#so he continues to just have vague commander shape

[mordremrose]

I’m just gonna write a little thing! A little thought for Bloom, nothing too intense, just so I don’t forget it!

1000 words later? Whoops

Writing below the cut, major spoilers for the end of Heart of Thorns and implied End of Dragons spoilers but nothing explicit from EoD :]

Bloom

“Kill me, Commander.” Trahearne could hear his own voice tremble, as horror overtook his dear friend’s face. Around them all, their friends— Rytlock, Caithe, Canach, Marjory, Braham— were exhausted. Worn thin by the fight against the jungle dragon, both physical and within the Dream.

“What? No! Mordremoth is dead. We destroyed its mind from the inside.” The commander protested, their fingers curled around the hilt of Caladbolg.

“But I still hear its voice.” Trahearne looked down at his hands, twisted and blighted as they were. His body was not his— he was corrupted. It was only cruel fate that he had kept his mind this long. Or perhaps something more sinister.

“Mordremoth is alive. One last hateful vestige… a terrible seed, planted deep in my mind.”

Trahearne’s hands curled into fist, as he took a deep steadying breath.

“You must kill me, Commander, before that seed grows. Before… before Mordremoth reclaims what it has lost.”

He reached out now, hands on his friend’s shoulders. The tears streaming down their face broke his heart. He did not want this. He didn’t want to hurt them, to see them suffer so.

Trahearne wished there was another way.

“What is left of me can’t survive on its own, my friend.” He croaked, and felt the Commander tremble beneath his hands. Were they always so small?

“Strike now or—“

Against his will, a rage rose up. A sick bile that boiled in his stomach and burned through his chest as his mind lurched.

Through his mouth, Mordremoth spoke.

“I am the future! I am this world! You cannot destroy me!” The dragon roared, hands tightening around the commander.

“Run while you can!” It took everything he had left to force his fingers to uncurl, to release the commander even as the dragon wanted to tear them to shreds to be remade anew.

Caladbolg flashed in the corner of his eye.

“No!” The commander yelled. Strike true my friend! Trahearne wanted to yell. But he couldn’t, and his mind went dark.

There was no great explosion. There was no dying scream.

If you asked those present what happened, none of them gave any concrete answer.

Canach hesitated to answer, but would confirm that Mordremoth was no longer hounding his mind, or any of the sylvari.

All Rytlock would say was that the confrontation wasn’t pretty.

Caithe mourned Trahearne, in her quiet and melancholic manner, and asked not to push the matter further.

Braham would scowl, shake his head, and shove his way past, unwilling or perhaps unable to describe that final blow.

Marjory Delaqua, normally so elegant and clever with her words, who could see the twists of a plot before anyone else— when she was asked, she could only shake her head and reply ‘I don’t know’.

The Commander didn’t answer at all, because no one was able to find them to ask.

Eventually, researchers at the newly established lab of Rata Novus confirmed what the entire world held its breath to hear.

Mordremoth was dead. He had to be, to explain the slow steady trickle of magic escaping the jungle, supposedly as the dragon… decayed wasn’t the right word, but it conveyed the idea well enough. It was a slow death, they said, not quite the explosive reaction from Zhaitan, who had gorged itself on magic before its death, but a gradual decay. It changed things, about magic, about how the people of Tyria and the soon to be established Dragon’s Watch understood the flow of magic around and through the Elder Dragons. But it was dead.

It had to be.

He woke up. His body ached, as it always did, as he woke. A consequence of being too bigsmall. He stirred slowly, limbs stretching out and tail dragging behind. He had buried himself beneath massive vines this time, the weight of them both familiar and restricting. These conflicting sensations, the constant disagreement with himself… it was the only thing he could rely on. Even his name escaped his memory, although he could hear whispers of it on the edges of his mind.

Traherdremaneth.

It didn’t matter, really.

He moved slowly, not truly wanting to rise, but knowing he must.

He was something in between, and there was no stillness for him. No place of his own.

His one companion, if you could call it that, would be upon him soon. A dogged purserer, both a thorn in his side and a trusted ally, trailed behind him. For a time he thought they left him— and the feelings that had wrought left him stationary in a deep cave for nearly a week before they had reappeared.

He didn’t want them close, he knew that much, but they were one of the few things he had, a consistency. He couldn’t see them well, not with the distance between them, but he could always make out the broken blade at their hip. The one that made the scar across his chest ache.

He wondered what would happen if he let them get closer. Would they strike? Would they know him?

They were his enemyfriend. What would they make of him? Caution kept him at a distance from them.

The longer he was awake, the more memories he could half-remember.

The Orrian landscape stretches out before him and it reeks of his sibling, twisting beneath the dirt. The undead don’t notice him, not yet, and he can take a moment to look closer at the coral. It was neither alive nor dead. Not unlike himself and yet so different to him or anything he had ever encountered before.

He missed his siblings, their quiet talks among the then empty roots, among safe coils with their constant presence around him. They were too distant to feel or simply gone now and it unnerved him. This was wrong. Perhaps they could help him make it right.

There was one other thing, other than his sort-of companion and his unsteady roiling mind, that remained constant. And this was the true constant. A steady beacon, that he could not see or hear, but simply felt in a way that he could not describe. A magnetic sort of pull that had him orbiting closer and closer.

It drew him in, out of the depths and dark underbelly of the jungle and the cave systems, towards the strange golden stones, the elegant walls meant to keep out creatures that wished to destroy the beacon. He was not welcome there, not yet, even though he meant no harm. He just needed to be closer.

He didn’t know how he knew that. He just knew it.

[vodika-vibes]

Oooooh picture this—Cody or Wolffe (or any other gloriously sexy clone really 😏) with “If you want me, you have to want all of me” from your want prompts. (Your writing’s just too 🤌✨)

All Of Me

Summary: A light conversation between you and Cody, changes your relationship forever.

Pairing: Commander Cody x Reader

Word Count: 1327

Warnings: Fluff. This is essentially a fic where everything is aftercare.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: So, it took me a hot minute to come up with an idea that actually worked for this prompt, but I'm really happy with this. I'm a little worried that Cody's not in character, but it is what it is at this point.

Divider by Saradika

You and Cody have been friends for well over a year, and friends with benefits for about half that time. And you’ve known from the first time he fell into your bed that this was going to end poorly for you.

After all, you’re fairly certain Cody only sees you as a friend he can fuck when the urge strikes him…and you see him as a lover.

Of course, you’ve never said anything about it. The last thing you want to do is ruin the one good thing you have going on in your life.

Right now, you’re laying on your stomach in your bed, your head is resting on your folded arms, and Cody is leaning over you, his lips trailing down your spine, lavishing the various marks he’s left on your body with gentle touches of his lips.

He slides the blanket a little further down, so it’s resting somewhere around your knees, and you shiver at the chill of the room. You feel him chuckle, and he continues his lazy path down your body.

“Have you kissed everything better yet?” You ask lightly, your eyes closing as you relax into your mattress.

He hums thoughtfully, and you feel his lips, feather light, against your thigh, “Just about,” He teases, his voice is low and content. And then he clicks his tongue, and his fingers brush against your thigh.

“What’s wrong?”

“I left a bruise.” He pauses, and then he sighs, “Several bruises.”

“How’s that different from all of the other bruises you left me with?” You ask without opening your eyes.

He huffs out a laugh and his fingers trail up your spine, “Those were intentional. This isn’t.”

You hum thoughtfully, you don’t mind the bruises, but you also know that he does. So you gesture vaguely to the bedside table on the other side of the bed, “There’s bacta gel in the bottom drawer.”

You feel the bed dip as he moves, and you hear the sound of a drawer opening and then sliding shut, “Why do you keep bacta in your bedside table, princess?” His voice is very even, “You have other guys who are rougher with you?” There’s something strange in his voice, but you’re too blissed out to think about it too deeply.

You release a muffled laugh, “I barely have time for you, Cody.”

“You work too much,” He grumbles in response.

“Pot meet kettle,” You reply.

“Yeah, yeah.” He lightly pats your rear, “Spread your legs for me, angel.”

You sigh, as though he’s asking an impossible thing from you, but spread your legs for him, and you yelp when you feel the cool gel against your skin, “You could have at least warmed it up.” You grumble.

He chuckles, “Could have, didn’t.” He’s quiet for a moment, as he slowly covers the hand shaped bruises on your thighs, “You never did say why you keep bacta in your bedside table.” He says after a moment.

You sigh softly and you open your eyes, “You get grumpy when you bruise me by mistake.” 

His fingers pause on your thigh, “You bought this for me?”

“You can’t be that surprised,” You reply, “I also have civilian clothes for you in my dresser, an entire drawer in my bathroom for your bodywash and shampoo and razors, and I buy food that I don’t really like, but you do.”

Cody doesn’t reply, but his fingers continue rubbing the bacta into your thighs after a moment, so you close your eyes again, and relax under his touch. 

And then you hear the sound of the bacta bottle closing and the bottle lands on the bed only a little bit away from you. Cody’s hands slide up your body, his hands firm and it feels a little like a massage, so you release a happy sigh, “Am I getting a massage, Cody?”

“Maybe, in a bit.” His voice is low as his warm hands move up your back and rub soothing circles just under your shoulder blades, “I need you to roll over for me, baby.”

He lightly grips your shoulder and helps you roll over onto your back, and you peer up at him. There’s a strange look on his face, and you can’t help but to reach up and lightly trail a finger over the scar around his eye. “What’s wrong?”

Cody leans into your touch, and he turns his head to kiss the palm of your hand, his gaze is locked with yours, and he seems to be searching your face for something.

“Cyare,” He murmurs, “Are we dating?”

You blink at him, slowly, “Technically, no.” You reply after a thoughtful moment, “We don’t go out on dates.”

“We could,” Cody offers, in return.

“We could.” You agree, your fingers gentle against his cheek, “Is that what you want? For me to be your girlfriend?”

Cody lightly cups your cheek, “What about what you want?” He asks.

You shake your head and then lean into his touch, “I will accept whatever you want to give me, Cody.” You reassure quietly, “but you…you’ve had so little choice in your life. So in this, I’ll follow your lead regardless of what you choose.”

He stares at you for a moment, “That doesn’t seem fair to you.” He finally says.

And you laugh, “That’s alright. We can make it fair.”

Cody’s fingers trail against your cheek for a moment, “I want you.” His voice is soft, and there’s something serious in his gaze.

You smile up at him, and when you speak, your voice is gentle, “If you want me, you have to want all of me.” You lean up just enough to ghost your lips against his jaw, “Not just my body, Cody.”

He tilts his head and catches your lips with his, “Your body is amazing, cyare.” Cody says against your lips, “But I’m just as attracted to every other aspect of you.” He kisses you again, and again.

You sink back against your pillow, and Cody settles himself on the mattress next to you on his stomach, “How fortunate,” You murmur as you roll onto your side and press a kiss to his shoulder, “that I want the same thing.”

He smiles at you, “I had a feeling you might,” Cody’s grin widens, “Still, it’s nice to hear it.” 

You laugh and kiss his shoulder again, “Well, I’m happy to prove you right.”

Cody rolls onto his side, and pulls you against him, his arm snug around your waist, “Do you want to go and get breakfast?” He asks.

“It’s nearing noon, love.”

“A lunch date then.” He corrects smoothly, “I have to meet with General Kenobi at 2…but I doubt he’ll mind if I bring you along. And we can go to the botanical gardens when I finish that.”

You bring your fingers up to caress his cheeks, “That sounds absolutely amazing.” You whisper, “But I need to shower if I’m expected to go out in public.”

He hums, and kisses the tip of your nose, “Want company?”

“Can you keep your hands to yourself?” You ask with a knowing smile.

“Absolutely not.”

You laugh softly, “As it happens, I would love the company.”

He kisses you softly, sweetly, “Go ahead and start the shower, I’ll be right behind you.”

You sigh and kiss him one more time, a long, lingering kiss that has his arm tightening around you, and then you slip out of his grip and roll off the bed, “You still owe me a massage,” You announce before you step into the fresher.

“When we get back, cyare.” Cody replies as he sits up and grabs his comm off the side table.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

He shoots you a painfully fond smile, “I know you will.” And then the fresher door slides shut. Cody sends a quick message, and then he tosses his comm back on the table and climbs out of bed himself.

[beansprean]

Waiting on Mr. Right

My Exchangeapalooza gift for @jay-auris !! See it HERE on A03 and check out all the other fabulous entries HERE!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID page 1: 1. Interior of a bar, romantically lit, and covered in heart balloons, heart and cupid decorations, heart shaped light strings, and various small round tables with two chairs each. The tables are occupied with male/female couples in mid conversation. A waitress dressed in black jeans, black button up, and a white apron around her waist walks through with a tray. In the foreground is the corner of the bar counter, which has a small sign advertising 'Valentine's Day Speed Dating' On February 13 between 7pm and 10pm. A little cupid cartoon is pictured on the sign saying 'Every time a bell rings, ladies move on to your next date!' At the bottom, it says 'Find your Valentine! (before it's too late)'. 2a. Close up of Nandor on a salmon background lighter at the top and darker at the bottom, dressed up in his finest red and gold fur trimmed coat, sitting at one of the small tables, hands folded in front of him. He stares expectantly forward and says, 'I am glad to hear your parents are dead; I never liked any of my previous 37 wives' parents. 2b. Reverse shot of a middle aged black woman in a red turtleneck sitting across from him, arms crossed with an uncomfortable expression as she stares back at him with no response. 2c. A brown hand in a dark beige suit sleeve rings a small golden bell. 3a. Close up of Nandor, leaning over the table with his fingers pressed together, presenting his date with a lascivious smile. He says, 'How many times a day do you expect cunnilingus?' 3b. Reverse shot of a white middle aged redhead across from him, dressed in a mauve v neck sweater and nervously avoiding eye contact while gulping a glass of white wine. 3c. A brown hand in a dark beige suit sleeve rings a small golden bell. 4a. Close up of Nandor, smiling sweetly with his hands folded in his lap as he says 'Without a word spoken between us, I find myself falling deeply in love. Do you feel this also?' 4b. Reverse shot of a middle aged southeastern Asian woman with a bob and large glasses. She still has her coat in her arms and hasn't even slipped her bag off her shoulder, and there is an untouched menu in front of her. With an expression of vague disgust, she replies'...No.' 4c. Reverse shot as the woman gets up to leave, Nandor planting his fists on the table and calling out 'Hey, the bell has not rung yet!' 5. Close up of Nandor as he crosses his arms and clicks his tongue, mumbling angrily to himself 'Clearly she has no idea how dating works.' A waiter reaches into frame to grab the abandoned menu and snorts in response. 6. Zoom out as Nandor jerks his head around to whine, affronted, at the waiter, 'Ayy, what, waiter-man? Where is the joke?' The waiter, who appears to be Guillermo wearing a black button down, black pants and a white apron around his waist, holds the menu up with both hands to shield his face, replying 'Sorry, sorry! Nothing!' /end page 1

ID page 2: 1. As Guillermo hides behind the menu, Nandor holds his hand up in a useless hypnosis gesture and barks 'I am Nandor the Relentless and I command you to tell me!' 2. Close up of Guillermo as he peeks cautiously over the top of the menu. Offscreen, Nandor continues, 'You are seeing so many people here have success...' 3. Close up of Nandor looking pleadingly upward as he says 'What am I doing wrong?' 4. Guillermo fully lowers the menu with a cautious smile, replying 'I mean...I guess you come on a little strong?' 5. Wide shot of them both. Nandor makes an affronted expression and curls one arm up to show off his bicep, gesturing to it with his other hand. He says, 'I am strong! I am very strong! Do modern women no longer admire strength?' Guillermo, holding the menu under one arm, holds up both hands in a soothing gesture and responds frantically 'Nonono, for sure! I just meant that you're acting really intense right off the bat!' 6. Close up on Nandor with a thoughtful hand on his chin as Guillermo continues offscreen: 'Talking love and marriage...it's too soon for a first date.' Nandor: 'Ahh... This is more third date talk?' There is a small reaction shot of Guillermo looking exasperated but resigned as he reluctantly agrees: '...Sure.' 7. Close up on Guillermo as Nandor asks offscreen: 'So what is first date talk?' Guillermo replies, counting off on his fingers, 'Well, it depends on the person, but generally... Get-to-know-you questions? Like where did you grow up, how many siblings do you have, that kind of stuff.' 8. Close up on Nandor as he turns his face away to glare into the middle distance, a sudden shadow melting half his face into darkness as he says 'I grew up in the faraway kingdom of Al Qolnidar, which no longer exists, and I had seven siblings, all of whom are now dead.' There is a small reaction shot of Guillermo looking shocked and cornered, unsure how to respond to all that. 9. Wide shot from Nandor's other side as he raises his eyebrows guilelessly and gestures to Guillermo with a hand, prompting, 'And then you answer?' Guillermo jolts in place, surprised to be placed in the date's role, and replies 'Oh, yeah, uh. Your date would answer, too. Um. I grew up here in the Bronx and I'm an only child.' 10. Repeat. Nandor and Guillermo both stare expectantly at the other. 11. Repeat. Nandor drops his gaze with a frown, eyes hooding, and grunts 'Hm. This is very boring, waiter-man.' Guillermo, flustered and irritated, throws his arms out in a helpless gesture and snaps 'Well, you have to actually engage in the conversation! Ask follow-up questions! And it's Guillermo!' Nandor says, uninterested, 'What is.' /end page 2

ID page 3: 1a. Close up on Guillermo on a bubbly pink background as he points a finger sternly and states 'My name! It's Guillermo.' 1b. Reverse shot of Nandor looking up at him, almost dazed, cheeks flushed a bit purple as he echoes 'Guillermo...' 1c. Reverse shot of Guillermo as he withdraws his hand to curl it protectively against his chest. He looks a bit taken aback by the reaction, cheeks gone a ruddy pink. 2. Wide shot of them both on a red-violet background crisscrossed with multicolored lights. Guillermo looks away from Nandor nervously, blushing and sweaty, patting his free hand anxiously on the menu held under his arm. He stutters out, 'I, uh. Anyway, I gotta-' Nandor, leaning his head on his hand and gazing at Guillermo with a besotted expression, interrupts, saying 'You are very wise in the ways of dating, Guillermo.' He puts extra emphasis on the name. 3. Close up on Guillermo as Nandor continues: 'You have been on many dates?' Guillermo fidgets, still looking away, and mumbles back 'Not, not like a lot, no. Not like a large amount. Like a normal amount, probably.' 4. Wide shot as Nandor lifts his head and leans closer with a small smile, asking 'And how do your suitors woo you? If they are asking you on a second date?' Guillermo is startled into making eye contact and goes red, clutching the menu to his chest with both hands as he sweats nervously. 5. Repeat. Nandor leans even closer, smile widening into something more flirtatious as Guillermo stiffens and looks away again, somehow getting even redder as his shaky mouth pulls into an uncertain grin. Guillermo stutters out, 'I mean...assuming the first date went well...um...' 6. Close up on Guillermo, smiling nervously even as he avoids eye contact. He says, 'I guess he might...get me flowers?' 7. Close up on Nandor on a bubbly peach background from Guillermo's POV, looking up patiently as he listens. Guillermo continues offscreen: 'He'd...tell me how much he enjoys my company, or...pay me a genuine compliment.' 8. Close up on Guillermo on a bubbly peach background from Nandor's POV, his smile softened and eyes far away as he continues: 'And...whisk me off somewhere fun. Somewhere new. Somewhere we could...stumble in to an adventure together. Away from everything else. And we'd stay up all night because we just...didn't want it to end.' /end page 3

ID page 4: 1. Close up on Guillermo's hand, crossed over his opposite arm, as Nandor nudges his fingers underneath to free his grip. Nandor starts softly, 'And...' 2. Wide shot on a bubbly pink background. Nandor has taken Guillermo's hand and is holding it like a knight would a lady, gazing down at it softly as if readying to kiss it. He continues, '...how many of your suitors have done this for you?' Guillermo, dazed, gazes down at their hands and replies '...I... I don't think anyone would...' 3. The plain green background wall slams back into view as a bell rings offscreen. Wide-eyed and red-faced, Guillermo snatches his hand away from Nandor and flings it upward as if tossing the moment over his shoulder. Nandor is left frozen, hand in the air, eyes wide in shock. 4. Repeat. Guillermo begins to back away from the table, tossed arm coming around to rub at the back of his neck. He looks up and away, sweating , red, and awkward as he chokes out a loud forced laugh and says 'Well, that definitely counts as coming on too strong. Terrible advice, don't do that.' Nandor leans after him, hand hovering in midair, squeaking out 'A-' 5. Repeat. Without letting Nandor finish, Guillermo disappears out of frame with a hasty 'Ok bye good luck!', leaving Nandor saying nothing but question marks, hand still frozen in the air as if reaching out after him. In the foreground, a woman with long brown hair and a dark pink sweater steps into view to take the seat in front of Nandor. 6. Slight zoom, the background returning to the light and dark salmon as Nandor settles back into his seat. The woman across from him, out of focus in shadow, says 'Hi, I'm Kjersten! Um...that's a really interesting outfit...' Nandor doesn't appear to be listening and is staring after Guillermo thoughtfully, a Mona Lisa curl to his lips. /end page 4

ID page 5: 1. Low angle of an alleyway, fenced at the rear and surrounded by tall buildings in multiple vague colors with some spray painted areas. Snow is piled up on either side of the center path against the sidewalk. In the foreground, there is a dumpster. A pink text box at the top reads February 14, 12:07 am. Halfway down the alley, a door opens and Guillermo steps halfway out, missing his apron but having added a coat, carrying a full garbage bag. A voice from inside calls, 'Guillermo, you can head out when you're done, okay?' Guillermo's breath steams into the air as he turns back to the door to respond: 'You sure? The dishes are-' The voice interrupts him with 'Sí, es El Día Dr Amor y Amistad! (In English: Yes, it's Valentines Day) Go sow your oats! You're too young to be working so much.' Guillermo replies without enthusiasm, 'Ha...yeah. Thanks, Teresa, have a good night.' 2. View from behind as Guillermo pulls the lid of the dumpster up with one hand and throws the bag in with the other. He sighs and mutters to himself, 'My oats are just gonna go home and watch Buffy...' 3. There is a clatter in the alley behind him and Guillermo spins around to face the viewer, startled and tense. 4. Extreme close up on Guillermo jerking back in shock as a wad of dandelions are suddenly thrust into his face. A voice offscreen calls 'Guillermo!' happily. 4. Zoom out as Nandor, now with a black and gold cloak dusted with snow over his finery, kneels down in front of Guillermo, arm outstretched to keep the dandelions pushing at his chin. Guillermo, pink and flustered and very confused, takes a step back and splutters 'Nandor?! The- the relentless?' Nandor ignores his reaction and announces, 'Here are some flowers!' 5a. Close up on Nandor as he looks up at Guillermo, dandelions thrust into the foreground and his hair and shoulders dotted with snow as if he had been waiting for some time. He proceeds, clearly rehearsed, 'I very much enjoyed your company tonight as well as the sight of your charming boyish face and plump behind!' His voice is demanding but his expression, eyes shining upwards and cheeks flushed purple, betrays his nerves despite the confident set to his brow. 5b. Reverse shot of Guillermo, staring down at him slack-jawed with wide shiny eyes and pink cheeks, the dandelions still hovering up by his face. Offscreen, Nandor asks 'Have you ever been to Staten Island?' Guillermo responds 'No...' on autopilot. Nandor concludes, 'Then that is where I will be whisking you for our date!' 6. Full body shot, the alleyway back in focus and showing an empty snow-lined street on the other side, a single window just above Guillermo's head lit up from within. Nandor finally stands up and rubs at his chin with a worried expression, dandelions clutched in the other. He says, 'I've heard tales of an all-night bowling alley, but my housemates never want to go with me.' Meanwhile Guillermo, frozen beside him with his hands hovering in mid-air, lets his brain catch up with what's happening. He stares into the middle distance as equations float around his head and his breath fogs into the air. Above, it begins to gently snow. 7. Close up of Guillermo, knocked out of his trace by a gentle prompting from Nandor offscreen: 'So...?' An EKG line skips a beat in the background as he startles and looks up, eyes shining and lips pressed together in a frown. 8. Reverse shot of Nandor, looking very nervous now as he stares back hopefully, holding out the bouquet of dirty dandelions one more time. /end page 5

ID page 6: 1. Close up of Guillermo on a bubbly pink background. He smiles genuinely, red-cheeked, and reaches out to take the dandelions from Nandor's hand. He says, 'Okay...' 2. Medium shot of the two in profile. Nandor, still holding the flowers as Guillermo tucks his hand inside his grip to take them, looks down at Guillermo in shock and echoes 'Okay?!' Guillermo looks up at him with a shy smile and clarifies, 'Yeah. Yes.' 3. Nandor drops his hand and straightens up, a giant silly ecstatic grin taking over his face. Guillermo turns back toward the building and points behind him with his free hand, the other now clutching the dandelions. He says, 'Just let me clock out an-' 4. A close up of Guillermo, blurred diagonally with sudden motion. The only thing clearly visible are his wife eyes, frozen grin, and a little white question mark. 5. Knees up of Nandor, now holding a startled Guillermo in a bridal carry, on a red background lined with glowing neon pink hearts. Grinning wildly down at his date, Nandor announces, 'Prepare to be whisked, Guillermo!!' Guillermo sits there wide-eyed, clutching his little wad of flowers to his chest and somehow finding his other arm looped around Nandor's neck. He stutters frantically, 'Wai- wait, Nandor, you don't have to-' 6. The background warps upward as Nandor shoots them both upward into the sky, flying them both right out of the panel. Guillermo's last word is stretched out in a startled 'OOOOOO??!' as they take off, a single dandelion escaping his grip and drifting back toward the ground. 7. Wide shot of the night sky, dark purple with bursts of white clouds and speedily increasing snowfall, lit by a clear full moon. Nandor and Guillermo fly through, Nandor smiling in a pleased way and clutching Guillermo tightly as he watches their ascent. Guillermo, both arms now around Nandor's neck and more flowers slipping from his grip into the night, stares up at him with awe. He thinks to himself, 'This is the best night of my life...' Behind them, the words 'the end' are carved into the moon. /End ID

[laurasimonsdaughter]

What if Disney adapted The Goose Girl?

I think Disney could pull off a Goose Girl animation with very few alterations!

A beautiful princess (with only one parent and a magical horse sidekick) travels to meet her one true love royal fiancé the Prince, but is forced to change places with her deceitful chambermaid who marries the Prince instead while the Princess is forced to become a humble goose girl. Until, of course, the truth is uncovered and true love wins. That's very Disney! There are even songs (well, verses) in the orignal fairy tale already!

They could give the Goose Girl Cinderella energy:

And the false Chambermaid big Vanessa energy:

For the full Disney treatment, I'd expect these changes though:

The Princess and the Prince have a prior meeting somehow, so it's not 'just' an arranged marriage but counts as love at first sight. Probably the Prince comes across her, but not her chambermaid, while they are near the palace. They speak, but he does not know who she is

Falada the talking horse does get killed (Disney doesn't mind animal death) but having a decapitated horsehead still talking to the heroine is too gruesome, so instead Falada's presence continues as her (singing) voice on the wind and the wind occasionally taking a vague horse shape to comfort or help the Princess

For instance when the Goose Girl Princess asks the wind to steal little Conrad's hat so she can brush and braid her hair in peace. She's not commanding the elements with unexplained magic, she's simply calling on Falada

To give the Prince a bit more agency he should probably be very unhappy when he meets his bride and even more unhappy when he notices the new Goose Girl is the girl he fell in love with at first sight

Unlike in the original the Prince and the False Bride do not get married yet, the plot is uncovered just in time to stop their wedding, needing an annulment is very un-Disney

In the original the old king uncovers the truth, but that's not very romantic, so it should probably be the Prince himself. OR it is his father who reveals to him he is engaged to a false bride, and the prince is overjoyed and begs to be allowed to marry the Goose Girl he has fallen in love with instead, before he even knows she is the true Princess

Of course the false bride cannot be put in a barrel studded with nails and dragged through the streets until death, so instead she will flee in a carriage when her lies are exposed but the wind will spook the horses and the carriage (not the horses) will go off a cliff

There! I think that would have been a fine companion to Sleeping Beauty and the Little Mermaid

[thephloxbayou]

I've watched the videos. I can handle watching such horrible things a lot better than other friends who do care very much about the situation (saying generally, ie Floyd and others I did the same) and i can be the buffer to confirm information. It helps me fight back against other white people who spout Fox bullshit when I can be very specific and have seen the footage. I also feel it is solidarity rather than making a spectacle, I am aware this is what many people LIVE with and it is often kept from my eyes.

A short rundown of points in the video for people who can't watch:

Dashcam footage was mentioned before as being part of what would be released, but I have not seen it released. However they are now saying with "available footage" that they "cannot substantiate " the reckless driving claim.

We do however see the officers pull up to him via body cam, and immediately start shouting threats to his life and pull him out of the car. For a supposed traffic stop. He is at a red light with a turn signal. He is calm. Frightened, but being as calm as he possibly can to deescalate them.

They constantly through the video give commands he cannot follow due to their restraint or positioning, i.e. one officer demanding his hands while another is holding his other arm away, telling him to lay on his stomach when they have both arms under their control, a tazer pressed to his leg as a threat, and are standing in front of his body, which would make rolling over very awkward (he is laying on his side)

He gets a chance as they force him to roll over and runs. For anyone arguing this, I will make it clear he was never aggressive, was calm, doing his best to be obedient, and these cops were VERY escalated for no reason. If you thought cops were going to beat the shit out of you ever, that moment was definitely it.

Let me also note it is now known most of these cops were from a special unit meant to _descalate police violence_

The videos I have seen so far only show one cop pulling up. The rest are all at this point, after he has run, as they pull up on him being restrained

Most if not all of these cops seem really fucking out of shape and pissed they "had" to run/struggle with him. Many are out of breath and leaning over, hands on knees, as they take turns beating Tyre. Also that they pepper sprayed him and got it in their own eyes.

The pole cam footage is extremely clear. Cops hold him up by the arms as another wails on him. Another whips out his baton (again, while this man is restrained) and starts beating him. Some run up and kick him while he is on the ground. If you took a movie of a hero being tortured by the bad guys, the setup was just like that. No ambiguity or mess of bodies. Just very clearly holding him for someone else to beat him.

Most of his movement is response to being repeatedly maced, like flinching, curling up, or reaching for his face. They act like these are escape attempts and reason to continue to "restrain" him.

He is often in a position in which he is restrained and cannot run. There is no escape or need to subdue, yet they continue.

When he is beaten to the point of being unable to react anyone, they mill around, talking about how much their knees hurt or are out of breath. Two fist bump. More officers are on scene by now, all just milling about casually. They walk over and observe him with flashlights, but not in an observation manner concerned about wellbeing (this sounds vague but the distance/body posture on the video is very clear on it).

He is mumbling and slurring due to injury. They say loudly, for the benefit of the new cops, that he is as high as a kite a few times. There is no mention of him being high until he is slurring, and no slurring until he has been heavily beaten. He is coherent and clear up until then.

It's all fuckin horrible and disturbingly casual. But we've seen it plenty of times if only from one camera angle, and this, currently, has 4. They say it's not normal police conduct because they can't talk around the proof, when we all know it is. I don't know what else to say here.

[rbbrbikerthorp]

Kidnapped Pt. 7 (Fully Transformed Into A Gay Skin - Mature)

[This is the final part of the story of how I was kidnapped and turned into a skinhead - something I’d wanted since I was a teen. There is skinhead sex appear in latter part of this chapter].

In the next door room my wife could see a naked man, with a shaved head, tattoos, piercings and a chastity cage...

In walked a big, burly, hunk of a man, maybe two or three years older than myself. If I had to conjure up my fantasy skinhead, he’d look a lot like this alpha-male. He was a good six inches taller than me and weighed in at least 14 stone. That said, he was in great shape. His head was shaved, one arm was completely covered in tattoos, but the other only had ink on his bicep. He was wearing a white t-shirt, on top of which were red braces clipped onto a pair of tight bleachers. He wore the shiniest black boots, with steel toe-caps and white laces.

He gazed at me with his commanding blue-grey eyes; I could see something, long and heavy was already swelling in his bleachers. The skinhead extended his hand. I took it and he continued to hold it as our eyes met. “I’m Dom, It’s a pleasure to finally have you, boi, a pleasure,” he grinned. “Ever since BoSS told me he’d captured an office drone, I’ve been following your progress over the last few weeks. Now we get to meet. Now you become mine."

His grip sent a bolt of sexual electricity through me. I realised my mouth had gone dry and my heart was suddenly pounding. At that moment this brute of a skinhead could do anything he wants to me. He reached out with his other arm and pulled me into an embrace. Then, as though they had a will of their own, my hands began to run up his thighs, squeezing his ass cheeks and around his back.

I turned my face toward Dom and his lips brushed mine, once, twice, then our mouths locked together. He grabbed hold of me so I could not retreat – not that I wanted to - this was the best thing that had happened to me. I parted my lips and his tongue thrust between my teeth and explored my tongue. I could taste traces of cigarettes and beer. I loved it.

“Get on your knees boi.” I did as I was told. I hadn’t noticed that other people had entered the room.

“Have you ever licked a skinhead’s boots?

I shook my head from side-to-side.

Well, there’s a first time for everything. Now lick my boots”.

I’d seen videos and looked at pictures online, so I had a vague idea of what I had to do. I’d always dreamed of being on my knees licking a powerful skinhead worshiping his boots. Here I was about to do just that. I looked up at Dom, he nodded.

“Go ahead boi. I wanna be able to feel your pierced tongue.”

A shiver went down my spine the moment my tongue came into contact with the leather. Next thing I know I hear a screeching voice I recognised only too well.

“What have you done to yourself? What the effin’ hell are you doing? This is so effin’ humiliating!"

I paused what I was doing and turned my head, and confirmed that my soon-to-be ex-wife was now in the room.

“Ignore her boi! Get back to my boots.”

The taste of the leather on Dom’s boots was having an effect on my imprisoned manhood. I carried on worshipping this brute of a skinhead’s boots.  

Once I’d got to the top of the first boot, Dom spoke, “Not bad for a first time boi” Dom smiled and nudged my head over to the other one. Straight away I began licking as hard as I could. I was pretty sure the snivelling i could hear was my wife, but I didn’t care. In that moment all I wanted to do was please Dom by showing how much I worshipped his boots. Only when he was satisfied with my efforts, did he speak again.

“Good. But for a newbie you’ve done well. You’ll get better. Now, stay on your knees boi.” I did as I was told. “Have you ever sucked a man off?”

“No sir,” I replied.

"I think this really is going to be a day of ‘firsts’ for you. I want you to suck me.”

I unbuttoned Dom’s bleachers and realised he wasn’t wearing any underwear. I grabbed Dom’s swollen meat in my hand but hesitated for a moment. Bootlicking was one thing, but this would be crossing a line that once traversed I couldn’t come back from. I now realised the videos shown to me had included clear instructions on how to give a man pleasure but this would be the first time I put my training into practice. I could sense a tension in the air, which I presumed was my wife. I didn’t look up, I stayed focussed on the task ahead of me.

“You know you want it, go on, suck it boi,” Dom was ordering me to suck him, off.

I moved forward until my lips touched the mushroom-shaped head. I opened my mouth so that my tongue could show its appreciation for Dom’s man-meat. It was smooth and was already glistening. The first taste this beast of a man sent another shiver down my spine, and once again I could sense my own manhood’s confinement. I understood the cage was there to keep me focussed on what I was doing and my place as a skinhead apprentice. I opened my mouth and slowly drew in as much of Dom as I could.

“God, that’s gross,” I heard my wife shriek across the room. “I’ve never seen anything so disgusting. You’re such a queer. No real man would suck another man off.”

I didn’t care what she had to say, she was irrelevant. As long as Dom approved, that’s all that mattered to me. I felt his body tense and a deep grunt escaped his throat. His pleasure thrilled me. I began to move my head up and down, sometimes pulling off him to swirl my tongue around the outside.

“Hold it there. You’re... a natural, skinboi...keep going” Dom gasped. His words filled me with a new kind of joy, the joy a man feels when he discovers he can please another man. This confirmed what I’d secretly known for years: I'm gay, and at that moment I couldn’t have been happier.

My wife cut in, “what have you done? You look like some freak show, shaved, a ring in your nose, covered in tattoos. I’ve been crying myself to sleep at night, sick with worry. Here you are sucking another man off. You bastard,” she cried.

I could sense she was trembling, full of anger. I simply had nothing to say, the little voice in my head was telling me how I’d screwed up but Dom broke into my thoughts. “Don’t worry. You’re a gay skinhead. Ignore her boi. Women do nothing for you anymore. Those last six words were a game changer. And at moment I was praying that would come next would be intimate with this man - my imagination was going wild.

And I knew was right - all the time I’d been sucking him off, I’d felt increased pressure in my cage, but when my wife spoke I’d gone limp as a shrimp. Turning to my wife, Dom continued, “now over the last few weeks my new boi or your former husband (if you prefer) has been transformed into the skinhead he always wanted to be. I’ve been looking for a skin boi for a few months, since my last relationship ended. I fancied your husband the moment I found out he’d been taken.”

I smiled at Dom, this skinhead wanted me. This is what I’d wanted all my life.

“We’re twenty years married”, she yelped, sobbing away.

Before I could speak, Dom interjected, “you were married, but he’s divorcing you. Don’t worry your ex-husband will see you right. Boi, get over there and lie down.” He pointed over to a bed covered in rubber sheets.

I obeyed. Dom straddled my chest and his bulk trapped me as his huge member waved in front of my eyes.  I could not have moved him off me if I had tried.

I looked over to see my wife walking towards the door.

“You’re not going anywhere sweetheart. You’re going to see Dom turn out your husband,” the skinhead captor said, sniggering.

The skinhead then threw something over to Dom. It was a key. Dom then opened the padlock on my cage and removed it. He touched my pole for the first time; holding it gently. Dom then did something I’d begged my wife to do. Despite dozens of requests, she simply refused every time. I could hear my wife sobbing again, as I looked over I could see she had her head in her hands. My skinhead captor, spoke to her again, “you’re going to watch this.”

Dom grabbed a tube that was at the side of the bed, I knew what was coming next. “Relax boi,” Dom instructed, “you’re going to want me to do this to you over and over again. I willed myself to relax. I felt my muscles relax. He started a gentle motion, slowly stretching me. I’d never felt like this with my wife or any woman for that matter. I looked at Dom and said, “please – give me what I need.” 

He moved between my legs and lifted them onto his broad shoulders. Our eyes met and he smiled At first I could feel a burning sensation and I winced from the sharp pain. After a while I began to relax. Slowly, very slowly he pushed deeper and deeper. The pain dissipated to be replaced by the most exquisite sense of fullness, completeness and pleasure that I had ever experienced.

Dom is actually doing me and my wife is watching him do it.  Oh my God!  I can’t believe this is finally happening. This is what I was born to be; a skinhead to be filled with this alpha skin’s seed. A wide smile of contentment crossed my face, and I uttered cries of pleasure, “Ahhhh! Mmmmm!” each time Dom thrust into me. Everyone in the room could hear the soft, squishy sound a man’s tool makes when it plunges in and out of a tight, wet hole. Our eyes met and he leaned forward to kiss me. Our tongues met and his tongue-f*****d my willing mouth. 

My wife, her eyes wide at the sight of her husband’s intimacy with another man, could not contain herself. “This is so effin’ humiliating! I’m married to a  bender, a homo, a gay-boy. You’re not a real man. There’s no way a real man would allow himself to be f****d like you are!”  I was looking over to her. New tears streamed down her face; her eyes were red and swollen from crying.

“Here it comes, boi. Take it! Take it like a man!”

My straight life was over. From this point forward I would live my true identity, as a gay skinhead. Dom’s bulk pinned me to the bed. We continued to kiss but this time softer, more tenderly.

My skinhead captor spoke up, “right boi, you’re ready for the final stage of your transformation. First, I need you to sign a few papers. You’re filing for divorce and you’re giving her everything you jointly own.”

Naked, and with Dom’s cum dripping from my arse, I got up, walked over to a table and signed all the papers that were presented to me. I handed them to my ex-wife, who snatched them off me.

“I hope you enjoy your new lover.  No woman will want you now. It’s sick. It’s revolting.” With that my skinhead captor grabbed my ex-wife by the arm, opened the door and led her out of the room. I never saw her again.

My life had been changed forever, as Dom and I both knew. We were smiling at one another, as the skinhead captor came back into the room. Handing me a couple of bags, “here you are. Now you get your skinhead gear.”

I emptied the contents of the bag onto the floor. There were black 20-hole boots - partly laces with white laces, bleachers, white footie socks and a black Fred Perry. At last, I was ready. I had finally earned the right to wear skinhead gear all the time. I looked up at Dom, “go ahead.” I didn’t need any more encouragement.

Like Dom, I’d not wear any underwear, so I put my bleachers on first. They felt like they were a size too small, and they’d been cut so they barely covered my knees. Then I pulled on the socks. After that I slipped the Fred Perry shirt over my head ready for the finale; lacing up my boots. Dom had left the room, but my skinhead captor was watching me.

My training paid off as I correctly ladder laced both boots. My captor was happy. He had done a good job and the BoSS would reward him well. Dom returned to the room with what i knew were a pair of braces in his hand. “Stand up boi.”

I did as I was told. He fitted them to my bleachers but let them hang down. He then went over to the other side of the room, where there a clothes rail full of jackets. “Put this on, we’re getting out of here.”

I did as instructed and followed Dom. “Here,” he handed me a pack of cigarettes and lighter. “Light up, and let’s go home.”

It was the start my new life that involved finishing my tattoos, getting more skin gear, starting a new job - a proper one getting my hands dirty, making new m8s and doing stuff with Dom that I’d never, ever envisaged. We became inseparable.

I might tell you more about my new life with Dom, one day.

[avianreptiles]

wow avianreptiles from tumblr, talk about that sad pathetic cunt again!

Assorted things I've been thinking about lately/not so fun facts/extremely intricate lore doc snippets:

So tw for death/brief mentions of alcoholism and drug use/vaguely talking about suicide

-I based Kendrick's personality and general attitude on my brother. They're both extremely arrogant and hard-headed. I also gave them extremely close birthdays (they're both Tauruses)

-Kendrick's bday used to be on 4/20, then I realized that was kind of mean given his history, so I changed it to the day after

-I always talk and think about "If Kendrick lived xyz," but honestly? He was doomed from the start. There was no getting better for him, if he lived past 2125, it was just prolonging a guarantee.

-Moving on from that depressing statement, here's another one: Kendrick looked a lot like his paternal grandfather, but not much like Mac. His horns took on the more curved shape of his grandfather's, as apart to his father's. When Kendrick drunkenly attacked his father, Mac definitely got flashbacks to when his own father drunkenly attacked him decades prior, when he was the same age as his son.

-Mac's father, a once renowned politician turned alcoholic abuser, more than likely drank himself to death after his son and wife left him

-so here's how aromantic allosexual Kendrick can work: trust me

-Kendrick's official Albanian military records for confirmed kills are extremely inaccurate. He lowballed his estimates and straight up lied and said he didn't do some things entirely. He did way worse and way more things than what he reported back

-If this guy were a real person I'd hate him

-While the government is mostly to blame for what he turned out to be (a relentless and cruel individual who slaughtered his way through any situation at hand, who realized way too late what he was doing was wrong), he did throw away literally any ounce of respect for human life just to live to see the sun rise in the morning.

-There was no justification for what he did and he knew that

-There was no redemption or coming back from what he did and he knew that

-Lore doc is at 19k words rn

-Jay was a little in the wrong for sticking around and defending continuation of Kendrick's position in gov/military. The emotional damage received in 2125 was kind of on him. He knowingly stuck by the side of a man he thought he could "fix." Jay's ultimate decision, when it came down to him, to keep Kendrick not only in the military, but in such a high, commanding position, after it was revealed he was an Albanian Dissenter, was a very bad one.

-Kendrick's night vision/vision in general was magnitudes greater than the general population and his peers. On the same coin, because he was so reliant on his sight, he was way more susceptible to eye damage, whether it be from flash bangs, the sun, or even on one occasion, having old car oil thrown at his face.

-He killed 2 men in cold blood because they stole his boots

-For the last couple years of his life, when half of his face got ripped off in the car crash, he was not an avid fan of mirrors or reflective surfaces. He witnessed the dead, mangled face of his mother when he was 12. Due to their facial similarities, he did not want to see the dead face of his mother every time he looked in the mirror, so he just didn't look in mirrors.

Anyways I'm done with fun kendrick facts with avianreptiles, most of them weren't fun, most of them were demeaning and kind of terrible to think about, but this guy is engraved on every single neuron in my brain so oh well

[leighsartworks216]

Pottery with Data

Data x gn!reader (platonic)

I thought I posted this but I guess I didn't so *shrug* Two Data fics in one night congrats

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word Count: 1884

Masterlist

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The holodeck looked like the epitome of an old Earth pottery studio. Sinks sat against the wall with deep, stainless steel basins. A table for kneading dough, another for making slabs. In the center were several throwing wheels, set up with stools and buckets of water. Hooks near the entrance held already-dirty aprons, covered in dried clay and flecks of glaze.

Data seemed confused by the state of the aprons. He wondered why you were using them, rather than asking the holodeck to produce clean ones. You said it was easier to get messy if there wasn’t a struggle to keep everything clean. He filed the response away in his databanks to think about later. You rolled up your sleeves. He followed suit.

You cut off even parts of clay, one for him and one for yourself, with a thin wire. You balled it up by hitting it with the palm of your hand. He followed suit. You showed him how to knead the clay against the wooden table to remove any trapped air bubbles. It wasn’t necessarily difficult for him to do, it was just different. It took a moment for him to understand how much strength to use, how to move his body with the action, how to fold and wedge the clay together correctly. Where you seemed to struggle against the substance, he found it only took a small amount of strength to manipulate.

Set up right across from one another at the throwing wheels, you taught him how to slam the clay into the center of the wheel so it stuck, and consequently how to center it. You told him how to form his hands and keep his elbows supported on his legs, how to press the foot pedal to make the wheel spin and at what speed, how to form the clay into a volcanic shape and press it back down into a stubby cylinder. He watched with deep interest as you worked with different tools - the water from the bucket, a sponge, scrapers and wooden ribs - to form a small cup. You were, in the human sense, a ‘natural’. It was like watching a master craftsman at work.

Data took in all the info thrown at him like a sponge. Attempting to act on it all, however, was proving to be a challenge. Despite his attempts, the cup continued to collapse in on itself. All the while, you were working on a second ball of clay to make another vessel.

He sat back after a few attempts, looking down at the wet clay mixture stuck to his bioplast. “I seem to be unable to build a stable form.” His yellow eyes locked onto you, his expression a vague facsimile of confusion. “I have calculated the integrity of each shape, and account for all possible factors, yet they continue to fall apart.”

Your wheel came to a stop, a half-formed bowl sitting in the center. With hardly a thought, your hands scraped any thick excess onto the protective plastic rim of the wheel, and wiped what thin layer was left behind onto your apron.

He watched as you stood from your stool in a way that reminded him of how Commander Riker sat down. You lifted the wooden bat off his wheel. With all the patient casualty of someone who has done this before, you quickly wedged a new ball of clay for him and returned to his wheel with a new bat. Once he was settled with a fresh canvas, so to speak, you pulled your stool over to watch.

You smiled and nodded to the new lump of clay. “Show me.”

With a nod, Data did as you taught him. He lifted up the ball and slammed it back down into the center of the wheel. He centered it, brought the wheel to an appropriate speed, and tried to replicate your actions to form a cup. However, as he tried to form the walls of the vessel, it collapsed. He stopped the wheel and looked to you for guidance. Somewhere in his programming, he was surprised when you weren’t irritated or upset with him for ‘messing up’.

“I think it’s because you’re moving too fast.”

“How does speed factor into the structural integrity? I made sure to rotate the wheel at precisely one hundred revolutions per minute as you demonstrated.”

Somehow, despite his pale skin and bright eyes, you forgot he was an android, capable of thousands of calculations per second. With his hands dirty, wearing a ratty apron over his Starfleet uniform, it was so easy to forget.

“Pulling the clay too fast can make it lose its center and become unstable,” you began explaining, using your hands to describe what you were talking about, “or air left in the clay if you don’t work it enough, or too much water from working it too much - it’s a delicate balance.”

He tilted his head slightly, taking in this new information. “And decreasing my speed will help prevent such errors?”

“It’ll help, but I think you’re focused too much on the end result.”

“Is the act of ‘throwing’ pottery not to create a utilizable form, such as a cup or vase?”

You chuckled lightly, nodding. “Yes, at its barest definition.” His eyes followed you with interest as you took his bat again. You cut the clay off their bases with the wire and kneaded them back into balls. “It’s also about patience,” you explained.

You placed one bat onto his wheel and moved the pedal under your own foot. As the wheel spun, you used one of your scraping tools to remove the excess material. You did this with the next wooden bat as well, but you left it on his wheel to be used. The other was set aside near your wheel. You grabbed one of the balls of clay and centered it for him.

“It’s hard to explain, but you need to feel the clay beneath your fingers. You have to feel what you want it to become. You can’t just see what you want to make, you have to know how to manipulate the clay to become that object.”

Data frowned, though he did not seem truly upset. “I cannot feel,” he reminded you. His voice was neutral. It was a statement of fact, nothing more. “Is it possible to make pottery if I am incapable of feeling, like you described?”

Your body reacted immediately to the thought. Your eyes widened and you sat forward, leaning toward him, as if you were telling him a secret. “Of course you can! You just need a little help, is all.”

Set on a mission, you moved your stool behind Data’s. He watched, confused, as you settled in to reach your arms out from under his, hands cupped behind his own as a guide. Your chin rested on his shoulder, though due to his height your vision was obscured. Undeterred, you nodded as best you could to the foot pedal and he used his foot to shift it back into place.

It was admittedly awkward at first, at least for you. Not because of your proximity to the android, nor because you could feel the systems in his body humming against you as they worked to keep him functional. Rather, it was awkward because you couldn’t see, and had to work by feeling his hands’ positions to know what to do next.

Still, you slowly helped him form the clay into a conical shape, and then pressed it back down into a stout cylinder. A few times, to be absolutely sure you removed any lingering air bubbles, and you helped him build the vessel proper.

Your hands moved with his as fluently as speaking. You both formed the walls, evened out the bottom, and rounded the rim of the cup. Your head rested against his back as you helped him - the blind leading the blind. It felt like mere moments, not nearly 30 minutes, before the wheel was coming to a stop and you were finally allowed to see the fully thrown piece.

Maybe it wasn’t perfect. Maybe it was ever so slightly uneven. Maybe the walls weren’t an exact 90 degrees all the way up. But it was beautiful.

You were beaming as you showed Data how to use one of your tools to scrape away the excess at the bottom of the cup. You practically skipped as you took the bat off and danced it over to a shelf with other projects, covered in plastic bags.

“Now we just have to wait for it to dry a little, and then you can trim it, and glaze it,” you were rambling as you excitedly grabbed your own cup and placed it next to his. “And then we can fire it in the kiln!”

And then your shoulders fell. With your back turned to him, he could not fully decipher how your mood had changed, nor could he reason why it changed. When you turned back to him, you looked sad.

“I forgot to mention before…” you murmured. It took you a moment to gather the courage to go on. With a deep breath, you finally met his eyes again. “You can make anything in here, and you can glaze it with a thousand different glazes, and you can fire it and hold it, but… You can’t take it back to your room, or display it or use it.”

Ah, that’s what was troubling you. Of course, during his extended stay in this room, he forgot about the limitations of the holodeck. Everything was simply a hologram, projected into the room. But the moment something was out of the projector’s range, it was nothing.

“I do not mind,” he assured you.

“But…” Your words died in your throat.

He seemed to understand what you were about to say. “The act of creating does not necessarily have to be for utilization or decoration. While it is common practice to create works of art as a means of displaying them, I have also discovered - and as you have taught me - the act of creation is in itself art. You yourself said that to create pottery, you have to ‘feel what you want it to become,’ and that creating an object that can be used is the ‘barest definition’ of pottery. By your own teaching, you have shown that making the art is overall more valuable than the art itself.

“By saving the simulation at specific intervals as you create your work, you are capable of displaying your works in here as they are made. Should I wish to, as you might say, ‘show off’ my creations, all I would need to do is load the latest save. After all,” he nodded to the shelf full of clay creations behind you, too full to have all been made in one day, “you are already creating a collection of pottery. All you would need is a shelf especially for displaying your art, which the holodeck can create for you.”

Your shoulders sagged, but this time with relief rather than disappointment. You smiled. The environment returned to its warm, comfortable atmosphere. Already, you were imagining shelves along the walls for displaying artwork.

And front-and-center to it all would be Data’s first cup.

---

Tag List:

@plaguedoctorsnake

[clairatgarregmach]

Clair's Interview for Garreg Mach Officers Academy

What has led you to where you are today?

Clair knits her fingers together as the interviewer trails off and looks her in the eyes. She knows she can stick the landing on this one.

“My own two feet, I suppose - with a little help from some heeled boots here and there.”

She straightens in her seat, partially to bring her posture back to flawlessly elegant after her moment of taut pondering, and partially to stop herself from springing up and doing a little shoe flourish, like she might do for a group of friends in the entrance hall of a manor. She settles for crossing her legs at the ankle - she did choose nice boots today, and the neatly dressed woman interviewing her might appreciate her stylishness, but shoe fashion feels like it might be rather low on the priority list of prestigious, selective academies.

The interviewer just blinks, her lips a tight line.

Alright, Clair thinks, the shoes definitely wouldn’t have swung her. A new approach, perhaps.

She smiles softly. “Your silence and pensive blinking are telling me that you don’t take this for a serious answer. I happen to think it’s quite relevant, if I may elaborate.”

The interviewer nods. “Please do.”

Clair clears her throat. “I was born a noble, yes, and I do rather enjoy it, but I was never one to merely rest on my heels, or let myself float powerlessly down the river of life. That’s no way to get anywhere quickly. Besides, my brother was fashioning himself into something of a military commander by the time he was big enough to hold anything vaguely lance-shaped, and I wasn’t going to let myself be left in his tracks like that. I was, of course, tutored in the highest levels of arts and mathematics, but it was at the rambunctious age of fourteen that I taught myself to fly my pet pegasus - a whirling mess of an incident that Clive rarely hesitates to bring up at dinner parties, but nevertheless the start of something great.”

“Your letter of interest did mention flight training,” the woman says dryly, clearly unimpressed with Clair’s wry anecdotes. Her pointy boots are at least good for lightly kicking herself under the table. Who was she kidding? Garreg Mach probably has a hundred students who could fly a pegasus at a younger age than her.

Focus, Clair. You know how to talk to people.

“I, of course, plan to continue my flying studies in earnest at Garreg Mach - it would be a shame to let such a useful skill slide away - but I must ultimately develop in all aspects that are befitting of a knight and a noble. I’m nothing if not driven, after all - you can expect me to take on a voluminous variety of academic pursuits. Forgive me if I end up swinging a sword around in a literature seminar - I can get somewhat over-eager, maybe a little confused - but my intentions are always good!”

The interviewer nods, and Clair can’t stifle her smile. Perhaps being a little out there is a good thing at Garreg Mach?

What do you believe are your greatest strengths? Your greatest weaknesses?

“Well, you’ve already touched on my flying skills,” Clair remarks.

The interviewer clicks her tongue. “Correct.”

Clair relaxes her shoulders slightly. “It’s quite a rare skill for a Valentian to have - pegasi aren’t native to our land, mine was imported as a pet when I was a petulant teenager, I taught myself to fly it out of sheer spite and bloody-mindedness - but this isn’t anything new to anyone who’s been to a party with me. Of course, it was a double-edged sword: even once I knew how to fly, I just became Clair the pegasus girl. Infuriating! So cruel, life is - my brother, ever the overachiever - love him to pieces, I must clarify, but he was a lot to handle as we were growing up - he got to be a knight and a commander and a scholar and the one everyone wanted, and I was just the pretty girl with the flying horse.”

“How did you overcome that?” the woman asks, furrowing her brows.

Clair chides herself for dodging a question so forcefully she slammed into another one, but recovers.

“Elegance, mostly. I do believe it’s a strength of mine - something learned, not inherent. The way you move and carry yourself, both physically and mentally, can change the way your friends and your foes see you. Some people I’ve met would disagree, obviously, but I do find myself more than capable of playing the hapless damsel - right up until I slide a knife between a man’s ribs.” She makes a couple of decidedly inelegant sound effects and hand gestures to ram the point home.

The interviewer looks faintly perturbed. Perhaps the Fodlanese don’t discuss close-quarters takedown tactics in the first interview.

She coughs into her hand. “And, well, I suppose that’s a weakness of mine right there - I excite so easily. As you can tell, I’m rather eager at times; always determined to give it my all. It doesn’t always sit well with those who expect a demure, deferential noble out of me, but I like it that way! A noblewoman shouldn’t have to be stuffy and dull - where’s the fun in that? There’s so much vibrance and brilliance in the world - can’t a girl just be joyful about all of it?”

The interviewer smiles. “I assure you we have much less deferential nobles at Garreg Mach, Miss Clair.”

Clair smiles back. “It shall be fun to meet them.”

If a story were to be written about your life, what role would you play?

Clair purses her lips. An unexpected question, to be sure, but not one she can’t figure out.

“I suppose I never fully shook the ardent desire to be a hero. Perhaps I was even born with it! My brother, like I mentioned, was very quickly big enough to wave around things vaguely resembling spears. I was not, but that couldn’t deter me - much to the terror of my parents and maids. They all looked at me quite sternly and said that flipping a butter knife end over end at the dinner table was not befitting of a young lady, but one of the advantages of being a noble is that you can press and press and press your parents, and someday you’ll get what you want. The Knights of Zofia were quite amused when I showed up for the first day of training in a dress, but such is the way of being a young girl - I didn’t exactly have much choice in my wardrobe. Not that I’m incapable of fighting in my finery, of course - and I’d say that makes me look like quite the impressive heroine.”

The interviewer nods. “An interesting response. I think you’ve painted a very robust image of yourself, Miss Clair. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from us soon. You may go.”

“Thank you so much,” Clair says, shaking her hand gently. She pushes her chair aside, turns on her heel to walk out of the room, and… shoe flourish. Can’t help herself.

The interviewer stifles a laugh. “You have excellent taste in shoes, if I may say. I think you’ll find Fodlanese styles and our fashion programmes very much to your liking.”

Knew it.

[in-your-reflection]

Meanwhile, at Spear Pillar...

From a rift, a young boy appears, cradling his godling partner in his four arms. Fourteen Plates orbit behind the white-clad boy's body, like a halo. A few drops of black drip from Lucifer's golden left eye.

"Ayin, you dumbass..."

Ayin's unconscious body is gently laid down on the stone, and with the beckoning of a finger...the plates obey Lucifer instead, moving to orbit behind him.

Almost immediately, he is brought to his knees. Two Legend Plates on their own would be overwhelming for someone without full and complete divinity, but coupled with the others...it's a wonder how Ayin managed for so long.

He grits his teeth.

"Fuck. No. I can do this. ...Shut up. SHUT UP!"

He shouts at the mocking voices echoing in his ears. Of the other divinities, shaming him for thinking he has the right to wield the power of a god.

Silence.

He staggers back to his feet, weakly walking up the steps until they end...and continuing onward.

Up, up, and up... Climbing barely-visible stairs that seem almost as if made of crystal. Until eventually he arrives at a nonexistent landing, suspended in the middle of the air.

Lucifer mutters under his breath, but not in words - he recites a function. A long string of terms, numbers, coordinates...and gradually each Plate takes its place, thirteen in a large circle around him, and one floating in the center.

His wings manifest, and with a flap, he rises above the arrangement of Plates, watching them slowly orbit in their neat circular formation.

A familiar sigil appears above him, glowing in gold. A cross, overlaid by a circle, surrounded in brackets. A few of them appear, large, imposing. Big enough to be seen even from the base of the mountain, even from towns over.

His hands raise to his sides as he hovers there, his position evoking the shape of a cross. He draws in a deep, slow breath...and mutters another command.

judgment();

The clouds part. Rays of purest light erupt from the sigils he has drawn upon the sky, zigzagging downward from the heavens. Each one targeting a Plate, piercing through the heart of each with a deafening crash. The rogue Plates shatter, impaled by the light...and yet, they continue to float there, in a vague mockery of their original form.

"...It's not enough. Dammit. Of course I wouldn't be as good at it..."

He slumps lower, already exhausted from the attempt.

"Fine. If your way doesn't work..."

The sigils of light disappear.

"...We do it my way."

The area seems as if covered by an odd miasma, as if Distortion itself is creeping into the space. Lucifer's position turns more dramatic, raising a single hand. Another command, this one different in tone. Less instructing the universe to do as it's told, and more forcing its hand.

requiem();

He snaps his fingers, and in that instant, space collapses. Even looking at Spear Pillar from a distance becomes difficult, as each individual atom making up the location is simultaneously compressed into a singular point. Somewhat akin to a localized black hole. There's nothing to see - because there quite literally is nothing to see. A distinct absence in reality, one that the brain tries to fill in with whatever might seem natural in its place due to the complete lack of ability to comprehend it. The surroundings are filled with silence - an oppressive silence, as if the world has been muted.

And, in an instant that lasts an eternity, an eternity that lasts an instant...Spear Pillar and the mountain as a whole return to existence. The Plates are no more, the only sign of them having ever existed being a strange X-shaped flare to the light when the area is looked upon in a certain way.

And, lying down on the cold stone of the ruins are two children; one in white, and one in black.

The crimson-eyed child's voice lets out a low chuckle, clearly weak.

"Think I got it. You wanted 'em destroyed...yeah, they're destroyed."

He shuts his eyes. Just for a moment. The both of them, while ultimately okay...they need some rest.

[starscribes]

Find the Word Tag Game

Out here catching up with two Find the Word Tag Games from @card-queen so this post will be a tad longer!

I'm tagging @card-queen back and also tagging anyone else who wants to play, say I tagged you so I can know to tag you in the future and have more people to play with! Your words are: Image, Imagine, and Intrigue

Snippets under the cut! Somehow, I found none of these words in my current WIP, so I'll have to fix that, but on the bright side I get a chance to share a glimpse into my other projects!

Star from The Peculiar Adventures of Michael Mallory

Michael joined Andrew at his station as the holoscreen showed an image of the transport pod leaving the ship. Once the transport was out of range Michael turned his face up to Andrew. “I have you on a game card,” Michael grinned, “Actually I have two of you. One that I play the Star Trading game with and the other in a laminated folder, to keep it safe, a lot of my cards got things spilled on them and shorted out the power. But not yours.”

Spike from Otherworld

Now that Maxine could see it properly, she was even more terrified. It was dark out, but the sun was beginning to rise and her vision was back to normal. It was a vaguely humanoid-shaped hole in the world. Just a mass of blackness, the edges of it were tiny spikes, which seemed to move up and down and around one another. Its head was shaped like a triangle, the point balanced on its body and connected by a neck, one of the points acting as the chin. Its arms and legs ended in a mass of sharp, black claws and it stood on its hind legs.

Spare from Otherworld

“It used to be that all the castles were the same,” Emogen continued lightly as they walked through the maze of armor. “But of course, each Great Prophet has put their own personal touches on each one. Take my father Semias, he fills the spare rooms of the Castle of Murias with the hungry every night.”

Despite from Otherworld

“Do you even know where we’re going?” Maxine called after C.J., she still hadn’t caught up with him despite how fast she was walking.  “The portals may appear at my mother’s command, however, there is no sure way to know where exactly one will place you on the other side,” C.J. explained.  “So that’s a no,” Maxine decoded.

Inspire from The Peculiar Adventures of Michael Mallory

As Nick went back over his story of how he escaped an attacking group of pirates and fled safely away on The Stove - an old favorite of Michael’s which he had heard at least five times - Michael imagined how glorious it would be if he were to grow up and be a captain of a team of space explorers like his brother. Shrouded by his thick black bangs, Michael’s chocolate-colored eyes gleamed with imagination and dreams of that bright future. He could see himself in Nick’s spot, retelling his wonderful adventures to his brothers and sisters who were yet to be born, painting a masterful picture of words just like Nick did and inspiring them to achieve their own dreams like he had.

Stride from God of Smoke

They wore those strange clothes, they had strange tools, they talked to one another so casually and didn’t act at all like angels were supposed to. And they didn’t know the guardian language? What kind of angels were these? Ky’tus seemed to notice too and he looked up cautiously when they didn’t respond in the right language. The older man licked his lips but smiled and used both hands to gesture towards the site. He seemed to take all these surprises with such stride. Em’het wondered how he could be so calm. 

Peek from Otherworld

It took most of the day for the three of them to make it to the City of Finias. However, the city was clearly seen once the forest began to thin out and the sun brightened. There was a low, thick mountain in their path. It was quite a strange sight, it looked like something had cut the mountain at the middle because the top of the mountain was entirely flat. And upon that mountain top was a city. Or Maxine assumed it was a city, she could see the towers of what must have been a castle peeking above the tall white walls that served as a perimeter. 

[hergan416]

Do you have any sexuality headcanon for louis? 👀

Um, absolutely!

So I'll probably only ever write him in m/m relationships because that's just most of what I write, but I'm partial to the "every character is bisexual unless they tell me otherwise" theory of blorbos and Louis has not told me otherwise. In fact a friend and I were discussing Louis/Monniepenny during the timeskip and it honestly was very cute and I definitely ship it, even if it may not be something I write much myself.

I know other people hc him as asexual or maybe demisexual or otherwise on the ace-spectrum, and I love reading those Louises, but my personal Louis-shaped blorbo is not whatsoever. William and Albert have ideas about protecting his "innocence" at the tea party and really needn't, because just like his innocence re:murder in the Baskervilles arc, I feel like he just...isn't actually interested in that protection. Sure his social position as adopted son may require it, bit Louis himself does not.

Otherwise, I guess I'd say that I write Louis as fairly adventurous and domineering/commanding in the bedroom. I don't (usually) do the assigned top/bottom dynamics for characters, but I do think he has some need for control and regardless of whatever is happening mechanically, he'd make a good dom.

I will give any character any kink under the sun as long as it vibes with me, but for Louis I espcially like knifeplay, food play (he cooked the food), service top, and omorashi. I have a weakness, ok. Since you're on anon and this is a rather vague ask, I'll leave it there but I could DEFINITELY continue on with Louis omo headcanons 😂

Thanks for the ask!

[thebreemationstationyt]

Mr Goose. By: Breemations.

"Plop", a white drop of a sweet frozen treat that could be described as ice cream, hits the boiling hot side walk. "No!" The depressed voice of a little girl cried out. "That was my only way of staying cool..". The little girl tosses the now empty ice cream cone into a trashcan and then sits on the sidewalk gazing at a wide array of water that could be described as a pond. "That water sure looks cool" she thought while assembling images of taking a dive in her head. As the little continues to stare she sees something in the distance. The figure was traversing through the grass with a cane, wearing a top hat and a bright red bow tie. "What the-?" The little girl scrubs her eyes in disbelief but then realizes that the figure she was looking at was none other than a classy dressed, Goose. "Hello there little lady!" The goose says while approaching the little girl. "Nice day for a trip down frosty lane eh?". The little girl stares for a moment but then responds to the unusual looking goose. "Yeah, I guess so" she says while wiping sweat off her forehead. The goose takes notice of the girl's action and proceeds to take off his top hat. " I forgot to introduce myself! I'm Mr goose, and I'm not an ordinary goose" he says with a soft tone in his voice. "Yeah, I can see that considering that your wearing clothes" the girl remarks as she wipes more sweat off her forehead. Not offended by the remark, Mr Goose chuckles and places his top Hat back on his head. "I can't help but notice that your spirits are down". Mr goose says as his eyes follow the drops of sweat leaving the poor girl's cranium. "Is it because your burning up?" "Yeah" the girl replies. "I dropped my ice cream cone that I bought with the last of my money". The little girl then dips her head down into the steaming depths of the cemented sidewalk as Mr goose scratches his head. "Why no one deserves to be frying at this hour!" Mr goose bellows. " maybe I could use my magic hat to help!" Thinking that the goose is just sprouting nonsense in a half decent British accent, The little girl rolls her eyes and groans. Mr goose grabs his top hat and flips it onto the ground as he grabs his cane that he sways like a conducter at an orchestra. "wooooo..." a vague noise is heard as colorful light particles begin to soar into the air, forming a rounded colorful sphere. The little girl takes notice of Mr goose's witchcraft and her eyes begin to widen as if walked in on her parents making "witchcraft" of their own. "a sphere here and a prism there, don't forget the bits of cylinder there..". At the command if Mr goose's chant, the shapes he called upon begin to assemble into a silhouette reassembling a very familiar looking tasty treat. With only one more step to go,Mr goose filled his lungs with air and bellowed as loud as he could. "KAZAM", a white flash strikes before The little girl's eyes blinding her from the sorcery. " and here we are!" Said a familiar voice. The little girl opens her eyes and gasps at the discovery of a ice cream cone better than the last, was in her grip. "A ice cream?!" The Little girl's face morphs from confusion to a burst of happiness. " THANK YOU MISTER!!, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!" The little girl looks up expecting to see her feathered helper, but he had vanished. "Mr goose?" The little girl looks left, right and all around for her friend but to no avail. The little girl grows upset at the sighting but accepts that it was a blessing that Mr goose had done such a thing that no other person had thought to have done for her. Knowing that it's getting late, and the sun is starting to fall, The little girl begins to walk home. "He wasn't an ordinary goose" she thought, and how right she was.

[szemiesza]

The terrible sound of ripping flesh tore the silence, which otherwise was only broken by the tortured man's heavy wheezing. Melchior tore him off the fleshy wall, careful to not let any of the victim's exposed and mixed up organs fall out. He hoisted him on the autopsy table, the place where the punished man previously hanged now a bleeding, empty hole vaguely in the shape of the body. It closed on its own slowly.

He began working, restoring the man's to relative health, putting his insides in the right places again and paying special attention to his skin, making it almost flawless, though not modifying what he looked like before the years-long torture. The first step, however, took him almost five hours; he needed to make sure he would be back in good shape and didn't die suddenly when not supported by the flow of his vitae in the entire room. He was halfway done with the initial restoration of the skin when he felt so tired he couldn't stand anymore and realized it was probably way past dawn already. He forced himself to create impromptu fleshy binds from the floor up, immobilizing the man just in case, and just collapsed into the strange and soft ground, seemingly swallowed by it.

As soon as he got up next evening, he continued his work, making the body look not mauled in another four hours and then polishing the imperfections within three more. He was done, probably; either way it was good enough for him to break his laser focus for a while and realize he was starving. He's been using vicissitude basically non-stop for the past two nights; it was very draining, someone less experienced would have probably lost all energy halfway through the unbroken workflow. He fought the urge to tear into the man before him, not wanting to destroy so much work in an uncontrolled impulse, and forced himself to walk to his reserves.

Already shirtless and with pants stained with blood from the work, he didn't bother to be careful with the feeding, tearing into one of the trapped men with wanton ferocity. He took his time and barely restrained from killing him, but it wouldn't be wise to kill so often when back home in a scarcely populated area. He designed this place for a reason; what he put back on the agar-like wall was a legless and mutilated wreck with bones uncovered almost all over its body. Nevertheless, the healing process started almost immediately, as the victim was still alive, probably rather unfortunately for him, but to Melchior's satisfaction.

After taking some time to make himself presentable again, he got back to the flesh room with the man he just put back together and inspected his rather vacant stare.

"Can you even hear me?" He asked. The man nodded slowly. The vampire smiled cruelly.

"Good. Can you move? Please walk a few steps to the wall and back to me."

The man complied, though he found the movement difficult, like he hasn't done that in a long, long time – which was true. He has been hanging on the wall, trapped and tortured, for over five years.

"Fantastic," Melchior commented, giving him a firm pat on the back, which made the man lose his balance, toppling him to the floor. Melchior scowled and kicked him lightly.

"Get up," he commanded, annoyed. The man complied, regaining his footing. "Can you speak?"

He couldn't. He just made inarticulate noises like a deaf-mute person who never learned to speak out loud. Melchior shrugged, slightly disappointed, but not too much. That wasn't so important. He wouldn't live much longer anyway.

[inshadowofthegods]

Sunset

Days quietly slipped into weeks as Ciron continued to try to formulate a plan to end things for the better. If he'd only known that Edan's clan was searching for him on the mainland, mere miles away, he would have sought them out - but such was not the case. So instead he spent his days hunting for and protecting his so-called clan, offering quiet, subtle kindnesses to the dragons who worked around him in the rare times Altiel wasn't watching. He hoped he'd make a few allies for when the time came to... well, he wasn't sure. Cut and run? Fight? All the possibilities scared him. Paralyzed him. But he'd find out where loyalties lay soon enough, and in a terrible way. He could hear a commotion while heading back from a hunting trip alongside the banescales, Geron, and Valsig, and found a crowd gathered around Altiel, who was berating Pox. He saw the pendant he'd let her hide so long ago clutched in his father's claw, and rushed to intervene - But somehow Mitzi was faster. She launched herself from her perch on Valsig's shoulder to grab Altiel's wrist as he prepared to strike. The white pearlcatcher flinched, then threw his arm outward, sending the fledgling crashing into the nearby rocks. There was a sickening crack, and she lay still. Ciron let out a cry, but it was drowned out by Nara and Meika as they ran to their sister's side. He moved to follow, already charging his breath for as strong a healing spell as he could muster, but Altiel grabbed him and pulled him away. "Gods' sake, do your job for once," the older pearlcatcher hissed, shoving him toward Pox. "I've been letting you play house a little too long, everyone needs to learn their pl -" Ciron loosed a gout of flame directly into his father's face and then charged forward, crashing into the older pearlcatcher with all the strength he could muster while he was still stunned. Pox dashed away from them both, rushing to Mitzi's side. Ciron watched for any sign of life from the banescale for a moment too long, and then he was blinded by searing light. Altiel had risen, and his magic was overwhelming. Blindly, Ciron charged again, heard his father grunt as he made impact, and grabbed on. He channeled flames through his claws and did everything he could to hold on as he heard chaos erupt around him. There was fighting all around them, he had no doubt of that, but he could only see vague shapes and black blots over vague white - and then pure white again as Altiel's magic cut through him once more. Ciron shut his eyes and aimed his breath as best he could before letting loose another blast of fire, assured only by Altiel's screaming that he had hit his mark as the elder pearlcatcher fought free from his grasp. Altiel was shouting commands, but he couldn't focus on what they were in his desperation. As his vision slowly began to clear, he saw Altiel urgently attempting to heal his wounds, and one of his footsoldiers - a mirror - rushing forward with a sword pointed directly at him. Ciron didn't have a chance to try to evade it. It was then that Nara and Meika flew to his defense, clawing at his attacker's face as the mirror tried to swat them both away. Ciron clasped a talon over his wound, trying to catch his breath to tell the fledglings to just get away, as Altiel's mouth began to glow with white-hot light. The ground began to shake. Valsig and Geron rushed forward, the guardian standing between him and Altiel, and the ridgeback continuing on, unnervingly fluid in spite of his massive size. Though Geron blocked much of what he might have seen even - and his eyesight was still damaged from the light magic, at that - Ciron still saw Valsig's massive form blot out the sun as he raised up on his hind legs. Then, in the blink of an eye, the ridgeback slammed his talons down. Altiel let out a scream that faded out like a sigh, and the fighting all around them died out. "It's done. Leave," Valsig said, his voice utterly empty of emotion. There was very little movement from the other dragons, most still just staring at what was left of their leader, captor, whatever else. "You 'eard 'im," Geron growled, turning to address the crowd. "Leave." And then, all at once, the group scattered. The bulk of the clan immediately took to the air, with a scattered few undoing the bindings of the others, and some rushing to grab whatever valuables they had before leaving. Ciron had just managed to close his wound enough to stop the bleeding. He fought to stay on his feet, but ultimately had to lean against Geron's leg to steady himself. The guardian didn't react, still watching the others retreat. The two banescales stayed huddled against him, and for the next long minutes, all he could hear was the churning and splashing of water as Valsig washed his talons. His eyes stung, but the sunbursts ebbed away. Ciron silently looked over the remnants of the camp, the... mess... of his father's remains, and finally to Pox - and to his surprise, Peony - huddled by the rocks. "Pox, is Mitzi - " he began, but in his heart he knew the answer. Pox turned, the banescale still cradled in her arms. The skydancer shook her head, choking back sobs. Peony put her claw on her shoulder, and she took a deep breath before responding, her voice ragged. "She's - she's gone."

[rbbrbikerthorp]

Kidnapped Pt. 7 (Fully Transformed Into A Gay Skin)

[This is the final part of the story of how I was kidnapped and turned into a skinhead - something I’d wanted since I was a teen. There is skinhead sex appear in latter part of this chapter].

In the next door room my wife could see a naked man, with a shaved head, tattoos, piercings and a chastity cage...

In walked a big, burly, hunk of a man, maybe two or three years older than myself. If I had to conjure up my fantasy skinhead, he’d look a lot like this alpha-male. He was a good six inches taller than me and weighed in at least 14 stone. That said, he was in great shape. His head was shaved, one arm was completely covered in tattoos, but the other only had ink on his bicep. He was wearing a white t-shirt, on top of which were red braces clipped onto a pair of tight bleachers. He wore the shiniest black boots, with steel toe-caps and white laces.

He gazed at me with his commanding blue-grey eyes; I could see his cock, long and heavy was already swelling in his bleachers. The skinhead extended his hand. I took it and he continued to hold it as our eyes met. “I’m Dom, It’s a pleasure to finally have you, boi, a pleasure,” he grinned. “Ever since BoSS told me he’d captured an office drone, I’ve been following your progress over the last few weeks. Now we get to meet. Now you become mine."

His grip sent a bolt of sexual electricity through me. I realised my mouth had gone dry and my heart was suddenly pounding. At that moment this brute of a skinhead could do anything he wants to me. He reached out with his other arm and pulled me into an embrace. Then, as though they had a will of their own, my hands began to run up his thighs, squeezing his ass cheeks and around his back. 

I turned my face toward Dom and his lips brushed mine, once, twice, then our mouths locked together. He grabbed hold of me so I could not retreat – not that I wanted to - this was the best thing that had happened to me. I parted my lips and his tongue thrust between my teeth and explored my tongue. I could taste traces of cigarettes and beer. I loved it.

“Get on your knees boi.” I did as I was told. I hadn’t noticed that other people had entered the room. 

“Have you ever licked a skinhead’s boots? 

I shook my head from side-to-side.

Well, there’s a first time for everything. Now lick my boots”. 

I’d seen videos and looked at pictures online, so I had a vague idea of what I had to do. I’d always dreamed of being on my knees licking a powerful skinhead worshiping his boots. Here I was about to do just that. I looked up at Dom, he nodded.

“Go ahead boi. I wanna be able to feel your pierced tongue.”

A shiver went down my spine the moment my tongue came into contact with the leather. Next thing I know I hear a screeching voice I recognised only too well. 

“What have you done to yourself? What the fuck are you doing? This is so fucking humiliating!"

I paused what I was doing and turned my head, and confirmed that my soon-to-be ex-wife was now in the room. 

“Ignore her boi! Get back to my boots.”

The taste of the leather on Dom’s boots was having an effect on my caged cock. I carried on worshipping this brute of a skinhead’s boots.  

Once I’d got to the top of the first boot, Dom spoke, “Not bad for a first time boi” Dom smiled and nudged my head over to the other one. Straight away I began licking as hard as I could. I was pretty sure the snivelling i could hear was my wife, but I didn’t care. In that moment all I wanted to do was please Dom by showing how much I worshipped his boots. Only when he was satisfied with my efforts, did he speak again.

“Good. But for a newbie you’ve done well. You’ll get better. Now, stay on your knees boi.” I did as I was told. “Have you ever sucked dick?”

“No sir,” I replied.

"I think this really is going to be a day of ‘firsts’ for you. I want you to suck my dick.” 

I unbuttoned Dom’s bleachers and realised he wasn’t wearing any underwear. I took Dom’s cock in my hand but hesitated for a moment. Bootlicking was one thing, but this would be crossing a line that once traversed I couldn’t come back from. I now realised the videos shown to me had included clear instructions on how to suck cock but this would be the first time I put my training into practice. I could sense a tension in the air, which I presumed was my wife. I didn’t look up, I stayed focussed on the task ahead of me. 

“You know you want it, go on, suck it boi,” Dom was ordering me to suck his cock.

I moved forward until my lips touched the mushroom-shaped head of his dick. I opened my mouth so that my tongue could show its appreciation for Dom’s man-meat. It was smooth and was already glistening with his precum. The first taste of his salty semen sent another shiver down my spine, and once again my cock attempted to get hard in its cage. I understood the cage was there to keep me focussed on what I was doing and my place as a skinhead apprentice. I opened my mouth and slowly drew in as much of his thick meat in as I could. 

“God, that’s gross,” I heard my wife shriek across the room. “I’ve never seen anything so disgusting. You’re such a queer. No real man would such cock.”

I didn’t care what sh had to say, she was irrelevant. As long as Dom approved, that’s all that mattered to me. I felt his body tense and a deep grunt escaped his throat. His pleasure thrilled me. I began to move my head up and down, sometimes pulling off him to swirl my tongue around the outside. 

“Hold it there. You’re... a natural... cocksucker, skinboi,” Dom gasped. His words filled me with a new kind of joy, the joy a man feels when he discovers he can please another man sexually. This confirmed what I’d secretly known for years: I'm gay, and at that moment I couldn’t have been happier.

My wife cut in, “what have you done? You look like some freak show, shaved, a ring in your nose, covered in tattoos. I’ve been crying myself to sleep at night, sick with worry. Here you are sucking another man off. You bastard,” she cried. 

I could sense she was trembling, full of anger. I simply had nothing to say, the little voice in my head was telling me how I’d screwed up but Dom broke into my thoughts. “Don’t worry. You’re a gay skinhead. Ignore her boi. Women do nothing for you anymore. Those last six words were a game changer.

He was right. All the time I’d been sucking Dom’s cock, I’d felt increased pressure in my cage, but when my wife spoke I’d gone limp as a shrimp. Turning to my wife, Dom continued, “now over the last few weeks my new boi or your former husband (if you prefer) has been transformed into the skinhead he always wanted to be. I’ve been looking for a skin boi for a few months, since my last relationship ended. I fancied your husband the moment I found out he’d been taken.”

I smiled at Dom, this skinhead wanted me. This is what I’d wanted all my life.

“We’re twenty years married”, she yelped, sobbing away.

Before I could speak, Dom interjected, “you were married, but he’s divorcing you. Don’t worry your ex-husband will see you right. Boi, get over there and lie down.” He pointed over to a bed covered in rubber sheets.

I obeyed. Dom straddled my chest and his bulk trapped me as his stiff cock waved in front of my eyes.  I could not have moved him off me if I had tried.

I looked over to see my wife walking towards the door.

“You’re not going anywhere sweetheart. You’re going to see Dom turn out your husband,” the skinhead captor said, sniggering. 

The skinhead then threw something over to Dom. It was a key. Dom then opened the padlock on my cage and removed it. He touched my cock for the first time; pumping it gently. Now Dom brought my cock into his mouth and swallowed it to the base. I felt his lips touching my pubic hair as he deep-throated me. My wife always hated the idea of sucking me. Despite dozens of requests, she simply refused every time. I could hear my wife sobbing again, as I looked over I could see she had her head in her hands. My skinhead captor, spoke to her again, “you’re going to watch this.”

Then, out of the blue Dom squeezed some lube on my crack and started to work it in past my sphincter with one of his thick fingers. As he worked that digit in and out, my whole world seemed to be concentrated at one point, my virgin arse. I felt a second of pain as he pressed a second and then a third finger into my tight hole.

“Relax boi,” Dom instructed. 

I willed myself to relax. When the fingers were in, I felt my muscles relax. He started a gentle motion, slowly stretching me. My dick was standing to attention as I felt my balls swelling even more. I looked at Dom and said, “I want your skinhead cock inside me. Please – give me what I need.” In a split-second Dom had withdrawn his fingers. He pumped his cock a couple of times, to ensure it was rock hard. At that point my mind drifted. I recalled video of skins fucking, and one particular picture that readily came to mind. 

He moved between my legs and lifted them onto his broad shoulders. I felt the tip of his cock press against my waiting sphincter. Our eyes met and he smiled at me as he increased the pressure on my asshole. I could feel a burning sensation and began to push back against his cock. It felt like a policeman’s truncheon was being shoved into my rear and I winced from the sharp pain. Then my sphincter relaxed and the tip of his dick slid into me. Slowly, very slowly he pushed deeper and deeper. The pain dissipated to be replaced by the most exquisite sense of fullness, completeness and pleasure that I had ever experienced.

Dom is actually fucking me and my wife is watching him do it.  Oh my God!  I can’t believe this is finally happening. This is what I was born to be; a skinhead to be filled with this alpha skin’s thick cock. A wide smile of contentment crossed my face, and I uttered cries of pleasure, “Ahhhh! Mmmmm!” each time Dom thrust into me. Everyone in the room could hear the soft, squishy sound a dick makes when it plunges in and out of a tight, wet hole. Our eyes met and he leaned forward to kiss me. Our tongues met and his tongue-fucked my willing mouth.

My wife, her eyes wide at the sight of her husband taking another man’s cock, could not contain herself. “This is so fucking humiliating! I’m married to a  bender, a homo, a gay-boy. You’re not a real man. There’s no way a real man would allow himself to be fucked like you are!”  I was looking over to her. New tears streamed down her face; her eyes were red and swollen from crying.

“Here it comes, boi. Take my skinhead seed!  Take it like a man!”

My straight life was over. From this point forward I would live my true identity, as a gay skinhead. Dom’s bulk pinned me to the bed. We continued to kiss but this time softer, more tenderly.

My skinhead captor spoke up, “right boi, you’re ready for the final stage of your transformation. First, I need you to sign a few papers. You’re filing for divorce and you’re giving her everything you jointly own.”

Naked, and with Dom’s cum dripping from my arse, I got up, walked over to a table and signed all the papers that were presented to me. I handed them to my ex-wife, who snatched them off me.

“I hope you enjoy your new lover.  No woman will want you now. It’s sick. It’s revolting.” With that my skinhead captor grabbed my ex-wife by the arm, opened the door and led her out of the room. I never saw her again.

My life had been changed forever, as Dom and I both knew. We were smiling at one another, as the skinhead captor came back into the room. Handing me a couple of bags, “here you are. Noe you get your skinhead gear.” 

I emptied the contents of the bag onto the floor. There were black 20-hole boots - partly laces with white laces, bleachers, white footie socks and a black Fred Perry. At last, I was ready. I had finally earned the right to wear skinhead gear all the time. I looked up at Dom, “go ahead.” I didn’t need any more encouragement. 

Like Dom, I’d not wear any underwear, so I put my bleachers on first. They felt like they were a size too small, and they’d been cut so they barely covered my knees. Then I pulled on the socks. After that I slipped the Fred Perry shirt over my head ready for the finale; lacing up my boots. Dom had left the room, but my skinhead captor was watching me.

My training paid off as I correctly ladder laced both boots. My captor was happy. He had done a good job and the BoSS would reward him well. Dom returned to the room with what i knew were a pair of braces in his hand. “Stand up boi.”

I did as I was told. He fitted them to my bleachers but let them hang down. He then went over to the other side of the room, where there a clothes rail full of jackets. “Put this on, we’re getting out of here.”

I did as instructed and followed Dom. “Here,” he handed me a pack of cigarettes and lighter. “Light up, and let’s go home.”

It was the start my new life that involved finishing my tattoos, getting more skin gear, starting a new job - a proper one getting my hands dirty, making new m8s and doing stuff with Dom that I’d never, ever envisaged. 

I might tell you more about my new life with Dom, one day.