#the dwarfs have taken over my brain

[animationismycomfort]

watched the seventh dwarf again after years

and honestly…..

it’s pretty good

i love the dwarfs energy like idk how to explain it but I love it

[zarophod]

i’ve been watching red dwarf bloopers for the past hour, and will continue to all day, and god fucking damn i am so in love with Chris Barrie

[veritasangel]

Sanctuary Lost

Ft. ghoap x therapist!reader - part 1

sum: just when you think their fascination with you couldn't get any worse...it does :/

contains: anypov, unhealthy boundaries, manipulative ghoap, obsessive/stalker behaviour, home invasion

wc: 2.2k

a/n: i try to write write things shorter but it's impossible for me, i swear (i'll proofread later)

The weeks after that night at the bar bled together in one dizzying whirl of confusion, blurred lines, and creeping dread. What once was a professional relationship, so carefully oiled and controlled, became something so much more insidious, and you found yourself right in the middle of just what you had sworn to avoid.

Yet, it was not just the boundaries between therapist and patient that were shattered. It was deeper; far more dangerous.

Simon started requesting more sessions: longer, more often. You tried at first to keep it within reason, within the professional limits. But he had a way of breaking down your defences, of using your empathy against you. His eyes, always so dark, intense, would bore into yours, wordlessly begging you to stay just a little longer, to listen just a little more.

And you did. Because how could you not? The way he spoke about his past, the trauma, the nightmares-it was gut-wrenching. You felt responsible for helping him, easing his suffering. But the more you gave, the more he took.

He started asking questions again, this time about your life-at first very subtly, but then with more insistence. And somewhere in the midst of all that, it went from being about his healing to about him needing you to be near him.

One night you returned home, later than usual and exhausted. It was supposed to be the one place you go to when you want to get away from work and just relax. But as you stepped inside, your heart just dropped at the sight greeting you.

Simon sat there, on your sofa, his huge frame almost dwarfing the small space. He didn't glance up upon your entrance, just kept his eyes to some faraway focal point, lost in thought. This wasn't the first time he had overstepped boundaries, but this felt different-more intrusive, more deliberate.

"Simon," you began, laying your bag down, the quake in your voice so clear. "What are you doing here?"

His eyes, at last, held yours-haunted, as if he had been fighting some demon deep within him. "I needed to see you," he said in a low, hoarse voice. "I couldn't stay away.

You stepped backward, instincts screaming that this was wrong and you should get out. "You can't just come here," you said, trying to keep your voice firm, but it shook. "This is my home, my private space."

"We were just concerned about you, is all." He says, looking down at a notepad on your table

It was then that Soap walked out of the kitchen, mug of tea in hand.

You looked at them, heart racing in your chest as the reality of your situation set slowly in. They have invaded every aspect of your life. There was no escape, no place that was yours alone. They have taken over everything.

"I want my key back," you said, trying to put some authority into your voice, but it came out weak, almost pleading. Soap chimes in, holding his other hand up to reveal a key, "It's not your key, we got our own set."

That's when you notice the notepad Simon's looking at, the one with an officer's number on it.

You felt a cold sweat break out along your spine. The hum of your pulse was in your ears; your breathing was shallow and quick. 

The image of the notepad with the officer's number on it started a spiral in your brain. You had jotted it down after one of the especially disturbing calls with Simon, thinking that you might need some backup. You'd never intended to use it, at least not until you could justify involving the authorities.

But now, seeing it in Simon's hands, knowing they'd been through your stuff, brought a sickly twist to your gut.

With that, Soap took a leisurely sip from his mug, now resting against the kitchen doorway. Never once did he look away from your eyes. His ease in your space filled you with a deep, gnawing unease. This was beyond a breach of bounds—it was a complete and utter violation of life, privacy, and autonomy.

"That officer's number," Simon said very softly, bringing your attention back to him. "What were you planning on doing with it?"

The question was factual, but the implication was anything but. You could almost smell the accusation in the air, the silent threat.

"I—" You stammered, trying to find the words. But your mind was a chaotic mess, and the weight of their stares made it impossible to think clearly.

Soap laughs, "Come on, what are they gonna do, sweetheart? They don't do shit on their best days."

It seemed like the very walls were closing in on you—not to mention the sheer weight of their words crashing upon your chest. Soap's cackling laughter boomed in your ears, a vivid accompaniment to the general air of hostility. 

Simon's stare was unrelenting; it was wordless but full of the power to break you.

You tried to steady your breathing, fighting against the panic rising in your chest. "You can't keep doing this," you said, your voice shaking. "This isn't just about helping Simon anymore. It's harassment. It's wrong."

Simon didn't change his expression, but there was a cold gratification in his eyes. "You're right," he replied softly. "This isn’t what therapy is supposed to be. But we are past that point now. It isn't just about your job or our sessions. This is personal now, can’t you see?”

Soap stepped closer and his eyes narrowed slightly. "You're the only one who's been able to keep him grounded," he added, dropping his voice down to just above a whisper. "You think you can just walk away from that responsibility? From everything you've built?

Those words hit you in the gut. They took that sense of duty and responsibility you have, twisted it, and used it as a weapon against you to make you feel guilty for getting your own life back. The logic was insidious-you second-guess yourself and your decisions and needs.

I am not his saviour," you said, trying to keep your voice as even as possible while turmoil raged in your soul. "I am a therapist, and I should help, not be controlled or threatened.

Simon's face relaxed, but there was no warmth in it. "We're not asking for anything more from you," he said softly, deceptively so. "We're merely informing you that the boundaries you once did have are no longer there. You're part of this now, either you accept it, or things get a little…difficult.”

You stood there while the walls of your own apartment closed in on you, your personal space now a battlefield of control and dominance. The freedom so quickly taken for granted was now lost, trapped in a cage made from your own compassion and their unending manipulation.

Simon stood up from the couch, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the room. "We'll give you time to get used to it," he said; his voice was modulated even and had something in it that ran a shiver down my spine.

He walks over, taking your hand as he passes you the phone number, "Or you could try and call your friendly police officer, see if he's any use. But remember, not everyone is as reliable as you might hope.

Soap spoke with a casual lightness that did not match at all the threat in his words. "Could be that he's a bit tied up at the moment," he said, an unpleasant edge in his smile. "Might not be as easy to reach as you once thought.”

Simon's fingers had lingered on yours a second more than necessary, his cold impression lingering long after he had pulled his hand back. He had held your gaze in a calculated intensity, as if to measure the effect of their words.

"We could be a great team," Simon said, with one of those tender face-cupping gestures that was downright bizarre under the circumstances. "We look out for you, you look out for us. That's how it should work, right?"

"This place is definitely big enough for three," Soap added, his voice smooth and disconcertingly casual as he came closer. He laid his hand on your waist, the touch light yet firm, a physical reminder of the closeness they imposed.

The way Soap's hand settled on you was an invasive, odd intimacy, like a claim rather than comfort. Casualness, laced with undertones of threat in his words, signalling that this was not a suggestion but a demand for a new configuration of things. The space that had always been your sanctuary, now redefined by their presence.

Simon's eyes moved from your face down to where Soap's hand was laid to rest on your waist; a faint smile played at the corners of his lips. "We're just making sure you're not alone," Simon said, his voice low and soothing, though with a hidden menace carried within. "It's easier when we all take care of eachother.”

The soothing words of Simon juxtaposed with Soap's firm grip and it caused your skin to crawl. It was as if they were giving you a false sense of security while tightening their noose around you. You felt trapped with no apparent way out of the suffocating atmosphere created by the invasive familiarity of their touch and by the heavy implication of their words.

Simon's eyes remained on your face, tracing with disturbing intensity the lines of your expression. "You’re pretty when you listen, you know?" he said, his voice dripping with condescending affection. He tipped your head, his fingers brushing skin with a practised ease that was more invasive than reassuring.

Simon's eyes were unreadable, yet a glimmer of satisfaction danced within them, an acknowledgment or verification that your discomfort was enough to testify to their power. His finger stroked your jawline delicately, yet his touch was invasive in the manner that he was mapping your fear and vulnerability.

"There's something mesmerising about seeing you like this," Simon continued, his voice rising with an edge of dark fascination. "The way your defences crumble, how easily you fall into the roles we need you to play. It's almost poetic."

You tried to muster a fraction of composure, forcing a smile off your face against the tempest inside. "I must be a pretty shit therapist if this is how you've gone," you said, trying to inject a hint of humour into your tone as a mask for the depth of your distress.

Soap's lips curled into a sardonic smile, though there was a flicker of something more calculating in his eyes. "On the contrary," he said softly, his gaze never leaving yours. "You're so good at your job, it’s why you’re here. And Simon wouldn't be able to cope without you, me either, by extension.

Simon watched you, his face blank, though there was something darkly smug about his eyes as he said, "We'll give you space to think. We understand that it's plenty to take in. Take time to adjust. We'll be around."

With that, Simon and Soap moved to the door, their presence still looming over you even as they were leaving. Soap gave you a last, unsettling smile as he followed Simon out, leaving you standing alone in the entryway. The succeeding silence was deafening; only the soft click of the door as it closed behind them managed to break it.

The wave of exhaustion and anxiety welled up inside of you. Your mind raced, trying to work through the weight of their visit and the new reality they'd placed upon you. The walls of your apartment felt like they were closing in-the space that was yours now a battleground.

You wanted to try and get some normalcy back, forget everything had ever gone this way so you quickly headed up to your bedroom. But as you opened the door, the sight stopped you dead in your tracks.

Boxes littered the floor of your room. They were filled with personal things: clothes and toiletries, and a variety of other items that didn't belong to you. These boxes sat in full view, with their names clearly marked on the sides, making your blood run cold. There was no escaping this physical reminder of an invasion-that this was somehow a new order in your life.

You sank onto the edge of your bed, feeling the weight of their intrusion settling heavily on your shoulders. The sight of the moving boxes—Simon and Soap's personal belongings—encroaching upon what once was your space was like a physical manifestation of the control they were trying to exert in your life. The walls that were protecting you a little while ago now seemed like barriers, closing in, a cage made from their demands and manipulations.

You sat there, trying to digest the invasion, when your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You flipped onto your side to grab it, looking for a distraction. Instead, you saw a new message notification from the officer's number you'd hoped to use in an emergency.

You opened the message, your fingers trembling as you read the text:

'Sleep well, love - Riley & MacTavish'

༄ m.list

© veritasangel ↣ 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴

[da-rulah]

Omg I love your writing! Could I request how each of the ghouls would react to an S/O who gets flustered easily? Maybe the s/o is like a sibling of sin?? Idk, whatever you decide :)

Howdy-doody! I'll keep this one gender neutral my dear, but reader is a sibling of sin and in an established relationship with the pairings (all at once or not, that's up to you... 😂)

Gonna stick to the Ghouls today, but if you'd like the Ghoulettes let me know and I'll try and figure something out for them!

NSFW 18+ content so MDNI!

(Thank you to @her-satanic-wiles for helping me out with this one. The brain fog was real, but your help has cleared it!)

Sodo

He's thinks you are adorable.

He likes to mess with you by doing out-of-pocket cute things for you, things no one ever expected Sodo to be the type of partner to do.

He comes home to you with flowers, thoughtful gifts, snacks. He loves to see your cute little reactions to them.

You always get a bit shy about it, even you don't ever expect Sodo to shower you in these little gestures. He always seemed like the grumpy Ghoul, the one who'd hiss at someone for breathing too loud near him.

You were his weakness though, as much as he was yours.

He feels a protectiveness over you that he can't explain, and has since the day he met you.

His favourite thing to fluster you is pulling you into his lap when you're in public or with other people. When his arms wrap around you you usually squeak, and he holds you tightly against him possessively.

And no, it's not his favourite thing to feel you wriggling against him while he holds onto you at all. How dare you suggest such a thing.

Rain

Rain is a soft soul too, and so when you get flustered? He gets flustered.

It doesn't take much to fluster you, but he loves how adorable you are.

Like Sodo, he brings you gifts that soften you up. Your favourite is a teddy bear he bought you with it's own Ghoul mask he'd doused in his cologne for when he was away on tour.

When he'd come home from tour, you'd made the bear it's own little bass guitar - oh, how his heart had swelled at that.

Quite often you'll find yourself in a giggle-off. He usually starts it, making you giggle. But your giggle makes him giggle. And his giggle makes you giggle. And your giggle makes him giggle. And his giggle makes you gigg-

The only way to break out of the loop is to silence you with a kiss - one that'll knock the wind right out of you and have you blushing and clawing at him for more every time.

Mountain

Oh my Lucifer, he likes to tease you.

Mostly teases you because of your size. But it wouldn't matter if you were tall or tiny, you'd still be dwarfed by him and he only does it because it makes you so flushed.

If he teases you around others, it's innocent and playful. A poke to your ribs during Mass or a light shove into a bush as you walk down the sidewalk. Sure, it flusters you, but he thinks it's hilarious watching you compose yourself.

Most of the teasing happens behind closed doors, because he can really go for it then. He knows how much he can get away with in public before you get too flustered and it does more harm than good, but at home? He can wind you up as much as he likes.

He likes the little tantrums he can induce by teasing you - it gives him an excuse to coddle you and be sickeningly sweet to win you back over. Not that it ever takes much...

The worst case scenario is he has to go the extra mile to win you back over, but... that's not really a worst case scenario for either of you. He loves to please...

Swiss

Total shitbag.

This man thrives on flustering you in public. Anything he can do, usually of a sexual nature too.

You'd taken him shopping one time and he'd very loudly asked for your opinion on a lace babydoll and asked if you'd like to see him in it. He'd revelled in the blush on your cheeks all day long.

He pays attention to details that fluster you, like when he rolls his shirt sleeves up as he plays guitar, or when he boops you on the nose with a wink in front of other people.

The worst thing he ever did was embarrass you in front of Papa, when he'd very loudly told you he would see you after band practise was over and he would 'bring the whipped cream this time'.

Phantom

Also a shitbag. But he's sneakier about it.

This fucker looks through your tiktok fyp, your search histories, your conversations with your best friends to find out what makes you tick.

The worst had been when he'd seen you liking videos of men in corset waistcoats. He'd gone out and bought one, wearing it under his jacket to dinner with you and your friends.

He'd basked in the glory of flustering you - and your friends who you'd talked about the videos with - when he took his jacket off at the table.

He'd also found out about your involvement in booktok and the exact romance novels you had read from your storygraph profile and began roleplaying the scenes to rile you up.

The first time he'd pushed you up against a wall, you'd squeaked and cowered under him. He loved that. Now, he'd do anything to hear that squeak again.

He finds it hilarious, and it usually ends in a long night for the both of you culminating in absolute bliss and loving embraces.

[metranart]

Mikey x Reader x Draken (Tokyo Revengers)(Part 8)

Being a gang leader doesn’t leave a lot of free time and having hit the critical age of the hormonal teenager, Draken and Mikey are beginning to feel the raging urge of having some needs meet.

They knew what was to come, same reason why they kept you at arm reach. 

Now that their brains aren’t a pool of hormones and lust, they realized how instead of being gentle and tender as any first time should be, it was animalistic bordering primal. You basically drove them to the edge of insanity, and they willingly fell into the spell.

Spellbound still, they follow closely behind you, trailing your every move with attentive eyes, internally ready to chase if they need to, to restrain if is necessary and to beg if you force them to it.

All in hopes of keeping you for themselves. They want you to have their kids, share their dreams, conquer Japan along them—… not in that specific order but you get the idea.

You walk moving quickly but quietly. The idea to go find your own gang leader passes through your mind briefly, but you dismiss it. Draken and Mikey’s gazes are on you like a hawk.

If you miraculously manage to escape and go to Elliot's, -you sigh, long and breathlessly- imagining being beside him and under his protection. Your body tenses at the prospect of running away, maybe straight to a cop—

“Such a long sigh,” you hadn’t taken more than three steps when Mikey cuts short your plans by snaking an arm around your shoulders. “Tell me, (y/n), were you planning to run away?” 

 You wrinkle your nose at being discovered. His eyes study you as you stand frozen beside him. 

“Nah, my Babygirl is not such a dummy,” he states, voice heavy with sarcasm. “I wonder where you were off to?” Mikey continues, and soon Draken joins as well.

“Perhaps she fancies another restaurant,” the tall blond suggests, airily.

“Feeling a little peckish, are we?” Mikey replies, playfully, his attention solely on you. “—Looking for another sip of milk? You can have some of mine, if you like.” The Toman leader smirks at seeing you blush hard, and you can hear Draken chuckle.

Your injured hand is wrapped in fresh bandages, you feel exhausted and weak, your crotch is sensitive and your body aches. It might be safer to play along and then plan an escape route. 

His wicked laugh draws your attention back to him.

“My, my Kenchin... how very little our girl is.” Mikey notices, glancing back at his friend, taking in count how your whole frame is dwarfed by his. “Humor me, (Y/N). How old are you?” he asks, and you hate the sound of his patronizing voice. 

Drawing yourself up, you respond with as much pride and dignity as any gang member should have.

“Not old enough, Manjiro,” you snarl, trying to shake him away from you to no avail. “You just raped a minor—” 

Draken sighs, claiming the other side of the sidewalk to walk right next to you. Flanking you. 

“So very young, indeed.” The tall blond shares, calmly, “but so are we, and sex between teenagers is NOT legally rape…. more like mildly disappointing for society, but not jail time.” Draken patiently explains, and your fists clench, painfully. 

“That’s fairly horrifying, ain’t it?” Mikey croons and you bared your teeth at them, a mocking imitation of a smile. “Plus, you being our girlfriend, ummm-” he taps his lips thinking, “is not rape at all, it was our first time. Lovers sharing an intimate—” 

“Do NOT call me your fucking girlfriend, delusional asshole!”

You raise your voice, moving slowly to your right towards his left side, but he catches your subtle motion and mirrors it casually in his own. He laughs at you, then, and it absolutely prickles your skin.

“Delusional asshole?” Mikey repeats in a spoiled, childish voice, “-that seems like a bit too harsh, don’t ya think, baby?”

You are about to mitigate any kind of hope Manjiro Sano may be harvesting in that blond sick head of his when Draken towers over you, leaning so closely that you can feel his warm breath against your face.

“(Y/N), please, don’t presume that because we allowed a little disrespect, we will continue to endure it,” his eyes seem darker than ever up close, and your body's involuntary reaction is to try to run to which he catches your forearm in his firm grip in an almost lightning-fast motion.

“I can catch you-” he warns, a little upset by your foolish attempt, “I will catch you, and it’s quite unseemly for a girl to be dragged back like a spoiled brat, don’t you think?” 

Draken’s face is so close that you are only a breath away from a kiss, or head-butt him but neither would have a happy ending for you, so you back down and allow them to believe that you have given in.

“—And just like that all her fight is gone.” Mikey says between merry laughter, eyes creasing while he sticks his front to your back in a possessive hug. “Give her a break, Kenchin, she's just getting used to us.”

Graciously offering you his hand, Draken sighs and waits for you to take it, and after a couple of tense seconds, you do. As a sign of good omen between the two.

You can feel the bulge of muscles and the twisting veins that ran from shoulder to knuckles just by the grip of his hand, it's not bruising but is firmer than what you expected. You shudder, imagining those powerful hands locked around your hips, driving himself deep inside once again.... and you being unable to stop him, once again.

“Why me?” you ask, suddenly, ice dripping from your tone.  

Mikey’s arm is around your waist, light as a feather on the wind as he aids Draken to escort you to the restaurant. A blush creeps up your neck when Manjiro Sano choose to deposit a chaste kiss on your neck instead of answering you, and before you can even think of ask again, Draken does the same but on your cheek.

And you puff some air, outraged. “The least you can do is answer me—”

“And that's exactly what we just did.”

Draken cuts your outburst short to then fall silent. 

“Please,” you whisper, your voice hardly there. But their heads turn towards you slightly, and their attention makes you feel brave enough to continue. “Please let me go. I want to go home, I just want to go home, I’ll do anything! I’ll renounce to my gang, I’ll convince Elliot to…to…not do anything against you, I’ll do anything!” You stutter, finally reaching your breaking point.

“You have nothing to offer us.” Mikey claims in all calm smoothness, trying to pass some of that energy to you. You know they don’t care about any you have to offer, even so, you need to try. “Plus, you are not our prisoner, just our girlfriend-”

“What's the difference?”

The words leave you before you can stop them and both stop suddenly and release your hand and waist, turning towards you.

“Loving can heal—” Mikey proclaims, way too invested. You can clearly see in his eyes that he believes what he is saying. “—But you need to give us a chance to let us make up for what’ve we done, okay?”

Maybe this was their way of apologizing for violating you in every possible way.... did they believe that this could be erased and the three of you would end up being a happy polyamorous couple?

You stood quiet for a moment, staring into his startlingly beautiful dark eyes. He was handsome, and sometimes –like now– he even seemed kind enough, though his words were firm and good intentioned, you knew better than to listen to them. 

So, without answering, you turn from them coldly, taking a few testing steps ahead of them. 

“–Just walk.” You hear Mikey advise; gaze firmly set on your every move. 

“Don’t run… we won’t be able to stop ourselves if you run.” Draken warns, his voice tight as if is taking him a lot not to chase you down. 

You were only a couple of steps away from them, but you could see the tension that it caused them.

Testing your luck and their small slip of freedom for you, you visualized the restaurant and move faster, they compensate for the speed but still don't grab you or pull you. Leaving you some air to breathe. Feeling a little -tiny- more in control, you trot demurely until you reach the door, and turn around.

Genuine surprise showing on your face when you noticed that they hadn't chase you.

“Not even a day ago I trusted you.” You remind them, “you spitted in that trust with your more than reprovable acts-….” their blank faces were hard to read, “-I’ve yet to trust you since.” 

Both blonds nod, understanding what you are saying but still unable to process why you can’t understand them as well.

“She’s going to be a tough nut to crack, ain’t she, Kenshin?” 

The aftermentioned smirks, “if she weren’t we wouldn’t be so interested.”

Mikey snickers at that, opening the door to follow you inside. “Damn right.” 

Both gang members enter and just start to walk, you are already inside a booth occupying the long seat of the right and leaving just the seat in front as their only option. 

“Scoot over, (Y/N),” Mikey orders, “Kenshin and I are far too big to share the same side—” 

“I never hear you complaining when you had to share the same, small and diminutive, bed….” You snarl out, and he looks down at you. 

“I’m hungry and tired, even if you find it hard to believe,” the leader of the Toman confesses and for the first time you notice the bags under his eyes. “If you don’t scoot over voluntarily I’m going to be forced to put you on my lap-” 

You’re quick enough to swallow the gasp, and before it continues, you slide to the end of the booth.  

“Good girl,” Mikey praises, taking the seat next to you, sliding gracefully closer until feels the side of his thigh pressed to yours. Then he starts. 

“Communication based on threats will not help us grow our relationship,” Mikey begins to lecture you, and you feel your blood boil.  

“He’s right, little mouse,” Draken adds, taking the seat in front of you as he flips through the menu. “We ought to be civilized,” he instructs, offering you the menu, and when you take it, he doesn't let go, "do you think you can be civilized?”

Your lips purse, even so, you reply.

“Of course, Sweetie, whatever my dear boyfriend asks.” Your tone drips harsh sarcasm. 

“—I know you are doing it to spite me,” Draken begins letting go of the menu, serious facade yet soon his mouth curves into a smile. “… But you calling me your boyfriend really gave me goosebumps, doll.” 

A blush creeps across your cheeks when you frown, making it unable for them to know if its out of embarrassment or anger.

“Now I’m jealous,” Mikey pouts, “Tell me something pretty as well.” 

The blond asks unashamedly, as if your sarcastic comment were actually a show of affection. 

You ignore him, in order to read the menu and suddenly feel him take your hand nonetheless. 

You are about to snatch it back, violently, when you see him bowing, you feel the barest hint of his breath on your knuckles before he presses his forehead to them, instead of his lips. 

“I couldn't even bring myself to kiss your beautiful hand, my love—” he mutters, “Not when I can only think of kissing your lips.” 

When he look up, his eyes are blackened yet overflowing with a feeling that you refused to call love, and his tone as cold and composed as ever. 

“Knock it off, Sano.” You grunt, uncomfortable. “You can drop the act—” 

“It’s not an act, darling.” Draken cuts in, “It never has been.”

You try to snatch your hand away, but Mikey isn’t ready to let go, not without a token of affection. 

“Let go.”

He shakes his head. You sigh, burdensomely.

“You know what I ask in return.” He simply instructs. 

You would like to hit him but you are so emotionally and physically exhausted that you are reduced to saying.  

“Could my dear boyfriend let go of my hand?”

The blonde's eyes shine and placing a soft kiss on your knuckles before releasing you, he smiles.  

"Your boyfriend doesn't want to, but he will do it because he loves you." He announces and your nose wrinkles in disgust.  

You shake your head disapprovingly and he nods.  

“We love you.”

Draken adds.

“A lot.”

“You are delusional and confused—” 

"Whatever you feel, my love, we feel all the more," Mikey say slowly and clearly. His thumb reaches your cheek and brushes it, affectional. 

You flush a little in embarrassment, and he smirks, glad that you made his point easier. 

“The implication behind this blush tells me of how you don’t find us inadequate nor disgusting-” 

You seem to regret your involuntary body reactions, But unfortunately this only makes you blush more, much to the delight of both blondes.

“There’s hope,” Draken adds out of the sudden. 

“Yes, there is.” Mikey nods, “…. We only have to work for it.”

You're about to reproach him when his fingers gently fall on your lips, "and we will, gladly."

“You will fail.” You say in an icy tone. 

Both smirk, and Draken is the first to talk. 

“Wanna bet?” 

COMING SOON PART 9....

⭕️ In my PATREON you will find NSFW art of this story and lots of NSFW content from Tokyo Rev and other popular anime, exclusive smut fanfiction and more. Join our community and vote for the next smutty fanfiction.

[nastiiuu]

I had a fic search request on my discord server for Bagginshield fic where Hobbits have tails. I was completely shocked that I couldn't find any, (searching the Bagginshield tag on ao3 for "tail" brings up some weeeeeird stuff!) but I realized that's because your Hobbits with tails art has taken over my brain and it just feels like there's a whole fic out there already! So, I was going through your Bagginshield works (🥰) and a random thought occurred to me...do you think consort!Bilbo would wear any kind of jewelry (or a braid?!?) on his tail? 🤩

YES!! Thorin would absolutely make a bunch of jewels and rings and bedazzelmemts for Bilbo. And marvel when Bilbo wears them

Here are some more headcanons:

Hobbits wear their wedding rings on their tails since a lot of them are farmers and workers, so Thorin always makes extra rings just for Bilbos tail

When Bilbo is looking for Thorin he will subconsciously wiggle his tail so the rings make noise. Thorin always answers the call

Once it’s long enough Bilbo would wear a braid in his hair. Thorin likes to braid it. Bilbo learns to as well but keeps it to making Thorins hair pretty and fancy

After the journey Bilbo starts wearing much more simpler and comfortable clothing. Whether he is in Hobbiton or on court makes no difference. He sometimes will wear the fancy clothes for important events but keeps mostly to something one can move around in effectively

He constantly travels around. To the elves, to other dwarf folks, to the hobbits and back. Always documenting his journey and knowledge and sharing it with the world. As such he is very popular and gained some refined muscles. He still likes to have the belly and eat with a lot of hearth. But he is considered very strong and with an impressive stature for a hobbit

(The drwarfs see him more like one of themselves)

He has a little bit of facial hair grown. It’s not much and never will be much but it’s a little bit and Bilbo is proud of it

People think he always looks like he is analysing you and every situation. When he sits on court the nobels are always more careful with what they say bc Bilbo has a tendency to read everyone like a book and snap with the situation calls for it. Thorin thinks it’s funny unless the eyes are set on him

[invinciblerodent]

I know this is a hardish question bc probably depends on game factors, but as it is rn you the brain sauce

Do you think Emmerich notices right away that Tristan isn’t alive in the same sense as pm everyone else? Or is he like quicker than others to notice? I assume Tristan isn’t quick to explain the full truth of his… condition.

(Sorry if I seem obsessed, bc I kinda am. I blame my adhd for the hyperfixation. Love the whole idea! )

Oh absolutely no worries babe lol, I'm just happy that you find the big fellow interesting! ❤️❤️

Have a song I've been listening to a lot over the past few days and have kinda started associating it with him-

(this, as well as "Ghost" by the same guy, very Tristan-coded to me, only this one also has that soft, deep-voiced crooning in "Orlesian" in the middle there that's. Very A+.)

I honestly feel a bit more "free" headcanoning and rambling on about this guy and this story than about anyone else, specifically because the base idea is kind of on the sillier side? Like, I feel fairly confident ~~hazarding a guess~~ that there's not going to be a subplot in the actual game about the main character needing to hide that actually, they're kind of, sort of a zombie, lol.

So while I'm intentionally keeping my girls vague (beyond "very autistic bisexual elf rights activist", "viking pirate lesbian(?) dwarf", and "tiny dommy mommy"), I'm like, fairly sure that I was gonna need to do extensive rewrites and annotations to the game to make this one work anyway, so I'm not super concerned if I end up needing to "retcon" something I think about now.

What I was thinking so far is that Tristan, as of the beginning, could count on one hand the number of people he's told about his "condition" over the past two decades, and of those people, he's not sure if there's even one still left alive. (Maybe a fellow Warden healer, someone who's patched him up enough times to catch on that something is fishy? Maybe the longest and most serious relationship of his adult life that ended tragically one way or another? I'll have to brainstorm that one)

So as a Grey Warden, Tristan spends a lot of his life traveling alone (which suits him just fine), and quite often, the preternatural survivability and even the unusually thick blood can be reasoned away with "it's a Warden thing, don't worry about it, we're all like this". Most people will believe it, and aren't very quick to jump to conclusions that shouldn't be possible.

Except maybe those who are intimately familiar with death, spirits, and the undead. And are, yknow, actual professors of the occult.

So I think it's not exactly a closely guarded secret, but one Tristan wouldn't reveal unless absolutely necessary- and for as long as possible, none of the companions would know, but Emmrich would absolutely suss him out on his own.

Regardless of whether there's been any light flirting before then, I like to kind of imagine there being a singular moment --perhaps after a hit taken too close, maybe in defense of him, when the odd, stale, almost slightly mildewy scent of Tristan's blood hits Emmrich's nose the first time-- when their eyes meet, and there's this Moment of mutual recognition. This "oh shit, I know what you are."- "oh shit, he knows what I am.".

I of course don't know, like, the particulars of his character, but from his tone in the blurbs and the short stories, I assume that if pulled aside afterwards and asked sincerely, Emmrich would be willing to keep it a secret- and that he would immediately feel intense scholarly interest.

I mean, Tristan is an anomaly: by all means, he should not exist. The undead of Thedas are created via possession, and his body has not been possessed by any spirit, and isn't being controlled by anything. He seems whole, hale, and himself (not a darkspawn, either), he breathes, eats, sleeps, heals and bleeds pretty much as normal, and the things that aren't quite normal, are still not outside of the realm of possibility: many completely normal people breathe and blink slower than average, many people prefer their meat on the rarer side, many people have troubles falling and staying asleep. Nothing about him on its own is indicative of anything strange, and yet he is intelligent undead! Just the fact that he can speak in a way that is convincingly human is incredible!

I want to believe that Emmrich (like many of us are about our blorbos) would immediately kind of be like "I want to study you under a microscope." (paraphrased ofc) (Is he the playful kind? Would he jokingly paint studying Tristan as repayment for his silence? Who knows! It's fun either way!)

And at first, Tristan would be hesitant (it's awkward, to be under such scrutiny, and to have his whole Situation upended and dissected like that, especially by someone he probably already considers somewhat intimidating, in a handsome, charming sort of way), but even if it's not suggested, he'd consider it repayment for keeping it a secret, and agree. And if I can make it work, I'd really enjoy for there to be an opportunity for a moment between the two of them that has Emmrich kind of like... "I have been around enough bodies, both dead and alive, naked and clothed, to not be affected by anything corporeal. I know flesh well, I know what lies under it, and my interest in this particular body is purely clinical, scholarly, and in no way romantic or sexual. This dimly lit office/surgery is not in any way romantic, nor does any sight of his body arouse anything in me. .......... oh, his nipples are pierced. That's not a good thing for me."

("oh, strong muscles shifting enticingly under inked skin." "oh, the big man is large in every way." etc.)

Something something hearing an otherwise abnormally sluggish heart suddenly beat faster at a touch, something something intense examination of all bodily reactions making them both feel both flayed and more naked than it should be possible, intense eye contact, oh in this kind of light his eyes do look reddish and eerie but I can't look away, and from there on I think it can kinda progress however it's going to progress in the game.

I am havign SUCH a normal time of it, man!!!!!!!

[cicadadust]

I promise I'll get back to drawing canon characters soon. But woo- took me three days to finish. But my boi Kaiba is complete! This is probably the most cluttered ref I've ever made haha.

Potential Rakuyou arc spoilers ahead so be warned:

Originally he was inspired by a post where someone mentioned the artist phenomenon of a canon character basically turning into their OC after awhile.

And it all started with well, I love Kamui. And I love his first official appearance with the bandages obscuring his face - maybe I could work with that. But then I shoved so many of my AU things and other ideas I enjoy into this character that he's mutated so much that he barely has any trace of Kamui left in his character. Definitely not story wise, nor personally, maybe a few elements design wise still along with the fact of being a Yato. Kaiba actually ended up being much more like Kouka story wise than I intended though (*cough* probably because Kaiba was mainly based on my AU of Kamui being the sole Altana mutant on Kouan instead of Kouka *cough*) but eh, I'll live with that.

Despite being a yato and Altana mutant...I may have taken a few creative liberties design wise. But I have my excuses! One thing is, I absolutely love Yato- but wish they had a few more I guess inhuman traits. Like please give them larger canine teeth and reflective pupils please🙏🥺. I thought the reflective pupils for Yato would be really cool, or funny, if Kagura had em too. So I tossed those traits into there. And I know Yato are supposed to be fair skinned- but I had an idea! Since Yato seem to be able to build up a slight tolerance to sunlight, like with Kagura being able to be out in broad daylight, while Housen who hasn't been exposed in a long time immediately started dying. I figured what if during Yato disopra, one of the groups of survivors who had fled Kouan ended up on this sunny desert dwarf planet... probably not by choice. Though there, the survivors perhaps started to build up a higher tolerance to the sunlight. But yet they're still not immune to it. And could have been the downfall of the few generations that had managed to survive for long enough. Kaiba was from this specific clan of Yato that had settled on the dwarf planet. With a slightly higher tolerance to sunlight than the typical Yato, and with the combo of being an altana mutant. Kaiba was free to enjoy the sunlight for much longer before feeling the effects of it, allowing him to gain more of his tanned complexion. Also just shares the same reptile brain as me, with the desire to just lay out in the sun on warm rocks. Though if he's an altana mutant, how come he has a scar? That should just heal right? ... Well, I have absolutely no excuse for that for now! I just wanted to reuse a scar design from one of my older characters because I thought it'd look nice on Kaiba 👉👈.

Now to get a little more into his story and such. It starts off similarly to Kouka's. As again Kaiba is the last member of his clan surviving alone on his birth planet due to him being a mutant. The forgotten dwarf planet, which I've named Ardoros, is covered in reddish orange sands, stone, and a whole bunch of space junk wich collects on its surface. With so much metal and scrap around, Kaiba developed a skill in metal working. And even managed to find a junked ship one day. This was obviously very exciting as he managed to get it to function- just barely. With many days having spent wandering Ardoros previously, he had already discovered one of its altana crystals. Albeit small, he fashioned it into an earring to serve as a battery in a way before he finally left. But being the absolute hunk of junk it was, Kaiba's ship broke down when he managed to land on another planet. And with no money or anything to fix it, he's began relying on hitchhiking. Traveling all over the universe with the aid of strangers. This got to go on for years, exploring new planets, trying new food etc- he absolutely loved it. But, the crystal he wears is almost depleted along with his own altana energy. He continues to hitchhike, yes. But now determined to find his way back to Ardoros before it's too late. Thing is - he's never been skilled at navigating, always leaving that up to whoever he was traveling with. He has also encountered no one else who's even heard of Adoros, no one else knows it's location either. And currently his latest stop during his attempts to get home, is on earth.

[tathrin]

Ahh, fuck. Just saw this post cross my dash and my brain absolutely vomited this fucking thing out in response and I do not have any idea what the FUCK to do with this weird unhinged Dark LotR AU that I just spontaneously generated. Help.

"Not like this."

The words slipped from Gimli's lips as a broken whisper, torn free from the very depths of his soul before his conscious wits could stop them. He swallowed, as though he would call them back to him; but there was no calling them back, any more than there was undoing the dreadful deeds that had led to Gimli standing here, in this place, feeling as though his heart were being ripped from his chest at the sight before him: a fair golden head bowed low, heavy shackles weighing down lithesome elvish limbs.

Gimli swallowed again, and held his tongue. The words still beat themselves against the inside of his skull: Not like this, not like this.

How was it they all now found themselves here? It had not seemed easy, so many months ago in Rivendell, when the Free Peoples of Middle-earth had taken desperate council together in hopes of defying Sauron, no; nothing of what they had set out to do had seemed easy. But still, to have fallen so far that they were here…

Gimli closed his eyes against the sharp and bitter sting of tears, but only for a moment. A moment was all he could allow himself. Any more than that would be seen, would be noted; would be marked down against him, against Erebor, as a weakness that they could not afford.

As treason, treason against the Dark Lord.

The Lonely Mountain could not afford such a thing, not if any dwarf was going to be left breathing beneath its strong stone walls by this time tomorrow.

So Gimli took a deep breath, and opened his eyes, and struggled to wipe the pain and horror from his face. He nodded, doing his best to ignore the hot bite of metal against his hand; doing his best to ignore the way his heart was shattering like untempered steel suddenly flash-frozen at the sight of Legolas kneeling as a captive before him.

"A fine tribute," Gimli said, hating himself for the words; hating himself even more for the dark twist of pleasure that threaded through his mind as he spoke. He clenched his fist tighter around the hard gold he held; it did not help. The row of kneeling elves before him did not move; the sharp blades of the axes hanging over their necks did not soften.

The Ring on his finger did not loose its deadly grip.

"Tell the Men of Dale that they have earned their people four months of triple rations in addition to the gold-price on the heads of these elves," Gimli continued. Such a paltry amount to pay, for elvish lives; yet it would keep the Men of Dale from starving, and would earn them favor in the Dark Lord's eyes. He saw the bedraggled Dalish representative straighten in gratitude and joy and he grimaced into his beard.

Gimli did not care to think how many Men must have died to take four elves alive anymore than he cared to think about how long said elves would endure in hard labor and dark cages under the mountain. He knew that no matter how quickly they let go of their hopes and let themselves Fade, it would be far far longer than it should be. Elves were too strong, and the elves of Mirkwood far too defiant, for their own good. They would last a long time, in the mines and the smithies, before finally giving up their souls to the call of Mandos.

It would not be a mercy, to last so long.

There was no mercy that Gimli could show to these elves, either—no, not even to the one whose face he had spent all these bitter, terrible months longing to see above all other faces. How Gimli had wept, wishing to see Legolas again; now, he yearned only to take all those wishes back and bury them where nothing, least of all the wretched, wonderful Thing on his hand, could hear them. Yes, he had longed to see Legolas; but not like this, never like this.

Not like this.

The Dalish Man bowed low, and murmured praise for Gimli's generosity in a voice made ragged and hoarse by want and misery, and let himself be led away to receive his payment. The elves waited in motionless silence, their heads bowed and their chains heavy. The dwarves watched their lord with tight, shadowed eyes.

Gimli cleared his throat, and spoke again: "Have the elves taken to the cages. Except—"  He could not tell if the words that followed were his own, or those of the Ring. "Except for the golden-haired one. Take him to my chambers; I will see to his breaking personally. Oh," he added, almost as though it was an afterthought, making his lips curl in a cruel smile as he said it even as his own heart twisted against him, "and send water for a bath as well; he is all over filthy with blood, and I will not have him defiling my rooms anymore than he can help, noisome creature that he is."

There were chuckles, some weak and some sincere; Gimli did not look to see which was which, because he did not wish to know which of his people had learned to find amusement in the suffering of other creatures and which had merely learned to feign it.

He could not be sure, some days, where his own pretenses ended either.

He smiled anyway, because that was what he had to do. He smiled, and he watched the elves be dragged away into the dark of his mountain, and he kept smiling even as he felt blood trickling down his palm from where the Ring that wrapped cold around his finger had bitten through the skin beneath the tightness of his grip and made him bleed.

It was hardly the worst thing that Durin's Ring had made him do since Gondor's Rise, after all.

NEXT

[wily-one24]

okay. I read your deepest darkest timeline series and Oh my GOD IT IS FANTASTIC! genuinely, I have been wanting to find something to scratch the itch of ‘damn, what if 15x01 was *worse*’ and. Holy shit you delivered.

I think I’m going to be obsessing over the beauty of chapter 14 for the rest of my life. Genuinely.

‘She stops under the whale, all 94 feet of it suspended and curved from the ceiling. Again, her head stretches up and he watches her, face bathed in blue as she stares.

The longer she stays still, immobile, staring up, the more he wonders what she’s thinking. She’s not upset, in fact she seems almost serene. He wonders what it is about the huge beast that draws her.

If it’s just so immense that it dwarfs everything about her, that it makes all the things that have seemed insurmountable until now seem small and trivial in comparison. Or perhaps, he muses, she’s imagining what it must be like to be free like that. A slender, sleek mammal sliding through the ocean waves with the force of an entire planet.’

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!! genuinely tears in my eyes this is just such a fantastic take on 15x01 events and onward I’m. Just had to send you some love directly because I feel so many things right now

You are so lovely.

Thank you!!!

It's taken a while to get here, but this fic has really taken hold. Of my brain and my free time. It's really nice to hear from people that they're enjoying it.

I, too, had a deep, dark itch to read a "what if" of 15.01. I think, realistically, things would have turned out so much worse than they did in canon. But... I understand why the show didn't go there.

But there wasn't a lot of fic that did that... at least, not in the way I wanted, with an exploration into her psyche and recovery, and not just a sensationalism of the violence.

So glad you're enjoying it (if enjoying is the right word?).

[mrcatfishing]

Tagged by @fipindustries to post my playlist, and I much like her do not curate my playlists and instead listen to stuff semi-algorithmically. So here's the first 10 songs of my Supermix.

Life of Adventure, from Dwarf Fortress Adventure Mode, by Dabu and Simon Swerwer. I tend to prefer videogame soundtracks when writing, as any kind of lyrics interrupt my flow of thought severely. The acoustic guitar of the classic Dwarf Fortress soundtrack is beautifully accompanied by a full orchestration that blocks out all distraction.

Beautiful Mind, by Tom Cardy & Brian David Gilbert. When I do listen to music with lyrics, I much prefer them to be narrative centred rather than emotionally centred. Tom Cardy is one of the best for this style of comedic-narrative music, and BDG is another favourite of mine for his podcast Let's Make a Music, which sadly only uploads their songs to Bandcamp, making it hard to integrate into my playlists.

HEART CONNECT, by Cute Girls Doing Cute Things. Mindless electronic music makes up another solid portion of music for when I need to focus on something I'm working on, though this kind of harsher pumping music is usually for physical activities, rather than mental ones. While I recognise this song very well, before right now I knew neither its name nor the artist.

Strike The Earth!, from Dwarf Fortress, by Dabu and Simon Swerwer. Another DF song, the entire OST really strikes a delicate balance hitting all of my preferences: Bardcore, Acoustic Instruments, and Videogame OSTs.

Soldier, Poet, King, bardcore cover by Hildegard von Blingin'. I said I was a fool for Bardcore, and that absolutely includes covers by the wonderful Hildegard von Blingin'. Seeing that she got to do a song for the latest Crusader Kings expansion was a delightful surprise to be sure.

The World Revolving, cover by NRMN, Blood Code & GameChops. Feel free to put me in the penis box, but I absolutely adore Undertale music. I also love the electronic covers of GameChops and QUMU, which is the latest form my long standing OCRemix obession from a decade ago has taken.

To Hell and Back, by Sabaton. On the far end from the narrative music of Tom Cardy, Sabaton and other power-metal bands like Dragonforce make up songs that I listen to during the morning commute. These lyrical songs also have their fair share of narrative focus, but I'm really hear for the deafening volume to activate my brain and work up my adrenaline.

Bones in the Ocean (Remixed), by The Longest Johns. These shanties and folk songs soothe me to sleep. When I need to hear something with just enough words to latch my mind onto a rhythm without spinning my brain in circles or waking it up with adrenaline, I pop on some Longest Johns or Great Big Sea, and let myself drift away.

The Bannered Mare, from Skyrim, by Jeremy Soule. The Skyrim OST has a special kind of nostalgia, pulling me back over a decade, to playing the original Xbox 360 release on a tiny CRT television that cut off the top and bottom of the screen. I didn't know this of course, so it was only months into my playing the game that I learned most people saw a compass at the top and their healthbar along the bottom.

Unreal, by Kensabeast & GlitchxCity. This is the kind of music I listen to when I need to both focus and relax. Perfect for painting or sculpting, I can pop on some soothing albums by QUMU or GlitchxCity and just zone out.

I think that gives a reasonable overview of my music taste without terribly exposing myself to the mortifying ordeal of being known. I'll tag the last few mutuals in my activity feed, and anyone else interested can feel free to give this a shot too. @theothin @obbsessivebookworm @therandominternetperson

[mikaelsrose]

one: let's meet again, for the first time

Pairing: currently ambiguous, f!MC (Niamh) x Cal, f!MC (Niamh) x (m!OC) Xander

Book: Nightbound

Word count: 3450

Rating: T

Warnings: cursing, mention of drugs

Category: (according to choices) horror; short-series, supernatural, romance

A/n: I'm not sure how my brain works and I don't think I want to find out, but this was first inspired by toss a coin to a witcher, but here we are. Bon appétit. 

I’ve teased about writing it for years (literally), so I’m just as surprised as those of you who remember me talking about it, that I’m actually publishing it 😂

Quick introduction:

Initially, Niamh stayed in NOLA for a few months but eventually left

Throughout the events of the book, Niamh and Cal did not romance each other, but they had a short-lived fling several weeks after the fight with Thomas

By any means, I do not promise to be faithful to the original in terms of... anything. If something is not as it was in the book, it's because I deliberately changed it. 

Setting: a year after the events of Nightbound

Tag list: @ladylamrian @lazypartridge @ginnyginsposts @brycesgirl @cashweasel @lilyoffandoms @choicesficwriterscreations (if you wish to be added or taken off the list, dm me! as usual, sorry if I forgot about someone)

pinterest boards for the vibes: niamh | cal | xander | crystaval / lamrian

Nothing can prepare you for grief. There is no handbook of conduct, and it does not get easier the second time. 

Until forced to spend hours by herself in a spacious chamber, Niamh never thought of her as a survivor or as bearing any trauma. It was half past midnight by New Orleans’ time, the air was heavy and suffocating despite the downpour outside. She's been in Crystaval for over a year, learning the ways of conduct, history, military strategy and magic when despite Lady Avyanna’s motto of nipping one’s emotions in the bud, Niamh fell into panic. She always thought that grief only concerned those who lost someone dear to them, but having spent many hours in isolation she realised that she was grieving her old life, the one she was ready to leave behind before agreeing to stay in Crystaval.

"My Lady, a visitor has arrived."

She nodded almost imperceptibly as her eyes continued to observe the reflection in the mirror. A young woman was staring back at her, clothed in luxurious fabric, wearing a thousand-year-old jewellery, one that created the impression of a powerful, steady leader. 

Straightening her back, Niamh rose up, and followed her aide towards the Grand Hall.

“Is everything ready for the announcement?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Who is the guest?”

“A young man from your birth realm. A nighthunter. He said the matter is urgent.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but her face remained impassive. The clicking of her heels reverberated in the spacious hall, blending with the happy chirping of the dwarf kingfishers, birds native to Crystaval, until a high-pitched ringing forced her to stop and lean against the wall. Alerted, Xander scanned the surroundings and, having found nobody around, placed a hand on Niamh’s back. “Breathe, Nia,” he said softly, stroking her skin.

The sense of duty threatened to blow his chest apart. Xander knew that this condition was unusual, possibly life-threatening, thus could not be taken lightly; however, Niamh made it very clear that this should stay between them. Since he was subordinate to her and not the Queen, Xander was obliged to follow the orders of the heiress to the throne.

Niamh bit her lip when the ringing became louder, clouding her mind and making her lose her balance. 

“We should tell someone about this, it’s potentially dangerous and happens too frequently lately,” Xander murmured while delicately wiping the golden tears off her cheeks. 

“Don’t you dare,” she threatened. “I have it under control.”

Closing her eyes, Niamh took a couple of deep breaths, waiting for her heartbeat to slow down. When she opened her eyes, she found Xander piercing her with his gaze.

“Let’s go.”

Familiar laughter echoed in the spacious room.

“What brings you to Crystaval?” 

“What the actual fuck, Niamh?”

The royal guards eyed the nighthunter, looking alerted, but the blonde did not pay them any attention. Xander stepped closer, his hand already on the hilt of his dagger. Noticing the mobilisation, Niamh intervened: “At ease, he's a friend. Why don’t we step outside?”

In comparison to Crystaval, Lamrian's gardens were mundane, stale, boring even. The water had a purplish tint, the sky was adorned with two suns—Halcyona, the crimson giant, and Eirele, a smaller one, yet still bigger than Earth’s sun was slightly peachy. The scarce clouds were pink, and the air smelled of the lush greenery surrounding them. Nik found himself fascinated by the landscape, especially because he’s never been allowed to Crystaval, but his eyes never left Niamh's silhouette. 

“You said you were coming back home,” Nik started, fumbling with his leather glove.

“This is my home.”

“Don't play dumb, rookie, you know damn well what I mean. All of a sudden, you decided to become, what, a queen? How come no one in the supernatural world knew about this? How is it even possible? Elric wasn't exactly that much of a big shot."

Niamh sighed quietly and began smoothing out her baby blue dress in an attempt to hide the trembling of her hands. “The throne is rightfully mine, but no, I am not a queen yet. Since Lady Thalissa preferred to remain in the colony, it became my duty to care for the folk of Crystaval as well as maintain peace among all seven realms,” she looked up and was immediately met with a pair of piercing grey eyes. “The kind fae of the Lavender City were asked to keep the new administration a secret until told otherwise, as we did not want unfit creatures knowing the authority was weak and unstable. Soon, the news will spread. I have gone through extensive teachings of Sir Xander about the history, politics, and militarization, as well as Lady Avyanna's magical training. Tomorrow, we’ll issue a statement of Crystaval’s readiness to aid other realms should they need it.” 

Nik chuckled at the ridiculousness of this situation and averted his gaze, letting it fall on a peculiar looking plant, transforming right in front of his eyes. The flower’s petals were similar to regular lilies in shape, yet its colour differed from what Nik knew back from his realm. The pitch black of the petals was brought out by the elongated, luminescent cyan stamen, and the longer he looked, the more drawn into them he was.

“Don’t stare for too long, or you’ll hallucinate for several days,” Niamh warned. The nighthunter reluctantly obeyed. “Cyan Lily Regina, the hidden treasure of the realm. These stamens hide the dose of cyanide that could easily kill entire kingdoms. The most dangerous poison in all seven realms.”

Nik coughed. “I assume Sir Xander is the one watching me like a hawk?”

“Yes. He’s the royal advisor and the head of the army, you can trust him.”

“Sure I can,” Nik mumbled mockingly and lowered his voice to make Xander’s eavesdropping job much harder. “Niamh, what actually happened?” 

“Queen Nymeria of Crystaval visited me in a vision two weeks after I left and requested that I visit her urgently. During the meeting, she explained that my father was her son, fourth in line to the throne. The rest of her children died under the attack of Svarvali tribes two days before she contacted me, which made me the last rightful heiress.”

“Elric must've been the long-lost child, I suppose,” Nik commented, gathering his thoughts. Ever since it was brought to his attention that Niamh might have indeed resided in either Lamrian or Crystaval, he began studying the fae’s politics, history, developing an unhealthy obsession with the royal bloodline. He noticed discrepancies within the official family tree, and according to his research, at least one heir was removed from the official data. 

He made a mental note to update his notes. His gaze kept coming back to the flower.

“Her Majesty is approaching her final days. Having in mind the balance of all the realms, Lady Fate warned the Queen that she must train the heir and since I had demonstrated magical abilities, I was considered a prospective heiress immediately. Now I serve as the Queen's First Lady. With the aid of the royal advisors, I carry out Her Majesty's duties as she is no longer able to perform them. May I ask what brought you here?” Niamh resumed. 

Nik squared his shoulders and sighed heavily as his fingers caressed the engraved hilt of his dagger.

“You ain't gonna like it, I'm afraid,” he admitted. “Something’s goin’ on in the bayou, it’s messing with the pack's minds," Nik continued, averting his gaze when Niamh finally looked at him. He cleared his throat. "They're nervous, angry—well, angrier than usual. Kinda hard to explain. They say they can hear the voices of their dead loved ones convincing them to give in to their primal needs, to kill, slaughter. Embrace the wolf, or some bullshit. One of them attacked a witch coven last night. They barely made it out alive."

Niamh frowned. "You came all the way here to bother the Queen about a vengeful evil spirit? It's a good thing you met me instead."

“I’ve checked every position in the bestiary, so trust me when I say it ain't no evil spirit, rook— Niamh. It's been going on for weeks, people keep disappearing and the pack's becoming a real pain in the ass, so you might wanna move your royal ass to New Orleans and play Moulder and Scully to figure out what's going on because neither me nor Kathy have a clue how to stop it. Besides, I had a hunch I might find you here.”

“You had no way of knowing that.”

“You’re underestimating my detective abilities.”

"Do you mean pestering Lady Fate for information for so long that she either gives it to you or curses you?" Niamh raised her eyebrow, smiling softly, and Nik averted his gaze yet again. She noticed a fresh scar on the left side of his face, which he skilfully hid until now. "What happened?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "Your local werewolf leader wasn't a fan of my interrogation techniques."

"Octavia isn't a fan of you as far as I remember. She probably just waited for an occasion."

His brows knitted. "Last I checked, Octavia got her ass beaten during the competition. She was licking her wounds for weeks."

"Competition?"

"Ain't you supposed to know all that's hanging in our realm?"

Niamh blushed. Indeed, she was supposed to know that, and to a great extent she did—she just didn't want to receive any updates on the NOLA werewolf pack. 

Quickly realising his mistake, Nik added: 

"There were two candidates and neither wanted to step down, so according to some kind of their law they had to fight for the position. Cal spared her life, which was apparently very controversial, but yeah, he won anyway."

"Cal never wanted to be the Alpha, why did he change his mind?"

He shrugged and pointed towards the scar with his finger. "Take it up with him, we ain't on the best terms."

"Very well," she agreed, breaking eye contact. "Give me fifteen minutes."

“I hate portals,” Nik mumbled and took a look around. “You took us to the bayou already, great, it’ll save us some time.”

Niamh took a look around at the familiar wooden houses, the lake she used to watch every evening as Cal promised her to see fairies there, and the common bonfire area they used to spend many nights by. Her mouth felt dry at the thought of meeting him again. 

“Alrighty, so a little heads-up—the chick you see next to Cal is Vivian, his unbearable, sassy girlfriend or whatever they call it. A real bitch, if you ask me, embodies everything I hate 'bout werewolves. Massive pain in the ass, too.”

Niamh nodded, ignoring the pinch in her chest at the sight of Cal’s arm around the woman’s waist. You have no right to feel that way, she reminded herself as they made their way towards the small congregation of men. Pack meeting. She remembered how Cal would ask her to stay home until he came back from those meetings, so she wouldn't accidentally interrupt. Pack meetings were in a way sacred to the participants, but the blond nighthunter paid little attention to that detail. Following him, Niamh soon stood in front of the pack leader, giving a stern look to a wolf next to him, ready to pounce on her. Suddenly changing his mind, he backed down and others followed suit. 

Nik cleared his throat. "See, I brought in help."

Holding his gaze turned out to be one of the hardest tasks she’s ever been granted. She felt her eyelids twitch and hands shake, her brain was telling her to look away and run, but as a representative of Crystaval on official business that was not an option she could use. Straightening her back, she tightened her jaw and assumed an impassive expression. Cal could hear the pounding of her heart, she knew that. There was no fooling him. However, having observed him for a few weeks, she also knew how to read him, thus it was easy for her to see his confusion and the perplexed look on his face.   

"How the hell is she going to help?" 

Nik's gloved hand flipped Niamh’s long hair onto her back, revealing a string of golden runes on the side of her neck, old-nymetic runes that every supernatural creature knew about and was taught to respect. The runes said as follows: a high-ranking Crystaval royal, under royal guard's protection, powerful magic wielder, dragon protector. Child of the storm. And an augury rune, mysterious and portentous. 

Crystaval royals were considered a very specific, hermetic group. They were those who held true power and ruled the supernatural world in all seven realms, those whose power far exceeded even the Fate's. Extensive training and versatile knowledge made them the most skilled, knowledgeable magic wielders in the universe. Hardly ever they were to leave Crystaval so as not to meddle in ordinary affairs, all of them marked with a person specific number of ancient golden runes, unforgeable, known to everyone. 

Cal remembered his mother telling him not to ever cross people with golden runes, especially those with the augury rune. He never learned what it meant, but seeing one on his ex-girlfriend’s neck worried him.

Vivian spoke up. "Do you expect us to bow? Cause wolves don't do that, especially not in front of half-bloods."

Nik's brows perked up in surprise, yet he couldn't contain a mocking chuckle. "Feisty. And stupid."

"Viv," Cal warned, growling deep in his chest, his grip tightening on her hip.

"I don't care for your bows," Niamh responded calmly, her gaze pining the woman in front of her. "However, be advised who you're speaking to, as the next time I’ll order my guard to have your head impaled and exhibited as a warning."

The coolness and self-confidence in her voice made Nik's heart skip a beat in the most negative sense of the word. Sensing the threat, Vivian, unwillingly, bowed her head a little in a gesture of apology. Cal spoke up.

"So I assume you're here about Mason. We already interrogated him, he doesn't remember much more than I've told you over the phone," he addressed Nik. "I'm afraid you came here in vain."

"That remains to be seen, our neighbourhood fae queen-to-be appears to have some new powers to show off."

"Queen?"

In her head, she punched Nik in the arm with all her might. In reality, though, her eyes shyly met Cal's and despite the sudden urge to run at the familiar warmth, she spoke up.

"Yes, Queen Nymeria's journey in the far realm is coming to an end, and I was appointed her successor."

Cal choked down the urge to say "the hell?" hearing the manner of her speech. Niamh seemed brainwashed, perhaps indeed trained to become one of the most powerful figures in the supernatural world. It wasn't the same person he woke up to every morning last year. 

"Listen, it's a mystery to me too, but we have more pressing matters on our hands now, don't we?"

Cal nodded. The pack meeting was rescheduled, and he led his guests toward a small wooden cabin, hidden deeper in the forest. Mason let them in wordlessly.

Niamh observed Mason while him, Nik, and Cal gave an account of the events of the night when he "lost control" as he called it. Finally, she addressed her companions. "Isn't it similar to the case of Jimmy?"

"Jimbo," Nik corrected her. "I mean, kinda, but not entirely. Jimbo, as it turned out, was poisoned and with him being a werewolf it didn't kill him but made him go feral. Mason was aggressive, but he kept mentioning voices."

"He got into a fight with several other pack members and mauled them pretty badly, but he was still able to obey me. I'm no expert on spells and witchcraft, but could it be that? We do have beef with another pack and several witches, maybe they decided to take revenge?"

Niamh shook her head. "I would feel it. There's no magic involved. Are you sure it's not some illegal substances from a new source?" she addressed the man on the sofa. 

He looked up at her, shyly, unsure how he should show her respect. "I don't use, Lady." 

Having pondered over the possibility of using magic on him long enough, Niamh proposed going through the werewolf's memories "It's not going to be comfortable, but I need you to stay as relaxed as possible and don't block your memories," she instructed, taking a seat on the armchair next to him. He nodded. 

Cal nudged the nighthunter on his right, focused on polishing his pocket knife. Niamh kept instructing the werewolf in the other room. "Do you feel it?" 

"Feel what?"

"The power she holds. It's… I've never felt anything like this. It makes you obey her even, the air feels different around her."

"What about last year?"

"Not to that extent. You can easily tell she's from Crystaval now."

Nik hummed, thinking of Cal’s words. "Fascinating," he muttered, watching one of the runes on her neck shimmer as she worked her magic on Mason. Leaning across the door frame with his hands crossed on his chest, Cal observed it as well, trying to wrap his head around the fact of how much she has changed in a year. "Well?"

"There's nothing,” she said, calmly, taking her time with the answer. Her hand touched Mason’s cheek as if in a soothing gesture.

"So maybe magic after all?" Cal suggested.

"No, there's nothing. Absolutely no recollection of that day. That's dark sorcery. You must have made enemies with someone more important than a local witch coven, Cal."

Take it easy today, she addressed the werewolf and exited his house. Cal followed.

"Should I call you your majesty now?"

"Not yet."

Taking his place next to her, the werewolf folded his arms. 

"Nik told me you're the Alpha now. How come? The last time we saw each other, you wanted to leave this place and lead a quiet, peaceful life."

"A lot has changed since you ran away."

She turned her head to the other side, pretending to be looking at a passing dog. Of course, he held a grudge, she would as well. She left for no apparent reason. Cal sighed.

"The pack needed a strong leader. We've been having some issues with the Texas pack, and Octavia would just escalate the conflict to the point of a war."

"What do they want from you?"

"Beats me," he crossed his arms on his chest. "They're just sending threats for now. No demands."

“There’s something about him that just doesn’t sit right with me,” Nik interrupted, closing the front door. “You sure didn’t see anything suspicious?”

“No. How did you know how to find me? The court made sure the information would not get out until the right time."

"Yeah, believe me, I've noticed. Your secrecy cost me another round of stripping for the Fate and almost getting cursed, but she budged."

"Why were you looking for me?"

"Cause of Cal, obviously. He said your disappearance was weird, that your phone number no longer existed, and your mother said she hasn't seen you in months. Kristin was surprised as well. It got me thinking you might've fled to Lamrian, but it looks like you managed to made enemies there," he nudged her shoulder playfully. "Come on, spill, what'd you do to poor Thalissa?"

Cal looked up at her, his interest piqued. 

"She believes I'm unworthy of taking my father’s rightful place on the Crystaval throne," she shrugged. "Don't believe in Lamrian's mushy sweet facade, Nik. Those who live there are expatriates from Crystaval, often times criminals who found refuge in Lamrian, which is basically n outlaw colony. Thalissa's protective domes aren't for bloodwraiths, they're for Crystaval's officials."

"What about Garrus?"

"As far as I know, he's free to come back."

"Does he know that? Cause he sure doesn't seem to."

"We've notified him several times. It was the first decree I issued when I gained influence."

Nik sighed heavily, looking around the bayou in thought. “Can we talk about this over a drink or is your curfew up?”

[zhongster]

Hi there! I absolutely LOVE your page! Your stories and headcannons have left me blushing SEVERAL times. Thank you :)

Ahem. Anyways...

I've got this idea in my brain and was wondering what your thoughts on it/would you write a small story about said topic.

So, as you said in your Vax headcannons, he's not shy about his belching abilities until Keyleth comes around, then he's "nervous"

What if, the two of them were made to share a room at an inn or something during one of their quests. She's busy talking to Pike or Vex even, he's alone in the room. WRONG. She comes in as he's just about to start releasing said "monsters" in his stomach. Of course, she wants him to feel better, she's his friend/girlfriend/wife (you decide, lol) so she encourages him to let loose and when he does, he finds out she secretly "likes" it...

I hope you enjoy this idea that now lives rent-free in my brain.

Oh my god dude… this prompt has me on the floor holy fuck. Also tysm I’m glad I’m finding more eructo people that like tlovm/cr 😭

(Post Writing Note: another day another me poking my emetophobia with a stick like an angry bear, that being said: ⚠️‼️EMETO TW: MENTIONS ONLY, WE DON’T ACTUALLY SEE IT (it happens off screen, so to speak) ‼️⚠️)

THIS IS KINK CONTENT, DNI IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT

Vax absolutely adored Vox Machina’s post victory ragers and considering the dragon they’d just killed, he found himself drinking with his friends and destroying some poor innkeeper’s tavern. Some hours ago Scanlan had disappeared upstairs with a rather attractive male tiefling to do god knows what and Grog and Pike lay asleep at a table over in the corner. This left only Vax, Vex, Keyleth, and Percy keeping the party going.

As he glanced around the room, looking for his sister (who definitely wasn’t in the process of swindling a nearby dwarf out of several gold pieces), he spotted Keyleth attempting to lead Percy in a drunken imitation of a waltz. The two of them were giggling and stumbling over each other and Vax was of the opinion that Keyleth had never looked prettier.

Vax’s stomach gave a slight groan to which he gently placed a hand over it. It pressed against his shirt, filled to the brim with tavern food and alcohol. A small gas bubble pressed up his throat and came out in the form of a quiet closed-mouth burp.

He decided he’d better make his escape now while Keyleth was distracted. He could go up to their shared room in the inn and empty his stomach of its troublesome gas before Keyleth was even aware he was gone.

He’d only just made it past the threshold of their room when a sizable belch forced its way up his throat. He placed a hand on his chest in slight surprise, he hadn’t expected that one. He wasn’t too perturbed however, this had been what he’d come up there to do anyway.

Wasting no further time, Vax turned away from the door and pressed his hand onto the top part of his overtaxed stomach. Immediately another deep belch rolled up his chest and out of his open mouth. As soon as it came to an end the door behind him flew open revealing none other than Keyleth, the one person he was trying to avoid at the moment.

He hurriedly removed his hand from his stomach and clamped his lips shut. However, once that first burp had come out he now found it a bit difficult to keep the rest from following its predecessor.

Keyleth passed through the doorway giggling and animatedly telling him a story about a Goliath that had just been rude to her and, he thinks, Percy ended up vomiting on his shoes when he attempted to tell the guy off. Vax isn’t totally sure as all of his focus is currently in keeping the rest of the air in his stomach from making an appearance in front of Keyleth. He’d taken to nodding and smiling through her story instead of actually responding.

“And anyway, Percy’s fine. I think Vex took him back to their room” Keyleth finished.

Vax hummed in acknowledgment.

Apparently, despite her slightly drunken state, Keyleth took notice of his lack of verbal response. “You feeling okay?” She asks, raising her eyebrow.

“Oh uhh-“ Vax started before he inevitably lost the battle with his stomach.

The belch that rolled out of him was a long one. Long enough, in fact, that he had time to close his mouth part way through, turning it into an extremely deep closed mouth burp.

Keyleth was just staring at him.

Vax lifted a fist to cover his mouth as he stifled a smaller after-burp, “shit, excuse me I’m so sorry Keyleth.” He apologized.

This seemed to break Keyleth out of the sort of shock she’d been in and she stuttered back to life with an awkward jolt.

She hurriedly waved her hands in front of him, “Nononono don’t worry about it, is your stomach hurting? Do you feel sick?” She asked.

Vax shook his head, “No I’ve just got… a bit of gas I’m afraid.”

Keyleth’s shoulders tightened before she spoke “Oh… well I’m glad you aren’t sick, you can keep going I don’t mind. I just want you to feel better.”

As much as he didn’t want to take her up on her offer it was beginning to seem as though he wouldn’t have any other choice. His body was not reacting well to the alcohol and he began to hiccup. His hiccups never lead to anywhere pleasant. Though they were tame at the moment he knew they would devolve in a few short minutes.

And of course, right on cue, he was wracked with another hiccup that quickly turned into an extremely long and painful burp. When it came to an end he brought an open palm to his chest and gently began to rub his own sternum. That one had hurt. Before he had a minute to breathe another hiccup-burp shook his chest. “Oh god” he wheezed.

He looked up to Keyleth who was staring at him like a deer in headlights and weakly gestured towards his back. She seemed to get the message as she began to roughly bring her palm down in between his shoulder blades. This finally managed to jar the rest of the air that was struggling to get out of him. The belch seemed to go on forever and when it finally ended he was gasping in relief.

“Gods that wasn’t fun,” he winced “thanks Keyleth.”

She seemed to start at the sound of her name and snorted a quick “no problem”.

That’s when Vax noticed it for the first time. There was a light rosy tint to Keyleth’s cheeks that hadn’t been there before. Now, her face usually flushed when she’d been drinking but he’d seen her drunk enough times at this point that he knew this was different.

Her strange behavior since she entered the room was finally starting to click. She was into it. She was actually into his gas.

Now Vax wasn’t one to kink-shame, he was friends with Scanlan after all, but the idea of her being attracted to him in any capacity both excited and terrified him. It almost seemed as though his hopelessly unrequited crush on her might not be so unrequited at all.

Shaking that thought out of his head, the mischievous part of his personality began to make an appearance and he found himself wanting to tease her even more than he already had. Against his better judgement, he subtly gulped down more air and smiled wickedly to himself.

This was going to be fun.

[kariachi]

Okay pern fic with one of my rp pairs, Sjeyn and Taso.

Little blue menace, that one, you have to love him.

~~

It had taken two weeks from the Hatching for Sjeyn to figure out that if Tasogareth was quiet, she should go find out what exactly he was up to.

Some may argue that this should have been apparent from the start, when his third act of life was to playfully try to steal his brother’s food, but she would counter that these people had experienced moments of rest that duty and dragon had denied her at the time.

As it was, she had developed the habit of, whenever she could take her mind from whatever work she was doing, reaching out to press against his mind. If he was loud and talking of siblings, whers, and play, then all was good and she could go back to work. If he was quiet and talking naps, practicing things from their lessons, or listening to stories from the older dragons, he was up to something.

She’d been told once it was unkind to assume Taso never practiced their lessons, but that wasn’t the issue. That big, beautiful, blue brain went a dragonlength every heartbeat and he was always happy to throw it at something. The problem was that he figured these things out quickly and was in no way scared to twist them into a new game. She loved Taso with all her heart, but his games tended to be trouble, and he had enough mutations going on that more trouble was the last thing they needed.

It was with this thought in mind that she stepped back from vegetables she’d finished chopping and headed out of the kitchens with a simple “Taso” that everyone understood. As soon as she hit sunshine Sjeyn scanned the Bowl for him, continuing to press against his mind while he grumbled and insisting he was napping in a lie that would’ve convinced anyone who wasn’t his rider. Small though he was- the smallest non-dwarf blue hatched in Benden in recent memory and among the smallest hatched since the days of Lessa- he was distinct enough in color and mannerisms to be easily recognized even at a distant glance. His lack of presence was readily apparent.

Which meant he was in the Caverns. The smaller weyrlings from the clutch could still get down there, and he would likely be able to the rest of his life. Heaving a sigh, Sjeyn pressed a quick hope for information into the nearest where that wasn’t sleeping, waiting patiently for her answer of which path he’d last been seen heading for. It wasn’t one used often, dug out back during the Second Interval for extra storage anymore used for old Threadfighting gear and memorabilia that was drug out for weyrling lessons and nothing else. Some of their Weyrbred clutchmates had said they were haunted, with entire spooky stories about the gruesome deaths in the depths, but Sjeyn had never taken it much seriously and didn’t intend to change that. But they were definitely the kind of stories to form ideas in Taso’s head.

Certainly, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d run off to investigate some scary story, though he’d been just a baby the first time.

It was only when she was far deep into the tunnels, enough to wonder if maybe he’d changed course at some point, still not getting a truthful answer out him, that she figured things out. When she started hearing sounds coming from up ahead, garbled, echoing voices that she could have sworn she would be able to understand if she only went a little further, a little further, a little-

“Taso,” she called out, unable to keep him from feeling her confusion and, she would admit, pride over their bond, “do you have any limits?” She could feel him preen back, smiling despite her best efforts to stay stern as the spotlight of his eyes opened in the distance.

I can’t do words, he admitted, but I can get pretty close. Snickering, Sjeyn shook her head.

“It wasn’t bad enough you mimicking everything else in the Weyr,” she said, picking up her pace to close the distance between them, “you have to bring the humans into it too.” His eyes swirled in bright blues and purples as he stuck his head out of the little alcove he’d cozied up in, pressing it against her torso as she scratched lovingly at his crest.

Well, I would hate for you all to feel left out…

[nightmareworks]

hey so i'm gonna talk about the wargame i'm writing

its called DRAGONSMOKE: A Game of Black-Powder Fantasy Battles and is basically my attempt at making a Warhammer that I can more easily share with folks unfamiliar with why my brain clicks into place at the concept of Your Dudes and using a big setting as a springboard.

i'm talking about it rn bc i'm thinking about fantasy worldbuilding and i'm really proud of what i have in it so we're gonna call this the Worldbuilding Post in tagging systems okay? okay. insert a read more here if you remember

The setting of Dragonsmoke is the Known World, which is based on the Mediterranean and near-east of earth in terms of culture, history, and terrain

so the Known World has a bunch of stuff you'd expect from a fantasy wargame that the author has admitted is a Warhammer heartbreaker- we got your invaders serving a dark god, we got your necromancers doin evil stuff, some funny orcs, we got the empire of men, we got some elfs, some dwarfs, yaknow, all the good stuff!

so as you can see most of the map is taken up by the Sultanate of the Dragon, this is the empire of men i mentioned. i like my fantasy a little less grim than warhammer tends to be, so they're all right in general. they're my first of the Good factions as i term them in my writing. the Good Guys of the story, even if they can do wrong and war with each other or just be Dicks, at the end of the day they're gonna usually do the Moral and Honorable thing for the kinds of stories the setting wants to tell. i go through all of this cause, yaknow, empires are bad things, but also i love when the Good King on his Rightful Throne struggles against the impulses of power and does what's best for all the people of the lands. it rules.

anyway that's the basic idea for the Sultan and basically carries over into the rest of the very Ottoman vibe the whole army is meant to give off. The Sultanate is the Son of the Wyrm God, the Emperor Beneath, Last Victor of the Diamachy, Patriarch of Scalekin- a gigantic and truly ancient Dragon that slumbers beneath Truyvillium. It is with the mandate of the Dragon that the Sultan rules, and the Oath of the Sacred Hoard binds the disparate cultures and peoples of the Sultanate. In every human of the Sultanate flows the blood of Dragons, their Oaths becoming scales on their bodies. Such is the way the nobility is given the right to rule- through their scales and their promises and their binding oaths of service to protect and maintain the Sacred Hoard. For the Sacred Hoard is all the Sultanate, every piece of gold and every child born within its borders are the Hoard of the Wyrm God. The most precious treasure of one of the beings who shaped the world when it was young. And so, woe to those who break their faith with the Emperor Below and the House of Ozmani. May their scales fall out. May their ambitions rot. May the Dragon Blood within them catch flame at the Emperor's Ire.

the Sultanate of the Dragon are, in game terms, a host of well trained and equipped mortal men doing their best to protect their homes and livelihoods from the Darkness that threatens the known world, supported by heavy artillery, the dragon-blooded Janissary Corp, auxiliaries from the far reaches of the Sultanate (like the Cynophelli, the Beastmen with the heads of Dogs; and the Men of Blyemmae, the Ogres who are as tall as two men, as strong as ten, and posses a great gnashing second mouth on their stomachs), and the Dragons who answer the ancient oaths betwixt Man and Drake.

so that's the Sultanate, whom i really adore, but there's another human faction! and this one is the Evil one. i don't feel like i really have to explain the ideas behind the Evil factions quite as much as the good ones cause Evil's easy to grasp when you read it so i'm gonna launch into them with a little less preamble

from across the Great Sea, the reavers come bearing their dark miracles- A Heretic's Crusade, lead by knights astride steeds gone mad with fear and clad in enchanted armor that refuses to let them die. In the wake of their charges follow the Sinners-at-Arms and those blessed and damned by That Miracle's touch. They have come from the Blessed Lands at the order of the Holy See of That Wretched Miracle, to burn the Known World and pick through the ashes for whatever their wicked masters desire- all to bring That Miracle into this world. The Crusaders are just that- Crusaders. A roving army of murderers warped by the attention and touch of That Miracle, bound together in their Dogma and their twisted Faith.

in general the Heretic's Crusade has a bit less to say about it than the Sultanate bc, well, they're the Chaos Warriors- servants of Evil, come to despoil and burn. Its very straightforward! they're from fantasy italy (which they ruined) and focus on having heavier cavalry than everyone else. the Crusaders on their horses (or on foot sometimes) make up the core of the army, supported in the wings by the twisted porcelain angels of That Miracle, the enslaved footsoldiers they brought with them, and the occasional dark theologian capable of speaking the foul un-words of That Wretched Miracle. i love my bad guys cause they're just the worst, and sometimes you want Just The Worst. and what's The Worst more than catholic legalists who are capable of a lot of murder? not much!

so that's where we leave off for the human factions and i'm tired of typing so we're gonna call this done and post it and next time talk about the dwarfs (sexually dimorphic elementals who invented socialism recently) and orcs (a kind of youkai)

[poedameronwifey]

A true home (The hobbit Fanfic)

Chapter 6

Kate's Pov

It was absolute chaos. There were dwarves everywhere. They were taking all the food out of the pantry and we just brought that. Not to mention, Ren is going to get hangry soon.

I stood out of the way as Dad tried to stop them. I'm surprised I haven't fallen yet. As I walked to where the girls were, one of the dwarves pushed past me and knocked me over. I closed my eyes and braced myself to meet the floor but strong arms wrapped around my waist. I opened my eyes and looked up to see Fili holding me to his chest.

I blushed like crazy. He helped me stand up straight and I thanked him before turning and walking quickly to my sisters.

"Ooh la la, someone's got a crush on a certain blonde haired dwarf. Do I hear wedding bells? Can we be the bridesmaids?"

Lilith kept smirking at me while Renée hummed the bride's march. I hit them at the back of their heads and told them to shut up. We looked at the dwarves and sighed at the mess they were making. That's gonna be a lot of food to clean up. We just leaned against the wall and watched them act like animals but it was pretty funny.

Renée leaned against me and I knew that she was done with socialising for the next few days. Balin looked at us with a 'why aren't you eating' look and we just mouthed that we didn't want to disturb them. He just chuckled and waved us over, showing the space next to us.

I informed the girls and we manoeuvred our way to where he was and sat next to him. Since Ren and Lilith already ate, I got some meat and salad because I didn't feel like eating too much. I finished my food rather quickly and looked around the table. Balin introduced us to all of them and vice versa. They were very sweet and kind to us.

"So you are Mr Baggins daughter. How did you meet these two?"

Gloin asked, causing everyone to look at us. I looked at Renée because she's the best person to handle this.

Renée's POV

"Well that's a story. Let's hope my brain wont shut down this time. Kat lost her mom when she was two and Bilbo thought she was dead but really she was taken to an orphanage. My family adopted her a year later. But all good things come to an end. My parents died in an accident, causing my older brother, Kate and I to go to the orphanage where we stayed for two years. Lilith's mom then adopted us when Kat, I and my brother, Tommy, were 9 and we lived with her until we were around 20. But then just last year she passed away so yeah that's our story. Been together since we were 6."

I explained as I held Kate and Lilith's hand. Lilith looked down when I spoke of Mama's death. She still hasn't gotten over it.

"And you brother. What happened to him?"

Ori asked. I looked down, letting a single drop before wiping it and looked at them.

"He was killed when we were 18. He was walking home from work when someone threatened him with a knife and tried to mug him but when he refused, the guy stabbed him and ran. He left Tommy bleeding out on the floor in an alleyway. We found out a few hours later."

Kate was trying to keep herself together but I know she was having lots of trouble but that was the last straw for Lilith. She got up and left. It was too much for her.

Lilith and Tommy were very close. Hearing us talk about him hits a nerve because she hasn't gotten over it. She wanted to kill the guy responsible. After we lost Tommy, we all gave up a bit. Lily sorted doing weed and drinking, basically anything you can think of so numb the pain, Kate stopped eating and lost her spark.

Hell, she even stopped drawing and slept until 11 in the morning. I began self harming and staying in my room. My marks slipped and I slept all day. Mama couldn't handle that so she did everything she tried to stop our unhealthy habits.

She managed to help me get help after I was found lying on the floor, bleeding out from cutting my wrists and attempting suicide. It also seemed to make Kate realise the situation so she got back into art but she isn't eating as much as she should have. Lilith was the only one who just ignored mama and kept doing drugs and drinking. She even began sleeping around and having one-night stands which we didn't comment on because we didn't really mind that just as long as she was being careful and safe.

It was only after mama got sick that she stopped. She does smoke but not as much as before and she cooled down on the drinking. After we lost mom, she was tempted to go back to her old habits but we stopped her. Her death is still so painful for us so we aren't really over it. But we're trying and that's what is important.

All of the dwarves just looked at us with sombre looks but we have accepted our reality. Kate and I excused ourselves so we could check on Lilith and we found her sitting in the living room. She looked at us.

"I'm feeling a lot better, you two. I just needed to get out. It was a bit too stuffy. I promise I didn't do anything. I just had a smoke."

She got up and walked to us, pulling us into a hug. We returned it and pulled away before doing a special handshake that we had. We walked back to where Bilbo was and let's just say he was pissed. He was complaining about the dwarves to Gandalf. Ori then came up to me.

"Sorry, I hate to interrupt, but where should I put my plate?"

Fili then came up to him.

"Oh here you go Ori. Here, give it to me."

He then threw it at Kili who caught it while having a pipe in his hand and threw it into the kitchen.

We looked at the stack of clean dishes and over mouths flew open,

"What the actual fuck? That was so cool. You gotta teach us. Imagine how quickly we'd get the dishes down. Ooh I can see it now."

Lilith was literally fangirling but she's got a point. That was fucking brillant. Gandalf laughed at our childishness. We then heard a knock on the door. The entire room became stiff and serious and we all looked at the door.

"He's here" 

Oh boy. Here we go. Lets just hope Lily doesn't try to kill the guy. Not like the dwarves will allow that. This is gonna be interesting. The last thing I need is having to bury someone's body in the back yard because Lily couldn't control herself. Plus we read the book ad watched the movies so we know what's going to happen but even now its still feels like we never know what's going to happen. I just need to remember that I cant fall in love with Kili. I cant risk ruining the events of the story. Besides we were brought here for a reason and I think I know exactly what it is. I just pray to God or whoever the fuck is up there, that we wont fail because I don't think I can handle anymore death.