#one thing unrest and sleep have in common is that

[signedkoko]

Howdy hey, wonderin if i could request a gn reader who has severe nightmares which lead to them having insomia, who can only sleep peacefully when husk is around? Platonic or Romantic is up to you (could be both if you want)

Husk X Reader [Romantic]

In which recurrent night terrors lead to you developing insomnia, and only Husk eases your worries. Reader is genderneutral.

Things were a lot better before going to bed became a chore

It was never an issue your whole life; in fact, sleeping was your favourite part of the day

Until the night, terrors began

One night, fine; two, okay, but as they kept stacking and nights became restless, you found yourself anxious about sleep in the first place

The chances were 75/25 in favour of a nightmare, and that statistic was far too skewed for you to feel at ease in bed

Losing sleep became common; you'd go a night or two without rest before crashing, and then again and again, until you were nothing but a walking corpse

You were pretty good at hiding it, going so far as to use makeup to hide any visual giveaways

But Husk knew; he'd woken up in the middle of the night to you reading or aimlessly scrolling voxtragram

You didn't look serene, only troubled.

One night, when he woke up to you still unrested, he stretched out his wings and pulled you against him

He wasn't all there, being so tired, but he noticed that in a few minutes you were sleeping peacefully, clutching onto him

He tried it again the next evening, though he did it late so you wouldn't catch on that he was doing it on purpose

Husk felt that if you thought he did it in his sleep, you might be less worried about it 'bothering' him

Like clockwork, he will be there to soothe you into rest

Just happy that you are back to your lively self

Besides, he loves having you so close, though he wouldn't tell you that

Author's Note - Starting off smooth and simple, thank you for the request!

[creetchure]

maybe kind of a hot take but like. you guys have GOT to become normal about addicts right now. both in real life and in fiction by the way.

if you can read about the effects of kidnapping/dehumanisation/medical abuse/what have you for your whump fic, you can damn right read some first person accounts of addicts talking about their shit online and do the bare minimum of research into the topic. you guys are way too comfortable going around slinging words and using this shit for angst points, in a way that i really don't see much with any other topic. i don't know, maybe i don't read the right kind of fic in the right kind of fandom, but it really feels like you guys take withdrawal, maybe a little bit of the original hurt, and that's it. if you're gonna mention it off handedly once in what you're writing, fine. but you can't make it the center of your fic without a modicum of research, and a modicum of respect for the real people going through it.

contrary to what seems to be popular belief, most addicts don't just do drugs for shits and giggles and there's a difference between recreational drug use and addiction. a wild fucking difference. smoking a couple of joints of popping a couple of party pills for fun is not the same. you guys know that right?

anyway, if you're gonna write about addiction. at least. at least bother looking at the most common side effects of an addiction, yeah? just for you, i'll write some down here (disclaimer, this is written in one go, is not in the least comprehensive, and doesn't account for the variety of the human experience) (this isn't a guide):

financial jeaopardy: drugs are expensive. sometimes you'll pick drugs over food. sometimes youll pick drugs over shelter.

your social life might take a blow, even if people don't notice you have an addiction. you might blow off plans to get high, might isolate yourself either out of shame or out of annoyance.

your physical health takes a toll regardless of the drugs effect on the body. chances are your sleeping and eating habits will take a blow

this one seems obvious, but there's a real dependence. not just physically either, but an emotional one as well. especially when taken from a place of mental unrest, drugs become an emotional crutch. getting sober is dealing with more than physical symptoms i can't stress this enough

there's also financial stress. will you be able to pay for your next dose? how about the one that comes after that? what will you even do if you can't pay? etcetc. this comes with financial jeopardy, but it's not the same, there's a very real fear that can lead people to do many things in order to assage it.

this is not necessarily something that goes away as soon as you get sober either btw. you might carry that fear, even subconsiouly, in the "what if i need a dose some day" folder of your brain for a long while

a lot of people don't quit cold turkey, or don't quit entirely. often just going off the stuff isn't an option, whether that be because physical symptoms are too bad and dangerous or because it would do too much psychological harm. going from hard drugs to smoking a pack a day is a huge win.

even when sober some shit might trigger you. shoutout to people who've gotten sober once and never relapsed but that's not everyone. depending on why you got addicted in the first place, it'll happen more or less often, and people will be able to cope with trigger better or worse, but a relapse is not the end of the line. at all.

there's a lot of other shit i can't think of at the top of my head. there's some stuff about how friends and families might react that i don't feel like talking about. there's shit about the recovery process that you can look at yourself. but please for the love of god. go look at it.

one last thing. you can't treat all substances the same. the effects on the body and mind aren't the same. you have to figure out what your character's substance of choice is and stick with it. figure out how expensive it is, figure out how safe it is, etc etc. you can't make someone who does acid be the same as someone who takes laughing gaz. not the same substance. and also don't forget that there are MANY things one might take for a high that don't even register in your mind (paint. glue. certain brands of cough syrup. etc.)

[limerental]

ficletvember 2024 - day 25

An unhinged mercenary insists on joining the Blue Stripes' operation in the Mahakam foothills, telling ghost stories of the Scoia'tael enemies that wait for them.

The mercenary rode a horse as white as the plait of her hair, its pale mane tangled with burrs from long weeks or months in the wilderness. The rider wore dusty but well-maintained armor and no crests or colors to declare her friend or foe, though she’d announced herself as an ally. A curved metal hook held the reins at the cusp of her right arm.

“What’s got you boys so wary?” the mercenary called, her horse prancing beneath her. “You’re here to put down Squirrels, aren’t you? I happen to be an expert.”

The Blue Stripes had been dispatched by royal decree to put an end to unrest in the Mahakam foothills.

It was a delicate thing, imperative that trade with the dwarves not be interrupted even as the violent non-humans were rooted out and punished. After their formation following the Peace of Cintra, their unit had engaged in minor skirmishes with small bands of Scoia’tael but never faced such a large and organized force as was said to be hiding in the foothills, attacking caravans to and from the mountains.

“And what would you expect to be paid if you joined us?” asked Vernon Roche, ignoring the unease he felt in being made to tip his head back to look up at her as her horse paced before him. 

The Stripes didn’t keep horses. Lugging grain and forage through the forest was tedious work, and one whinny at the wrong moment could ruin all chance of stealth. And Roche distrusted them, a sentiment that horses tended to sense. The animal’s yellowed teeth chomped at a silver bit as it tossed its head.

“I’ll be paid in rivers of Elven blood,” declared the mercenary grandly. 

Her grin twisted her disfigured face, scar tissue pulling at the missing nub of an ear. Roche didn’t trust her any more than her horse, but if her experience was what she claimed it to be, having fought and killed Scoia’tael after the siege of Vengerberg, surviving the brutal attack that had claimed her unit, then she would certainly be an asset to them.

“My name’s Rayla,” she said. “You’ll be glad for my help, I promise you. You’re up against several veterans of the Vrihedd, and I happen to have some affairs to settle with them.” 

She raised the curved hook of her missing hand, and Roche relented to allowing her to stay. He knew very little of what they were up against, reconnaissance in the foothills returning only unlikely rumors. It was common knowledge that the officers of the Vrihedd had all been put down like dogs following the Peace, and the whispers of one still alive were only idle gossip.

“There’s no women among us,” he said. “You'll have to pitch your own tent.”

The mercenary laughed as a boy came forward to grip the reins to assist her in dismounting. Her laugh was an ugly cackle, and she walked with a horrible limp.

“I'm no woman,” said Rayla. “Not a living one, anyway. Fortunately, I sleep better under the stars.” 

She joined the Stripes at the fireside after dark had fallen, having wet and combed out her tangles of white hair but not shed any of her armor. The men were uneasy around her, unusually subdued, possibly because of her scars or her sex or the way she wolfed rations like a feral beast or the inhuman look in her wild eyes.

With bloodthirsty enthusiasm, Rayla leaned close to the fire to tell stories of the many skirmishes she’d had with the elves. How she killed each one with all the gruesome slowness that they had maimed her, seeking her revenge for the slaughter of her comrades, for similar cruelties she had seen their twisted kind inflict inflict over and over again.

For his part, Roche had seen and endured violence and cruelty done by humans the same as non-humans, had found little reason to think the Scoia’tael were uniquely ruthless. He kept that thought to himself. 

This was a political conflict more than a racial one. Dol Blathanna had begun to welcome Scoia’tael after the war’s end, providing a peaceful haven for Elven kind, but for some stubborn stragglers, one valley wasn’t enough.

The chain of office around his neck still felt far too heavy, a cumbersome weight. Foltest had personally laid the cold chain over his head, naming him Commander in lieu of several more experienced contenders of noble birth. The king’s gaze had been a heavy weight itself, and Roche’s urgent need to live up to his expectations ached like a pressed bruise.

The manic pitch of Rayla’s voice rose and fell as she told her gory tales, moving on to describe the opponents that waited for them in the hills. Roche had heard enough tall tales from madmen to know there was likely as much exaggeration as truth in her unhinged ramblings. 

“Now, boys, if you think me ugly, you’ll change your mind once you’ve seen Iorveth’s mug. May as well be a fair maiden compared to that whoreson.”

“Iorveth’s dead,” Roche interrupted flatly. “Strung up with the rest as terms of the Peace.”

“Have you really fought so few Squirrels? The bastards shout his name as a rallying cry.”

“He’s a ghost story. They shout all sorts of nonsense. Aelirenn’s been dead a century, and they cry out hers plenty.”

“Maybe she lives too,” said Rayla, smiling her unsettling, crooked smile. “For now. Until I get to her, of course.”

“Good luck on your hunt for ghosts then,” Roche said. “Let’s hope an ordinary sword can kill them.”

He wasn’t here to chase specters or seek vengeance. He’d go where Foltest pointed, dispatch those hostile to Temeria’s interests with as few casualties as possible, and return seeking small morsels of praise from his king. He didn’t hate the elves as Rayla did, felt some empathy for the plight of their race at the hands of men, but he’d not hesitate to strike down any Scoia’tael who refused to give up their useless fight and bend the knee to Foltest.

Not a week later, fires still burning amidst the smoldering ruins of yet another slaughtered trade caravan and many of his Stripes, a living ghost slipped through the smoke to meet the strike of Roche’s sword, a feverish cruelty bright in his remaining eye.

Roche still didn’t hate the elves after surviving the bloody conflict and managing to drive out or cut down enough Scoia’tael to declare the foothills pacified, but he hated Iorveth like nothing he ever had or would again, didn’t think he could hate anything more, and in the end, was wrong.

[trickstarbrave]

omegaverse 2 fic. part THREE!!!

part 2 can be found here (it also includes a link to part 1 in the post)

nerevar is not in any real danger. but he certain thinks he is. warnings for a i guess talks of death.

he is doing physically better enough to jack off a little bit though

If Nerevar was thankful for anything, it was his ability to plan. 

Leaving Resdayn was the best course of action, all things considered, but there were many options to flee to. He could have taken a way out through Blackmarsh, but he wasn’t sure surviving in the swamps was going to be easy for them. Sure, he did well on the Bitter Coast, but that wasn’t comparable to the alien home of the argonians. Not to mention, the argonians could be particularly hostile to the chimer, were good at ambushing, and more importantly: the Morag Tong wouldn’t think twice to look for him there.

Nerevar knew it wasn’t just a matter of time of laying low to get House Dagoth off his ass. No, if they couldn’t find him to drag him back for execution, they’d make due with the guild. They were pragmatic like that. They might want a proper execution to make a point, but they would just as easily allow the guild to hunt him and present Voryn with his severed head and heart. 

So Nerevar was instead making his way up north on the mainland, heading to the opposite corner of the country. He hid out in Mournhold for a bit, letting the chaos and crowded streets conceal his presence for a time as he made his plans and bought supplies, before continuing his uneven path to Blacklight.

Skyrim wouldn’t be the most hospitable place. Nords hated elves, after all, but no doubt House Dagoth expected him to take the easy way out and flee to either Cyrodiil or Blackmarsh where they could use the guild. They’d think twice about looking for him in the harsh landscape of Skryim or sending the guild there--they might anger the nords and start a conflict that wouldn’t be worth just securing Nerevar’s life. And he could simply claim in Skyrim that he was the bastard son of a nobody--someone lucky enough to have taken a chimer woman hostage, at least. It was common enough, and if he laid low and stuck to the wilds hunting for the most part, he should be able to survive there long enough for House Dagoth to give up and presume he’s dead. 

After that, Nerevar would be home free. He could go wherever he wanted to, so long as it wasn’t Resdayn. The Illiac Bay, High Rock, Elsweyr.

All he had to do was make it up to Blacklight, and he could cross the Velothi mountains. The biggest issue though would be timing. It had to be before it got too cold, and also he needed to plan around his heat. Normally he’d just count on suppressants for something as risky as this, but they were getting dramatically less effective. Even spending his heat in an inn room didn’t really seem viable; being around others was only exacerbating his worst symptoms. His uncle coming by his room to offer him food left Nerevar wanting to set himself on fire, and strangers constantly prodding him seemed even worse, he imagined.

The biggest issue though was Nerevar was… Slower than expected. As a canvasari he was used to walking long distances across the country, but it seemed the past few months had not been kind to Nerevar. He was sleeping, but woke up feeling unrested. He was still having trouble eating properly, even outside of his heat. Small attacks from wild animals left him recovering longer than he typically did, and no amount of fatigue potions seemed to get him moving any faster. 

Which is why he fell behind schedule of his plans. He should really make a run for it, heading through one of the smaller mountain passes, but the idea of waiting out his heat in a small cave in the mountain pass with no promise of reliable food, clean water, and not getting potentially frozen in there was… 

Well. It was terrifying and stupid. He has only two options: try and wait out his heat in a shitty mountain pass, or hunker down in Resdayn, wait it out, and take the larger pass near Blacklight with more reliable travel. 

Yet, once again, his planning failed him. He was at a town near Blacklight, cold weather settling in, when the tell-tale symptoms of his heat started coming on. Hot flashes, nausea, panic, fear, all of the miserable things he began associating with his heat. 

He managed to buy some supplies, rushing out of town, and finding an old cave to hunker down in. Nerevar tried to be optimistic; it was a good thing his heat had come on a week early. Now he could wait it out, recover a bit, and make his way to Blacklight or another town or city with a mountain pass. He didn’t have to worry about going into it while making the trek through the mountains. 

At least, that was what he attempted at first. Once the heat really set in, Nerevar wished more than anything it would simply stop. The suppressants either weren’t doing anything, or his heat had only gotten worse. Likely both, if he was honest, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t miserable. Even looking at food left his stomach churning. The weather was frigid, but he felt like he was running a fever, and all of his skin burned. At several points he grabbed handfuls of snow just to slather his body in it, trying to calm the burning, but all it did was make him shiver instead. 

And then, when he was at his lowest wishing for death, death finally found him. 

“... Shit, I wasn’t expecting it to actually be him.” A hushed voice said, and Nerevar jolted from his dazed half-sleep. It was familiar, though he was so disoriented from both a lack of sleep and food that he couldn’t place why. Was someone here? A hallucination maybe? 

“We don’t want him running. Send in the guards.”

“Odros even if he runs I doubt he’ll get far.” Nerevar felt his body tense, wanting to flee, but finding no energy to pull himself upright. 

People were close. Multiple people. He had to run, or else he’d be caught. He had to run--now. But somehow all of his limbs felt heavier than lead, and even lifting his head and squirming around was a struggle. 

Footsteps approached next, Nerevar’s vision hazy. Someone touched him gently, but the touch felt like knives on his skin, making him snarl and growl in a weak attempt at protecting himself. They sighed, before tilting his head back, pressing a bottle to his lips.

“Drink. It’ll help.” Nerevar’s lips formed a tight line, nausea making his face go pale and head swim again. The potion smelled sweet and bitter at the same time, a disgusting combination to his sense, his body objecting to the idea of downing it. Another sigh, before Nerevar felt a spell in their hand washing some of the nausea away, before the potion was fed to him forcibly. 

He coughed and choked, but they continued pouring it in, making him drink. The painful burning began to fade, and the restlessness that had been keeping him awake the past two days finally subsided, along with more of the nausea.

“There we go,” They said, “Stubborn s’wit.” Before Nerevar found his arms being bound behind his back, another growl ripping through his throat as he squirmed.

“It’s for your own good.” One of the people tying him said. “We can’t risk you running again, Nerevar.” His vision was still unfocused and blurry, before a hand touched his forehead.

“Why don’t you sleep for a bit?” And with that, his vision turned black, and his body slumped, completely unconscious.

--

When Nerevar awoke, with a slightly clearer mind, he realized how dire his situation was.

His thoughts were still muddled, but he did actually manage to get a semi-restful sleep in the back of the cart he was in, though his body felt weak and he still had no strength in his limbs. But the blankets and pillows in the cart were of a familiar color and pattern, all smelling faintly of the incense of House Dagoth, and even more faintly of Voryn.

He’d been foolishly caught by House Dagoth, something that made him want to curl up in shame.

Nerevar debated trying to break out and make a run for it, but he knew that wouldn’t do him any good at the moment. For one, he didn’t have a lot of optimism for his ability to break out at the moment. His hands were still bound, his body still felt weak, and not to mention, they took his weapons and most of his supplies, leaving him with only the essentials in the cart. 

Nerevar buried his face in a cushion that smelled particularly like Voryn, frustrated, antsy, and still dizzy. He tried to find a way out of it, his mind racing, but he was coming up empty.

Briefly, he remembered what they said about those born under the thief sign: incredibly lucky, until they weren’t. They were doomed, inevitably, to have that luck run out and their lives cut short. 

He supposed it was fitting, in the end. The past six months--half a year of suffering--had been nothing but bad luck. Healers that couldn’t help him, House Dagoth ordering his execution on top of the existing exile, the fact his illness wasn’t seeming to get any better… And to top it all off, he couldn’t get away fast enough. He was caught, tied up, and was being dragged back to Kogoruhn. At least Nerevar could hope that his heat would be over when they executed him. 

At the revelation this was really the end, his body slumped, numbness settling in again.

As pathetic as it was to lay down and accept death, Nerevar didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t think he could go up against Vemyn and Odros as weak as he was right now--he’d just get killed for trying. He didn’t know how he could escape and hide either; he was moving too slowly to get any distance between them, and being in heat would make that attempt all the more miserable. They’d likely find him all over again before he got far. 

Though perhaps… Nerevar simply wanted this to be over. Even if he did run away, even if he did make it to Skyrim, was that really going to be any better? Skyrim had worse magic users and healers than Resdayn as far as he knew; he didn’t expect them to find a cure for him, and it would likely be many more months--even years--until he could make it out of the country to see a different healer more familiar with elven physiology. Every heat he was getting worse and worse, his condition deteriorating rapidly. If not for the weird potion they forced him to drink, Nerevar imagined he’d still be pleading for death to take him. 

All Nerevar could do, in the end, was hope that his death didn’t crush Voryn as much as he thought it would. He hoped Voryn would be fine in the end; the dust would settle, he would mourn and then move on. 

“Alright brat,” Vemyn scowled, opening the cart’s door, making Nerevar jump and hiss at the bright light hitting him. “It’s time to eat.” He plopped down saltrice porridge with some meat on top. A typical meal on the road, but the very sight and scent had him nauseated. 

Nerevar turned his head from it, instead burying his face in the pillow that smelled like Voryn, breathing deeply in an effort to keep from dry heaving. 

“Oh don’t act stubborn like that.” Vemyn rolled his eyes. “I’ve made Voryn eat when he was throwing a fit too, I can make you eat.” 

“Please don’t…” Nerevar moaned, feeling a disgusting, hot feeling climb up his throat, a tell-tale sign of intense nausea as his stomach turned. “Please, please I don’t…”

Vemyn took this protest as one of defiance though, taking Nerevar by the jaw, grabbing a bit of roasted meat. Nerevar closed his mouth tightly, skin burning again at the unwanted contact, tears stinging in his eyes as he twisted them shut. Regardless of how much he protested though, Vemyn managed to pry his mouth open, forcing the food inside, and Nerevar immediately began gagging and retching. Impulsively, Vemyn dropped him as Nerevar spat the food out, before throwing up bile for good measure, his body shaking and trembling uncontrollably. 

He almost face planted right into his own vomit if not for Vemyn grabbing him again, swearing under his breath.

“Shit,” 

“I told you not to make him eat.” Odros called from outside.

“He looks like shit, he needs to eat!” 

“Omegas are different from alphas.” Odros snarked back.

“Well what do you want me to do, let him waste away back there?” Honestly, Nerevar would prefer it. What did it matter if they fed him? He was going to die anyway. He wouldn’t starve to death by the end of his heat, and they could just keep dragging him to Kogoruhn.

“The healers can look him over when we get back to see why he’s not eating.” Vemyn still pulled him from the cart, as much as Nerevar protested it. He grabbed the pillow in a futile effort to keep himself inside; the enclosed space was much better than being out in the open, at least instinctively. But Vemyn just tossed Nerevar over his shoulder, pillow and all, and walked out, instructing the guards to clean it. 

Nerevar was then plopped by the fire, shaking and trembling, but to his surprise Odros wrapped a blanket around him, covering his body and face. Maybe it was just because the man didn’t want to look at Nerevar, but to Nerevar it was a blessing. The blanket was soft, and smelled more like Voryn too, slowly putting him at ease. 

A restlessness came then, the desire to run out into the wilderness and head for Kogoruhn himself, his legs shifting under the fabric eager to take off. 

Ah, he wanted to see Voryn. He wanted to see him so badly it was hurting, his chest aching. His teeth were clenched from how badly he wanted him, his thoughts only on Voryn and all the little things about him Nerevar missed. The way his hands would often have ink or charcoal stains when he was up late studying, how he always preferred a mild tea blend with honey (that had to be imported, a little indulgence he couldn’t go without), the way his laugh carried and rumbled in his chest… 

“Here,” Odros stuck a potion bottle under the blanket. It was the same pinkish colored potion he remembered from when they found him, however vaguely. Was it an even stronger type of suppressant? If so, Nerevar would take it. It didn’t matter if it was also unhealthy for him or even poisonous after all; he was going to die anyways, though he didn’t enjoy the idea of eating anything with how sick he felt. 

Nerevar uncapped it, his stomach turning, before he closed his eyes. He imagined Voryn was there, pressing the potion bottle to his lips, gentle voice coaxing him to drink. Nerevar began drinking, groaning in displeasure at the taste, nearly gagging at one point, before he managed to down most of it. It coated his tongue in a way that left him feeling more nauseous, but slowly the restlessness and burning once again faded, leaving him slowly starting to feel… Relaxed. 

“It’s clean.” One of the guards announced, though Nerevar could tell in his voice he was annoyed at having to do so. Nerevar didn’t really know why they bothered either, if he was being honest. It didn’t matter if a prisoner being dragged back to the stronghold for execution had to ride for several days with his own vomit, did it? 

“Alright,” Vemyn then picked Nerevar up again, still wrapped in the blanket, holding him under his arm like a bag of rice. Nerevar had half a mind to bite him, but luckily couldn’t manage from underneath the blanket. “Back in you go.” He then plopped Nerevar back onto the pillows, earning a growl. 

“Glad he still has some spirit.” Vemyn added as they locked the cart once more. Nerevar freed his head, once more wishing he had bitten Vemyn.

“Asshole…” Nerevar muttered under his breath, before curling back up with the blanket and cushion, trying to get comfortable. 

“He has some saltrice crackers, let him snack on that until we get back.” Odros stated. 

“Omegas are so annoying like this…” Vemyn grumbled. “Whatever. We need to head back quickly. He can eat in Kogoruhn then.”

Nerevar wondered how long he’d be alive then to eat there. Maybe they’d give him a last meal? It was hard to say. Perhaps they wanted an official trial, though it seemed odd given how House Dagoth didn’t usually bother unless the situation was particularly murky. There was nothing really vague about what happened with Nerevar. He agreed to spend his heat with Voryn. He had sex with Voryn. Voryn tried to claim him. 

Ah, even thinking about it had Nerevar rubbing his neck, a shiver running through him. Maybe he should have let Voryn just claim him. It would have felt good, at least. The feeling of being claimed was supposed to be an orgasmic rush, and everything falling into place, at least for a moment. If he was going to be punished anyways, he should have just gone for it. Let them hate him and kill him for something he actually did, not something that almost happened. 

His hips were squirming at the thought, a shiver of desire running through him. He hadn’t been able to masturbate his last heat; he was too miserable to even try, but now that the restlessness and burning had subsided he found himself oddly aroused. He buried his face even further into the blanket as one hand slipped into his trousers, stroking and rubbing against his cock. 

“Ah~” Nerevar moaned softly, muffling it with the fabric. Sparks shot up his spine as he once again imagined being claimed, his other hand stroking at the spot Voryn almost bit him on. The pleasure wasn’t enough; gods he missed Voryn’s hands on him--even just his fingers was enough to get Nerevar off sometimes, and that was to say nothing about his cock or his mouth--

Nerevar’s eyes rolled back at the memory, rubbing faster as his breathing quickened. 

Voryn’s mouth on him, tongue lapping at him and moaning obscenely as he whispered and moaned about how good Nerevar tasted, before his tongue slipped up and rolled around his cock. His lips closed around the nub too, suckling gently at first, increasing pressure as his fingers thrust in and out of Nerevar, rubbing at his sweet spot…

His body trembled as he came suddenly, no doubt pent up from six months of being unable to get off, a strangled groan falling from his lips. And then, just as soon as the bliss washed over him, tears started to fall from his eyes, only frustrating him more.

He didn’t want to cry. Nerevar was fucking sick of crying. He had finally just felt good after so long, at least for a brief moment even if his nausea wasn’t going away fully. And now here he was, spoiling the moment himself, crying. 

Gods he missed Voryn. The longing seemed to only get worse after his orgasm, as he curled back up with the cushion and blanket. He wanted Voryn to scent him again. He wanted Voryn curled up with him, holding him tightly. He wanted Voryn kissing him and whispered to him. He missed the safety and security of Voryn’s arms.

He never quite felt this way before. Certainly he enjoyed spending time with Voryn before--Nerevar loved his laugh, all his weird little habits, the way he twirled his rings when he was nervous, the soft tender smile he reserved for very few people, one of which was Nerevar himself…

He didn’t know what it meant. All he knew was it hurt to think about how he’d never be able to have it again. 

--

Nerevar had been under the impression they were going to drag him all the way to Kogoruhn in a cart. It made sense, honestly; why bother with teleportation for a prisoner? But upon overhearing the guards talk, they weren’t going to head for a port to take a boat to Vvardenfell, and were instead heading to Blacklight for the propylon chamber. 

It was weird. They were in a rush to execute him, but were talking about keeping him long enough to feed him and let a healer look at him. Were they afraid he might die before standing trial? Possibly. Did they need something else from Nerevar? Not that he could think of, honestly. They kept most of his things and he didn’t have much value they could extract from him directly. If they wanted compensation from House Mora they could simply demand it with his head or shake down his uncle, couldn’t they? Maybe the cart and animals were on loan from House Redoran and they were eager to return them before they incurred any more debt, but House Redoran weren’t as cutthroat about money like Hlaalu or even Dres were. 

They were rested again, having made camp, Nerevar still curled up in the locked cart. By tomorrow they’d reach Blacklight. By around noon they’d no doubt be teleporting to Kogoruhn, where… Who knows what awaited him. 

He did realize he knew one of the guards. Not a canvasari, but an actual, proper guard in House Dagoth. The guards hadn’t been talking to him much; again, Nerevar couldn’t blame them. For starters, an omega in heat wasn’t one for much conversation. For another, he was a prisoner--why bother conversing with a prisoner? They could heckle him a little, sure, but he supposed they wanted to behave given they were traveling with nobility. 

Dagoth Beryl: fairly humble guard, less stuck up than most. Sometimes on trips where negotiations were important he was the official escort of Voryn or whichever Dagoth brother they were taking. Nerevar mostly protected items, after all, and being a proper guard of a noble required more intense training and education. For one, it couldn’t be done by outsiders; you needed to be an official member of the house, hence why Nerevar never got it. Outside of that you also needed etiquette training, education on politics, knowledge on poison antidotes and healing magic… Sometimes you were even required to taste food first to make sure it wasn’t poisoned. 

Again, not really the job Nerevar was cut out for. He could kill well, but he wasn’t skill in medical care or restoration magic, nor did he really care all that much about etiquette most of the time. House Dagoth had enough personal guards anyways, but were always in need of damn caravan guards. Most canvasari were flakey, ill mannered, and traveled from place to place in hopes of finding work. Nerevar was one of the few regular canvasari, someone that was reliable to have on hand.

Or well, he was. Not anymore after he seduced their heir completely unintentionally. Once again, Nerevar wished he had gone further and pushed for more. He would have at least earned all the shit he suffered through. Azura’s mercy, he probably would have suffered less because they would have just killed him faster! And he would have enjoyed it more! 

Beryl was the guard on duty for the night, and the potions they kept giving Nerevar were helping. He didn’t know what they were exactly--he was still in heat, and still struggling in many aspects, certainly enough that he couldn’t run away--but they were helping him not want to die if someone else so much as looked at him or spoke to him. He was even able to nibble on the saltrice crackers more reliably without getting nauseous, though anything more than that had his stomach churning in protest. 

“How does House Dagoth usually execute people?” Nerevar asked. A bit out of the blue, but he didn’t see a point in beating around the bush. They all knew why he was here, after all. He could start with small talk and work his way up to dropping the question, but it wouldn’t really soften the blow much for either of them. 

Nerevar knew he was going to die. They knew he was going to die. He figured he might as well ask how.

Beryl was quiet at that, falling absolutely silent. 

“Uhm,” Beryl began, “Normally in House Dagoth… Someone is simply killed for their transgression immediately.”

“And if there was an official execution?” Again, the guard was quiet. Nerevar couldn’t see him, but the tone of voice told Nerevar he was uncomfortable. Probably because it was a dark subject matter

“... I believe…” He continued, voice still hesitant, “ I think the official process is that they’re giving a poison that swiftly stops the heart,” he paused again, “And then they’re decapitated for good measure.”

Nerevar knew that poison. Voryn had brought it up once or twice. Every Great House had their own specialty poisons--though House Telvanni likely had too many to even count. This one was a colorless, extremely bitter liquid used on political enemies when they needed something fast and effective. First it quickly knocked the victim out, putting them to sleep so they couldn’t fight or vomit it back up, and then very quickly worked to stop their heart entirely. Within a minute they would be dead, passing without much hassle. It was important for him as heir to understand how the potion was made, keep its recipe a closely guarded secret, and also have antidotes on hand in the event someone tried to use it against him. 

It was, like all things in House Dagoth, fast and effective. Other houses delighted in torturing political enemies: selling them into slavery, extensive torture, whipping them until their bones were visible on their backs, or even nailing them to stakes out in the wilderness while guards watched animals come to eat them alive--or failing that, they died of exposure in the sometimes harsh climate of Resdayn.

It wasn’t a bad way to go, in all honesty. They could certainly do worse, and still might if he was being honest. They could give him the poison right now, but were probably waiting to drag him back to make a point of it, or because they thought Nerevar might have answers of what disease he gave Voryn. 

Nerevar could just tell himself it was a sleeping potion. He was having trouble sleeping lately, after all. He was back ‘home’ in Kogoruhn, just laying down to sleep, and when he woke up he could see Voryn again. Something nice as he faded into oblivion; a sweet lie to bring himself a bit of comfort. 

The numbness in his body spread at the revelation, static in his veins and his head even more foggy. Maybe thinking about it was bad for him. But he at least had a plan to make his death a little more bearable. 

“... Thanks.” Nerevar replied, before once again going silent.

[papermatisse]

Solace || B.JY

† genre: horror, fluff?

† word count: 5.4k

† warnings: extreme stalker behavior, paranoia, betrayal

† synopsis: when the world seems to be entirely against you, sometimes all you need is a comforting set of arms and whispered reassurances to get you by.

† (a/n): fourth installment of spooktober anthology! stalkers freak me TF out :)! this is also the longest one thus far 👌. enjoy!

† taglist: @scuzmunkie @hipsdofangirl @hydroyaksha

anthology | masterlist

The life of a star is never purely the glitz and glamor they portray it as being, and the same goes for social media influencers. Not that she'd compare herself to a star, because she was anything but. Just an average nobody who managed to post pretty, aesthetically pleasing pictures that appealed to the masses. Though aside from the few hundred thousand people who awaited for her next update, she lived her life just as normally as anyone else. Wake up, go to work, go home. If she was feeling especially daring, perhaps she'd take a different route home just to experience something new. Her free time was spent traveling with her friends and gaining new experiences in life, all the while taking pictures to document her memories forever.

Perhaps things started changing around the time she grew more comfortable with her platform. She'd perfected the art of showing, not telling. Her brief stories were enough to sate the curiosity of her followers, though still maintain her overall privacy. She'd even grown comfortable slapping on the locations of her travels—albeit, she'd post them after she left.

At first, it was mundane. A simple acknowledgement of profile names she recognized as being veteran followers. She'd look out for their sweet comments or if they tagged her in any content. Sometimes she'd even invite them to her live sessions for simple one-on-one chats. There really was no indication of any ulterior motives.

The first time she sensed something off was after having had dinner with her friends, as she scrolled through the comments of her latest post featuring said meal. A single comment amidst the sea of a thousand others, seemingly unassuming at first glance, though enough to stir a feeling of unrest within her.

"The picture doesn't capture how absolutely tender your steak really was."

It left a lingering thought in her mind as she went to sleep that night. It's a common statement, and one she's heard quite a few times, though in the context of meeting someone in person. They usually like to comment something nice like "your pictures do you no justice," or something along those lines. Hearing this comment online, and not even about herself, just felt… off. Though she tried not to dwell on it. There will always be a shroud of ambiguity when conducting communication online. It's a facet of this life that she must consider at all times.

Though as time progressed, the strange occurrences seemed to only intensify from that point on—all deriving from the same username.

DanteanNomad.

She recalled the name towards the start of her account, though he never actually spoke. That comment of her dinner was his first interaction with her. The first of many, so it seemed.

He had begun leaving comments on every new post she made, each comment just barely skimming the gossamer thread of suitability.

"You have such a captivating presence, even in the virtual world."

"I find myself coming back to your profile long after you've posted, just because you're always on my mind."

"I'm always eager to see what you'll share next. It's like a little window into your world."

He even comments in her lives, yet somehow only she seems to be wary of his approaches. No one else seems to notice. Her friends have merely suggested blocking or reporting him, yet something deep in (y/n) knows that won't do her any good. Especially after a certain post she made garnered yet another comment from this person.

"The blue sweater was a good choice."

It was his most unsettling comment. It was mundane like everything else he says, though the underlying connotations were beginning to surface in her mind. Because how else would he have known that she spent nearly an entire hour debating on wearing it before finally opting to do so? And through the gut wrenching anxiety which twisted her insides and tormented her heart, she successfully blocked him.

At least that's what she thought happened. However, he continued to appear on her account, as if her countermeasure did absolutely nothing to deter him. Neither blocking, nor reporting, nor even calling customer support for assistance. Nothing seemed to rid her of this plague upon her life.

His words were beginning to get to her, and she felt herself sinking into a dark chasm of paranoia. As if nowhere was safe for her anymore. As if her own walls seemed to be only a mode of voyeur for his own sick delight. It left her seeking an answer to her anxieties, worriedly searching her home with a wooden bat at the ready, yet coming up empty. Not even a secret camera nestled in any dark and unassuming nooks of her room. Yet these precautions did not sate those paranoid thoughts consuming her.

"How about we host a party?" Belle suggested, hope in her voice as the group of friends sat together at a cafe. "A little house party at my place! Just us. We'll invite some trusted friends and colleagues. Just let loose, without the worries of being in a public place?"

The group slowly turned to (y/n), nestled in the corner of the booth, sipping away at her beverage whilst nervously considering the proposition. Her friends had been nothing but supportive, albeit with a touch of skepticism in their mannerisms. They didn't see the cause for concern in it all, but they saw (y/n) and how the occurrences ate away at her. To them, she was perhaps going through a minor mental breakdown and needed all the support she can get.

So while the prospect of a party made her incredibly uncomfortable, especially during such a strenuous time as this one, she could see where her friends were coming from. She could see their attempts at a compromise. They wanted to bring her relief in the only way they knew possible, which was having fun and forgetting your worries. The thought was touching, even if the idea of a party brought a subtle edge to her disposition. She didn't want to be a damper on their fun. She didn't want to be the driving force to expel her friends from her life.

And so she found herself, rather unwillingly, nodding along to their idea.

With the party in full swing, (y/n) attempted to blend in with the other participants. Some faces she recognized, others she didn't. Names had begun to blur into one, and she found it more and more difficult to keep track of the attendees with every new introduction she received.

Sooner rather than later, she found herself slipping out the sliding glass door onto the balcony. The cool night air was a comforting presence on her overheated body, sharply contrasting with the sheen of sweat residing over every square inch of revealed skin. With the full moon hanging overhead,she allowed herself to drop her defenses, body weary from being on edge the entire night. The thought of leaving revolved around in her head, and she toyed with the idea, amusing herself with silly schemes of escaping under the surveillance of her friends.

The sound of the sliding glass door jostled her from her thoughts, defenses building up once more as she turned around and prepared herself for the battle of socializing.

"Hey," the man greeted, gently nodding her way. He was another familiar face of many. A friend of a friend's, no doubt. While she wanted to dismiss him, she knew he meant well.

"Hello," (y/n) responded meekly, nervously tapping a finger against the red cup in her hands. The man gave her space, which she was rather grateful for, as he approached the railing of the balcony and leant against it.

"Taking a break?" He continued, staring out into the city. Whilst his eyes lingered elsewhere, he carried that air that his undivided attention was upon her.

"Yeah." He never turned to her, and so she followed his lead, staring out at the city below. Though unlike him, her resilience was much weaker, and she continuously kept glancing his way. "You, too?"

"Just a little break. Never hurts to lay low for a few minutes. Get off the freeway and do a little drive."

Such a simple analogy, one that seemingly pertained to solely the party, though she couldn't help but gape slightly at his words. They seemed to transcend the immediate situation and coincide with her exact predicament. And the subtle dose of validation had her defenses weakening by the minute.

"Yeah, I get that. I get that a lot actually." Her voice wavered as her emotions seemed to take over, doing everything in her power to hold the onslaught of tears threatening to be released. The last thing she wanted was to startle away this kind stranger with a sudden bout of crying. Though he was just full of surprises she wasn't prepared for.

"Hey. Hey, it's alright. You're okay." His voice was soft, retreating from the railing in favor of comforting her any way he could. He hesitated in touching her, hands hovering over her body, though his presence alone seemed enough for her defenses to all but crumble as the first sob broke through. And then the next. And soon she was full blown weeping into this man's chest, burying her face into his dark sweater and releasing all of her pent up frustrations.

His arms around her were a comforting constant, rubbing up and down her back and holding her tightly against him. She felt… safe. For the first time in a long while, she didn't feel eyes upon her or the paranoia that someone was attempting to infiltrate her space. It was just her and him. And she couldn't have been more grateful.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, hands grasping at his top in desperation, not wanting this reprieve to ever end. He seemed to understand as he just shushed her and drew her closer.

"It's okay. You're okay."

She didn't know for how long they stood there for, rocking back and forth in this calming trance-like state. As if slow dancing to the acoustics of the cityscape below them. And it was all she could have asked for.

"Thank you. For everything." A final sniffle on her part, and she hesitantly shifted to look up at him. "I don't know your name." He let out an amused huff, arms still wrapped around her body, though retracting just enough to meet her curious gaze with his own delighted one.

"Jinyoung."

The coming days were a mix of ups and downs which rattled the very fabric of her life. Any semblance she may have attained had been washed away with the torrential events succeeding that of the party.

On the one hand, following that very night on the balcony, (y/n) found herself more than grateful to have met Jinyoung. Sweet, attentive, dedicated Jinyoung.

He filled her days with kind messages, reminders she was not alone in this and that he was always there for her whenever she needed him. It was a comforting sentiment, waking up to texts from him and then going to sleep on call with him. He'd send lovely pictures to her, like a dog he passed by on a walk, or the setting sun from the view of his apartment. As if saying he thinks of her in everything he sees.

Jinyoung through his ceaseless attention upon her proved how truly little her friends seemed to acknowledge her and her situation. The way he provided his undivided attention whenever (y/n) deemed to speak on the subject was further proof that her friends had merely granted her a percentage of the help she needed. She realized she was venturing into dangerous ground, though she couldn't deny the feeling that Jinyoung was perhaps the only person she really needed in this lifetime.

And he continued to prove that with every thoughtful action of his.

Though even with this brief reprieve, the plight seemed to only spiral more out of hand than ever initially conceived.

Again, it started out covert. Live streaming with her fans when she accidentally broke a vase of hers. It was entirely circumstantial, and she laughed it off for the viewers, even if she was disappointed in the cute decor she had picked out herself when first moving in.

Within a matter of days, however, the once demolished vase she presumed she'd never see again was found at her doorstep, neatly tucked away into a box. Pristine and brand new.

Her friends all praised the mystery fan who sent it, commenting on how sweet it was of them to do so, but (y/n) grew even more uncomfortable, as all she had ever shown of that vase was a single shard when it broke. There was no possible way for someone to know the exact item she once had.

Her suspicions were soon being proven with the first sighting of a photograph in her mail. Photos of her house. Photos of the cafe she frequents. Photos from her friend's house where the party was just a few weeks ago. All information she's never revealed online before.

The next set of images was that of her in her day to day. Walking with her friends at the park, reading at the cafe, even shopping at the grocery store. Images taken from afar, though unsettlingly close enough that she could have very well seen them had she looked around.

At this point, her friends were now growing wary of the situation, understanding the severity of it all as it had gotten this out of hand. Jinyoung was the one to suggest the cycling method. One person stays with (y/n) at all times. Whether it be staying over at her house or spending the day with them elsewhere, she would always be monitored by one of them.

Surprisingly, they all agreed, and the rotations soon began. Just as Jinyoung had planned, one person would take night shift, and when the next would show up for their shift, they'd leave. Things seemed to work swimmingly, and (y/n) felt more comfortable than she had in ages. She began reducing her time online, as well, keeping her online presence even more professional and disconnected than ever before. If there was anything she was doing to feed this person's delusions, she wanted to put an end to it as soon as possible.

"Where did you go?" Jinyoung asked from where he sat on her couch, eyes remaining on the screen where their movie was still playing.

"I went to get the mail before it got dark," (y/n) responded, pressing her back against the door to close it as she made her way back to the living room with Jinyoung. She shuffled through some junk mail and a few letters from fans before landing on a small mailer package. There was nothing attached to it. No return address or indication of any shipping company, nor did she recall ordering anything recently.

Absentmindedly, thoughts still wandering on the subject of what she could've purchased, she peeled back the sticky opening, reaching in to retrieve the item. Though as her fingers grazed a suspiciously familiar material, she retracted, eyes widened as fear began to settle in once more.

The fabric was unmistakable. Something that had been lingering in her mind for quite some time now, and she both wanted to confirm her fears though also run away from them.

Tentatively, she tilted the package her way, peeking into the mailer for a mere second before a gasp ripped forth from her throat, tossing the offending object across the room.

"(y/n)?" Jinyoung was immediately by her side, movie abandoned as he focused on the panicked girl hyperventilating and staring at the thrown package. His hands wandered about, brushing back her hair, stroking away her tears, squeezing her shoulder, anything to get her back to reality. "(y/n), talk to me. What's going on?"

She was silent. Her throat had constricted upon itself. The room seemed to sway in this infinitesimal spiral, as if her body wanted to shut down, though her brain refused to go unconscious. This painstaking tug of war that left her absolutely deteriorated.

There was a momentary lapse in her demeanor as Jinyoung's presence anchored her to reality. His soft and warm touch grounding her when she could have drifted off long ago. His sweet whispers murmured into her ear, drawing her away from the accursed object lying at the other end of the room. And she was once more glad to have Jinyoung by her side, lulling her to a rare yet ever so peaceful slumber.

When she wakes up, she'll explain it to him. She'll explain how weeks ago, as she did her laundry, she realized her favorite undergarment had all but disappeared. She'll explain how she searched high and low yet couldn't find it anywhere. She'll explain how she briefly forgot about it from how long it's been.

She'll explain how she finally found them—in an anonymous package delivered to her.

"Is this the last of it?" Jinyoung's voice sounded from behind (y/n) as she stood amongst a sea of boxes. A quick scan of the room, listless and barely even acknowledging anything, she turned to Jinyoung with a nod.

"Yeah… That's all of them."

"Are you sure?" He asked again, stepping into the room to stand beside her. She looked around again, though now she felt even less concentrated on the matter as his gentle touch once more rested on her, warmth penetrating through her sweater and stirring a sense of comfort in her conflicted mind.

Another nod, along with a brief and assured smile, and Jinyoung finally seemed sated. He glanced around alongside her, eyes scanning the many boxes scattered about his guest room.

"We'll get to packing after we eat, yeah? What would you like?"

"You can order whatever."

"I want to eat what you want to eat."

Her cheeks warmed under his attentive gaze, muttering something about giving her time to think as she wandered out into the main living area of his apartment—of course, with Jinyoung in tow.

As if he hadn't done enough for her as is, the moment that horrid package arrived at her home, Jinyoung had all but insisted she live with him. At least for the time being. Until she can find her bearings. Find a solution to this ordeal.

It had taken some insisting on his part, as she didn't want to burden Jinyoung anymore than she already had. He urged her into accepting, anguishing over the possibility of her being harmed while he's not there for her. How tormented he'd feel if she were to ever get hurt. And no matter how much she wanted to reject his proposal, insist that she could return home to her parents whilst she figure out the ordeal, she felt compelled to accept his offer. His soothing warmth encompassing her as she wept into his chest, the low timbre of his hushed voice quelling her frightened soul. Jinyoung felt like safety.

His apartment reflected his personage well. As if a perfectly crafted haven for her. Decorating which fit her tastes to a tee, kitchen stocked with all of the foods she loved to eat, even her favorite candle scent filling the air whenever she walked around. Her room as well carried this sense of home with it. Even with the swarm of boxes stacked within it, it felt like she belonged there.

All of this was only a mere factor of her new happy living situation, as the primary source of that security came with Jinyoung's presence. Those texts she had always loved receiving now transitioned into little sticky notes everywhere. Reminders to eat and take care of herself, to text him when she wakes up, silly jokes to brighten up her day. And when he'd arrive home to see her seated at his couch, the mirthful smile that would spread on his face all but melted her heart. The grins he'd give her as they cooked dinner together, watched movies together, existed as one together.

Perhaps that's why she wasn't too shocked when Jinyoung one day asked her to be his.

A sweet and simple declaration of love. With full stomachs and wine muddled minds, he professed how he felt whilst they sat in the living room, movie long forgotten as their conversation hit uncharted waters. His thumb smoothed over her knuckles, eyes ardently staring into her own as he spoke. It was undeniable now how smitten she was with him, something she hadn't truly processed with all that had been conspiring in her life. Though now with the light of the moon seeping into their home, intermingling with the warm orange glow of the lamps, movie droning on as mere white noise in the background, and Jinyoung's adoration practically radiating off of him in waves, she felt it near impossible to reject him. A shy smile and a whispered acceptance, their fates were sealed with a deep and passionate kiss.

A whirlwind romance that seemed too good to be true. Sticky notes exchanged for morning whispers and good night kisses. Cuddles on the couch, Jinyoung's soft and tender touch lulling her into a state of tranquility. As if nothing could ever harm her again. And for a moment, she had forgotten what had led to such happiness. What trials she had gone through to get where she was now.

It was almost scary how quickly she had forgotten what lay outside the safety of Jinyoung's apartment. Even the brief outings with her friends seemed to never spark that subconscious paranoia that had lay resilient up to this point. Her social media had returned to its state of normalcy. Live sessions were back to how they once were. Comment sections were filled with their usual dynamics of love and hate. And through a bit of hesitancy on her part, after checking the account that had been tormenting her—DanteanNomad—she was pleased to learn he had gone radio silent.

It seemed things were back to normal. And there was only one thing left to take care of.

"What?" Jinyoung asked, voice low as he looked up from his dinner plate.

"I think I should move back home." He remained silent, staring at her through his lashes with furrowed eyebrows. She took that as a sign to continue on either way. "I mean, your solution worked! I've been safe and protected this whole time. To be honest, perhaps a little coddled at this point." She laughed, though Jinyoung again stayed quiet. "There's no activity anymore. I think it's safe to go back home."

"I don't understand." Jinyoung put down his fork with a clatter, hands wringing together and resting against his mouth. "What about this place isn't home to you? Is it the guest room? You can just sleep with me in my room. Is the food not satisfactory? Are you not happy with the couch or the TV?"

"Jinyoung," (y/n) cut him off, a chuckle of disbelief expelling from her lips. "It has nothing to do with you at all! I don't know how you could have come to that conclusion. You've been nothing but supportive of me." His eyes seemed to endlessly pierce into her, still waiting for a valid explanation. "I just think… We should have space."

The silence was near deafening. The kind of silence where your ears ring to fill the void. A thick tension filled the atmosphere, this heaviness lingering in the room that felt almost suffocating in a sense. And Jinyoung's eyes remained trained on her. Gone were the warm and loving eyes of her lover. The eyes that would crinkle every time he laughed. The protective eyes she'd wake up to, already watching and waiting for her to wake, too. There was no comfort in his gaze now, replaced only by a dark, cold, unforgiving emptiness that twisted her gut into knots.

"Space?" He asked, eyebrow quirking up at the word he all but spat out.

"Jinyoung…" Her voice was wary, barely even spoken above her breath. "I don't want to rush through things. You have to understand. I want things to be as natural as possible. I don't want to jump into certain stages of our relationship that we're not ready for." Her hand shook as she reached across the table for him. His eyes lazily drifted to her hand and back to her, and after a few seconds, he reluctantly held her hand in his. Though the comfort she sought in his hold was hard to find, his touch feeling cold, uncaring almost. "If you think about it, you'll feel even more excited to see me when we meet. Distance makes the heart grow fonder."

The remainder of the night was perhaps the strangest she's ever seen Jinyoung be. He walked about the apartment like a robot. Eyes distant and calculating. Posture tense and brooding. He cleared the table, cleaned the dishes, prepared dessert, all in utter silence. Even on the couch, his demeanor remained as is. It was as if it didn't matter how close she got to him. The little kisses she pressed to his jaw to try and awaken him from this state. The swirled patterns she'd trace along his chest. Jinyoung stayed in this perpetual state of solitude. And if she wasn't mistaken, it looked almost as if he was thinking. So deep in thought that he barely even processed when the movie ended and she got up to go to bed. A final kiss goodnight, and she went to her room.

The next day was like a complete switch from the night before, with the return of her loving and affectionate Jinyoung. He helped her pack any necessary items, insisting she keep everything else here for whenever she sleeps over. He helped return her home, checked the premises to make sure she was safe, and even helped her unpack afterwards. To top it all off, he decided to stay over, and she couldn't have been more delighted to have this Jinyoung back, cherishing the cozy embrace of his arms around her again.

Like that, she entered another state of normalcy. A combination of her days before the online occurrences and her days after meeting Jinyoung. They'd spend their free time together, go out on dates with one another, alternate houses for movie night. She had to relearn how to live on her own, but the joy of living life without any fear made up for any discomforts she may have felt.

Life was perfect.

(y/n) closed the door behind her with a huff, tossing the sponsored packages she received onto the floor. With a heavy sigh, she trudged through the darkness of her house and into the kitchen, fishing out a water bottle from the fridge before turning to find the light switch. Though as she did so, she was greeted by the sight of flowers on her counter.

It was a rather obscure sight to behold. A clash of purples and yellows and blues. The ones she could identify were baby's breath. So, so many. Practically pooling out of the feeble vase the flowers were tucked away into. Turning the vase around, she searched for a note. Perhaps Jinyoung brought them in whilst she was out. Though when she did find the slip of paper she had wanted, it was empty. Virtually no writing at all. And while she was momentarily stumped, a brief flash of a memory sparked in her head. The memory of an equally blank return address.

A gasp surged forth from her throat, backing away from the flowers until she was pressed against the wall. She clutched her phone, ready to call for help as she slipped out of the kitchen. But then she took a gander at the living room.

The first thing that caught her eye was the pop of green suddenly in her vision—a moss green couch. Atop it were pillows that complemented its shade, and a throw blanket across the cushions. The walls were adorned with artworks she admired, bookshelves contained trinkets she fawned over. And atop the coffee table lay a candle of her favorite scent.

All of these things were mere fantasies to her, nothing more than fleeting desires for a future home. Added to a wishlist of her own to track them for future reference. Yet now resided in her living room as if always having belonged to her.

At this point, her mind was racing, heart beating out of her chest. Her eyes darted around her home to find that practically everything was unfamiliar to her. Paintings, vases, furniture, plants. Everything was different. Everything was what she had always wanted. Yet she had bought none of it.

In a surge of mindless panic, she bolted out of the living room and down the hall, eyes downcast so as to not see the walls lined with more unfamiliar decor. Once inside the sanctity of her bedroom, she planned on calling for help. Whether it be from her friends, the authorities, Jinyoung, someone had to come and save her from this hellscape of a house.

She all but shoved open the door, nerves alight with utter fear from what she had just experienced. Her hand clutched the phone like a lifeline, just about ready to call emergency services before she caught sight of what had become of her room. What nightmare had unfolded in the place she once considered her sanctuary.

Every square inch of wall.

Every available surface.

Every single speck of her room.

All of it was plastered with photos. Photos of her.

Ones printed from her social media just last week, ones from years ago, ones she had deleted immediately after posting, ones she didn't even remember taking. Shots of her walking around town with her friends or spending time on her own out and about, like the ones sent to her in the mail, yet these she had never seen before.

There were shots from her window as she did her makeup. Shots of her changing, though with horizontal dark lines obscuring the full images—grates from her louvered closet door… as if having been taken from within.

Photos of her sleeping in her bed... taken from right above her.

She stumbled back, a gasp catching in her throat as her pulse thundered in her ears. A whispered sob spilled from her lips, and then a defeated, mortified shriek as she crumbled in upon herself. Her body coiled into a fetal position, face burying itself into her knees. Her one refuge which hadn't been violated by this sickening invasion.

She didn't know for how long she remained there until Jinyoung soon came, the familiarity of his voice calling out to her relieving her anguish almost instantaneously. A remedy to her every ailment. (y/n) felt his hands roam across her, gathering her limp body into his own sturdy one, cradling her to him in his protective embrace. He littered her face with soft kisses, brushing away her tears and whispering reassurances to her. If he was shocked by the surrounding area, she hadn't been made aware, mindlessly nestling further into his body and crying out the last of her tears.

"Jinyoung," she muttered weakly, voice battered and defeated. He hummed softly, fingers gently carding through her hair as he rocked the two to and fro. Her eyes were shut, face pressed into the crevice of his neck, hiding away from the horrors of the world, the horrors of what she once perceived as her home. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, my love," he responded, voice mellow and steady. The vibrations from his chest soothed (y/n) as she grew more distant from her surroundings.

"I want to go home."

Those words were like music to his ears.

Everything he had ever strove for. Everything he had ever wanted in life. Like a confirmation that all of his hard work, all of the trials he'd gone through, had finally paid off. He had finally obtained his one sole desire—and he wasn't letting her go ever again.

A smile crept onto his face, a twisted and manic grin as his arms coiled around her tighter, claiming her as a constrictor does its victim. Taking a look around at the memories he had captured of her ever since he first met (y/n) online, he felt triumphant. Succeeding in both capturing (y/n) whilst simultaneously proving how she can never be safe without him. Victory was sweet, but this false vindication for a situation he himself conjured felt somehow even sweeter.

"Of course, my love. Let's go home."

[all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth]

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Unruhe (4x04)

TW: CSA

The night he lost his sister was the first time he felt the howlers. When he opened the bathroom door and saw her seizing in the tub, he felt their hands grip his throat. In his rush to get to her, he tripped over the power cord that was running across the floor and over the lip of the tub. He tried to catch himself against the porcelain, but it caused some of the water to slosh onto his skin. The water burned and he felt a stabbing sensation behind his eyes. That’s when they entered his body, causing him to fly back as the black, smoky howlers danced around him in a thick, suffocating plume — that’s when they started taunting him.

You should have saved her.

His father said she was a Jezebel with a guilty conscience.

His Freud-loving doctors said suicide was common after paternal sexual abuse.

His howlers said it was all his fault.

The howlers never slurred their words and he never needed an appointment to hear what they had to say.

***

Sometimes it felt like he spent every day resisting their efforts to drag him to hell. He knows other people can hear them… can see them. His skin stung from their claws digging into his flesh. He can’t shake them no matter what he does. Maybe they’re a part of him by now, maybe they always were.

After all, if it was really just “schizophrenia” then why did his father have them too?

“I don’t know why I do the things I do, Gerry.”

“She looked so pretty… just like her mama used to.”

“Something inside me just snapped. I had to show her what her life of sin would lead her to. If she wanted to act like a woman, I needed to treat her like one.”

He usually only talked about his howlers after a few drinks, but Gerry could see the regret in his eyes. Howlers could be very persuasive, especially when it was impossible to drown out their voices.

Gerry knew the howlers were why his father would go into her room every night. He knew that was the only reason why a father would lust after their daughter, why a man would seek release in a child.

You can save him.

He raped her.

He liked it.

Avenge her.

It was the howlers that told him where to find the axe.

***

When he was in the institution, his roommate told him all about Rosemary Kennedy. An icepick to the corner of her eyes, and she became a new person. She went from troubled to happy in a moment. That’s what he wanted.

Gerry thinks that if he could just forget those memories, his life would be better. He loved his sister, not as much as Father did, but he got sad every time he thought of her. He just wanted to savor the happy memories of her singing around the house with her nightgown trailing behind her.

But he couldn’t forget. He was plagued with unrest. It wasn’t until he saw that first troubled young woman that he realized if he couldn’t save his sister, he could save other women who were suffering. 

He wished he had thought of the twilight sleep before the first one, maybe then she wouldn’t have been so scared. When the metal of his tool caught on the skin of her bottom eyelid while he pulled the rod out, she let out a guttural groan that sounded like a strangled scream.

“Wie fühlen Sie sich?”

Her attention locked onto him, but all the earlier fear was replaced with something that looked like contentment. Her mouth opened and closed like she was going to say something but forgot what it was before she could find the words.

Trying again, he asked: “How do you feel?”

“Adjuh-juh,” she slurred, glassy eyes looking around the room.

He waited, allowing her a moment to collect her thoughts. When she blinked, it looked like a strained effort, but she didn’t seem bothered, even as the movement caused little rivulets of blood to trail down her cheeks and onto the fabric of her nightgown. Her head lolled onto her shoulder, and the suddenness of it made her lips quirk into a small smile.

You saved her.

“Für Sie wird es keine Unruhe mehr geben,” he reassured.

She looked up at him, blinking slowly. “U-un-ru-”

***

His face twitched and he closed his eyes shut until the howlers faded against his eyelids, floating into a familiar face before laughing at him.

They’d been getting louder. He spent so much time trying to forget, but this FBI woman and her partner were only egging the howlers on. 

“Gerry, help!”

“Daddy, stop!”

“It’ll only hurt for a second, baby.”

The taste of iron in his mouth made him cringe as he soothed the bite mark on his inner lip with his tongue. He had to do this. He needed to save enough women to make up for all the times he pretended he couldn’t hear what was happening on the other side of the wall.

Gerry knew she needed his help the moment they met. There was a howler inside of her head — a black mass invading her body and mind.

“Aufhören! Ich habe keine Unruhe. Ich habe keine Unruhe. Ich brauche nicht gerettet zu werden,” the woman pled.

She doesn’t know.

“Yes you do. Everybody does, but especially you,” he stated firmly.

Ihre Unruhe bringt sie um.

Sie liegt im Sterben.

For the other women, he always feared he might make a mistake and end up hurting them, but she was different. Not because she had his sister’s eyes or because she could speak in his father’s tongue, but because he’d never seen such malignant, cruel howlers. She may not be able to hear them, but she was being consumed from the inside out. He needed to help her before it was too late.

Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Archive of Our Own

@gaycrouton

[profile-234]

How Poor Indoor Air Quality Affects Your Family’s Health

We spend so much time inside our homes, whether we’re working, relaxing, or spending time with family. But did you know that the air inside your house might not be as clean as you think? Poor indoor air quality (IAQ) can have a significant impact on your family’s health, and many people don’t realize it until symptoms start showing up. Whether it’s the air we breathe or the dust and pollutants that float around, the effects of poor IAQ can range from minor annoyances to serious health conditions.

Respiratory Issues

One of the most common and immediate effects of poor indoor air quality is on the respiratory system. If your home has high levels of dust, pet dander, mold, or chemical pollutants (like VOCs from cleaning products or paints), it can cause your family members to experience coughing, sneezing, congestion, and even asthma flare-ups. Over time, exposure to these irritants can make it harder to breathe, especially for children and elderly members who may already have preexisting health conditions.

If someone in your household has asthma or other chronic respiratory conditions, poor air quality can make things worse. The allergens and pollutants can trigger symptoms that require medication or even lead to emergency situations in more severe cases.

Allergies and Skin Irritation

Even if your family doesn't suffer from respiratory conditions, poor air quality can lead to allergic reactions. Common indoor allergens like dust mites, mold, and pet dander can cause sneezing, watery eyes, runny noses, and itchy skin. People who are sensitive to these allergens may experience discomfort throughout the day, leading to poor sleep and overall fatigue.

Mold, in particular, is one of the more dangerous allergens to watch out for. If you live in a humid area or have areas of your home with poor ventilation, mold can quickly develop. Mold spores can easily become airborne, which means you and your family are breathing them in without even knowing it.

Fatigue and Headaches

You might think the fatigue you're feeling is just a result of a long workday, but poor indoor air quality can contribute to that too. Exposure to volatile organic compounds (VOCs), which are found in everything from cleaning products to furniture and carpets, can cause headaches, dizziness, and tiredness. Poor ventilation can trap these VOCs inside your home, leading to an increase in symptoms like brain fog, difficulty concentrating, and general lethargy.

If you're noticing these symptoms more often, it might not be your schedule that’s the problem, but the air you're breathing.

Increased Risk of Heart Disease

Long-term exposure to pollutants in the air can contribute to serious cardiovascular issues. The fine particles in dust and chemicals in the air can enter the bloodstream, leading to inflammation and increasing the risk of heart disease. People with existing heart conditions or hypertension should be especially mindful of the air quality in their home to prevent additional strain on their hearts.

Poor Sleep

Have you been waking up feeling unrested or struggling to get a full night’s sleep? Poor indoor air quality could be a contributing factor. When the air is filled with allergens or pollutants, your body can react in ways that make it harder to get quality rest. If your nasal passages are irritated or you’re dealing with headaches, it can disrupt your sleep cycle. This lack of quality sleep can affect your mood, energy, and productivity the next day, creating a vicious cycle.

How IROB TECH LLC Can Help Improve Your Indoor Air Quality

Now that we’ve covered the ways poor indoor air quality can affect your health, it’s time to talk about solutions. If you’re in the Houston area, IROB TECH LLC is here to help. As a trusted provider of heating services, IROB TECH LLC offers comprehensive Indoor Air Quality solutions to ensure that the air in your home is safe, clean, and breathable.

From air purifiers to HVAC maintenance, their experts can help you identify the sources of poor air quality and offer effective solutions tailored to your home. Whether you need duct cleaning, air filtration systems, or improvements in ventilation, IROB TECH LLC has the experience and technology to tackle the problem head-on.

By investing in IAQ services from IROB TECH LLC, you can protect your family’s health, improve comfort, and create a safer, more enjoyable living environment. Don’t let poor indoor air quality continue to affect your health—reach out to IROB TECH LLC today and breathe easier knowing that your home’s air is in expert hands!

[ericbalchauthor]

ARC Review: Moonshadow's Champion

Moonshadow's Champion by Dianna Gunn

Title: Moonshadow’s Champion Author: Dianna Gunn Genre: Dark Fantasy Rating: 5/5 Available: Amazon

Warning: Possible Spoilers for Moonshadow’s Guardian

I received an ARC for this review.

About the Book

In the weeks after the events of Moonshadow’s Guardian, Riana finally has what she’s always wanted: a free life in the human world. No more commands. No more restraints on her will. No more being used as a living weapon. Yet the scars she earned escaping her old life don’t just mark her body. Nightmares haunt her sleeping hours and news of Jacob VIII’s plans to exterminate the telars harry her waking thoughts. If she wants to keep the fragile place she’s built for herself and the peace she secured for Moonshadow, she must decide if she will once again take up her blade—this time against her former master. Elsewhere in Moonshadow, unrest and discrimination have roiled into a deadly storm of force. Revolution is brewing—and even Jacob VIII’s death might not be enough to stop it from sweeping over Moonshadow.

Review

Moonshadow’s Champion is the sequel to Moonshadow’s Guardian and the conclusion to the Moonshadow Rising Duology. Following the events of Moonshadow’s Guardian, Riana now serves Moonshadow directly rather than answering to its ruler, King Jacob VIII. As the king grows increasingly paranoid, he plans a crusade of exterminate the telars entirely while also lashing out at his subjects. Riana is put in the difficult situation of how to deal with a king who seems to be going insane, with the best solution seemingly being a treasonous one. Meanwhile, a new leader has emerged among the telars, a woman named Fiona, who gathers forces and forms alliances behind the scenes. Moonshadow’s Champion is an excellent story. Riana desperately wants to move on from her past and live a life of her own, but keeps getting pulled back into being a living weapon. She expresses deep regrets about her past, which repeatedly comes back to haunt her. King Jacob VII is paranoid and unreasonable, descending into madness that effects even the loyal subjects of his own court. Jacob’s son, Marcus, just wants to do the right thing, but is put into situations where he must do horrible things for the common good. Fiona is stubborn and vengeful, wanting nothing more than true freedom for her people, even if that means wiping out the royal bloodline. All the characters involved are unique and well-portrayed with their own desires and motives. Overall, Moonshadow’s Champion is an entertaining and well-written story. Like Guardian, it is a dark tale, but easily enjoyable by those who prefer lighter fantasy. Dark Fantasy fans will enjoy this book as much as the first. Moonshadow’s Champion is an excellent conclusion to the duology, but fans of Dianna’s work will certainly be hoping for additional stories within the world of Moonshadow.

About the Author

Dianna Gunn is a freelance writer by day and a fantasy (and occasional science fiction) author by night. Her fantasy novel, Moonshadow's Guardian, was released in November 2018.  When she's not writing, Gunn can be found working to develop the indie author community. She hosts the #weeknightwriters Twitter chat at 7PM EST and is a co-host of #ReviewPit, a quarterly event designed to connect indie authors with review bloggers. Read the full article

[chiimaera]

KEIR MOREAU.    chaotic evil 

vampire, interview with a vampire + folklore fc: timothee chalamet.

dossier:                                   

keir is a villain in every sense of the word. in all his verses, he is a born psychopath with little empathy or full range of emotion. he is a manipulator and opportunist, he will always go down the road with the most reward even if its paved with blood and suffering. as long as its not him who is suffering, he is very goal oriented. his relationships are purely based off of how that person benefits him. he doesnt make friends or romanic connections because he likes someone, there is always a motive and purpose hes assigned to that person. sex, love, kindness, compassion are all tools hes learned to use to control the people around him and get what he wants. he can fake emotion with the best of them, using those emotions like masks. he is highly volatile, jealous, possessive and cold.              when it comes to dealing with keir, its better to be not noticed. to have his favor is dangerous because his eventful loss of interest may be a death sentence. he doesnt understand friendships or relationships, he only knows possession and control. if he feels that he is competing for someones attention, he will eliminate the loved ones of those who he deems as ‘his’. hes entertained by others pain though will rarely get his hands dirty unless he has to. a big part of his ability allows him to simply separate himself from others actions, creating a god-like untouchability that his thirst for power thrives on.

at over six foot with a lithe frame, he wears rings on each hand and a half human skull mask dipped in gold. this black filtered mask covers his nose and mouth, sporting sharpened incisors.          writers note: keir is evil and will do evil things. i may not write out those evil things in detail but it can be assumed that he will/has done horrible things to people. all ships will be toxic. in plots/threads, he is not meant to win and can be killed by the protagonists.                    

abilities: telekinesis, telepathy, mesmerism, along with enhanced senses, strength, and immortality. he is exceptionally strong at anything that deals with the mind 

background:                                   

in the 1700s, keir was born among a family of tailors but at a young age showed signs of his narcissistic and psychopathic tendencies. he had an innate ability to manipulate the people around him with little effort, mirroring emotions and inciting their beliefs. by the time he was coming of age, most of the village children either kept their distance or followed behind him, hanging on his every word. when he reached his teens, he was more trouble than the others knew what to do with. he lashed out over minor trouble, unafraid to truly hurt those who crossed him. it was his greed, his coldness and lack of honor that set him apart from the others. he would do whatever was necessary to win, be it cheating or intimidation. he could turn his peers against their parents, their countrymen and even their siblings with only a well-placed word.  

his father saw the darkness and sin in his son and banished him from his home at the age of sixteen, fearing what unrest he might cause. filled with animosity and hunger, his path crossed with an older man who offered him bread and a warm place to sleep. sir moreau saw potential in the boy, took him under his wing as a book keeper. over the years, moreau molded the boy and when the time was right, turned him into a vampire to truly be his son. you see, moreau was more than just a business man, he was a butcher. when he wasnt finding delight in hunting and torturing french commoners, he sold bodies to doctors and living slaves to vampires. his fledgling’s psychopathy worked well for him. 

as for keir, he found that there were plenty of others who were misplaced, discarded or lived in the shadows of society. He lacked empathy but practiced mirroring it in others, creating an illusion of camaraderie and power until they began to believe it. He honed this skill, gathering the banished, the outlaws and the deformed, demanding their loyalty in return for acceptance and absolution. his numbers grew. by the time he was a century old, he had a following the size of a small army. they believed him to be a savior, someone to call on when life got hard.

so he became their god and they became his right hand. for years, they participated in wars and revolutions, masking their blood thirst for righteousness. they took slaves, selling them to covens and any creature with deep pockets—even the aristocrats. keir is as cunning as he is ruthless, taking young children from their homes and teaching them what it meant to have real power, creating loyalty that only grew stronger with age. he never turned anyone, believing that their short lives made them more desperate to please. he kept his operation in the shadows just as his sire did, staying just off the radar of those who would oppose him. 

no one thought much of death and he was but a messenger. 

connections:  n/a

[wondereads]

WLW Book Recommendations

Happy Pride!

Recommendations are under the cut due to the size of this post. The books listed below are:

The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon

Crier’s War by Nina Varela

The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri

The Winter Duke by Claire Eliza Bartlett

Ace of Spades by Faridah Abike-Iyimide

Seven Devils by L. R. Lam and Elizabeth May

Malice by Heather Walter

The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon (high fantasy)

Yes, this book is a monster, but it is well worth your time. Told from multiple perspectives spanning a huge fantasy world, an ancient evil is waking up, and humans must be prepared. This book does a great job of blending many different cultures into one narrative, and the way it deals with organized religion is better than any other book I've ever read. While this is a fantasy over a romance, the sapphic relationship in this book is top tier. It develops slowly and naturally; it's not big and sweeping like a lot of romance in fantasy, but the smaller things really come through.

Crier's War by Nina Varela (high fantasy)

In a fantasy world, humans are ruled over by automae, artificial beings that were initially created by humans but have now taken over as the 'superior' beings. Ayla's family was killed by the king, and she vows to take revenge by killing his own family, his only daughter, Lady Crier. I find the history of the automae very interesting in this book, and Crier's story in particular has a lot of good reveals. While this is an intense high fantasy, there is a bit of humor in it. Told from both Ayla and Crier's perspectives, I find it incredibly funny that a human girl is scheming how to assassinate a princess while said princess is experiencing her first crush on said human girl.

The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri (high fantasy)

This book is set in a world inspired by ancient India, and tells the story of a maidservant and princess. The maidservant has a dark past that involves illegal magic and old societies, and the princess has been imprisoned by her cruel and despotic brother. This book is very much on the slower side, but some people prefer that. Similar to Priory, this book is told from multiple points of view, not just the two main characters. The unrest in the kingdom is slow and creeping but happens steadily and realistically. Also, concerning the romance, I actually quite like that the two main characters, Priya and Malini, don't exactly have a very healthy relationship.

The Winter Duke by Claire Eliza Bartlett (high fantasy)

One of my favorite books, The Winter Duke is about Ekata, one of the many children of the duchy of Kylma Above. All she wants to do is leave this place and her family to pursue her dreams of scholarship, but when her family falls into a permanent sleep the day before her departure, she must step up to rule. As someone who loves political fantasy, this book is right up my alley, and yours too as long as that's something you like. I really like that this book explicitly states that Ekata has zero interest in men romantically and is only interested in women. Her romance with Inkhar definitely brings out the YA aspects of this book. Ekata is forced to grow up so quickly, it's nice to see her have a crush and get flustered over it like any teenage girl.

Ace of Spades by Faridah Abike-Iyimide (mystery thriller)

At a predominately white private school, the only two Black students are targeted by an anonymous texter, Aces. Though they have nothing in common, they team up in order to uncover Aces and protect their secrets. Plot wise, this is by far my favorite thriller I've ever read. It's tense, it'll keep you on the edge of your seat, and it discusses institutionalized racism, especially in academia, masterfully. One of the main characters, Chiamaka, has a great sideplot of coming to terms with her sexuality. However, when it comes between her safety and her romance, I love that she keeps a level head on her shoulders and always chooses the former. (There is also MLM rep in this book with the other POV character.)

Seven Devils by L. R. Lam and Elizabeth May (space opera sci-fi)

An intergalactic empire spreads across the universe, and it's up to a ragtag group of rebels to stop it. Eris was once heir to the entire empire, but she gave that up to be part of the Resistance, and one mission may be the deciding factor in the universe's continued freedom. While Eris is technically the main character, this is fundamentally an ensemble cast with multiple perspectives. This book has quite a bit of LGBTQ+ representation, including a sapphic relationship between two of the POV characters. While not a huge focus of the book, their relationship is sweet and touching.

Malice by Heather Walter (high fantasy)

Malice is a retelling of Sleeping Beauty following Alyce, the Dark Grace, who is reviled but used by all in the kingdom of Briar. Alyce dreams of escaping Briar until she starts to master her powers and meets the Princess Aurora. I will admit that I prefer the plot to the romance in this book for the most part, but the ending really gets me sometimes. Alyce's powers and her people's history are so interesting, and Aurora is a great, understanding, and kind love interest.

Stay tuned for more pride recommendations all throughout this month!

[raphieeee]

Plural Raph or the ‘voices’ I think he would have

Red:

He/Him

The first to present and most common to speak up:

Animal instinct. The parts of him that focus on self preservation in both a defensive sense and a self caring sense, as in eating, sleeping and drinking. Leo says he sounds like the ‘mother hen’ parts of Raph (he doesn’t mention how that’s one of his favourite parts of his brother.)

Rose:

They/Them

The second one to present, much more quiet and picky about when they choice to speak:

The softer, more pushed down parts of himself. Named Rose for their softness as they are the most worried one and care greatly for Raph to the point of being extremely untrusting and while they love their brothers, they seem to have no trust for humans and surprisingly Splinter. Raph suspects it’s because Rose also holds the parts of him that knows that Splinter is not fit to be both father and Sensei.

Ruby:

The third to present:

They/He

They tend to show the more Ninja like part of himself. The thoughts of honor and mercy as well as effectiveness and cruelty, the parts that wish to meditate on things or to train when in a state of unrest. Being much more blunt, Ruby only really cares for the others as team members who can be of assistance and not as family, often wishing to leave them behind to finish their mission. Raph finds that despite being so much about ninjitsu, there’s a lot of contradiction as they are not fully comprehending the core values.

Rage:

She/Her

Raph isn’t actually sure if Rage is the fourth or not, she feels like she has always been there. He isn’t sure why she feels like a woman despite the others either being genderless or male, he thinks it might be because he isn’t allowed to feel rage so it feels alien, like a feminine presence in his life. She is often quiet, but always somewhat present. When she does speak it’s fills his mind and shuts everything else out, often making him feel sick and floaty, like he’s not real yet also the only thing left in the universe. Rage is the part of him that feels injustice, like fighting and running all at once. He sees her as his protector when he gets too scared to do it himself. He knows his family can do that too, but it’s different when it’s saving himself.

(If anyone who is a system or plural is upset by this please let me know and I’ll either fix it or just take it down.)

[srbachchan]

DAY 5174

Ob-delgrg,Del                    April 15,  2022                   Fri  10;17 PM

There was an attempt to put out what puts out now .. the late call gave rise to a late rise and a late rise gave rise to an additional slumber which then manifested into dreams that kept the mind disturbed and unrest ful .. at a moment thought of pulling the speaker to the bedroom and putting on music in mood of the sleep .. but altered the design and tried pushing the senses oto shut the lids of the eyes and try the dreams again .. ad that is when the wise dream merchants appeared .. there seemed to be un fulfilment on the agenda of the menu of sleep patterns, and that is exactly what was exercised .. in moderation but enough to attract discomfort .. 

So one does the next best thing .. the Plan B .. 

get up splash some acqua on the contours of the face that have gone through the damage of a nights sleep on the side that seems damaged now .. there is only one for me , because the other side blocks the breathing .. deviated septum , I think if that is what is called .. its either a blow to the part during the days of the boxing ring .. or that metal booted missed kick during an action sequence of the film , that immortalised the blow to the gut in a freeze , to inform the audience of what exactly happened during the shoot of Coolie .. a unbelievable act , never done before in film ever .. but it worked .. and his, MKD’s argument .. ‘when the whole country prayed for you for that moment then they must be able to see what they prayed for ..’

a simple enough explain but so modest true and honest in its present .. 

and as you drive to work you recollect the dream in its finality and find even the greatest memory makers shall find it impossible to  remember .. so leave it leave it leave it .. 

let us be with the pictures of the day ..     

  the house that looks so similar to the house of Sarkar in Sarkar 1 .. some basic structures keeping in mind the environ the weather the compatibility were so common .. 

.. the ‘ajgar’ the ‘anaconda’ the AC vent to the sets .. a name coined by me .. now used as a given ..

enough they all look the same .. the scenes be such .. and so does the evening in its lateness ..

so GN dearest ones .. you be the best .. 

Amitabh Bachchan

[lennjamin-o7]

Ooh, worldbuilding questions! Hmm. How do prophecies work, in general? Are they something very rare or somewhat normal? Who gives prophecies, and do they generally always come true?

It depends on the country and depends on the god. In Scywar, it's kind of assumed that the king WILL have a gift of prophecy. It's INCREDIBLY rare for a King not to have that gift, and there are scholarly debates on if there ever HAS been a king without the gift. Prophecies in Scywar tend to be most frequent in times of unrest. And the Kings that supposedly didn't have that gift were INCREDIBLY peaceful rules. So, it may just be that the Blood God chose not to give a prophecy since it was uneeded.

A King of Scywar would only declare a prophecy to the people once or twice in an entire generation. However, most suspect that they have more knowledge than that. As it is incredibly common for Kings to casually skip meetings only to find out there was a coup attempt that was thwarted because they happened to leave. But formal official prophecies are generally pretty rare.

Since King Dante's prophecy came not long after his brother's assassination and a culling of "suspicious" nobles, religious laypeople believed easily that the turbulent atmosphere led credence to his words.

Besides the King of Scywar, there are few other places that give insight into the wills of the gods and the world's future.

There is a special Oasis in the country of Las Nevadas where a seer lives, but he doesn't often speak to people about the future. He prefers to write about the past.

The Leadership of Hermitia (a very secretive country) is based on a cycle of names. Like a zodiac, a new leader is given control and they take the name of the cycle they are. I mean, there is NO way that Scar is the same Scar from hundreds of years ago, no matter how similar they appear. Nor can Ethos be the same Ethos. That would be absurd. But anytime the leader bears the title Grian, they know far too much.

While a person might be given revelation from any god at any time, those are the most likely places to find true prophecy. With the King of Scywar, Within the Seasons of Hermitia, and With the Seer Who'd Rather Not. So, not easily accessible. It's one of many reasons the Sleeping Empire maintained such a long treaty with Scywar in the first place. (Another thing ruined by Dante).

And yeah, Prophecies always come true. One way or another. As long as a god is involved.

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 12

the Darkling x Reader

The hour was late as the stars basked in the darkness and cold winter air. The fire roared in its hearth while your still steaming cup of sleep-aiding tea sat untouched on the small table. Your talk with Alina earlier was the cause of your unrest. You didn't know whether to feel sorry for her or be frustrated with her. She is a lovely girl, most pure and kind and quite literally the definition of sunshine, but something about her irked you and you hated it.

Maybe it was her somewhat unhealthy obsession with her friend, the tracker- Malyen Oretsev, or the sheer denial and lack of understanding of her position. Sure, Mal was the only thing that tied her to her old life, a sense of home, but he didn't belong anywhere near the Little Palace and posed a threat to Alina's true potential. She should understand that, no doubt it's been explained to her many times. She was no longer a random girl from the First Army or a Child of Keramzin, she was the Sun-Summoner and had to act the part.

But there was also a nagging feeling in you since your last words with Aleksander, the ones about the stag. From what you could gather, Alina definitely wasn't power-hungry, not yet anyway, and placing an antler anywhere on her would be against her wishes. You knew deep down that whatever he had planned would go far beyond just giving her an amplifier for her sake.

You sighed and moved around on the armchair again, trying to convince yourself those were the reasons you couldn't sleep, that Alina's position in this mess was why your mind wouldn't shut off, but who were you kidding, it was her and him. For starters, she called Aleksander by his name. The second the word left her mouth, your blood ran cold.

__

'Is he not here?' Alina looked to you from over her mug, eyes scanning the room.

'Who?'

'Aleksander, is he away at Kribirsk again?' Your smile faltered and your grip on your own mug loosened. But Alina waited for an answer.

'Oh umm, I don't know.' You did but the shock caused your mind to blank completely.

__

You had known Aleksander for years before he even told you his true name, you had to earn it. She spoke of her General with a fondness, at one point even speaking of him as if he were more than just her commanding officer.

__

'Do you miss the First Army Alina? I know you left friends behind, not just Mr.Oretsev.'

'I suppose I don't feel at home just yet, it's a lot to take in, this whole division of orders thing doesn't help either... But he assures me I am not alone, that I have an equal in the Palace.'

An equal?

__

The heat of the fire was doing nothing to calm down your rising rage. Apparently Aleksander was doing more talking with Alina than you'd thought, even sacrificing his own true name, one only spoken by you and his mother, for her to utter as if it was just another name. So what if you were in his chambers, making use of his office and sleeping in his bed, he clearly had his eyes on two prizes or maybe just one.

You felt sick now, be it from the heat or the anger, you got up and opened a window. The cold and dark night was a stark contrast to the licks of the flame. It made you feel at peace, but only momentarily. You heard voices outside, slowly growing louder. You rested your head against the wall, begging for one last moment of stillness, but alas the door was yanked open and his boots echoed throughout the room. You cursed yourself for deciding to spend another night in his quarters. You thought he'd be gone longer than just 4 days.

'I do hope you made yourself comfortable' His voice was as smooth as the kvas you had downed after Alina left. You wanted to turn around, but the anger was still there and all hell would break loose if you let your emotions run wild again.

'I did thank you. At least you have a desk'

'I'll get you one first thing in the morning'

'No need, I already requested one' Your voice was void of any emotion. Don't start a fight.

'Are you alright?'

'Just tired, being diplomatic is hard work' It sure was right now.

'Might I suggest actually getting into bed then?' His hand slowly came around your wrist and pulled you in the direction of the bedroom but ironically at the simple touch, your anger grew, when it usually has the opposite effect. You saw out of the corner of your eye that he had a genuine smile on his face, one that tended to make you melt but not now. You shrugged him off and walked in the direction of the door, leaving him utterly confused.

'Y/N what's going on.

'I'm tired, I'm going to bed' You tried so hard to act normal, not in any way pissed.

'Y/N look at me'

'Goodnight Aleksander' You couldn't help it, the mockery of his name just came out. There goes the diplomacy.

You heard him quickly walk towards you and tried to get to the door first to escape the tense atmosphere you created but he got there first, blocking your way.

'What?' You threw your hands up in exasperation not yet looking at him.

'Did something happen whilst I was away?'

'No'

'Then what is it'

'Nothing'

'Don't lie to me Y/N'

'Oh but it's okay for you to lie to me' Your eyes finally bore into his.

'Excuse me?' His expression read baffled; annoyed; pissed.

'Move away from the door Aleksander'

'No! You're going to be mature and have an actual conversation with me for once' He asked for it.

'Alright fine, Let's start with Alina''

'Y/N'

'I had a lovely little tea party with her today. Sweet thing. She loves to talk once you get her going. She told me a lot of fascinating stuff, including your name! How interesting don't you think.' Your voice was so cold it even made you shiver.

'I can explain'

'I'm not finished.' You felt that pull in you, that pull that comes before you put your fire or shadows to use but crammed it down with all your might. 'Her best friend hasn't been replying to any of her letters and I can recount there are many of them. Guess what I found in one of your drawers? They are all very poetic don't you think? I'm all for helping her adjust, but that's not help, that's manipulation Aleksander.'

'She won't let him go, It's dragging her down.' He said through gritted teeth.

'Dragging her down or away?' The double meaning in your words didn't go unnoticed by him.

'Y/N all I want to do is go to bed right now, I've had a long day, please.' His hand reached out for yours but you scoffed and moved away.

'You wanted to have this conversation, General, don't shy away when your actions are questioned.'

'Fine' He unblocked the door and crossed the room, throwing his cloak and kefta on the floor with a heavy thud. 'Is there anything else you wish to accuse me of Y/N dearest?'

'Look at you, so bitter but I haven't heard you deny any of it'

'You may go now if you like.' He picked up a decanter of whiskey and poured himself a generous glass

'Since when are you this childish Aleksander. Have I missed something in my 100-year absence?' You mocked.

'You left me with all of this' He gestured to the palace. '-That's what happened.'

'Don't turn this around on me, and I told you that wasn't a choice.'

'The Y/N I knew would have come back and not hid like a coward'

You stilled and waited for any sign of apology, but it never came. He meant it even though he knew how much such a simple statement would hurt you. You turned slowly and walked to the door.

'While I'm gone, at least have the common decency to change the sheets before you bring Alina in here' you shut it loudly behind you and heard the breaking of the glass, no doubt thrown at the door as you were leaving.

What a day.

Taglist

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess

Ok so idk if people can see this but I posted this like a week ago and apparently nobody seen it so here it is!!!!

Part 13

Here's my masterlist!!

[blitzosblog]

Baka - K•B - Part 2

Summary: After Bakugo's harsh words he does something to worsen the situation and it leaves the two in a state of unrest leading to a loving embrace Y/N didn't think she'd get.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader

Warning: Swearing and angst.

Rating:16+

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Part 1, Part 3

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I had been held up in my room all evening, I still hadn't eaten any food but to be honest I didn't care right now, I truned to look at the clock and it was midnight now to hopefully everyone was asleep. I got up nd made my way out the room looking around to make sure nobody was around, I looked down seeing a plate of food, picking it up I went to the common room and thrw it in the bin.

"You shouldn't throw that ya know!"

I jumped at the sudden voice, turning to see Bakugo sitting on the couch alone.

"I didn't want it" I replied going up to him and sitting next to him.

"What did I do?" I asked, my voice cracking, strained from crying so much, he looked at me, eyes softening skighlty.

"You- you didn't do anything damn it"

"Then why have you been so off today and mean to me, like you were at dinner"

He looked down clenching his fists tight, sighing and looking over to me.

"I want to be the best Y/N and there's two things in my way right now" he said.

"You know you don't have to worry about Deku and if the other is Todoroki or your lessons-" I began being cut off by the messy blonde.

"Its you, your the second problem and i- i can't have that" he spoke so sternly its like he didn't care at all.

"Wh-what do you mean, all I do is support you Suki, i-i come with you when you train, I fix you up, make you lunch so you eat that day-" I kept rambling cause I dint know what else to do.

"Exactly you're always there you're so clingy, to everyone, its like you need people to be around you all the time and I don't have time for it and you're a distraction." Again no emotion, its as though he felt nothing, where as I was breaking inside, everything felt like it was stinging with heartbreak and I couldn't move properly.

"I thought you loved me Suki" I whispered tears brimming my eyes. He shot up looking at me as if I'd killed someone.

"What! I do love you dumbass!" He shouted.

"Then why are you breaking up with me" I asked looking up at him teats now freely falling, his face hardened and he clenched his fists.

"I want to be number one and I can't have any distractions, so I'm sorry but this is over Y/N"

"But we love each other, I'll be less clingy I promise please!" I pleaded with him grabbing onto his hand,but he stood slipping away from me.

"If you don't get then I don't love you" he said, looking down at me once more before leaving to go to his own room, I sat there, numbness taking over, the thoughts of everyone finding me clingy and how I always needed people kept swimming round my head over and over again, that night I hadnt slept and I guess the best part of this was he'd done it on a Friday and the weekend had passed by with me held up in my room ignoring the knocking on my door, sleep didn't come then either but I didn't care, I just stat in bed thinking and thinking till Monday came round.

I dragged my self out of bed to class alone, walking in seeing everyone chatting amongst themselves bakugo sat at his desk whilst kirishima talked behind him, he looked like his usual grumpy self, I took my seat next to him silently, the sudden silence amongst the class told me everyone noticed me sit-down and they must have heard about the break up.

"Good morning Y/N-chan, you don't look to good!" Midoriya exclaimed receiving a smack from Denki, to be honest I must have looked ill, but what would one except, someone not sleeping for three nights, and staying cooped up in their room, with minimal food would look like crap too.

"Mm- thanks Izuku, you look great to"

He giggled, tmrubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Sorry, we heard about what happened, hope your doing okay" he said glancing over at Bakugo, I gave him a huff and turned back to work as Mr Aizawa came in to the lesson.

I noticed Bakugo glancing over every so often but I didn't really care much. Mr Aizawa ended up taking us outside into the sports field and we were meaning to be training our quirks.

We were doing one on ones, the limit being who got their opponent on their back first won.

First It was Deku and Tsu, then Uraraka and Momo, Deku and Momo won their round and next up it was me and Iida. My quirk was the ability to generate these beams similar to Tokoyami's dark shadow.

The fight was almost over I had Iida where I wanted him but the sleep deprivation was getting to me and the lack of food was also getting to me, my vision was blurry and I went to blast at Iida but he used his quirk and speed bast me causing me to tunr quickly and have my beam slash back into my head smacking me to the ground face first.

My vision was spotting as soon as I tried to stand and I could see Iida a running to me and heard Mr Aizawa saying we need Recovery girl.

Then everything went black.

[spallealmuro]

PUBLIC VS. NON-PUBLIC INFORMATION post-hisui / ingo comes back home edition

( pretty strongly tied to @sekizein​‘s emmet and our thread, but it can be adapted to be applicable to all cases~ )

PUBLIC INFO ( everyone knows, or it’s general common knowledge )

ingo is emmet’s twin brother; they used to run together the battle subway.

he suddenly disappeared; how it happened is still unknown. it has been common for many people to think he was dead.

just as suddenly, he reappeared on the tracks of the battle subway almost a year later ( 8 to 11 months ). his clothes were ripped and he seemed extremely confused and in distress.

since his reappearance, the battle subway is indefinitely closed.

SEMI-PUBLIC INFO ( infos that aren’t hidden, but not talked about openly, either. your muse might need to be a friend or an observant common frequenter of the subway to know these )

he suffers of amnesia. he seems to have forgotten many things about his life, but he still reacts instinctively at what he used to do ( like being able to find perfect balance while the train is moving ). it is NOT publicly known how strong his amnesia is.

he has scars on his hands and upper arms typical of poison contact; furthermore, since his return he instinctually isn’t afraid to approach poison-type pokémons and even pick them up, even when they are poisonous to the touch. while he isn’t immune to its effect, he seems to bear poison much better than common people. he can’t remember how he got the scars nor where his resistance to poison came from.

he has lost weight, to the point of being worringly underweight. he’s trying to put some kilos back, but he seems to eat very slow and with difficulty since his return, like he isn’t used to eat modern-kind of food anymore.

NON-PUBLIC INFO ( things ingo doesn’t talk about. these are info that only emmet knows; anyone else might require us talking about it )

apart from his name, he forgot everything and everyone, emmet included. furthermore, he also can’t remember where he’s been while gone.

he falls asleep with extreme difficulty, and when he does, his dreams are unrestful - he thinks that it’s some memory trying to resurface, but he isn’t sure.

when he can’t sleep, he tends to chat a lot with one of his pokémons, if they’re feeling awake enough. he does it in a whisper, to avoid waking up emmet, and usually makes questions about their life before he disappeared. he tries not to make too many of them at once, though, to not unsettle both his pokémons nor himself with how little he remembers.

he’s afraid of the dark - always been, but since his return it seems to have worsened a bit. if he’s in a dark place, he instinctively releases chandelure, and always keeps them out at night.