Nemesis walked up to her door and closed it, then went back to her desk.

“Hmm...be honest about myself, huh? But what is there to say?” she tapped her pen against her chin, then growled. “Ugh. This essay isn’t going to write itself. I may as well come up with some bullshit and if I don’t get in, that’s that.”

It was a defeatist attitude, but she knew that the clock was ticking, and it was better to do it now than never.

After a few hours, close to midnight, she had something, even though it meant that she had put off the rest of her homework (oh well, she thought, I can always do it right before class tomorrow).

Dear Lilypad School,

My name is Nemesis Clemens. I am a lesbian. What that means to me is that...girls...exist? When I think about girls, I think that they’re girls, and that’s pretty darn swell. Being a lesbian is cool because...look, this really isn’t working out. How am I supposed to write a whole essay about this? Really? You think you know my own identity better than I do? Like, what, is there some kind of metric to test just how much of a lesbian I am? Can you really prove whether or not I’m queer?

If you answered ‘yes’ to any of those questions, I bet you’re lying. You’re lying to me and you’re lying to yourselves. It’s bad enough that I’m supposed to take this seriously, but I just can’t. You know why? Because I read the whole school handbook. Nowhere in it does it say that dating is a requirement. Are you going to monitor me to check if I’m kissing girls? If so, you all need to get your priorities straight (no pun intended).

Yes, girls are pretty (and) cool. But they’re not the be-all-end-all (is that how the saying goes? Or is it end-all-be-all? I don’t even know, and frankly, I don’t care). You know what’s more important? Justice. It doesn’t matter who it is or how they identify, if someone at this school is mistreated, I will not tolerate it. Does this mean I’m some kind of ally? I guess I’m an ally to anyone if the situation calls for it. My desire for others to be treated well has no bearing on my actual identity. I’ll kiss any girl if their soul is righteous.

P.S. I have never once thought about any girls, or boys, for that matter in my entire life. Most of my thoughts have been devoted to pondering why there is so much evil in this world. If that is a problem for you...yeah, I get it. I don’t really care where I attend high school to begin with.

After she wrote her essay (or rather, letter), she took a look at it and nodded.

“Yep. This is crap. Oh well, gonna submit it anyway.”

Those were her final words before she went to sleep. The next day, she mailed it in. Only a couple of days before her graduation from eight grade, she received her acceptance letter. She read it over:

“Let’s see: ‘thank you for applying to Lilypad Academy. We were moved to tears by your essay. We could tell that every word you wrote was heartfelt. You will be pleased to know that you have been accepted into our prestigious academy. Welcome to your new lily life.’ Oh wow. They really will accept anyone, huh?”

Soon, it came time to enter her new school. She could only hope that she would have what it took to protect Eleos from anyone who would dare to harm her.