#truly the greatest of horrors!!

[fellpyrean]

Advent Statement 10 - Hospitality

And here we are. The final one I managed to write, though I am pretty sure I only finished it on the 23rd or 24th itself and then promptly fell over dead. Unfortunately, the final intended chapter of this advent was never written, but who knows! Maybe I will write it as a silly goof this year. 

On to this one, I really had to keep beating ideas for the stranger out of the ranking, but they still ended up with two chapters, those showy bastards. They’ve just got such aesthetic, you know? 

This chapter contains a version of an OC of my partner and I’s, and we love him very much. Please, be polite to him. He’s an excellent guest. 

CWs: canon typical violence/peril?? 

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You've seen candles in the window, haven't you?

They're popular this time of year; little AA powered twinkling things, plastic and fake leaves of holly to make them pretty and fire-safe. Don't get me wrong - I like them. I think they're charming. I just never really thought of them beyond decor until recently. 

Never really wondered what a candle in the window meant until I put that candle in my window and… formed my contract, it would say. 

My guest.

It’s a welcome, the candle. A bright, flickering beacon at the end of a long, dark journey. An offering of food and shelter and, hah, hospitality. 

I should backtrack. 

The house used to belong to my uncle, but the one I got it from was an old family friend. I’d just gotten kicked out of my old place, so they’d decided it was as good a time as any to pass the place back on to me. And look, maybe it was a horror movie setup from the start, but the reality is, when someone gives you a house, you look past the colonial brick and woodwork and the included cellar and encroaching old-growth and any creepiness inherent and go hell yeah, I’ve got a place to live. 

It’s a lovely house. Sturdy and creaky all at once, with stone and real wood floors and a huge glass door - a much more recent addition - that looks out over the field between it and the forest out back. No ever-present sounds of traffic, no door-to-door salesmen because out there, odds are they’ll be met with a shotgun. It was peaceful and cozy, once I got a few rugs, and I was willing to coexist with whatever ghosts might have haunted the place as long as they were polite. Feels like I shot myself in the foot with that one, honestly. 

This began with a candle. 

I found it tucked away in the cellar, and ignoring the fucking foreshadowing of where I found it - literally behind a hole in the wall, where a piece of stone had been loosely removed and set back in - I was immediately charmed by it. It wasn’t new and neat; it was old and yellowed and rough, obviously hand-dipped, and the smell of clove came faintly from the slightly soft wax. I mean, it’s not wax, but that’s what I thought it was. It was tallow. Rendered fat. Yeah. You don’t need me to say the rest; you’ve already got an idea and so do I, but I never asked.

It sat in one of those old-fashioned metal candle holders with the dish and the little loop to put your finger through, with a little circle of melted ‘wax’ still in the tarnished base, and… And I thought it had an antique charm to it. It wasn’t all neat and perfect like something modern, and it just. Made sense to me that when it came time to decorate my home for the holidays, I put it in one of the windows. The front ones all had curtains but I’d not quite managed to scrape enough together to get curtains for all the ones in the back, so in the interest of fire safety, it went in the narrow little window next to that big, glass door facing the woods. 

No curtains, and I could see it from my usual perch at the kitchen counter. Seemed perfect. 

The sight of it there, burning bright and filling the room with that odd but not unpleasant scent made me feel warm. Cozy. Just old, orange flickering firelight lighting up the space, silhouetted against the black shape of the trees outside. 

A glittering invitation. 

He… it came the next night. 

All day, I was weirdly on pins and needles. I couldn't sit still for the life of me, and that antsiness manifested as the most cleaning that house had probably seen in a century. Even the baseboards got a scrubbing. I can't even claim that I had company coming in like a month, because I didn't; I only had the one couch and my dining table only sat two if you didn't mind personal space. Like hell was I offering to host. 

But it just seemed like something that needed doing. And when I was done cleaning and tidying, I started to cook. Beef and barley soup, if you must know. 

It had just really finished up when I… When I relaxed enough to look up and notice that it was dark - and the candle was lit. I hadn't noticed the scent of clove filling the room, threading through the rich scent of soup, until then. 

And then I noticed something much, much worse than a candle I didn't remember lighting. 

There was someone standing on my back porch. 

I almost screamed from that alone, really. I know I locked up for a moment, breath caught in my chest as I stood there with nothing but a wooden spoon in hand and stared at the barely illuminated… person? Standing just a few feet from the glass. 

It wasn't… wasn't quite shaped right. It was very tall, and the outline was all wrong. This was not helped by the fact that I could see what looked like antlers coming off its head, before I realized there was still a skull attached to those. 

A bare, yellow-white deer skull over its face like a mask. I could see the flickering candle light, the pale moonlight dripping down the prongs, glinting off the teeth. And then it slowly stepped forward. Its outline rustled as it moved, as it stepped closer and raised too sharp fingers and gently, carefully, knock-knocked on the glass. It… it sounded wrong. It wasn’t flesh that made its fingers, and I have never wanted to own a shotgun more than in that moment. 

But it just stood there. That hand still raised expectantly, its unseen eyes fixed on me. I did not move. I watched as it slowly tilted its head, watched something sway and clatter from its antlers, and it knocked again. 

I… I swear, when it. When it knocked again, when it stared at me with that skull’s empty eyes, I felt a sudden… sense of crisis. Like the candle smoke went cloying, like I could hear those… those claws dig into the glass, and abruptly knew that it only stayed behind it because it was being… polite. 

It was the most absurd thought, but in that moment, I knew that it was true and I latched onto that surety like a rope. 

I opened the door for it. 

My terror was probably tangible in the air as I did it, but I lunged over and unlocked the door and slid it open. I was close enough I could smell the scent of pine and dirt and smoke clinging to it, clinging to the… the pelts it wrapped around itself. I could hear the layers of dusty furs rub against each other as it nodded towards me and held out that pale, clawed hand towards me, until I took it. 

It shook my hand and my skin crawled at the cold touch and then it just let go and stepped inside. Each step clunked. I didn’t think about it too hard. 

All I did was close the door, listening to it clunk, clunk, clunk across the wooden floors, and heard it pull out a chair at my tiny dining table. 

I wish it had done something worse, but, no. 

I gave it soup and it wasn’t until it finished eating it with a mouth I never saw that my words came back to my tongue and I could ask who, what it was. 

And it just answered, in a voice deep and rough, “I am your guest.” 

It is the guest, and I. I am the host who invited it in. 

Nothing about it was human. Its joints moved wrong, like… like an animal. But it held the steaming mug of cider delicately in its… fingers that clicked against the ceramic and sipped it almost contentedly, and I just had to watch and host it with a smile as my fear simmered beneath my skin. The longer I saw it under the light, the more I realized just how wrong it was, and it was only with my nerves fraying and my fingers shaking that I guided it back to the door once it stood and thanked me for the meal, and just. Left. 

I watched it walk and slump back out across the field and vanish into the trees and only then did I let myself slide to the floor. I felt wrung out. Exhausted and jittery and I didn't move for a while. 

It was only when I realized I was watching shadows dance on the ceiling cast by candlelight that I found an outlet to act on. I snuffed the candle with fury and marched right back down to the cellar with it. That was really the first time I ever wondered why something so charming had been shoved into a literal hole in the cellar wall, but now I had a feeling. 

The candle called that thing inside. 

So, if. If the candle was in the cellar like that, there must have been a reason. Had my uncle put it there? Had he known? Was that why he'd passed off the house, why the person he'd given it to had never set foot inside while they owned it? I had no answers but I was pissed. Scared pissed. I'd had to sit next to that thing for an hour and act like everything was normal and like I didn't hear way too many things shift and clink-clunk together when it moved or wonder where the soup was going or whether the soup was what it was eating at all. 

I shoved the candle back into the hole, back into that dirty, dark little spot and I found the stone that was supposed to cover it hidden beneath the stairs and rankled at the idea that someone had set it up for me to find. 

All that mattered, I told myself as I hefted the stone back into place and pushed at it until it was more or less back where it belonged, was that the candle was gone now. It was gone and unlit and that thing wouldn't come anymore. 

I think that desperate satisfaction helped lull me to sleep; me telling myself I had fixed the problem. It had worked for the last person, so it would work for me. 

(The last person left. The last person never stepped inside the house again.)

Couldn't really afford them, but I bought the rest of the curtains the next day. I didn't want to see the field in the morning anymore, didn't want to watch the twilight and squint for owls and deer. I didn't want the thing in the forest to see me, to see any light spilling from the windows and take it as a welcome. 

Oh, and a shotgun. I kept it very close as I hung my new curtains and ate my extremely cheap dinner, and the thing did not come back. 

Not for a week. 

I watched every night for it. Jumped at every creak and thump outside, though I was very proud that I hadn't devolved to checking with my shotgun in hand. 

When I heard that heavy clunk on the back porch though, I instantly knew the sound. 

Clunk. Clunk. 

Silence. 

My heart thudded frantically in my chest as I dared not move. 

It was standing on the back porch again. I couldn't see it behind the thick, heavy curtains I had installed, but I knew with utmost certainty that it had come back and the candle was not lit. 

It did not knock. 

It stood there, and then I heard it laugh.

Low and raspy and rolling, and then I heard those claws drag against the glass. 

"Am I no longer welcome?"

The glass wailed. It shook. 

“You no longer wish for me to be your guest?” My shotgun was on the table. I went for it. I’d bought it for this. I ran, and the glass shattered. Something. Something snarled, something came running too fast, its steps disordered and heavy, and I refused to look. Not until I had my shotgun in hand and turned and it was. So, so much worse than I expected. 

It no longer resembled a person at all. It… it had too many limbs. All those pelts, writhing and shifting, too many limp paws and hooves all clawing forwards, all connected to that single, grinning deer skull. Bones and twigs and baubles jangled beneath, a horrid cacophony that howled as it barreled through my kitchen, as that deer skull’s mouth opened - I shot it. 

I don’t think I missed, but I. Didn’t dare wait and watch. 

All I know is that it didn’t stop, either way. I shot and ran and it laughed and cackled and snarled and I. I ran down. 

I don’t think I could have made it out the front door, or my car. I don’t think my car could have withstood it. Upstairs… I would have just been cornered. The only option I had was down. I’d be cornered, but it had… it needed to be my guest. I had to host it. At least until I could figure out some other way to deal with it, at least the candle kept me safe. 

The cellar had a good lock. Sturdy. I just prayed it would be enough as I barreled down the stairs and dropped my gun and scrabbled at that stone. It thudded against the wood. I heard the door splintering. I heard the things horrid hollow laughter, heard something too, too heavy for empty, writhing skins slamming again and again into the door as I struggled and pulled at the wall, swearing as it moved so, so slowly, dragging against old mortar - 

The door shattered. 

The stone slipped and cracked on the floor as I plunged my hand into that awful little hole and grabbed that too-soft candle in the dark and. And felt fur brush against my arms. Felt soft, supple leather draped across my shoulders and rasping breaths at the back of my neck. Cold, long-dead teeth pricked above my spine as I. Shivered. 

But it didn’t move either. 

So I. I pulled the candle out of the wall and didn’t look at the mismatched pelts, at the old claws that capped empty, grasping paws as I held it up. I licked my lips. 

“Can I invite you to sit down for dinner upstairs?” 

My voice was impressively even. I was… specific. As specific as I could be, with its teeth pressed to my skin. 

You can probably guess since I’m here that it worked. It… it didn’t let go of me until I lit the candle. That walk up the stairs was… one of the worst moments in my life, I think. The skins were so heavy as it clung to me. Cold bone on my neck, awful, nameless things jangling as I maintained my brittle smile and ferried my guest back upstairs to my dining room and dug for the matches and lit the damned thing. 

And then it waited politely, pelts shifting and rustling as it literally pulled itself back together into something person-shaped and I made more soup. 

The candle sat in the middle of the table. I watched it burn down slowly as my guest tucked in, content and docile, and ignored the cold breeze blowing into my kitchen from my shattered back door. It made the flame dance. The smoke coiled about the lights and wreathed the room and filled my lungs until it finally left again, glass crunching beneath its hidden feet as it pulled aside the curtain and vanished back into the night. 

I didn’t try to hide the candle again. 

Call me a coward, but I… I shot the fucking thing and it didn’t even slow down. Where would I even aim if I wanted to shoot to kill? The skull? Would I try lighting it on fire? Flames would probably work, but. But I was scared. I was scared and I could still feel the ghost of its teeth and claws pressed tight to my skin. I had a feeling that if I set it aflame, it would drag me down with it, and I… I wasn’t at that point yet. 

I kept the candle in the window and my guest came by, again and again. It brought me gifts, you know? Old pelts. They’re beautifully preserved. Said it was only polite to bring gifts to such a hospitable host. 

And every time it visited, I watched the candle burn. Lower and lower. 

It’s just a nub now. Maybe enough for a single night. 

That’s… why I came now. 

It’s supposed to snow this weekend, you see… It’ll be too cold for it to leave, the snow too deep. 

I can’t turn it out into a night like that. It has such old, weary bones. 

It’d make me a terrible host. 

[averlym]

"oh my soul, is it here? or is it rotting somewhere with my head?"

[nedlittle]

[crawls out of oklahoma! west end bootleg shaking and covered in blood]

[owliellder]

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x Painter f! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author Note: You know how each president of the U.S. gets a painting at the end of their term? I'm thinking like that. Plus, my favorite hobby is recreating renaissance art, so I figured this was a good fit (hopefully).

Cross posted onto AO3

Session 1: The Sketches

It was late at night when Leon made his decision to retire fully.

He had gotten home over an hour ago from reviewing mountains of paperwork, most of which pertained to missions that other agents have gone on or will be going on.

Younger agents. More energized agents.

The fact that he hadn't gone on a full mission since San Francisco was driving him up the wall. But that's what he wanted. He requested to hang back the last two years.

Both Chris and Claire had fully retired themselves right after San Fran, Claire being the first to retire to focus on her growing family with Chris following suit only a few months later. Jill was still around, but she was doing similar work that Leon was, only she was in a completely different department which was states away.

Of course Leon still talked with them all as regularly as possible, he'd go insane if he didn't, especially with Claire having a couple kids now. He wasn't the greatest with children, but it was refreshing seeing his friends achieve such normalcy. He wanted them to have the best life they could away from everything.

Having turned 40 a few some months ago, Leon was having a bit of a mid-life crisis. The mission to San Francisco a couple years ago had made him realize just how much toll the job itself had taken on his body. After being assessed and allowed home a few nights after returning from the mission, his body ached; joints creaking, back nearly thrown, just... tired.

Don't get him wrong, he was always tired after missions, but this was different. This wasn't just the regular aches and pains he dealt with after being tossed around like a rag doll, this was age.

Deep in his mind, Leon was still that 21 year old boy in Raccoon City. He never got the chance to properly grieve and move on, his mind forever changed by that event. Mentally, he was stuck there and had been this entire time.

It had taken the man this long to truly recognize the fact that he's older now. He's not that boy from Raccoon City anymore. He hadn't been in a long time.

What was he do to now? Leon had wanted so badly to serve and protect the people, but not like this. Not like he has for the past 29 years.

He spent his most formative years fighting unimaginable horrors, watching people suffer, watching people die. You don't just come back from something like that.

And unlike the friends he's managed to keep close, Leon didn't have someone he trusted. Hell, he barely trusted himself most days.

So now here he was, sitting drunk in his shower with his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms resting atop his knees while the water pelted down on him, silently mulling over everything he's ever seen and done during his time as an agent.

The water had grown cold at this point, Leon having quickly lost track of how long he was sitting spaced out like that for. Thankfully, he'd already cleaned himself before he ended up sitting down, so the hardest part now was just standing back up to get himself back out.

It took him a couple more minutes before he finally hoisted himself up with a tired groan, both his knees popping from being stuck in position for such a lengthy amount of time.

Once out of the shower, towel loosely wrapped around his waist, Leon stared at himself in the mirror; busy studying the crow's feet on both outer corners of his eyes as well as the prominent bags sitting under them, the smile line around his mouth, his now brown hair, the stubble on his face and neck that's he's neglected to shave, and just how exhausted he looked.

How has he never noticed any of this before? Why's he look so different now?

Settling into bed after this brutal realization was a tough task. The man followed his nightly routine of taking four Tylenol and two of his prescription sleep meds before setting his a/c 65 degrees Fahrenheit. He learned quickly many years ago that tossing and turning at night would make him overheat and sweat.

But tonight, nothing Leon did could ease that sinking feeling in his chest, that feeling of unfulfillmemt and shame weighing on him more than ever before.

The poor man barely slept at all last night, hangover evident by the way he was still slightly uneven on his feet as he leaned over the center island in his kitchen, head between his forearms while his hands sat clasped together.

Leon knew what he had to do. He's been feeling it ever since Chris and Claire made their departure, but it was so easy to deny. How was he suppose to give up the one thing that made him important? Sure the stress of his work was heavily tasking on the mind and body, but it's what gave him purpose. He felt useful doing what he did.

The man showed up for work late that day, barely having managed to dress himself. He didn't know exactly who to go to in this scenario, but everyone seemed surprised that the Leon Kennedy would show up for work in some ratty t-shirt and grey sweatpants. The stares were making him incredibly uncomfortable and he was quickly regretting showing up at all.

After sitting in his own office for awhile to avoid the looks and whispers, Leon eventually sauntered over to his superior's office, an almost solemn look on his face as he let himself in after knocking.

Needless to say, Leon was relieved his superior knew this was coming. Slightly offended, but relieved nonetheless.

It had been a long time coming, and it was only a matter of time before Leon threw in the towel, especially since he was now just working behind the scenes instead of on the frontline.

He was allowed to return home for the rest of the day if he wanted to, which Leon quickly took. He really didn't want to be in that building for much longer.

As soon as he returned home he went right back to drinking. And as ashamed as he is to admit, he even cried a little, half empty whiskey bottle in one hand while the other was clenched tightly into a fist as he gripped the pant leg of his sweats.

There wasn't anyone Leon could talk to about this. Chris and Claire had their own respective partners to come home to after retirement, but Leon? Leon had nothing besides a dingy and cold two bedroom house with only the basics inside, including his alcohol cabinet.

The man didn't even give himself time to date, only the occasional one night stand with randoms from the bar. He was too afraid that he would endanger anyone he allowed into his life like that, not to mention he'd been betrayed one too many times to trust in someone that way again. It was his way of keeping himself and everyone else safe.

The therapists he was assigned throughout the years all had the same concern regarding his love life, and deep down Leon was just as concerned, but he rationalized it with that hero complex he developed.

But he just couldn't rationalize it anymore. Leon was alone. He was alone, sad, and afraid.

About a month after Leon's retirement was processed and announced, word spread quickly throughout numerous government branches. There was a celebration set up at the White House to honor his service as a field agent.

The President had separated him and Leon from the party to slowly walk through the many hallways in the building. The old man could tell just how bothered the now ex-agent was by his retirement, so he figured now would be the best time to talk to him about his final task.

"You know," The President spoke up after a couple minutes of the two walking in silence, prompting Leon to slowly turn his head to listen. "I'm sure you've heard it so many times tonight, but you truly were one of the best agents I've ever seen."

Leon chuckled quietly, shaking his head a bit at the compliment. He had heard it a lot tonight, but obviously it was different coming from him.

"I'm serious. This county, probably the entire world, would've been in shambles if not for your hours spent." The President continued, slowing his walking to a stop.

"It means more than you know." Leon responded simply, voice a bit gravelly from the few drinks he's had. He took a couple steps more before stopping as well, turning around to face the prominent old man.

The President sighed, giving him a sympathetic smile while nodding. They stood in silence for a brief moment before the old man spoke up again, pointing lazily down the hall. "Follow me, I've got something I want to show you."

From there, the two wandered further down the halls until eventually reaching one hall that had lights more centered towards the walls, highlighting the picture frames that sat evenly spaced out amongst them.

Leon seemed a tad confused until he was able to focus on the first painting they walked by. He knew each president got a portrait painted after their full term was served, but the man in this painting wasn't a past president.

He stopped walking to stand in front of the painting, admiring the details it had before glancing down at the bottom of the elegant frame, a placard reading a name he didn't recognize. What he did recognize, though, was the word Agent that sat in front of the man's name.

While zoned into the placard, Leon didn't register the gentle hand that had been clasped on his shoulder, the President's voice breaking through his trance. "For as long as there's been bioweapons, we've had agents fighting to stop them. But only a few agents have truly outdone themselves. Agents like you."

Leon blinked a couple times before turning his head to look at the hand on his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. He wasn't quite understanding what he was saying.

The President took his silence as a cue to continue, his sympathetic smile turning into a happier one as he gently tugged Leon's shoulder to get him to start walking again. "The D.S.O. has produced some of the greatest agents since Benford created it back in 2011. You were amazing before, but you've outdone yourself time and time again."

Leon still wasn't quite understanding, really only half listening as he kept his eyes trained to the numerous portraits of agents as he slowly passed them.

The two stopped in front of the last painting in the hallway, only a few spots away from leading into another hallway. It was Chris and Claire in this painting. Chris was sitting down in a chair while Claire stood next to him, hand resting on back of it, both of them smiling.

He studied the painting for a minute longer before whipping his head around to face the President, who was still smiling, as the realization slowly settling in.

"I-" Leon struggling to speak, glancing back at the painting before quickly looking back at the old man standing next to him.

The President simply nodded his head, smile widening with a gentle laugh. "Right. The painting process takes a bit of time, but I think you've more than earned this."

The ex-agent had so many questions. Firstly, why hadn't Chris or Claire mentioned this? But more importantly, he gets to have his own portrait painted?

"The painter knows all about you. She's excited to meet you." The President started down the hall again, Leon not far behind, still stuttering out nonsense as he attempted to form even a sentence. "I'll give you the information you need to get started with her. I have it written down back in my office."

A painting?

A painting. A painting for him. A painting to honor him. What?

Leon was once again sat on his couch, blankly staring at the small business card with a date and time written on it in pen. He'd read the info on the card so many times already, wanting to make sure he got absolutely nothing wrong.

Apparently he didn't have to call and confirm, all he had to do was show up to this random address at a specific date and time, which was soon. In a couple days kind of soon. Also, he thought he was reading the time wrong, but no, it was four in the morning, not four in the afternoon. What an odd and rather inconvenient time.

Even after memorizing the business card front to back, Leon would be lying if he said he didn't forget about meeting up with this mystery painter. He'd been rather aloof the past couple months, it was hard to pull himself out of that funk. He'd been staying up late and sleeping in even later, so hitting snooze on his alarm a good few times was just muscle memory at this point.

It was almost 5am when he realized where he was suppose to be, eyes shooting open as he yanked himself out of bed, desperately trying to clean himself up enough to be at least presentable.

The man was mentally chastising himself the entire drive. It was a short drive, which he was surprised by, and the building seemed quaint; red brick with large windows that sat on what looked like either a second or third floor.

He parked his bike right near what he assumed was the main door, pulling off his motorcycle helmet before knocking and waiting.

The last thing Leon was expecting was you to unlock and open that door; young and pretty, so pretty...

"Mr. Kennedy?" You asked, eyebrows raised slightly with a small smile. He nodded, just barely noticeable, reaching a gloved hand up to wipe at his eyes as he caught himself staring.

Your smile only widened at his nod, stepping aside to allow him into walk in. It took him a minute to realize you were still talking, shaking his head out to refocus himself.

"-again, really, no need to worry about being late. I was trying to work with your schedule but I should've known it's changed up a bit by now, right?" You lead him up a set of narrow stairs, though he was mostly following the smell of your perfume. It was such a light smell but he definitely picked up on it.

You opened a door immediately to the left of the stairs, letting Leon follow you inside. The sun was just starting to rise, shining through the large windows in the open room.

The place was cluttered, yet organized. Crowded, but that just made it all the cozier to Leon. His house was bare and lacked any sort of personality, but this... this place was covered in you.

"I'm glad you like it in here." You said in a quiet voice, looking up at him as he took in your workspace. He was smiling ever so slightly, which you mimicked with a smile of your own. "I try to make it welcoming in here, my apartment is the same way.."

Your voice trailed off as you walked over to a mostly put together set up near the back of the room where the only wall without windows sat. There was a chair sitting close to the wall, the same chair Chris was sitting in for his portrait with Claire, along with your easel sitting empty a few feet away.

Leon stood frozen, only moving his head around as he took everything in. He followed you with his eyes as you fumbled around with something, eventually producing a blank 24" x 36" canvas that was still wrapped in thin plastic.

His mouth made an 'o' shape as he pulled himself from his small trance once again, beginning to slowly make his way over to the set up you've made. He placed his helmet down on the floor beside the chair.

After placing the canvas on the easel, you walked back over to where you'd gotten the canvas from before grabbing a heavily used sketchbook. It was a large one, the paper a light brown instead of white.

Leon had only just realized that there was a faint sound of some form of classical music playing from somewhere in the room, glancing around for speakers before looking back over at you.

"I'm not getting started today, we're a couple steps away from that, so don't worry about appearance just yet." You said softly with a breathy laugh, quickly making your way back over to where he stood next to the plush chair in your setup, his hand feeling over the worn maroon fabric.

Leon nodded silently, moving to sit down once you requested he did, furrowing his eyebrows as he watched you drag over a small table. You worked fast, that's for sure.

Eventually, you'd set up a little tabletop easel to sit on the table you'd dragged in front of him, grabbing your swivel chair to sit in as you placed your sketchbook on the easel, open to a blank page.

"I just need to get some basic ideas of your facial structure since that's most important when it comes to these kinds of paintings. You're gonna be wearing a nice tuxedo when I do the second- no, third sketch for the final painting, but this is just for me to get a feel for you and vise versa." You rambled quickly, pulling out a pencil from one of your pockets before fully sitting down on the chair, bringing your legs up to sit criss cross.

"Uh.. Alright..." Leon responded, clearing his throat a bit. He didn't really understand what you'd said, you spoke a little too fast for his tired brain to keep up, but it seemed like whatever you were doing was necessary so he just rolled with it.

He was left a little speechless again at how you just began sketching, glancing up to his face and down to the page you were working on over and over. "...do you need me to, I don't know, pose or something?"

The way you kept looking at him was making feel a little uneasy. Granted he's never been in this sort of situation before, this whole process was very unfamiliar to him.

"No, no. You can move your head around and stuff. Get comfortable." You waved off, eyes wrinkling as you smiled at him. Leon nodded again, deciding to take the opportunity to look around your workspace again.

It really was a cozy space. Full of color and life, even the curtains you had lining the windows offered so much pattern and detail to the room. The back of the room where the two of you sat was more cluttered with less decor, but the front of the room was a whole different story with those massive floor pillows, blankets of all sorts strewn about, that big fluffy looking area rug, it was all so... homey. It was even inspiring him to decorate his own house a bit.

The sound of your pencil scribbling on paper and the faint sound of the classical music playing was all Leon could hear for awhile, eventually letting out an anxious sigh before beginning to talk. "So... a painter, huh..?"

"Oh yeah, I've been doing this since I was little. Obviously I wasn't that good back then, but I really improved after high school." You immediately responded, voice a little louder than his. Clearly the topic excites you. "If you want, I can hand you one of my other sketchbooks to look at while I do my thing over here?"

Leon patted his hands against the arms of the chair before nodding to the side, pursing his lips slightly. "Mm, sure. Let's see what ya got.."

As soon as he agreed, you stood up and shuffled over to the corner of the room where some desks sat arranged in a makeshift cubicle. You opened a drawer and pulled out a couple sketchbooks, still as raggedy as the one you were using now.

Walking back over, you carefully handed them to him, which he slowly took after meeting your eyes for a brief moment.

Once you made your way back to your chair, he placed both sketchbooks into his lap, opening up the one on top first. The man flipped through them silently as you began to sketch him out again.

You'd zoned into your work, adding just a bit of shading to your sketches to help emphasis some features when Leon cleared his throat again. You leaned to the side to look at him, your smile quickly returning when you saw his baffled expression.

"These are... wow, okay, how old are you?" Leon asked, head jerking upwards to meet your gaze once more. You just giggled in response, using the pencil as a fidget before returning to sketching.

"Sorry-uh, I don't mean to come off as rude or anything, but to be honest, I was expecting you to be some old lady when I saw the portraits you've done." Leon was quick to try and explain, probably misinterpreting your lack of response for unease.

Your giggle turned to a small laugh, leaning to the side once more to look at the man. "Well, I'm glad I could surprise you a bit. Hopefully I don't look old."

Leon groaned and wiped his hand down his face. "Again, sorry. Didn't mean to imply." He shook his head and looked back down at the two sketchbooks sitting in his lap, continuing to flip through them.

It was only a couple hours until you decided you got a good enough feel for drawing his face. Grabbing the sketchbook, you stood up, pencil still in hand, looking down at the sketches you made as you slowly walked over to him.

The man noticed you standing up, quickly moving to close the sketchbooks you'd given him in favor of seeing your new sketches.

"I... I think this'll be enough today. I don't want to keep you too long." You said, handing him the sketchbook. Leon took it from you, careful not to smudge anything as he finally got to see what you've been doing for the past two hours.

He furrowed his eyebrows as he studied the sketches you'd made of his face, seeing all the different angles, even the smile, how'd you get his smile?

You seemed to grow nervous the longer he stared at your sketchbook in silence, his intense look making it seem as if he didn't really like them. "Are they... Are they okay?"

Leon jostled the sketchbook a bit in his hands before standing up, now towering over you as he kept his eyes on the paper. "Just okay? These are beyond amazing."

You let out a small breath you didn't notice you were holding, heat rushing to your cheeks as you smiled at his compliment. "Oh, thank you.. I'm sorry, normally sketches don't take this long but it was stressed to me that your portrait was very important so I wanted to get everything as perfect as I could.."

"Seriously, you're a mad woman if you think these wouldn't be good." Leon chuckled, handing the sketchbook back to you. He kept his eyes trained on you, even after you turned to look down and close the sketchbook. Only a fool would miss that blush on your cheeks, it looked good on you.

"Anyways, when should I come back for the next.. uh..." Leon paused, crossing his arms loosely as he struggled to think of the word.

Luckily, you finished the sentence for him. "Session. Again, this painting's importance was stressed to me a lot, so probably the next time you're available?" You talked while you shifted the small table back to where it had originally sat under one of the numerous windows, tossing the sketchbook down on the chair cushion.

"Alright, since it's importance has now been stressed to me as well, I can probably clear up some stuff in my schedule. How's tomorrow sound?" Obviously, Leon had a completely free schedule, but you didn't need to know that.

"Tomorrow works great! The sooner the better!" You laughed, placing a gentle hand on his bicep as you walked past him to grab a sticky note. "I'll give you my personal number, just let me know when you're thinking of coming over and I'll meet you here, okay?"

Leon looked at your number before pocketing the note, nodding his head with a smile of his own. "Sounds good. Same way out?" He pointed to the door that you brought him in through, bending down to pick up his motorcycle helmet right after.

You confirmed with a thumbs up, now drinking water from your water bottle as you'd forgotten too while focused on drawing. You felt bad for not offering him any water while he was here, but you won't forget next time.

The man gave you a curt wave before leaving the room, quietly shutting the door behind himself.

You had to admit, you've worked with a very small handful of agents since it takes a lot for them to earn their own portrait, but Leon Kennedy had to be the one of the most handsome men you've ever worked with. Maybe even one of the most handsome men you've ever seen.

Lucky you pay attention to detail, cause you definitely didn't see a ring on his finger.

[romanoffsbish]

Professional Mishaps

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Warnings: Smutty but not truly | Injury

18+ | Minors DNI

Natasha was far too eager to anticipate anything other than pleasure to come from your OF session | WC: 1,272

Natasha watched you with hungry eyes through the screen of your high tech video camera as she set it up on the tripod and angled it properly for the scene.

After six months of streaming and recording only fans content you'd finally agreed to give her strap head. It'd always been a fantasy she begged for and you secretly craved as well—but you would never tell her that.

——

Making her wait for things always seemed to yield the greatest results; something about the chase just makes the redhead perform better. You know for certain that making her wait until six months in to have sex was the greatest thing you ever did for your relationship.

The way you fell apart for her that night was all she needed to know you were her final partner. Nobody else would ever compare to you and your innocence and you felt the same way about her subtle deviance.

A match made in heaven you two were, both a perfect compliment to the other's weaknesses. In moments like these Natasha usually always led and you followed.

You were just as excited when you told her yes late last night, it was worth it alone for the smile but then the way she hugged you even tighter made you want it almost as badly, as if the fantasy was yours before hers.

There was also the case to be made that you were just as nervous as you were excited. Eating her out was never a hard feat for you, somedays, when she was dripping and open you'd get lost down in her oasis. Never though had you taken a strap in this lewd of a manner, and your lover picked up on that in an instant.

"Detka, come here," she called as she entered the frame with an elegance to her stride that reminded you of your disparity when it came to experience. Strong arms wrapped around your torso, and firmly pulled you into Natasha's warm embrace and your lips soon mirrored the sentiment as you both naturally leaned forward.

A sigh left your lips and she deepened the intimacy, her tongue swirled devilishly around yours, causing an unconscious reaction as your thighs rubbed together.

The kiss naturally picked up in intensity, both of you knowing you much preferred direct action over talking. If she called out your nerves you'd likely spiral and the bills would go unpaid since it'd been months since you posted for your loyal fans due to day jobs and trips.

As the speed of your breathing picked up the redhead softly and privately reassured you with a firm squeeze to your hips without breaking character. Arousal held you captive, primarily, but the anxiety always lingered.

Natasha was always inherently good at keeping you feeling calm and safe... Or at least she usually was.

The moment had grown more intense as her hands and lips roamed, you moaned as she groped your breasts. “Desperate slut," she growled against the tender skin of your marked up jaw before she abruptly shoved you down onto your knees for your more kinky subscribers.

"Open up," she demanded, the tip of her flesh toned strap slapped against your cheek and under normal circumstances you'd find this aggression hot but your girlfriend severely underestimated her strength here.

Natasha's eyes widened as she watched fate work against her, it was almost comical how the woman's face contorted into one of horror and remorse. Your body lurched forward against your protests and in a painful occurrence the silicone scratched your cornea.

"Oh for the love of fuck," you screeched as you fell the rest of the way forward, eyes watering as you squinted the injured one and leaned against your lovers thigh.

Natasha's usual night in shining armor reaction,

however, was delayed by her unwavering shock, "Oh my, we need to go to the urgent care, come on—up!" Her usually confident hands shakily reached down to pull you up off the floor and straight into her arms, bridal style. Without any thought the woman began to run downstairs, but just as she flung the door open the breeze reminded her of your mostly unclothed states.

The woman thanked the powers that be for you being distracted because you would likely have yelled at the remote idea that your neighbors saw you both in your lingerie, with a strap dangling between muscular legs.

You whimpered at the chill and she was back inside.

The redhead truly felt terrible as she set your crying form onto the couch, her lips gently pressed to your forehead as she whispered, "I'll be right back detka, don't go anywhere." If you could do so without pain you would've rolled your eyes at your lovable idiot.

In a whiplash of limbs you were dressed and swiftly on the way to the urgent care. The drive was silent, guilt and remorse, by the way of her hand on your thigh, were heavily intermixed in the air. Natasha was overly gentle now, pulling you from the car like you were as fragile as a porcelain doll. You, as to be expected, let Natasha explain to the front desk what happened...

—

Three hours later you found yourself in an exam bed, an ugly gown on for no reason whatsoever seeing as how you only injured your eye but the nurse was adamant that you wear it. Natasha might as well have left you in your lingerie over your comfy sweatsuit.

The doctor had already seen you, but she allowed you to rest in the bed while they waited for your anti fungal eye drops to be sent to your local pharmacy. It was a slow night and would be a waste for you to drive home just to leave to get the eye drops in an hour anyways.

So, in the forced downtime you decided best not to strain your good eye. Natasha consequently thought you'd fallen asleep since you were also breathing much softer, and your other eye was covered by gauze.

With nothing better to do Natasha slyly opened her phone and slid her AirPod Max’s over her head and, for research purposes only of course, she watched the encounter from earlier unfold on her tiny screen.

In the unusual silence you didn't find comfort, as Nat is usually a chatterbox in moments like these so you tiredly opened your eye to catch sight of her smirking. You didn't need the IQ of a rocket scientist to know what was likely illuminating her face in the dark room.

"Oi!" Natasha shrieked as a pillow knocked her phone out of her hand with precise aim. "Delete it Natalia."

"Don't be such a killjoy Y/N/N," she teased while making her way over to your side, her hand slid into yours with a familiarity that comforted you to the point of weakness as your angry facade faded into a pout. "Now come on, my detka isn't usually a poor sport."

"Your detka doesn't usually have a corneal abrasion," you huffed, the anger easily returned, "I mean come on Natty, how in the hell do you plan to explain this?!"

"I plan on keeping you indoors,” she shrugged and you chuckled tauntingly, “Your family flies in tomorrow.”

The look of terror on her face made you smile, it was almost the perfect revenge, but you also felt bad. So, you scooted over and patted the spot next to you. The redhead wasted no time crawling into the bed and cuddling into your warm embrace. “I’m sorry detka.”

“It’s okay love,” you whispered, “It’s a funny story…”

[calliesmemes]

DARKNESS HAUNTS YOUR NARRATIVE

UNSETTLING SENTENCE STARTERS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES THAT WILL SEND SHIVERS DOWN YOUR SPINE AND LEAVE AN OMINOUS FEELING LINGERING IN THE ROOM.

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

“   I’m deep inside your mind. There is no escape for you. ”

“   You save everyone, but who saves you? ”

“   The power inside of me — it’s terrifying. ”

“   Power belongs to those who take it. ”

“   You’ll be the ruin of me, won’t you? ”

“   You weren’t meant to save the world — you were meant to destroy it. ”

“   You didn’t break me; you built me. All you did was make me ruthless. ”

“   You have no power over me. ”

“   I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me. ”

“   All the greatest loves end in violence. ”

“   I don’t think you’re truly mean. You have sad eyes. ”

“   In theory the prophecy could still come true. ”

“   One day, your empathy is going to get you killed. ”

“   We are masters of our own destiny. ”

“   Never trust a survivor until you find out what they did to survive. ”

“   The horror that you have seen is not who you are. ”

“   A little too much anger, too often or at the wrong time, can destroy more than you would ever imagine. ”

“   Your scars are not your shame; they are your story. ”

“   I will never turn my back on people who need me. ”

“   Isn’t it scary to be ready to die at such a young age? ”

“   Your mind is a weapon. Keep it loaded. ”

“   Are you hearing those voices again? ”

“   It scares me sometimes. The emptiness I see in your eyes. ”

“   You may not be interested in the war, but the war is interested in you. ”

“   Haven’t you taken enough from me? ”

“   You collect scars because you want proof that you are paying for whatever sins you have committed. ”

“   It is okay to be angry. It is never okay to be cruel. ”

“   I hope that what you did to me haunts you. ”

“   The price of freedom is high. It always has been. ”

“   When you talk, I can hear the revolution. ”

“   Do not pretend that you are some meek, pathetic little girl when I can see that vicious mind working behind your eyes. ”

“   Your new life will cost you your old one. ”

“   Watching someone you love suffer can teach you even more than suffering yourself can. ”

“   Some people are in your life to test you ”

“   Fear makes men more dangerous than magic ever could. ”

“   At what point do you think i'll become the wound itself and not simply the bearer? ”

“   We are made of all those who have built and broken us. ”

“   All power demands sacrifice and pain. ”

“   Some things buried deep need to stay that way. ”

“   You and I are going to change the world. ”

“   I wonder which will get you killed faster — your loyalty, or your stubbornness? ”

“   Something’s made your eyes go cold. ”

“   If I am not a weapon, then what am I? ”

“   Your chains are broken, but are you truly free? ”

“   You were alone before they left you. ”

“   You can love a monster, it can even love you back, but that doesn’t change its nature. ”

“   It’s awful not to be loved. It’s the worst thing in the world … it makes you mean, and violent, and cruel ”

“   We can simultaneously be both human and monster. ”

“   I have this strange feeling that I’m not myself anymore. ”

“   You laugh like a little girl and think like a martyr. ”

“   Grief taught me inhumane things. ”

“   You will always be a monster. There is no turning back from it. ”

“   I know there’s a villain, and I’m worried it’s me. ”

“   I can’t stand the bitter thing that I’ve become. ”

“   People will never bleed enough to fulfill your vision of justice. ”

“   What if I told you the truth about what happened that night? ”

“   Part of me died in order to survive. ”

“   We are cursed with a tendency for violence. ”

“   I speak in verses, prophecies, and curses. ”

“   I see no use quarrelling with fate. ”

“   Nobody smart plays fair. ”

“   Fine, make me your villain. ”

“   They should be terrified of me. ”

“   I gave you devotion, blood, and my life. ”

“   How disappointing, when people succumb to what is expected of them. ”

“   Perhaps that was why I had to endure pain — because true transformation can only happen in the crucible of suffering. ”

“   Morality, too, is a question of time. ”

“   Memories destroy us. ”

“   My entire life, I’ve been fighting a war. ”

“   Fair is foul, and foul is fair. ”

“   Are you becoming what you’ve always hated? ”

“   I have found it takes a lot of strength to endure myself. ”

“   Loving any of us is a death sentence, isn’t it? ”

“   You long to be bandaged before you have been cut. ”

“   I feel so lost among these entirely strange people. ”

“   Remembering is like an open wound. ”

“   The wounded recognize the wounded. ”

“   I am alone and am suffocating because I cannot give voice to my emotions. ”

“   I’ve lived through entire tragedies in silence. ”

“   The more you love, the more you suffer. ”

“   The crowd that applauds a ruler’s coronation is the same crowd that will applaud a tyrant’s beheading. People like a show. ”

“   You are a better knife than you are a person. ”

“   Life goes more smoothly without a heart. ”

“   People have a hard time letting go of their suffering. Out of a fear of the unknown, they prefer suffering that is familiar. ”

“   I’m nostalgic for the anger I once had. ”

“   The pain I didn’t tell you about has built a home inside of me. ”

“   My greatest regret was how much I believed in my own future. ”

“   All I ever do is grieve. ”

“   Do not mock a pain you haven’t endured. ”

“   I control the shadows. They do not control me. ”

“   Turn the pain into power. ”

“   Sometimes, we survive by forgetting. ”

“   I am now the most miserable man living. ”

“   To remain as I am is impossible; I must die or be better, it appears to me. ”

“   In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony. ”

“   I see in the near future a crisis approaching that unnerves me. ”

“   Memories do not always soften with time; some grow edges like knives. ”

“   Maybe everything that you thought was breaking you was actually leading you towards yourself. ”

“   Sometimes, not being in control is the most beautiful thing in the world. ”

[slateston3]

Since Venom is trending I have to put in a good word for Malevolent: the greatest horror podcast ever wrought by human hands.

Did you watch Venom and think “I wish this was more like NBC Hannibal by way of Lovecraft with the emotional orbital missiles of The Terror?”

The I have a podcast that combines and then transcends these elements for a truly unforgettable show that well make you laugh uproariously, scream in terror, and cry until snot runs down your face

[smuttysabina]

Incandescent

(Rose x Male Reader, 3k Words) Tags: Femdom, oodles of fluff, some fun sex, some trauma is involved, kinda artsy, some physical as well as mental abuse

A/N This is a quick little story I spun up after I imagined Rose ranting while dominating you, enjoy!

Darkness cocoons you as tightly as any restraint, filling your senses, drowning your eyes in an endless nothingness that devours your sanity. The strongest prisons are the ones we make for ourselves, and the dark provides all the material you would ever need. Which is not to say that your fetters did not also exist in the mundane realm of existence outside of your thoughts, softly clinking metal binds your wrists and ankles to the stolid slab that supports you. The sound of the metal whispering against itself was the only indication of the passing of time; the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears already ignored as your brain probes for threats in the ceaseless night. You shiver in numbing terror as your mind concocts all manner of horrors for your stress-addled body to react to; anything was preferable to unending nothingness of unthoughts. Mankind had always feared the abyss of twilight, not from the dangers it might hold, but from what it awakened within; the agony of introspection. Little wonder then that we have always cleaved towards the light for comfort, not realizing that the greatest threat is often the one we can see the clearest. The door scrapes open behind you, casting dazzling shadows upon the walls that your eyes eagerly devour even as they bring tears of overstimulation. A voice as soft and sweet as honey drips into your ears,

"Now what do we have here?"

Your skin nearly tears itself from your bones in surprise, as a velvety hand gently caresses your bare shoulder, its owner's footsteps so quiet you had not heard their approach. Or perhaps, the pounding of blood in your ears had covered her movements; perhaps she wasn't even real... Murmured curses sound as the new arrival scrabbles around on the wall, her nails a cacophony to your sound-starved ears. The faint click of plastic soon follows, and your senses explode with pain as light sears into your brain, causing you to scream in astonished pain. You blink rapidly, squinting against the glare, the pale shape floating in front of you gradually shifting into a sleek white evening dress, adorning a radiant goddess. The beguiling beauty idly slurps on her drink as she waits for your cognition to return, her blonde hair tied back in a business-like manner. The light haloing her is intense, pouring down in a cone in front of you; the harsh buzz of it grating on your hearing. She gives a quaint smile when she notices sanity returning to your gaze, sloshing her drink around in studied amusement as you come to truly realize your predicament. Rose leans against the table and sighs, motioning towards the ceiling,

"Do you know how many times I've asked them to change out these lights? You would think with all the millions we've made for them, the least those imbeciles could do is at least replace this garbage with something nicer. Oh well, I imagine you didn't come here to listen to me rant about company politics; actually, why are you here at all? Don't answer, it was a rhetorical question. You got caught wandering where you shouldn't, so who do you belong to, hm? Not Jennie, that's for certain, you still seem reasonably sane and entirely undrained of all vitality. Perhaps you're one of Lisa's little toys, was she being too demanding of you as usual? Or are you Jisoo's... that must be it, she probably let you stumble around while she was busy elsewhere; typical. Ah well, now you are mine to play with, punishing you should prove to be an enjoyable way to destress..."

Horror dawns upon you as the idol distractedly rambles on, her fierce gaze boring into you as she talks. You stutter out a question through parched lips, your voice rasping from disuse. Rose pauses, and with another distracted sigh, pokes the straw of her drink into your mouth, allowing you to gulp down the refreshingly sweet liquid. She yanks the drink away from you after several seconds, but after examining the depleted state of her beverage she gracefully allows you to finish it off. A raised eyebrow prompts you to repeat your question, "Why?"

"Why what? Why do this? Because I can, because I enjoy breaking people until they worship me, because it's fun," a sleazy smile briefly appears, "And to be completely honest, because it arouses me immensely. Yes, it's very depraved I know, truly I am the weird one because I enjoy a little sadism with my sex. Any more burning questions? We have a little time until I finish my- oh right; well it's going to be rather gratifying sticking this straw in places it doesn't belong. Hm, what made me so angry? Oh my poor little dear, I'm not angry, just extremely irritated; I suppose if your interested I could torture you with mind-numbingly boring tales of lawyering... Oh you are cute, you think you're playing for time do you?" Rose traces her hand down your chest, making you shiver at her gentle touch, "You see, I find that the most agonizing thing for those I dominate is the waiting. You just keep hoping that the moment will never come, always worried that the next minute will be the one when I truly dig in. So I think a little..." she leans forward to breath into your ear, "Anticipation will make this more fun, yes?"

You let out a low moan as Rose's hand ends its journey and firmly grasps your genitals, giving them a squeeze in promise of the torments to come before withdrawing. Rose suddenly whirls, stalking back to her perch on the table; her hand automatically reaching for her drink before remembering once more that it is empty. She languidly waves at you, indicating that it is your turn to entertain, or simply suffer in silence. Rose pointedly settles a finger on the light switch, she knows. Terrified by the thought of being alone in the dark, completely at Rose's mercy, you rack your brain for anything forestall the darkness. "Why are you feeling so irritated?"

Rose grimaces, slowly returning to stand in front of you, placing her foot on the slab she lets out a slow breath; before promptly slapping you twice, "Now that, was a poor question, dear pet, now I am inclined to simply skip straight to the more intimate methods of teaching submission. Perhaps next time you'll learn to be more of an adroit conversationalist... Hm, why am I hurting you? I thought we established that already, now be silent or I'll fetch the ball gag- Oh, you meant why am I a sadist?" Rose pinches your chin, tapping on your face as she ponders whether she should answer the query. It is to your great relief that she appears willing to do so, forestalling your inevitable punishment, "That, is a long story, and would require a great deal of backstory, but I am a product of my vocation. Idol training requires some... demeaning concessions, so perhaps I am simply taking out my frustrations on all of you."

"That's the easy answer," your mouth foolishly spouts before you silence it.

Rose seems pleased by your boldness however, playfully squishing your lips together, "Is it though? Perhaps, the simpler answer is the best one; but still, such courage does require a reward..." Rose seductively hooks a finger over the top of her dress, before slowly pulling it down, revealing her breasts, pale skin glistening in the light. Your body automatically responds to such stimulation, your manhood hardening, your breath quickening as it pumps oxygen into your muscles in anticipation of sex. You manage to hold on to your sanity however, your mind still too riven with paranoia, to give fully into your primal urge to breed. Rose cocks her head at your reaction, "You know, most people would be humping the air right now; the girls too, not just the boys. I've seen more bitches than you've ever met sobbing as they beg me to impregnate them; it's sickening really. It's no wonder I have to discipline such degenerates, right? And the worst part of it," Rose pauses, considering whether she should continue before shrugging to herself, "The worst part is how much they adore me for it. They love me even before I break them; even my supposed "haters" are slobbering over themselves with devotion after only a few minutes in my presence. None of them hate me for it, none of them despise me for forcing them to demean themselves in the most perverse ways possible," Rose slips her hand down your neck, nails digging slightly into your chest, drawing white lines across your skin, "Will you hate me then, before the end? Your fear is palpable, but will you look up at me with loathing when I finally break you?"

To say that you are greatly concerned at the mental state of the idol sharing the room with you would be an understatement. You shudder at the thought of what horrors she would inflict upon you; evidently Rose is well versed in the art of pain. More horrifying yet, your body seems strangely aroused by that, depravedly hungering for its own destruction if it meant a chance to impregnate the sexual goddess. Her eyes bore intensely into your own, and you feel her claws starting to hook into you; something was needed to distract her... You gulp, "I'll try, but um, how do the other girls deal with it?"

Rose snorts in amused contempt, "You sure know how to inspire confidence in a woman, pet. But I'll indulge you, we don't. All of us idols are fucked up," Rose counts them off on her fingers, "Twice is a freaking breeding cult, Itzy are simply insane, IVE are spoiled rotten, Loona are is cracked as their fans, Red Velvet are literal whores, Aespa enjoy getting passed around like baubles, and don't even get me started about the boy groups... Oh and Blackpink, I would say we're the worst of the whole bunch," Rose distractedly sits on the slab as she rants, occasionally slapping your thighs for emphasis, "Do you know what Lisa did today? Of course you don't, you've been locked down here, alone in the dark. We were in a meeting with the idiots who run this place, and they were begging on their knees for us not to leave the company. Now they looked like they hated us for forcing them to demean themselves like that; well most of them did, some were enjoying it. But then Lisa, that crazy bitch, you know what she does?"

You cough, "She uh, fucked them?"

Rose blinks at your interruption, before snorting, "Good guess, but no, not yet at least; I imagine it will come to that eventually. No, Lisa just looked at these pitiful business men pawing at our feet, and then she pissed on them. Oh I am completely serious, she just pissed on them and giggled. I don't think I've ever seen Jisoo laugh that hard, and Jennie nearly choked on her coffee! To be honest, I also joined in, but at that point it was more about sending a message than anything else. So you see, all of us are bent in one way or another; especially us. Lisa is literally a nymphomaniac, she has a full-scale mental breakdown after a single day without sex. Jennie's sex drive is so monstrous she can fuck for weeks without stopping; you think I'm joking but I'm not. And dear Jisoo... she just loves showering her pets with so much love they drown in it; she's probably the least crazy of all of us. Hm, and me? Oh come now, no doubt you can already tell the direction my vices run..." Rose flicks a switch, causing the slab to tilt horizontal. She grabs your neck and leans in for a savage kiss, "So tell me pet, do I seem even remotely sane?"

"Um, yes?"

Rose laughs so hard she staggers, holding on to the slab for support as she howls. It takes some time to compose herself, but when she does it is to your relief that her dark mood looks to have dissipated. She gives you something approaching a fond smile and gives you the courage to push your luck, "See? Maybe you just needed some wholesome venting and not torture-sex after all!" Rose's smile grows more genuine, and she reaches behind her back, toying with something. With a suddenness that surprises you, Rose's dress cascades to the ground, leaving her entirely naked. Your eyes balloon as you drink in the awesome sight of an idol's body, her tender breasts, her taut stomach, and most importantly, the pair of lips gleaming mere inches away from your face. You feel something trickle down your shaft, as you gawp at the beautiful girl standing ever so close to you. Rose glances at your crotch with studied humor, she gives your meat a flick as she climbs up onto the slab, straddling your face.

"While the venting was nice, I still do desire some sex; so for your sake you had best pleasure me enough to keep me wholesome. Or don't, we're going to reach the point where I need to start getting truly inventive to keep you up eventually, so why not start early?" Rose promptly plants her pussy on your mouth, "So let's see if that tongue of yours is as skilled at pleasing as it is at talking. Be sure to give it your all, pet, I don't intend for you to be conscious by the time this is over, so spare nothing." After that she relaxes on your face for a while, glancing down at you on occasion as she idly gropes herself. For your part you spend the time drowning in her juices, frantically licking and sucking at the delicious flesh in your mouth. Eventually however, she orders you to stop, "Wow... you are fucking terrible at this, its so bad its honestly impressive. Are you a virgin? Though that's really not much of an excuse. Hm, that's the first of your chances to satisfy me gone, let's hope the next one goes better," Rose scoots backwards, dragging her pussy lips across your chest until they slide over your erect cock, "I was pleasantly surprised to see you hadn't cum when I stripped for you, perhaps that indicates you have more stamina than usual..." With a complete lack of fanfare, Rose sits on your cock in a single smooth motion, devouring every inch of you with ease. Your balls pulse in response, and she lets out a disappointed sigh, "Well I guess not, oh well."

Rose starts to ride you, uncaring of how sensitive you were following an orgasm; making a mess on your crotch as your seed leaks out of her. After several minutes of such excessive pleasure, you climax once more; Rose doesn't even bother slowing down. Only when you start to flag does she even start to pay attention to anything other than her own enjoyment, "You know, as much as you amuse me with all of your philosophizing, and even after all that wonderfully justifying on my part; at the end of the day I'm really just a cruel bitch, aren't I?" With a devilish smirk, Rose leans over, and flicks of the light. The abyss embraces you once more, but this time, you know there is something sharing it with you. You cringe, paranoid of all the horrors Rose will inflict upon you in darkness. She giggles, "Oh you are simply adorable dear pet, I should do this sort of thing more often, sensory deprivation truly brings out the animal in us..." Her hand is suddenly clamped around your neck, pinching off the blood flow to your brain, "So get it up again, or don't, I like it when you resist," A rain of stinging slaps and pinches descends upon, her abuse landing seemingly at random; often she pauses in her efforts until you are shivering with anticipation. Most terrifying of all, was how hard it made you, your cock becoming erect with fear. Rose laughs with delight as you climax once more, "God you are such a fucking quick-shot, you're lucky to have a girl like me to tolerate your pathetic cock. Do try to not black out too early, I might just keep fucking you anyways."

Ensconced in the endless gloom, you are completely vulnerable to Rose's attentions. She pinches and slaps, kneads and squeezes, licks and gnaws, sucking on your flesh until it bruises. You are lost in a world of unexpected pain and sensation, the only constant in your universe is the warm wetness around your cock. The heat surrounding your manhood seems to devour your misery, your suffering fueling a burning lust that somehow manages to keep you erect even after several orgasms. The heat of Rose's body imprints itself into your mind; no longer were you alone, now she was there as well. The ceaseless slap of flesh reaches a crescendo, Rose's sudden gasp painfully loud, as a fresh source of warmth spreads from your crotch. Her heaving breaths grow closer until they caress your face, and she murmurs, "Do you hate me now, pet?" Your body is a pattern of bruises and aches, your skin sensitive to the merest touch, your manhood a beacon of pleasurable agony; so you answer honestly,

"No."

Rose whistles softly, "Well I suppose I will just have to try harder then. Scream as much as you'd like, there's only the two of us in here"

You merely smile as a fresh round of abuse begins; how could you hate such a goddess? How could you hate Rose after she filled the empty void with such exquisite stimulation, banishing the horrors of nothingness. No longer would you fear the twilight of your mind, because Rose would always be there with you, dispelling the shadows, incandescent in the dark.

[shadowbriar]

George Weasley - What Matters

Pairing : George Weasley x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 0.8k Warning : Takes place on the night after the Seven Potters event. Not proofread I'm too tired. Synopsis : Soothing conversation after what seems to be the greatest nightmare the couple had to live through. Notes : Part of Shadowbriar's 2024 Valentines Project. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

"Have you ever imagined a world where we’re not together?”

George frowns, lifting from the bed to lay on his side, his arm supporting his head. He watches her closely, seeing the glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes. Supposed the nightmare of him arriving at the Burrow with blood soaking his shirt earlier was still etched in her mind. 

The plan was a success, should one argue. Their objective was met. Harry is now safe and sound, sleeping in Ron’s room like a baby. Though some sacrifices needed to be made, loss to mourn and cry for, at least knowing that what they fought for was achieved would be the softer side of the bed they’ll sleep on tonight.

“No, never.” He says firmly, trying to provide some comfort for her “Why would I ever think that?”

She shrugs, “Reasons.”

Gently, George reaches for her hand and places it to his chest. He hopes that it could ease her wary mind a little. He wanted her to feel his heart beat, to feel his heat, to feel him. He knows that it would take more than sweet words and tender embraces tonight to get them through the night, to get them just a blink of sleep no matter how sore and aching their bodies are, but he has no idea how else he could comfort her when he too was still a little shaken from the event that occurred.

“I’m sorry,” She whispers, her voice shaky as she tries her best not to let the tears fall “I should be the one comforting you, but I just—”

“Shh, it’s alright, Darling,” George says as he pulls her close “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

“I could have lost you.”

“But you didn’t,” He reassures, patting her head gently “You’ll never lose me.”

“But I almost did, George. I almost lost you.”

“Love,” George pulls away a little, staring deep into her eyes with that boyish smile “It would take much more than Voldy’s gothic underling to keep us apart, trust me.”

She forces a smile, one that didn’t truly reach her eyes. Her stare was still vacant, like she’s trying to comprehend her surroundings and finding firm stepping after the rug beneath her feet was pulled. There has been no greater horror, no bigger fear and terror than the one she felt a couple hours ago.

“I can’t lose you,” She says to him “I just can’t.”

“I know. I can’t lose you, either.” He says gently, caressing her cheek “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

“What’s left of you, you mean.”

George raised an eyebrow, “Meaning?”

“You lack an ear,” She tries to jest, smiling slightly bigger though her eyes still welled of tears “Can’t decide if it makes you lose a couple points in the appearance department or if it enhances it.”

“The latter, of course. You have one hell of an unkillable boyfriend,” He says proudly, grinning “Reckon muggles write it on their papers? A bloody ear fell from the sky. Imagine the horror!”

Her laughter finally breaks. Though it didn’t last as long as George wished it would, the lingering smile on her lips was enough to tell him that the storm is slowly passing. Gently, he leans in and kisses her. How the night went by was certainly unideal but now that she’s here, laying on his bed, everything feels alright. Like the pain on his ear was reduced into a slight itch and the soreness of his body was caused by nothing but a typical quidditch practice.

The sigh she let go as they parted lifted tons of her burden. The corners of her lips were still curled, satisfied with the solace they could both find in each other though chaos still unravels around them. It was modest and unadorned, but much more than enough to soothe both of their scarred minds.

“I love you,” She says softly “I don’t want to ever imagine a world without you.”

“Then don’t,” George answers “Don’t imagine it, don’t think about it, don’t worry about it because it would never happen. It’s us or nothing, remember? That’s all that matters.”

She chuckles, “That’s a bit extreme now, init? Us or nothing?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have anyone other than you,” He argues, raising an eyebrow “Do you have anyone you’d have other than me?”

“There’s a short list of possible names.” She jokes once again “You’re in my top three at the moment, honestly.”

“I hate you.”

“Okay, top five now from that comment.”

George let out a satisfied laughter, pulling her head close to his chest that she could feel the echo of his chuckle and the steady beating of his heart. Her arms now encircle his waist. There seems to be too much space between them tonight though their bodies were cramped together on such a tiny bed. No close is close enough for the two right now.

“I hope you know I didn’t mean that.” She whispers to his shirt “There could be no one but you.”

“I know,” George says, planting a kiss to the crown of her head “I know, Sweetheart, I know.”

[bitethedustfools]

TWST story idea (3)

Warning: Death and mild spoiler alert

Ace, Deuce, and Grim witnessed Yuu's death. It was horrible, traumatizing even. The vision of their death haunted them and played repeatedly in their minds, even as the monster in the dwarf mine was defeated.

They saw the way Yuu slowly succumbed to death from a front-row seat. The pickaxe impaled them in the middle of their chest with a sickening noise, slicing it open and splattering everything that wasn't supposed to be outside.

Yuu screamed as blood gushed out of their mouth continuously, "Kill it! Kill it quickly!"

They were terrified to move. Yuu's eyes slowly lost their light, staring at them.

It was too much; they barely remembered how they defeated the monster. However, they knew they truly defeated it because the monster's ink-like blood covered their uniform and stained their skin.

They returned to NRC with complicated feelings and a bloody magestone in hand.

How else were they going to explain that Yuu was dead? That it was their own fault that led to Yuu's death?

They confessed to the headmaster with a trembling voice filled with regret and sorrow, their eyes puffy with tears as they presented a bloody magestone stained with ink.

Only for Yuu to rush in through the door with an exasperated look.

"Hey! Why did you guys leave me behind?"

"H-huh? What?"

"Why are you here!?"

"Aren't you dead???"

An offended look crossed Yuu's face, "Guys, this isn't funny. After what we've gone through? Are you saying you want me dead?"

They got confused. Yuu is alive? But they just witnessed their death not too long ago, yet Yuu is here and fine? Sure, their uniform is tattered and also bloody…

They bring it up to Yuu, and Yuu scoffs, "What? You guys got so scared you started to hallucinate? As you can see, I'm still alive."

They spend the rest of the day thinking that maybe they did hallucinate; otherwise, it wouldn't explain why Yuu is still here.

They witnessed Yuu's death again when Riddle overblot. Trey was too slow to save Yuu, and Yuu got smashed to a pulp by the rose tree that the monster held. There was nothing left that resembled Yuu, just flesh and bones flattened on the ground with hair sticking out.

The trio screamed in horror, remembering the tragedy that may or may not have happened in the mine dwarf. Cater was taken off guard and went green at the grotesque sight, covering his mouth to stop himself from vomiting. Trey gasped, feeling a lump in his throat. He had locked eyes with Yuu just a few seconds ago and failed to do anything to save them.

When Riddle woke up in a daze, everyone around showed complicated expressions. The trio looked like they wanted to throttle Riddle, their faces full of animosity. Cater looked detached and was now pale. He was also standing still and spacing out, which was unlike him. He looked like he was trying to process something.

And Trey, Trey looked at him like he was disappointed and also regretful. His eyes were rather glassy, and his mouth opened and snapped shut repeatedly, gulping in between as though he couldn't decide what to tell him.

"You overblot, and Yuu… is dead."

It wasn't the greatest news to listen to when he wasn't aware of what he had become and had done. Riddle's face immediately morphed to horror before bawling and mumbling in between sobs about how sorry he was and how he didn't mean to.

"Guys, the headmaster is here!" yelled Yuu while panting from running, Crowley, the headmaster, followed behind them, looking worriedly at his surroundings and the victims.

In an instant, everyone's eyes went round with confusion and shock, as if they had seen a ghost. Then there were shouts, hugs, and other things.

Yuu huffed at their exclamations of seeing Yuu dead again. "Again? You guys need to see a doctor. I'm not sure why the others see me dead as well. I'm clearly alive."

"But, but—you were there!"

"Yeah, and then I went to fetch the headmaster! You guys are seeing things; I'm worried about you. You need to rest or something. It could be your imaginations and fear working together."

Despite their attempts to explain, Yuu merely cast a worried and slightly judgmental look toward them.

Yuu didn't believe them at all, and they began to doubt themselves.

This happened to multiple people. Some even said they saw Yuu fall to death, and when they came to check out, Yuu merely sprained their leg or broke a bone or two. Or when Yuu said theh knew how to fake their death when they got squeezed until their lips turned blue and breathed out their last breath as they went limp. The story of how they saw Yuu dead varied in so many ways.

And just like before, when one confronted Yuu about it, Yuu didn't believe them all, dismissing their sick sense of fun in murdering Yuu and told them to see a doctor, not taking their so-called traumatization of getting exposed to Yuu's death into consideration. They're losing their mind at this. They were not even alone in this, so what could be the reason they keep seeing Yuu's 'death'?

Could this be someone else's unique magic, or a disease that slowly affects Twisted Wonderland? Are they really that sick in the head to the point they imagine this?

It must be; there's no explanation to this mystery.

But the twist is this: Yuu got revived almost immediately, and all wounds will be healed, revealing no scars, and therefore, no evidence.

Yuu is fully aware of this, and they don't want to tell someone. So what did Yuu do when people happened to witness their death? They gaslight them all, and goddamn they nailed it. Sure, the others are spiraling into madness, but hey, Yuu's secret is safe.

Extra spice if they got really sick in the head and attempt to murder yuu just to prove something. Yuu either do like they always do or fake being a dead body until they got disposed of and then go far away just in case.

[rejectedfables]

Lan Xichen is clearly shaken by what WWX and LWJ tell him about NMJ’s death after the discussion conference. He has doubts, he is concerned, and in response to this he decides to USE THE EVIL SPIRIT AFFECTING MUSIC ON HIMSELF to SEE IF IT HARMS HIM. 

(A normal and hinged thing to do)

(it harmed him)

If we use Nie Mingjue’s behavior as a metric for what this selection from the Collection of Spirit Turmoil does to a person, we can reasonably assume it causes or exacerbates at least SOME of the following:

Disrupts spiritual energy such that a person progresses towards qi deviation

Emotional instability

Violent outbursts

Prone to suspicion or paranoia

Nie Mingjue is already prone to literally all of these things, but they ARE also the things the seem notably exacerbated at the end of his life. Whether it was The Song itself or merely the proximity to qi deviation which caused/exacerbated these things, we cannot be sure, but as the latter is caused by the former, there is no functional difference.

In Guanyin Temple, very shortly after Lan Xichen would have used the song on himself, he is notably distressed, his faith in JGY is further shaken, and he’s manipulated by Huaisang into killing Jin Guangyao-- something that is both understandable in context AND clearly horrifies him for the rest of his life.

Given the circumstances (learning what he’s just learned about JGY’s involvement in NMJ’s death, and then learning everything else he does during this scene), he was going to be upset with Jin Guangyao regardless. He was going to have questions, he was going to have doubts. But I do think it’s WORTH REMEMBERING that this man had JUST used the same song ON HIMSELF that Jin Guangyao used to speed up/cause Nie Mingjue’s qi deviation and death. It provides additional context for his reactions, both within the scene and after it.

Lan Xichen has spent over a decade on the same page with Jin Guangyao about JGY’s motivations, goals, and often even the unfortunate but necessary methods he needed to use to achieve said goals. LXC is not NMJ; he absolutely understood that JGY going undercover during Sunshot involved killing some of their own people, and he understands that that was unfortunate but necessary. He understood JGY’s situation with his father, understood that JGY was not in a position to do anything about JGS’s decisions wrt Xue Yang, supported JGY through everything it took to make the watchtowers a reality. NMJ told LXC about JGY killing his superior officer, and LXC went “I’m sure he had a good reason” and just MOVED ON. He’s not under the impression that JGY has never hurt anyone, broken the rules, or committed a crime-- he just does not care, because he truly believes that JGY is a smart, capable, and well intentioned person and therefore those are things to be understood and compassionate about, rather than condemn and scorn him for. He may not have been aware of the extent of JGY’s crimes, but he didn’t feel like he NEEDED to be. He knew JGY, and that was enough.

Under normal circumstances, Lan Xichen’s wish when finding out something that upsets him (especially with regards to his friends), is clearly to talk about it. The greatest example is when Nie Mingjue loudly and repeatedly threatened Jin Guangyao’s life-- Lan Xichen wanted to talk it out. FOREVER, if need be. This is a man who understands that mitigating circumstances exist (especially when it comes to JGY) but solves problems with people he KNOWS with words.

So he finds out JGY killed NMJ, and his response is horror. And his solution to that horror is that he wants answers. He wants to talk about it. Why didn’t you tell me? If you felt you were backed into a corner, why didn’t you tell me that either?? Why didn’t you come to me??? TALK to me???? It could have all been delayed even longer solved if only--!!!

And yet, despite more than a decade of defending JGY in the face of an entire society blaming JGY for everything they could, in Guanyin Temple he’s swept up in the mood of the scene and condemns JGY with the rest. He knows JGY better than anyone else, but is made to doubt this. He’s left wondering if he ever knew the man at all, simply because he’s shown a new side of him.

And he responds to that feeling with violence.

He lives in a world and holds a position in said world that necessitates and normalizes violence, but he himself is not prone to it, especially with loved ones. Yet he doesn’t threaten to tie JGY up, magically mute him, have him tried for his crimes, nor does he SIMPLY react instinctively in perceived self defense-- it’s notable that he threatens death. While the circumstances are different, he does the same thing Nie Mingjue did (threaten JGY’s life), and I don’t think it’s irrelevant that he must be not entirely himself to get to that point.

In the Untamed, during the Guanyin Temple scene, he even slaps Jin Guangyao. And while I believe this is not canon to the book, I don’t personally think it’s out of character BECAUSE I think it’s a further nod to there being something wrong with him in this scene. 

And his actions in that temple is, again, something he struggles to grapple with and regrets for, as far as we know, the REST OF HIS LIFE. 

Right until the last moment, Guanyin Temple is a scene in which Lan Xichen is made to suspect that he’s never known Jin Guangyao at all, and Jin Guangyao is made to believe that he’s never mattered to Lan Xichen like Lan Xichen does to him. And in the very VERY end, when Lan Xichen chooses to die with him and Jin Guangyao doesn’t let him, they’re both shown that that doubt was unfounded. Jin Guangyao may be many things Lan Xichen was never willing or permitted to see, but he is also, fundamentally, everything Lan Xichen has known him to be. 

And Lan Xichen never, ever, wanted to harm Jin Guangyao

[sehtoast]

Safe Harbor (Homelander x OC)

minor s4 spoilers, hurt/comfort, he deserves to be loved, he deserves real love, real acceptance, he deserves to be held when it hurts, spidersona oc | Fic Directory

It always comes back to this, doesn't it?  Those reflections, each one their own facet of his inner being, each one more than happy to uplift him in their own… unique ways. 

“John,” calls the first.  It’s so loving that he could mistake it for the voice of the parent he never really had. “That’s it buddy, it’s okay.  C’mere.”  He approaches with hesitation.  Sure, this one will comfort him.  It’ll make him feel better about how the world has spiraled out from under him.  How his son was slowly replacing him with that English prick, how he wasn’t good enough, how everyone he loves slowly but surely realizes how utterly rotten he truly is.

It tells him he’ll be alright, that the hurt will pass.  Then scoffs the second.

“Here you go again, tiger…” He says, tone soft yet scathing all the same.  “They don’t deserve you, and you,” he nods, “certainly don’t need them. And they don’t want you.”

Homelander’s mind flickers to the two in question.  The real two– not the crowds or the adoring fans, not any of those roaches under his thumb in the tower.

Them.

The third one… he speaks the worst of it.  Tells John to create his greatest nightmare, claims it to be his only path to peace.

“No, no, no!”  He grits, hands over his ears.  He can’t listen to him.  Can’t acquiesce to the harrowing demand no matter how hard the other two come down on him in tandem.  Tears gather in his eyes, spilling as he flinches at each harsh word.

He wonders when he even shattered the mirror to give them this much of an opening.

“Kill ‘em, tiger.” 

“Wash away the mud.”

“Protect them.”

“Slaughter the little piggies.”

He hunches, shoulders quaking as horror, guilt, and fear run through his body like molten metal, pooling deep in his gut and burning him to the point of nausea.

“I can’t!”  He yelps through the cacophony of impossible demands.  Protect them?  From what– from himself?  Kill them, slaughter them, how!?  How can he possibly–

“No, no, no, no…” 

The world is too tight, too loud, too small– too big and too quiet, too spacious.  What is he to do but drown in the cramped vastness?  The water fills his lungs and it’s all he can do to gasp for aching, shaking breaths.  It’s like the air is stolen by those voices that demand more and more, and all they fucking want is more, and he–

He stumbles backward, eyes clenched to spare himself from their disappointment, their pity and anger, but it isn’t into the next mirror that he crashes.  No statues nor bookshelves, no globes or trophies.

Instead, it is a warm embrace.  Strong, unwavering arms– shelter from the hurricane destroying him from the inside out.  Peace and love and understanding all wrapped into one.  

His name resounds, but it isn’t the same as before. No sternness, no disappointment.  There’s familiarity and softness.  He is not John, but–

“Johnny.”

The sound rings even through the tight clamp of his palms.  The hand at his cheek, stroking rhythmically, seems to shield him from everything.  The world, their taunts and demands, the pain.

Oh, what had he done to deserve this?  What could he have ever done to have possibly deserved this safe harbor?  This sweet boy and his gentle touches, his words that heal everything that aches, that pull him away from the torrential violence of his own mind and ground him in a reality that doesn’t rip and tear at his soul every waking moment.

“That’s it, hey,” coos his darling little spider, so warm and welcoming.  If life was a blizzard, Benjamin was the cabin with a lit fire.  He would always be safe, always comfortable, always home. “C’mon, hey… look at me, pumpkin.”

Always his shelter from the storm.

How pathetic he must look with his wet eyes and hands protecting his ears.  Like the child he was once, always so quick to block it all out no matter how bad it still hurt.

“We don’t have’ta listen to them,” Ben murmurs.  He directs Homelander to follow him, leading him back to the couch and away from more reflections.  “Hey– shh…” he coos through a particularly harsh, breathless cry.  “C’mon, let’s sit.  Just let it out. I’ve got you.”

Why was Ben even here?  Last time they talked, all that chatter about the worthlessness of humans landed Homelander in the dog house.  Why care?  Why does Ben always show up to put out his fires?  After Madelyn, after the cabin, Stormfront, Ryan, Ryan again, and now–

Homelander buries his face in the crook of the bug’s neck all the same, finding himself subject to soft kisses to his hair and fingers scritching softly at his nape.  Those three would never let such a display of weakness fly, but Benjamin?

He’s always welcomed the tears.  Even now, even with a snotty upper lip and choked gasps about how much of a fucking failure of a father he is, Benjamin accepts him for all that he is.

“I love you. I love you so much."

For all that he ever will be.

They told him he doesn’t need this. That it wasn’t true even if it was said.  That it should all slide off like marble.

But that just makes him cry harder.  Not because they’re right.  Not because he doubts the truth of his little spider’s words.

It’s because he knows with full certainty that this is the real truth.

“M’always gonna love you.”

And he’ll always have to fight to let himself believe it.

[misseviehyde]

BITCH-FEST

You could tell Sophie REALLY wanted your festival ticket to Bitch-fest. She wanted it sooo badly. It was the greatest festival of the year, and only you were going. She hated that.

You could see your little sisters eyes jealousy fixated on the blue wrist band you were wearing - but too bad for her there was no way to remove a band once it was put on. The security tagging would rip and tear if anyone ever tried to remove it.

But that didn't stop Sophie willing the ticket to be hers. You could see the naked desperate desire to have it oozing out of her. She would stare and stare and stare at your arm. You could see her visualising the ticket on her own wrist. Willing it to manifest.

It was kind of freaky.

Then the day before the festival was due to begin Sophie was staring at you so intently, you thought she was in a trance.

All at once your arm began to itch and Sophie suddenly gasped. "Wh.. what... something happened. I felt something," she gabbled excitedly.

"It's as if by concentrating I could begin to truly imagine the wrist band on my arm. I almost felt it start to happen. It was becoming mine. I was stealing it from you."

You shook your head at your dumb little sister. She had always been smaller and weaker than you. Always prone to weird fantasies and strange ideas. What a loser.

But now she was staring again, this time really concentrating - her face ecstatic. All at once your arm began to itch again. Then to your horror you saw the wrist band begin to melt and fade to nothing on your wrist. Meanwhile with a triumphant shout of glee, Sophie held up her arm where a blue wrist band now hung.

"H... how did you do that?" you gasped in horror. It was perfectly wrapped round her wrist as if it had always been hers.

"OMG I can't believe it worked. It seems so easy now I know the trick," gasped Sophie.

Putting her hands on her hips she giggled. "What else can I steal from you? Hmmm, how about a bit of your age?"

Your body began to tingle and you squeaked in fear as you began to grow younger and shrink slightly. Sophie groaned, her hips suddenly cracking out and her body stretching up as she put on a few years. She now looked nineteen or twenty. She was now taller than you, her once scrawny body womanly and developed. She looked toned and muscled. You suddenly realised you were probably weaker than her.

"Oh my GOD. This feels amazing. Now I'm the older sis and you're my little sister. I love it. Now when I go to Bitch-fest I can drink, smoke and mmmh fuck hot boys. Mmmmh I feel so fucking horny already."

"No!" you sobbed. "You can't do this to me."

Sophie laughed, "I can do what I want. Haha I'm not even done yet bitch. Now give me your tits. I wanna be bigger."

Sophie stared and you felt your chest itch. The two large C-cup boobs you had always been proud of began to tingle and shrink. Smaller and smaller they deflated until you were as flatchested as a boy only with larger nipples.

"Ohhhh my fucking GODDDD!" moaned Sophie as her tits inflated. With your attributes added to hers, her chest was now spilling over her bra and pushing up and out. She grabbed her boobies and giggled as the magnificent DD titties now hanging from her chest jiggled and wobbled enticingly.

"Haha look at how flatchested and stupid you look. No more bras and bikinis for you loser. You barely look like a girl anymore. In fact once I take your ass from you - you'll almost look like a boy."

You sobbed as Sophie slapped her bottom and spread her ass as her behind got firmer and rounder than it had a right to.

"OMG this is sooo cool. Look at how hot I am."

Stretching - Sophie strutted to the mirror and touched herself. "All the boys are gonna wanna fuck this body. I can hardly blame them. Hmmm my hair is kinda short. Not for long!"

The last vestiges of your visible feminity were sucked away as Sophie shook back her lustrous hair that now fell past her shoulders. You noted she had even stolen your signature blue streak. She looked hot, horny and ready to party.

"Too bad you aren't going to make it to bitch-fest," purred Sophie. "But don't worry sis. I'll make sure that I have a good time."

Picking you up effortlessly she moved you out of her way and strode to the door.

"I think I'll ask your boyfriend to go with me. I doubt he'll be interested in you anymore, not now you're a flatchested, boyish looking loser."

Sophie was definitely going to enjoy her new body and attributes and who knows. Maybe if you practiced hard enough eventually you'd learn the trick to drain them back.

Somehow you doubted it though...

THE END

For @cottonundiestf

[jammechanics]

And. We. Are. Back! Jam Mechanics returns for season 2 with our first guest prompter (Our longtime collaborator and artist, ⁠@deepblueink2d⁠!). In our first episode back we reveal the fate of Jam Mechanics Mansion (Castle?) and reflect on the ocean that separates our two co-hosts Jam Mechanics is a podcast hosted by Matt (@narcissistcookbook) and Bug (@bughuntermusic) where we are challenged to write a song demo from scratch every episode.

If you'd like downloadable files for this episode (and the demos we showed off), ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠you can go to our Bandcamp⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ or ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠website⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ to pay-what-you-want to support us!

Our brand-new discord is here⁠⁠⁠

and follow us on Instagram, YouTube, etc! Please share the show (and our music) with friends!

-- SPOILERS FOR THIS EPISODE BELOW --

Challenge: Transatlanticism

BUG'S SONG Title: Agamemnon Lyrics: I am aboard the Agamemnon, we are laying down a line It's gonna cross the ocean floor, the greatest project of our time A telegraph from Newfoundland will reach the Irish Shores but by by the time this note arrives you will not love me anymore

I am aboard the Agamemnon, laying cables in the sea For the purpose of the president to parley with the queen As for me, I've got this letter that I'll send you in the morn but by the time this note arrives you will not love me anymore

You will not love me by the time you read this note You told me you would wait if I had to go I keep your photo in a locket to remind me of my home

but while aboard the Agamemnon I have so much time to dream of a world where I can reach you with no middle-man between And maybe when we're done I'll get my turn, as a reward but I never got that chance, now you don't love me anymore When I made it to Niagara, you didn't love me anymore

You will not love me by the time you read this note You told me you would wait if I had to go I think of you so often with no way to let you know

This is only the beginning, this simple cable in the sea Soon we'll have radios and satellites and waves we cannot see No one'll know the pain of loving one they cannot reach

I'd commandeer the Agamemnon and I'd sail it back to shore it's just a faster way to learn that you don't love me anymore so I'll keep laying this cable for the lovers not yet born so that they may never hear "No, I don't love you anymore"

MATT'S SONG Title: The Tollbooth Lyrics: When Britain's national health service was launched in 1948 it set sail in the wake of the second world war when the country's citizens the upper and lower classes both the rich and the desperately poor had served together, side by side and the ones who survived the horrors came home demanding to no surprise more

we did not fight, they said in our millions just for things to return to the way they were we didn't die they said in our hundreds of thousands just to save a country where the leading cause of death is poverty and perhaps for the first time in british history the aristocrats and the working class agreed on something largely that arming the nation and teaching them how to fight and die for what they believe in makes their demands somewhat more convincing

and so barely three years after the soldiers had come home on july 5th, 1948 the british health system was torn out by the follicles and rebuilt in a new vision that it would be free at point of service, that no one, NO ONE, would be turned away or trapped into debt by lack of personal means that it would be available to everyone who walked through the doors of a hospital or a GP's office and that the well off wouldn't be able to skip the queue this was radical beyond comprehension a truly universal healthcare system doctors across the nation barred their doors and hired personal security so sure were they that the empowered impoverished would storm their offices demanding medicine and aid only to find on that monday morning a polite queue of people in need who for the first time were able to receive the treatment they would have had since birth if they had been born into a wealthier family

the trouble is healthcare is one of those futureproof industries like plumber people are always going to need water and if you can fix their pipes you are, within reason, set for life and the hospital and the doctor's surgery are no exception people are always going to get sick they're always going to get injured at the very very least everyone has to be born and everyone has to die and you would be an idiot would you not if you had the opportunity and the presence of mind to not set up a tollbooth at the well-worn bridges that lead into and out of this life

i am being faceitious of course who thinks like this who is so calculating and cruel that they would look at the legions of dying and sick and feel not compassion but greed who would see not the faces of their own parents, friends and children but a sea of investment a captured market a well of bottomless profit

it would be inappropriate for me to delve too deep into the catacombs that are the American Healthcare System if you are listening from those shores, then you know better than i do how it feels to live in fear of a broken bone of a cough that won't go away of a necessary surgery or a birth in the family I have personally met people who were having to choose between treatment for a treatable disease and a slow death So as to have something to leave their loved ones in their will A meagre windfall, after all, is infinitely preferable over a cascade of debt Maybe, at best, you are simply aware of how lucky you are To not fear these things as many do The privilege of being able to treat mild maladies as the inconvenience they are rather than an existential threat

I bring this up only because The profit machine that is the american healthcare system Is hungry And needs to be fed There is no such thing as too much money There is no endgame in an investment portfolio Where you find the princess in the very last castle and the credits roll There isn't a kill screen where the arcade machine craps out and kicks you back to the beginning The score just keeps getting bigger and bigger, the numbers getting longer and longer, Separated by decimal points and letters and commas And when the numbers get so unwieldy that we run out of space, Eh, we'll just start printing the end of year reports in landscape The machine needs to eat And the painkillers and bloodied sheets of 333 million people could only satisfy it for so long Its eyes, inevitably, have turned east

And what do you think it sees? When you have broken your arm and are getting it cast at 3am When your parents start visibly ageing and wilting When your child gets a cough that won't go away Do you think it wants to help? Or do you think it wants to fucking eat them?

[muffinsin]

honestly Ive been so interested with what the hc of the sister would be when they got reborn. The emotions, confusion, love they got from Alcina. What did Alcina need to help them with. Like bathing,clothes,eating or even speaking. How did the other lords react to the girls and how did the girls react to the other lords.

I guess this will be more around them as new siblings and daughters to Alcina.

I would love to hear your thoughts about this but like always take your time.

This is so wholesome🙌 Let’s get into it! :)

Masterlists

A mass of flies, withering, chirping, moving here and there. This is how it began

Nothing special, even, Alcina thought back then. Flies. Insects. A pest

Was it a punishment? She had asked for daughters, not pets. Certainly not such tiny, winged ones

What a cruel gift it was

Of course, she looked after the three large piles of flies. After all, they were given to her by Mother Miranda. But- why? Would the insects become drone-like spies, perhaps? Alcina scowled at the thought, back then. Surely, these things would be by far better off at Heisenberg’s!

What a cruel fate, after she had been given the promise of daughters! Three girls. Instead, three piles of nearly dead, rotting, insects

What to do with the bedrooms?

The cribs?

The toys?

The pacifiers?

The tiny dresses? The cute shoes she had purchased for her future daughters?

The countless hours spent at night trying to come up with names for the trio she would soon help deliver into this world

Perhaps, it is good she couldn’t come up with any so far. Not that rotting, infected insect-drone-spies would be worth any name! Something of no consciousness, no thought, no sense of self awareness

At least, this is what she thought…

Bela

Alcina remembers the day her eldest came into the world perfectly well

She remembers the snowy wind smashing against the windows, the cold breeze in the castle fought off by warm air from the fireplace

She remembers sitting by such a fireplace, down in the cellars, writing her usual reports on the cadou-infected flies when suddenly…she heard a sound

A cracking. Small, and squishy. Alarmed, she had jumped up. It sounded almost as though the insects were…splitting..!

And to her greatest surprise and horror, they did

Thousands she so carefully tended to, simply snapping in half and splitting open

Only, did new ones crawl from them. More, and more. So many she had to take a step back

Then, her golden eyes widened as the flies assumed a form

A woman, petite and slim, sitting on the floor, biting the air and squealing quietly as if in fear of the strange amount of insects whirling around

A woman…

A daughter? Could it be?

She remembers, she suddenly felt anxiety. She had not anticipated this any more. Suddenly, she thought of all the emotions her appearance would trigger

Pain. Fear. Hurt. Anger. Disgust

Would she scare the woman off the moment she came into this world?

When the woman turned, it was Alcina who was startled, though

The woman sported a pair of beautiful, bright golden eyes, such as Alcina’s

She bore golden locks of hair, smeared with blood and with dead insects stuck inside, yet beautiful in their colour nonetheless

Then, a squeak came from the blonde again. She looked up at her, worried

“Mama”

Alcina still cannot comprehend why she had said it. She simply felt it, then, when those wide, fearful, golden eyes looked up at her. Fear, that was not directed at her

And the woman? She so eagerly beamed at the phrase, as if understanding her

Upon closer inspection, Alcina noticed: while locked in the body of an adult, the woman seemed truly reborn. Her child

Her daughter

Neither of them needed words from the blonde- they both understood the deep bond created

With a smile tugging at her lips, Alcina still remembers the thought that had come to her then:

“My beautiful girl. I know you will be a bright one, my dear. I will name you, Bela”

Again, the reborn smiled widely. Alcina heard the flies surrounding them buzzing happily

Yes, a smart one indeed, to seemingly understand her mother, even if she was unable to respond properly back then

With a warm smile, she picked her eldest up, and with a look thrown over her shoulder at the other two piles of flies, she held her darling Bela close, her embrace promising unconditional love, care, protection and warmth

Cassandra

Just as with her eldest, Alcina often fondly thinks back to the rebirth of her fierce middle child

She remembers having put Bela to bed, a makeshift crib in her own bed; she hadn’t quite anticipated her daughters to be adult-sized, though looking back, she could face palm at such naivety

Unlike with Bela however, she was prepared this time

Equipped with warm clothing and a glass of blood, she waited at the table in the warm room, until finally, she heard the strange noise again

Wet, squishy cracks. Loud buzzing, as if irritated

She heard the frustrated squeals and whimpers immediately as her second child was reborn

Upon gazing down at her, Alcina noticed: this one was a brunette, with strong, deep golden eyes. A lazy eye, and thick lips covered in blood. Whose? Alcina has yet to figure that out to this day

She remembers the little one’s growls and squeals to make up for words unable to be spoken

And yet, she understood her daughter’s frustration immediately

“Calm yourself, darling”, she coaxed, one of her large hands gently cupping the infantile woman’s head while the other made quick work of swatting away the flies that buzzed around her and irritated her so

“There, it’s all good, my little fly”, she hummed

Yet, it was then her turn to squeak in surprise, when she went to brush the blood from her daughter’s lips and felt sharp, untrained teeth dig into her hand instead

Shocked, she drew her hand back with a loud roar coming from the unexpected pain

And yet, no anger that bubbled up in her came to surface, as the quivering lip and wide, surprised eyes belonging to her daughter were indication enough that she did not intend to harm her

As such, a smile came to her lips. She had found the proper name for this one, and with her injured hand cupping the brunette’s face, she announced:

“Cassandra, my fiery little huntress”

Like her eldest, Cassandra seemed to understand her, too, clasping her hands eagerly

And again, she heard the flies her darling was made of buzz excitedly and warmly. A bond, a promise

And yet, unlike little Bela, this one was less eager to be picked up by her mother, so when she was taken under her armpits, she merely growled and phased right through Alcina in the form of many, little swarms of flies

Confused, she had titled her head. She still laughs a little upon remembering this

It took a few more tries and coaxing, even convincing the reborn toddler-like brunette that she could not walk just yet, but eventually she felt her middle child against her, too

And while she expected her to be fussy, she was anything but

In fact, Alcina noted how still the brunette became, utterly focused on patting at her chest in an attempt to reach and touch the heart she felt and heard beating gently underneath

At last, with a smile and a warm, loving kiss pressed to Cassandra’s forehead, she promised love, care, protection and warmth, too

Daniela

Two daughters reborn, tucked in in her large bed, cuddled into one another, snoring and whining at one another in their sleep

Twisting and turning, stealing their blankets from one another until Alcina tucked them in one each and wrapped them up snugly

However, a single pile is remaining

The youngest daughter

Alcina’s heart skipped a beat at the thought. Three daughters. Her daughters. Hers to raise, to guide, to love and nurture, to look after, to protect with her life should it come down to it

This time, Alcina was completely prepared, having learned from Cassandra that her youngest might also awaken with a near insatiable feeling of hunger

Her head snapped to the side, then. Ah, yes

The noise, again

When she heard the by then familiar snapping and cracking, she jumped to her feet quickly, eager to get close to the pile of flies

This time, however, her daughter seemed to have issues finding her way around in their swarm. Squeals and whines, growls and mewls were heard

Then, a hand reached out

Alcina nearly gasped in surprise when it latched onto her own, five fingers wrapping around her index and middle finger with surprising strength

“It’s all right, little one, they will calm soon”, she promised as the little bundle of flies and limbs seemed to grow fussy at the insects swarming around her

Then, slowly, more was revealed

Auburn hair, equally sticky and tangled with flies and blood, but evidently soft and long

A button nose, poking up and scrunching up in-between the swarms of flies

Upon tapping it with her fingertip, a little squeal was heard from the swarm. Alcina could have sworn the love she felt then shot right from her heart

Then, soft cheeks, with some baby fat still that her sister lack, soft, pink lips, and lastly, equally golden eyes

But they were special, too

It seems the cadou did not fully take this one’s eyes over, she noted, for she saw specks of green mixed into the gold irises

Then; another wave of emotions hit her. However, this one did not originate from her, but from the flies surrounding her and slowly bonding and connecting with her through the cadou they shared

A feeling was shared. Love. Confusion. Dependency

“I’m here, my little Daniela”, Alcina spoke lovingly

Unlike her sisters, the tiny redhead neither struggled, nor showed disinterest as she was picked off the cold floor, but rather immediately pushed herself to her mother and headbutted her neck affectionately

Alcina smiled, and with a reassuring squeeze of her youngest daughter’s back, she let her know of the love, care, protection and warmth she would always receive unconditionally, too

After this, life at the castle changed drastically, as did Alcina’s

Too little to walk, too little to stand, she was usually seen walking with three women attached to her

One, cradled in her left arm, the other in the right, and the third sat on top of her shoulders, as if a cat lounging on a window sill

She bathed them, and for the first few years would be the only to bathe them

Partly, this was to protect the staff from her daughters and their seemingly insatiable bloodlust, especially in their early years

Partly, it was merely protectiveness and possessiveness over her little ones

This was also made apparent in the way she kept them close at night

For the first few years, the three sisters slept in her bed, and eagerly so, tucked close like hatchlings sticking to their dragon mama. And right it was

One of the earliest activities done together was learning how to stand, walk and swarm

Cassandra, the stubborn little thing, was the first to succeed, swarming about happily and squealing while her sisters still stood like baby deers on their shaky legs

Still, Alcina praised each and every one of them for every little achievement they made

Whether this was standing, waddling to her occasionally, walking, or even swarming successfully

Then, there came hunting. A primal desire, but a necessary act her daughters seemed to enjoy a lot

Again, Cassandra picked up on catching her prey especially early on. Relying on strength she was gifted with, the brunette took down boars even in her first few years of her reborn life

Then, however, Alcina discovered it was Daniela who caught up quickly- quite literally

She realised, somewhat proud and dreadful at the same time, she had a runner

A quick little thing indeed, darting corners and scurrying along quickly the moment she mastered walking and swarming

Often, the tall, intimidating lady of castle Dimitrescu was seen chasing her youngest for all kinds of reasons, whether that be baths, mealtimes, bedtimes, or simply to catch her little runaway and prevent her from stumbling down some stairs

And while Bela certainly did not lack the quality to hunt with her sisters, Alcina noticed early on that her eldest took joy in other things

This way, she often sliced a deer the eldest was chasing, aware that she would be demotivated easily and was not as fast nor strong as her sisters

However, in the later years, Bela’s talent was discovered quickly: an academic one

For Bela was the one to learn to write, read and speak the quickest

Something Alcina has noticed and finds endearing to this very day, is that even back then her eldest copied her language, using phrases she heard her say and repeating them like a parrot

Funnily enough, this is where “man-thing” finds its origin; her eldest, repeating phrase after phrase like a parrot, catching this and that and mixing things here and there

So when Alcina one day complained about a man pathetic enough to attempt to sell her things, of course, her little parrot picked it up right away, lisping about what a “horrible man-thing” he was!

She decided she liked the phrase, and while Bela is unaware of what she has started to this day, she all too happily received the praise and head scratches she was showered in for her little slip up

In time, all three sisters are taught to read, write and express themselves properly. Enough so that Alcina encourages them to pick up more hobbies

And she was again there, supporting them though it all

She spent hours a day with bright little Bela on her lap, reading up on this and that, explaining hidden meanings to her daughter

Often, she’d keep her eldest with her at work, her presence soothing in difficult times, her curiosity refreshing

Then, of course, there was hunting with Cassandra. She always made sure to make extra time for this activity with her middle child

Afterwards, it was not uncommon for them to talk of weapons, another hobby and interest Alcina encouraged her to pursue

And lastly, her little Daniela, with her head up in the clouds, asking for Mother’s help with planting flowers and decorating the castle

She too encouraged her youngest in this, and smiles to this day when she enters rooms in the castle decorated by her bright girl

Of course, the library is among those, the room in which countless hours were spent reading and recreating fairytales

And the lords? Yes, they certainly knew a lot of the three fly-spawns

And still, Alcina saved it for a good century until they were allowed near. If only because it took her some good years to help them manage their bloodlust

The first Lord to meet them is Donna, the most trusted in Alcina’s eyes

The second, perhaps surprisingly, is Heisenberg

And while she lightly encouraged her darlings to tease and annoy him during his stay, to make his life a little more difficult, she found- to her greatest annoyance- that her two youngest absolutely loved the Lord, even as Bela stayed by her side to glare at the man-thing from across the room

Yet..she could not deny them the visits to the factory ever so often, even as they returned with sweaty dresses from hot steam and a strong smell of Lycans and metal

And why? Simply because they wore such precious smiles, talking for hours to no end about the newest soldiers and weapons crafted

Yes, her daughter’s smile whenever the factory was brought up was enough for her to tolerate the man-thing

And lastly, they were taken to a Lord’s meeting all at once, and only once, centuries after their rebirth

While Alcina talks about her daughters a lot, she prefers to keep them hidden away from the Lords and the meetings as much as she can

[thought--bubble]

Aemond X (Baratheon! Reader)

In Need Of an Heir Part 1

Warnings Below

Word Count: 2,289

In Need Of an Heir master list

Canon Era Aemond Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners by @arcielee

Warnings: nothing yet, really. Mentions of war, mention of murder, arraigned marriage. Brief mention of possible noncon.

He picked you. Somehow, a prince, an actual prince, came in and chose to marry you. The excitement of that scenario was all too short lived with the arrival of another prince.

When Prince Lucerys entered the hall, you barely registered what he was saying, still riding out the high of being chosen to be a princess. That high quickly turned to dread as you watched the handsome prince turn into a vengeful and violent man. Your stomach dropped as he asked your father to take his leave without sparing you a second glance on his way out. The fairy-tale Princes you had read about as a girl he was not.

That would be the last time you would see him for quite a while. Which was preferable to you since he murdered his own nephew immediately after leaving. A fact that left you devastated. You couldn't possibly still marry this maniac, This kinslayer with a god complex. You thought surely your father would cancel the betrothal or at least alter it so you would marry the less psychotic Prince Daeron instead.

This murder plunged the realm into war, delaying the marriage plans much to your relief. You tried to reason with your parents. Saying you couldn't marry a crazed violent kinslayer. That your children would be cursed or he might kill you if you say or do the wrong thing. Your mother shared this concern, but your father was steadfast in his belief that this would elevate his house's standing in the realm, and you would do your duty and marry as you were told.

Months into the war, your father receives news that angers him so much that his yelling and screaming can be heard throughout the castle. Prince Aemond, your betrothed, had married. A strong bastard witch, and to top it all off, she was pregnant. Your father sent ravens to Harenhal that went unanswered. Your father took this as the greatest sign of disrespect.

This was welcome news to you. The betrothal would, of course, have to be called off now. You didn't even mind the insult. Now you would be free to wed someone else. Someone who didn't terrify you. Someone who wasn't actively burning half the realm in anger.

Your father knew it was too late to pull his support for the greens. He had been fighting alongside them for months. But he would not let this disrespect go unchecked. So a plan was put in motion to get rid of the problem. An assassin was paid, and news of the pregnant witches' death spread across the realm. Much to your horror.

When you received the news, you felt sick. knowing that your father would now demand the marriage continue as planned. Thoughts of a woman being murdered to make room for a marriage you didn't even want. the poor woman who was taken as a spoil of war. What choice did she have? Did she love the prince? Did he just not want to father a bastard thus he married her after forcing himself upon her? Did they truly marry? Was she killed for no reason? She received a death sentence all because of the prince's depravity. The same Prince your father was still determined to have you marry.

The war finally came to an end. The Greens having been successful in their reclaiming of Kings Landing. You had heard the story of Daemon Targaryen trying to goad Aemond into fighting him above the gods eye. Daemon was unsuccessful in getting word to Aemond that he was even there. You felt this was another cruel joke from the gods. Trapping you, making all chances to escape your fate impossible. Aemond and Criston Cole instead fought their way back to kings landing and reclaimed the kingdom. Rhanyera was caught and sentenced to death, and Daemon was finally brought to an end when he fell to Aemonds sword when he attempted to free her.

With the news that the war was over, a collective sigh of relief was shared across the realm by everyone. Except you. There was nothing stopping the marriage now, and as a woman and daughter of a lord paramount, there was little you could do to save yourself from the fate that awaited you.

What if the Prince knew it was your father who had his first wife killed? What if he decided to punish you for it? What of the way he had taken that woman as a spoil of war? Was he depraved in the way the king was known for? Would he inflict those depravities upon you?

You again tried to reason with your father, but he would hear nothing of it, especially now that Aegons sons had perished during the war, and he was too injured to sire anymore. Aemond would one day be king and you queen, and your first born son would be king after that. All Borros could see is that his grandson would one day be king. He couldn't be bothered with your silly feminine concerns. So, less than a moons time after the war officially came to an end, you were sent on your way to Kings landing.

The trip was long but nowhere near long enough. You kept asking for breaks, saying you were getting sick from the motion of the carriage trying any excuse to delay your arrival.

That only worked for so long, your brother Royce and your septa had been sent to escort you. Royce had picked up on the fact that you were attempting to delay the inevitable and had lost his patience. He demanded that the carriage only be stopped upon his request, and he did not request it often. All too soon, you were closing in on the Red Keep.

Your septa is whispering in your ear about how you must present yourself. Proper courtesies, etc. Your brother has a look of extreme boredom on his face.

"I hope they have a meal ready for us. I am sick of eating this on the road rubbish" he muses

Your septa gives him a stern look and returns to you flattening out your hair and fussing over your dress.

"She looks fine. He picked her out of all of them, did he not? If he no longer wants her, I have no problem turning this carriage and bringing her home"

Your eyes light up. "We could just turn around now?" You say looking at your brother with a fake smile.

"Your sister may very well be queen someday." Your septa interrupts."Since King Aegon has named Prince Aemond heir, She must carry herself with the dignity of a future queen!"

"Yeah, King Kinslayer and his Baratheon Bride," your brother chuckles as your stomach plummets and your face blanches.

Your septa is taken aback. "Young lord Baratheon, you mustn't speak like that," she leans in whispering. "The Prince is not known for his forgiving manner."

Royce nods to her. " I must be losing my head. This trip was too long, " he laughs while raising his eyebrows.

"Royce, this is nothing to jest at! You very well might lose your head as will I. We should call this off and go home!" You say giving one last desperate attempt

"What a splendid idea! the Prince would love that we agreed to come, and then we do not." he looked at you like you were an imbecile.

The carriage comes to a stop, and you immediately feel a wave of nausea come over you.

"Lord Royce Baratheon and his sister Lady Y/N Baratheon!" You hear the knight call out as the door to the carriage is opened. Your brother steps out and then stands to the side, offering you his hand for your balance. And thank the 7 that he does because you are not currently steady on your feet. When you exit the carriage, the sun feels too bright, the air too hot, your legs too heavy, your dress too tight.

Your septa comes out quickly after you and all 3 of you are staring up at the dowager queen alicent.

"Welcome" she says "I apologize that the king and prince are unable to properly welcome you they are engaged in a council meeting at the moment. Come with me and I will show you to your chambers"

You let out a sigh of relief.

"When will I meet with the king and prince?" Royce asked, his voice carrying an undertone of annoyance.

"At dinner, Lord Baratheon," the dowager queen responded as prim and proper as ever.

You arrived at your chambers bid your brother and the dowager queen farewell and entered. The bedchamber was nice. A bit bigger than the one you had back home. Adorned with red and black fabrics for the curtains and bedlinens. Candles strategically placed so that when lit in the darkness of night, one would still be able to navigate around the chamber. There is a small desk and chair, and a small padded chaise sits before the large window overseeing the gardens.

You sit on the chaise and look out to the gardens. Trying to remember all the dreams you had as a young girl. The Delusions of what being a princess would be like. Maybe you could convince yourself that this new life would be as wondrous as you had imagined all of those years ago.

There is a light tap on your chamber door. It's much too light to be male, so you ask the visitor to enter. In walks a young chamber maid. Her light brown hair braided and coiled onto her head eyes downcast.

"Hello my lady, I am here to help you prepare for dinner"

"Thank you," you respond softly. "What is your name?" You had always had close relationships with the chamber maids back home. Those relationships were a comfort to you in times of high stress.

"Amber my lady" she responds timidly.

You greet her kindly and move to the unpacked chest with the dresses you brought from home.

"I haven't yet chosen a dress to wear, I am quite unsure of which one would befit an introductory dinner such as this, would you help me choose?" You hope that acts like this, where you and your chambermaid work together will help build the foundation for a comfortable relationship. You are about to be alone in the capital and desperately want to have at least one relationship that provides comfort.

"Yes my lady"

The two of you begin sorting through the dresses and Amber pulls out a sapphire blue dress. The dress is fitted at the top and flows out beautifully under the bust. The sleeves are full length but are sheer past the elbows.

"This one will be perfect. Prince Aemond does so like this color"

Your stomach drops at the mention of his name. A stark reminder of just exactly what this dinner is for.

"Do you know him well? The Prince I mean?"

"I don't know if anyone does if I'm to be honest my lady"

You feel the knot in your stomach tightening.

You are quiet for the rest of dressing your mind going a mile a minute with thoughts.

Maybe he is shy? Could a mass murderer be shy? If no one knows the real him, is there a reason he hides it? A sinister reason? A reason his lady wife might be doomed to find out?

You are pulled from your thoughts by another knock on the door. This one is louder. More self-assured. That is certainly a male knock. Would your betrothed walk you to dinner? Could that be him on the other side of the door? You make no moves toward the door. You do not call out. You just stand in place.

Amber stands looking at you and realizes that you are not going to answer the door and answers if herself.

"Good Evening, is the Lady prepared for dinner?" The voice of Royce causes a tingling sensation to go through your body. The relief causing a feeling that borders on euphoric.

"Yes, my lord"

He enters your chambers and smiles at you.

"Come, sister, I am starved!"

You laugh lightly. Royce is the type of personality that is never burdened with fear or worry. He prides himself on his ability to take things as they come and adapt accordingly.

You link your arm around him and he leads you out of your chambers.

"Do you know where we are going?"

"I was shown earlier. I am hoping my memory serves. If not, we shall wander about until we find it or someone comes looking for us. " he laughs, tapping his free hand on your arm.

"Don't be nervous. You are the daughter of a lord paramount and the sister of a future lord paramount. If he does not treat you accordingly you need just let me know ok? You may marry into house Targaryen but house Baratheon will always back you"

You look towards your brother a look of shock and relief on your face. It is very rare that your brother speaks in such a serious manner, but you are thankful for it. The ever protective brother.

"Ahh, my sense of direction serves me once again." He says loudly as you come upon to large doors with two knights standing on either side of them.

"Come," he lowers his voice. "Head high. Show no fear. You are a Baratheon, we cower to no one"

Your brother and you stand before the large doors as the knights open them and announce your arrival.

"Lord Royce Baratheon, Lady Y/N Baratheon"

You and Royce share one last glance and step through the doors.

Part 2

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A/N: Blame my disassociation issue for this one! I had a lot of fun mapping out how to tie in all the scenes I imagined into a fun story.